The Kilometres Story

A little over a year ago, I dipped my bike into the Pacific before embarking on a cross country journey to meet Canadians who speak in different ways due to disability, hear their stories, and share them. On May 19th (the 1 year anniversary), I posted this video on the Kilometres for Communication Facebook page.

I was in a rush that day, and didn’t get around to posting it on the blog. Alas, I’ve gotten around to posting the link on the blog.

This is the same video we presented at the Breaking the ICE Conference at the Holland Bloorview Kids Rehabilitation Hospital on April 29, 2012.

The narration of the video is composed of blog excerpts during our journey. Enjoy 🙂

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Striding for Inclusion

It’s been a busy week, but alas, as promised, here’s a blog post on running a marathon in a French Maid costume.

15km in. Still loving each stride.

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Some of you know about marathon running. However, a vast majority of you think I’m a strange, strange person. (To gain greater context to this post, you can read Kerr’s (my brother) and my story: http://kilometresforcommunication.com/stories/ )

What possesses me to run marathons? Running is mostly mental. If you’re running to the limits of your ability, there will always be a point in the run when you ask yourself: “why am I doing this?” If you aren’t able to answer this question, your run ends there. For the first 30km I project how lucky I am to be able to move one foot in front of the other, smell, see and feel the world as I do. I would be taking the safety, security and luck of my life for granted by not focusing on the beauty of striding in the moment. The minor discomfort only exists if I perceive and focus on it. I’m running because I can.

The final 10-12km is different. The pain becomes loud and rude. More powerful motivation is needed. I project the people I’ve met who communicate in different ways and their stories, my brother’s story, and all the emotions, frustrations, and memories associated with the misunderstandings and disconnect I’ve witnessed my brother endure. If these Canadians who speak with AAC and my brother can be so resilient, strong, and triumphant; so can I. This is a numbing reminder to my perception that my discomfort is temporary and escapable. I’m running to show my commitment. I’m running to create awareness. My knee doesn’t want to lift. I’m running because I can. My calves are seizing. I’m running because this is the least I can do. I’m running to inspire. Why am I doing this? Can’t I stop? I’m running because I can do something simple that makes a difference. My stomach is going to let loose. I’m running because I love someone. I’m running because I want everyone to know how to include people of all abilities.

Cya

What possessed me to run in a French Maid costume? I would say it comes down to having a powerful motivator in my life (my brother) and a few really good friends with a sense of humour. If I’m going to run for 42km, I’m going to do it for a cause. I better kill two birds with one stone; otherwise, it just wouldn’t seem worth it. Running is a mental battle. It’s easier to run 42km through woods distracted by scenery and the challenge of rocks and roots than it is to stay concentrated and calm kilometres after kilometre on pavement running next to the same people. Wearing a costume helps with that mental battle. People start laughing and cheering. 42km becomes less lonely.

I ran the race in 3 hours, 22 minutes, 30 seconds. I had a bizarre day before the race. My eating was not on schedule, and I didn’t eat my dinner until after 10pm on Saturday night—although I had been carb grazing all day. Shortly after eating, I went to bed. Needless to say, I didn’t digest my meal as I should have. I woke up at 4:30am on Sunday to eat a good breakfast, digest it properly, and have ample unstressed time to change into my French Maid costume. Around the 23km mark, there was no bargaining with my stomach. Sweaty, and in full race gear, I abandoned the sub-3hr pack I was running with and dashed into a Tim Horton’s. I ran through the restaurant, efficiently found the washroom. A couple minutes later I ran back through the restaurant again, back onto the race course, and tried to find my rhythm again with a different pack of runners. Those employees and customers in that Tim Horton’s saw a sight they probably won’t forget for a long time.

How do you work up to running a marathon and prepare for it?

It’s getting late and that’s a whole other blog post. If people are interested, I’ll write a post on preparation.

I’ve saved the most important for last! The clear cut reason I ran a marathon in costume was to create awareness for the different ways people communicate. If you haven’t already, please read and share the following excerpt from my last blog post:

I think that isolation and systemic discrimination can stem from uncertainty. Below are some key points about how to be an agent of inclusion, and how to properly interact with people who communicate differently.

* Be curious. Ask how the person communicates. Give the individual time to respond. Observe what body parts he/she controls, if the person has a communication device, a letter board, or blinks. There are many forms of communication. Engage. Observe. Keep an open mind. Be patient. Be enriched.

* “Ask one question at a time and wait for a reply.” (ACCPC, 2009)

* “Talk directly to the individual, not to the person who may be accompanying him/her.” (ACCPC, 2009)

* Watch for body movement—someone may operate a communication device using his or her head, knee, toes, etc. Don’t walk away if you notice the person using their computer. It may take him/her a minute to assemble their sentence.

* “Speak naturally and clearly, using your normal tone, volume and rate.” (ACCPC, 2009)

* Try to establish a yes and a no—“show me your ‘yes’”. Observe how the person responds.

* “Do not speak about the person or refer to the person in the third person when in his/her presence.” (ACCPC, 2009)

* Always assume ability.

A marathon is unbearable if it’s lonely. So is life. We all run our own races, but we all need some help and companionship to get to the finish line.

42km to inclusion; if only it were that easy.

A disability is only a disability when a person is hindered by his or her surrounding environment. I want as many people as possible to know how to communicate with people who speak with Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC). A disability can be a gift just as much as it can be disabling. On Sunday, May 6, 2012, I’ll be running another marathon…perhaps in a costume. Likely in a costume. Almost certainly in a costume. My purpose: to raise awareness. I want to get as many people as possible reading the points below in this post, and learning about how to properly communicate with someone who has a communication disability.

I think that isolation and systemic discrimination can stem from uncertainty. Below are some key points about how to be an agent of inclusion, and how to properly interact with people who communicate differently.

  • Be curious. Ask how the person communicates. Give the individual time to respond. Observe what body parts he/she controls, if the person has a communication device, a letter board, or blinks. There are many forms of communication. Engage. Observe. Keep an open mind. Be patient. Be enriched.
  • “Ask one question at a time and wait for a reply.” (ACCPC, 2009)
  • “Talk directly to the individual, not to the person who may be accompanying him/her.” (ACCPC, 2009)
  • Watch for body movement—someone may operate a communication device using his or her head, knee, toes, etc. Don’t walk away if you notice the person using their computer. It may take him/her a minute to assemble their sentence.
  • “Speak naturally and clearly, using your normal tone, volume and rate.” (ACCPC, 2009)
  • Try to establish a yes and a no—“show me your ‘yes’”. Observe how the person responds.
  • “Do not speak about the person or refer to the person in the third person when in his/her presence.” (ACCPC, 2009)
  • Always assume ability.

I was planning to run this race with a friend named Tien (he communicates using AAC). One thing you need to know about Tien and I: we are divers, full of ambition, and quite determined to make the unrealistic and unexpected work. It didn’t work out this time. The logistics of planning our run together required more planning than the time we had…we came up with the idea and tried to run with it last Sunday. Tien won’t be running with me this Sunday, but expect our collaboration in the future.

Here’s what Tien would like people to hear:

“As being one of hundreds of thousands of AAC users, I would like to see the people in our communities, to provide us accessibility in communication, transportation and education, to try and take time to understand us when we ask for it, and to treat us like any other able bodied individuals. We may, perhaps, look different, act differently and communicate differently, but most of us can think, learn, and interact with the world like ordinary citizens. We need people to realize everyone has a voice of their own, and so do we!” (Hoang, 2012)

To hear more stories and voices of Canadians who speak with AAC, please visit: http://kilometresforcommunication.com/stories/

Here’s a picture of the last race’s costume:

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Photo credit: Jeff Cheah. Click on the photo to see a non-distorted full version. 

Curious about what this race’s costume will look like?

  • Have Facebook? Go on the Kilometres for Communication Facebook page and share the status posted on May 5, 2012 or share the link to this blog on your profile.
  • Have Twitter? Tweet this post.
  • Feel like sending some emails? Please do…with the link to this post. 🙂

Route of the race and timing will be posted later tomorrow on the KM4C Facebook page for anyone eager to witness in person.

I hope that more awareness will be raised, some of you will get a laugh, and that there will be more agents of inclusion making the world a better place. Thanks for reading, and please pass this on!

-Skye

Works Cited

ACCPC. (2009). Communication Access for People Who Have Communication Disabilities. In B. Collier. Queen’s Printer for Ontario.

Hoang, T. N. (2012, May 2). (S. Wattie, Interviewer)

Augmentative and Alternative Communication Community Partnerships-Canada: http://www.accpc.ca/

Kilometres Fall Update

I know. It’s been too long since I last posted a blog. I even had several failed attempts logging into my WordPress account because I couldn’t remember my password. I assure you, I haven’t been living a couch-potato lifestyle. It’s actually been quite the contrary. Despite the blank blog, there’s been interesting stuff going on for Kilometres for Communication this fall.

In September, I got this nagging idea that wouldn’t leave my head. It was the same type of idea that wouldn’t leave my head three years ago when I decided to cycle across Canada for AAC. What was this idea? Some of you may have seen pictures of me dressed up in a pink tutu, pink women’s shirt, bunny years, and a wand in hand. A couple of you even saw me running down Queen Street in Toronto dressed in this magnificent, flamboyant costume. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, this appears quite obscure. You may think that I have changed. I promise you that I have not.

So why the bunny costume? It’s all in the name of fundraising.

Thanks to Jeff Cheah for the marathon photos.

My idea was to run my first marathon in support of Kilometres for Communication. Two close friends, Jason LaPorta and Harrison Willis, joined me as well. We registered for the race a mere three weeks before the date of the race. This was quite last minute to decide to start training for a 42.2km race. Nonetheless, we trained together and set up a donation page for our run. In a little over a week, we raised over a $1000. Thank you to everyone who supported the cause and helped to empower Canadians who communicate in alternative ways.

Still loving life after 30km. Trust me, a lot more tired than I look.

A week ago Saturday Kerr and I participated in Rick Hansen’s 25th Anniversary Man in Motion Relay when it came through Toronto. It’s quite phenomenal how well Rick’s campaign has managed the logistics of coordinating a medal bearer every 250m. Kerr and I each wore the medal for a stretch along Eglinton Avenue as the relay travelled through Leaside, making its way towards downtown.

Kerr's turn to bear the medal

Me passing the medal onto James, a war veteran

Kerr and I gave our relay co-ordinator, Kyle, a heart-attack scare. We nearly missed our spot in the relay. I literally had to sprint down an Eglinton sidewalk with Kerr holding tight in his Wike jogging trailer, just to get to our medal exchange spot on time. It truly was a unique experience. There was a traffic jam on Eglinton. As Kerr and I ran in front of a police cruiser, we passed traffic in the left lane to top-40 pop songs played from the campaign RV in front of us. It was a surreal experience having hundreds of drivers–many stuck and perhaps frustrated–staring at us as we jogged past.

And the relay goes on. Kerr and I just after we finished our portion

On the 25th of November, we’ll be presenting our journey across Canada to the Mabin School in Toronto. We’ll be sharing stories that we heard from Canadians who speak in alternative ways, and we’ll be facilitating interactive activities which will allow the students to enhance their understanding of the barriers people who are differently abled face. There are also tentative plans to present to students at a high school near Barrie, Ontario.

During my bike trip, I always tried to incorporate a discussion about AAC,  equality, human rights, or inclusion into the events that occurred on a particular day; often using the challenges of the journey as metaphors. For me, one of the primary purposes of this blog is to create understanding. So here’s one thing that’s been going through my mind—actually covered in one of my courses. It was really just a side note in one of my psychology lectures, but it stood out to me.

When asked to fill out a self-esteem scale and a scale of happiness, people who have quadriplegia reported the same levels of positive self-esteem characteristics and happiness as anyone else (same idea as people who win the lottery are only happier than the average population for the first 3 weeks after the win). I think many people assume that people faced with physical challenges live a lower quality of life (which is often incorrect). Pity is not the right attitude. Empathy and open-mindedness to opportunity is. It is precisely this attitude which enables people to feel positive about their lives. I do wonder whether people who are capable of more than they’re given opportunities for, would express lower values on such scales. An example would be someone who has the intellectual ability and the physical control to spell sentences with their eyes, but has not been given the support or means to do so. How do you find these people whose potential has not been discovered? How would you define them to give the survey validity? If you could find them, their hidden potential would no longer be hidden. It’s relatively easy to survey people who have quadriplegia compared to surveying such an undefined group. Hypothetically, even if there were a way to find these people, test them, and then conclude that ‘people whose potential is not fostered due to an unrealized need for AAC, are more likely to report lower levels of happiness and self-esteem’, what needs to be done is enable, not pity. Apologies, that last sentence was a mouthful. Still with me?

I hope the marathon pictures have amused some of you. I’m glad to have finally posted a blog for the first time in months. There will be more to come from Kilometres for Communication in the near future. I already have another nagging idea.

-Skye

Day 77 – Chapel Arm to Cape Spear, NL – 114km

I didn’t bother to set a wake up alarm on my phone for this morning. Adrenaline and excitement is better than any annoying chime. I was up at 6:30am—Newfoundland time. I put my headphones on and listened to my pump-up playlist as I cooked breakfast. Breakfast was  8 eggs and some fruit. I was on the road a little after 8am.

I decided that I didn’t want to meet with the support vehicle. I just wanted to get to the finish—no stopping to refill water bottles or any of that. I filled up four water bottles of water and put 3 energy bars in my jacket’s pouches to get me through the 110-115km ride.

There was a fine mist. At the top of the hills this turned into a drizzle. It was chilly. The wind was against me. It wasn’t a pleasant day for cycling. Strangely, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It seems proper that a trip of this magnitude, with the bad weather I’ve had, should have one final challenge to overcome on the last ride. The weather wasn’t wretched as it was a couple days ago between Deer Lake and Grand Falls-Windsor (I had constant heavy rain that day). It was manageable, but unpleasant enough to make the final haul epic, and the fog added a scenic eerie touch.

The lingering mist at Cape Spear

With only 30km to go, just as I was entering the St. John’s area, I got a flat tire. I felt a heat of frustration at first. Then I laughed. I would get a flat tire in the final stretch. It was written. I set myself a challenge three years ago, and I was going to get it; every last morsel of it.

There’s a 12km stretch of road out to Cape Spear from the St. John’s suburb of Mount Pearl. This is Highway 11. Leaving Mount Pearl, Highway 11/Black Head Road has hairpin switchbacks up a steep hill. I was still thinking what goes up, must come down. Start at sea level, finish at sea level. I kept going up and down these really long steep hills. At one point, I looked at my odometer, and figured that I must be on the last hill before the finish. I wasn’t. On this last 12km stretch, I was pushing myself like I haven’t pushed myself before on this trip. I didn’t have to worry about being stiff or sore the next day. I didn’t have to worry about making it through the next 100km. This was it. I felt my heart hammering and my legs burning like never before on this journey. I was earning every kilometre of that last 12km stretch. When I came near, I could hear a foghorn every couple minutes. As I pedaled fiercely in anguish, the finish glaring in my mind, although not yet visible in the fog (and there were some hills in between), I had a smile that wouldn’t leave my face and tears escaping to drip down my cheeks.  Cape Spear, the most easterly point of North America, is actually about 50m above sea level. My mom, Linda, Martin, and Robert were parked in a parking lot near the sea about a half kilometre before Cape Spear. I pulled in, said a tired, distracted ‘hi’, and told them I wanted to go all the way. I pedaled up the final hill to Cape Spear.

Arriving!

Crashing on the grass, overwhelmed. About to call my bro and dad

I dismounted from my creaking bike on a patch of moss and grass next to the parking lot. I lay my bike down. It deserved a rest after two and a half months of strain. I collapsed next to it. I was overwhelmed. I felt confused as to what I should be doing first. My mom, Linda, Martin, and Robert pulled into the Cape Spear parking lot, got out, and we had a proper greeting and celebration. My mom came and sat on the grass beside me. We had a long hug. We both cried and laughed.

The sign says it

It was quite magical. Where I had stopped, there was a fog that limited visibility to about a half kilometre. Waves crashed ominously against the rugged rocks below us. The water looked cold and fierce. I wouldn’t be surprised if these waters had a fierce undertow. Whales were emerging from the water. Occasionally they would flip their tails elegantly out of the water. I’ll never forget that moment.

The furthest east point of North America

I remember my fear back in May, driving out west, seeing the poor roads without shoulders in Northern Ontario. I remember stopping at a picnic area in Saskatchewan off the Trans Canada. I stepped outside the vehicle and felt a fierce wind from the east. I was rattled. I hadn’t thought too much about getting headwinds in the prairies; not until that moment. I was scared of being clipped by a trailer. I was scared of not making my distances in the prairies, and getting so far behind that I would have to hop in the support vehicle to make events; and not truly cycling across the country. But we humans are adaptable creatures. When you’re feeling safe in a car, and you feel the wind from trucks whizzing by you in the opposite direction on the two lane highway, it’s easy to think: “a cyclist would be doomed on this road”. Once I was cycling on these roads, I realized that the shoulders were wider than they looked from driving, the truck drivers were usually quite considerate, and when they did pass close the gust could be harnessed to help me accelerate.

Kilometres for Communication is about promoting values of accessibility and inclusion. It’s about advocating for new policies that don’t act as barriers to people who are differently abled. It’s about hearing and sharing stories to create change. It’s about increasing services, supports and technology to help people communicate. It’s about making sure that everyone is heard. It’s about teaching people so that all of this can happen.

As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, this journey is not over. I may be on the eastern coast of Newfoundland, but the journey towards empowering the voices of Canadians who have little or no speech is still back in the Prairies fighting headwinds. We want to expand our network further and create an inter-provincial coalition to advocate with strength. We want to develop our website further and keep it as a resource of stories and educational info on AAC. We want to continue teaching people.

We’ve received tremendous support on this trip. Some of what was behind those tears to the finish was the generosity and devotion that many have shown us. Everyone who arranged events, offered us your hospitality, shared your stories, taught myself and many others, wrote us comments of encouragement, donated, cycled, fundraised, sported a Km4C shirt, and contributed to this campaign in your own unique way, you all have touched me. Generosity, creativity, courage and charisma exist in all of you. If such a large number of people, across such a large country, can possess these traits, I have faith that the quality of life for Canadians who are differently abled will improve.

We brought the banner from the Cool Communicators at Camp Winfield (near Kelowna, BC). Each hand print on the banner has the child or youth's name written inside it and the communication device they use

I want to say a special thanks to Cyclepath in Toronto, our first official sponsor. I’ve worked there for several years and consider them my second family. Without hesitation, the Wilsons and the rest of the crew at the bike shop were behind me.

A huge thanks to Norco Performance Bikes. That bike persevered through so much abuse. Norco helped to ease the financial strain on our family by covering spare parts, the spare bike, and auction items and goodies for events.

ISAAC Canada has been a terrific partner. The support and networking that our partner has offered us is remarkable. We look forward to continuing on the road towards our mutual goals.

I won’t be blogging daily anymore, however I will continue to blog. There are lots of photos and video that will be posted when we have arrived back home and have access to high speed internet.

I have learned so much from this trip and I hope many have learned from what I’ve shared. This experience was profound, has changed my life, cannot be done justice by any sentence, and will likely remain the most memorable 77 days of my life. This was the toughest challenge I’ve ever had.

-Skye

August 3/11

P.S. If anyone has questions which I have not addressed, please ask them by commenting, and I’ll be happy to reply or address them in a future post!

Day 76 – Terra Nova National Park to Chapel Arm, NL – 158km

Three years ago, I had a thought. I tried to imagine myself cycling across Canada. “There’s no way,” I told myself. I went out for road rides and couldn’t get the idea out of my head…If I can do 180km today, there’s no reason why I can’t do 100km on the day after today… “There’s still no way,” I told myself.

Through the years that I was in middle school and a junior in high school, my brother had an ongoing battle to get the education he deserved. One of his teachers took his communication device away because she thought the voice was annoying.

Sometimes new vocabulary would be programmed onto Kerr’s Dynavox. He would go to school with a note for his teachers which explained the new programming and asked them to work with Kerr on using it. We later found out that the school considered these notes harassment. Whenever our family pushed for an improvement in Kerr’s education, Kerr seemed to suffer reprisals—forced to eat his lunch in a different room than other students, less time with his attendant who had worked with Kerr for years, and coldness from some of his teachers. Sometimes Kerr came home with a full lunch box. They weren’t even feeding him his lunch sometimes.

Kerr withdrew. He was bored and depressed. Kerr’s assistant would come home in tears some days after witnessing what was happening. I was younger at the time. I knew my brother had every right to communicate and that people who I did not know were taking this right away from him by underestimating and refusing. I was filled with anger. I think this was the only time in my life where I’ve had pent-up hate for particular people. I hadn’t even met these people, but I wondered what had happened to them to make them so naïve and wretched. Biking and running have always been my main outlets for stress and anger (not that I’m angry if you see me running).

I’ve learned a lot since then. I still have many of the same thoughts. However, I now know that it’s not as simple as certain people being cruel and narrow-minded; although there was a lot of cruelty and narrow-mindedness. The politics of a segregating system and disabling attitudes that people learn from others around them are the frameworks that discrimination is constructed from.

Sometimes I like to talk about my problems. I think it’s the healthy thing to do. The unfairness that my brother was experiencing became a battle with the Toronto District School Board that lasted many years. This battle consumed our family life. Ironically, although we were talking about the situation all the time, I never talked about my anger or frustrations. I was sick of the situation. I wanted to tune it out. We were all stressed out and tense, Kerr was depressed, and arguments were arising between us. My mom didn’t need any more stress at this point—she was on a strict macrobiotic diet to eliminate cancerous growths. I hated these teachers, the principal and everyone who made my brother’s twice a day, one hour trek to and from Scarborough for school meaningless; not just meaningless–torturous. I hated these people for ruining our family life.

Biking and running were my emotional releases.

At the end of high school I was thinking much more positively. Kerr had left school. Our battle with the school board had transformed into a legal fight. Kerr was no longer in jeopardy of being discriminated against and not having his needs met on a daily basis. Our family still had our stresses, but we were doing better. Kerr was doing better too. He was volunteering at the Royal Ontario Museum and doing research at the Toronto Archives, giving presentations on human rights (at least some positive things came out of this experience), and learning lots more with his assistants than he learned in the toxic condescending environment at his former school.

This “cycling across Canada” thought wouldn’t leave my head. In grade 12, I made it final that I was taking a year off before university. As you can tell from reading the last couple paragraphs, this experience my brother endured for too long triggers spite in me that most people who know me can’t believe I possess. I’m very passionate in my belief that every person has a right to be included and to have a voice. In Kerr’s experience, he was stripped of his voice, stripped of his humanity, and treated as an object. I knew that my brother wasn’t the only Canadian alternative communicator with such experiences.

I wasn’t sure how, but I was sure of who, why, what, and when. I was going to cycle across Canada to raise awareness about people who speak with augmentative and alternative communication and to try to get values of inclusion and the presumption of ability in mainstream media. I wanted to improve the lives of all Canadians who have disabilities, my focus being on those who are in situations similar to my brother’s. I hadn’t thought much about fundraising at this point, nor had I thought much about advocating for new policy. I knew that I needed my brother’s help. I knew that my mom would be a powerful force in the campaign. I knew my dad would be behind us, and willing to make any sacrifice to make it happen. I talked to my friends, family, and network. Slowly, Kilometres for Communication took shape.

That was three years ago. Tomorrow I finish my pedal across Canada—all the rain, wind, hills, mountains, blisters, sores, thirst, flat tires, fatigue behind me. By no means is this journey to empower voices or prevent what happened to Kerr from happening to others over. However, it does feel that years of emotion, planning, months of giving everything I have, the stories from all the people we’ve met, are manifesting. I haven’t finished yet, but I know that when I do, I will know a new feeling.

Today wasn’t a tough physical challenge. The wind wasn’t a huge factor. There were hills, but what goes up must come down. The sun was out. Nonetheless, today was one of the toughest days mentally of the trip. I was feeling some pain from some rashes. Moreover, I felt so close to finishing, yet I knew that I wasn’t finishing today; that I’d have to wake up again tomorrow and do it one more time. I went through each day of the trip. I tried to go through each road I took, the weather, and the people I met. I had shudders thinking about my days in the prairies and the days of rain in Northern Ontario. That, in combination with thinking of the memories from the last decade, the last three years of planning, and the training 3 hours a day, 6 days a week, got me through today.

At one point today, I was quite high up on a section of the Trans Canada going from the mainland along a channel of land to the Avalon Peninsula. The sky was blue. I could see thick cloud in the valley below me, which I was about to descend into. It really was an epic view, being above the dense clouds and seeing the ocean outlined by misty mountains fading into blue on my right and left. Someone down in that valley probably is wondering where the beautiful day went. They might even think it’s going to rain. I descended into the valley. I lost my view of the ocean. The clouds weren’t dark or threatening from below. They were even more spectacular. The light reflected off the afternoon fog in a magical way that I have never seen before. Life has a way of hiding beauty from those who are afraid to venture.

I cycled by an exit to a place called Mosquito Cove. My first thought was: “Why build a road to such a wretched place?”. On second thought, maybe some people have discovered a gem which they want to keep polished. Perhaps Mosquito Cove is simply a deterring name to keep the tourist traffic away. There’s always another perspective to be taken.

-Skye

August 2/11

Day 75 – Grand Falls-Windsor to Terra Nova National Park, NL – 175km

Last night, the local campgrounds were all full from the summer tourist traffic. We ended up in the free Walmart RV Park. It’s quite funny. Here you have a large empty Walmart parking lot. There’s ample space to park so that you are secluded from any other vehicle and you don’t have to contend with customer traffic. Despite this, all the other RV drivers choose to park their vehicles side by side, a couple metres apart, literally creating an RV park in a Walmart parking lot. We didn’t join the cramped crowd. We parked in a more secluded area of the lot.

Anyhow, in the morning I lugged my bike stand out from our RV’s storage compartment. I put my bike in the stand and tilted it upside down. A rush of water came out from all the bearings, creating a big wet spot on the dry ground. I probably shed a couple pounds from the bike right there. I started working away at fixing up my bike, in the Walmart parking lot a bit before 9am. Customers were staring at me as they drove by. I’m sure it’s a strange sight to see someone fixing a bike in a department store parking lot. I definitely wasn’t fixing my bike in my natural shop habitat.

The weather was fantastic today. Perhaps Mother Nature felt guilty about yesterday. The sun was shining, and the wind was in my favour for 60% of the day. I need all the help I can get to assist me through these last couple days. My mindset earlier in the trip was about pacing, calmness, and enjoying seeing Canada slowly. That was my coping mechanism. Without that way of thinking, I wouldn’t have made it as far as I have. Now, my mindset is about survival and making time.

I got a really bad rash from my ride yesterday. A combination of constant wetness, sand and dirt from the road, and the rubbing from my pedal strokes led to breaking skin on both sides of my inner thighs. I also aggravated some older riding sores on my butt. I lathered my sores/rashes in calendula, then taped them with kinisio tape, and then slabbed on a thick layer of Vaseline. That helped a bit, but not enough. I don’t know what I would’ve done if it was raining again today. Thankfully the good weather made it possible for me to make it to where I did.

Here are some things I’ve noticed in Newfoundland.

One: there are a ton of brand new Chevrolet Impalas and Dodge Caravans, often sparkling clean. They dominate the road. Actually local pick-up trucks dominate the road. After the pick-ups, these sparkling clean rental vehicles are the most common on Trans Canada Newfoundland pavement. That probably gives you a bit of perspective on the scale of Newfoundland’s summer tourism.

Two: Every 200km or so, there’s a “Watch for moose” sign that is covered in ‘Navy’ stickers. I find it a little odd. Did someone on a road trip across Newfoundland make it their goal to put stickers on moose warning signs every couple hours?

Three: Newfoundland has to be the ATV capital of Canada. There are log bridges everywhere across the Trans Canada’s ditches from the shoulder into the forest. I question whether some of these bridges could hold my weight. Some of these bridges are built with care, precision and pride. One bridge over a ditch which led to an overgrown seemingly unused trail was built using brand new 4×4’s. That’s a lot of money spent to get over a ditch.

Four: Newfoundland RV drivers like to park close to each other in Walmart parking lots. I haven’t seen anything like this in any of the Walmart parking lots we’ve parked at in other parts of the country.

Five: In other provinces I have to dodge car debris and sometimes glass on the road’s shoulder. In Newfoundland, I have to swerve around moose pooh. Not kidding.

Six: I think people had fun naming places in this province: Dildo, Come by Chance, Random Place, Jumper’s Brook, Heart’s Desire, Old Pelican, South Dildo…weird, but entertaining.

Most of today wasn’t spectacular scenery like the western part of the province. It was much flatter, and there were lots of rocks and  trees. Near the end of today, when I entered Terra Nova National Park, the rugged hills emerged again, and so did glimpses of the ocean.

I’ve planned out my distances so that each day I’ll have to pedal a slightly shorter distance. Yesterday was 185km, today 175km, tomorrow 140km, and at last, on Wednesday, I should only have to pedal 120km.

It doesn’t seem real that I am so close to the end. On one hand, I’m excited and proud. On the other hand, I feel like there’s so much more that needs to be done to improve the lives of Canadians who communicate with AAC and all Canadians who are differently abled. I have a towering mental to-do list that gives me ambition, yet can also be a burden. There have been many profound moments, many people have learned from this campaign, and there have been many fantastic events thanks to many fantastic people. Kilometres for  Communication has been a catalyst for a lot. Despite these positives, I am hesitant to call what we’ve done a complete success. There’s so much that needs to be done. We’ve given it our all, but that never seems to feel satisfactory when we hear stories first hand of systemic discrimination, segregation, and other barriers that need not exist. We’ve been giving it our all, but it always seems like we could be doing more.

This trip may be over in 2 days, but this journey towards accessibility, inclusion, equality, empowered voices will continue.

-Skye

August 1/11