Yann messaged me yesterday afternoon letting me know that he and Burger were on their way back to the island. They’d gotten their fill of mountain biking over the last two weeks and decided to return early. This meant when I headed to “paradise” after work yesterday, it was to gather my stuff and head home. I figured that with two panniers and a backpack, I had enough room to haul everything back by bike. As I removed all the provisions from Yann’s fridge and cupboards, I was struck with the modern equivalent of the Oregon Trail dilemma ie.”You hunted 8892 pounds of meat, but you can carry back only 10.”
“Yann, I had to buy BBQ sauce and Dijon mustard. You don’t even have black pepper!”
“Yes, I do!”
I opened his cupboard to show him his full salt grinder and the absence of its peppery sibling.
“Oh yeah, I forgot: I ran out.”
So, Yann ended up driving me, my bike, BBQ sauce, Dijon mustard, cans of La Croix, vegetables, laptop (irritatingly enough, I forgot the mouse), frozen bread, and bananas in various stages of ripeness home. He told me how unlucky he had been with things breaking during his trip, including the suspension fork on his bike. He said,“…It’s a good thing I’m a bike mechanic, otherwise the trip would’ve been ruined.” Yann also mentioned that his car started leaking oil and that he had to add half a litre of oil every day to keep it going.
No Oregon Trail dilemma this time: his car survived the short drive to my place.
This morning I woke up disoriented. It took a few seconds to realize I was in my bedroom, and several more to understand why the cats hadn’t come to me in protest of an earlier feeding. I will miss these demanding little beasts.
At least I have access to a pepper mill full of organic fair trade Sri Lankan peppercorns. (I recall paying almost $15 for a 120g bag: I am serious about my pepper.)
I also didn’t spend Friday night with the cats. I’d been summoned to the mainland by the fine folks at Vancouver’s Our Community Bikes. OCB differs from regular bike shops in that you can rent a workbench by the hour, with access to all the tools needed to either fuck up or un-fuck your bike: contingent upon one’s skill level. OCB also offers bike mechanic courses and repair clinics, including clinics taught in several languages such as Spanish, Mandarin, and ASL!
I was thrilled when they contacted me to see if I’d be interested in leading the ASL repair workshop. I had fun leading the repair clinic hosted by Oaklands Community Association on International Women’s Day with an interpreter (Amanda!) this year and last year. But to provide members of the deaf community with direct ASL access? Even better!
Although there has been some improvement with communication at my job, the feeling of disconnection since returning from my trip in July has lingered. I have lost the capacity to navigate the “hearing world” with decorum and have since shied away from spending time with people who aren’t fluent in ASL. I feel guilty: I am talking about some brilliant minds and lovely personalities. I can’t realistically expect them to attain ASL fluency in my absence and circle back when they’re ready to converse in full ASL. If this is you, please don’t take it personally: I have to navigate communication barriers day in, day out, and it’s burnt me out.
On a related note, while I had access to several streaming services via Chez Yann, I watched Siren: The Voices of Shelley Beattie on Netflix, on Zoée’s recommendation. I stopped partway through the documentary not because I disliked it, but because I don’t like watching tv for more than an hour at a time.
Zoée asked me where I’d left off in the doc.
“When she joined the sailing team.”
“Ugh, so many hearing non-signers.”
“Yeah. That’s my life.”
Perhaps that’s why my brain went, “That’s enough tv for tonight.” I finished it the next night, teary-eyed. For those not in the know, Shelley Beattie was a deaf professional bodybuilder and also, from ’92-’96, an American Gladiator. Her former partner of six years, John Romano, has loads of screen time in this documentary. He recalled Shelley being excited about being given the stage name Siren, since she thought it referred to the device used to warn people of danger or emergency, not realizing it had a double meaning because she wasn’t familiar with Greek mythology.
“…and I thought, ‘That’s so Shelley!”‘ John chuckled.
And I thought, “Dude, you were with her for six years, and it never occurred to you that it might have been because of how little access she had to information due to her deafness.” After all, this was also well before the internet was a thing. I brought this up with Zoée, and they had the same thought. Not only was the internet not a thing during the American Gladiators era, but it wasn’t until 1998 (!) that distributors and broadcasters were required to implement closed captioning (CC) on tv programming. I still remember flipping over VHS tapes at Blockbuster in search of the CC icon, and sometimes even coming home only to find that the purported CC was nonexistent.
Even in 2026, the playing field is rarely level for us deaf folks. By showing up as the instructor for OCB’s repair clinic on Friday night, I was levelling the playing field. I found it easier to gauge whether participants were grasping my instructions through real-time reactions. Hands went up the instant participants needed clarification, allowing me to offer alternative examples instead of wondering whether the interpreter didn’t understand the concept well enough to put it into words.
When I started learning to work on bikes, I learned from folks whose methods involved listening for noise, eg., clicking or grinding when adjusting derailleur cable tension. After 10+ years of working in a bike shop, I’ve found workarounds for most of these issues. The noise I do miss is mostly inconsequential, such as when the rubber seal around a hub squeaks or when the Presta valve rattles around in the rim.
I can’t imagine spoken languages being more effective in explaining bike mechanics than any signed language. I’ve never seen a text-only bike repair how-to guide; they always include pictures and/or illustrations. Here, I am explaining how a rotor rubs against a misaligned brake caliper:
At the start of the repair clinic, I noticed two participants yawning, but once I got going, everyone seemed engaged. Nobody hesitated to get up as soon as I invited them to take a closer look at the bike on the repair stand. I welcomed every type of question, except when my assistant, Archie, was like, “What about tubular tires?”
“Shut up! Ignore that… you guys don’t need to know about tubular tires.”
(But, if you must know, here’s the Wiki page.)
OCB had offered an honorarium. They also offered to cover my travel costs, except I ended up taking the seaplane to get to Vancouver on Friday morning, knowing that OCB wasn’t banking on me taking the luxury route. I assured them I wasn’t expecting them to cover my flight. So, by taking the seaplane, the outcome was negative for my bank account, but positive for my mental health.
“Do you ever think about moving back to Vancouver?” Zoée asked once we were back at their place.
It’s not off the table. I love Victoria and wouldn’t actively look to leave the city; however, I need to put more work into networking with the deaf community here. I’m sorely missing connecting with folks without also needing to educate them on ASL or the nuances of deafness. I’m not looking to fit in; I am looking to belong.
In the meantime, I’ll deal with the time-consuming or wage-consuming trips to the mainland, even if I can only go for the weekend.
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