On the Road again 2013 Addendum

At some point as I lay in bed last night or early this morning I realized that I had not talked about some of my drivers. This summer I did a lot of hitchhiking on both Vancouver and Salt Spring Islands. Some of these rides were only five minutes, some for almost an hour. Without those drivers I would not have been able to travel around as easily as I did.

On Salt Spring, the Vesuvius ferry terminal is probably only a 15 minute drive from Ganges. About half way along there are the four corners, where on one corner is a large sports field, on the other corner a fire hall and on another corner an old but still active wooden movie theater. From here one can either go to the north end of the island or turn left towards the ferry. More often than not I get a ride from a spot just outside of Ganges to the four corners and then another ride directly to the ferry. During those short rides my driver and I seldom get much past talking about the weather. On occasion one of those rides is not only going to the ferry but are going across to Duncan. That means that I get a ride on the other side as well. One of those drivers this year was a transplant from Australia. As we had a 30 minute wait for the ferry we had a great conversation about politics and teaching and sociology. He had been one of the professors on the dissertation committee of one of my professors from Trent University. So we had a lot to talk about. It was a really pleasant afternoon.

Getting a drive from the ferry into Ganges was always a bit tricky. I don't think I have ever gotten a ride from someone who has been on the ferry. By the time I can get myself into a safe spot to stand - they have long disembarked. But I seldom have to wait too long, or at least it is such a lovely place to be that I don't mind waiting.But again the trip is so short that I never really get to know the driver. They have recently done a lot road work around Ganges. As in most cases when towns improve the roads, they have not made hitchhiking any easier by installing sidewalks where the shoulders use to be.

Getting a ride from the Croften side into Duncan is much more problematic. Again, by the time that I get to a safe spot to stand - most of the cars that were on the ferry have long driven by. It is also not quite as pleasant a place to stand. There are some folks who spend their time on the ferry knocking on car windows asking for a ride. I think it works well for them. I have never been comfortable doing that. It quite frankly feels too much like begging.  So I walk up a small hill until the road flattens out and wait until someone is going my way. There are at least two ways of getting from Croften to Duncan. The shortest route that most of the locals use is confusing and if I ever got let out half way I am not too sure if I could find my way home. So I take the long way and sometimes it does take me a long time to get a ride.

I also made a trip into Victoria and got a couple of rides relatively easily. Most memorable was from a young mother with her under 3 year old daughter. They were from Campbell River and were going down to Victoria for a doctor's appointment. That is about a three hour drive. While I was surprised that a mom stopped for me - I think she just wanted a break from her daughter who, by the time I got picked up, was understandably getting a bit cranky. So the daughter and I played some game that involved her throwing a stuff animal on the floor and then crying until I picked it up and gave it to her. Repeat as often as needed or desired by the child in the car seat.

I suspect that there were perhaps another 10-15 drives that I had this summer. I am grateful to all of those people who picked me up, cleaned the car seat so there was room for me and my stuff - all for a 10 minute drive. I wish I could bottle whatever inspired them to stop.  The world needs more of it.  But is the people at the ends of my travels that I need to thank the most. My daughter in Sudbury and my son and his wife in Duncan who throughout the year pick me up or deliver me to the various train stations, or bus, ferry or airplane terminals that I arrive at or depart from. I am quite sure that none of them ever dreamed that they were be chauffeuring their dad as much as they do. And best of all they do it with such grace and humour that not once have I ever felt that I was imposing on them.  I am sure there are times when it feels to them as if I am. So thanks kids. If I don't say thank you loud enough or often enough - THANK YOU!!

Now I am done.

On the Road Again 2013 # 29

And so that is my story of how I went from Sudbury to Vancouver Island, travelled around a bit and then came home. Nothing particularly extraordinary or amazing - just what I have been doing for the past few years. Actually when I think about it, I have been travelling for quite a few years. If perhaps the stories are getting a bit boring to the reader or that eventually that all of the rides start to seem to be the same, that is only because I lack the ability to find the words so that I can share the feeling I get when I am on the road. It is, in part, the sense of absolute freedom combined with the total lack of control over any part of my existence that I find so exhilarating. But that is only part of why I do it.

It may be that hitchhiking is just my way of finding adventure. Perhaps people who get involved in extreme sports or climb mountains or kayak in the Arctic Ocean get the same kind of high as I do when after a few minutes or eight hours standing on the side of the road, a vehicle stops and some kind soul offers me a ride. Maybe it is just a simple as I am spending an extended time in my second childhood. I don`t know what it is - Lord knows I have lots of time to think about it when I am on the road and yet I don`t. Whether my pack is on my back or beside me on the shoulder; whether I am climbing what seems an impossibly high hill to get to a safe spot to stand or rambling along a pretty logging road I don`t think very much at all about why I am doing it. I am just doing it and that seems to be a good enough reason. There are times when it is raining, when a cold wind is blowing, or when I am stuck in a spot where I know (or at least I think I know) that I am not going to get a ride for awhile that I curse my stupidity or my silliness at some decision I have made. But I never regret doing what I am doing.

If I have to define myself - I tell people that I am a dad, a granddad and a hitchhiker. All of the other attributes don't really matter to me; they don't define me. At some point every year I wonder how much longer I will be able to travel this way; for how much longer will my body be able to manage the walking, the pack and the hard ground. But I know that every year sometime around February the urge to pack my bag and start travelling will be all consuming. I know I will have no choice but to start travelling again. It is what I am.


I have however, thought a lot about why it has taken me so long to get this story done. It is now almost mid-November and I have just finished the tale. It feels as if I have taken twice as long as I normally do. There are perhaps a couple of reasons. One is that school continues to consume me. I have a great schedule and I am teaching subjects that I like but the marking and the preparation takes a lot of my time. Secondly I have been occupied with wool a lot this fall. I started going to the Saturday Farmer's market to sell my wares and much to my delight I have been selling stuff. So much so that I have had to work relatively hard to replenish my stock. Because I had to get ready for a craft show this past weekend - I have spent most of my free time especially in the last month playing with wool. But I think the primary reason why I have been so slow in writing is that I have been wearing headphones and my capacity to think about what I want to write has been limited.

I live in an apartment with my landlady below me and a couple of young people above me. I am respectful of how much noise I make and therefore I like to keep my stereo fairly low. However, carding can be noisy and the loom room is quite far away from the speakers. So my choice has been to either have the music or the talking book on really loud - or to wear my wireless headphones. I have chosen the latter option. Because of the headphone,  the words or the music are so totally within my head that it is difficult to think about anything other than the physical task that I am doing. I wonder if that is why the arts of conversation or of political debate are dying out. People have in their ear buds and  the capacity to think is destroyed. I wonder if that is why so many of my drivers absolutely crave conversation. So many people spend all of their free time with the music being directed into their brains to the exclusion of all other stimuli (the best headphones are designed to cancel out all other noise) that they don't need to think or to talk with anyone else.

At any rate I am done for another year. I am glad that I am finished that story. In a few months I will start thinking about the next one. I am thinking about going to the Yukon nest year.........

On the Road Again 2013 # 28

I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in sequential order.

Ted had been on a car trip to visit Edmonton and was on his way home. He had, on his way west, gone through Sault St. Marie and wanted to go the more northern route on the way home. While it would have been so much easier for me if he had wanted to go through Sudbury, I was quite content to travel with him as far east as Nipigon. I would decide then whether to stay on highway 11 and go through North Bay or get out and go down #17. That was four hours away and given the fact that it was getting late I knew that I would not need to make a decision tonight.

There are times when some of my conversations with the driver of what ever car I am in are quite focused and stay on one subject. There are other times when either the driver or I do most of the talking. But I think between Ted and I the conversation was pretty equal although we did bounce around a lot. We knew that we were going to be together for awhile and therefore there was no rush to get all of our stories out quickly. Ted was always quite enjoyable because he had no axe to grind. Unlike some of my other drivers he had no pet peeve that he had been been storing up for all of those miles, almost bursting to get it out; impatient to share it with someone.So our conversation sort of meandered along.

We had a lot to talk about and the miles flew by quite nicely. Ted was a teacher in the correctional system. I don't think he told me which prison he worked at or if he did I didn't make note of it. Ted had some interesting stories about his career in the prisons . He had a perspective that I have never thought about before. When one thinks about prisons there are usually just two main characters -the inmates and the guards but in fact there is a small group of people who are neither. That is - those who provide the educational and other programs to the inmates. From what Ted said - neither of the groups, especially the guards gave a lot of respect to those professionals. It was a fascinating conversation and I learned a lot. Not that I understood all of the policies he talked about but at least I understood what happened. Things were also a lot more complicated then I assumed. For example the number of steps that the system needs to take to ensure that some prisoners never get in contact with each other surprised me. I guess I just assumed that they were not that careful.

Ted was also very passionate about his family history and had dome a lot of research about his Arcadian answers. In fact part of the reason for this trip was so that he could visit some of his relatives across Canada. I was more than a bit envious that he had so many relatives and knew how he was connected to them. Some of them the connections went back to the 1700s. I could see how following a family tree could be so time consuming and so absorbing.

We got to Kakabeka Falls well after dark. I was tired. It had been a long day. Ted was more than just tired. He had wanted to get to Thunder Bay and we were close enough. He really needed to stop.We chose a motel (The Telstar motel) and checked into two separate rooms. Ted did offer to share a room, but I wanted some private space. It felt as if it had been a long time since I had been in a room by myself. Both Ted and I used our technology to pass messages out to the outside world via the internet, I walked for a bit to stretch my legs and then went to bed. I was a bit nervous. The last time I had been in this general area and had found a motel late at night, my driver had abandoned me the next morning. I slept well and was up early the next morning, haunting the area around his car. At around 7:15 I bang on his door as we had agreed - he was up but just barely.

While it had been 24 hours since I had eaten a meal I was afraid to go have breakfast. I hung around and waited under the assumption that we would eat together. When Ted got out of his room- we left right away. He preferred to drive for awhile and then eat. Pity. I should have eaten at the restaurant. It would have been better meal than the one I ate at some Tim Horton's this side of Thunder Bay.

As we passed the turn-off to the Sault I thought about getting out and travelling south along #17. But in fact there was no guarantee that I would get a ride. So far, at the rate I was going, I was assured that I would be home late that night. If I got out, I might get a ride quickly or not for hours. As much as I wanted to go along the shore of Lake Superior - I wanted to get home more - in good time. Good company and a nice car going generally in my direction. I would have been a fool to get out.

That day was much the same as our previous time together. Lots to talk about lots of things including dating and when there were the odd quiet bits - that was fine too. One of the things that I remember talking about was the number of women riding Harleys. In the past it was relatively rare to see women driving their own motor bikes. Not only had there been a couple driving their own bikes next door to me at the motel, but I had noticed more than a few times coming east groups of 3-4 women riding together. I wonder if it is because Harley Davidson are making sightly smaller bikes that the women can manage.

I do not know why but it seems to me that on the way west I frequently get a drive from someone who is a crazy fast driver, but on the way east I frequently get a long ride that is a bit slow. Ted, while he had destination targets to reach, was not a fast driver. In fact he was a bit slow and took more breaks than I would have. I don't think he really cared about seeing the towns he stopped in, so he didn't care if he got there late at night. At one point when I called my daughter I thought I would be able to make the last bus to Sudbury. It should have been possible. However by the time it was dark it was clear that we would not be in North Bay until late. With her help we got a motel for Ted and she came and got me.

As I said goodbye to Ted it struck me once again that virtually all of these relationships that I have with my drivers - in spite of the hundreds if not thousands of miles that we travel together (Ted and I traveled about 1500 kilometers together) that they almost always end the same way - a quick handshake and then they are gone. What a strange way to meet people and to travel.

It felt like cheating - I should have/ could have just waited at the bus station until the first bus north in the morning, but I was tired - my trip was done and I could find no reason to sleep outside one more night.

On the Road Again 2013 # 27

I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in sequential order.

The day was hot, the shoulders were wide, there was just the right amount of traffic going my way and there was a place to get more water if I started to run out. With the exception of having to wait for well over an hour for a ride - it was just about perfect. In fact I didn't mind standing there. I was happy. So far it had been a good day.

At some point my eyes drifted across the highway and I noticed that there was a pop machine outside a souvenir shop. I almost never drink pop and I think I can count on two fingers the number of times  in the last ten years that I have bought a pop while hitchhiking. However once I thought about it for a minute - I could not get it out of my mind. I just kept on thinking how good something really cold to drink would taste. So I ran across the highway and bought a Canada Dry. While I was taking the first sips (actually it was more of a "glug") a mid-thirty year old old who had arrived on a motor bike started to give me a lecture about how I should wear white as opposed to dark clothing. While I agreed with his logic that a light colour would perhaps be cooler, white shows the dirt too easily. He was not interested in having a conversation - he just wanted to get his point across. So I thanked him for his advice and dashed back across the highway.

The ginger ale was not nearly as good as I imagined it would be. It was fine - but it tasted far too sweet. So I stuffed it into my pack's side pocket and settled down to wait for my next ride.  Not longer after a car driven by an older man stopped and offered me a ride to Dryden. I had not looked at a map but I thought that Dryden was a few hours down the road so I was quite delighted with a nice ride. In fact Dryden was less than an hour down the road.

My driver worked in a provincial park and he also ran with his family a lawn cutting business. So we talked about that. I think he had started the company when his sons were young so that they could have summer jobs His sons were now young adults and it seemed as if the company had continued to grow. In fact given the amount of machinery he had and the number of contracts, it seemed as if it was almost too big. He was on his way to check on one job and then to get another started. This all after a full day of work at the park. I do admire people who have that much energy. I have no desire to be like them, but I do admire them.

Unfortunately my driver had little understanding of being really helpful to hitchhikers and let me out quite close to the western end of Dryden. It is a long, boring and tiring walk to the other end of town. However, I had no choice so I got through it as quickly as I could. Just outside of Dryden heading east at the top of a hill there is quite a nice spot to stand. The sight lines are good, the shoulders in this part of Ontario are excellent and if I didn't get a ride to Thunder Bay that night, across the highway there is a little park with washrooms that looked to have some good sleeping spots. I had not been at this spot very long when a pick-up truck stopped and the guy offered me a newly purchased McDonald's hamburger along with some fries and a large pop. The driver had seen me walking through town and had gone and bought me a meal!! I didn't know what to do. I finally had to tell him that while I really really appreciate his gesture, I didn't need it. The concept of someone not eating meat seemed to be outside of his experience. In hindsight, I should have taken it - just because he clearly was a very caring guy and one needs to encourage folks like that.

A little while a almost brand new, mid-sized car pulled up and offered me a ride. We got my pack stuffed into the trunk and away we went. The car was from New Brunswick so after saying thank you, I asked my driver what part of the province he was from. He said that I wouldn't know it. I answered back that I might as I had spent two years going to UNB. He slowed the car down reached out to shake my hand and said that he had three degrees from UNB!! I knew we would have lots to talk about.

On the Road Again # 26

I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in sequential order.

I awoke reasonable refreshed and ready to be on the road again. I had thought about staying in Winnipeg for a day and a half so that I could catch the east bound Via train on Monday afternoon. If I did I would be sure to get back to middle Ontario in time to make the wedding on Friday. While I like Winnipeg, I have never had much luck finding places to eat and I did not want to spend hours walking around with nothing to do. As well the thought of hanging around for 36 hours in a house that felt somewhat unwelcoming was not that attractive. Besides I had done so little hitchhiking this year that I wanted a few more rides before I hung up my pack for the season. So I made the decision to trust in the people who travel the roads.

The bus stop on Portage Street was only a few blocks away from the hostel.  Within 45 minutes of waking up I was at the necessary bus stop. Winnipeg has this really neat electronic system that tells you when the next bus is coming,  Unlike in other cities where there can be some anxiety as to whether or not the bus is coming or if one is even at the right stop, this system takes all the worry out of using  an unfamiliar bus system. The first bus driver was as helpful as all of Winnipeg's bus drivers have been to me. He without hesitation told me which bus I needed to get and where to make the connection. I got off of his bus ten minutes later, waited ten more minutes for the next bus and within half an hour I was at the end of the line. One could not ask for anything smoother. I do however, wish that there was a bus that got me closer to where I needed to be.

It is a long walk, at least an hour and a half, to where the Trans-Canada hooks up with the ring road.  The multi-lane highway was surprisingly busy for a Sunday and while on a couple of occasions I did try to hitchhike it just did not feel as if anyone was going to stop. It was going to be a warm day and withing the first 45 minutes of walking I was already wondering if I had made a mistake in deciding to hitchhike all of the way home. I had walked for well over a hour when I decided it was time to drop my pack, drink some water and stick my thumb out for awhile. While I didn't realize it at the time, I was only about two kilometers from the junction. I was delightfully surprised when a small car slowed and stop. I assumed that it was some guy out doing messages on a Sunday morning and that he would just drive me to the junction of Ring Road and the Trans-Canada. which would have been great.

I was wrong. The car was driven by a young woman and she was going all of the way to Vermillion Bay, Ontario which was a good three hour drive. I had stopped there before and I knew that there were restaurants and places to buy water. It also meant that I would be taken well past all of the tourist/cottager spots around Winnipeg. Getting a ride to the other side of Kenora meant that the traffic on the road would be more likely people heading east towards Thunder Bay. For a Sunday morning ride - I was pleased.

Susan was 29 years old and was heading home to her family in Red Lake which is 2-3 hours north of Vermillion Bay. Red Lake is a mining town that like all such towns in the north has gone through a number of bust and boom cycles. It is a one industry town and if you don't want to work at the mine, then other than a few service type jobs such as working in a store for minimum wage, there is nothing to do.

Susan was planning  to head to college in the fall. She was nervous about it as she had been out of school for some time. So we talked about that. Susan struck me as a hard working, organized person. She certainly seemed bright enough to do well in school. Hopefully I was able to give her some useful suggestions - but in fact she knew everything she needed to know to do well. She was committed, ambitious, and had a life plan. Unless something unforeseen occurs to derail her, she will do wonderfully. In fact I suspect that she could easily become a class leader. The PRN course was being held in her home town which makes all kinds of logical sense except for the fact that all of the students knew each other. I think post secondary education works better when one has the sense of starting something new, where old roles or personae can be changed. That is hard to do when everyone knows you.

We also talked about growing up in a rural area and the complexities of working and living in a mining town. Susan had worked for the mine for a couple of years and had had some employment difficulties in terms of being harassed etc. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised when I hear these stories, but I am. I guess I expect that if the bosses are not enlightened at least the unions will be. The sad fact is that as long as our communities and our places of work are shaped by a patriarchal system, women will not have full access to the protection we all deserve.  It was an interesting conversation. I always enjoy talking to Northerners - they have an unique perspective of the country. It is not surprising that they so frequently feel as if the rest of the country does not understand them.

As always when I am in a car driven by an interesting person, the ride ended far too soon. But she was going north and I was heading east and then south.

On the Road Again 2013 # 25

I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in sequential order.

The hostel was an older house that in its time must have been quite magnificent. The carving on the staircase, the wood paneling and the size of the living/dining area all spoke of quite luxurious living. However like all hostels that use converted space it was a bit chopped up and cluttered looking. The room that I was given on the main floor was a strange elongated space with only one small window. It seemed to be over packed with furniture, some of which was not in very good shape. The room felt as if it had been or perhaps still was, used for storage. The hostel itself was located in an area that I think was a student ghetto. It was hard to tell as it was the weekend before Labour Day and there were relatively few students around. But it had that feel to it.  Just a few blocks away from the hostel were some extraordinarily beautiful and large homes along the river. They looked like the sort of places that perhaps tenured professors lived.

There were 6-7 people at the hostel when I arrived. Three or four of them were young Germans (at least I think that is the language they were speaking), two of whom were working there. There was a middle aged man who came and went and I suspect was either the owner or at least the manager and then there was a older man who spoke more than a few languages. I think I was the only uni-lingual individual in the house.They seemed to be all busy in the kitchen so I dropped my stuff off in the room, changed into sandals and went out to find a place to eat. Perhaps because it was a Saturday night but the few greasy spoons that were around- were closed. I walked the general area for 30 or do minutes trying to orientate myself but I was just too tired to keep on looking for a place to eat. Unfortunately the only food store in the area was also closed. I knew I had to eat so when I got back to the hostel I made some Chinese noodle soup. I always carry a few packages in my pack. It is lightweight, easy to make and I like the taste.

By the time the soup was ready, the other  folks were finished eating their meal and I sat down to eat alone. It was a strange place - I felt as if I had sort of invaded someone private space and that while they were happy to have my money - there was no need to be particularly welcoming. When I finished eating, I tried to start a conversation about bus routes etc. No one seemed to have a clue how the bus system worked except that as the next day was Sunday the system would not be working well, if at all. I went on-line and found a bus schedule. It appeared to me that there were buses and that I could get to where I needed to be. Usually hostels are fairly good about knowing how the public system works. I rely on those who work on hostels to help me. It is disappointing when they don't know and perhaps more importantly - give the impression that they do not care.

 It was only 9:00 but I was exhausted, in fact I was past the point of being tired. I would have been quite content to go to bed right then. But the middle age man put on a movie on the big flat screen.  I was in the front room on my tablet checking out bus schedules. I could have gotten up and moved to my room but I was too tired to move and so I ended up watching it. It was a silly thing about families and drug smuggling and.... The plot was instantly forgettable and while there were points at which I may have chuckled it really wasn't funny.  As soon as it was over, people started to disperse - I quietly drifted off to bed.

My roommate was the older, multilingual gentleman. He too was getting ready for bed.  We chatted for a few minutes. He told me that he use to hitchhike but now given his age (he was in his 70s) he took the train. The following day he was off on the Polar Bear Express to see the north. I admired his sense of adventure. I suspect that if we had been there longer we would have had an enjoyable chat. As it was it was short. Our conversation ended with him asking me if I minded leaving on the light as he would need to get up a number of times during the night. While normally that might bother me, I am sure that I was already asleep before my eyes closed.

On the Road Again 2013 # 24

I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in sequential order.


I bought some more water and walked the few hundred meters back to the highway. I was pleased with myself and life in general. Winnipeg was only 500 kilometers away. It was just after 10:00. How hard could it be to get to the next city by bed time? I was absolutely determined to get a shower and a good night's sleep in a real bed. 48 hours on the road (and counting) was long enough. My last ride had been a great ride but one of the interesting phenomena of hitchhiking (at least for me) is that no matter whow a great ride it has been, no matter how far we have driven or what great conversations we have had, as soon as I get out of the car my mind immediately turns to the next car coming down the road. Alice and I had managed to chat for almost 14 hours with no disagreements or friction. We had both shared bits and pieces of our lives and I think had been pretty honest about our feelings and our failures. I will for months if not years wonder how her court case turned out, whether of not she got to adopt her grandchildren.  But once my thumb is out, my sole focus is not on the past but upon getting another car to stop.

There was a fair amount of traffic on the highway. Unfortunately it seemed as if much of it was turning off the highway either going right towards Indian Head or left to I am not sure where. I was there for almost four hours. My head was buzzing and my fingertips were tingling from all of the caffeine I had drunk. I had not slept for 24+ hours, and the sleep the night before last had been sporadic because of the real or imagine bears near my campsite. I was not asleep on my feet but I do suspect that I might have mentally dozed a bit. The combination of a brain deprived of sleep but kept awake by caffeine  is not a good one for me. I didn't feel sick - but  I knew I was not functioning at anywhere near 100%. It was probably a good thing that I did not get a ride quickly. I was in no shape to fulfill my obligations of a hitchhiker.

Finally at about 2:30 a truck did stop for me. Ted was off to Winnipeg to visit his half sister. If I remember rightly they had found each other through social media and while they had chatted on line - they had never actually met before. He was very open about his life and how it happened that he had a sister who he didn't know. It certainly started off our four hour conversation in a fascinating way. Ted was quite excited about. Personally I would have been scared to death although I am not sure why.

Ted was one of the drivers - there are a surprising number of them- who had seen me and then had turned around to pick me up. That supports my theory that there would be more drivers picking up hitchhikers if they were reminded that there might be some hitchhikers on the road. There are so few of us out there, that drivers do not even think about the possibility.

Ted was a driver for a courier company. He spent most of his time picking up old postage machinery from various companies and returning it to the depot ( I was never clear as to why that job needed to be done in the first place). It was not a great job and Ted was not that excited about it. His first love was film making. He had been employed in the seemingly booming film industry in Saskatchewan and clearly enjoyed the opportunity to be creative. Unfortunate the Province of  Saskatchewan  had decided to cancel its tax strategy for the film companies and the film production companies had fairly quickly decided to move to other parts of Canada where they could get get better tax breaks. People like Ted all of a sudden became unemployable. What a poor decision on the part of the bureaucrats in the government.

We spent part of our trip together talking about possible plots for films that he wanted to make including one about hitchhiking and haunted houses. It would not be a horror movie but rather a semi-documentary that juxtaposed the people one meets on the road with the emotional experience of visiting houses where the spirits of people who lived there, still reside.  It may sound a bit weird now, but it was a great conversation. Ted was very bright, creative and a great conversationalist. He was one of those people who one feels immediately very attracted to. It felt as if we had know each other for years. I would have been delighted if he had been going all of the way to Sudbury.

At some point, we got off the highway and went to a Co-op store. Ted's girlfriend was a fan of the Roughriders football team. She was looking for a special pair of sunglasses in the team colours. He had been told that this Co-op store might have them. They did have a lot of team souvenirs - but unfortunately no sunglasses. We got back on the road and continued to chat about books and life and all kinds of stuff until we got to Winnipeg. I was of course excited and pleased that I would get to sleep in a bed, but I liked Ted so much that I think if he had suggested that we have supper first - I would have said yes. It felt as if we had so much more to talk about. I had never thought about it before but it would be fun to do a film script with someone.

 I, of course, had not reserved a bed at the hostel as I had had no idea whether or not I would make it. Ted kindly used his cell phone to look up the hostels number and let me call them. He then used his GPS to find the place and got me right to the front door. As neither he nor I knew Winnipeg, that took some time and not once did he get frustrated at spending an extra 15-20 minutes trying to get me to a place where I could sleep. Ted was a good man and I appreciated his extra service more than most. I was exhausted and all that I wanted to do was to grab a quick bite to eat at some greasy spoon and then fall asleep. The only thing I wanted to think about was if I should have a shower now or in the morning.