WHEN THE SHOES FIT ... you know it!

 WHEN THE SHOES FIT …

TODAY has been a very mild, cloudy day — perfect for a cycle, some outdoor visiting and delightful conversation.

I set out on my bicycle to visit Klamer and Cathy Eggens, a lovely Dutch couple who live in my neighbouring community of Pitt Meadows. Their daughter Monika is the co-captain of the Canada Water Polo team and has recently returned from the Olympic Games in Tokyo. She had brought me some momentos from her trip and Klamer wanted to share some of his very successful garden crops with me. The visit turned into much more.

Cathy met me in the front yard and together we went to the back to find Klamer tending to the beautiful garden. They gave me the grand tour, with ziplock bags in hand, and I was happily gifted with some fabulous beets, 2 types of potatoes, kale and garlic. My keen eyes spotted a ripe strawberry and at that moment I was invited to take it! I did and it was so delicious — nothing like a berry straight off the vine. 

Later Klamer gave me a jar of blackberry purée and prepared garlic. He is a baker by profession but he is also a fabulous cook, so he gave me some great tips on how to cook up some of my medley. I can hardly wait to enjoy some of those very fresh veggies.

While on the back porch, we enjoyed refreshments and speculaas cookies, and engaged in a lot of interesting conversation about the Olympics, the local aquafit program, interesting spots in the community, a must-go-to shoe store, a well-hidden kitchen store, and retail spots to find familiar Dutch delicacies. My “To Do” list has increased exponentially for future cycling treks for sure.

Just before I left, Cathy asked me if I ever had a speculaas sandwich.  I hadn’t so she told me how it is made and I will look forward to trying it out soon — two slices of bread, buttered. Add a speculaas cookie in between; let it sit for a while, and then eat the most scrumptious sandwich ever!   Leave it to the Dutch to come up with something like that!

Cathy also mentioned the local shoe store. Patten and Buckle Fine Footwear is a place I have seen often, but never entered.  Since we are now at this end of the Covid era, I decided to step into that shoe store to have a look en route home.  I am sure glad I did. They have a very impressive selection and all footwear items with an orange sticker are an additional 30% off.  I bought two beautiful pairs of sandals — a Josef  Seibel  and a Clarks.  It was a great way to round out a wonderful day!

I have entitled this story “When the Shoes Fit …”: Whether the shoes are just shoes or metaphors of “shoes” like comfortable friends, enlightening conversation or a bounty of fresh veggies, if it feels right then value the connection, savour the moments, and celebrate the many pleasures that come from “shoes” that do actually fit: real friendships, respectful conversation, insight, recommendations, and no bothersome blisters! If shoes or “shoes” give you “blisters”, throw them out! 

Thank you Klamer and Cathy for your friendship and for this very enlightening and bountiful visit.

Antoinetta DeWit

August 2021

CONNECTING THE DOTS

 Connecting the Dots

Last week I embarked on a vacation with my older brother to visit our sister in the Cariboo region of the province of British Columbia. A normal direct drive would take 5 hours, but our adventures stretched the time by nearly half more.

The highway drive out of the coastal region was slow then fast then slow again — normal, it seems, nowadays as we travel from urban to rural regions of the province. 

We gassed up in Hope and then proceeded through the seven tunnels of the Fraser Canyon Highway, also known as the Trans Canada. The Yale, Saddle Rock, Alexandra, Sailor Bar, Ferrabee, Hell’s Gate and China Bar  tunnels were cut through solid rock bluffs of the coastal mountain range along side the mighty Fraser River.  We know them like the back of our hands since we travelled that route regularly over the ten years we lived in the hamlet of North Bend, located across the Fraser from the village of Boston Bar. This part of the trip is always a journey back in time — our time, and we both just love it.

As we continued on past Boston Bar and towards Lytton, we braced ourselves for what was to come.  Lytton had been 90 percent eliminated by a recent fast moving fire, the cause of which is yet to be determined.  The long and short of it is that the town was obliterated, completely wiped out and the nearly 1200 residents have been disbursed to welcoming communities near and far away, remaining anxious and worried, sad and forlorn.

The feeling in the air can be described in one word: sad. We drove past acres and acres of ash, blackened trees and power poles, humps of rubble, charred vegetation,  burned out cars, vans, and trucks, as well as lost businesses. It was like driving through a moonscape and that was only along the highway stretch.  Out of respect for the people of Lytton and especially the Indigenous people who are the original settlers, and because of the potential danger of poisonous gasses and chemicals, non-essential people are blocked from leaving the highway to enter the village and become looky-loos or photographers for personal gain. One encouraging sign as we continued to drive slowly by, was seeing hydro crews working hard and carefully to replace and rewire power poles — a first sign of a collective effort to restore hope in getting the village up to living standards once again.

As we got closer to our intended destination of Sulphurous Lake which is located about 40 minutes south east of the town of 100 Mile House, the smoke in the air around us, in front of us, above us and behind us, was impossible to ignore.  Much of the area was under evacuation alert and that was evident by the number of roadblocks on off-shoot roads on the west side of the highway. We persevered and hoped for minimal poor air quality while we enjoyed the family week in a cottage on a fresh water lake — even if it might have had to be a mostly indoor vacation. 

As it turned out, it was mostly an outdoor vacation as the skies cleared and we managed to kayak, boat, float on tubes, walk and sit outdoors. We also embarked on a trip to the local dump to dispose of garbage, but also to contribute to the ‘Share Shack’ where people can either contribute or take items or both.  It is a great place to find unusual treasures and just fun to look around.  From there we went to a knoll where there is the area’s only grocery store, the Country Peddler, a lumber yard, gas station, hairdresser and ice cream nook.  Across the way is the library where people can access free WiFi. I spent most of my time there during our morning outing since I had been without WiFi for a few days.  Felt great to sit there on the stairway, in the clean air, to read my messages and to respond. It felt like Christmas!  The Espresso Fudge ice cream cone was an added bonus.

One of the plans for our time together was to use long held on to recipes, the ones we cut out of newspapers and magazines, with the intention of one day trying them out.  They pile up over the years, and most often we never get around to actually trying and assessing them.  One such meal was Gnocchi in Red Pepper Sauce, served with corn and thing slices of pork.  Another was wild sockeye salmon, with Japanese sticky rice and green bean casserole with French’s crispy fried onions.  Both were keepers and much appreciated.  Two recipes covered, now about a thousand to go!

Our indoor time was spent playing a neat new game called Sequence, watching a bit of the Olympics and the News, talking, laughing, napping, baking and watching the loons and herons on the lake or the deer in the front yard eating the Saskatoon berries.

The day of departure was cool and cloudy, with a bit of drizzle — perfect conditions for an easy drive home.  We had preplanned two intended stops — the town of Ashcroft for gas and specialty coffees, and the hamlet of North Bend which was referenced at the beginning of this story.

Ashcroft is a small town six kilometres off the main highway.  Its origins are the same as most towns along this corridor known as the Gold Rush Trail. It has a lot of interesting history and the people we met were proud and friendly.  I don’t generally name drop but while in the grocery store I asked the cashier if she knew a Jackie Tegart. The immediate answer was “yes, she lives down the street from me and her office is down the road from the store.” While she spoke, I detected a Dutch accent and being Dutch, we continued to engage.  I love that part of small towns.

My brother had been to Ashcroft before and remembered a blacksmith-type shop where specialized screwdrivers are made at the back of a storefront located in a building that once housed Chinese merchants. The block was known as Chinatown. He had planned to buy one of the screwdrivers and regretted not having done so.  This was his chance!  When he brought the screwdriver back to the car and showed me why it was special, I said “I need something like that so I can get rid of the odds and sods of screwdrivers in my toolkit. I gave him the $$ and asked him to go back to buy me one.  I could have gone myself but he really enjoyed his talk with the lady store owner and her husband, and going again was no sweat off his back.  He took a while so I eventually did get out of the car and walked across the road to see what the delay was all about.  I ended up talking with the woman and let her share her pride of her craft with me.  I love that part of small towns too. The screwdriver is engraved with the words: Made in Ashcroft.

Tasks completed, we got back on the road to our next stop: North Bend, our former home town where we lived our childhood years from 1958-1968. Our particular interest was to see the Museum which occupies two of our former classrooms in the elementary school.

I drove into the village slowly as we took in the lay of the land, the appearance of streets, houses and gardens, and then parked in front of the School.  We walked down the hill we called Carlson Hill, named after the grocer of the grocery store that is no more, and headed to the CPR tracks to remember how it all once looked.  None of the buildings remain, the lovely green grass is no longer, the weeds have invaded and all we have left is our memories. Those memories remain very clear.

We walked back to the car just at the time that the museum curator arrived to let us in.  We introduced ourselves and let him know why we were there. He greeted us happily and was pleased that we had come to see the work that he and the many volunteers had done to preserve the community’s history.

As we entered, I took a deep breath, looked up the long stairwell, and tried to prepare for what was to come — my grades 1-6 classroom years flashing through my mind. The rooms were still there, the layout was the same, but the contents were unexpectedly mind-boggling. My grades 1-3 classroom is now a very well stocked history haven with artifacts, ledgers, binders and other materials reflecting the history of both North Bend and Boston Bar.  It was a gold mine of incredible stories and flashbacks for both my brother and me. 

The former grade 5-6 classroom contains the overflow of the other room with many more framed photos and local memorabilia, as well as a lounge room filled with a large collection of cds, dvds, vcr tapes, and all the electronics needed to enjoy entertainment while seated on comfortable chairs and sofas.  It is like a community gathering place. Another area, where I sat through Grade 4, is reserved for only Christmas decorations and stock for the Thrift Store that occupies the downstairs area where we once enjoyed indoor recess or lunch times on cold or miserable school days. 

 

As we were about to leave the 2nd floor, I asked my brother if he wanted to walk down the long hallway that led to the Principal’s office where we both endured capital punishment for being disobedient.  His memory of that experience was not as profound as mine; but, I seem to have added the same skip to my step going down that hallway as I did not once but twice when I was marched down there to receive the dreaded deed. 

We stood in the now empty room and Hans pointed out where the desk used to be and I imagined myself standing with the principal on the other side of the desk, hearing him suggest I not keep my hand so stiff as he smacked the leather strap across my palm a few times.  I did not comply with his suggestion, and endured the added sting without a whimper or a cry.  My biggest fear was he was going to let my parents know what had occurred.  Turns out, my parents were never informed.  This, of course, triggers my thought of what occurred in Residential Schools — the parents were never informed!

That strap, by the way, is hanging on the wall beside the teacher’s desk — it appears as a donation from my favourite Grade 1-3 teacher Ms Unruh who became Mrs. Wilson. She now goes by the last name of Henshall and lives in Campbell River. Interestingly the strap is referred to as a tune-up tool! 

Upon leaving the school, Hans and I were happy to see that every part of it is being used to bring community together, with stories and material things that keep the town’s history intact, plus a Gathering Place and a Thrift Shop, giving the less than 200 inhabitants a place to gather, relax, shop and socialize. 

The school remains a focal point of this hamlet we once called home and it sure felt like a good dose of “flashback home” being there for those 90 minutes. 

So, all in all, this summer vacation was all about connections — with my brother, my sister, my brother in law, rural life and my formative years. Looking back and sharing memories always makes me smile and helps me better understand how I got to where I am, feeling proud and satisfied, informed and gifted, with plethora experiences building character and determination to live a progressive life, but always remembering how all the dots are connected.

Antoinetta DeWit

August 2021

CYCLING ON SUNSHINE

 CYCLING ON SUNSHINE

Today was the long awaited cycle trip with a person I met a few weeks back — someone local, looking for someone local with whom she could easily cycle and socialize.  Well — cycle and socialize we definitely did.

The meeting place was none other than my favourite Maple Ridge brunch café, Humble Roots, where we both enjoyed a Veggie Benny and much appreciated ice water on this very hot summer day.

We talked to each other for quite some time before, during and after the meal and, in the end, a forlorn cyclist leaned over the outside railing asking if either one of us had a cycling repair kit.  He had just ridden over some glass and a piece punctured his tire.

Sherry expresses her sympathies and says she didn’t have such tools with her. I looked at him, surprising myself, and said: Actually, I am pretty sure I do have an emergency repair kit. I directed him to my bicycle and told him to open the saddle bag on the right;  therein he would find a plastic baggie with what may well be exactly what he needs.

I turned to watch him and see him rummaging through my front basket.  I called out to him to repeat the directive and he said: oh yes, yes, you did say that didn’t you! He was clearly flustered to find a woman with a bicycle repair kit and embarrassed that he didn’t have one !

He brings over the baggie, opens it and sees exactly what he needs — the patch and some sandpaper.  Off he went to do the fix. By the time he was nearly finished, Sherry and I said in unison: Maybe we should go over and watch him! Neither one of us had ever engaged in such a task.  When we got to him, he had basically finished; but, he did very willingly go over the process with us — I don’t really think either one of us can remember his explanation because neither one of us would actually do such an onerous task … we would just call BCAA because they provide bicycle road service.

He is going to buy us a coffee the next time our paths cross. We say our farewells and mount our bicycles.

Sherry lives in that part of Maple Ridge and is more familiar with the cycling options. She led the way north towards the mountains and then west towards what looked like a horse trail on land once owned by her family.  The trail led to an overpass towering over a swim hole where she used to enjoy playing as a kid. She would ride her horse there and once the horse was good and wet, she would slide off its body and into the water. 

Onward we cycled to the backside of the equestrian training centre which is on city land also once owned by her family.

We continued on along the rocky dike pathway to a road called Neaves. We stopped for a break and some talk about the nearby mountains and peaks, only partially visible due to the forest fire smoke moving its way to the coast.

We carefully cycled along Neaves to the next crossing over the Alouette slough, and veered to the right on to the dyke path just far enough to enjoy some much needed shade along side a majestic oak tree.  We sat on the very dry grass and engaged in more interesting talk about reading and writing, travelling and other personal things.

It was there that I told her about a poem I had written a few days ago correlating the life of a tree with the life of a human … a tree has but one life and stands tall and proud; it branches out to embrace what’s around it;  one branch does not depend on any other; you can take one or more away, and the tree still stands and continues to grow. 

Humans have but one life and should strive to also stand tall and proud, and branch out to embrace the opportunities around them. When one or more ‘branch’ breaks or gets taken away, all is not lost. Our core lives on, our resolve recovers, and continues to keep us strong. 

Now that I think about it some more, the crux of this poem might have come to me from my aquaYoga classes which include mountain and tree poses. I don’t always catch on right away when it comes to correlations;  I know I never did in my youth. Metaphors were silly and odd back then.  I can feel my often disappointed English teacher spring up in her grave wondering what’s happened to me!  I’m beginning to talk like her. I think I finally made her crack a smile! Namasté. 

It’s time to cycle on...

Sherry and I remounted our bicycles and cycled on along the dyke path eastbound, chatting side by side, up to our point of separation where she turned east and I turned west to get back to our respective homes.

It feels incredibly wonderful to have finally found someone local to cycle with and to talk with, outside, in the fresh, clean air, like well nurtured, self-standing trees in the forest — at peace and just happy to be confidently tall, each celebrating one more branch on our tree of life, as our gifted lives continue to grow like any one of the tall standing trees that we all too often ignore or take for granted. 

We have but one life to live and this one is dancing on sunshine. 🎼 🎼 

    

DEAREST MOTHER

 My Mom JULY 6, 2021

One year ago today my Mom passed away.  It was not a surprise to the family nor to her; she was ready and she wanted to go.  She had done all she wanted to do; seen all she wanted to see; and, she’d been everywhere she wanted to be. 

Since her passing, a lot has happened.  Her descendants have all survived the Covid Era. A grandchild carries her name. Other grandchildren have graduated or almost graduated from post secondary careers choices and some are entering trades training.  The estate settled quickly; the condo sold quickly; our celebration of her life went beautifully.

My mom was a Dutch immigrant and proudly became a Canadian Citizen in 1963, as did my dad, my older brother and me.

In 1957, when we moved to Canada, Mom had a tough time adjusting to the language and new country. It was her first time away from her parents and friends, and her first time in a foreign land where she had no choice but to learn English and make new friends.  It was a very tough time for her, but she persevered.

I still remember her ESL textbook and how hard she worked to prepare for that ‘scary’ Canadian Citizenship exam. I remember my dad driving from North Bend to the court house in Chilliwack to face the Citizenship Court judge who had the power to say yeah or nay to our application. We were all dressed up to the nines and it was a very quiet drive. The shiny varnished benches of that courthouse still stand out in my mind. The man at the bench, dressed in robes and a funny hat, was like a God and our future was in his hands. 

We all passed the test and my parents were each given a bible with an encryption that read: “We pray that God may bless you and those dear to you in the land which has become your home.” My brother and I were given our Certificate of Citizenship.

My mom did eventually get used to living here in Canada mainly because she knew she would never be going back to The Netherlands — at least not to live.  She eventually felt settled and happy to be here, making friends and, late in the 20th Century, enjoying long distance phone calls with her parents, brother, relatives and friends she left behind. Then, later in life, she learned how to use email and FaceTime, and playing E-Scrabble with her adult children.  Her iPAD became a real joy for her.

Mom had a long and diverse life but the road just became a bit too long with health issues, loss of loved ones and friends too. She saw a lot; enjoyed a lot. She proudly saw her four children grow up and develop their own lives. 

I feel her around me now and then, especially when I look at her knitted dolls or remember her sitting on a bench at Hammond Pool watching my sister and I enjoy an aquafit class outdoors. I will always feel her close by when I spend my time in Aruba — a vacation place she loved more than any other; a place she visited every year for at least 35 years.

RIP mom — you did well, and we are all doing well too.

RABBIT EAR TELEVISION

 RABBIT EAR TELEVISION

As an experiment after giving up my 2nd home and leading a more simple life, I decided to not get cablevision. I decided I would only use rabbit ears — an archaic technology but still a very impressive and effective one.

I am now into my 4th year of retirement and I remain happy with my rabbit ears.  I get very clear reception of our four main Canadian television networks:  CBC English, CBC French, CTV Vancouver, CTV Vancouver Island and Global BC.  

Amazingly, I also get five Bellingham stations identified as METV and found at 12.1, 12.2, 12.3, 12.4 and 12.5.  From those channels I can view detective/crime solving themed shows, past episodes of half hour comedies like Dick vanDyke, Mary Tyler Moore, Mash, Hogen’s Heroes, Green Acres; blitzes of popular shows through the decades; old movies and one channel devoted to Star Trek reruns. I can do without that one!

I’ve never really been a television watcher so this minimalized choice has truly been all I need for the occasional laugh or  bit of extra entertainment.

SPINNING THE WHEELS

 

SPINNING THE WHEELS in Maple Ridge

Spinning On Wheels is a collection of journal entries written in real time during the 2021 Go By Bike Week in British Columbia Canada. The word “Spin” has multiple meanings including ‘a new and better way of looking at things, ideas, concepts, places, people and life.’

I

Controlling my Destiny

Today’s adventure on Day one of the week to celebrate cycling, started off with a burning desire for a classic Blenz café mocha in Pitt Meadows, British Columbia.

I don’t normally plan such a thing as I actually make my own mochas every morning with my espresso machine and frother. However, I strategically made sure I did not have any milk in the fridge as a way to get me up early and out the door to start my cycling day. It worked!

I pack up the sunscreen, fresh water and my towel, and gallantly start the day, grateful that the sun is out and that the nimbus clouds overhead are off high in the stratosphere. 

As I position myself comfortably on the seat of my Nishiki bike, I feel my smile behind my mask and the extra beat in my heart as I look forward to the day.  I disembark at Blenz and order my medium drink at the price of a small (thank you BCAA).

Next stop finds me at the Maple Meadows West Coast Express station in Maple Ridge. I am drawn to this location because it is my best reminder of being brought up in a CPR town (North Bend) where I learned how to cycle and how to double (Sharon Evans), and that joy of controlling my destiny has stayed with me ever since.

A lot of flashbacks come to mind as I sit here on the bench easily recalling the fun of cycling through big and small mud puddles on Highline Road and doing hands-free descents down the hill leading to Carlson’s store where I often scored two bottles of pop for the price of one from the outdoor pop machine. I had figured out how to hold on to two bottle heads at once, yank at exactly the same time, and all that for one dime! It was always such a victory until one day the machine was decommissioned! Isn’t it funny how we remember things?

I can also remember waiting for the CPR train to approach the station yard. I would ride along side the engine, waving at the engineer, then bolting ahead to cross the tracks before he had a chance to block me. I know it was a very dangerous thing to do but in a small town you’ve got to do whatever you can to keep the adrenalin flowing. I always considered it a victory lap!

Victory, when you think of it, is a component of a good life. A good life for me is a series of victories (paragons) like learning how to cycle without help, graduating and successfully making bread from scratch. Other victories are things like dismissing draining and perplexing relationships to pursuing better ones or tackling computer challenges from nervously to calmly; or, almost completely reframing life to accommodate an international pandemic. Victories big and small carry us forward. 

On I go with my cycling journey, leaving the train station’s parking lot  and heading into Hammond.  As I approach the roadway, I see it has been recently paved. That may not seem like a big deal but to a cyclist it definitely is; what’s more — the road will, from now on, include an official properly designated cycling lane. I am delightfully surprised and definitely impressed. Kudos to Maple Ridge for designating my tax dollars so wisely. 

I love the Hammond neighbourhood; it is a part of Maple Ridge but it is where this area once boomed with the forest industry — the backbone of British Columbia’s prosperity, long before Maple Ridge was created. It has a lot of history and small town character, and those who live there carry that sense of pride in how they tend to their gardens, yards and their homes.  I think I would enjoy living there too.

At this point, those nimbus clouds have descended somewhat and I am anticipating drops soon. Best I head home and plot out tomorrow’s destiny.

 

                                                                                                 II

Don’t Ignore The Signs

Today is Day Two of Go By Bike Week in British Columbia. I started my journey at home and 26 kilometres later I was back. It was a long, hot day, but inspiring, reflective and transformational. Here is how it unfolded:

After a good warm rice porridge breakfast and a delicious home made cappuccino, I refresh my water bottle, reset the odometer, and set out on another new adventure in my region. COVID-19 restrictions continue to put me into that framework of limitations, and I am actually quite liking it.  I let my bicycle take the lead on this beautiful sunny day.

We take a left from home and then a right along 123rd Avenue. There is no designated bicycle lane immediately but, a few blocks up, a sign tells me I am on the 123 Bikeway.  Not sure what that means but I keep spinning forward to Laity Street and take a left. More signs, more messages. I don’t think I have ever noticed that these signs are specific to cycling.

You know when you travel along the same stretch over and again, you tend to not notice the little things. Life tends to be like that. It is kind of like looking at a forest and not seeing the trees. You only see the forest.  

I am passing by another sign. I stop; turn around and take a photo. This sign indicates the beginning of a cycling lane. All of a sudden, out of the blue, with no rhyme nor reason, a cycling lane begins.  The sign across the street indicates the end of a cycling lane.  So, when you get to the end, where are you supposed to go?  This is kind of a weird moment. Life has those too. Weird moments. We usually cast them aside and spin on.

Further down the designated lane, I see more signs and take more photos, and the song ‘Sign Sign Everywhere A Sign’ comes to mind. I smile. I don’t think they are new signs, but I really have not noticed them being ‘bike specific’ before now.

This weird and perplexing moment also brings to mind a correlation between what I am now experiencing with road signs and a once promising and prosperous new friendship years ago, hit by a very unexpected curve ball. I evidently missed the signs. 

The potential success of the friendship was obvious and taken as a given. Everyone could see it and everyone believed it. But, in hindsight, signs neatly camouflaged to the contrary were actually there.  In a way, when putting all the slightly hidden signs together, it brought to mind battered person syndrome. Mentioning any of this to anyone, would result in a gasping ‘No Way’ reaction. They have never seen those signs and likely never will.

Like the road signs, the signs in this personal experience were definitely there early on. I ignored them until a torpedo came out of nowhere and a guillotine blade almost severed my neck. No lead up; no explanation; no follow up. No response to an offering of an open door to clear the air.  Ignoring signs can be fatal. 

In hindsight, I can now see all of the poignant signs that got me to the end of that personal journey. I missed them, didn’t acknowledge them, didn’t value them and pretended they were not there. 

Isn’t this much like the cycling signs I have seen today? The reality is each one of them  has been there for a long time and each carries an important message.  Ignoring them could be fatal.   Don’t underestimate the power or value of a sign!

Ok, enough of that, onward we go. Let’s spin on! 

Up ahead at the foot of Laity Avenue and Abernathy Way still in Maple Ridge, I see a sign leading me to the Trans Canada Trail.  

“Wow”, I say. “The Trans Canada Trail is right here in front of me! I have been here often and did not realize its designation until now.  A sign says I am about to enter a section called The Great Trail. Somehow now it feels exciting.”

It is actually one of the original dyke pathways that separate farms from waterways, and it spans for many kilometres. The scenery is incredible with majestic mountains to the north, and flora, ducks, birds, and people of all ages, all abilities and all backgrounds spread out along the vast landscape walking, jogging, cycling, kayaking and fishing. It is glorious here and a great sign of how fortunate we are to have a place to exercise, to contemplate and to be at peace.

I happily continue my ride, smiling from within. My eyes are open wide, back straight like a yoga back extension. I am feeling like a yoga high mountain, relaxed and at peace. As I stop, with my heart centered, I close my eyes and imagine a brand new sign yet to be posted saying “Don’t Ignore The Signs” …. whether tangible or not.

Let’s cycle on alert and aware!

   

III

Heavy Hearts Harmonize

Today, Day 3 of our Go By Bike Week in British Columbia, I woke up with a heavy heart. When that happens, the best therapy for me is a good breakfast followed by a purposeful bicycle ride.

I got up early and cycled to Hammond outdoor pool for a good session of Aquafit. As I cycled home, I sorted out how best to unfold the rest of the day. After a refresh, I am going directly to the Katzie First Nation territory in Pitt Meadows to talk with the Chief. I want to sit on their land, be near Katzie people, express my disgust, shame and sadness about the seemingly endless stories of atrocities indigenous people in residential schools experienced under the ‘watchful’ eyes of the State and Church.  Quite frankly, “disgust” is not even a strong enough word.

215 children’s bodies have been found secretly buried under ground beside their designated residential school in Kamloops. We don’t need a Royal Commission, Task Force, Independent Report and any other form of delay tactic by the State or the Church. Words no longer mean anything; apologies are no longer sincere. It is time for concrete retribution and I am heading to the Katzie Nation to tell them what I really think.

It is a very hot 21 degrees Celsius and the cycling distance is only 7 kilometers each way.  I have refilled my water bottle, applied the sunscreen, checked the tires and off I go.

The territory is protected by security and only members are permitted entry due to COVID-19 restrictions.  I am happy to hear they have made their own rules in order to ensure their own protection. I am also happy to hear the residents are getting their second dose of the vaccine on site today.  

The Chief is not available to talk with me but I manage to talk to a couple of members who happily listen to my tirade and my expectations for a somewhat plausible resolution.  I say to them that both the State and the Church have to carry this shame and both have to hang their heads in shame from now to eternity. 

“How?”, they ask.

“Well, let me tell you,” I respond.

I think all the names of any of the perpetrators of the residential school system found on statues, buildings, streets, highways, currency, and events have to be removed. I want them to be condemned in absentia.  I also think both the State and the Church must be compelled to admit, orally and in writing, to the atrocities, as well as express their shame and regret openly and publicly on a certain date, each and every year from now to eternity.

I went on to say that the atrocities are reprehensible; the damage on human souls irreparable; but, actual amends must follow this wake we are going through now.  We owe it to all indigenous peoples; we owe it to the buried children and their families; we owe it to each other.

If we could hug, I am sure these two Katzie men and I would; but, I do give them the traditional respectful ‘dipping of the hands’ thank you and farewell. 

As I mount my bicycle to return home, I end by saying “the discarded children have spoken and you can be sure that finally a lot more people are listening”. 

I hope I made their day!  The experience definitely made mine.

RIP sweet children — your voices are finally being heard.

 

IV

Smiling From Within

Today is Day 4 of Go By Bike Week in British Columbia and I woke up realizing that I have actually not been in my car since Saturday —that is five days ago.  I feel myself smiling from within because that is what personal victories or milestones do for me.

I set off after a delicious warm, smooth homemade caramel mocha and a few scrabble words with actual friends in Ontario and Quebec. Scrabble has nurtured and enriched our relationships so very well during our shared COVID-19 pandemic experiences. Cycling has that same impact on me and my relationship with myself; the adventures are both nurturing and enriching.

I replenish my water bottle, oil the chain and off I go wondering what the day will bring.  Destination is a lovely quaint, quiet café, deep into the rural part of East Maple Ridge, 8 kilometres from home.  It is called Humble Roots. (@humblerootscafe). I love this place and try to come about once a month for their delicious eggs benny.

As I arrive, the familiar server spots me and directs me to an available table. She has an extra jump in her step and she clearly anxiously wants to tell me something.  I wanted to tell her something too but I let her go first.  Turns out, we have the exact same story to tell.

Yesterday, I noticed a couple of cyclists in a shady area, looking perplexed and lost.  I stopped and asked if I could possibly help them. The man had a large map unfolded on the grass below and the lady was on her cell phone trying to find names of places in the area with outdoor dining for lunch.  They told me they were on an RV vacation, parked in a lot in Fort Langley, and they undertook significant cycling excursions daily.  They really wanted to enjoy an outdoor quiet lunch in Maple Ridge. 

“Oh,” I said. “You must go to Humble Roots.” The conversation extended from there covering off the type of place it is, where it is, what the menu was like etc. 

“Oh,” they both said in unison. “Yes we must go there!”

The encounter was delightfully interesting and they were most grateful for the recommendation. They tapped in the coordinates and off they went.  I cycled in the opposite direction again feeling the heart smile from within, saying: some people are just so nice.

So, here I am today at Humble Roots and the server tells me that while that couple was talking to her yesterday, she immediately thought it was me who sent them.  All they had told her is that a cyclist who comes there semi regularly, for the Humble Benny, highly recommended the place.  

Again, I feel the heart smile for all the right reasons while I enjoy the fresh air, notice the smiling people around me, and realize this is indeed a small but very interesting part of the bigger world.  We are pretty darn fortunate to be here.

V

Cycle Spin

Today I decided to sit down in my quiet space and put some spin on cycling. This is Day 5 of Go By Bike Week in British Columbia and some people might still be wondering what’s the big deal?

There are a lot of obvious answers to that question: exercise, better energy levels, muscle formation, happy lungs, healthy heart, endurance, balance, obedience, compliance, stress release and relief, contemplation, accomplishment, personal bests, goal setting, decision making, story telling, discoveries, photos, time-outs, time outside, socializing. The wheels keep us going forward as far and as fast as we want and, based on this very long answer to that question, the experience offers something to everyone.

Of course other advantages are no greenhouse gas emissions and no need for fuel or expensive repairs.

For me, what I like most about cycling is the ability to correlate it with how I live my own life. I am in the driver’s seat and I love my independence.  I like to keep moving forward, one push on the pedal  at a time, at my own pace and in my own way.  I don’t have a jock mentality; I am not a daredevil; I am not a risk taker; I don’t gamble; I don’t race  or climb mountains, and I don’t wear flashy apparel. I love to live this way and I love to cycle this way: plain and simple, but always moving forward, strong, determined, focused and happy.

I do have a keen sense of adventure. I love to just get up, jump on my bicycle and go. I don’t want to wait for anyone and I don’t want others waiting for me. Sometimes the trips are specific like getting a bunch of errands done around town or meeting a friend at a not so far away favourite place to enjoy time together.  Other times I just start and keep going and going, reminding myself that I need enough energy to get back home!  

I do, on occasion, get extravagant and enjoy European cycling tours with a keen group of like minded friends who live in various parts of the world. It was like an annual reunion every 

September for a number of years until COVID-19 hit us as well as other factors.  (Cover photo was taken in Italy) I can see us getting back at it at some point because those trips were especially special.

My bicycle and I are also working on a cycle-tourism initiative that travelling cyclists or locals can enjoy. The plan is in the early stages but essentially it will bring a number of factors together such as an interesting route, including specific pit stops hosting cycling exhibits and giving participants access to food, drinks and bathroom breaks. The idea came to mind while cycling along the dykes of the Pitt River Dyke Trail system, and I flesh it out a bit more almost every time I head out that way.  The space, the serenity and the scenery in that area inspire me, and inspiration like that keeps my cerebral wheels spinning. 

I guess you can say that my bicycle and I are much like a couple with a great marriage: in sync and moving forward in harmony, slow and steady, often mesmerized and excited, noticing and feeling the breeze and the warmth of the sun, 

breathing in the fresh air, listening to and hearing the sounds of nature and, all the while, challenging the brain waves and exercising the body, always looking and spinning forward to the next milestone or victory. I love cycling and I love living. Right now they definitely work well together.

This is the end of my cycling journal in celebration of Go By Bike Week 2021. I have enjoyed the adventures and sharing the stories. The feedback tells me a lot and I thank you all for joining me cyberly on my cycling journeys this week. I hope casual cycling will continue to enhance my life for many years to come.

 

About the Author

Antoinetta DeWit was born in Rotterdam, The Netherlands and came to Canada as a baby in 1957.  After an introductory start to a new life in Canada, the family moved to the hamlet of North Bend in the upper Fraser Canyon region of the Province of British Columbia. The small town upbringing shaped her life and that experience has stayed with her ever since — education, independence & creativity going hand in hand in order to enjoy life and to move forward.

toine1956@yahoo.ca