Adventures in Resistance

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At first, the wind howling unrestricted through my open-air home is only mildly uncomfortable, the fleece being somewhat wind resistant. Then the rain starts to come through the holes in the tarp. At this point I've done a lot of riding and not much eating, and I'm really, pretty tired. Pretty tired. I can't bear to get up, and there's nowhere indoors to go to, so I lay there, continuing to try to sleep. Rain drips through the tarp and onto my face once every thirty seconds. Precisely. It should be pointed out that I start to fall asleep about once every thirty seconds. The incredible, Chinese water torture frustration isn't making efforts to get some rest before my next lap any easier.

I experience hate. A deep, wide, brimming over, sea of strong, acidic dislike for my fellow man. All around me in the cold, wet, alpine night are silent little tents in which snuggle warm, dry athletes with good preparation skills. I hate every last one of them, including my smug little teammates with their big, wide "you didn't bring a sleeping bag or tent?" eyes. I could hate myself for not getting off my ass and taking care of things when I was supposed to, but this is easier.

My shoulders are tight, my nerves are firing, and I'm a long way from home...

Now, admittedly, that wasn't one of my finest moments; but this next one… Ok, I have to admit, this next one is pretty bad. So bad, in fact, that I want you to keep one key point in mind. I was pretty young when I did this. That's right, I was young, idyllic, driven, full of dreams. And impatient. Super-impatient.

It's December and I'm getting ready to drive from Vancouver, where I'm going to university, to where my family live in Northern British Columbia, for the Christmas holidays. From there, I'm going to be driving across Canada to do a work-term in Ottawa, so I've loaded my car up with as many of my worldly belongs as it will hold. I'm in high spirits as I frantically run errands the day before I leave.

I'm at the gas station, filling up, when I suddenly remember that I have a slow leak in one tire. This immediately leaps out at me as the sort of thing one should address before embarking on a lengthy drive. Long, suspenseful moments pass as I fill the car and consider my course of action. Do I search the neighbourhood for a tire store and get the leaky tire fixed, or do I go home and chill because tomorrow I've got a big drive coming?

It's a difficult juncture, but fearsome powers of rationalization leap to my aid. The tire only loses five pounds of pressure per day. That's nothing. I can fill the tire with air in the morning and it will be good for the full day. At any rate, I can keep an eye on it and put more air in if it starts to look low. Procrastination wins the day and I retreat to my trendy, east side apartment for an evening of relaxation before the beginning of my big journey.

The next morning, true to my careful plan although a little late, I top up the pressure in the questionable tire, and head for the highway. It's winter but the roads are in good shape and all goes well for the first six or seven hours of the drive. I arrive in the interior BC town of Prince George feeling sleepy but content. A quick fill up at the gas station and I'm off, northward, into the growing winter night.

Almost immediately I notice that there now is significantly more ice and snow on the road, but having grown up in the north, I'm not particularly concerned. Oddly though, the car begins to fishtail a bit. Having your car slide and handle badly when you're braking is an unhappy experience, but when it starts losing traction while you're just driving along in a straight line, it actually starts to erode your quality of life. My quality of life goes on the decline.

I slow down, but the car continues to perform with all the predictability of one of those merciless flying saucer shaped toboggans. My shoulders are tight, my nerves are firing, and I'm a long way from home, but I have no better options so I push on. I can't help but notice that people are passing me and I wonder how it is that they aren't having as much difficulty driving as I am. I sort of hate them.

On into the night I slide and careen my way, ever northward, ever perched on the edge of vehicular disaster. It isn't all that fun.