I found the trail just at the park outside the apartment, and I turned left. I passed some auspicious words wrapping around a corner:
“As the moon circles the earth the oceans responds with the rhythm of the tide.”
I hugged the False Creek bike lane in the golden sunlight. It cast long rays across the cityscape.
I was drawn out towards the mountains, and up by the Science Museum. The Fullerscape greeted me. Above the orange circus tents the mountain was covered in white snow dust. On the mountain top there was a giant windmill welcoming me to Vancouver.
I headed out along the Seaside trail as I hugged the coast on the two-wheel racer. The mountains shimmered behind me as white snowcaps off the cityscape.
On my path, I found some sage words on Vancouver:
"Vancouver is famous for its rain. It can rain here for weeks on end, but it does not usually bother me. However, several years ago I found myself coming close to being thoroughly disgusted by the rain.
I walked home from work one evening in the pouring rain, mumbling under my breath the whole way that this weather was only suited to ducks. The building I lived in was large and square, and it surrounded a brick courtyard. I came around the corner into the courtyard and there, to my amazement was a beautiful Peking duck in a huge puddle in the middle of the courtyard, quacking and splashing with obvious delight. I had to smile, glad that such joy could be found in the gray wetness of such a day.
I have often thought that we do not have nearly enough words for rain, especially as this was once a rainforest. There is booming rain, whispery rain, rain that lulls you to sleep, and rain on the leaves which sings you awake; there is soft rain, hard rain, sideways rain, rain that makes you instantly wet, and rain that leaves soft kisses on your cheek, like the wings of a butterfly.
Rain brings us all the shades of gray, but it also brings us the wonderful greenery that surrounds us and blesses us all."These words come via Regan D'Andrade, and were carved on a rock in the path.
I biked my way out to the Pacific Spirit Park, a lovely national treasure just outside the city.
I hiked along the cold stony beach, watching the waves lap against the stony shore.
At a perilous river crossing, a young man told me of two eagles in the trees. I thanked him for this heads-up, and continued along the empty beach. A little further up, I heard a crack, and saw a giant eagle fly off with branches in his talons as he set off for his nest. He flew off in majestic glory.
I found my driftwood throne to sit on, and listen to the waves lap their rhythm against the stony shore. Ever the Prince of Tides.
Vancouver is an incredible abode of peace.