Travex
Lost is my destination.
If a rider’s winter is good for anything it’s dreaming and planning. For me, this year’s sum of the two is Tuktoyaktuk. Had it down between Yellowknife and there and decided that if I’m in for a penny I’m in for a pound and will do both.
Really should have done this ride when I was bit younger and an avid tenter for the outstanding camping opportunities, but hotels and motels do have their merits and conveniences… Not the least of which is holing up for a rain spell and breathing air w/o wings in it.
My usual rule of thumb is to plan trips around tire wear and avoidance of replacement. It’s only a logistic and money thing, but I prefer not to deal with it on the road when possible. That’ll be unavoidable on this ride so I’ll address that with a Yamaha shop somewhere.
Going alone as I have all longer rides for the past 20 or so years. No offense to friends, but the alone time is also irreplaceable.
Now for the different. I’ve paddled canoes and kayaks as far back as my memories go and until a few years ago enjoyed paddling amidst ice flow as the favorite… All the better at night. No stranger to recovery and rolls and had always been supremely confident in any water condition. I drowned once and that will not happen again.
One particular bitter moonless winter evening in 2008 while paddling the Niagara River in a kayak on the outbound leg of a 36 mile round, I was summoned from shore by a car and it’s rapidly flashing headlights. I paddled toward shore to see what the matter was as I’d been ‘pulled over’ by the coast guard on several occasions since 911 for being a “suspicious craft on the waterway” and wanted to openly comply.
By the time I reached the dock I’d made out an impeccably dressed woman standing at its end in a full length fur coat with her Mercedes running 100 feet behind her. Upon getting closer it was clear to see that she was Native American.
Not knowing if she was a nut I stayed 20’ish away in the chop just beyond the cast of the dock light. To be honest, at first blush I took her as a nut yet her coif and Mercedes inferred otherwise.
Upon asking her what the matter was she told me that she was a psychic and that she has seen me on the river numerous times and that each time she received a distinct feeling. Yup, nut. Perhaps I made a mistake in asking, but the answer was certainly a surprise. She told me that all her senses told her that I was a great Indian Chief in a former life and that she’s tried to get my attention many times. I take as much stock in reincarnation as I do swampland in Florida.
Moving closer to the dock to appreciate the advantage of eye contact it didn’t appear to my experienced eyes that she was inebriated in any typical way. She continued to forcefully assert that I enjoyed the life of a great Indian Chief and that I had no idea of what laid within me. I was openly resistant to her words.
I could only proffer that with her proud Native heritage that perhaps she was taken in by the specter of a person paddling a kayak in a condition not typically seen. She dismissed my suggestion as bunk and continued her forceful assertions on my past life and station. It was becoming clear to me that I was disrespecting her and I attempted to smooth that out when she became even more insistent. If only to keep a moment’s peace I acquiesced and became silent.
It was then that she told me to forget the days distractions and pay strict attention to clearing my mind as I paddle in order to “hear the words.” I then thought bunk. But ok, I played along. She continued to instruct me on how to clear my thoughts and open my mind to everything that may come. She suggested that when I reach my pace and rhythm to then be as receptive and open as I could… “Listen to your thoughts, your breath.” I remained in piqued, skeptic curiosity as she related the subtlety by which visions come.
To be clear, I’m not a stranger to the physical world and appreciate every last aspect of it that I’m capable of understanding and am not close-minded to a single thing that begins with a shred of known, but when things enter the realm of the etherial I’m the laughing skeptic that runs for the door first.
All told I gave her about 25 minutes of my time and we parted as friends with detente. Went back out on my way upstream for a few hours in crisp, beautiful bliss. Fell into my stride and wind as I kept usual pace for the lake. Weather began to turn just a bit and a prevailing headwind cost me a few more calories and air. As my output increased my breath went along with it. In both running and paddling I used to realize my zone by the variations of “heh heh heh heh, haha hah hah, hooah, hooah, hooah, etc” in my breath. For those that spend time in the zone I’m certain you know of those word-like sounds among other endless variations.
At that time the woman’s words occurred to me. I allowed myself to hear the ‘words’ that my heavily exerted breathing was making. “sakem sakem sakem, sakem sakem sakem” was what I was hearing. Like nothing that's ever rung in my ears before. Again, I thought bunk and relegated the moment to pre-programmed, predisposed thinking.
The wind and water got a little chaotic on the way back downstream and allowed for no distractions so I hadn’t given any thought to her until I arrived back home.
After cleanup I thought hey, just for giggles I’m gonna plug those sounds/words into google.
Color me shocked. The word “sachem” means Chief in translation. I misspelled it.
Couldn’t explain that one and allowed it to rattle in my mind for quite a time.
Fast Forward to 2014. While in Thunder Bay Ontario I stopped to pick up some beer for the evening back at the hotel. When walking out of Brewer’s Retail I was approached by a 7’ tall Native Indian who directly inquired about what Native relations I had in my family. He proceeded to tell me that I was an Indian guide in a former life. A little small talk ending with him suggesting that I go to Sleeping Giant Provincial Park to receive a vision and we went our own ways. I went to Sleeping Giant and all I felt was excellent.
Cut to the fall of 2021. While riding in the southern forrest of the Allegheny reservation near the Pennsylvania border to reach some remote beaver ponds, I considerately passed a slow moving old pickup truck on a narrow trail and gave a courteous wave to the two guys inside. I’m familiar with this area as I go there to make nature recordings for home.
Once at the end of the trail while assembling my gear for the 2 mile hike into PA the pickup truck pulled up. Two elderly Allegheny Indian men stepped out and approached me. I introduced myself and they did the same, as tribal elders. Truthfully, it was a bit strange as they seemed to look at me as a curiosity. Thought it might have been my stylish Shoei hairdo.
I apologized for the dust I tried not to leave them in as I passed and that’s when they told me that I hadn’t passed them… I “flew over them.”
Both were insistent that they shared the same vision and that’s when they told me that I was a great Indian Chief in a former life. I thought, man... These old fellas sure can pull a guy’s leg. Further they went in their insistence that I was a “sachem”. Things then became a guarded weird for me.
We talked for a couple hours as they regaled me of reservation life and old ways and traditions. Mutual respect and admiration were in no short supply. These were gentleman and of the highest character who made me feel so at home on their land, to the extent of a door always being open to me at any time and an invitation to their next harvest festival. Likewise, I welcomed them to my home, but sadly they declined as they no longer wish to leave the reservation.
When we finally parted ways I pondered their thoughts on my hike into PA when it re-impacted upon me that in my lifetime of riding an overwhelming majority of it has been spent in Indian territories and destinations. Allegheny, Navajo, Algonquin, Yavapai, Hopi, Iroquois, Ojibwa, Assiniboine, Paiute, Cherokee, Seneca, Tonawanda, Havasupai, Pocono, Cayuga, Walipai, Tuscarora, Cattaraugus, Oneida, Chippewa, Apache, Comanche, Choctaw, Seminole, Sioux, Blackfeet, Osage, Shawnee, Susquehanna, Cree, Dene. Granted, this was once all their land, yet for culture and history I’ve always frequented these beautiful and rugged lands.
When on reservations for anything from gasoline to casinos my wife has always maintained that Indians look at me differently. I always look at them the same… With respect.
My lineage has no sign of Native blood other than indirectly through marriage. For my part, I’ve been sensitive to Native culture my entire life. Perhaps they picked up on my kindred spirit… I don’t know, but I sure do admire and respect their conviction when they get a thought in mind.
Anyhow, I’m very much looking forward to experiencing Inuit lands, culture, people, and kayaking in the Arctic Ocean this coming season. I’ve been told that my life is ending for the past 22 years and I’m determined to spend the next 22 doing it right.
Really should have done this ride when I was bit younger and an avid tenter for the outstanding camping opportunities, but hotels and motels do have their merits and conveniences… Not the least of which is holing up for a rain spell and breathing air w/o wings in it.
My usual rule of thumb is to plan trips around tire wear and avoidance of replacement. It’s only a logistic and money thing, but I prefer not to deal with it on the road when possible. That’ll be unavoidable on this ride so I’ll address that with a Yamaha shop somewhere.
Going alone as I have all longer rides for the past 20 or so years. No offense to friends, but the alone time is also irreplaceable.
Now for the different. I’ve paddled canoes and kayaks as far back as my memories go and until a few years ago enjoyed paddling amidst ice flow as the favorite… All the better at night. No stranger to recovery and rolls and had always been supremely confident in any water condition. I drowned once and that will not happen again.
One particular bitter moonless winter evening in 2008 while paddling the Niagara River in a kayak on the outbound leg of a 36 mile round, I was summoned from shore by a car and it’s rapidly flashing headlights. I paddled toward shore to see what the matter was as I’d been ‘pulled over’ by the coast guard on several occasions since 911 for being a “suspicious craft on the waterway” and wanted to openly comply.
By the time I reached the dock I’d made out an impeccably dressed woman standing at its end in a full length fur coat with her Mercedes running 100 feet behind her. Upon getting closer it was clear to see that she was Native American.
Not knowing if she was a nut I stayed 20’ish away in the chop just beyond the cast of the dock light. To be honest, at first blush I took her as a nut yet her coif and Mercedes inferred otherwise.
Upon asking her what the matter was she told me that she was a psychic and that she has seen me on the river numerous times and that each time she received a distinct feeling. Yup, nut. Perhaps I made a mistake in asking, but the answer was certainly a surprise. She told me that all her senses told her that I was a great Indian Chief in a former life and that she’s tried to get my attention many times. I take as much stock in reincarnation as I do swampland in Florida.
Moving closer to the dock to appreciate the advantage of eye contact it didn’t appear to my experienced eyes that she was inebriated in any typical way. She continued to forcefully assert that I enjoyed the life of a great Indian Chief and that I had no idea of what laid within me. I was openly resistant to her words.
I could only proffer that with her proud Native heritage that perhaps she was taken in by the specter of a person paddling a kayak in a condition not typically seen. She dismissed my suggestion as bunk and continued her forceful assertions on my past life and station. It was becoming clear to me that I was disrespecting her and I attempted to smooth that out when she became even more insistent. If only to keep a moment’s peace I acquiesced and became silent.
It was then that she told me to forget the days distractions and pay strict attention to clearing my mind as I paddle in order to “hear the words.” I then thought bunk. But ok, I played along. She continued to instruct me on how to clear my thoughts and open my mind to everything that may come. She suggested that when I reach my pace and rhythm to then be as receptive and open as I could… “Listen to your thoughts, your breath.” I remained in piqued, skeptic curiosity as she related the subtlety by which visions come.
To be clear, I’m not a stranger to the physical world and appreciate every last aspect of it that I’m capable of understanding and am not close-minded to a single thing that begins with a shred of known, but when things enter the realm of the etherial I’m the laughing skeptic that runs for the door first.
All told I gave her about 25 minutes of my time and we parted as friends with detente. Went back out on my way upstream for a few hours in crisp, beautiful bliss. Fell into my stride and wind as I kept usual pace for the lake. Weather began to turn just a bit and a prevailing headwind cost me a few more calories and air. As my output increased my breath went along with it. In both running and paddling I used to realize my zone by the variations of “heh heh heh heh, haha hah hah, hooah, hooah, hooah, etc” in my breath. For those that spend time in the zone I’m certain you know of those word-like sounds among other endless variations.
At that time the woman’s words occurred to me. I allowed myself to hear the ‘words’ that my heavily exerted breathing was making. “sakem sakem sakem, sakem sakem sakem” was what I was hearing. Like nothing that's ever rung in my ears before. Again, I thought bunk and relegated the moment to pre-programmed, predisposed thinking.
The wind and water got a little chaotic on the way back downstream and allowed for no distractions so I hadn’t given any thought to her until I arrived back home.
After cleanup I thought hey, just for giggles I’m gonna plug those sounds/words into google.
Color me shocked. The word “sachem” means Chief in translation. I misspelled it.
Couldn’t explain that one and allowed it to rattle in my mind for quite a time.
Fast Forward to 2014. While in Thunder Bay Ontario I stopped to pick up some beer for the evening back at the hotel. When walking out of Brewer’s Retail I was approached by a 7’ tall Native Indian who directly inquired about what Native relations I had in my family. He proceeded to tell me that I was an Indian guide in a former life. A little small talk ending with him suggesting that I go to Sleeping Giant Provincial Park to receive a vision and we went our own ways. I went to Sleeping Giant and all I felt was excellent.
Cut to the fall of 2021. While riding in the southern forrest of the Allegheny reservation near the Pennsylvania border to reach some remote beaver ponds, I considerately passed a slow moving old pickup truck on a narrow trail and gave a courteous wave to the two guys inside. I’m familiar with this area as I go there to make nature recordings for home.
Once at the end of the trail while assembling my gear for the 2 mile hike into PA the pickup truck pulled up. Two elderly Allegheny Indian men stepped out and approached me. I introduced myself and they did the same, as tribal elders. Truthfully, it was a bit strange as they seemed to look at me as a curiosity. Thought it might have been my stylish Shoei hairdo.
I apologized for the dust I tried not to leave them in as I passed and that’s when they told me that I hadn’t passed them… I “flew over them.”
Both were insistent that they shared the same vision and that’s when they told me that I was a great Indian Chief in a former life. I thought, man... These old fellas sure can pull a guy’s leg. Further they went in their insistence that I was a “sachem”. Things then became a guarded weird for me.
We talked for a couple hours as they regaled me of reservation life and old ways and traditions. Mutual respect and admiration were in no short supply. These were gentleman and of the highest character who made me feel so at home on their land, to the extent of a door always being open to me at any time and an invitation to their next harvest festival. Likewise, I welcomed them to my home, but sadly they declined as they no longer wish to leave the reservation.
When we finally parted ways I pondered their thoughts on my hike into PA when it re-impacted upon me that in my lifetime of riding an overwhelming majority of it has been spent in Indian territories and destinations. Allegheny, Navajo, Algonquin, Yavapai, Hopi, Iroquois, Ojibwa, Assiniboine, Paiute, Cherokee, Seneca, Tonawanda, Havasupai, Pocono, Cayuga, Walipai, Tuscarora, Cattaraugus, Oneida, Chippewa, Apache, Comanche, Choctaw, Seminole, Sioux, Blackfeet, Osage, Shawnee, Susquehanna, Cree, Dene. Granted, this was once all their land, yet for culture and history I’ve always frequented these beautiful and rugged lands.
When on reservations for anything from gasoline to casinos my wife has always maintained that Indians look at me differently. I always look at them the same… With respect.
My lineage has no sign of Native blood other than indirectly through marriage. For my part, I’ve been sensitive to Native culture my entire life. Perhaps they picked up on my kindred spirit… I don’t know, but I sure do admire and respect their conviction when they get a thought in mind.
Anyhow, I’m very much looking forward to experiencing Inuit lands, culture, people, and kayaking in the Arctic Ocean this coming season. I’ve been told that my life is ending for the past 22 years and I’m determined to spend the next 22 doing it right.