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August 12 Friday Bicycle touring from Landis Saskatchewan - Asquith Saskatchewan We get up at 6 AM and are underway by 6:30. I leave a note thanking the nice people for their hospitality. As we cycle out of their yard I glance sideways and there is the wife, looking out the window with a deep scowl on her face. Sharon says, "She really should give her face a rest." We eat breakfast at the restaurant in Landis. As another train rumbles by, one of the old-timers looks at us and says: "Twenty trains a day, I guess." There is a table full of farmers at the other table in the corner by the door who never stop complaining about one thing or the other for the whole time we are in there as they sit and drink their coffee. It is either gas prices, grain prices, the weather, or the poor quality of equipment these days. Anything they can think of. Bikers, too, probably once we leave. The old chap serving us said he asked them why they do it then. Only thing we know how to do they told him. Complain, I suppose that is. He tells us not to mind them: they're like this every day. He figures someone must be making money though with all those loads of grain going east and west day and night. The farmhouses around here don't exactly have that pauper feel to them either. They are all new and huge with a great expanse of green lawn. Even saw a pool. The guy that cooks our omelettes owns the restaurant and hotel. He tells us they give free rooms to cyclists. Sigh. If we had only known. He tells us a girl was in on Tuesday and wants to know if we passed her on the road. Nope, we hadn't seen her. He looks a little worried. We ask him if we can order breakfast. He tells us his cook isn't in yet, but if we pick something that isn't too hard he can make it for us. Maybe. I ask for pancakes. Nope, too hard. How about an omelette then? Thinking it over, he says, "Okay, I can make an omelette." We wait about half an hour to get served two slimy runny omelettes. Sharon says it is the worst omelette she had ever tasted. The cheese on it consisted of Kraft cheese slices fresh from their cellophane wrapper and tossed on top of the canned mushrooms. He comes over and asks, "Do you like it? I made it myself." Sharon says she has never tasted anything quite like it. Ever the diplomat. I am less kind. "Don't quit your night job." The cook doesn't have anything to worry about. That's what I call job security. We cycle with the wind for half the day. Then it turns on us with a vengeance. By the time we hit Biggar, we're ready for a laugh. Entering Biggar we see a roadside sign: "New York is Big but Biggar is Biggar." We pull our bikes to a stop for chocolate milk at an Esso station. That's the kind of fuel we're buying these days. The we cycle another 32 kilometres down a bumpy road to Purdue ... where we again stop for another smooth, you guessed it, chocolate milk. Sitting at a picnic table we hear a disheartening hiss of air escaping from a bike tire tube. We take the tire off and find the patch I had put on a flat-proof tube had failed. I put a bigger patch right over top. That is the problem with those flat-proof tubes: once they get a flat they are goners. They really should be called "No-Patch Tubes." By the time we get back on our bikes the wind is squarely in our face. We struggle down the road to Asquith. There is a quick rain shower. We duck into a fella's garage while it blows over. He tells us not to buy steel belted tires cause they shift, bulge, and create their own flats. Maybe that's what our trouble is. He tells us a 17-year-old girl was killed yesterday in a car accident by the Esso, sixteen miles down the road from here. He tells us 'if' is a very big word. Like his Daddy told him: "If the dog hadn't stopped take a shit, he would have caught the rabbit." I am sure there is a nugget of wisdom in there somewhere. Maybe it's a brown one? We have supper at Asquith. The community hall is getting ready for the funeral. Four boys talk to us on main street while they straddle BMX and mountain bikes. The kids ask us, "Do you sleep? Do you eat?" Sometimes I wonder what goes through their minds when they see us. We find a secluded spot behind the school and set up our tent. We asked at the store and the people told us: "Camp anywhere. No one will mind." Now that's what I like to hear. |
