I lived in true minimalist style while cycling across Canada. In order to acheive distances of 150 km a day or more, I resolved to carry the minimal clothing, food, and luxuxry items. I did not usually even have a book and never a journal. Towards the end of my trip as I hammered out the final thousand kilometers through Cape Breton Island and Newfoundland I began collecting pieces of srap paper and using a pen I had found on the side of the highway I wrote short poems and scribbles at night while alone in my tent. After having found some of these poems recently (winter 2009) while looking through my map collection I decided that i would share them. Reading them over, I felt that they give a valuable insight into what my emotions were like and generally what my life had become during that 5 month period.

Another Night in The Tent
After a long day's ride I rest in my tent. In a new land in a new forest.
The smell is of sweat and mildew, so familiar.
Outside the wind blows hard.
I wonder if it blows me sun or rain for tomorrow.
I wonder where I will sleep tomorrow.
Another night in my tent in a new land in a new forest.
The same familiar smells. The same wind blowing outside.

I Ride and I Ride
I ride until the sun goes down, until my knees bleed, until my elbows throb and my back is broken.
Tonight I sleep.
But tomorrow I ride on and I ride and I ride.

The Highway Never Sleeps
The highway never sleeps, there is always one more truck.
One more buzz in the distance, then a roar and then a whisper.
I leave it in the night and return to it in the morning.
Sometimes it turns or climbs but it never stops.
Sometimes there is construction with excavators and bulldozers but they are not removing it, they are building it bigger, wider, longer and louder.
No, the highway never sleeps.


Safe in my Home
The bears lurk outside.
They are active at night and looking for food.
I can not hear them but I know they are there.
The wait for me to fall asleep and then lurk neerer until they can hear me breath.
But they will not touch me because I am protected in my yellow tent.
Its my home and shelter.
Wait! What was that.... A yelp from the road. Not a bear.... a dog? Out here far from everything?
Perhaps a coyote.
It doesn't matter anyway for I am safe at home in my yellow tent.

 Fall Night in Newfoundland
Tonight is Sept27th. It is already very cold at 8:25pm. The sun has set more than one hour ago and a sliver of a moon hangs in the southern sky. I am high on a hill camped in a powerline cut. There is not a breath of wind on this frigid night. If the highway was not below, surely time would freeze in total silence. The moon might shatter and the stars could vanish. A single red maple leaf would fall to the ground and its impact would be felt for miles. The forest would meditate in emptyness until the sun reappeared and flashed a flood of colour and life across the land.