the eagle, the warrior and the bicycle

 the eagle, the warrior and the bicycle

A Kitsilano adventure in the aftermath of the Big One

It was supposed to be an ordinary bike ride.

I'd gone down to the Kitsilano waterfront to visit my murals. My whales, my ocean paintings, and the eagle on the long log. A little sunshine, a little fresh air. Nothing complicated.

Then the earth opened its mouth.

At first I thought something enormous had exploded. Then the ground began moving.

Not shaking. MOVING.

For nine minutes the world roared, rattled and bucked. The pavement split open. Buildings twisted. Houses slid toward the sea. I couldn't stand. I couldn't even get my bearings.

I scrambled into the little bunny cubby, a rough shelter made from old chunks of cement, probably pieces of a retaining wall or an old house. I pressed myself against the concrete, covered my head and waited.

I screamed. I cried. I thought about all the people I loved.

And I thought about my murals.

What was happening to my beautiful whales?

What was happening to the eagle?

The noise was beyond anything I could imagine. No disaster movie had prepared me for this. The whole neighbourhood seemed to be rearranging itself.

And then, finally, it stopped.

There were aftershocks, little reminders that the earth wasn't finished with us, but the terrible shaking had passed.

I crawled out.

Kitsilano was gone.

Well, not entirely gone, but nothing was where it belonged. Trees lay across roads. Houses had collapsed. The bike path had split into enormous holes. The shoreline had changed shape.

And somehow, my murals were still standing.

I was cut off from the stairs and couldn't find a way back to the upper path. I was stranded below, looking at a landscape I barely recognized.

Then I heard it.

A deep, rushing roar.

I turned toward the ocean.

Oh, no.

The water was coming.

A tsunami.

I had no time to think. I scrambled toward the long log, the one with my eagle painted on it.

I had sat beside that log so many times. It had always seemed to be asking me something.

Paint me.

And one day I'd finally said, "I see you. I'm going to paint you."

Now I was climbing aboard my own artwork.

I threw myself across the log and straddled it, gripping whatever I could find. The water lifted us. We bobbed, dipped and nearly rolled over.

I was terrified.

"Dear God, why is this happening?"

I held on to my eagle as the current carried us away.

And then I saw something ahead.

THE BIG LOG.

The Warrior Log.

Now, there's a story behind that log. The city had almost cut it up with an enormous chainsaw. I remembered standing there, watching this fellow with a machine nearly as big as me.

"What are YOU doing?"

People were furious. Letters were written. People protested. That log had become something worth defending.

And now, in the middle of the biggest disaster Vancouver had ever seen, there it was.

Floating toward me.

I couldn't help thinking that perhaps the Warrior Log had finally found its purpose.

The two logs bumped together.

I jumped.

One log to another. Eagle to Warrior.

And then I saw them.

THE STAIRS.

Between my whale murals, where getting to the upper path had been impossible only minutes earlier, a staircase had appeared.

I stared.

You're kidding me.

There were actual stairs, leading up and away from the water.

I didn't ask questions. I jumped from the log, scrambled across and ran.

Up I went.

At the top, I stopped.

My bicycle.

Still locked where I'd left it.

Honestly, of all the things to survive a nine-minute earthquake and a tsunami, who would have expected my bicycle?

I unlocked it, put on my helmet and looked around.

The streets were unrecognizable. Trees were down, houses were broken, cars were abandoned. Somewhere in the distance I could hear people shouting.

I checked my phone.

Nothing.

No service.

No idea where my friends were. No idea whether my home was standing. No idea how much of Vancouver was still there.

I looked at the bicycle.

A good old-fashioned bicycle. No battery. No charging station. No complicated technology.

Just me and two wheels.

I took a deep breath.

"Well, old girl," I said. "Looks like it's you and me."

I pushed off.

I had absolutely no idea where I was going.

But I was going.

And somewhere behind me, my eagle and the Warrior Log floated in the strange new ocean that had swallowed my old neighbourhood.

I wondered if the whales were still watching.

Then I turned the corner.

First things first. Find out who survived.

The adventure had begun.

a little note for younger readers

This is an imaginary story about a major earthquake and tsunami. It is meant to spark imagination and get us thinking about how we look after one another in an emergency — not to frighten anyone.

The events are fictional, and the story is not a prediction of what will happen. If it feels a little scary, that's okay. Remember, stories can take us into extraordinary situations, but you are safe reading this one.