On the Road Again 2012 # 33

It was almost unbearably hot and dirty standing on the side of the road somewhere along the east side of the Winnipeg ring road.  The sun was just blasting down upon my head and there were enough construction vehicles going by that there seemed to be constant clouds of sand in the air. I could feel the sand and grit clinging to my beard and hair. I had some water and I could have gone to one of the two gas stations close by to get some more. But I was afraid to leave my spot just in case that one in a thousand cars came by when I wasn’t there. And there were at least a thousand cars going by me in an hour. Many of the vehicles contained people going home from work but an ever increasing number of the vehicles looked to be cottagers heading up the road for the weekend. I really do not like travelling on a Friday (or Sunday) when I am in or about to be in cottage country. The area between Winnipeg and east of Kenora is cottage country. Vehicles going to cottage are usually far too crowded with kids and toys for there to be room for me. The last time I had travelled this road it had been on a Friday. I had got stuck in this general area for quite a long time. I was hoping that history was not about to repeat itself.  There was however little choice. The train had long ago left and the thought of taking a bus was far worse than anything else I could imagine. So I stood there, eyes squinting because of the bright sun (drivers have consistently told me that they stopped for me in part because they could see my eyes, which means no sunglasses for me when my thumb is out), and sweat leaking down from my scalp on to my neck. In spite of the dust and the sun and my shirt glued to my back with sweat I tried to look pleasant and nice. Sometimes it is hard to stay focused on the job. There are times when my eyes glaze over and I drift off to some other place. I don’t get a lot of rides when that happens so I worked hard at making eye contact with the drivers who were looking my way. Eventually, after some time, a vehicle did stop.

Robert, my newest driver, was headed off to his cottage somewhere just east of the Manitoba/Ontario border. I was once again sitting in a large pick-up truck although this one was not quite as new or as fancy as some of them had been. Robert was a certified elevator mechanic by profession but he was now working as some sort of arborist. He said he helped house owners with their problem trees. It seemed like a pretty good profession. Within five minutes of being in the truck, it started to stall and Robert had to exit off the highway. He told me not to worry – he had just run out of gas but he had some gas in the back. I am sure he did not hear it but I groaned. Not again. I did not think I was quite ready for another few hours of being with someone who had car problems. Robert did have gas in the back and there were no further incidents or problems with his vehicle. I was relieved.

Within ten or fifteen minutes we had made the turn on to Trans-Canada A few minutes later we were at a gas station. It was a zoo!!! It felt as if every vehicle that had passed me in the last thirty minutes was at this gas station. I am of course exaggerating. But I do not think I have ever seen so many cars in a gas station. Of course they were not there just to get gas. They also had to get their propane tanks filled and buy ice and pop and anything else they had forgotten in their rush to leave home and beat the traffic. It was crazy. I bought a popsicle and some water and sat in the truck and watched the circus. There was nothing else I could do. I suppose if I had been driving I might have been frustrated but I wasn’t driving. Where I got to and how fast I got there was out of my control.

Initially I thought Robert and I would have a lot in common. We were of similar age, our fathers had both been products of the depression and then WWII. Both had worked for the railroad and both had died far too early. We both agreed that perhaps they had not realized their full potential as they struggled to support their families. For much of our time together chatted about this and that in a companionable way.  By the end if I had to sum Robert up, I would say: he was an expert shot (his son was almost as good); he was a Baptist (at one point when we were talking about climate change, he said it really didn’t matter that the weather was getting more unpredictable as he knew that he was of the few who was saved and would be transported to heaven), he was the world’s best dad and he knew all kinds of interesting people.

My notes say that he was a braggart, but in hindsight I don’t think that is entirely accurate. He was just competitive. For example I mentioned at some point that I had seen bison in the NWT. He immediately shifted the topic to a buffalo hide coat that he had seen in some movie and how he would like to get one just like it custom made for him. As the conversation progressed it turned out he knew a master leather worker and clothing designer as well as knowing where to get a perfectly tanned buffalo hide. We never did get back to my trip north or the buffalo I saw on the side of the road.

 It was an interesting ride. He was entertaining and certainly had a range of topics that he could converse knowledgably about. Perhaps only in my mind, but I find it remarkable that not once did he ask any questions about me or what my life was like.  Like three or four of my other drivers, while it would have looked as if we were having a conversation, in fact there was really just a monologue with a supporting cast.  Robert drove me a little bit out of his way to a gas station/general store somewhere near (I think) near Granite Lake, about fifty kilometers west of Kenora. It was well after supper by this time. While there was a lot, in fact perhaps too much, traffic I was not sure if I could get another ride. There was however, a really nice picnic area across the road. It looked like a fine spot to get a good night’s sleep.

On the Road Again 2012 #32

I was finished breakfast by 7:30. I went outside and hung around for a while. I tried to call home but while I had access to cell coverage, I could not get access to my cell phone provider. Finally by around 8:00 I got bored and so I decided to walk down to where George had parked his truck. I thought that perhaps I would buy his morning coffee. I was about 2/3 of the way down the access road to the Husky lot when I saw George drive by. I waved but he did not see me. I stood there watching him drive away. I looked at my watch. It was exactly 8:15. George had used his cell phone to see what time it was....I was still on Calgary time. My watch was an hour behind his phone. When we had talked last night I had assumed that he was going to stay on Alberta time - most truckers, because they need to keep their logs straight keep their watches on one time so that they can keep their hours straight. Obviously George’s cell phone had updated the time. If I had stayed where I was rather than walk up, I would have been fine .

I was so pissed off at me. It was not George's fault (although I do wish he had stopped and waited for me, just in case I was still having breakfast) it was clearly my fault. I had gotten bored and had made a bad decision. I had never even thought about the possibility that George would switch time. I walked (perhaps stomped would have been a better word) out to the highway. It felt as if I had wasted the last few hours. I could have been on the road by 7:00, but instead I had spent my time just hanging around. All of those trucks and cars that had zoomed by me were potentially drives. What a waste!!

I stood there for a long time. I am quite sure that the waves of self disgust and inwardly directed anger were visibly radiating out from my head. It was not surprising that people did not want to stop to pick me up. I am not too sure if I would have picked me up. It was not until after 12:00 that a car stopped. A young lady lowered the passenger window and said to me that she was not going anywhere but she had some money for me. What a sweet young lady. She looked a bit afraid of me but she had the decency to stop and offer help. I think she was more than a bit surprised when I thanked her and told her that I was travelling this way 'caused I liked it not because I was broke. While there was part of me that wished she had offered me a ride, I was very grateful for her stopping. She indirectly had reminded me that that I was doing this because I enjoyed the adventure. It was time for me to stop being angry at myself. I had made an error in judgment. It was not the end of the world. I was able to relax and enjoy the day although for the next 20 or so hours I was still pissed off at me. I should have stayed near George’s truck that night. The accommodations were not as nice but I had blown a ride just because I wanted to sleep in a certain spot. Dumb.

Finally a vehicle did stop. My new driver was going to the other side of Winnipeg and was happy to drive me as far as he could. However it turned out that he wanted to do some sightseeing along the way. I think in fact he might not have liked the big highway and was content to go the back road way. Who knew there was a back way? We drove along the old Trans Canada, stopping to visit the old Camp Hughes cemetery for families at near Camp Shilo, and we went through a number of little towns that were attractive and well maintained. We also went through an outlying part of Winnipeg that had huge homes on a golf course. What was particularly remarkable about this area was that there were three nurseries or greenhouses with half a mile. The people clearly had lots of money for landscaping.

 At one point I mentioned to him that I never, ever went off road with a driver and that it was strange that I had done so with him. He confessed that he had found it rather strange too. Especially as he did not pick up hitchhikers very often (I think I may have been his third or fourth hitchhiker in his life). And especially as his girlfriend told him not to ever do it

My driver was 69. He had lost his wife  to cancer a little while ago and had had some difficulty managing the day to day routines. He had never cooked or done laundry before her death!!! He was not embarrassed by this lack of experience but rather proud of himself for having learn how to do these mundane tasks of everyday life.  He was now dating a woman that he had meet through an internet dating site. We talked for a while about the difficulties of meeting women of a certain age. He seemed well content with his life and looking forward to his weekend in Winnipeg.

It was a quiet relaxing ride. I was anxious to get going. I was dreading trying to hitch along the ring road. My sense was that it was going to be very busy and therefore getting a ride would be a challenge. I had had mixed success on this stretch of the road and I wondered if my luck had changed. I was also second guessing myself about not taking the train although I knew I would have missed it because of the morning’s missed ride.  My driver drove me a bit further than he needed to and let me out at a stoplight about 2/3 of the way around the ring road. I was right… it was very busy and it was hot. It had already been a long day and now it was well after 3:00.

On the Road Again 2012 # 31

George was an old time trucker. He loved the life. One of his first comments before we even got in the truck was “what other job can you have that you get paid to sit on your ass”.  He had been doing it all of his life – in fact he was driving a truck (water truck for a lumbering company on some back roads near Valleyview, Alberta)   before he had his driving license. George was also a bit tired and needed someone to keep him awake. I was all prepared to entertain him with my stories but I didn’t need to. He just really needed someone to listen to his. And he had lots to talk about.

So we talked about his wife of twenty some years who had died eight or nine years previously and his current girlfriend of seven years. When I mentioned to him that I had met very few truckers who had stayed married for so long he gave me exactly the same answer as had another trucker a few years back who had been married for more than 30 years. “Keep it in your pants!” George’s philosophy was quite clear and very simple…if you love and respect your wife, you won’t mess around with anyone else. That love and respect shows when you are home with her.  I suppose some fancy TV psychiatrist could have put it more eloquently – but it would have meant the same thing and would have lacked the voice of experience. I suspect it is easy to say it but it is a bit harder to live the philosophy when you are on the road for a few weeks at a time.

About an hour or so into our four hour drive he told me to sit back and relax. He had a phone call to make. He was calling his lady who live on their few acres somewhere along Shuswap Lake in BC. They talked for about half an hour about all of the normal stuff: how their pregnant dog was doing, about the weather both there and on the road, what the traffic was like and what they were going to do when he got home. He had been on the road for almost three weeks and they were both missing each other. George was very conscious that it was much harder on her than him and so made a point of calling as often as he could. Their good-byes were a bit embarrassing…. I am not use to hearing truckers making loud, rather wet kissing sounds over the phone. But it was kind of sweet. After he hung up, we didn’t talk for a bit.

George drove for a reasonably large national company. I was surprised that he had picked me up given his company’s rules about picking up hitchhikers. George was too old to care about such rules. He knew the owner of the company and said that they trusted him to make good decisions. We spent some time talking about truck jackings and other kinds of theft that occur on the road. I had never realized that it happened as often as he said it did. He was quite clear, if he had been carrying something valuable like cigarettes, booze or even fresh meat, he would not have offered me a ride. But he said that if I really wanted to I was welcome to the frozen pierogies in the back.  I told him that he was safe.

 It was a fun ride. George had some good stories and told them well.  We talked about the usually stuff that truckers and I talk about: log books, weight scales, the police, CB radios and of course his truck. His truck was pretty new and had an automatic transmission. He loved it and it shifted so smoothly and intuitively.  He, like most truckers, liked it when I praised his truck. But George also had a few things he needed to talk about that he hadn’t discussed in a long time and so as we drove through he long dark stretches between Regina and Brandon he talked about those things as well.  Nothing unusual or terrible; just stuff about family and people that he knew. Like so many of my drivers, George, while he liked being a driver, sometimes just needed to talk about things with a safe stranger.

As we got close to Brandon I asked him about tomorrow. He was planning on going as far as Nipigon and then the next day to get down towards Toronto. I was pretty sure that I had a ride all the way to North Bay. I was pretty excited. George told me that he really enjoyed our talk together and he would be glad to get me to at least Nipigon. We checked the time and agreed that we would meet at 9:15 at the east end of Brandon. We agree upon what time it was when I got out of the truck and I assured him I would see him tomorrow morning.

I walked down to the other end of town to my favourite spot to sleep outside in all of Canada. It is just twenty feet from the highway but there is a littlee grove of trees that keep me hidden from the traffic and the grass is long and soft. I unrolled my bag and bivy sack and was asleep five minutes after I laid my head down. I had made it to Brandon. I was on the schedule I had made for myself. I am sure that feel asleep smiling

On the Road Again 2012 #30

It was perhaps unfair in my previous notes to suggest that Regina was a city that had not always been good to me. While it was the first city at which I was forced to sleep outside as I could not get a ride, (and I think the place that I slept outside the 2^nd time too) and it was the first place that I was ever told to get out of a car because the driver did not agree with me, good things have happened there too. Last year in Regina one of my drivers introduced me to some of his refugee friends that he was supporting, it was also the place where I started my tour of southern Saskatchewan’s small town courtesy of a Canada Post mailman, and it was also the place where I got my first really long distance ride in a truck. So Regina is a fine city and this year was no exception.

I was hungry so as soon as I got to the Husky station I used their bathroom facilities and then grabbed an egg salad sandwich. I wolfed it down in record time and then headed to the exit area where most of the trucks would need to pass by on the way either east or west. In other years this particular Husky station had had a sign up saying “no hitchhikers allowed”. But I didn’t see any such sign this year and I would have ignored it anyhow. While I think it is private property and they probably have the right to say who stands on their grass, I could not imagine any of the employees caring enough to do anything about it.

At the exit there was a bit of grass, some signs and lots of bright lighting. There was also another hitchhiker. He was wearing all black, had a medium sized airport type suitcase with wheels and he looked tired. He looked like he had been there all day.  As I walked towards him, I also looked for places to lay down for a bit. He was here first and so I knew I might as well get some sleep. There was no ride for me tonight. However as I got closer I noticed his sign. He was going to Calgary.  As he was going west and I was going east, we were not in competition for the same ride and therefore could share the same small corner.

My travelling friend was a French Canadian/ or perhaps an Acadian from New Brunswick. He had made it from the Maritimes in just under four and half days; most of it in truckers. He was friendly sort and in between standing up and showing our signs to likely cars and trucks we chatted. He was a roofer who was heading to Calgary. He said that he had a friend who had promised him a job. I was about to tell him about my previous roofer driver and his move from Calgary to Regina because of work. But then my fellow traveller told me that the roofing jobs that were being done in Regina were being so poorly done that he could not work here. He told me that they were not putting down black roofing paper before the shingles were applied and that only two nails were being used to hold each shingle. I had to admire his professional standards and ethics. He also talked about the difficulties in getting his work experiences being recognized. Not every province would accept his time worked in the Maritimes or Quebec. I didn’t quite understand why this was so or why it was important.  Our conversations were somewhat disjointed as we had to pause for traffic going by.  While we were both reasonably sure that most of the vehicles, especially the cars were not going to offer rides, we still needed to pay attention to them. On A couple of time we watched each other’s bags as we made trips to the bathroom or he to the store for food. He was a generous young man who offered on more than one occasion to buy me something to eat or drink. Why do people keep on thinking that I am broke?

It was now after 11:00. In spite of the fact that the lighting in the area was very bright and there were a lot of vehicles leaving, it felt as if the odds of us getting a drive were somewhat marginal. We discussed laying down and getting a few hours sleep. It was tiring just being there.  I would sit down between vehicles to rest but jumping up every five or so minutes took almost more energy than I saved by sitting down.  I really needed to lay down and rest my weary body for awhile. But then an older, smaller man walked up to us and asked where we were going.

I said “he is going west and I am going east”.

He said “I am going east”

I said “I would love a ride”

He said “lets go”

And that is how simple it is. Someone freely offers a ride and I just as freely accept. By those few words a contract is made between two people.  George was off to Brandon tonight. That meant that at some point in the wee hours of the morning I would get to where I had planned to get when I left Strathmore that morning.

Regina ain’t so bad after all !!!