March 25, 2004

Thursdays are windy and fresh. And because this Thursday smelt so inviting, and I had a new sleeping bag under my arm and a bottle of wine in my backpack, I decided to bike through the community trails that crisscross the city. The snow melted into puddles on the trails, and for more than an hour I swore and sweated as I pedalled through inches of mud, balancing the bloodly sleeping bag in my hand.

My bike left deep crevices in the mud, and if it wasn’t for the sleeping bag under my arm I would have smacked my hand across my forehead repeatedly — biking through mud is dumb. I considered ditching the bag in the bushes to make my life easier, but I needed it.

My visionary Indian friend and I are going on a bike trip as soon as exams are over and we grow restless. We don’t know where we’re going, but we made lists with items and parts we need, and since we figured we’ll be sleeping outside along the way I bought myself a sleeping bag.

Originally we wanted to travel for 10 days straight, see places and people, and then return to Kitchener. We eventually scaled the trip down to just three days, but if we’re not organized we’ll have to scale it back further to a ride around the block, the two of us riding our bikes down the hill like mad kids with hockey cards between the spokes of our wheels and screams in our lungs.

“Whooo! Whooo! Look at me go,” we’ll scream, and the cards will rattle faster and faster until it’s time to go back up the hill.

But I figure a sleeping bag will come in handy even for that.