Day 35: We woke up early enough to see both Kip and Karen off to work, managing to snap some photos before they left. I read a couple of Sartre's short stories from a book on their bookshelf, while Geoff went to check out another bike store. Sartre reaches very deep, into the dark of the mind, and I always find him interesting, although I have read very little of him. We were packed up soon after Geoff returned, and Rosie took photos of us with our gear loaded up in the back yard, on Kip's request. She also wanted to go for a bike ride, so she decided to tag along with us until the outskirts of town. It was really nice riding with her, and it brought me back to the first day when my friends Ben and Justus did the same thing. It's always a bit hairy doing the transition from a city to a highway, so we parted in sort of a rough section, I hope she made it back without too much trouble.

The weather was a mix of sunny and rainy. There was a thunderstorm forecasted for the afternoon, and we were hoping that we would miss it. We went under some pretty dark clouds, and so pulled over for a snack during the heavy part of the rain. We sat on the big tarp, and folded the other half of it over our heads. There was also a substantial headwind, which we weren't quite used to. But it was flat again, at least. Down the road, we pulled over for another break beside the highway. Suddenly a man in coveralls pulled over, went into his trunk, and pulled out two cans of Coke for us. He said that it looked as though we were working hard, and he figured we deserved them. That was a really nice surprise. On this day we also got a record of two train honks. On previous days cargo trains have tooted their horns and waved at us as they go by, and today we got double the fun.

Having had a relatively late start, and also a tail-wind, we made it a meager 102km, to find a place just outside of Maymont to spend the night. I don't think it's been mentioned yet, but on this trip I've been committing a few poems, from my poetry book, to memory while riding. My handle-bar bag has a clear plastic pocket on top, which I stuff a new poem into every couple of days, and slowly churn it out. It's quite pleasant. On this day I finished Keats' "Bright Star".

The 36th day began when we woke up. And it was pleasantly warm, enough so that we could put on our shorts right away. Usually I put on a pair of pants to pack up. We didn't have enough water for oatmeal, so we rode to the town of Ruddell. It was tiny, with no general store, but at the end of one dirt road a man came up to us and led us to the town's drinking water supply. We got to talking, and he spoke to us for a while about economics and politics, from "the perspective of a guy living in Ruddell, Saskatchewan". He theorized that we will soon see an increase in the price of gold because of the food shortage. His argument was that food is really the only thing of value to people, and gold is the rawest currency. Hence if food is in demand, gold stocks will go up. He also told us about why some of the local farmers voted for the Conservatives. Apparently, around the time of Diefenbaker, the Progressive Conservatives were farther to the left then the modern day NDP. And after a few good experiences with Diefenbaker and the following Minister of Agriculture, the farmers got into a habit of voting for the Conservatives, even though they have always been politically liberal. But the town of Ruddell itself, he said, was almost exclusively NDP.

Saskatchewan continued to have excellent roads with huge shoulders. We had a gorgous view of the Saskatchewan river valley, which was painted in earthy pastels. It reminded me, probably inaccurately, of the description of the Salinas Valley in Northern California from Steinbeck's East of Eden.

Eventually we hit Battleford where we picked up some groceries and had a delicious sub at Subway. I devoured a litre of chocolate milk by myself. In the afternoon, for the very first time, I listened to music while riding. The shoulder was about 14 feet wide, with a rumble strip on the left, and little traffic, so it was safe, don't worry mom. I listened to Bach's 32 Goldberg Variations, Glenn Gould's second recording of them. It is a favorite.

The completion of another pleasant day of riding brought us to Maidstone, where we set up in the local campground, Halfway Park, which is maintained by volunteers. We met a friendly red cat at the entrance who followed us to our site and spent the night with him. We named him Reginald, after our fictitious absentee man-servant, who never seems to clean our pot. We made some stew, and slept with the fly half-on, half-off the tent, so that we would be able to see the night sky.

Day 37: Unfortunately, even though the night had been clear, the nearby lamps spoiled the heavenward view. Only the bright stars were visible. A 50 kilometre ride brought us to our third border: Alberta. They had a real sign. Perhaps it seems like we have been picking up our pace. No, not really, maybe a bit, we are getting stronger, it's just that Ontario was so wide. The very first thing I noticed crossing the border was the overwhelming number of pick-up trucks. There had been a large number of them in farm-land Saskatchewan and Manitoba, but suddenly, every vehicle was a big pickup truck.

On this day, for the very first time on the trip, I was too hot. It was nice. The sweat was pouring down, and the water consumption went up by factors. With the sunny hot weather came the head wind. The ride into Vermilion was very hilly too, which made for a challenging ride. But the scenery was pretty: rolling farmlands of yellow and green, and cattle grazing behind old wooden fences. Once in Vermilion we picked up some groceries. We also passed by the Anglican church which was pastored by the couch-surfing host that fell through; he was out of town. Instead we headed to the local Provincial Park. It was without doubt the least spectacular government park we have been to, being full of RVs and manicured grass. And we didn't even take showers, just sponge baths, because the shower's were coin operated.

On the 38th day we again woke up to beautiful weather. We had enough water, and we had cereal, but we decided to "pull a Doug". Doug, the attentive reader will recall, hosted us in Sault Ste. Marie. He told us that he liked to ride for 25-30km before having breakfast. We rode just about 50km before stopping, happily avoiding some of the hotter weather to come in the day. There was no wind and we were averaging about 25-26km/h.

One neat thing we say was a family of foxes crossing the rail-road track. The cubs were so little that they had trouble making it over the rail. It was pretty cute. We stopped in Vegreville to have some delicious, delicious Dairy Queen milk shakes, as well as the staple peanut-butter and jam.

It wasn't too far from Vegreville to Mundare, our next couch-surfing arrangement. We phoned from the gas station, and Randy Webb soon came to pick us up. He has a very friendly face, to match his personality, with deep set eyes, and a grin that stretches from ear to ear. We drove a few miles over gravel roads to his farm, where we met his wife Marg. They farm, along with their eldest son, 2000 acres, half of which is in Paynton, SK. They also used to keep upwards of 200 bison, but during our visit they only had 25. They had some visitors from Australia visiting them. They had met them earlier this year while doing a tour of Western Australia. I may never meet Australians like these people again. Their names were Dingo and Linda, and they were quite the characters, especially Dingo. They were farmers back in Australia, and had just sold their 4,500 acres and bought something a little bit smaller. Dingo spoke with a thick accent through a smiling mouth that barely moved. It makes me laugh just thinking about some of the expressions he used, half of which can't be repeated here. On every occasion he could get, he would comment on how thin Geoff and I were, something to the effect of "You skinny little bastards".

We all jumped in the truck and went for a tour of the farm. First we went into the bison field. They never go in without a truck because the bison are dangerous. The grazing field is surrounded by a seven-foot fence because a bull can easily hop a five-foot fence if the fancy strikes him. We then drove out into the middle of one of their quarters where they were growing a crop of canola. They, all being farmers, were jabbering away about the sprays they used, etc., while Geoff and I were in the back looking for Canola. Eventually Marg realized we didn't know what canola looked like, so the truck was stopped, and we got out and bent over to find the tiny plants with three leaves. This year, their crops are a couple of weeks behind because of the weather. They alternate every year between growing canola and wheat, or occasionally barley. Apparently letting fields lie fallow is a thing of the past, and switching crops every year is more productive. It can take up to 40 years to get a good inch of top soil, which can be blown away if nothing is growing.

Linda had baked up, literally, an entire counter-full of treats that day, including two pies, a crumble, rolls, scones, and bread. For dinner Randy BBQ'd up some bison steaks from their farm. Without doubt, the best steaks I have ever eaten. They were about an inch thick, very tender, and half the size of a plate. Bison tastes like beef, but with a gamey flavor. The night was spent talking about farming, and getting excited about the possibility of some rain that night. The farmers are really suffering this year, both because of the late frosts and the lack of rain. It didn't end up raining much, but there was a fair bit of lightning.

On the 39th day we woke up to a delicious breakfast of left-over dessert, their usual tradition. After we had packed up, Dingo and Randy drove us to the highway, to again avoid all of the gravel. The weather was warm but overcast.

In my early years growing up in Ontario we had family friends living in Sarnia, the Cocchio family. Kathy, the mother, is a best friend of my mother. My siblings and I have fond memories of going over to their house as children, and playing with the four Cocchio kids, Tessa, Marc, James, and Dianna. They were more like cousins then anything else. They eventually moved to Edmonton, and Geoff and I were heading to their house to spend some time. Kathy had invited me before I even had a chance to ask.

Entering Edmonton was tricky. Merging lanes are a very scary proposition for cyclists: high speed cars coming from all sides. We made it accross the bridge into town and phoned to get some directions from James. They don't actually live in Edmonton, but in the adjacent town of St. Albert, which is quickly expanding into Edmonton through urban-sprawl. We arrived to find Tessa (who we had actually run into on the way through St. Albert) James, and his fiancé, Ashley. Soon after Kathy arrived home, and the barbecue was fired up for another tasty meal. It was nice to catch up with their family. Geoff and I were very interested to hear Jame's account of biking from Edmonton to Winnipeg a few years back. He is in another class of athleticism. He decided the day before he went that he was going to bike to Toronto. So he filled up a big back-packing pack, jumped on his road bike the next day, and took off. Quite a contrast to our careful planning. His longest day was about 340km, dwarfing our century ride.

After some distracted brainstorming, we made plans to go on a little fishing trip. Geoff had never been fishing before, so it was a perfect plan. We jumped in Marc's car and drove out of town to a little river where there are supposed to be trout, pike, and some walleye. We had fun, but no luck. Marc is big into photography, so he spent his time snapping shots of us and a nearby beaver. We were just heading back when James told us to cast in a certain place. We did, and soon after, I saw a fish chasing my lure. In a few more casts a got a bite and gave it a yank. But it wasn't hard enough, the fish got away, and all I have is a familiar story. Back at home, the four of us chatted into the night. We heard all about Marc's time spent working on the oil-rigs, which was super-fascinating. Late to bed.