The morning started out fine, no rain, and around 11 a.m., lots of
sunshine. Biking was excellent, but for some reason I couldn’t get
into it. The road was mine. The sun was warm, and the forests were
extremely friendly. Everything was saying to me, “Come on, and appreciate
this day!” But I couldn’t do it. At first I thought I might be bored,
but then I realized it was my loneliness that was disturbing me. It
was not just my separation from friends and family that made me
miserable; it was a loss of “value” also. I felt like I had lost sight
of my goals. That wasn’t altogether true. I was doing really well on
the material side of things. I was working. I had money. I had time to
bicycle. Actually, I had fulfilled all my desires, so why so empty?
Maybe that was the problem. I was too successful. There was nothing to
look forward to anymore, and quite frankly, maybe I was beginning to
have second thoughts concerning my own success. Was it really what I
wanted, — what I expected? I was confused and lonely, really lonely.
I knew depression, serious depression, was just around the corner.
That happened when I let myself get too serious. I didn’t need that,
so I decided to pull over and set up camp. It was hard to get
depressed while sitting around a campfire. When I came to a spot, I
pulled a soda from my bike pack. Nova Scotia wasn’t that
commercialized. Sometimes, you had to think ahead. Unfortunately, at
the spot where I had planned to camp, I was greeted by some of
Canada’s finest. I found myself in the middle of a no–seeum hatch.
There was no stopping the little critters.
They were in my eyes, under my clothes, and, every time I got bit, it
was like a needle poking me. I wrapped rubber bands around my ankles
and wrists to keep them from getting under my clothes. I set up my
tent and crawled inside. I felt safe until the flies came through the
tent screen. They were that small. I held my own against mosquitoes,
wind, and rain, but there was no defense against no–seeums. I packed
my gear and hit the highway.
The woods had become out of bounds for camping. What was I to do?
Maybe the flies would settle down after sunset? The ocean beach was
always a refuge from bugs. The constant wind was a savior. But I
hadn’t seen a beach since I arrived in Nova Scotia. The beach wasn’t
good in the rain, however. I was running out of alternatives. If it
came down to it, there was always a train heading for home somewhere,
but not here. Bike till I dropped, that was my only available option.
It was after 8 p.m. when I finally came to a sign that read, “Picnic
area.” I had reached the ocean, and there was even a beautiful
two-foot high surf breaking off shore.
I’m writing at a picnic table, just on the other side of the dunes,
which separate me from the beach—a perfect place to camp. The sun has
set somewhere behind the trees. I’m safe from the flies for now, but
still itching all over. It’s getting a bit chilly, so I think I’ll put
on my jacket. I want to read a couple more paragraphs in my book
before I go to bed.