What motivated me to start travelling was my death.
I started to notice my health going downhill. There had been a slow decline over the years, which began to accelerate rapidly. I spoke to the doctor, who convinced me I should see a cardiologist.
I am stubborn. I only planned to see a doctor when I was dead, but now things were not as good as I wanted, and this whole “dead” thing was becoming a real possibility; I had to face my stubbornness and do something I never wanted to do.
Surgery.
Surgery scared the crap out of me. A big one, too. I had briefly explored the option back at the turn of the century and was told that there was considerable risk to my life. Then, I was not in any position to risk it all to feel “a little bit better.” But things had changed now.
Now, I was not feeling all that great. Given the speed of my life’s degradation, I had to take the chance.
I okayed the idea of an unusual and risky operation. To my delight, the type of surgery I was seeking had dramatically improved in technique, and I was expected to live.
Whew!
Still, there was that risk and considering I am an intense migraine sufferer, there was the fear of a stroke. They could fix my heart just to ruin my brain, which was a serious concern. I decided that surgery could not be delayed. But for that “just-in-case” catastrophe, I needed to do something for my wife.
When I was younger, my parents took us on a few vacations. I remember the long drive to Winnipeg, another long drive to Florida, the occasional trip to the beach, and even the zoo. Charlene had been in Orangeville her entire life, and seeing anything out of town was an extreme rarity for her. Because of this, I decided to take my wife out on a trip.
Many trips.
Many, many trips.
While Charlene was at work, I laboured on the computer, scouring Google Maps for destinations. She told me that she liked lighthouses, so I was on Google Maps in satellite view, scrolling the coast of Ontario to find lighthouses to visit. I learned that there were more waterfalls in Ontario than just Niagara Falls. That was eye-opening because I thought Niagara Falls was the only one. To discover hundreds of waterfalls within a day’s drive surprised me.
I made travel itineraries. Some were for the afternoon. As soon as my beloved came home, we left on a brief trip that would last until nightfall. Other trips lasted the entire day; we did these on her day off. If she had a weekend off, I had a plan for Saturday and an entirely different plan for Sunday. Then, there was something called a “long weekend.”
I had planned a trip to Tobermory in the Bruce Peninsula. I spent an entire week planning and researching. I studied Google Maps. I wrote down directions and what to do if I missed the road. This was back when I did not have cellphone data (because data was measured in megabytes, not gigabytes like today and would be cost-prohibitive). Everything was pen and paper, and memorized directions. It was a great trip and highlighted that more extensive and more extended travel could be done and that it can be done cost-effectively.
More trips planned. More itineraries made. More memories created.
Then came the problem.
I never kept the itinerary or took pictures and had no real proof of our journeys other than memories.
Today, we have Google Nest, which rotates all the pictures I have taken every five seconds. On a trip, it is not unusual for me to take hundreds of photos. Today, I have Google Maps constantly tracking my location and keeping a record of everywhere we have been. I have All The Places We Have Been Map, which marks our explored destinations. Today, I have a record of over 530 days of travel with thousands of locations.
But nothing before my surgery. I did not have cell data, GPS, or Google tracking me, photos, or saved itineraries. I have nothing to show as proof other than the memory of us travelling every single day for a year and a half.
So, how many days have we travelled? How many trips have we actually made? Can I really say we have travelled 1000 times now? One thousand trips to see many more thousands of destinations.
Oddly, I find myself lamenting these “lost” trips, but they are not lost. Occasionally, we pass a place we explored, and we can recollect our time there. Having photographic evidence of our time there helps. We have the memories, which is all the proof we need.
