A Change of Plans

Throughout this trip I have been reminded over and over: We can make decisions and move forward, but we can never separate ourselves from the great mysteries, the great uncertainties of life. So many times we have found ourselves surprised by something new and wonderful—or horrible—and all these things have added up into a grand journey beyond any of our expectations.

Last Thursday night, July 16, Dan and I were experiencing Québec City for the first time. (Beautiful, by the way. Extraordinary European-style buildings and little winding cobblestone streets.) Dan went to see Xavier Rudd. I went exploring. We met several hours later, he dazed in excitement and I in sleepiness. He told me joyously of the past few hours while leading me to meet his newfound friends. I nodded, bleary-eyed and quietly grinning. And then, as a side note before the new wash of adventure swept over him, he bore the news that changed everything—every solid plan I had for the future. (Since when were my plans solid?)

On Friday we planned together what each of us would do. We shared a delicious poutine and an ethereal Plácido Domingo concert.

On Saturday we divided our goods. I left for him the tent and the bike tools. He passed to me the seldom-used cooking stove and old shoes. We had our last words, grins, hugs. And I stepped onto the train to Montréal.

About midnight I had the supreme luck of just barely catching the Greyhound Bus to New York City. I slid my bicycle underneath and dozed beside a kindly Caribbean-Canadian lady. We stopped at the border for a very long time—I think my sleepiness and overall jubilance might have seemed drug-induced to the officials, and I had the pleasure of conversing with the curious gentlemen as they turned all my baggage inside out. The bus ride through New York mountains and forest was gorgeous. I wondered in awe at the world—how things work together.

At about 9 o'clock Sunday morning I arrived in New York just in time to flag down the bus to Philadelphia, about to pull away. We arrived. I unloaded and loaded up the bicycle. I pedaled as quickly as I could to New Jersey to say hello to Carly—and good-bye.

On Monday I cycled to my Mum's house in Allentown.

And here I am, in Pennsylvania, with only a week to sort out my paperwork, shuffle my possessions, say goodbyes, before I once again board the Greyhound Bus on next Wednesday night, to arrive in Vicksburg, Mississippi on Friday morning, July 31, to start in Americorps.

Yes. I made Americorps NCCC.

So here I am, floating bewilderedly from one adventure to the next, full of exuberance at the past month and for this great unknown future. And as I take this unexpected journey South, Dan will be continuing on, probably heading north into the wilderness of Québec. We part not in sadness, but in gleeful remembrance of this full month, the growth, and what the future might hold when our paths cross again.

And now that I see this blog from your perspective as a fellow reader, I'd say he'd better keep writing! As for me, I also have the joy over the next few days to share a few stories (and pictures!).

Venture on, my dear ones.