Little Boy at the Dike

It is always difficult to know if more terrible things are happening in this century or if the media are just reporting those things more often. One can never know if there are actually more hurricanes, tornadoes or volcanic eruptions in the world than in earlier times or if the media are just responding to our apparently insatiable desire to watch other people's disasters. It would seem however, that in the past 12 or so months there has been a rise in the number of people - generally male and generally young -who in the process of committing suicide (either by killing themselves or forcing the police to kill them) have decided to kill as many other people as possible. While some of these mass murders have said that they have allegiance to ISIS or Al Qaeda and still others whose acts have been claimed by ISIS or Al Qaeda, there appears to be little evidence that this long and dispiriting list of mass murders has any real connection to any terrorist organization.

What is clear - is that there is a new symptom or at the very least, a new indicator of a profound mental illness.  This symptom is very similar to what some communities (most notably some of our First Nation communities) experience where suicide happens in waves as one person after another - in their despair and hopelessness - take their own life. There is some understanding of the contagion that can consume a community as friends and relatives decide to take their own lives, following the example of people who they have known and loved.  The singular difference between those individuals who have a history of generations of oppression and lost opportunities, and these mass murders/suicides is that the latter want not only some escape from their perceived horrible lives but also still want their fifteen minutes of fame as well. The former just want to escape the pain.

Parts of Europe are in, and in fact have been in for some months, a state of higher anxiety and military alert. Thousands of people are investing significant resources in monitoring the thousands of people who have been put on specific watch lists - and yet these acts continue. I have this image in my head, left over from some child's story book of a boy trying to stop the dike from breaking by sticking his finger in one hole as other holes appear just beyond his reach. It would seem that even if there were enough watchers to watch everyone - it would not stop the problem. It is impossible to predict who will do what next.

While it might be somewhat useful to keep an eye on someone who has clearly made allegiance to a terrorist group - how does one protect society from someone who attacks a long-term care home for individuals who are disabled, or a gay nightclub or a regular children's school or a black church? These attacks as well as some of the attacks that on the surface have some connection to the on-going strife in the Middle East need to be seen not as acts of terror (although they do cause terror) but rather as acts of people who have neither the resources or the capacity to find the resources to at least feel as if they have some control over their lives. As a society, we need to recognize when people are living with and not coping very well with a mental illness, despair or depression. We need to ensure that there are supports in place that enable the individual. We need to be hyper-diligent - not looking for the next mass murder - but for that individual whose life is so full of anger at the despair that overwhelms them that they can no longer perceive a choice.

The problem of people killing a number of other people before they kill themselves will not go away because we give more powers to the police or the army. The little boy at the dike will never be able to plug all of the holes. The holes will plug themselves when we create a society where the individual is more important than making money, where the rights of the community are more important than that of a corporation, where individuals can envision a future that is not full of despair.

And oh yes, we need to stop making/selling guns and we need to help those who live in the Middle East to find a solution.

Gatherings and Music

It has been a while since I have posted anything on the blog. It is not because I have been feeling lazy or because there is nothing to say but rather because I have been busier than usual.

I spent nine or so days camping with the Rainbow Family - 30 or so kilometres north of Gold River. It was a marvellous Gathering with numerous Quebecois, a handful of world travellers, some very good cooks, lots of fresh water, a beautiful setting and generally the nicest harmonious collection of young people (with a few aging hippies to add flavour) one could ever imagine. While my body was getting a bit weary after sleeping on the ground for just over a week - I didn't want to leave. It felt good to be there with my chosen family, who in spite of the difference in ages and cultural background - still provide a home for me.

One of the reasons why I left the Gathering when I did was because I had purchased a weekend pass the Island's Folk Festival at Providence Farm just outside of Duncan. Folk festivals, especially the smaller ones are always a bit of a crap shoot. While one does know who the performers are before buying the tickets, there is always the risk of cancellations or only part of a specific group arriving. There is even the greater risk of two separate performers, both of which you want to see, performing at the same time on stages far apart. As well it can, of course, rain. Fortunately this year - all of the people that I was interested in seeing arrived, I saw most of the people that I wanted to listen to and it did not rain.

It must be incredibly hard to line up thirty or more acts, schedule them, find them places to live, feed them, make them feel comfortable and important and keep all of the attendees satisfied. This year there were a handful of people that I was looking forward to seeing - I did see them and they were good. I attended a couple of workshops that were interesting (although the one of finger picking was generally so far above my "wow"  factor that it was almost unappreciable), the weather was perfect and food from the various food trucks was great. It was not the best line-up ever - perhaps I missed some of the best performers - but it was highly enjoyable.

On Monday night as a fund raiser for Providence Farm and the folk guild - Si Kahn, a somewhat legendary union organizer, social activist, song writer and environmentalist gave a special performance. I went to that too. It may have been the best $25.00 I have ever spent. He is, while perhaps not the world's greatest singer or guitar player, a truly inspiring man who sings and tells stories with such passion that it is impossible not to feel energized and recommitted to changing the world.

It has been a great two weeks.

There is so much to write about...the temptation to look at the U.S. elections is almost overwhelming - there is so much to say; the number of people in the western world who are apparently committing suicide by committing mass murders is an almost bottomless topic, the weather, the cost of food and the influence of Wal-Mart on food prices, the difficulties of living alone..... the list is endless. I guess I need to get started.

On the Road Again 2016 #14

 The motel in Hope was fine - small and certainly not the most luxurious one on the strip - but it was what I needed. I ate at a small restaurant, trying to not wolf down the veggie burger and fries. I am generally not hungry when I am travelling. The occasional granola bar is generally eaten because I am bored as opposed to being actually hungry. But once I have stopped for the day - I am ravenous. I debated having a second beer but I decided that was a bit excessive - I also wondered if it would go to my head. It would not do to fall asleep on the short walk home to my bed.

I was up early the next morning. I made the short walk to the hitchhiking spot just before the highway. It was Saturday and I was hoping for someone who was going to Vancouver either for an event or perhaps shopping. What I got was short ride to Chilliwack and then another ride to Mission. After standing at the entrance ramp for some time I noticed a city bus going by. I like city buses and I assumed that this one would get me to somewhere that would be useful. In fact the driver said that there would be three transfers but that I could get to a Sky Train station. What he didn't tell me was that it would take hours to do so and that there would be three separate bus fares. In hindsight I think I would have been better off standing on the entrance ramp. I am sure that within an hour I could have got a ride into downtown Vancouver and saved myself three bus fares. Next time I will do it differently.

I did eventually get to Vancouver; I did catch the bus to Horseshoe Bay, and in Nanaimo caught the Greyhound bus to Duncan. In Duncan my daughter in-law kindly came and got me. It was not that I could not have walked the kilometre or so home - but I was tired and yes on some days I feel older than I thought I would.

It took me just over two and half days to get from Winnipeg to Duncan. It was a great run. I meet some interesting people  - all of whom had interesting tales to tell. I hope, as always, that I in return for the drive and the company, was able to entertain them with my conversation and my stories. I hope that they felt that it had been a mutually beneficial relationship. These relationships, some very short but a number of them lasting six or seven hours - are why I hitch. I love that excitement of getting into a stranger's car and heading off down the highway. Drivers pick me up for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes they are bored; sometimes they are curious about who this person is on the side of the road; sometimes they are paying back the rides they have gotten when they hitchhiked; sometimes they are being charitable; sometimes they have no clear reason - it has been an impulsive stop that I think sometimes they almost regret as I get into the car. But for whatever reason, they do stop - and I am grateful to them all.

Already I am thinking about doing it again - not because I need to go anywhere but because hitchhiking is fun and because hitchhiking defines at least in part, who I am.

P.S. my neighbours, all of who now know that I hitchhiked across part of Canada, are interestingly somewhat blasé about my trip. They have clearly talked to each other about it as I didn't tell them - but they are an accepting lot of people and don't think any less of me because I don't have a fancy car or take planes across the country. It feels good to be home

On the Road Again 2016 #13

 The fact of the matter was that I did not have a clue where I was. I, for some reason, thought that I had somehow managed to missed the chaos of downtown, that there was a previous unknown by-pass of Kelowna that had magically got me to the other end of the city. I was wrong and for the next hour or two I walked along narrow shoulders, across RV showroom's parking lots and other assorted places not made for human feet. It was raining and I was getting splashed by cars and trucks. At the bottom of each little hill, the water pooled into small lakes. It was not a lot of fun. There was a lot of traffic but in many places there was nowhere for them to stop and in other places there was just too much traffic going too fast for drivers to be able to slow down and check me over.

Fortunately I got two  short rides and one longer ride that got me through this mess. The first two rides were mercy rides. Just a short hop to get me a little further down the road - both times almost as soon as I got into the vehicle it poured just a little bit harder, and just before I got out, the rain stopped or at least eased. Someone was certainly looking out for me. The final ride of the threesome that took me through Kelowna was a longer one. my driver went out of his way to get me on the right highway heading towards Hope. It was a very generous gesture that took him out of his way and made my life so much easier. Along the way we had to stop at Wal-Mart as he had to buy a garden gnome.  My driver did not look like someone who would buy such an item. He was in his mid thirties and from our conversation lived a lifestyle verging on the alternative type. The gnome was a bit of a joke that he was giving to a friend. We had an interesting conversation about working in the oil fields (his wife was a welder and had worked up there) and the hypocritical nature of those who, as they drive their cars and use plastic materials throughout their daily lives, criticize those who work in the oil fields.

He let me out a great spot and within 10-15 minutes a car stopped and picked me up. My driver was going to Merritt. He had had been involved in a bank robbery and hostage taking incident a few years previous and understandably had been severely traumatized by the experience. As a consequence, he had been forced to make some life changes. He had just started his own business of making dry stone garden walls. It sounded like an interesting and rewarding job - hard on the back but something that would, I think take great skill.

My next driver was an airline pilot. He was a dad so we spent our time our time talking about being dad. He was also approaching retirement and I, having done it twice was more than glad to talk about that topic too. He was divorced. His girl friend lived (I think ) in Hong Kong. He certainly had lots of choices as to what he would do and where he would live when he was no longer working.

My driver was going on to Richmond. I was tempted to go all the way with him but I was tired. I had not slept in a bed for a few night, the last time I slept had been in the train 48 hours earlier. I had only had a small bowl of soup, a muffin and some granola bars in the past 36 hours. I was still damp from the rain storms and I was physically tired. I did not want to get to downtown Vancouver late in the evening and get stuck there. So I opted to get out at Hope.

On the Road Again 2016 #12

There are a number of great transits systems in Canada, either because of the technology that those systems use, or because the people who work in those systems care about providing a good service. Unfortunately Calgary's transit system seems to fall short in both areas. Winnipeg has those wonderful electronic signs that say when the next bus is coming, Vancouver has, at least in its Skytrain stations, a telephone that connects one to a live person who will tell you exactly which buses to take. In Calgary there is no such help. I spent far too much time walking around the down town core looking for the right bus stop, asking people who were as clueless as I was. When I finally found the bus stop, I had to wait almost 45 minutes for the bus to come. To be fair, there probably are not a lot of people who need to be at the west end of town at 5:30 in the morning. But it would have been nice if I could have talked to someone official who could have helped or at the very least a bus driver who acted as if they cared.

At the west end of Calgary, I am still having a bit of trouble getting off at the right spot and consequently I end up doing a lot more walking than I think I should have to. Calgary has grown so much in the past ten years and I suspect there is a better bus route - I just have not found it.

On the way out of town there is a section of highway that gently but continually rises. It feels as if it goes on forever. On a hot summer day, the road with its black pavement reflecting the heat and hundreds of cars passing every few minutes, it can be tortuous. The shoulders are wide with lots of room for a car to pull over but I never bother to hitch in that area as the traffic is just too chaotic. However at 6:30 or so in the morning, there was less traffic and so every once in a while I would stop, turn around and flash my sign. Generally speaking, this method of intermittent of hitchhiking is not the most efficient use of my time. This time however it was. A new looking, bright red Dodge Challenger switched lanes and pulled up. In all of my years of hitchhiking I had only once before gotten a ride in a sporty looking car. I was excited and then even more excited to find out that my new driver was going to Kelowna. That meant that I would be on the other side of the Rockies by the time I got out of the car. With any luck at all, I could be on the west coast 36 hours after leaving Winnipeg. That would be a new land speed record for me.

It was a great ride. It was delightful car. Very quiet, almost no sense of speed as the suspension was so smooth and my driver was an intelligent driver who had no need to show off how fast it could go. He was young, enthusiastic about life and was both a great conversationalist and a good listener. He worked in the landscaping business. He had just quit working for one boss and had another job lined up next week. He seemed to have great work and business ethics. He had left his previous boss because the guy did not appear to care about customer satisfaction or even doing a good job. It was great to spend time with someone who positive and in control of his life. He was off to spend time with a friend ( I never figured out if she was a girl friend or just a friend who was a girl) - they, along with some other friends, were planning on going camping for a few days. It seemed to me to be a long drive but I was not complaining.

When rides appear as fast as they did on this particular run across Canada, I have less time to think about the drivers and who and what they were. When I have an hour or two (or three) hours between rides, I get to think about the conversations and file those remembrances in my longer term memory. I had had such good luck this time that the rides were starting to run together. The conversations were starting to feel all the same. And that is truly too bad as all of my drivers this year had been interesting and generous men.

At some point in our conversations we were talking about different towns along our route. I had mentioned that I liked Revelstoke, When we started to get close to that town my driver said he needed to stop for something to eat. I do not like stopping. I just want to, especially when I am not driving, to go and go and go. I am always reluctant to get out of the car in perhaps some barely hidden fear that the car will somehow disappear if I leave it. But we did stop, found an absolutely wonderful little cafe that felt like a place the locals went to for a chat. In spite of the fact that it was well before noon, we both had a bowl of soup. It may have been the best homemade soup I have ever had. We ate fairly quickly all-the-while making observations on the town and the other customers. Revelstoke has long been my favourite town in the Rockies. In spite of being in the middle of a winter playground, it has maintained its small town atmosphere. There is no sense that this atmosphere is forced or manufactured. It just is.

The car had not disappeared from the parking lot and in short order we were once again on our way. It was raining a little bit in Revelstoke and then rain continued in dribs and drabs for the rest of our trip. Kelowna is not my favourite town as an end destination. Two highways merge in Kelowna and the only way to get through that town is to go through it. There is no by-pass. traffic is slow and frustrating.  As a hitchhiker I feel powerless. I know at some point that I am going to get stuck.

I was right. My driver was turning off of the highway and I needed to get out. I thought I knew where I was and where I had to get to....I was wrong.