Headwinds, Tailwinds, Lessons Learned

June 8 – 12, 2011

Today I made my first U-turn in the RV.  It’s one of many new skills I’ve acquired as a result of Kilometres for Communication.  Most of these new skills have to do with the RV and are not very glamorous:  how to attach the sewage hose and do a “dump”, how to prepare meals and do dishes with zero counter space, how to take a shower with almost no water, how to load up the kitchen sink with our oranges, potatoes, onions, etc., so that when traveling on winding roads or through rough construction sites  our “stuff” doesn’t go slipping, sliding and winding through the RV.

Some of these lessons have been learned through trial and error.  So, for instance, there’s my first experience in refilling our 18-litre bottles of spring water.  I know Skye mentioned what he calls our “annoying” pile of firewood, which I bought at Banff National Park with the hope of an opportunity to build a campfire.  (Sometimes my optimism also can be annoying.)   Since this opportunity has not yet manifested, the firewood remains stacked for easy access right in front of our side door which is the main entrance to the RV.  Now back to the 18-litre water bottles.  I had refilled two such bottles, and I was sure I had securely attached the caps. It’s just those caps weren’t attached quite securely enough to endure my tripping over the firewood as I was lifting the large, heavy bottles into the RV!

So, today when Skye and I refilled those very same bottles at a store in Moose Jaw, and the clerk informed us they had run out of caps for those bottles, I felt a certain level of rising anxiety.  I’m happy to report there have been no more floods inside the RV.  Lesson learned.

On the other hand, there have been many floods in the land we’ve been traversing.  Last night after Skye  finished his 242 kilometre cycle to Chaplin, Saskatchewan, we went for a ride in our trusty RV looking for a campground.  At one point we went down a hill to a valley with a lake on either side of the little highway we were on, but the lakes were encroaching on the highway, and in both lakes were hydro poles and the tops of fences.  This seems to be a typical part of the landscape here.

I was reminded of the story we heard on our drive through Manitoba before Skye started cycling.  We were told about two people in an RV who were driving on a road that at one point disappeared into water.  The RV abruptly descended into a sink hole, and the passengers, we were told, had to roll down their windows and swim out of their vehicle.  This story seemed far-fetched when we first heard it, but through the prairies, evidence of flooding is ubiquitous, the land is saturated like a wet sponge—not the stable foundation you want for your roads.  Skye and I held our collective breath when heading towards the lake-encroached dip in the highway.  There was no place to turn around.  The RV-gobbling sink hole now seems all-too-real.  I don’t want to drive on a piece of road that looks like that ever again!

It is now a number of days after I originally began writing this blog entry.  I’m sitting in the RV by the side of the road in Moosomin, Saskatchewan, waiting for Skye to appear on this windy, rainy afternoon.  By the time he arrives, he will have pedaled 48 kilometres since we last met.  The promised tailwinds that are supposed to assist Skye on his journey have been elusive.  Tomorrow, they are supposed to blow tomorrow, just as yesterday, they were supposed to blow today.  It’s a mental challenge, waiting for these helpful tailwinds, yet getting back on the bike to pedal in the face of more headwinds.

In so many ways, this is the story and the feel of Kerr’s life—the hope and promise of helpful tailwinds; the disappointment when instead he is met with headwinds:  the funding that doesn’t come through, the education that doesn’t happen, the waiting lists that never seem to get shorter, the well-trained assistants that need to move on in their lives.  How does Kerr—and how do we with him—get back on the bike and keep pedaling?

As Skye and I drove through Manitoba in May, we listened to a special call-in show on the local radio station as communities gathered to build sandbag dikes around their homes and properties in preparation for the predicted flooding.  They were working together—in community—against  adversity.

So far everywhere we’ve been there are funding issues which have an impact on the availability of AAC (augmentative and alternative communication) services, supports and technology which enable and empower voice.  Waiting lists for AAC assessments and services are an inevitability.  Yet, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who would say it is an acceptable situation to have to wait for weeks, months, or years to communicate.  When we explain Kilometres for Communication to people who don’t know about AAC, they understand the importance of communication right away. Some of them have become passionate and committed volunteers .  Others have donated generously. This is what gets us back on the bike and pedaling against the headwinds.  We are inspired by the spirit of community, collaboration and generosity, and the synergy that results.  We are also inspired by the many emails we are getting from people who are all too familiar with the headwinds, people who cannot get the AAC assistance they need, or those for whom AAC has opened up not just their communication, but their lives.

That’s why it is important for us to meet with individuals, and with large groups, to have press coverage in small town newspapers, as well as in cities and national media.  There are many upcoming events, and many people to thank who are making them happen.  Last week we were talking to a number of friendly voices from the Toronto Police Service and the City of Toronto who are working together to help us make a wheel, walk, run and cycling event happen on the morning of July 3rd, even though it is the very busy Gay Pride weekend.   (We will let you know as soon as details are confirmed.)

While AAC is a provincial issue, the public education has to be done locally and nationally, and we can build on each other’s experience.  For us the networking is inspirational.  The people who speak with AAC, families, friends, dedicated and supportive professionals keep us all pedaling.  Together, in community, we need to continue to educate and advocate, and perhaps—to convert some of those headwinds into tailwinds.

Gail

Day 19 – Youngstown, AB to Kindersley, SK – 151km

We pulled over last night in an empty gravel lot next to
a small local gas station. We were right off the highway. It wasn’t the nicest
of places to camp, but it was free, and the view over the nearby fields was
significantly better than the view department store parking lots have to
offer—not that there were any department store parking lots in the hamlet of
Youngstown, Alberta.

There’s something that I find quite amusing about
Youngstown. The signs proclaim it to be the “Sportsmen’s Paradise”. This is
hilarious for two reasons. One: I can’t see a lake on Google Maps anywhere near
the town. Nonetheless the town sign has a picture of a fish struggling as it is
being hauled in. Two: there are “no poaching” signs every 10km before and after
the town. I saw deer, elk, moose, foxes, goats—some sort of wild life—everyday
in the mountains. I have not seen any deer, or any signs for cars to watch for
deer. I have seen signs to watch for cattle. Perhaps they hunt prairie
dogs…maybe gophers. I suppose there are lots of ducks around with all the
flooded fields. I have never lived there, and probably never will, so I
shouldn’t be so critical.

I woke up to the sound of rain pounding on the roof of
our RV. I heard trucks whooshing by on the nearby highway. I could even hear
the wind. “Oh boy,” I thought to myself. It was one of those days where you’d
want to stay in bed, curled up in the covers. Part of me also really wanted to
get going and just get over—or perhaps there was part of me that knew I’d be
fighting a headwind and was doubtful that I’d finish my day if I didn’t get
going. I geared up; rain pants, shoe covers, rain jacket, goggles, hat under
the helmet, water proof winter gloves.

Most of the day was gusty headwinds and rain. I did a lot
of visualizing of more pleasant moments. I tried not to think about the
present, but about the future, or random stuff like possible inventions. The
loneliness of long-distance cycling, running, paddling, swimming, anything,
requires more mental conditioning and perseverance than physical. Struggling to
maintain an average speed around 22km/hr, I finally came over a hill, and saw
my final destination, Kindersley, from about 40km away. At this point, it was
about 7:45pm, despite getting on the road early. The rain had stopped. The sky
was relaxed and hazy in the dusk. The wind had settled down to a gentle breeze.
I picked my average speed up to about 30km/hr, and pedaled fiercely to get to
Kindersley before dark. I made it by 8:30pm.

After my long day. I don't look as tired as I am

I was drained of all my energy. I ate a meal, went to
sleep, and deprived my readers of a blog post.

It’s amazing how one day can have a domino effect on the
entire schedule. As a result of going to see the dinosaur museum in Drumheller
(which astounded me), I arrived in Youngstown very late, and needed to sleep
later the next day. I woke up and started cycling much sooner than my body
wanted to. I finished late again in Kindersley, but I would have to wake up at
a reasonable time the next day for media interviews.

Sometimes the greatest feelings of accomplishment are sparked
from triumph over struggle, frustration, and hopelessness. When I cycle, it is
up to me whether or not I accomplish my set goal—whether I keep pedaling, or I
quit. I can’t imagine not having that control. There are people in our country
who fight mental battles of loneliness daily and know the deepest meaning of
frustration because they don’t have a way to communicate. Often, many of these
people don’t have control over this; no matter how consistently they
demonstrate their abilities, no matter how much strain they sacrifice, whether
or not they get what they need to communicate is reliant on the people around
them and the policies of their government.

If you meet someone who doesn’t have an obvious form
communication, often the first thing to do is to find out how they signal yes
and no. It may be obvious, such as a nod. It may be very subtle. It will depend
on what muscles in their body they can control with the most consistency and
ease. “Show me your yes…maybe several time so I’m sure to see it,” is often
what I say to people when I’m not familiar with their method of communication
or and/or if they don’t have a communication device. I watch their whole body.
Some people may even tap their foot (because that’s what they can control
best), look to the right or left, blink, or swing their arm. If you think you
figured out their yes, confirm it with them: “do you lift your leg to say
‘yes’?”. If they lift their leg to that, you’ve figured it out. Once you’ve
established a yes, you can ask yes/no questions. Once you can ask yes/no
questions you can be amazed.

Often, people have a communication device, or a
letter/picture board. Don’t be afraid to ask questions about how it works. Most
people who speak with AAC won’t consider it rude; they’d be delighted to show
you how it works.

You can be an enabler. Don’t be afraid to ask questions.
Giving someone the control of being able to communicate is something that
should be expected in our society, but it is also a kind gesture which requires
thoughtfulness, and ultimately allows people to be control.

-Skye

A very long, very good day

May 24, 2011, Penticton, B.C.

Skye is tired, and with good reason—he cycled 222 kilometres today through the mountains.  So I’m writing, and he’s getting some much needed shut-eye in preparation for tomorrow’s ride and an event with 18 young Cool Communicators in the Okanagan.  That’s why Skye pushed himself today; he wanted to be sure he’d be in the Easter Seals Camp Winfield tomorrow ready-to-start by 12:30 p.m. It wouldn’t have been possible if Skye hadn’t done a two-day-in-one journey today.

We’re excited because Kerr and Burns are going to be participating in the Okanagan event by Skype from Toronto.  (They’ll be joining us live on this journey in Ontario, since Kerr felt that three months on the road was too much for him.)

Skye asked me to pass on the message that he’ll be writing his blog tomorrow.

This morning we were up at 7 a.m., and Skye ate his legendary enormous breakfast and let it digest for a little while.  We took care of what are becoming our RV routines, and off Skye went pedaling into the mountains. He and I were playing leapfrog all day.  He’d take off first, and I’d do some work on the computer (note to everyone waiting for a reply to your email—I will respond; with events being planned across the country, I’m having to triage my email!) Then I’d take off, eventually pass him, and pull over at an approximate kilometre mark.  Skye would arrive to refuel and refill his water bottles, maybe do a few stretches, and return to the road.

When I arrived at our destination tonight, it was 8 p.m., and a slightly stiff, but pleased Skye was waving me into one of a number of RV camps across from a lake.  He had covered the distance, mastered the climbs, and fought some strong head winds.

Last night we were parked by snow-topped mountains, and the heat was definitely needed in our RV. Tonight is a balmy spring night in Penticton, and we’re camped across from a picturesque lake surrounded by mountains.  I keep wanting to break into strains of “Oh Canada!” in response to one extraordinary view after another.

Gail

Writing from the road

Tuesday, May 10/11

I am writing this somewhere between White River, Ontario, and Marathon, Ontario, en route to Thunder Bay on our journey out west. Some lakes are still partly frozen. I slept in a Walmart parking lot for the first time in my life. Don’t take that too literally—I should say I slept in an RV parked in a Walmart parking lot.

We’ve driven through the La Cloche and Algoma mountain/hill ranges (whatever you want to call them). As we travel west I’m
scoping out the road I’ll be cycling on 2 months from now when I’m coming back in the opposite direction. There’s really only one road you can take from Thunder Bay to Manitoulin Island, so the Trans Canada is what I’m stuck with. It’s not terrible, but it could be better, a lot better. Sometimes there are wide paved shoulders, but rarely. It’s mostly narrow paved shoulders and a wide coarse gravel shoulder. My main concern is going to be the trucks. There are a ton of them. Also, just from driving on the same road, I can see that a lot of these truckers like to go fast—120km/hr on a twisty single-lane highway fast. So overall, I’m not really bonding with this road that I’ll be spending about10 days on. I’m going to have to use my mirror lots, and go onto the loose gravel when I see a truck approaching. I don’t really want to test the distance some of these highway cowboys would be willing (or not willing) to give me.

To everyone who has shown their support for the campaign so far: thank you! I continue to be surprised by the generosity of people reaching out to help our campaign in whatever way they can. To the people who have offered support along the route, to those joining us, our donors, event organizers, the team at Cyclepath Yonge and Eglinton, the crews at Norco Bikes and Wike (the company which made Kerr’s bike trailer), Allison Pearce and her Lawrence Avenue Starbucks store for the teas, coffee, and mugs, the Mabin School, David Cook for his nutrition and cycling advice, and everyone who has given us advice and encouraged us—THANK YOU!