It was almost 4:30 when I felt rain drops. Fortunately at about the same time as I was starting to stuff my sleeping bag into my pack, I heard Allen starting to move around in the truck.Two or three minutes the door opened and I got in. We said good morning and we were off. I barely had time to run my fingers through my beard before we were on the highway. At some point during the all too brief night I had looked up and noticed some stars. I was excited in that it meant that the sky was clearing and that the smoke was gone. However my excitement was premature and by the dawn's early light it was clear that the smoke would visible for most of the day. I decided to bypass Canmore and head straight through to Calgary.
By just after 7:00 I was standing by a bus stop somewhere in the outskirts of Calgary waiting for a bus that would take me downtown. As it happens so often when I leave a driver, my goodbye to Allen was brief and I suspect did not adequately thank him for the great ride.But I had a bus to catch and he had a delivery to make. I think he was planning on dropping of the equipment and then heading back to Vancouver as soon as he could. With any luck, he could have been home by late that night.
I have in the past, expressed somewhat unfavourable opinions of the Calgary bus system and the drivers. Perhaps I should apologize. It is a great system once you master it, and I have. I got downtown, got on the right C train and then got off at Rundle Station. The number 48 bus got me to the the east side of town and I was ready to hit the road again. But I was not ready psychologically. The trip had been too fast. I had not, because of the smoke been able to say good bye to the Rockies. For me being in Calgary heading east means that my summer is over. Being in Calgary means that I have to grow up a little bit and get back to that other world I inhabit for nine months of the year. I, quite frankly, did not like it.
It is a relatively long walk from the last bus stop in Calgary to the outskirts of town. Fortunately the road passes by a mall and so I stopped for breakfast. At McDonald's! It seemed to be the only place open. It is quick, the food, especially after not having eaten for 30 hours, tastes OK and I knew no one would care or even notice if I cleaned myself up in their bathroom. Besides I needed time to acclimatize to be on flat land. Still I was on a roll and I did not want to waste the luck that had been coming my way, so after doing the best I could with my appearance and eating the breakfast far too quickly, I was off again.
The weather was gray and somewhat dismal. People on the train had been complaining about the smell of smoke and newspapers had the forest fires as the lead story. It was a lot better than in Rockies, but it was still quite noticeable. The dull looking skies matched my mood. The road construction that has been going on for years, and which has sometimes made it difficult to get to the Trans-Canada has been almost finished and so it was much easier walking.
By just after 8:30 my thumb was stuck out on the side of the road. Part of me was rather pleased with myself. I had, on the way west, got through Calgary with no problems and now I had gone east with similar ease. I had gotten some great rides without a lot of waiting and 24 hours after leaving Whistler I was on the other side of Calgary. It looked as if my trip east was going to be as fast as my trip west.
My first ride was to Strathmore which is less than a hour from Calgary. But it was a good start. My driver was an older man driving a big pickup. He worked near Fort McMurry and was just down visiting family. For most of the time we discussed/argued gun control and other issues that frequently seem to divide the country. I certainly understood his point of view although I may have shaken his gun control stance just a touch when I mentioned that a significant proportion of murders happen with families and were done using a gun. There was not enough time to cover all that we could have.While some of my friends on the west coast might have thought him a bit of a "red neck", he wasn't. He was just another Canadian who had a point of view. He was willing to explain those points of views and he was certainly ready to listen to mine. I enjoyed his company. By 10:15 I was on the other side of Strathmore waiting for a ride.
It was cool with a nasty wind so I put on my bright orange waterproof wind jacket. I don't like wearing it as it is completely water proof and therefore I sweat in it. But it does keep me dry and warm. I stood in that spot for a long time. Almost for three hours. Three hours compared to other years was not really a long time but this year the traveling had been so good it may have be the longest up to that point that I stood in one spot. But finally a car stopped. It was a older but mint condition Mercedes.
My driver whose name was Josh was a doctor who specialized in palliative care. He was going to Medicine Hat and wanted to talk to someone to help the time go by faster. For a ride to Medicine Hat, which was two and a bit hours down the road, I would have talked about anything. And we did. In fact we talked about so much that I can't remember much of the conversation. I think that is partially because the good doctor was a bit scattered - we bounced from topic to topic - never really finishing a conversation. Perhaps he was a bit starved for company or perhaps he was just one of those folks who needed to bubble over - talking about a myriad of things.
I am not even too sure what his history was. He seems to have moved around a lot and worked in a number of medical fields. But we talked about the great car ( that he had bought second hand off the proverbial lady who had only driven it to church), his kids, his job, schools and whether they worked or not and of course my life on the road. In spite of the chaotic nature of the conversationl it was entertaining and fun. With all due respect to my other drivers and friends - it had been awhile since I had had a semi-academic discussion. So it was fun to have to think and talk about things a little more clearly.
There were a couple of times when he touched my knee - all within context of making a point but I was a little bit uncomfortable. After the second time I happened to mention that I was somewhat tactile senitive and he never did it again. That may have just been a coincidence. He copuld have been one of the folks who like to touch. He was glad to drive me to the east end of Medicine Hat which meant that I did not have to either walk through the city or to figure out their bus system. By just after 3:00 I was ready to look for another drive.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
On the Road Again (heading east) #5
Kamloops is not my favourite city to hitchhike out of. I am not sure why. I have been downtown and it is nice. In fact one day perhaps I will stay there for a night or two. The people in the area treated me well, the bus drivers have been particularly helpful ensuring that I get to a good spot to hitchhike from. It was in Kamloops some years back that I met a old-timer who had grown up in Lindsay and who had spent part of his youth herding a pack train up into the hills to feed the timber men. I would love to meet him again. The hostel (so I have read) is in an old court house which sounds fun. So there is a lot about the city that attracts me.
But the highway out of town is flat and the views are not remarkable. Depending on where I am let off, sometimes I have to walk for miles before I feel it is "allowable" to hitchhike. Along the highway the cars and trucks line up two abreast at the numerous stop lights, itching to get a move on as soon as the light turns green. I always wonder if I am standing in the right place. If I stand too far away from the lights, the cars are going too fast to stop easily. If I am too close to the intersession then the cars are so close to each other that it is hard for them to pull off.
On this particular stretch of highway it is always busy but I knew from previous experience that if I did not get a ride before 4:00 or so, I would have to deal with rush hour traffic which which would make it even worse. The drivers seemed focused on switching to what ever lane would get them to their destination five minutes earlier. They certainly were not looking at me. Perhaps they were only going up to Salmon Arm and didn't think that it was worth stopping. It would be worth it for me. Sometimes I think about getting a sign saying " pick me up - I'll go anywhere as long as it is down the road a bit"
When I am standing on the side of the road it is not very often that drivers make and keep eye contact with me. Quite frankly between the glare of the sun and tinted windows I usually can't see the driver until they are very close to me. I just look in the general direction of the front window and hope they think I am making eye contact. I also don't pay much attention to vehicles once they go past me. If they don't look like they are going to stop there is not much point looking at them. But on this day just outside of Kamloops I made good eye contact with the driver of large white delivery truck as it passed me. I noticed that he went up the the next set of lights and then turned off the highway. I turned my back and waited for the next on-rush of vehicles as the lights changed. I was surprised when five minute the same truck came towards me, stopped 10 feet in front of me and the driver motioned to me. He had turned around to offer me a ride. I am use to cars or trucks stopping 100 meters up the road and expecting me to run to them, this was a treat!
Allen was delivering a piece of highly specialized medical equipment to Calgary and needed to be at the depot by the next morning. It was almost too much for me. I could, if I chose, be through the Rockies and onto the Prairie Provinces with 20 hours. I didn't want to be travelling that quickly. I had sort of envisioned staying at the nursing home in Salmon Arm or perhaps the hostel at either Revelstoke, Golden or at the very least Canmore. This was all too fast for me. I suspect I initially appeared a bit ungracious, but if so Allen didn't say anything.
I told him that I was surprised that he had gone passed me and then had turned around. It was a lot of extra work. He told me that his father had told him that before he picked up a hitchhiker he should drive pass and think about for a mile or so. If he still thought he should pick him, then it was worth it to turn around. Interesting and probably sound advice except that most people would forget about me as they drove down the road.
It was a good ride. We had lots to talk about. Probably the most interesting thing was that Allen was adopted. He had been born to a First Nations mother but had been adopted at birth to a good white family. There had never been any secret as to his heritage. Throughout his schooling, belonging to the cadets and then the armed forces, it always been stated that his heritage was native. He never bothered to get his status confirmed or to apply for any special privileges. However one day he decided to contact the government to get some information about his background and then started to hit bureaucratic barriers. It took may miles to get the story out as we frequently got sidetracked into other issues.
Allen had been adopted in Ontario but he was born in Alberta - which meant I think that he was amongst the last of the those First nation children who were "snatched" by government services and given to parents who wanted to adopt. There were 1,000s of children adopted in this way. Some were taken from the parents perhaps for good cause, but others were taken for the simple reason the policy was a racist one. The social workers and the government believed that such children would be better off with white parents. He was quite excited as he thought that he had found out through a lot of research the name of his original community in Alberta.
But the government appeared to have lost some of his adoption papers and would not confirm his status or any of the other information that he needed.The only way that he could have his status confirmed was to pay $60,000 for a genetic test. Neither of us could understand why he should have to pay for it. Another driver somewhere in eastern Manitoba told me, when I told him Allen's story, that most bands will pay the fee and then get it back from the federal government.
Allen was a nice guy. Most of my drivers are kind people. Certainly none of them are bad people, but not all of them are truly nice. Allen was. Because he had access to trucks, (through his company who allowed him to borrow them) he worked most weekend for his friends, helping them move furniture or wood or whatever else needed to be moved. I think he would have helped anyone. He was just one of those people.
As we drove through the various mountain ranges the air continued to be "smoggy". In fact I did not see a single mountain peak all the way through. I saw no point in getting out at any of the towns along the way as it was clear that the smoke form the fires was going to hang around for a few days. I had a ride and I might as well stay with the truck at least until Canmore. Allen and I both agreed that after Rogers Pass, the air would be a lot clearer.
Allen had never been sure how long he was going to drive. Just west of Banff he announced he was tired and that he needed to pull of for a bit. As it was after 2:00 in the morning and he had been driving for well over eight hours without a break, I could understand why. He pulled off the highway - got into the back of the truck and fell asleep. I pulled out my sleeping bag and tried to get some sleep by the side of the van. It was a noisy area with cars and trucks going to and from Banff although where they were going to or from at 3:00 in the morning was beyond me. There was also a bit of a hill and if I had not had my pack to lean against, I would have ended up in the deep ditch. It was the ditch that caused me the most concern. It was there not only to deal with the spring run off but it was also part of the elk and bear fences and special gates that run along the roads near Banff to keep the wildlife and people apart. While it would have been neat to see a bear or some elk, I would have preferred to not be entangled in my sleeping bag when I saw them. Fortunately, none used the gate or at least none that I saw.
But the highway out of town is flat and the views are not remarkable. Depending on where I am let off, sometimes I have to walk for miles before I feel it is "allowable" to hitchhike. Along the highway the cars and trucks line up two abreast at the numerous stop lights, itching to get a move on as soon as the light turns green. I always wonder if I am standing in the right place. If I stand too far away from the lights, the cars are going too fast to stop easily. If I am too close to the intersession then the cars are so close to each other that it is hard for them to pull off.
On this particular stretch of highway it is always busy but I knew from previous experience that if I did not get a ride before 4:00 or so, I would have to deal with rush hour traffic which which would make it even worse. The drivers seemed focused on switching to what ever lane would get them to their destination five minutes earlier. They certainly were not looking at me. Perhaps they were only going up to Salmon Arm and didn't think that it was worth stopping. It would be worth it for me. Sometimes I think about getting a sign saying " pick me up - I'll go anywhere as long as it is down the road a bit"
When I am standing on the side of the road it is not very often that drivers make and keep eye contact with me. Quite frankly between the glare of the sun and tinted windows I usually can't see the driver until they are very close to me. I just look in the general direction of the front window and hope they think I am making eye contact. I also don't pay much attention to vehicles once they go past me. If they don't look like they are going to stop there is not much point looking at them. But on this day just outside of Kamloops I made good eye contact with the driver of large white delivery truck as it passed me. I noticed that he went up the the next set of lights and then turned off the highway. I turned my back and waited for the next on-rush of vehicles as the lights changed. I was surprised when five minute the same truck came towards me, stopped 10 feet in front of me and the driver motioned to me. He had turned around to offer me a ride. I am use to cars or trucks stopping 100 meters up the road and expecting me to run to them, this was a treat!
Allen was delivering a piece of highly specialized medical equipment to Calgary and needed to be at the depot by the next morning. It was almost too much for me. I could, if I chose, be through the Rockies and onto the Prairie Provinces with 20 hours. I didn't want to be travelling that quickly. I had sort of envisioned staying at the nursing home in Salmon Arm or perhaps the hostel at either Revelstoke, Golden or at the very least Canmore. This was all too fast for me. I suspect I initially appeared a bit ungracious, but if so Allen didn't say anything.
I told him that I was surprised that he had gone passed me and then had turned around. It was a lot of extra work. He told me that his father had told him that before he picked up a hitchhiker he should drive pass and think about for a mile or so. If he still thought he should pick him, then it was worth it to turn around. Interesting and probably sound advice except that most people would forget about me as they drove down the road.
It was a good ride. We had lots to talk about. Probably the most interesting thing was that Allen was adopted. He had been born to a First Nations mother but had been adopted at birth to a good white family. There had never been any secret as to his heritage. Throughout his schooling, belonging to the cadets and then the armed forces, it always been stated that his heritage was native. He never bothered to get his status confirmed or to apply for any special privileges. However one day he decided to contact the government to get some information about his background and then started to hit bureaucratic barriers. It took may miles to get the story out as we frequently got sidetracked into other issues.
Allen had been adopted in Ontario but he was born in Alberta - which meant I think that he was amongst the last of the those First nation children who were "snatched" by government services and given to parents who wanted to adopt. There were 1,000s of children adopted in this way. Some were taken from the parents perhaps for good cause, but others were taken for the simple reason the policy was a racist one. The social workers and the government believed that such children would be better off with white parents. He was quite excited as he thought that he had found out through a lot of research the name of his original community in Alberta.
But the government appeared to have lost some of his adoption papers and would not confirm his status or any of the other information that he needed.The only way that he could have his status confirmed was to pay $60,000 for a genetic test. Neither of us could understand why he should have to pay for it. Another driver somewhere in eastern Manitoba told me, when I told him Allen's story, that most bands will pay the fee and then get it back from the federal government.
Allen was a nice guy. Most of my drivers are kind people. Certainly none of them are bad people, but not all of them are truly nice. Allen was. Because he had access to trucks, (through his company who allowed him to borrow them) he worked most weekend for his friends, helping them move furniture or wood or whatever else needed to be moved. I think he would have helped anyone. He was just one of those people.
As we drove through the various mountain ranges the air continued to be "smoggy". In fact I did not see a single mountain peak all the way through. I saw no point in getting out at any of the towns along the way as it was clear that the smoke form the fires was going to hang around for a few days. I had a ride and I might as well stay with the truck at least until Canmore. Allen and I both agreed that after Rogers Pass, the air would be a lot clearer.
Allen had never been sure how long he was going to drive. Just west of Banff he announced he was tired and that he needed to pull of for a bit. As it was after 2:00 in the morning and he had been driving for well over eight hours without a break, I could understand why. He pulled off the highway - got into the back of the truck and fell asleep. I pulled out my sleeping bag and tried to get some sleep by the side of the van. It was a noisy area with cars and trucks going to and from Banff although where they were going to or from at 3:00 in the morning was beyond me. There was also a bit of a hill and if I had not had my pack to lean against, I would have ended up in the deep ditch. It was the ditch that caused me the most concern. It was there not only to deal with the spring run off but it was also part of the elk and bear fences and special gates that run along the roads near Banff to keep the wildlife and people apart. While it would have been neat to see a bear or some elk, I would have preferred to not be entangled in my sleeping bag when I saw them. Fortunately, none used the gate or at least none that I saw.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
On the Road Again (heading east) #5
Josh - the driver of the small red Toyota- was a young man who was having a good time with his life. He was spending the summer travelling from music festival to music festival, not performing but hanging around the performers, developing his craft. For him the best part of the festival was playing his music and jamming with others around the campfires once the concerts were over. During the winter months he headed south to spend his time in warmer climates. Last winter he had been in Mexico attending a music school learning about rhythm and how to play what I think was a sort of jazzy Spanish rhythm type of guitar.
Josh had followed this pattern ever since graduating from high school; take the summer to hang around western Canada, earn some money in the fall and then visit a different country every winter. He could not imagine a better education and quite frankly neither could I. However he was getting tired of the life and not having a sense of permanence. He was thinking that this might be his last year of traveling. He loved his life of freedom and learning new music. He didn’t want to be restricted or tied down. He also knew however that he would benefit from a more formal musical training both in terms of the contacts that he would make and the skills that he would develop. The thought however of going to university and being in his words - forced to learn about subjects for which he had no interest - was more than he could bear. We talked about community college as a more hands-on experience that might be more useful for him. He had never really thought about it before. He had always assumed that university was the only option. It continues to amaze me that high school guidance people direct bright kids to university and less bright kids to college regardless of what their interests are. He hadn’t wasted the past few years, but there had been other options and he had never been encouraged to think about them.
Part of his problem in deciding what to do was that he had met a young lady at a festival and had become (although he didn’t easily admit to it) completely and absolutely entranced by her. They had played music together and at least according to Josh their musical styles were very compatible. He wanted to stay in BC so they could get to know each other better. The young lady happened to be from Salt Spring Island (and in fact he had heard her talking about Sally). There was no doubt in my mind what he should do. I am hoping that when I go out west to Salt Spring next summer, I might get to meet him again. He was a kindred spirits in some ways. He might have been one of those people who would never quite fit into the world the way people thought he should. He had more courage than me, or at least he had learnt it earlier then I did. At any rate he seemed far more comfortable with whom he was than I had been at his age.
It was another great ride with good conversations about politics, music love and a host of other topics. I even considered traveling with him to the music festival, it would have been fun but I decided not – I still had 4000 kilometres to travel and while the rides had been good, I could not be sure that the good luck would continue. I thought that if I had time to play, perhaps I would wait until Golden or Canmore where the hazy smoky sky would clear and the mountains would once again be visible. He got me to Kamloops in good time and let me off in a reasonable location.
Just down the road from where Josh let me off were two young men hitchhiking. Seeing anyone hitching had been a rather rare occurrence this year and I was glad to see them. I of course threw the pack up on to my shoulders and started to walk past them so that they would remain first in line. As I walked by I said “hi how is it going”…. they answered “o.k”. They had a strong Germanic accent and looked far too young to be so far away from home. They were not standing a particularly good spot and I tried to explain to them that they might do better if they were just the other side of a set of lights. Lord knows there are enough lights on this section of the road. I didn’t bother to explain that I thought it might be still illegal to hitch along this section as we were technically still within the city limits. I didn’t think they understood me as they stayed where they were. I kept on walking until I got further along and until I was on the other side of the next set of lights. About 30 or so minutes later, they walked by me heading out of town. I worried about them. I am not sure if they had hitched before and if they would be safe, but short of calling the police and reporting all of us, there was not much that I could. There are times where I wish I could give better advice – but we hitchhikers are a weird lot. If we took advice easily we probably wouldn’t be on the road in the first place.
Josh had followed this pattern ever since graduating from high school; take the summer to hang around western Canada, earn some money in the fall and then visit a different country every winter. He could not imagine a better education and quite frankly neither could I. However he was getting tired of the life and not having a sense of permanence. He was thinking that this might be his last year of traveling. He loved his life of freedom and learning new music. He didn’t want to be restricted or tied down. He also knew however that he would benefit from a more formal musical training both in terms of the contacts that he would make and the skills that he would develop. The thought however of going to university and being in his words - forced to learn about subjects for which he had no interest - was more than he could bear. We talked about community college as a more hands-on experience that might be more useful for him. He had never really thought about it before. He had always assumed that university was the only option. It continues to amaze me that high school guidance people direct bright kids to university and less bright kids to college regardless of what their interests are. He hadn’t wasted the past few years, but there had been other options and he had never been encouraged to think about them.
Part of his problem in deciding what to do was that he had met a young lady at a festival and had become (although he didn’t easily admit to it) completely and absolutely entranced by her. They had played music together and at least according to Josh their musical styles were very compatible. He wanted to stay in BC so they could get to know each other better. The young lady happened to be from Salt Spring Island (and in fact he had heard her talking about Sally). There was no doubt in my mind what he should do. I am hoping that when I go out west to Salt Spring next summer, I might get to meet him again. He was a kindred spirits in some ways. He might have been one of those people who would never quite fit into the world the way people thought he should. He had more courage than me, or at least he had learnt it earlier then I did. At any rate he seemed far more comfortable with whom he was than I had been at his age.
It was another great ride with good conversations about politics, music love and a host of other topics. I even considered traveling with him to the music festival, it would have been fun but I decided not – I still had 4000 kilometres to travel and while the rides had been good, I could not be sure that the good luck would continue. I thought that if I had time to play, perhaps I would wait until Golden or Canmore where the hazy smoky sky would clear and the mountains would once again be visible. He got me to Kamloops in good time and let me off in a reasonable location.
Just down the road from where Josh let me off were two young men hitchhiking. Seeing anyone hitching had been a rather rare occurrence this year and I was glad to see them. I of course threw the pack up on to my shoulders and started to walk past them so that they would remain first in line. As I walked by I said “hi how is it going”…. they answered “o.k”. They had a strong Germanic accent and looked far too young to be so far away from home. They were not standing a particularly good spot and I tried to explain to them that they might do better if they were just the other side of a set of lights. Lord knows there are enough lights on this section of the road. I didn’t bother to explain that I thought it might be still illegal to hitch along this section as we were technically still within the city limits. I didn’t think they understood me as they stayed where they were. I kept on walking until I got further along and until I was on the other side of the next set of lights. About 30 or so minutes later, they walked by me heading out of town. I worried about them. I am not sure if they had hitched before and if they would be safe, but short of calling the police and reporting all of us, there was not much that I could. There are times where I wish I could give better advice – but we hitchhikers are a weird lot. If we took advice easily we probably wouldn’t be on the road in the first place.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
On the Road again (heading east) #4
It was a lonely spot. My previous driver was quite right in that he had got me away from all of the local traffic. In fact he had got me away from almost all of the traffic. It was not his fault; there was just not a lot of traffic along highway 99. I was, not for the first time, second guessing if not regretting my decision to take this route. I was glad that I had missed the hassle of going through Vancouver, but this route had taken me longer and it had cost me more money in terms of accommodation and bus fare. On the other hand it has been so far, much nicer scenery.
For a while, the only people that passed me at the top of the short but steep hill were the skiers on their wheeled short skis. I felt both sorry for them as they struggled up the hill, some of them appearing to be more concerned about rolling backwards that any sense of having form or style, and I was a little bit embarrassed as I stood there. I was cool, had lots of water and I was enjoying the view. They all looked two levels beyond exhausted. They made no eye contact with me as they passed me one by one, with sometimes 2-3 minute gaps between them. I tried to think of some witty thing to say but couldn’t. It was as if we were on two different planets. They were locked into a world of pain and being focused while I was in my little hitchhiking world where the only thing of any real importance was where I was going to sleep that night.
A van passed me at one point was some large signs on the side. I think it and therefore the skiers were from sort of cross-country ski training site. Perhaps the skiers were next year’s international champions training year round. I am not envious of them, but I do admire them.
Where I stood was a lovely spot. There was a river valley down the hill in front of me; heavily trees sloped on either side of the secondary highway and a river running under the road just 40 feet behind me. The shoulders were not particularly large, but there was enough space for a vehicle to stop. I don’t think I was there for more the 30 minutes. It may have been more as I sort of lost tract of the time. But eventually an older passenger van did stop. Much to my surprise it was driven by an older woman who like my previous driver was from a first Nations Community. She was off to her family’s fish camp to wind dry some salmon. She was a great story teller and for the next few hours we talked about various ways of preserving fish, how they were caught, and what life was like living with extended family members all working on the same tasks. She told me stories such as the one about the season that her father along with her brothers and sisters caught and dried over 1,000 fish for the winter. As we drove along the somewhat twisted highway she told me the aboriginal names of the various lakes and rivers and sometimes she would point out where there were little cabins hidden in the forest that belonged to members of her family. As we went across one bridge she told me the story of how her nephew had been killed crossing it one evening. It was a wonderful and fascinating drive. I suspect when her generation has passed on a great deal of local history will disappear. Which will be a terrible shame, as her knowledge was very much alive within her. Not just the words or the facts, but the sense of love for her people and her land.
It was good that it was an interesting drive because we could not see very much. The smoke from the various forest fires that had been burning for much of the previous 2 weeks filled the valleys and covered the peaks of the mountains that shaped and surrounded the highway. There were times that we could not see any more than 20 or so feet. My driver suffered from asthma and was concerned if she would be able to make it to the fishing camp and if she would be able to stay. At one point during our conversation it felt as if she was about to invite me to her camp, but as the smoke got thicker and she became more and more concerned, that option became less likely. While I normally do not get off the beaten track, I would have this time. I was that spellbound by the stores of my driver.
As my drive came to an end, the air cleared somewhat and the smoke was reduced to a consistent haze. It was still noticeable but it no longer felt as if it would endanger my health. As my driver needed to stop for gas and then was just going a little bit down the road, I got out at the gas station, thanked her for the great and interesting ride and started to walk. The shoulder along the side of the road wasn’t very wide and there was nowhere to stand, but the road was flat and in spite of the smoke in the air, I felt the urge to walk.
I walked no more than 20 minutes when I came to a narrow one lane bridge. On the other side of the bridge there appeared to be a multitude of roads going branching off in a number of directions. It took me a few minutes to figure that I did need or want to go into Lilliput. The intersection appeared to be a great place to stand waiting for a ride. It had great visibility, cars, because of a sets of lights, were forced to go slowly and there was lots of room for cars to stop. While the view, because of the constant haze was not spectacular it was pleasant enough. I was right it was a good spot and within 30 or so minutes a well packed Toyota truck stopped. A young driver got out and said that he was going to visit his dad for 20 or so minutes and that if I was there when he came back he would be glad to give me a ride to Kamloops. I was quite content to stay there and wait for him. However after 20 minutes he didn’t come back – nor did he come back after 30 or 40 minutes. I was a bit concerned and irritated. During the time that I waited, another car stopped and offered me a ride to Kamloops. Why I said no to that driver I am not too sure. I certainly kicked myself as I stood there waiting for the red Toyota truck to come back for me.
At one point a young couple walked by me and said that I would have a lot better luck getting a ride if I crossed what appeared to be a long bridge crossing the river (which I assume was the Lilliput River). I took the walk both because someone had generously made a point of trying to help me and I did not want to make it appear that I was rejecting their advice; I also took it as it was in the direction my red truck had gone. I figured either I would meet up with him, or I would be in a better spot to get another ride. Within 10 minutes of me getting to the other side, I saw the Toyota coming towards me. The driver did a u-turn, got out and helped me load my pack into the covered back of the pick-up. I was off to Kamloops.
For a while, the only people that passed me at the top of the short but steep hill were the skiers on their wheeled short skis. I felt both sorry for them as they struggled up the hill, some of them appearing to be more concerned about rolling backwards that any sense of having form or style, and I was a little bit embarrassed as I stood there. I was cool, had lots of water and I was enjoying the view. They all looked two levels beyond exhausted. They made no eye contact with me as they passed me one by one, with sometimes 2-3 minute gaps between them. I tried to think of some witty thing to say but couldn’t. It was as if we were on two different planets. They were locked into a world of pain and being focused while I was in my little hitchhiking world where the only thing of any real importance was where I was going to sleep that night.
A van passed me at one point was some large signs on the side. I think it and therefore the skiers were from sort of cross-country ski training site. Perhaps the skiers were next year’s international champions training year round. I am not envious of them, but I do admire them.
Where I stood was a lovely spot. There was a river valley down the hill in front of me; heavily trees sloped on either side of the secondary highway and a river running under the road just 40 feet behind me. The shoulders were not particularly large, but there was enough space for a vehicle to stop. I don’t think I was there for more the 30 minutes. It may have been more as I sort of lost tract of the time. But eventually an older passenger van did stop. Much to my surprise it was driven by an older woman who like my previous driver was from a first Nations Community. She was off to her family’s fish camp to wind dry some salmon. She was a great story teller and for the next few hours we talked about various ways of preserving fish, how they were caught, and what life was like living with extended family members all working on the same tasks. She told me stories such as the one about the season that her father along with her brothers and sisters caught and dried over 1,000 fish for the winter. As we drove along the somewhat twisted highway she told me the aboriginal names of the various lakes and rivers and sometimes she would point out where there were little cabins hidden in the forest that belonged to members of her family. As we went across one bridge she told me the story of how her nephew had been killed crossing it one evening. It was a wonderful and fascinating drive. I suspect when her generation has passed on a great deal of local history will disappear. Which will be a terrible shame, as her knowledge was very much alive within her. Not just the words or the facts, but the sense of love for her people and her land.
It was good that it was an interesting drive because we could not see very much. The smoke from the various forest fires that had been burning for much of the previous 2 weeks filled the valleys and covered the peaks of the mountains that shaped and surrounded the highway. There were times that we could not see any more than 20 or so feet. My driver suffered from asthma and was concerned if she would be able to make it to the fishing camp and if she would be able to stay. At one point during our conversation it felt as if she was about to invite me to her camp, but as the smoke got thicker and she became more and more concerned, that option became less likely. While I normally do not get off the beaten track, I would have this time. I was that spellbound by the stores of my driver.
As my drive came to an end, the air cleared somewhat and the smoke was reduced to a consistent haze. It was still noticeable but it no longer felt as if it would endanger my health. As my driver needed to stop for gas and then was just going a little bit down the road, I got out at the gas station, thanked her for the great and interesting ride and started to walk. The shoulder along the side of the road wasn’t very wide and there was nowhere to stand, but the road was flat and in spite of the smoke in the air, I felt the urge to walk.
I walked no more than 20 minutes when I came to a narrow one lane bridge. On the other side of the bridge there appeared to be a multitude of roads going branching off in a number of directions. It took me a few minutes to figure that I did need or want to go into Lilliput. The intersection appeared to be a great place to stand waiting for a ride. It had great visibility, cars, because of a sets of lights, were forced to go slowly and there was lots of room for cars to stop. While the view, because of the constant haze was not spectacular it was pleasant enough. I was right it was a good spot and within 30 or so minutes a well packed Toyota truck stopped. A young driver got out and said that he was going to visit his dad for 20 or so minutes and that if I was there when he came back he would be glad to give me a ride to Kamloops. I was quite content to stay there and wait for him. However after 20 minutes he didn’t come back – nor did he come back after 30 or 40 minutes. I was a bit concerned and irritated. During the time that I waited, another car stopped and offered me a ride to Kamloops. Why I said no to that driver I am not too sure. I certainly kicked myself as I stood there waiting for the red Toyota truck to come back for me.
At one point a young couple walked by me and said that I would have a lot better luck getting a ride if I crossed what appeared to be a long bridge crossing the river (which I assume was the Lilliput River). I took the walk both because someone had generously made a point of trying to help me and I did not want to make it appear that I was rejecting their advice; I also took it as it was in the direction my red truck had gone. I figured either I would meet up with him, or I would be in a better spot to get another ride. Within 10 minutes of me getting to the other side, I saw the Toyota coming towards me. The driver did a u-turn, got out and helped me load my pack into the covered back of the pick-up. I was off to Kamloops.
Monday, September 6, 2010
On the road again (heading east) part # 3
The bus drivers in Whistler were friendly and helpful. In fact one of them went out of his way to ensure that I got on the right bus that would ensure that I got to the furthest point east in the fastest time. They were only doing their job, but they did it with humour and politeness.
For the next few hours as I travelled along highway 99 I had a number of short 10-15 minute rides separated by 30 minute waits. I seldom ask where someone is going or how far until we are well under way. There were a number of times during my return trip that I wondered if I should change this policy. It frequently felt as if I was going from a not great spot to hitchhike from to a even worse spot. On the other hand, it all worked out ok and I eventually got to where I wanted to go.
My first ride of the day was from a pilot who had lived with his family in the area for a long time. They loved it. They had done well financially and were therefore able to own both property in Whistler as well as a farm near Pemberton. He had just driven his youngest daughter to Victoria to register at the University. So we spent a bit of time talking about that place and what a good choice it was for her. As with so many of my drivers this day and others, I liked the man. We had nothing in common in terms of lifestyle, but he was interesting to talk to. I would have liked to learn more about the area and the politics of growth and expansion.
My next drivers were a young couple driving a SUV loaded down with biking gear. It was a very short drive so I am not too sure what they did for a living, but they had moved around a lot. I think they had lived in most of the areas between Vancouver and Whistler, looking I suspect for that perfect spot that would allow them the maximum opportunity to earn a living and more importantly the opportunity to recreate in the mountains.
They let me off in a very strange spot where highway 99 takes a 90 degree right hand turn. The corner appeared to be in the middle of a First Nation’s community. There was a lot of local car traffic and a number of curious stares from people walking by. I think the name of the village was D’Arcy although I am not sure. At one point a large group of First Nations people walked by. And then they turned around and walked back. It felt as if they belonged to some sort of exercise group. It was strange to be standing there, being stared at by 20 or so individuals. I wonder what they thought about me, if anything at all. A few minutes later someone went by on a bicycle being pulled by their dog. He yelled out that if I wanted to get anywhere I should get a bike. I told him that I was going too far for that. Which of course is not true. Lots of people travel by bike across Canada. I see them surprisingly often. What I have never seen before were cross country skiers.
As I was standing at this spot, waiting for a car to come by, pacing back and forth, kicking stones and generally trying to amuse myself, I noticed that there were some people on the highway poling themselves along with ski poles. On their feet were short ski like devices with cross country bindings. I thought it was an interesting form of torture and wondered who in the right mind would spend their summers pretending that they were cross country skiing on hard pavement. On the other hand I was voluntarily standing on the pavement waiting for a car to go by. I was in no position to question any one’s sanity.
Finally the driver of a pick-up truck did stop and offer me a ride. He was an older First Nations man who was only going a little bit down the road, but who said that he would at least get me away from the local traffic. It was the first of a series of three drives that I would have with First Nation individuals over the next four days – all of which would affect me more than most rides. We talked about his community which I believe was the N'Quatqua First Nation and the extraordinary high unemployment rate. We talked about the fact that the Canadian Government had yet to settle with his community in terms of the land claims. When I said that I was embarrassed that my government had taken so long he accepted my apology with grace. But what was most significant was his admission that some of the reasons for the current state of affairs in First Nation communities were the responsibility of the people who lived there.
I have had a lot of rides with people who have ancestral ties to our First Nations. This man was the first one who said that some of what his people talked about was not true. While some of my drivers have referred to the problems that intra-tribal conflicts can cause, they have generally (and quite rightly) laid the blame on the Canadian Government who had created the system. But this elder was saying something different.
He was saying (I think) that some people used the excuse that because they had always done something a certain way (traditional culture) they should be allowed, if not facilitated, to continue to do so. But my driver was suggesting that some behaviours were wrong and should not be continued. He used the example of wife beating, but I think he was referring to a whole set of behaviours that are maladaptive to a healthy community. I really wished that we could have driven longer than the 15 minutes we did. It would have been a fascinating conversation.
He let me out before turning down a rough dirt road towards his house.
For the next few hours as I travelled along highway 99 I had a number of short 10-15 minute rides separated by 30 minute waits. I seldom ask where someone is going or how far until we are well under way. There were a number of times during my return trip that I wondered if I should change this policy. It frequently felt as if I was going from a not great spot to hitchhike from to a even worse spot. On the other hand, it all worked out ok and I eventually got to where I wanted to go.
My first ride of the day was from a pilot who had lived with his family in the area for a long time. They loved it. They had done well financially and were therefore able to own both property in Whistler as well as a farm near Pemberton. He had just driven his youngest daughter to Victoria to register at the University. So we spent a bit of time talking about that place and what a good choice it was for her. As with so many of my drivers this day and others, I liked the man. We had nothing in common in terms of lifestyle, but he was interesting to talk to. I would have liked to learn more about the area and the politics of growth and expansion.
My next drivers were a young couple driving a SUV loaded down with biking gear. It was a very short drive so I am not too sure what they did for a living, but they had moved around a lot. I think they had lived in most of the areas between Vancouver and Whistler, looking I suspect for that perfect spot that would allow them the maximum opportunity to earn a living and more importantly the opportunity to recreate in the mountains.
They let me off in a very strange spot where highway 99 takes a 90 degree right hand turn. The corner appeared to be in the middle of a First Nation’s community. There was a lot of local car traffic and a number of curious stares from people walking by. I think the name of the village was D’Arcy although I am not sure. At one point a large group of First Nations people walked by. And then they turned around and walked back. It felt as if they belonged to some sort of exercise group. It was strange to be standing there, being stared at by 20 or so individuals. I wonder what they thought about me, if anything at all. A few minutes later someone went by on a bicycle being pulled by their dog. He yelled out that if I wanted to get anywhere I should get a bike. I told him that I was going too far for that. Which of course is not true. Lots of people travel by bike across Canada. I see them surprisingly often. What I have never seen before were cross country skiers.
As I was standing at this spot, waiting for a car to come by, pacing back and forth, kicking stones and generally trying to amuse myself, I noticed that there were some people on the highway poling themselves along with ski poles. On their feet were short ski like devices with cross country bindings. I thought it was an interesting form of torture and wondered who in the right mind would spend their summers pretending that they were cross country skiing on hard pavement. On the other hand I was voluntarily standing on the pavement waiting for a car to go by. I was in no position to question any one’s sanity.
Finally the driver of a pick-up truck did stop and offer me a ride. He was an older First Nations man who was only going a little bit down the road, but who said that he would at least get me away from the local traffic. It was the first of a series of three drives that I would have with First Nation individuals over the next four days – all of which would affect me more than most rides. We talked about his community which I believe was the N'Quatqua First Nation and the extraordinary high unemployment rate. We talked about the fact that the Canadian Government had yet to settle with his community in terms of the land claims. When I said that I was embarrassed that my government had taken so long he accepted my apology with grace. But what was most significant was his admission that some of the reasons for the current state of affairs in First Nation communities were the responsibility of the people who lived there.
I have had a lot of rides with people who have ancestral ties to our First Nations. This man was the first one who said that some of what his people talked about was not true. While some of my drivers have referred to the problems that intra-tribal conflicts can cause, they have generally (and quite rightly) laid the blame on the Canadian Government who had created the system. But this elder was saying something different.
He was saying (I think) that some people used the excuse that because they had always done something a certain way (traditional culture) they should be allowed, if not facilitated, to continue to do so. But my driver was suggesting that some behaviours were wrong and should not be continued. He used the example of wife beating, but I think he was referring to a whole set of behaviours that are maladaptive to a healthy community. I really wished that we could have driven longer than the 15 minutes we did. It would have been a fascinating conversation.
He let me out before turning down a rough dirt road towards his house.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
On the road again (heading east) part # 2
There are some very real advantages to taking the bus as opposed to driving . The most obvious is that one can sit on the left hand side of the bus, higher than most other vehicles
, and look at the scenery without worrying about anything.. Of course taking pictures through a bus window leaves much to be desired and one can not stop the vehicle and look at the scenery but these are small things to complain about.I generally do not like taking the bus. I avoid it when ever I can. They are torture chambers for people with long legs. There is never enough room for my legs and the seats are specifically designed to make my bum go numb in about 5 minutes. But this bus ride was the exception.The seats were not anymore comfortable but I wished it could have last longer.The views were that exceptional.
Buddy, my driver to Duncan, had suggested that I take the bus just to Squamish and to hitchhike the rest of the way. The first part of the advice was good advice in that there really was no where to hitch from at the ferry terminal. I would have had to walk forever as the road designers had neglected to build any shoulders. But I am glad that I bought a ticket all the way to Whistler. Squamish did not look that appealing. It looked like any other small city clustered along the highway with all of the usual stores and fast food restaurants.
One of the remarkable things about the highway ( and I am sure it is a result of the Olympics) is that all of the creeks along the way are labeled in both their English names in in the language of the First Nations people of that region. it was neat to see these signs. Similarly all of the little towns along the way had rather impressive stone cairn like structures stating their names.
I was excited about visiting Whistler. Not because of the Olympics that were held there but because it seemed to be one of those iconic Canadian monuments that should be seen at least once in a person's lifetime. On my first trip west I almost got a ride there from a ski bum and I have always wondered what it was like. I am glad that I went and saw it, but I see no reason to ever go back again unless I am just passing through. Whistler is an ugly town located in a beautiful setting. It in many ways reminded me of Banff without what little charm Banff has.
The hostel is owned/operated by University of British Columbia students. I think it is primarily a winter thing but remains open for the handful of tourist who can find it in the summer. It has a huge parking lot so clearly there is an assumption that people will have a car to get there.
It was almost empty. I think there was one couple staying there plus two young women. There were some unusual rules including the one that closed and locked the kitchen down at 8:00 pm. It was not a very welcoming place, the hot tub and the sauna were closed as was access to the balcony. But the living room was very nice and I was content to spent the evening there reading a book and looking out the windows.
I could imagine the place in the winter, full of red cheeked individuals back from a day of skiing or snowboarding. I think it would be a much different place.
The sleeping quarters were fine. The bunk beds were made of wood although as I was the only one in them it did not particular matter if the beds moved or not.
I got a good night's sleep and was out the door by just after 7:00. Not surprisingly, the walk down to the bus stop was much easier than the walk up.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
On the road again (heading east) part #1
I got a drive to the Nanaimo Hostel with my daughter in law, son and grandson. I could have taken the Greyhound bus but I was glad for the offer. It was one less thing to worry about. In the next day or so there would be a few connections that I was not sure if I could make, or at least how to make them. It was also nice to spend a bit more time with them.
I "hate" saying goodbye and goodbyes between my son and I are always far too brief - there are a million things that we have not said to each other but I am too close to tears to even start saying them now. We quickly hugged goodbye, say we loved each other and I walk away. There is always this profound sense of loss when I say good bye to him. It is a loss so deep that it hurts.
The hostel was fine but the owner/operator was perhaps a bit over friendly to the point of superficiality . As I stood around waiting for my turn to check in it was clear that his little welcoming speech which sounded spontaneous was in fact a set speech. He said exactly the same thing to all new arrivals.But then I suppose that when one greets potentially 100s of people a month, the speech does get a bit set.
The hostel was a new one. Everything look clean and well set up. The larger than usual dorm rooms only held two bunk beds as opposed to the usual three. The beds that were made out of metal and wood looked studier than most (they were not any better. Every time the guy on the bottom bunk turned over, I, on the top bunk, could feel the bed shake). The bathrooms were great as were the showers. There was also what they called the "great room" which was a combination lounge and kitchen. It was well outfitted and a great place to have a cup of tea. My favourite part of the evening was the large bowl of popcorn that was set out on the counter for all to share. That was a nice touch. Once again however, due to the number of people using their netbooks or laptops there was relatively little conversation between the people in the room. Pity.
After a good meal at a local bar I went for a walk along the water front. The harbour looked almost full with most of the boats being fairly large. The quay was lovely with little shops and restaurants. The park area that bordered the quay was well maintained and people friendly. There were lots of people walking, young couples, families and singles like myself strolling along. I was particularly fascinated by a dock that was reserved for people fishing and crabbing, something I had never seen before.
People had small collapsible nets baited with chicken parts. They threw the nets into the ocean 15- 20 feet from the dock and let the nets sit on the bottom of the ocean for about 10 minutes. They then hauled them out again. Sometimes the nets were empty and other times they had 4-5 crabs.It was fascinating and even a bit exciting as the fisherfolk had to be careful not to get nipped by the crab's pincers.Some were large enough to keep but most of the crabs needed to be thrown back.
I was in bed by just before 11:00 - feeling a bit nervous and excited about the upcoming days.
There was suppose to be a bus connection between downtown and the ferry terminal. But in reading the schedule it appeared as if the connection only worked during the school year. I suppose that there are kids coming from the smaller islands that attend high school in Nanaimo. I had a choice. I could take the bus and get to the ferry terminal 35 minutes early or I could walk. People at the hostel said that it was about a 40 minute walk. I was up early on Tuesday and decided to walk. In hindsight it sounds silly to intentionally walk 45 minutes just so I would not have to wat around for 35 minutes, but that is what I did. I had so much excess energy from unresolved emotions that I needed to burn some of it off. It was an easy walk. A couple of time I asked people on the street if I was going in the right direction, but in fact it would have been hard to get lost. All I had to do was follow the water front.
I got to the ferry terminal in good time, the ferry left on time and I was almost first in line for breakfast. The breakfasts on the ferries are pretty good, perhaps a bit more expensive than in a cheap restaurant but it is pretty convenient. Eating on the ferry is a lot easier than trying to find a place open downtown early in the morning. Besides I walk better with an empty stomach.
Just after I had finished breakfast there was an announcement that those who wanted to go to Whistler by bus, needed to buy a ticket within the next 45 minutes. This had been one of the connection points that I was worried about. I had searched the web a number of times and had not been able to find the Greyhound bus station in Horseshoe Bay or how to buy a ticket. They made it so simple. I bought the ticket (using my hostel discount) and caught the bus just outside the ferry doors. It could not have been easier.
I "hate" saying goodbye and goodbyes between my son and I are always far too brief - there are a million things that we have not said to each other but I am too close to tears to even start saying them now. We quickly hugged goodbye, say we loved each other and I walk away. There is always this profound sense of loss when I say good bye to him. It is a loss so deep that it hurts.
The hostel was fine but the owner/operator was perhaps a bit over friendly to the point of superficiality . As I stood around waiting for my turn to check in it was clear that his little welcoming speech which sounded spontaneous was in fact a set speech. He said exactly the same thing to all new arrivals.But then I suppose that when one greets potentially 100s of people a month, the speech does get a bit set.
The hostel was a new one. Everything look clean and well set up. The larger than usual dorm rooms only held two bunk beds as opposed to the usual three. The beds that were made out of metal and wood looked studier than most (they were not any better. Every time the guy on the bottom bunk turned over, I, on the top bunk, could feel the bed shake). The bathrooms were great as were the showers. There was also what they called the "great room" which was a combination lounge and kitchen. It was well outfitted and a great place to have a cup of tea. My favourite part of the evening was the large bowl of popcorn that was set out on the counter for all to share. That was a nice touch. Once again however, due to the number of people using their netbooks or laptops there was relatively little conversation between the people in the room. Pity.
After a good meal at a local bar I went for a walk along the water front. The harbour looked almost full with most of the boats being fairly large. The quay was lovely with little shops and restaurants. The park area that bordered the quay was well maintained and people friendly. There were lots of people walking, young couples, families and singles like myself strolling along. I was particularly fascinated by a dock that was reserved for people fishing and crabbing, something I had never seen before.
People had small collapsible nets baited with chicken parts. They threw the nets into the ocean 15- 20 feet from the dock and let the nets sit on the bottom of the ocean for about 10 minutes. They then hauled them out again. Sometimes the nets were empty and other times they had 4-5 crabs.It was fascinating and even a bit exciting as the fisherfolk had to be careful not to get nipped by the crab's pincers.Some were large enough to keep but most of the crabs needed to be thrown back.
I was in bed by just before 11:00 - feeling a bit nervous and excited about the upcoming days.
There was suppose to be a bus connection between downtown and the ferry terminal. But in reading the schedule it appeared as if the connection only worked during the school year. I suppose that there are kids coming from the smaller islands that attend high school in Nanaimo. I had a choice. I could take the bus and get to the ferry terminal 35 minutes early or I could walk. People at the hostel said that it was about a 40 minute walk. I was up early on Tuesday and decided to walk. In hindsight it sounds silly to intentionally walk 45 minutes just so I would not have to wat around for 35 minutes, but that is what I did. I had so much excess energy from unresolved emotions that I needed to burn some of it off. It was an easy walk. A couple of time I asked people on the street if I was going in the right direction, but in fact it would have been hard to get lost. All I had to do was follow the water front.
I got to the ferry terminal in good time, the ferry left on time and I was almost first in line for breakfast. The breakfasts on the ferries are pretty good, perhaps a bit more expensive than in a cheap restaurant but it is pretty convenient. Eating on the ferry is a lot easier than trying to find a place open downtown early in the morning. Besides I walk better with an empty stomach.
Just after I had finished breakfast there was an announcement that those who wanted to go to Whistler by bus, needed to buy a ticket within the next 45 minutes. This had been one of the connection points that I was worried about. I had searched the web a number of times and had not been able to find the Greyhound bus station in Horseshoe Bay or how to buy a ticket. They made it so simple. I bought the ticket (using my hostel discount) and caught the bus just outside the ferry doors. It could not have been easier.
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