Saturday, September 29, 2012

On the Road Again 2012 closing notes


And so the trip was over. At the end of all of my trips I am filled with feelings that seem diametrically opposite to each other.  I was thankful and at the same time sad that I am done travelling for another year. I was grateful that I was safe, healthy and would soon be sleeping in my own bed. I was also sad and perhaps just a little bit depressed because my life was about to become structured and predicable and just a little bit boring. I can’t imagine ever not wanting to travel.

 Like all of my trips this one was an amazing adventure. In the space of eight or nine weeks I went from Sudbury to Winnipeg, to Edmonton, to Yellow knife then to Duncan on Vancouver Island; and then back to Sudbury. I think I travelled about 10,000 kilometers in other people’s car and trucks.  I met people I could have only have met hitchhiking. I saw things that perhaps hundreds if not thousands also saw, but I had the time to just stand there and truly see. I can still see the brilliant yellow of the canola flowers for acres and acres not too far west of Winnipeg, the great big bull bison ten feet away from me casually sauntering amongst the yellow construction equipment on the banks of the Mackenzie River, all of the bears who wandered, both to my concern and I think theirs, a bit too close to me, the cougar tracks on the beach of some nameless river at the north end of Vancouver Island, the long stretches of almost empty highway, the shore line of a hundred rivers or lakes and of course the mountains. If I work at it just a little bit I can see the trucks and cars of the people who picked me up, my driver’s faces and of course every place I slept.

It was an unusual trip in that those who picked me up were a bit different than in other years. For example I got four rides, all of them long rides, from women. In the past ten years, other than on the islands, I have only ever had two rides from women. And what amazing women my drivers were this year. All of them had an adventuresome spirit, but they also had the courage to be what they knew they could be. With the exception of the nurse who drove me from High Level to the turn-off to Yellowknife and who in her own right had created a life for herself that was quite extraordinary; the three other female drivers had, as if almost out of nothing, created careers for themselves that were innovative and ground breaking. All of them seemed to be doing something that not only would I have never dreamed of doing; they were doing things that I didn’t know needed to be done. I learnt so much from them.

I have thought a lot about those four men who gave me drives between Yellowknife and Chilliwack and whose values and perceptions of women were so different than mine.  I have, on occasion, wondered if it is me who is so out of touch with the real world; but I don’t think so. If I am, I want to remain disconnected from their world where women appear to have, at best, limited value outside of their sexuality. It concerns me that there are those who treat their partners with so little respect. Perhaps I should have said more to them.

I also, particularly in the dark hours of the morning, think about those four or five drivers who gave me long rides and never asked me about my story. There were a couple of drives where after seven or eight hours of being together, my drivers didn’t even know what I did for a living. In fact it felt as if on this trip, I spent less time talking than on any other previous trip. Part of me was a bit resentful – I am a story teller and I need to tell the stories that I have learned. If stories aren’t share they die.  But, in part because of a course that I am teaching this semester, I think I have come to the understanding that other people also need to tell their stories too. And that perhaps in this world where it feels as everyone you see on the street is wearing a clear sign saying “please ignore me” by displaying the ubiguous ear pieces that are plugged into their I-Pod – it is harder than ever to find people who want to hear those stories.  Sometimes my job as a passenger is just to allow them to do that. So I learnt another lesson this trip – it was a good one and one that I need to remember. But I also wonder about those drivers and what their lives are really like. It seemed as if they needed to dominate the conversation just so that they could tell a complete stranger their stories. What does it say about our society when people have no one in their lives to share with?

I have been trying to write this blog for four or five days. It has been more difficult than usual to find anywhere near the right words to place upon the page. I was confused about why I was struggling. But of course the answer is obvious. To finish writing is to finally finish the trip and I don’t want to finish the trip. I want to be out there on the road right now, bored out of my mind, worried if I will run out of water, wondering where I am going to sleep tonight and incredibly excited about the possibility that the driver of the next car or truck that drives by will stop and offer me a ride. And he or she will tell me a story or two and I will tell him a few back in return.
Next year I will do it all again

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