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We Have Evolved a Bigger Brain
Pattering raindrops woke us. While rain is one of the most soothing sounds to fall asleep to in a tent, it has to be the worst to wake to. On cold wet days it didn't take long before recollections of work were being cast in a more favourable light. Even Sharon began to recall former irksome work-related events with a certain degree of fondness. In years past, when we encountered inclement weather we got on our bikes and slugged it out. Now older (and, I like to think, wiser), we believe it best to find a cozy indoors and wait for more salubrious riding conditions. A pub with a roaring fire is my optimal preference. But since there didn't appear to be any pubs with blazing fires nearby, we decided to wait in the tent. I wiped ice off the wall and realized it was still January, whether we were in the middle of the Mediterranean or not. I had learned that on a bicycle tour, like it or not, being exposed to the full brunt of nature's elements was part of the experience: cold rain drove into my face like nails; wind howled in my ears loud enough to deafen me; and month-old roadkill stench filled my nostrils. It wasn't all glorious wind-at-your-back sunny days. Perfect days became cherished memories because they were, in fact, so rare. The wind continued to rage outside our fabric door. We spent almost the entire day wrapped in our bed rolls, wondering if Sardinia would be warmer than Corsica. The only venturing we did outside was for quick washroom breaks. We were still apprehensive about Corsica's no free-camping law. On my outing, I noticed the gate we had squeezed through the previous night was no longer open and worried that someone had locked it. But closer inspection revealed the gate had swung shut on its own accord, assisted, no doubt, by an icy wind blast. On Sharon's excursion, she returned to the tent with a tale of her own. "I thought that was it," she said as she related a car had stopped alongside the road while she was doing her business. "Arrested for illegal camping. And definitely in no position to argue!" In our ongoing quest for nighttime warmth, we abandoned our quaint two-people-in-one-bag technique as too restrictive, and instead piled both sleeping bags over us in a double layer. That gave us room to spread our limbs, but the arrangement was poor at conserving body heat. Sharon thought it was a toss-up between being steamrollered all night or freezing to death. Although she wore an identical conglomeration of clothing as myself, she often awoke in the middle of the night with freezing feet. And try as she might, she couldn't fall back asleep until they had warmed sufficiently -- that meant sticking her ice-block tootsies squarely on my back! Talk about husbandly duties! When I signed on the dotted line, I had no idea the marriage contract said anything about "Thou shall happily endure thy wife's cold feet." Personally, tight quarters were my staunch commitment after she sadistically warmed her frosty feet on my backside. |
Shelley Godbout
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