November 2005 Archives

"Cinnamon?"

"Cinnamon. You know... Kind of red, but browner, like a burnt sienna maybe. Cinnamon. Just because, you know, the phrase 'black heart'... it doesn't sound too friendly. And this guy was friendly. But then, he was in the theatre. Do you want to know how he broke his hand?"

"I guess."

"It was over a woman. The most beautiful woman I've ever heard described. Lips like chocolate éclairs, except without the oozing or being quite so large and so straight. Lips like chocolate éclairs that curve upward in a delightful smile and are coloured red." He stopped and looked into the middle distance for a moment.

"I can't remember what he said. He was in the theatre so he had a way with words. Better than I do anyway. The point is - she was beautiful. But then, being in the circus, she'd have to be pretty fit. I don't know why he talked about her lips. He really should have described her belly. Being a circus performer, I bet she had abs like the stretched hide of a chipmunk. But I guess, being theatrical and all makes a person a bit poetical. It might have been beneath him to talk about her belly."

I sighed. "So this guy..."

"Alvin."

"Alvin. He liked her then?"

"No. Alvin's gay. I mean, actually... I'm not sure. He may have liked her. I couldn't quite tell. I think he liked me. I wonder what he made of the black heart I put on his cast? I sometimes wonder if I'm gay. But I don't think so. Men don't really turn me on. But a woman... And a woman like this one with lips like chocolate éclairs and a belly like the hide of a chipmunk. Wowzers!" He gave his head a little shake and closed his eyes.

"Anyway, there was this other guy. I think Alvin called him Tim. He liked the woman. Hey! I never told you her name. I think he said she was Minerva. Oh! And my name is Tony, by the way." He held out his hand.

I reached across with my left and shook it. "Kent," I said.

"Pleased to meet you. Now Tim definitely liked Minerva. I got the impression from Alvin that he was a little wonky on her. Alvin and Minerva were partners. They did some kind of act that Alvin tried to describe to me. It involved teeter totter boards and a pole. Tim was a clown and stilt walker. They were all working on a new act together. Alvin and Minerva would do this crazy acrobatic stuff where he would jump on the board and she would land on the pole. Tim came on at the end of the act as kind of a humorous transition. He would pester Minerva with flowers and what-not and she would be irritated and try to avoid him but still manage to do these fantastic tricks and flip over his head and all that. Apparently it was quite cool because Tim was on these stilts and she was quite small so he would be bent over offering her flowers and she would be just about to take them and then Alvin would leap on the board and she would flip over Tim's head and end up on the pole. And then, to end the act, she would step out of the way the last time Tim offered her the flowers and Tim would step onto the teeter board just as Alvin jumped and Tim would fly up in the air on his stilts and land on a trapeze net that would be yanked up from the ground just in time. Gasps and shocks and Alvin and Minerva would do one last trick and take their bows.

"The thing was that Tim was actually a far better acrobat than Alvin and he was jealous. Alvin admitted all this up front. Alvin was young and good looking and Tim was an old hand who amongst all his other talents used to be a star on the teeter board. Unfortunately, he was just a bit difficult to work with and so the director preferred him to do solo stuff or group stuff where he didn't have to work too closely with people on an ongoing basis. Anyway, Tim was jealous of Alvin and Minerva's relationship and the fact that Alvin got all the applause and he had to be the clown and just be shot up into a net. So Tim hatched this ploy to try to impress Minerva and at the same time get the director to give him his slot back doing straight acrobatics. Opening night and everything is going smoothly up until the final trick where Tim is supposed to get shot up into the net. Instead, he leans in and flips up towards Alvin, doing a graceful somersault in the air, still wearing the stilts. Alvin, who by his own admission, isn't the best acrobat in the world, stumbles backwards and falls to the stage. Tim's plan was to land with his stilts on either side of Alvin and the teeter board. But Alvin fell right where he had to land and when you're doing a somersault wearing stilts you don't have a lot of options about where to put those stilts when you go to land and so, whether by accident or by plan, one of the silts came down on Alvin's hand. Smashed it like kindling!"

"Needless to say, Minerva wasn't impressed. It wasn't all bad, though. The director was impressed. Or at least impressed enough to realise that Alvin was going to be out for the run of the show. So he gave Alvin's slot to Tim. I tell you. It's a cruel world my friend."

By now Brendan had been back in camp for more than four hours. He'd radioed Joe once he was in range of the blocks.

"How's it going out there?"

"All under control, my brother. Lucy's checking trees and I'm running boxes. See you at camp."

"I'll call you once I get unloaded."

"No worries."

The cooks came out and helped Brendan unload the groceries. It took more than an hour to empty the truck. Brendan busied himself around camp until Joe returned. Then the two of them sat down at the back table and started to go over the next day's planting. Lucy joined them at the table with her checking reports.

"How's Kent?" she asked.

"About as good as can be expected," said Brendan. "I think he's a bit bummed. His hand is wrecked. I don't know if we'll see him again this season."

"Shit," said Joe. "We could use him. We're running behind."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," said Brendan. "The next two blocks are fast ground. We'll catch up.

"Oh hey! I almost forgot." He reached into his pocket, took out his phone, fiddled with it for a minute and handed it to Lucy.

My voice started to come out of it just as she put it to her ear. She shrieked!

Brendan laughed. Joe looked up but didn't say anything. He reached beneath the table and got the tally books out.

The cookshack was beginning to fill up with planters now. One of them took the Sara McLachlan cd that the cooks had been listening to out of the ghetto blaster and put on a Green Day album. A line started to form next to Joe as planters waited to give him their tallies for the day.

The first planter in the queue was Alistair. He had blonde dreadlocks and wore a torn Maple Leafs ice hockey jersey. He put seven box tags on the table.

"So," said Joe. "How'd it go today?"

"Eighteen hundred and ninety little spruces. The Gods didn't exactly piss on me but they didn't bake me a cake neither."

Joe picked up the box tags, counted them, and dumped them in the box beside him.

"Hey Lucy," said Alistair. "How come you were checking today?"

Lucy held the phone up and hit the button. "My superpowers have failed me. My hand's busted," it said.

"Harsh," said Alistair. "Too bad. Give him my love if you talk to him."

"Lucy," said Brendan. "What's your land like? Who were you working towards?"

"It's not too bad, easy to follow anyway. We were working towards Amber and Kathy."

"Do you mind jumping in with them to close up tomorrow."

"I don't mind closing with them, but I'd rather work with someone else."

"Who?"

"Dunno. Just not those two. They're too... mechanical. I'd just cream them out all day. You know me. I need someone who plants as crooked as I do."

"Kent didn't plant crooked."

"No, but we were a good team. I followed the trees and he kept the line even. And we helped each other bag out. Amber and Kathy take it too seriously. I'd just piss them off."

"What about Alistair and Cameron then?"

"Sure, no problem."

"What do you think, Joe?"

"Fine with me. They should be moving to the new block around noon, I figure."

"It's settled, then."

After dinner, Lucy joined the cooks on the bus and rolled smokes for them as they washed up.

"Ah, Kent, Kent, Kent," said Cassie. "I miss that man."

Lucy nodded, licked the rolling paper and smoothed the cigarette out.

"He never said much. He was like a butler. Always at the ready. We should buy him a tux for when he comes back. He'd look great in a tux. Don't you think?"

"Yeah," said Lucy.

"You know how we have a gown plant every year? Maybe we could make it just a formal wear thing. Then you'd have the option to wear a tux or a fancy evening gown. It would be nice to see some fellows in ties and jackets from time to time. Kent would look smack-dilly-icious in a jacket and tie, I bet."

Lucy laughed. "Kent in a tie... It's not possible."

"He's a good looking dude, that Kent."

"No he's not!"

"Sure he is."

"He's got a funny nose. It's crooked. One nostril is bigger than the other."

"Most people are like that," said April.

"I'm just saying - he's not pretty," said Lucy.

"Why are you going out with him, then?" asked Cassie. "I think he's pretty pretty - pretty gorgeous in fact."

"He's just nice." Lucy dropped her head and began to roll another smoke. Her hair covered her face.

That night Lucy packed up her sleeping bag and moved into my tent.

>> Farts Like Gold: 5

The streets were empty and I managed to get the truck to the hospital without waking Brendan. I left him in the truck, and went in and woke the on call doctor.

He did pretty much the same thing that Brendan did. Told me my hand was broken but that he'd need to x-ray it and suggested I get some sleep until the technician came in at 9. He gave me some Tylenol 3s and offered to get a nurse to help me off with my clothes. I told him not to bother.

I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to verbally convey a decipherable message to Brendan so I tried to write him a note with my left hand.

The nurse took pity on me.

"Let me do that," she said. "What do you want to say."

"Thanks," I said. "Just write, 'Brendan, I'll be in the hospital until at least 10am. Don't bother checking on me until after that.' Oh, and 'Drink some water.' Sign it 'Kent'."

The nurse wrote it out for me and I took it out to the truck and put it on the dashboard with the keys on top of it. Then I went back inside and lay on the bed. Despite the pain, I dosed off within minutes. The drugs must have helped.

I woke up around 8:30 with the general bustle of the hospital coming back to life. I got a coffee from the machine and caught up on the world. Today was the first time I'd been out of the bush in almost two weeks. Nothing much had happened of any significance as near as I could tell. Still, all the people in the glossy magazines looked, well, glossy. They were in stark contrast with myself. If I were a photograph, I'd be matte finish, non-glossy, maybe even matte finish black and white.

They x-rayed my hand just after nine.

There was a new doctor, a ridiculously clean woman. I was mesmerised. She was as glossy as the magazines. "Well, I can tell you your hand is officially broken. That's the good news."

"What's the bad news?"

She tapped a pen on the x-ray. "See that? That's your third metacarpal. It's supposed to be one straight line, not two overlapping ones. It needs to be pinned. You need surgery and we don't have anyone who can do it here right now. You'll have to go to Prince George."

"Can't you just yank on my finger or something?"

"Why? Do you need to fart?" She shook her head. "It's too unstable to stay set. They need to stick some metal in your hand."

"Well, does it have to be Prince George? I'm not going to be able to work with this hand. Can I get it done back home in Edmonton?"

"I can't refer you to a hospital in another province. And you should get it fixed right away and Prince George is much closer."

"I hate Prince George."

"Sorry, as I said, I can't refer you to a hospital in another province."

"Well, what if I had just gone straight to Edmonton without coming here?"

"That would have been crazy. Your hand is broken."

"I really hate Prince George."

"Well, I'll splint your hand up as best I can and give you a prescription for more painkillers, but you should get your hand fixed."

After she was done I went out to the waiting room and called Brendan on his cell.

"Yo!"

"It's Kent. I'm done but I'm going to be out of action for a bit. Where are you? What are you doing?"

"I'm at the dump, chucking garbage and watching bears. I'll see you in half an hour."

"How's your head?"

"Oh fine. No worries. I wasn't totally shitfaced. Just had a bit too much to drink to drive. How's your hand?"

"Busted. Hurts like Hell. I'm going to need surgery and they can't do it here."

"Shit, dude! That sucks monkey ass. Well, I'll swing by as soon as I can."

"Thanks."

"See ya."

After Brendan hung up I went outside and watched the traffic. There was a lot more of it than Lucy and I saw from our mountaintop. The thought of heading back to the city without her depressed me. Fucking Vegas. It never brings anyone any luck.

Brendan showed up about 45 minutes later. I'd missed the morning bus to Edmonton. The next one wasn't until 8pm, so I rode around with him while he got propane and gas. We phoned the cooks about 11.

"Cassie, baby! It's Brendan. What you got for me?" I couldn't hear her side of the conversation. "Yeah, no, his hand's broke. He won't be coming back to camp today."

"Dunno. He's going back to Edmonton to get it fixed. You can talk to him in a minute. Give me the grocery order so I can shop while you talk."

While Brendan took down the grocery order, I played with my sling. I experimented with putting various things in it from my daypack - my wallet, my swiss army knife, a pen. I carefully swung my arm around a bit. Nothing seemed to fall out. For now at least, I had a little purse. Cool. Might be handy if I decided to turn to a life of crime. Good for shoplifting, or smuggling drugs and diamonds.

"Yo!" Brendan handed me the phone. "I'm done. Your turn. Catch up with me in the store."

"No problem. Thanks", I said. He scrawled some final note on his list and got out of the truck. I turned my attention to the phone. "Hi Cassie. How's it going?"

"Fine. It's raining out here. And the hot water heater packed it in again. But what about you?"

"No rain here yet. I'm cacked. Not sure when I'll be back. I'm sneaking off to Edmonton to get my hand fixed and then I guess I'll be on compo for a while."

"Sneaking... Why sneaking? And can't they fix it in Fort St. John?"

"Long story, but basically, I'd just rather get it fixed there. Can you ask Lucy to pack up my stuff if you guys move again. I'll call from the city when I know more."

"Isn't there anything you need from camp?"

"Don't think so. I grabbed my going to town clothes and my wallet. There's not much else there that's any use to me in town." I said. "Except my laundry. That's going to be scary if it stays in my tent for a couple of weeks."

"We can always burn it. It'll be fun. Next day off in camp, we'll hold a ritual and pray to pagan gods and burn the lot! Might as well do your tent too, while we're at it. Fantastic! Naked dancing under the moonlight! Dark chants! Huge bonfire! I'm looking forward to it."

"Or you could ask Lucy if she wouldn't mind doing it next time you guys go to town."

"Maybe. I like the fire idea much better though. Any message for Lucy? Aside from that you want her to do your laundry?"

"Hey, it's kind of her fault my hand's cacked! It's the least she could do."

"Whatever."

"Just tell her I'll call and leave a number once I'm in Edmonton. I'm not sure where I'll be staying yet. And I didn't really mean it's her fault about the hand."

"So you want me to tell her that you've changed your mind about it being her fault, then?"

"No! Just don't mention anything about the hand."

"Just the laundry?"

"Yes. No. Ah fuck! Yes. No. I'll talk to her directly about the laundry. Just don't burn it."

"Whatever."

"Thanks."

"Give us a call when you get a chance? Have fun in civilisation. Watch some crap tv for me."

"Will do. I'll miss you guys. Ciao."

"Ciao, Bello!"

I put Brendan's phone in my sling / purse and walked across the parking lot to the store. I helped him finish up the shopping. We loaded the truck and covered the groceries with a tarp. We were back in the truck before I remembered that I still had his phone in my sling. I pulled it out and was about to hand it to him.

"Actually, just one second. Can I leave a voice message on this thing?"

"Sure." Brendan took the phone from me, fiddled with it for a moment and handed it back. "Just hit this button, talk, then hit red button again when you're done."

"Cool. I want to leave a message for Lucy."

I got out of the truck, closed the door and leaned against it while I gathered my thoughts. I hit the button.

"Lucy, it's Kent. My superpowers have failed me. My hand's busted and I don't think I'll be planting any trees any time soon. It doesn't sound too bad, but I am going to need surgery which I can't get in town, so I'm heading down to Edmonton. Soon I'll be living the high life on worker's comp, while you poor bastards are still scratching in the dirt for pennies. Cappuccinos and pavement and flush toilets. Oh yeah! Anyway, I'll miss you. I'll call the camp once I know a bit more and leave a number. I'd be eternally grateful if you can look after my stuff until I get back to camp. And, I guess, well, I'll miss you. Bye."

I hit the button, closed the phone, and got back in the truck. I hoped to hell I'd be getting comp. Without it, I wouldn't be having many cappuccinos. I gave the phone back to Brendan.

"Right. Lunch. And then I'll have to drop you someplace. Where do you want to eat? My treat."

"Humpty's?"

"Sounds good."

After lunch, Brendan gave me $200 which I signed for and then he dropped me off in front of the cinema in time to catch the matinee showing of "Almost Famous". It was the right film at the right time. Significant portions of it took place on the tour bus of a fictional rock band. It made me almost look forward to the 10 hour greyhound trip I had ahead of me. I went to a Chinese restaurant near the cinema for dinner and then it was time for the greyhound.

I waited until almost everyone else had boarded the bus. I prefer to pick who I sit beside rather than end up with some random stranger.

I spotted someone who looked perfect. He was neatly-dressed with a Stephen King paperback and a daypack on the seat beside him.

"Hi, mind if I sit here?" I asked.

He looked a little put out, but he stood up and jammed his daypack in the luggage rack above our heads. I smiled and stuffed mine between my knees and settled back to get some sleep.

"Where you headed?" he asked.

I kept my eyes closed. "Edmonton," I said.

"What happened to your arm?"

"Quad accident," I said. "I broke my hand."

"Nasty," he said. Then he put his book away. "I know a guy who broke his hand once."

I winced, closed my eyes, and rolled slightly away from him.

The guy didn't take the hint. "He was in the circus," he continued. "Well, not when I knew him. I met him on a bus like this. His name was Alvin. Ever heard of the Cirque du Soleil? He was with them. He had his arm in a sling like you. He had a proper cast though. It had lots of cool stuff written on it. All different colour pens. Quite beautiful, actually. Why is that you don't have a cast?"

I shrugged without opening my eyes.

"I would have thought they would have put your hand in a proper cast. How am I supposed to sign that big wad of gauze?" He laughed. "Not that you necessarily have to ask me to sign it, of course. We just met. Alvin asked me to sign his cast. I drew a big black heart on it. But I suppose theatrical people are a bit more outgoing than most people. I mean like you or I. We're going to be on this bus for 9 hours and 20 minutes, assuming we arrive on time. Even by the end of that time you might feel you don't know me well enough to ask me to sign your cast."

I opened my eyes and gave him a subtle psycho look. I raised my sling. "I don't have a cast," I said.

"Cast. Gauze. Whatever. I should say that there was nothing behind the colour."

"What?"

"The colour of the heart. It didn't mean anything that it was a black heart. That was just the colour of pen I had with me. There were plenty of other colours on that cast. Purple and Orange and Cinnamon."

>> Farts Like Gold: 4

Tonight I am far more beautiful than I was last night thanks to the wonders of wax.

I'm also still in a small amount of residual pain. I had my back waxed for charity today.

It all began more than a month ago when a close personal friend of mine (I won't say her name to protect her anonynmity, but it begins with Z) had a bit too much to drink. She and her equally cava-saturated companion thought it would be a splendid idea to kidnap a six foot tall stuffed yellow bear. Said bear being the mascot of a children's charity. They took it down the elevator and into the car park and wheeled it out of the building balanced on Z-girl's bicycle.

Remour has it they then took photographs of the bear in compromising positions on a couch in an un-named location, no doubt with the intent of blackmailing the poor innocent (and inanimate) creature. I have not seen these photos but I wouldn't be surprised if they show up in the Sun or on Ebay in the next few days.

A few hours later when the tide of alcohol had ebbed somewhat in their brains, they realised that perhaps this wasn't the wisest plan and returned the 6 foot yellow bear in the dead of night. They left it wedged in the revolving door of the building they had removed it from.

The entire event was caught on security camera of course. And, as Z-girl had used her pass several times during the escapade to open locked doors, the crack security team was able to track her down with ease. She and her companion, and their boss, and the head of the charity, and various possibly heavily armed security types all watched the cc-tv footage together. This could have been a career-ending moment. Fortunately, the footage was amusing enough that, instead, the pair were coerced (blackmailed possibly -- oh, the irony) into raising £10,000 for the charity in question.

To help them reach this goal I agreed to have all the hair waxed off my back in exchange for sponsorship money. Everyone who sponsored me got to watch. Apparently, it was a surreal event. They had lined up a number of victims for this ploy and booked one of the meeting rooms in our office building. And so it was, that at 3:45pm this afternoon, I lay face down on a table in a posh meeting room with my shirt off and about a dozen people sitting around. They chatted and watched as a woman I'd never met before swabbed hot wax onto my back. She applied patches of cloth to the wax and then ripped them off, eventually rendering me dorsally glabrous.

It is not an experience I am keen to repeat.

Although, who knows? We'll see what kind of reaction I get from the charming spouse tonight in the bedroom. I am awfully smooth now.

"What happened to it?" She asked. "Let me see."

I turned the key on the quad. The headlight came on and I stuck my hand in front of it. Lucy touched my hand and I yelped. It was scraped up top and bottom and starting to swell. I was pretty sure it hadn't been quite the same shape before. There was a brand new knobbly bit in the back of my hand.

"I think it might be broken."

"It's probably all right," I said. "Let's get back to camp and I'll put some ice on it. Check it out in the morning."

Lucy took my hand again and I flinched.

"Come on. Get on the quad. We should get going."

Lucy climbed on to the quad. "How do I get it into reverse?"

"Hold this button in, now pull the brake and kick the gearshift down."

I stepped around to the front of the quad. I grabbed the frame with my left hand. I braced my right forearm against the front rack and heaved. Lucy gave it a bit of gas. The quad lurched backwards a bit, climbed over boulder and then the front dropped down on the other side. I followed and tripped over the boulder just as the quad's front wheels hit the ground and wrenched the handlebars from Lucy's grasp. I swung my right arm out of the way to save my hand and fell headfirst into the left handlebar as it swung around.

I was already in so much pain now that I didn't bother swearing. I just sat on the boulder and held my right forearm against my head where it been thwacked by the handlebar.

"Sorry about that," said Lucy. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Not your fault."

Lucy grabbed the handlebars again. She backed the quad up and then drove it around the boulder. I got on the back and we made our way very carefully back to the camp. I experimented with various ways of holding my hand as she drove. The least painful seemed to be to hold my arm up at an angle as if I was doing a "heil Hitler" salute. This let my body provide the greatest amount of shock absorption as we drove.

It was after midnight when we got back to camp. With the generator shut off for the night, anyone who was awake would have heard us coming for the last couple of miles. There was a light glowing from the back of the dining attached to the cookbus.

Lucy got off the quad first. "Are you going to be okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, no problems. We'll see what it's like in the morning."

"Maybe you should get Brendan to check your hand." She shrugged her shoulders towards the light in the dining tent.

"Probably not much he can do," I said. "But okay."

We ducked under the tent flap alongside the bus and entered the dining tent behind the breakfast table. Sure enough, Brendan was still up and so was Cassandra. They sat at the table at the back where the foreman and other staff always sat. That table was a bit like Brendan and Joe's office. The only thing to mark it out particularly was a couple of coolers filled with paperwork underneath. Sometimes April put flowers on it for them.

There was a bottle of Golden Wedding on the table and a carton of apple juice. Brendan and Cassandra were both drinking from melmac mugs. Cassandra was smoking a cigarette. The light came from two citronella candles at either end of the table.

"How was Vegas?" asked Cassandra.

"Grab a couple of mugs if you want a drink!" said Brendan, a little too loudly.

I stopped and picked up a couple of mugs, sticking the first and pinky fingers of my left hand through the handles.

"Kent broke his hand."

"Maybe," I said. I put the mugs on the table with my left hand and put my right hand on the table near one of the candles.

Brendan put his face near my hand. "I can't see fuck all, but that sucker's huge. Are you sure you're not wearing a baseball glove?"

Cassandra poured a slug of Golden Wedding into each of our cups and added some apple juice. She got up and headed towards the cookbus. "I'll go get a flashlight and some peas," she said.

Brendan touched me lightly on the wrist. "That hurt?" he asked.

"No."

"Let me know when it does." He ran his finger lightly along the back of my hand towards the new knobbly bit.

"Jesus Fuck!" I said and yanked my hand away from him.

Brendan grabbed my mug and poured it into his own. "No booze for you," he said.

"Why not?"

"I'm too drunk to drive, and we're taking you into town." He suddenly sat up straight. "Wait a minute! How's the quad? Did you wreck my fucking quad?"

"The quad's fine," said Lucy. "It's just Kent that's broken."

"Oh, okay then." He took a swig of whiskey. "I swear by the sweet brown starfish of the Virgin Mary that if you'd wrecked that quad... Anyway, everything's all right."

Cassandra returned with a flashlight and a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel. She shone the flashlight on my hand. It was about twice the size of my other hand. There was a definite knobble in the back of it, a bit like an extra knuckle where there shouldn't be one. "The peas should keep the swelling down," she said. "Are you going to try to set it?"

Brendan and I both looked at her.

"Maybe not."

"Well, if we're going into town we need a plan. Lucy, tomorrow morning can you explain things to Joe and tell him I'll be back before dinner. Maybe you could help him haul trees."

"I don't mind helping out, but last night was only the second time I've driven a quad."

"In that case, I'm making you checker. Ah fuck it. Joe can work it out." Brendan drained his mug and got to his feet. He had a little trouble getting his legs around the bench but seemed to balance okay. "Let's go load up the truck. Cassandra, I'll phone you tomorrow after breakfast to see if you've got anything you want me to pick up."

"No problems. I can give you a list now if you want?"

"No. Tomorrow's better. I'm sure you'll come up with some more stuff by the morning."

"Well, just make sure you get some smokes and some fruit. I'm going to bed. Have fun."

Lucy helped Brendan and I load up the truck with empty propane cans, gas barrels and garbage. She walked with me to my tent, opened the zipper for me and rummaged around until she found my wallet and some clean socks and undies.

"I'm sorry about the hand," she said. "Can you get me some chocolate and some drum?"

"Will do."

She kissed me and walked off through the dark to her tent. I made my way back to the truck. Brendan was in the back checking that the propane cans were tied up securely. He jumped down as I approached. I climbed in the driver's seat and reached across the steering wheel to turn the key with my left hand. Brendan climbed in the passenger seat. I struggled to get the truck in gear with my left hand.

"I don't mind driving," I said, "but you're going to have shift gears."

"No worries. Just wake me when you need me."

I pulled out of camp onto the road and headed for town. It was only about ten miles to the main road which was gravel. After that I only had to nudge Brendan awake a few times for a couple of steep hills and a bridge. We got into Fort St. John around four in the morning.

>> Farts Like Gold: 3

I'm attempting to write a novel in a month as part of National Novel Writing Month. It's called Farts Like Gold and I'm way behind the pace. After a week, I've only written about 1600 words. The goal is to do 50,000 by the end of November. Anyway, I'm not sure how I'm going to present it going forward but here's the first chunk:

***********************************************************

Lucy sat on the counter of the cookbus. I stared at her hands as she rolled herself a cigarette. She had hands like fistfuls of beef jerky. She always planted without gloves and I doubt her hands were ever clean, even in the off-season.

Cassandra and April were the cooks that year. Cassandra was washing dishes and April was chopping vegetables for tomorrow's lunch table. I just sat at the front of the bus, sideways on the driver's seat with my left foot half-wedged in the glove compartment. Lucy leaned across to the sink and stuck the finished rollie in Cassandra's lips.

"Mmmm...." Cassandra said. "Smokeddey smoke smoke smoke."

Lucy started to roll another cigarette. Cassandra turned her head towards her.

"Light me up!"

Lucy shrugged and looked towards me. I struggled my foot out of the glove compartment, grabbed a lighter off the dashboard and lit Cassandra's cigarette.

"Ever been to Vegas?" she asked.

"No," said Lucy.

"Gordon and I went last year. It's completely surreal. It's amazing how little it's like High Level."

Lucy laughed. "Why would it be like High Level?"

"Well, you know all the motels in High Level have the same names as in Vegas: The Stardust, the Frontier... But there's no Stratosphere in High Level. No big mile high tower with a rollercoaster on the roof. "

"I hate High Level," said April. "But then, I'm pretty sure I'd hate Vegas. Fake churches make me break out in hives."

"They're not fake," said Cassandra. "They're real churches. They're just kind of plasticy. And they've got Elvises in them. You never see an Elvis in High Level."

I stuck the lighter in my teeth, picked up a dish towel and started drying plates.

"How did you get there?" Lucy asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you drive? Did you fly? Did you take the bus? Did you see anything on the way?"

"We took one of those package holidays for gamblers. Except we didn't gamble."

"Not at all?"

"Nope. Didn't even stick a quarter in a slot machine."

"Well, what did you do?"

Cassandra leaned over to get her head below the level of the counter and stamped her foot and jolted her head a bit to shake the ash off the end of her cigarette. Her hands never left the sink.

"We rode the roller-coaster on the top of the Stratosphere."

Lucy stuck her feet out and lightly kicked me in the back of the knees. "Kent, baby, how come you never take me to the stratosphere?"

"I'm ready to take you to the stratosphere any time you want," I said. "Just let me finish the dishes with Cassandra."

"No. Let's go now! Before it gets dark."

"Dark?" I asked.

"Go ahead," said Cassandra. "We're fine."

"Really?"

"Yes, Go!"

I draped the towel over the steering wheel, picked up the stack of plates I'd dried, and took them down the steps at the back of the bus into the cook tent. Lucy packed up her drum and hopped off the counter behind me. She stole a carrot stick from April's cutting board on the way by. I added my stack of dishes to the pile on the breakfast table.

Lucy ducked around the corner of the bus and out into the camp. It was May and we were far enough North that it didn't get dark until about 11pm. I figured we had about an hour.

She walked past the front of the bus and I followed. "Lucy, when you say 'take you to the stratosphere', what do you mean?"

She smiled and pointed with the carrot at the top of the hill that rose up behind the camp. She bit the end of the carrot and turned towards the quadbike at the front of the bus. "And that's the rollercoaster."

"We can't take the quad."

"Sure we can. Look. The keys are in it."

"Lucy!"

"Come on. No one's going to miss it. Joe and Brendan are done for the night. Take me to the stratosphere, baby!"

She stepped on the footpeg of the quad, swung her leg over and sat down. She put the carrot in her mouth alongside her cigarette and leaned back with her hands on the luggage rack behind her. Her head dropped back and her hair almost touched the luggage rack. She took the cigarette from her mouth, drew the carrot in a bit further with her lips and bit off a chunk.

I watched her mouth as she did this. Then I looked at the empty space between her legs on the seat in front of her, zipped my coat up and sighed.

There's just something about a woman gobbling a carrot that causes my brain to shut off. I got on the quad and was rewarded by Lucy putting her arms around my chest and snuggling up against my back.

I started the quad, drove around the front of the bus and headed out of camp. It hadn't rained for a couple of days. There was a decent gravel road that went about halfway up the hill. From there the trail wasn't too bad. We had a couple of blocks to do about two thirds of the way up and a couple of nights ago I spent an hour or so helping Brendan build access. So that far, at least, it was a breeze. After that I just took it slow. Lucy had to get off the quad a couple of times while I drove it over or around some tricky obstacles. We didn't make it all the way to the top but we got close. By then I could feed the darkness coming in but I wasn't too worried.

We hadn't said a word to each other all the way up. I switched off the engine and stood up on the pegs so that Lucy could get off the quad. Where we stopped, the trail curved near the edge of a short cliff. Lucy walked to the edge of this and stood there looking down at the camp. I made sure the quad was in gear and the brake was on and joined her. It was dusk now and the only lights in the valley below us belonged to the camp. The sound of the generator just barely touched us. Aside from that there was the sound of the branches rubbing against each other and every now and then a faint ticking sound from the engine of the quad cooling down. But really, to hear anything, you had to stand perfectly still and concentrate.

"Not much traffic," she said.

"No."

She leaned back against me. "It's getting cold," she said. I put my arms around her and rested my chin on her head.

"You smell like dirt," I said.

She laughed.

"It's a nice, musty smell. A clean smell -- if dirt can smell clean," I said. "I like it."

She turned around and nuzzled her face into my neck. "You smell like whiskey and oranges."

"Is that good?"

"Well you could definitely use a shower."

We kissed and she slid her hands inside my coat. She pulled the back of my shirt free and slid her hands up my back. They were cold and I stiffened. I reached down across her back to wedge my hands under her armpits to warm them and pulled her closer.

We stayed there until it got dark and then I turned the quad around and we started back down the hill. Once we got back down to where the trail became a recognisable skid trail, I slowed down and turned my head. "Are you ready for your roller coaster ride? Hold tight!"

The trail was fairly steep at this point with some gentle rolling bits and I was pretty sure it was fairly smooth. I geared down to first and then kicked the bike into neutral and turned the key. The noise of the engine died along with the headlights and we rolled down into darkness.

Lucy shrieked with delight and held me tight.

We picked up speed surprisingly fast. Right at the dip of one of the little rolly bits there was a boulder I'd forgotten about. The left front tire hit it. I slammed my thighs into the handlebars. Lucy flew off the quad. The quad still had momentum, though, and rolled over the boulder, into a pothole on the other side and flipped. I hit the ground first and somehow the front of the quad landed on my hand. It all seemed to happen slowly but with enormous inertia. I felt it as five separate events: boulder, thighs, pothole, ground, and sweet-mother-of-fucking-jesus-my-fucking-hand!

"Are you all right?" asked Lucy.

"Fuck! Shit! Fuck!" I said. "Fuck no! The fucking quad's on my hand! Fuck!" I scrambled and shoved my shoulder under the side of the quad and managed to lift it up enough to wrench my hand out. Lucy came over to me.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

She laughed. "Yeah, I'm fine. What a ride! Do it again! Do it again!"

"Help me with the quad," I said. My right hand was filled with pain and starting to throb. Something was definitely wrong with it. I grabbed onto the front luggage rack with my left hand and braced my legs. Lucy got beside me and pushed on the right luggage rack. We rocked it a couple of times and then managed to get it back on its wheels again. It was high-centred though.

"I'll push," I said. "You'll have to drive. My hand's buggered."

>> Farts Like Gold: 2

I finished the Tour de Yanda today. After 124 days (99 cycling days and 25 rest days), I finally cycled the distance of the Tour de France: 3608km. And a day ahead of schedule to boot! It happened at 8:41am GMT under the watchful eye of the Trellick Tower. I immediately got off my bike rubbed my buttocks and took these pictures. One is, as promised, a picture of these same steely buttocks. The other is a picture of my new life -- of the road ahead of me post-Tour. I can't help but wonder if Lance took some similar snaps as he walked away from the podium knowing he would never return.

So far, I've raised:
$65 CAD for the Livia Stoyke foundation
£105 for the British Heart Foundation
£125 for Children in Need
and £565.38 for the British Red Cross
(plus a bit more for the Canadian Red Cross etc.)
There's still a bit of time left for you to cough up some pocket change. I'm still about £160 short of my target amount.

No more obsessively worrying about whether I will attain my goal. No more having to cycle every blinking day that I'm in the same city as my bike. I now have the option to take the tube home from work if I want. Finally, I'm free to drink booze at work again! Freedom at last!

Except now I have a new obsessive worry. It's National Novel Writing Month and I've signed up to try to write a 50,000 word novel by the end of November. To be honest, I think I will need far more enouragement to attain this goal than I did to complete Le Tour. Yesterday was the first day of NaNoWriMo and I managed just three words and I'm not sure they even count as they are the title of the novel. But they are three choice words: "Farts Like Garlic".

Brilliant, if I do say so myself. That phrase can be read many ways.
Right now, it's really just a poem, but by the end of the month it will be a fully-fleshed novel encapsulating an entire world of hopes and dreams and colourful characters.

But for now... ...back to work. I hope the cocktail trolley passes by soon.