The trail I choose runs alongside the St. John River and Route 105 from Fredericton through Douglas and on to Keswick. I can get to this route from where I live in Marysville, travelling Fredericton’s excellent trail system, but it’s a considerable distance. So I load my bike onto my car’s bike rack and drive to Douglas.
At this early hour, a light mist hugs the trees. It’s just past sunrise, and in a patch of sunlight off in the corner of one of the fields, a couple of deer watch as I drive towards the big church where I park my car, the same place my old friend, mentor and cycling partner Kent Thompson parked his van when we’d come here with our bikes. That was around 1990, before the old railway line was torn up, creating one of my favourite bike trails in the province. Though it’s been over three decades, it hardly seems like a year since Kent and I cycled along Route 105, admiring the view and talking about life.
A highly respected author, editor, playwright, director and educator, Kent died almost two years ago in Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia, leaving a solid legacy of helping and encouraging young writers throughout Atlantic Canada and beyond. In the early 1990s, Kent and I cycled together while he was researching his classic book about cycling in the Maritimes, Biking to Blissvile (Goose Lane Editions, 1993), one of many books he wrote during his 85 years.
Back then, Kent lived in Fredericton with his wife Michaele, whom he married in 1960 when they met at a military base in Maryland. They were a great couple. Even now, over 30 years later, I can still hear them laughing. Their home on Albert Street always seemed filled with interesting people with exciting lives.
Biking to Blissville is not just a book about cycling; it’s a collection of meditations on life and the value of slowing down and allowing yourself to create or discover a sense of place that can stay with you forever. I know this because Kent told me. He was in his middle fifties when we did our rides. A priority for him in writing the book was to slow down his life, pay closer attention to the details of living and share what he discovered with his readers.
That’s what my ride last Sunday was all about; reaching out to “place and memories” that ground me and give me a sense of connection, places like this trail, which I regret I never had the chance to cycle on with Kent. He would enjoy this ride and recognize and appreciate the poetry of the landscape.
Were he here with me this morning, we’d probably talk about some of the same things we noticed all those years ago. Things like the names on mailboxes and the aromatic difference between a stand of pine and a stand of spruce. And the odd look cows give you as you peddle by. Kent and I always laughed at the idea of cows taking a break from grazing so they could more fully appreciate the beauty around them.
Stopping at a picnic table under a pine so big it must have been here when the Loyalists arrived in the 1780s, I consider all the water that’s flowed passed this impressive tree since I last cycled with my old friend. I know Kent’s finally arrived in Blissville, and that makes me happy. He deserves it.
Even now, over 30 years later, I can still hear him laughing.
