On the Road Again 2011 #42

The bright purple cab was pulling matching tanker-like cars, only he was not hauling a liquid, my friendly truck driver was hauling sand! Rather fine sand I suspect as it was being delivered to a factory in the states that made roofing shingles. His load weighed 65,000 pounds. That is a lot of sand!

My driver was 72 years old but looked much younger. Truck driving was all that he had ever done and he was a wealth of information about his craft. He had covered the route to Calgary a thousand times and there was not a turn or a hill that did not have a story attached to it. He had carried explosives when they were blasting out parts of the mountain to improve the road and he showed me spots where he had dropped his load. He explained how the road was built and where the changes had been made. I had forgotten what the old route had looked like and it was fascinating to reminded. It was good that he had so many stories to tell. It was a very long ride. His truck engine was powerful but those long slow uphill climbs from Revelstock to the Roger's Pass tested his engines. On the downhill stretches he had to be equally as careful as he could not afford to have the train he towed behind him get out of control. He was a great driver, careful, aware and almost gentle with his truck. He was delight to watch. He was polite, kind hearted, a man who appeared to be comfortable with who and what he was. I don’t have to like all of my drivers but it sure makes it nice when I get to enjoy them.

Because of his age and his experience he made his own rules. He drove when he wanted to and got to his location when he got there. He only carried sand and I suppose it didn’t matter if he was an hour or so late. He, unlike so many of the truck drivers who pick me up and who think they are their own bosses, actual was his own boss. That is why he picked me up. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he also knew that the company that he drove for would never say anything. He had job security for as long as he wanted. 

I could never quite figure out where he lived or with whom he lived with. He lived, I think, in some sort of retirement community where he did some sort of maintenance when he was home. He had a bag of rabbit feed in the front seat that he had bought along the way so that he could feed the rabbits that were chewing up the lawns. He figured it was better to feed them food away from the houses than to have them ruin the grass. I was never sure if he did this work to make extra money or if he just did it to keep busy. I think he had a partner, I think he had only one but sometimes he referred to her as his wife and other times he used other labels. But I am almost positive it was always about the same person but as I think back I am no always sure. I know he didn’t have any kids.

In spite of the fact that it was a slow trip, the time did not drag. He had picked me up because he wanted company and conversation and that is what he got. We didn’t talk non-stop but there was an easy flow to the conversation. I know enough about trucks and the drivers that I can ask the kinds of questions that allow the trucker to feel as if they have something worthwhile to say or to teach. There are times when I am travelling where it feels as if the conversation is forced, that I am acting out a part because it is my job to keep the trucker awake. But not this ride. It was a pleasure all of the way through.

It was relaxing in part because I knew I would be in Calgary that night and so any pressure was off. As we neared Calgary he asked me where I wanted to get out. I suppose I could have gone a bit further the other side Calgary before he turned south, but I did not want to be stuck at midnight in the middle of nowhere. Other than that bowl of noodle soup in the motel room I had not eaten since breakfast on the ferry. I felt as if I was ready for a decent meal. It would have been nice to get a drive right through Calgary but all of the cheap motels appear to be on the west side of the city so I asked to be let out somewhere just after we entered the city. Many truck drivers are not particularly flexible (and understandably so) about where they stop. They are driving large vehicles and maneuvering in the city can be tricky. But this driver had no problems at all stopping right in front to the motel where I had stayed a year or so before. When I mentioned that it was unusual, his comment was “I am so big I can stop wherever I want to!”

I thanked him, got out, walked fifteen feet to the motel entrance and got a room. Unfortunately by this time it was after 11:00 and all the restaurants including a sub shop were closed. So I bought a packet of nuts at a gas station and went to bed.

Another successful day.

intermission - cleaning the house

One of the truly great joys of living alone is that the house can be a messy as one wants and no one else ever complains or cares.

For the past two weeks I have been busy finishing a number of weaving projects that have laid unfinished for months. The shawls, bags and rugs have been off the loom but all needed little bits and pieces either woven (e.g. straps for bags) or buttons sewn on or finished in some other way.  The kitchen stove has red and blue dye hidden under the rings, the floors are covered with pieces of fluff or woven wool and the dining room table is buried under finished product and all of the cards that need to be attached to each item with the price on it. The bathroom constantly smells of wet wool as I wash the last of the fleeces. I have in fact been a bit consumed by it all.

But today I am cleaning up! It is so satisfying to see the small piles of wool and cotton warp being combined into one rather impressive pile. Makes me wonder why I don’t clean more often.Of course one of the down parts of living alone is that there is no one else to clean it up…..

p.s. I am doing all of this work as I am having a sale this weekend.

On the Road Again 2011 #41

While walking through the road construction east of Revelstoke was more pleasant than hanging around road construction in the pouring rain outside of Vancouver, it was still dangerous. Traffic patterns in construction zones are disrupted, the shoulders (a sometime rather rare resource in the mountains) disappear completely and no one thinks of looking out for someone who is walking. The drivers of ordinary cars, transport trucks, large dump trucks, back hoes and diggers are all intent on not hitting each other. The flag people are focused on making the chaos manageable for those who are driving.  No one cared about me and I was left to dodge the traffic as best I could. About three quarters of the way up the hill there is a pleasant little spot that I sometimes stand at for awhile, in part because it is a likely spot for cars to stop, but mainly because I am usually out of breath by this time and I need a break. I couldn’t stop this time because there were all kinds of construction vehicles taking up the space. I jokingly said to the flag person that they were taking my spot. She somewhat harshly replied “you are not allowed to hitchhike in a construction zone, please cross the road so that you can walk facing traffic.” I complied of course, but I was not happy having to walk on the other side where the shoulder was loose gravel and steeply slanted downwards towards the ditch.

After walking for another ten or so minutes I was out of the construction zone. At the top of the hill there is one of the best spots to hitch in the Rockies. It is in the shade, there is a lot of room for cars to pull over and while the sight lines are not perfect, they are pretty good. The only thing wrong with this spot is that it is at the top of a very long hill. That means that if cars get stuck behind a slow transport truck climbing the long hill, this is the first spot since Revelstock that they are able to pass the truck. Some drivers, frustrated with the slow climb, don’t even look at me as they zip by the trucks. Trucks of course never stop here. They have just had a torturous downshifting climb up a long hill (it may be one of the longest hills heading east. To make it worse there is a stop light at the bottom of it), they have just started to shift into the higher gears and the last thing the driver wants to do is to stop. I was more surprised than usual when a trucker hauling a “B train” stopped. They never stop for anyone!

A “B train” is two trailers attached together and pulled by a regular looking transport truck. It means that the trucks can haul almost twice as much stuff as can a regular transport truck. It also means that it is almost twice as long as most trucks. I have always assumed that it would take a lot more skill to drive one of these long trucks, that the trucks are all owned by large companies (and therefore are less likely to be allowed to pick up a passenger) and that they, if they had a choice, didn’t stop for anything.  I was so surprised that such a truck had stopped to offer me a ride that that I didn’t move for a minute, but when the driver tooted his horn and I grabbed my pack and ran.

On the Road Again 2011 #40

After sleeping well, I got up early, had a shower and was on the road by 8:00. I have stood at the same spot just outside of Kamloops a number of times in the past. It is a good spot in terms of there being lots of room and just past a stop light so at least some of the cars are going slowly but it frequently has taken me awhile to get a ride out of there. It is a very busy section of the highway and frequently there have been so many cars zooming by me that none can slow down enough to stop. But then I have always been there later in the day when people are heading home. At 8:00 in the morning there was much less traffic and the drivers had lots of time to look me over. I got a ride fairly quickly.

My first driver of the day was a rodeo livestock handler. I think his job was to deliver, to the various small rodeos, the required bucking horses and bulls. His language was to say the least, colourful or perhaps more accurately bordering on obnoxiously rude and obscene. He was also quite assertive about being right about most things including the fact that I had been standing in a horrible spot and would never get a ride there. He didn’t appear interested in me saying that I had always (although somewhat slowly sometimes) gotten a ride there. I find it irritating when people tell me that I don’t know how to hitchhike. There is no such thing as doing it the wrong way. There are perhaps general tricks of getting rides such as looking presentable, making eye contact, not sitting/laying down at the side of the road with one’s thumb out etc, or having a sign, but quite frankly hitchhiking is not rocket science. Any fool, and I being a particularly good example of that, can do it. However as we were only going a bit down the road, it was not worth me debating with him about the finer arts of hitching. So I bit my tongue and waited for the ride to be over.

He let me out at a spot that he swore was a great spot. He was positive that there would be lots of trucks coming by and that one would surely stop. It was of course, a terrible spot and after fifteen minutes I walked up the road a piece until I got to a location where it felt as if drivers would be able to see me and have space to stop. I felt vindicated with my decision as within five minutes a car pulled over. They too were going just a short distance. They being a woman and her adult daughter (who was driving). The two of them were attending a rodeo near Pritchard and had just been to Kamloops for a beer run. I thought it was a bit early for a beer so I declined their offer of one as I sat in the back seat of their car. They also invited me to the rodeo and that would have been fun. I thought of doing it but I knew that I needed to get home so ten minutes later they let me out by the side of the road and turned south.

It was turning into an interesting day. I don’t particularly mind short rides as long as I don’t have to wait a long time for them. The weather was perfect, not too hot with a sunny sky with lots of clouds to keep it cool. I was feeling pretty good.

My next ride was from a couple. The driver was in her forties (I think) and her passenger looked to be at least 10 years younger than her. He was an Israeli who she had met in India. They had become friends and she had just picked him up from the Vancouver Airport. I think he was planning on staying for a while. I was never too sure of their relationship.  I am not sure if they were just friends or lovers. I didn’t think I should ask.

Originally they were just going to drive me to Salmon Arm as they were stopping there to go shopping before they went on to her home in Revelstoke. It did not take much to convince them that I would be glad to wait in the parking lot of the shopping mall. So I did. It took them about 45 minutes to get all of their stuff and then we were off. My driver had done a lot of hitchhiking both in Canada and around the world. It was a great conversation as we talked about crazy rides and strange adventures. I heard from her perhaps the best line I have ever heard about hitching. We were talking about the times that we had had to wait a long time for a ride. She then said – it is not that we have to wait a long time for a ride – it is just that we have gotten to the spot too early for our ride. What a great attitude!   

They offered to drive to the top of the hill on the east side of Revelstock. I was really happy with the offer as the hill is rather steep. But there was a lot of road construction happening so I got out about half way up the hill. Otherwise they would have been stuck in traffic for awhile.  It had been such a great day that I didn’t mind thought of walking for awhile at all. Some days it just feels good to be there - wherever there is.

On the Road Again 2011 #39

I picked the seediest of the two or three motels available on the hope and assumption that that if it looked crummy, it would be cheap. I frequently use this approach but I have no way of determining whether or not it is either an accurate or useful method of finding a cheap but comfortable bed.  On this particular rainy Monday the outside of the motel looked seedy enough, but it was not that cheap. The inside was just a touch better than adequate. There may have been cheaper motels along this strip but it was dark and I was far too tired to embark upon a comparative shopping expedition. 

I quickly got into some dry clothes, hung the damp ones over the chairs, and checked to see what else was wet. I had packed well. The only thing that was even slightly damp was my sleeping bag and that was just one on corner. Good to know that the pack’s cover could do the job. On the other hand it was a pity to have to unpack it all. I had spent so much time (with the assistance of my grandson) packing that pack carefully so that I could find what I needed quickly. Now I would have to do it all over again. Of course this time it would be faster without his help. It would also be less fun.

I was hungry. I went out and looked down the secondary road that runs parallel to the TransCanada. It looked as if there were some restaurants a mile or so away. So I walked towards those lights. They were a collecting of service stations and car dealerships. There were no restaurants. So I walked back to the motel, dug out some Mr. Noodle soup, plugged in the kettle kindly provided by the management of the motel to make a morning coffee and made some soup. For desert I had a chewy bar. Not a great meal but it did warm me up.

I flipped though the TV stations looking for something that could keep my interest. Nothing did so I went to bed early hoping that Tuesday morning would be better than Monday morning. It was.

intermission - world finances

I know next to nothing about finances. I usually figure if I have enough money in the bank to pay my bills - I am doing OK. Anything more than that is usually beyond me. But I have made a special attempt to understand what in heaven’s name is happening in Europe. This is the best I can come up with.

If I want to buy something but don’t have the cash on hand – I go to the bank and borrow some money (well actually I don’t do that – but I know lots of folks who do). The bank tells me how much it will cost me to borrow the money, I agree and we all sign a pile of forms. If I lose my job or for some other reason I can’t pay what I owe, then either I can declare bankruptcy or perhaps the bank and I negotiate a different payment scheme.  But what the bank does not do is raise the cost of borrowing the money!

But that is what I think is happening in Greece and Italy. They need to borrow money to run their country. You can’t build a hospital or repair the roads without borrowing money. Because of the economic downturn many countries are having a difficult time raising funds through taxes. The people are earning less and therefore there is less money in the system. But banks, rather than negotiating with the countries to reduce their payments, are raising the interest rates and thereby making it harder for the countries to do business. When, because of the rising interest payments, the countries can no longer manage their economy, then there is a major crisis.

In other words while there is a small financial crisis in terms of the various lending institutions not getting their money (and of course their huge profits) back as soon as they had planned, the crisis is made far worse by those same financial institutions raising the cost of borrowing the money. In other words they are creating the crisis.

Please someone – tell me this is not true!!!

On the Road Again 2011 #38

It was now getting close to 7:00 pm. I had been on the road since 6:00 that morning. I was cold and damp. My shoes still squished when I walked.  I felt as if I needed to eat something. Hitchhiking while shivering appears to burn a lot more calories than hitching in the sun. As I walked though the rest of the rest of Hope (which is a charming little town) I passed a Greek restaurant attached to a little motel. It looked very tempting. It had been grey all day and now it was starting to get dark. Not that darkness that gently comes after a pleasant day, but the darkness that comes  after a miserable day, the kind of darkness that reminds one that fall is coming and that it is time to find a place to burrow in for the winter. I wanted to stop. But in some silly tribute to my supposed toughness I didn’t check into that motel or the next one. I kept on walking and every time I heard a car I turned around and stuck out my thumb. I walked slowly, trying to keep those motels in sight for as long as possible. I knew that I would not be sleeping on the ground tonight. I saw no reason to get too far away from my warm bed.

However a car did stop and offer me a ride to Kamloops. I would have been a fool to turn down the offer so I got in. Kamloops is only a two hour drive from Hope, but psychologically it is more than that. Hope in my mind is still attached to Vancouver. One can, as proven by my last driver, commute back and forth. People in Hope shop in Vancouver for the big items. Kamloops, while it is not my favourite town because it is so spread out, it is hard to walk though and still illegal to hitchhike along the highway, is far enough away from Vancouver that the traveler knows they are well on their way.

My driver was driving his wife’s Subaru after dropping some friends off in Vancouver. He was a miner which for some reason surprised me. Perhaps because I had never been picked up by a miner before I some how assumed that mining only happens in the far north or somewhere equally as remote.  While it is not a job I had ever considered for myself, I could see why it was an attractive option. My driver was happy in his job. It allowed him to live in a beautiful part of the country and offered good prospects for the future as long as the price of gold remained high.  

We spent most of the two hours or so talking about his family, most particularly his mother who had raised her family on what used to be called the Queen Charlotte islands ( but is more rightly now called Haida Quai).  She still lived on the 3,000 acre piece of property, living a life that sounded as if she was homesteading. His dad had been a logger and had been gone for part of each year as he was growing up. His mom had had to do all of the work required to support and maintain the family. There weren’t and it sounded as if there still weren’t a lot of stores to buy food. So she grew her own and then she preserved it for the long winter months. My driver worried about his mom but he was also so proud of her toughness and her resiliency.  He knew that she had raised him well. He had good values. He knew who and what he was and how he wanted to live his life. He had tried the city life for a while but clearly he was happiest in an area where the wilderness was not too far away. I suspect he was also more comfortable working with men who needed to, and could trust each other with their lives. I think he was happy living a life where things were quite black and white. There are times when I envy such people.

My driver, thankfully, was going to the far end of town. That meant that I did not have to walk a long the highway for another hour to get to a good spot to hitch from the next morning. There also happened to be a few motels just a few 100 feet back from where he let me off.

I was done for the day. In spite of the lousy weather and the difficult hitchhiking conditions, I had got three rides and was now well on my way. It was time to eat, to make sure my stuff inside my pack was dry, and to sleep.