I am like a sommelier– except for places to illegally squat.
I can spot them from a bike whilst moving at speed. When driving, I can sense which roads are likely to turn out lucky. Hovering over the world, with a birds-eye-view, provided free of charge by our malevolent soon-to-be-dictators, I can identify the perfect location from a single glance at a satellite map. I am on a hunt perpetually for the inner-city campsite with the best nose feel, and opacity. A little stench and some shrubbery go a long way to make your temporary private abode stay as such. I have learned this trade by years of trial and error, tramping, hitchhiking, driving, and generally bumming it across three major continents. This expertise, however, comes with a problem. A problem that in Salmon Arm, became all too apparent one night when the sun was setting, and Isaac and I were running out of time.
Isaac’s bike has a penchant for popping at inconvenient times. The rubber tires have a sixth sense for when the road is at its least forgiving. Today it was in Salmon Arm. The second flat of the day, just after we succeeded at charging our phone batteries and I failed at downing the monstrously large McDonalds chocolate shake I had ordered in a fit of Icarian hubris.
We left the Maccas with an hour of sunlight left, ready to bike out of town to a forest road we knew we could camp at some forty minutes down the Eastbound highway one.
The homeless man who had also been spending all the time he was allowed to before being shuffled on by the staff chatted with us amiably while we unlocked our bikes.
“Yeah those are nice bikes man - hey were you watching the habs game – oh yeah I got a great spot out by the band, they love what I’ve done with the place cause I keep it clean – you know, sweep out the trash and whatever - so they don’t mind me sleeping in the trees out there – I keep it nice and clean – are the habs still winning? – great, great, yeah – yeah I’ve been all around here, Kamloops, Sicamous, Kelowna – not biking like you though, hitchhiking mostly. – Yeah Kelownas great, kind of trap city though – not in a bad way, there’s just so much to do you can get lost in it. – yeah it’s alright here. If Bylaw catches you sleeping rough they’ll move you on though – that’s why I like being out by the reserve land no one bothers you there so long as you keep it clean.”
We waved goodbye and one of us took off rolling down the concrete parking lot. The other, Isaac, put one firm pedal stroke into their steel stallion, shuddered, and toppled over.
I turned back to watch Isaacs cumbersome bike and attached body tumble awkwardly down in a high octane one-mile-per-hour crash.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know!” Came the crumpled reply.
Finally our homeless friend solved the mystery.
“It’s your front tire man. It’s flat.”
