If my eventual cause of death isn’t “misadventure,” I will be very very surprised. For anyone in the distant future trying to make sense of my life and/or to create a facsimile virtual mind (good luck with that, bud), this here is a fine example of one of the core parts of my personality…

Quebec City’s bus drivers are on strike. Again. This time, the strike is 13 days long, timed specifically to coincide with the gigantic annual music festival, FEQ. I had been under the (very wrong, very misguided) impression that the strike had ended. That was incorrect.

When I got up, my plan for the day was fairly simple, as those things go: take a leisurely 90-minute walk (yes, 90) to the local Ikea, enjoy their 50% off Thursday dining hall, get a few tiny parts for my bookshelf (each move takes its toll, eh), then take the bus to the tourist sector, return a couple of library books, pick a new book, then rush back to the bus to take advantage of the 90-minute bus pass window, and head home. Easy-peasy, right? Wrong.

The 90-minute hike went fairly well: I got to experience a new (and not very impressive) part my city firsthand, with my own feet and nose and eyes. The Ikea visit was only partially productive, but their diner was fine as always. And then… Well, then I realized I could either walk 90 minutes back home, or 150 minutes (that’s 2.5 hours) to the tourist sector (aka Old Quebec), followed by a two-hour hike home afterwards. Reader, I chose option B.

I have two legs, high stamina, and way too much stubbornness for my own damn good. (Incidentally, this is yet another reason women usually live longer than men.) If I went home, I might as well have postponed all my library-related plans for 96 whole hours, assuming the strike ended on schedule. I support the drivers’ right to strike, but I also refuse to stay put. My 2022 PCT thru-hike is partially to blame: after you walk from Mexico to Canada, from that point on just about anything is in walking distance. It’s only a matter of logistics, really.

And, well, that’s how I got my 56,800 steps for the day, aka 28.4 kilometers or 17.6 miles. With a roughly 10lb backpack on my back. Also got a damn fine dose of vitamin D, and a bit of a sunburn on my face, but it wouldn’t be the first time. (Though, admittedly, the contrast between my arms (currently a nice shade of brown) and the rest of my body (Snow White’s long-lost brother from another mother) is mighty hilarious.

No regrets. Ever.

In creative news, my debut film (Please Don’t Send Help) has been accepted by two film festivals! One has asked me to postpone the announcement till later (secrecy makes everything more exciting), and the other one is ReadingFilmFest, an annual film festival held in the town of West Reading, PA. I’ve never been to Pennsylvania in my life, so it’ll be exciting to attend that fest in person in October. (Their generous assistance with lodging is much appreciated!) I’ll make another post soon about my rather ambitious plans to make a film festival circuit of my very own… ReadingFilmFest was definitely part of that list. One down, many more to go!

And now, time to lean back, enjoy a big cold beer, and play some Stardew Valley to unwind… Aww yeah.