Walking around the turnabout, I teetered between returning to the Skytrain and waiting around the bus. Safety aka conservatism vs. adventure aka risk.

Memories of missing my flight in Berlin struck me. I really did not know Vancouver. I really shouldn’t be seeking adventure a few hours before my train departed. But then my goals was undeterred. I came all this way…to Vancouver…to another country…and never made it to the dairy farm. That was unthinkable.

I had to go. The 105 bus arrived…not once, not twice, but thrice. Panic starting rising in my throat. Where was the 116? I checked my device—no wireless present in this space. When the 116 did arrive, I started walking toward it despite clear signs indicating that it was not going to pick up passengers except at indicated signs. With my sunglasses, I started walking to where it was taking a break in the corner of the lot.

Then, I lost my balance and toppled in a heap on the ground. With my focus so intent on the bus, the presence of a sidewalk escaped me. I immediately got up and brushed myself off. Hoping that nobody noticed.