Performance in the 21st Century – A Scientific Report: Part 1!!!!

 
“The café con leche soul of the Colonel flies out the window” (or something like that) F. Garcia Lorca, stage direction from Buster Keaton’s Stroll, 1921.
 
As we charge recklessly yet optimistically forward into the 21st century, how do we make sense of our role as performing artists after the all the slapstick and slapdash fun of the 20th century? Lets face it, of all the centuries, the 20th was the most fun century by far. The running leap into all the craziness started in 1879 with Thomas A. Edison and his invention of the first practical, long-lasting light bulb which meant that no-one had to go to bed at a reasonable hour anymore. Instead, people stayed up to all hours drinking and painting crazy paintings, writing absurd plays and incomprehensible poetry and just basically thinking up any crazy thing they wanted.  Lobsters were placed on telephones, appliances were exhibited in art galleries, a mustache was painted on the Mona Lisa, artists locked themselves up in cages, nudes were no longer nude.  Also, Albert Einstein’s Theory of Relativity in 1905 had revealed the interdependence of space and time and dissolved the notion of spatial versus temporal arts. Poems began to sound more like music and music sounded more like skyscrapers. And of course, somebody invented the movies, which confused everyone by showing events happening in the wrong order. Then, as if things weren’t crazy enough, halfway through the century suddenly teenagers became the most important and influential people on the planet, wreaking havoc on decent society with amplified electric guitar sounds and dances that mimicked bugs. 
“After three thousand years of explosion, by means of fragmentary and mechanical technologies, the world is imploding,” Marshall McLuhan pointed out in 1964.¹ Time and space had been abolished by the extension of our central nervous system via electric technology, resulting in a melting down of specialization and a need for inter-disciplinary thinking. “Today serious artists everywhere are seeking the precise points where the nerve endings of each art stretch out to touch those of the other arts. Thus we have stereophonic compositions, graphic poems, kinetic sculpture,” R. Murray Schaeffer said in 1967 ². 
One thing that I continue to find baffling about “serious music”, in Vancouver anyway, is the lack of attention to visual concerns in performance situations. As long as I can remember, my own experiences of music have been inseparable from and uniquely informed by my related visual experiences. In the 90’s when I first started attending “serious music” shows with any frequency, there seemed to be (in contrast to my usual experiences of punk rock shows) almost a disdain for visual elements in musical performance, as if they somehow cheapened a purer experience of just “listening to the music alone”. There was a prevailing negative idea of “superficiality” placed on visual concerns that makes me think of puritanical religeous organizations that disdain any kind of ornamentation as the devil’s work.  
In Richard Kostelanetz‘s book Conversing with Cage, John Cage is asked for his definition of theatre; musical performance being after all, a form of theatre. His only real criteria is that theatre should engage what he calls the two “public senses”, that is, seeing and hearing, and he adds that he would like his definition to be as broad as possible to include the idea of everyday life as theatre ³. These two central ideas were both strongly present in my early (positive) experiences of music which first entered my life via the mystical object of the transistor radio, (a beautiful thing to behold) and later my older brother’s rock’n’roll record album collection. 
In Understanding Media, Marshall McLuhan writes, “The power of radio to involve young people in depth is manifested by its use during homework by youngsters and many other people who carry transistor sets in order to provide a private world for themselves amidst crowds.” ⁴ The transistor radio was first introduced to me around 1969 by Terry Smith, the tomboy next door, immediately presenting an exit from my parents’ world of standardized behavior (and classical music) into a glitzy technicolor theatrical world of where anything was possible.  The music that my parents’ generation saw as self-indulgent nonsense perpetrated by  “a bunch of phonies” who wore makeup and strutted around in ridiculous pants had for me the power of a fairy tale, and even a reassurance that “real life”, as my parents called it, was something that could be avoided. 
“Beginning in the late 1950’s, the transistor radio gave young people the means to orchestrate their lives, to carry the beat anywhere they wished, no matter what their parents said” ⁵. Besides being private, they were beautiful and stylish, available in pop-art colors and cool space-age design, like the brand-new music that came out of them.  As a young person, I took it for granted that my experience of words, sounds and colors as inseparable from one another was universal. I could not understand why my parents only liked music in dreary shades of brown and taupe. From a very early age, classical music had already been seriously compromised for me by the fact that I was I growing up in a house which was stuffed with nonsensical furniture and painted all the wrong colours. My dad routinely blasted Beethoven records at top volume and I have never found it easy to separate this music from the claustrophobic listening environment of my parents’ house. The power of this association was demonstrated for me when I saw Jaques Demy’s Lola ⁶ at the Cinémathèque some years ago. In an opening scene of this gorgeous black and white (I love black and white) film, a wayward son returns to his hometown in France, cruising the the Atlantic seaside in a long white Cadillac to a soundtrack of Beethoven’s 7th Symphony. I couldn’t believe all of a sudden how good Beethoven sounded in the proper visual context.  
“About 40% of synesthetes ‘see with their ears’,” ⁷ researcher Richard Cytowic and neuroscientist David Eagleman report in Wednesday is Indigo Blue: Discovering the Brain of Synesthesia.  But what comes first here, the chicken or the egg so to speak? Did I hear Beethoven in the shades my parents (“nature lovers” who thought everything should be “natural-looking”) chose to decorate their house or was it because the word Beethoven was (and still is) seen by me as brown (with certain unavoidable black and yellow stripes…)? Is the B in Beethoven brown because the word “brown” begins with the letter B? Then why isn’t it blue? I don’t know if I can blame my parents for my childish aversion to so-called classical music or not and as far as I know science has not yet provided a comprehensive answer. And why did the very different music coming out of the transistor radio trigger a whole new palette of colors that were far more interesting and exciting to me than my parents’ music? Is my automatic association of sounds and colors responsible for my inability to “just listen” to music without being distracted by “irrelevant” objects in my visual field? One woman, a synesthetic music teacher interviewed in Cytowic/ Eagleman’s book, speaks of her inability to cope with real life situations such as navigating a busy intersection: “Every one of my senses is being battered. I find it very difficult to keep control because I’m not sure whether what I’m seeing is what I’m hearing or what I’m hearing is what I’m seeing” ⁸.  This is an extreme example, but it perhaps illustrates the interdependence and inseparability of our two “star” senses.  
Famous composers such as Liszt, Rimsky-Korsakov, Gyorgy Ligety, Amy Beach, Sibelius, Olivier Messaien, and Stevie Wonder all agree to hear music in color and use color as an important compositional tool, much as I  always choose words according to their color when writing a poem. Relatedly, John Cage also talks about how visual concerns came to inform his musical compositions. “I put into the chart things that would produce not only sounds but that would produce actions that were interesting to see.” ⁹. He also says that he finds recorded music most interesting when there is something in the environment to look at. “If you are in a room and a record is playing and the window is open and there’s a breeze and a curtain is blowing, that’s sufficient, it seems to me, to produce a theatrical experience” ¹⁰.
Growing up in an oddball environment like Vancouver (beautiful setting/ dog’s breakfast of a few historic buildings and interesting skyscrapers mixed with junky, suburban sprawl, hideous “Vancouver Specials” and other cheap looking junk houses and buildings) probably started me off to a nervous relationship to my visual field. I think as a kid I took it for granted that I had to get used to a certain amount of ugliness in my environment, that “it didn’t matter” if the view from the car window when driving down Marine Drive with my parents made me feel sick to my stomach. Now this seems very sad to me. I think that every day we should make the most of our living and working spaces, to create and maintain a setting worthy of the idea of “everyday life as theatre”, including our sonic environment and making informed choices about what sounds to include in our ambient soundscape. Often performance spaces seem poorly conceived to me. If the acoustics aren’t frankly unbearable (sharp noises that bounce around the walls and chip pieces from my skull) there seems to be little attention to design and use of space, creating an overall experience that is both uncomfortable and jarring and I often find myself leaving with a headache. For me this is a representation of the muddled values of our time in which the wrong shortcuts have been taken, resulting in the poverty and pollution which constitute the intolerable global situation we have created for ourselves.
“I think art’s work is done.” John Cage said in the 1980’s ¹¹. “As far as I’m concerned twentieth century art has done a very, very good job. What job? To open people’s eyes, to open people’s ears.” He goes on to say that from now on we can do art for fun and frivolous reasons while turning our attention to the most important thing which is social change. Perhaps more adherence to the idea of “everyday life as a theatrical experience” rather than the “art-versus-real-life” nonsense that was perpetrated on me by society during my harrowing suburban childhood can be a force for this change. 
“I think that people always hoped (the avant-garde) would be finished, but that the trouble is that it will never be finished. The reason that it won’t be finished is because the avant-garde is synonymous with invention, discovery and change; and these are essential qualities so that they will always be here to irritate people.” ¹² 
 
 
 
 
Footnotes.
 
¹    Understanding Media p. 3
²   Ear Cleaning (no page number)
³   Conversing with Cage p. 107
⁴   Understanding Media p. 298
⁵   Something in the Air, p. 65
⁶   (France, 1961)
⁷   Wednesday is Indigo Blue p. 87
⁸   Wednesday is Indigo Blue p. 102
⁹   Conversing with Cage p. 117
¹⁰  Conversing with Cage p. 113
¹¹  Conversing with Cage p. 287
¹²  Conversing with Cage p. 254
 
 
 
Works cited/ plundered/ plagiarized.
 
     Cytowic, Richard E.,MD and Eagleman, David M., Ph.D. Wednesday is Indigo Blue. The MIT Press, Cambridge Mass. 2009
     Demy, Jaques. Lola, Film, France 1961
     Ficher, Marc Something in the Air. Random House, New York, NY 2007
     Fuller, Buckminster, Ed. K. Michael Hays and Dana Miller Starting With the                  Universe Whitney Museum of American Art, NY 2008
     Kellein, Thomas Fluxus. Thames and Hudson Ltd. London 1995
     Kirby, Michael Happenings.E.P. Dutton and Co., Inc. USA 1966
     Kostelanetz, Richard Conversing with Cage. Routledge, New York, NY 2003
     McLuhan, MarshallUnderstanding Media. McGraw Hill Book Company, New York 1964
     Salzman, Eric and Desi, Thomas The New Music Theatre: Seeing the Voice, Hearing the Body. Oxford University Press, Oxford 2008
     Schafer, R. Murray. Ear Cleaning: Notes for an Experimental Music Course
BMI Canada Ltd. Don Mills, Ontario 1967
     Schafer, R. Murray. The Book of Noise. Commercial Press, Peterborough, On. 1998
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Quit telling your kids to be doctors, lawyers, or engineers! It’s going to ruin our economy.

My mother and father were the typical cautious parents: they encouraged me to have a backup plan in case music didn’t work out, the backup plan being a career that would undoubtably pay well in an entry-level position. And as everyone knows, music doesn’t pay well. Unfortunately, as my guitar-playing-professional- musician ex-boyfriend once told me, the problem with backup plans is that they become a distraction to the plan you actually wanted to set out for. The backup plan inevitably becomes the plan because it’s safer, more secure, and the earning potential looks more and more attractive  the more time you’ve spent living hand to mouth. Everyone, including our parents, will agree that we need entrepreneurs and innovators to provide jobs and to keep the human race moving forward, but these paths involve great risk. So we let someone else’s kid take the risk: they’re not our problem.

It’s easy for us to encourage young minds to do what’s safe, because we want them to be happy, self-sufficient, and independent. Doctors, lawyers, and engineers are almost always guaranteed a high paying salary, no matter the state of the economy. It’s a very safe career investment. This thinking makes sense: our modern-day success is attributed to socialism, which in turn allowed any person of any background  virtually unlimited access to a real education. Industrialism shaped the curriculum, with the idea that if you wanted a job, you might not want to spend so much time learning drums. Skills that relied on left-brain thinking, that is, a skill that could be broken down into a set of rules and repetition, were the ones that rewarded society and the individuals who pocessed them. And yet, as Daniel H. Pink, author of “A Whole New Mind” argues, left-brain jobs  are doing three things that are contributing to the rise in demand of the right-brain skills: 1) Left-brain jobs have created an abundance of functional items that no longer stand out from each other ie that $12 toilet brush will clean toilets just as well as that $7 toilet brush 2)Their jobs are being outsourced to Asia where workers can do the same skilled job for $15,000 per year and 3) Computers can do it all better, faster, and cheaper. At this rate, when will we keep needing human doctors, lawyers, or engineers?

Just who were the risk-takers who created a business to employ them in the first place (and sometimes making millions in the process)? It was people who had allowed their imagination to be creative. People who came up with an idea that was marketable and profitable. People who had the audacity to think outside the box, to invent something cool, like the iPhone, that everyone would love and suddenly realize they needed. Steve Jobs employed engineers of varying types to whom he delegated technical design to. But without Steve Jobs to create an idea, and build upon it with like-minded “crazy people,” we would never have been blessed with this revolution in technology.

It all seems so normal now. Today we take computers, cellphones, and DVDs for granted. Still, by the time our children hit the first grade, they will begin the process of being molded into a very narrow idea of what we think they should be in order to benefit society. As the grades get larger, less emphasis is put into drawing, something that is so instinctual to young children, and more on subjects that will aid them – and us – in becoming useful tools of society, working for someone else, but at least getting paid well. They might even build a new bridge for us in the process.

In North America, this is what is valued above all else. If it’s obvious to us just how beneficial something is to a lot of people, then we are more likely to fund it, give it grants, sponsor it, fundraise for it. A new bridge is so obviously helpful, as we witness people using it everyday in order to get from A to B. When we see out dentist, we pay him to fix our teeth so that they will keep working for years to come.

It’s when the benefits are subtle or still unknown that we are quicker to dismiss them. Money is valuable, and risky investments are always a gamble. We want proof and a good track record before we fund projects, experiments, preservation of species. It’s human nature to be careful with where we put our investments so we don’t get hurt. Why should we protect the Ecuadorean tree frog? If it vanished from the face of the earth tomorrow, we would tsk-tsk, shake our heads, mutter what a shame, and then carry on our merry little lives as if nothing happened. No impact would be felt. Except it would indeed be a great shame, because what we do know is that this tree frog yields a pain-killer 200 times more powerful than morphine. The Golden Poison Dart frog yields one that is 600 times as powerful. Both are non-addictive without side effects. Some crazy person had to go into the jungle and start playing around with these frogs just to figure that part out. Today we only now are starting to respect the music therapy field as a valid medical profession. Many patients who have lost their ability to speak have not lost their ability to sing. Singing is used as a tool to rehabilitate patients into speaking again. But the music therapist, in order to help, had to have had experience with improvisation, noodling around and encouragement to just be plain creative, honing her skills over a matter of years. And yet, why do we, as a culture, downplay this crucial learning period as frivolous, just like the tree frog?

We’ve been hit by a massive recession, which means less money to go around, to spend on frivolous items. Survival comes first in times like these. If we spend money on something, we need it to function first and foremost. No frills please. And we reward function with money. Lots of it. And then we teach our children to want money, because having lots of it will make them happy somehow (in fact money only brings happiness to about $70,000 per year, after which happiness levels taper off). Interestingly though, even cavemen, who probably had the hardest, toughest lives to live, painted, and extraordinarily well. A people who had to struggle for food and shelter every day still used a creative escape. We also know that they invested a lot of time sharpening their skills, because their paintings are not amateurish. It would seem that having food in their bellies and a roof over their heads was not quite enough to keep them satisfied.

Sir Ken Robinson has made an interesting observation about schools that is universal all over the world: there is a hierarchy in subjects. First you have mathematics and languages at the top, followed by humanities, then you have the arts at the bottom. And even within these hierarchies, you have hierarchies: within the arts, music and art are taught as more important than dance and drama. This is a shame, and here’s why. We learn English in school, because our thoughts are only as good as our ability to write them down. We don’t need to be literate in order to survive, but as any literate person will tell you, it certainly makes life easier for everyone when we are all able to communicate our needs to a reader who may not be physically in our presence. For example, Clare is in a very important meeting, so she can’t duck out and call her husband to pick up their daughter’s dance costume from the store for the recital that night. So Clare commissions her husband by writing a quick text: “Pick up Lila costume” without interrupting the meeting. But, in this example, Clare only had a very basic understanding of literacy. Her husband doesn’t know from her message what costume to get or where, perhaps because she lacks the skills to spell the key words. Had she been more literate, a better text might’ve read like this: “Please pick up Lila’s costume from Rosey’s Dance Shop on Broadway and 5th. It’s a child’s mauve tutu, size medium. Get the one with the white trim, not the black trim.” A much better, more specific text message, conveying her exact thoughts (although perhaps she made the mistake of assuming that her husband knew what “mauve” or a “tutu” was). Obviously, learning to write the language you speak is important. So we’re taught it vigorously in school.

Specific communication put onto paper is vital for accurate results and we can see this when we’re all literate in our language. We all know this, but we are constantly commissioning designers to design our websites, without being able to effectively draw out what we want, or if we do draw it out, for most of us, it’s generally in the form of primitive stickman-like drawings. We want to live in a house with a tower, but we can’t draw the tower the way we envision it in our minds, simply because we lack the skill to do so. Instead, we end up relying on the architect to intuitively draw up something  that he thinks we might be happy enough with. Imagine if we were all taught to draw from a young age, with the same encouragement as we were taught math. Imagine if we could all draw as well as we could write. We wouldn’t all be the next Michelangelo, but at least we could show that we wanted that tower to look like it had been designed by Gaudi or Frank Gehry, not Frank Lloyd Wright. Unfortunately, the current hierarchy of subjects in schools  reinforces this visual illiteracy generation after generation.

It’s easy to dismiss art. It won’t save us in a drought. Engineers and their math skills will be designing a dam to conserve water. But look around you. Everything made by humans was made out of imagination, creativity, and design. The typeface of this article; the beautiful sleek computer you’re reading this on; your clothes. These things are a part of your life because someone else dared to imagine them and bring them into being 2. It’s no longer enough to have function alone. People just won’t buy a product if it doesn’t look pretty. If it doesn’t convey an aesthetic emotion beyond its conceived purpose, it won’t stand out. The iPhone performs its assigned task wonderfully, but it is also sleek and beautiful to look at. Why would I want to buy a normal condo for $200,000 when across the street is the same condo for the same price, but it has a freaking cool tower? The Colosseum isn’t famous because it’s a feat of engineering that’s stood the test of time. It’s famous because it’s a beautiful feat of engineering that’s stood the test of time.

What is life without purpose, without meaning, without emphasis? When a culture isn’t able to put emphasis on fine arts, is it comparable to the dark ages, when everyday is a struggle? Perhaps Afghanistan could be described as a modern-day dark age. A country where music and arts were almost completely banned by the Taliban, one of the most violent and unstable countries on earth. Could it be argued that a culture without a means to express itself creatively becomes so disturbed emotionally that it turns upon itself? Like a severely depressed teenager who mutilates herself as a coping mechanism? An old friend of mine used to work at Long & McQuade on Terminal Drive in Vancouver, a large department-like music store that sells almost every instrument found in western culture. He said that  after the 2008 recession hit, the store had its best year in sales in many years. And while there is no proof that the recession and an increase in music sales are directly related, it does make you wonder: why that particular year? It sort of makes sense. Where do we go when times get tough and life feels out of control? We go to the movies to watch a comedy, to help us forget our worries. We listen to love songs to remind ourselves that someone else out there understands our pain. We paint our emotions, because we can only verbally vent to our friends for so long. We blog, because there’s an online community following our story and they are cheering for us! If each of us had been taught one creative skill to at least an intermediate level, we probably would’ve saved a lot of money on therapy and antidepressants.

This is all despite that year after year, cuts to school funding see arts programs limited or thrown out a little more every year.  With little creative outlets left in the system, our kids are still sitting down to memorize charts and graphs, and to pass tests on how many historical dates they can remember, without ever making them set a foot outside the city to see the sights of these historical dates with their own eyes. We tell them that they need X number of hours work experience in order to graduate so that they have “real world” experience, yet no one thinks to give self-defense lessons to girls on how to protect themselves against an attacker. We tell our kids to go out and be successful, but make acting class optional, a class which is one of the best atmospheres for shy kids to role-play in a safe, non-judgemental environment where they learn how to fake it ’til they make it.

I’m not saying that it’s wrong to teach math, physics, chemistry, biology, history – these are all so invaluable. I do think it’s shortsighted of our culture, our parents, our teachers, to put more emphasis on these subjects while their students are still at an age where they are vulnerable and very easily influenced. Yes, we need dentists to fix out teeth, but someone has to design them so that we won’t look like complete freaks. Yes, we need engineers to build a building that won’t collapse on us, but we need architects to design a building that will make us want to go inside. Yes, we need very serious articles written in magazines informing us of the brutality behind African diamonds, but we need the movie industry to come up with “Blood Diamonds” to attach us emotionally to the characters, then devastate us the terrifying truth (movies are incredibly effective at pissing a lot of people off at the same time in the same direction).

 Now, in the mist of a recession, we are being forced to have a good look at ourselves as a civilization and ask “What is important?” We’ve hit rock bottom and yet we’re in the best situation we could possibly be in. It’s a chance to start fresh, a new beginning, to build a future that we’ve always wanted for ourselves, our family, our community, our country. Now is the time to reassess what is truly worthwhile. We’ve been forced to wipe the slate clean again. History will not judge us on our ability to pass standardized tests and live the American dream (or equivalent thereof). It will judge us on our ability to create. It will judge us on how we chose to transform ourselves after a devastating blow. This could be the second coming of the renaissance. We do this by encouraging our children to remain creative. We get them into drama, dance, art, music, karate, photography, fashion and support them in these fields with as much insistence as math, chemistry and physics. And lastly, we encourage them to be “crazy.”

Sources:

 
1“The book of Animal ignorance” By John Mitchinson and John Lloyd p 78-79.

2“A Whole New Mind – Why Right-Briners Will Rule the World”  by Daniel H. Pink p 70

May 4, 2004

I’m tired of writing in the past tense. Here’s the exact wording from my diary.

I screwed up my bike in the process of disassembling it for the bus (of course), so now my front brakes are screwed, in that they don’t break. I spent $11 on a cab to get to a caravan park in Rockhampton as it was nighttime and my bike was in pieces. When I got there, it was $17 just to pitch up a tent! Obviously the receptionist saw that I was distressed at this news, so she gave me my own caravan with my own bed, running water and a kitchen for the same price. She didn’t stop there though. She and another woman who wored there lent me tolls to fix up my bike (though it didn’t do any good since I now realize I suck at fixing bikes) and went out of their way to make me feel comfortable.

This morning at I spent an hour pedaling my bike around the town looking for a bike mechanic, which is hard to achieve with any kind of success at 6:30am.  I finally managed to find an auto mechanic open at that time in the morning and he fixed my brakes in 5 seconds. I only wished I had remembered to bring my wallet to give him something for his help.

I met two raod workers on petrole, patching up potholes between Rockhampton and Gladstone. We kept passsing each other for hours. We had lunch at a BP station about 30km south of Rockhampton. One of the guys was 43 and had never been outside of Queensland! We continued to pass each other for about 40km. I was just 15km outside of Mr Larcom, which was where I had intended on staying the night, when the two workers offered me a lift to Gladstone. I offered to buy them a Stacy to message his mom to phone me, but I knew he would get home until late at night. I managed to pedal 5km to the nearest caravan park where the owner gave me a lift to Gladstone. Now I am staying at a Backpackers at a whooping $22 a night. Bt, I did manage to get a hold of Stacy, who got a hold of his parents, who got a hold of me. So I get to meet them tomorrow. Stacy gave me a hug over the phone and I knew he was giving me one before he even said so. I miss him.

Today has been such a great day. I am so aware of just how kind people can be. I’ve gotten 3 offers of a lift today, discouts, help with my broken bike several times. The only bad thing that happened to me today was having a far too close encounter with a semi-truck. He did not give a dam. that was scary. I had only about a foot between me and him. WTF?

Sunburn May 1, 2004

I had made it to Mirani, finally! This day felt like the kilometers were ambling by. I had received the worst sunburn of my life on my left shoulder, as it was the only part of my body exposed to the scorching sun for lord knows how many hours. Ouch. There could not be any relief from the pain except time. Also, I vowed never expose my skin to the sun ever again!

The good news was that I had given myself one more day of riding ahead, and then I would rest for a couple of days. I had decided not to cycle from Sarina to Rockhampton. I realized I didn’t like my own company enough to spend a week with myself in a virtual desert.

And that’s the thing about isolation. It’s one thing to go without the company of other human beings. It’s quite another to take on such a seemingly monumental task without someone cheering you on in real time. On top of that, I would’ve given anything for the company of a squirrel, or a bird.  At times, I felt so completely deprived of any kind of company that it was too much to bear.

Aside from the blazing hot sun, the headwind, the hills and the complete isolation, the ride didn’t go too badly, in comparison to the other days. I had ridden in some of the most beautiful countryside, with green pastures and perfect flowing grass. Horses were frolicking in the hills.

God damn. Why did it have to be so exhausting?

Bike tour April 20, 2004

I spent two horrible nights camping alone at Airlie Beach and dealing with my thoughts by myself. I had just said goodbye to Stacy (if only for a month) and felt very alone and faced with what seemed like the overwhelming task of trying to make it past Gladstone. I shed a shit load of tears.

I set out after I had finished with my doctor’s appointment. I cycled to Calen, a small, in fact tiny, town approximately 54km north of Mackay. Everyone I met was so incredibly nice. I met an old woman who ran a small supermarket.  Everything was sold in that tiny little store, as it was the town’s only supermarket. It made for a very very cramped shopping experience.

I asked the old woman if there was a camping ground anywhere close by. “There’s a park straight across the road from here where a lot of people like to camp. You can stay there for free, but you didn’t hear it from me.” The park turned out to be a children’s playground. It beat the night before, where I camped about 50m from the crocodiles.

I was so proud of myself for getting that far, though I vowed that once I got to China, I was going to buy a road bike. To hell with mountain bikes. My God, my bike was so SLOW! Like driving a tractor. And then I thought ahead about trying to cycle out of Sarina, after which there would be 400km of tumbleweed waiting for me and possibly one gas station along the way. Plenty of places to camp, but no water, and only myself for company for a week at the rate I was peddling at.

I didn’t know if it was the extreme fatigue, the loneliness, being apart from Stacy, or a combination of all three, but my appetite was certainly not what it used to be. It should’ve been enormous, but instead I could barely get down anymore than a few mouthfuls. It scared me, because I knew that I needed fuel. Most of the time though, I think I was just too exhausted in every way to eat. Bike touring certainly wasn’t what I thought it was. Australia’s towns were so spread out, and I had to weigh down my bike with crazy supplies in case of an emergency. Which meant carrying ridiculous amounts of water, slowing my tractor down even further, and not adding to my moral.

Oh dear. Just what did I get myself into?

It started on Daydream Island

Yes, this is a photo of the island I used to live on. Romantic. And I met the most amazing boy there, Stacy, my first love. I lived and worked here for 6 months, scraping and putting aside money so that I could follow my dream and go on a bicycle tour of Asia. But for practice, I would ride a “trial run” 800km down the coast of Queensland.

I bought myself a bike and a tent. I packed up my mountain bike (which, I now know, is the stupidest thing to go bike touring on). I packed far too much stuff, as any newbie to traveling will do. I even packed my trumpet on the back. What was I thinking? But I wasn’t seasoned yet, and at the time, everything I packed seemed so vitally essential.

I packed my -30 mitts, despite the fact that I was living in the tropics. Because I wanted to have something warm for when I inevitably toured Nepal.

I foolishly used my snowboarding helmet as a bike helmet. In 40 degree weather!

Not to mention books that added more unnecessary weight.

But I was young. And stubborn, and had the willingness to learn from falling on my face.

I parted ways from Stacy to endure a month apart from him. All alone on the road. I cried many tears as I watched him get on the bus and drive away.

And probably every night for 2 weeks after that.

The journey begins. With a bicycle.

I have found my old travel diaries from when I was 20-years-old. I had been living and working in Australia, saving up money for a bicycle touring trip. Why, because I didn’t want a vacation. I wanted to do it because it was hard!

And boy was it ever.

And honestly I can say that I didn’t enjoy much of it.

But looking back, it was the hard times I endured that I am the most proud of to this day, and the journal entries are far more interesting to read about than when I was having fun and just bussing everywhere like every other backpacker. With bicycling, I had to earn my miles with sweat and tears.

And so I am going to share my journal entries with you, unedited.

Enjoy.

 

Lee