On the Road Again 2011 #47

Of course my trip was not quite over. The train did not leave until after 11:00 pm and therefore I had ten or so hours to kill. So I bought my ticket, changed my shirt and shoes, gave my pack to the luggage folks at Via and went out to explore the city.

I don't know Winnipeg that well. I can get through it quickly and once spent a day or so there a few years ago but it has never felt as if I have found the centre of the city. In spite of walking around for four or five hours, I still don't feel as if I know it well. I found the downtown mall, which of course did not excite me that much; I walked around the university area a bit which was pleasant but not exciting; and I looked for places to eat. Winnipeg may be the most unfriendly city to vegetarians I have visited in my travels. There were lots of places to eat but I could not find a vegetarian restaurant or even a Chinese one. I am sure they are there. I just didn't walk down the right streets.

I did spend a lot of time down by the Forks. The Forks are where the Assiniboine and Red Rivers join. It is an impressive gathering area with lots of little shops and restaurants. On the other side of the street there is a nice little park by the river. I think the whole thing would have been more attractive if they were still not dealing with the damages caused by the spring floods. The water was still high and parts of the boardwalk were still closed. However nice Winnipeg may be, I was glad when it was time to get on the train.

While waiting for train to be loaded, it looked as if it was going to be really crowded and I had resigned myself to sharing the seat with someone else. But much to my surprise and pleasure I had both seats to myself. I was tired and so slept well the first night. I didn’t talk to very many people all of the next day. I even ate breakfast alone. I was still tired and feeling quite emotionally drained. It had been a long summer and I had done more than I thought I would be able to do. I had gotten to two Gatherings, a folk festival, seen my friends in Victoria and been to a wedding. A pretty good summer, but a tiring one. I was glad that I had decided not to take the extra days and hitch all the way to Sudbury. I clearly was running out of energy. I was also starting to focus on the fall and on teaching.

The one bit of excitement occurred in Hornepayne when I met one of my professors from Trent. Jim was travelling with his son from Jasper where they had been hiking in the mountains. It was the second time I had met someone at the stop at Hornepayne who was travelling on the train. One has to wonder what the odds are?
The train, of course, was late getting into Sudbury Junction. While I was prepared to call for a taxi, I was delighted to see my daughter waiting for me. The trip was truly over.

I have written about the drivers that so generously gave me rides across Canada. I am truly grateful to them all. But there are an equally number of drivers who gave me a ride and who I have not mentioned. I hitched to and from Victoria and a number of times from Sally’s on Salt Spring Island. While these rides were very short, the fact that I got them, generally quite quickly, made a huge difference in my life. I also saved a fair amount of money by not using Greyhound. But more importantly every drive, no matter how short, added to my sense of the region and of Canada. Every story gets added to that mental filing cabinet that I dip into on the cold and lonely days of winter.

In my travels I learned countless little bits of trivia (such as what the various combinations of “stoplights” mean on the train tracks), I heard jokes that were so funny I couldn’t stop chuckling, I heard personal tales and statements that made me want to weep, and I saw more majestic beauty than any one person could ever dream of.  I could not possible record it all. But the images and the people are filed away There was a time when I could list in sequence all of my drivers without hesitation. That is no longer true. They start to blend into each other and I find myself sometimes forgetting where I was when I met this person or that.  Maybe I am getting old.

Canada is an extraordinary county with cities and lakes and mountains and grasslands that defy description. In spite of the garbage and the pollution that is visible throughout much of Canada, in spite of the crowded cities full of honking cars and trucks and in spite of the masses of human that occasionally need to compete against each other for resources, there is still an aura of simplicity and pureness throughout much of this land. It is a wonderful and delightful place to call home.  I suppose there are other ways of seeing all of this. But I can’t imagine any other way for me.  

It is the beginning of December and already my whole being cries out to be on the road again. I wake up dreaming of rides, of familiar corners that I want to be standing on with my thumb out. Almost every time I see a transport truck I look to see if there is room for me. And I wonder if they would stop for me if they saw me on the side of the road.  I dream of travelling across the Prairies, or through the mountains, or of sitting in a Husky restaurant listening to the truckers chatter and watching them flirt with the tired waitress. I remember what it is like to lay down ten feet from the road and listen to the trucks rumble by and to see the stars overhead. And I want to be there – right now.

If I don’t count this month there are only five months left until I start getting ready go. I have lived in four provinces and slept in all of them, but I have never been north. Perhaps next season I will go north to the Yukon, just for a week or so, just because I can.