Extreme Kindness

Chris's Journal - September 28, 2002

Pushing on through the Prairies
I jumped into the front seat of the motorhome just before 7:00 thinking that I would get a few minutes of light to enjoy the landscape, but as I adjusted my seat and gazed ahead, black tide being pulled by the moon rising in the east began to engulf the wheat fields. Looking back over my shoulder, I could see the sun slumping back into the fields, spraying a purple haze that stretched the span of the horizon. My thoughts trailed behind the motorhome slowing letting go of Regina and the three days that we had spent in the province’s capital. My memories of the trip, now that we have been on the road for over a month are blending quickly, and if I wasn’t keeping these journals, I would probably loose a lot of these memories.

Our arrival in Regina, red eyed and groggy, was not unlike most of our entrances to communities on the tour. We were tired, lost and in need of a place to sleep. Erik’s sleuthing resulted in a late night visit to a psychic searching for advice on places to park our RV-her glowing crystal ball, and in-depth understanding of the city forecasted that we would spend the night at a Husky Station. I was REALLY looking forward to spending another night cramped up in the motorhome, sleeping with two six footers in a five foot bed. I haven’t slept that close to my brothers since we had bunk beds during our childhood. Our long legs jutted out over the bed leaving our toes exposed to the harsh conditions in the motorhome. I envisioned my toes blistered and black in the morning, and then I remembered that it was only about 3 degrees below zero, leaving frostbite out of the question.

Waking up the next morning I was thankful for the warmth provided by my brother’s sasquatch-like fur that covers his body. We were the only ones in the motorhome that managed to sleep through the cold night. Trekking to the washroom to wash and brush, I felt like I was on my way to trucker mecca, a pilgrimage that was taken every day by the workers that parked their rigs outside of the husky station. I couldn’t find my toothbrush when I reached the bathroom, so I was forced to load my finger up with goopy toothpaste gel, and shove it into my mouth. Life on the road was good, but I prayed that better times were still to come.

Reaching the Regina Inn, I realized that the better times were here! We were all whisked to our rooms where we each had a double bed, fresh towels, shampoos, and a binder that outlined like a university course syllabus what services were available to us. Dave and I were rooming together and today was the first day of my lesson. The first lesson would take only fifteen minutes as I learned the basics, but my own practice, Dave instructed would be at least two hours a day. If I wanted to be a Star guitar player, I would have to pay my dues for at least a year. This intense practice, realistically, would bring me to a level equal with that of a grade six guitar class who practiced for a one time only Christmas concert. My musical education would be a long journey, one that would leave my fingers permanently creased and achy.

The next day was our marathon started with a wake up call at 6:00 am, a 15 min jog on the treadmill and breakfast on the street as I walked to the radio station hoping that I actually knew where it was. I had been working on my tardiness, but it had gotten the better of me and I was left to navigate the cold streets of Regina by myself. I found the station, just past the psychic’s home we had visited the day before. Inside the guys were infiltrating offices with apple juices and muffins, offering to clean desks and dispense affection to wary office workers. Our interview lasted all but two minutes, and we were shuffled to the next office to commit more kind acts.

The marathon day was marred by numerous media interviews that took us away from the streets. Luckily we were able to split up so that we would still have a presence on the street. Important as the media is for spreading our message, it is very draining racing from one interview to the next. My anxiety levels if they are not managed can become hypersensitive because of the stress of being constantly in the eye of the media. The tour has definitely helped me become more comfortable with myself, and my foibles. Looking back a year from today, I couldn’t have imagined that the personal development that has happened as a result of the tour. I have learned to cope with the anticipatory anxiety that I sometimes experience before a presentation or an interview by embracing the fear and accepting my nervous feelings. I have finally realized that my performance is not hindered greatly by my anxiety and this has calmed me immensely. I know that I may relapse and have a another anxiety attack like I have had in the past, however, I accept this and realize (finally!) that it would not be the end of the world if that were to happen.

The consummation of the marathon was an interview on a community access talk show that ended up being one of the most bizarre interviews we have had to date. After watching the two previous guests on the show, we all agreed that we needed to bring some more life to this conservative show. From the outset we were determined to make certain the host would never forget us and we did this by immediately pulling off his shoes in the interview to give him an impromptu foot massage. He yelped, we hoped with laughter, as Erik dug his thumbs into his arches. Quickly the conversation drifted to ridiculous anecdotes and theatrical performances demonstrating our most bizarre acts of kindness. By the end of our session, we had him keeled over, choking on his laughter. Hopefully the wounds inflicted from his laughter have healed.