It was around 5:00 in the afternoon on Sunday. We were in Chilliwack. If we kept on driving through to Vancouver I could easily make the last ferry into Victoria. Now that would have been a record for speed! But Jessie seemed tired and wanted to stop. I also think that he was getting ahead of himself in his logs and had driven a few more hours than he should have. We had talked a fair bit about the best way to get into Vancouver. At one point he had even asked and accepted my advice as to the best way to get to Vancouver. We could have gone along the Fraser River but it would have taken longer. Or we could go along the Coquihalla highway, which goes through Merrit (which is part of the near desert,but had snow in the valley) which would be faster and I thought easier for a truck. The Fraser is beautiful but it is just two lanes and very twisty. I chose the Coquihalla for the speed.
It seems to me that one of the most common delights of the drivers that I have travelled with, is to cheat on their logs. I think they do it because the logs make their lives more complicated, reduce their capacity to make money and mainly because so many of them have both a sense of larceny and resistance to authority in them. They want to believe that they are the independents who are the last lone wolves of the open road, that nothing ties them down. But of course the reality is that with the regulations they are forced to follow, the speed limiters on their engines, the checking in with their dispatchers, the weigh scales and the logs they have to fill out, they are as restricted as any other occupation and perhaps a lot more than some. I of course, would never say this to them. We all need our fantasies to sustain us during the long dark night. And truckers, it seems to me, have as many if not more long dark nights (figuratively and literally) than the rest of us.
None-the- less, for what ever reason Jesse seemed determined to stop in Chilliwack. There were two practical reasons, one was that his delivery was not due until Monday morning and the only place to park his truck for the night within the city of Vancouver was a very small lot with no services: The second reason was that he wanted to eat at a specific restaurant that on Sundays had "all you can eat fish and chips". It seemed to me as if he had been talking it for most of the afternoon.
Once again things got a bit confused between us. At one point when I raised the issue of where I was going to sleep that night (in my usual subtle non-aggressive manner) he suggested that while we were waiting for a table, I could check out the Greyhound bus station next door to see if there was a bus to the ferries from Chilliwak. I did so and found out that there was one leaving at something like 3:00 in the morning and that it would cost approximately $50.00. I went back to the restaurant which still didn't have a table ready (it was Father's Day and there seemed to be lot of families there) and talked to Jesse. He thought that $50 was a lot. For me, I was bit frustrated. Here I was in Chilliwack, just a few hours outside of Vancouver, lining up to sit in a restaurant for a meal I could not eat, knowing that if I waited around, I would at least feel that I had wasted some time.....that I could travel further and faster if I left Jesse now and headed out on my own. This was not a new or unusual feeling. Quite frequently after a day or so travelling with someone, I get the urge to meet someone new, to see if I can get to somewhere faster using some other means. But it made no sense to switch horses so late in the race if I could get a ride to Vancouver with Jesse. It really didn't matter if I got to Vancouver Island Sunday night or Monday morning. Over my salad and side order of chips, and Jesse's numerous orders of "all you can eat fish and chips" we talked about what to do. Jesse said that if I wanted to go on the bus that was fine with him, but he was going to Vancouver and I was welcome to get a ride with him. So I did.
I think his feeling may have been slightly hurt when I accepted his suggestion to check out the bus, or perhaps he had picked up my anxiety and felt like he needed to make that suggestion. Regardless we finished up our meal, got back into the truck and withing a fairly short time made it into Vancouver. The traffic was a bit heavy but probably a lot lighter than it would have been on Monday morning. We took the last spot in a small truck stop, walked around for bit to stretch our legs and then went to bed. The next morning we drove about 15-20 minutes to the warehouse, and with me blocking traffic, he backed the truck into the terminal. I grabbed my pack, shook his hand, thanked him for a great ride and was on my way. I didn't know exactly where I was, but there were lots of people about so I was sure there was a bus stop somewhere. I was surprised to round a corner and see the entrance to a Skytrain station. I was on my way to the ferry terminal at Horseshoe Bay.
While I would seldom counsel anyone that no action is the best action, in terms of hitchhiking it seems that frequently might be the best thing to do. If I had left Chilliwack either on the bus or by hitchhiking, it would have at the very least cost me money to sleep somewhere and more importantly, for the latter choice, there would have been no guarantee that I would have got to Vancouver or the Island any faster. Doing nothing had worked out well. All in all it had been a good ride. Not perhaps the best I have ever had, but a damn good ride. Brandon to Vancouver in 36 hours...does not get much better than that! Even the train would have taken longer.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
On the Road #12
Jesse was up early and I barely had time to go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. There is reason that I don't eat a lot when I am travelling. I would have assumed that with the amount of fruit that Jesse ate that he would need to use the bathroom far more frequently than he did. Jesse was not a morning person and even after a huge cup of coffee he was not very communicative. But then even the day before he had not been overly talkative.
Some drivers like to talk and it only takes me a few questions about their truck or their load and they are good for 15 or 20 minutes. Others love to go on to great length about why they love driving a truck for a living. A few of my truck drivers have been interested in my life and have asked lots of questions. Sometimes the truck driver and I can go off on weird directions such as the time a driver and I spent a night planning a cross Europe car trip to the Pacific Ocean. There have been other drivers who have used me to talk about their failed relationships and why their fathers didn't love them. Jesse did none of those things. We did talk about his girlfriends and some of their problems. He talked a lot about his relationships with some of their kids. But it felt somewhat superficial. Not that he was intentionally superficial, just that our conversation never took off. Usually if I travel with someone for a day and a half I get to know them quite well. With Jesse this really never happened. It was until late on Sunday I even found out that he had kids of his own. But he had no contact with them. It was sort of sad and perhaps explained why he didn't seem interested in talking about my grand kids.
To make it even more difficult for us to have a conversation, Jesse mumbled and there were times that after asking him to repeat something twice and still not understanding him, I just agreed with him or stopped talking for a while. It wasn't until last evening together that he mentioned that he had a problem talking clearly or loudly. He said that he had never spoken very loudly. I wonder if his manner of speech, and perhaps his uncomfortableness with it led him into profession that did not require him to talk a lot.
The only topic that Jesse talked consistently about was this "self improvement club" he belonged to. Except it wasn't a club, it was a scam to take people's money. It appeared as is one went to a meeting, heard some sort of inspirational speaker, and were then convinced to buy a specific product. The hook was that if one could develop the skills to sell these products to other people - that is where the self improvement came in - then the products were free. Jesse was taking some sort of mood leveler vitamin and some sort of "fat reducer" pill. Jesse told me that if I had not been in the cab, he would have been listening to his tapes. Clearly not only were the pills useless, but to get people to believe that this would "improve them" seems to me to be fundamentally dishonest and perhaps even more importantly morally corrupt.
Jesse not only ate a lot of fruit he, also smoked a lot. In hindsight I wondered if that was why he liked driving in the States. Tobacco products are so much cheaper there. While he was polite the first time he lit one up, and quite often offered me one, the smoke did get to me. There were times when I thought about getting out at the next stop and trying for different ride, but the stops were few and far between and besides I had learned the hard way that the Hitchhiking Gods punished those who rejected rides.
Some drivers like to talk and it only takes me a few questions about their truck or their load and they are good for 15 or 20 minutes. Others love to go on to great length about why they love driving a truck for a living. A few of my truck drivers have been interested in my life and have asked lots of questions. Sometimes the truck driver and I can go off on weird directions such as the time a driver and I spent a night planning a cross Europe car trip to the Pacific Ocean. There have been other drivers who have used me to talk about their failed relationships and why their fathers didn't love them. Jesse did none of those things. We did talk about his girlfriends and some of their problems. He talked a lot about his relationships with some of their kids. But it felt somewhat superficial. Not that he was intentionally superficial, just that our conversation never took off. Usually if I travel with someone for a day and a half I get to know them quite well. With Jesse this really never happened. It was until late on Sunday I even found out that he had kids of his own. But he had no contact with them. It was sort of sad and perhaps explained why he didn't seem interested in talking about my grand kids.
To make it even more difficult for us to have a conversation, Jesse mumbled and there were times that after asking him to repeat something twice and still not understanding him, I just agreed with him or stopped talking for a while. It wasn't until last evening together that he mentioned that he had a problem talking clearly or loudly. He said that he had never spoken very loudly. I wonder if his manner of speech, and perhaps his uncomfortableness with it led him into profession that did not require him to talk a lot.
The only topic that Jesse talked consistently about was this "self improvement club" he belonged to. Except it wasn't a club, it was a scam to take people's money. It appeared as is one went to a meeting, heard some sort of inspirational speaker, and were then convinced to buy a specific product. The hook was that if one could develop the skills to sell these products to other people - that is where the self improvement came in - then the products were free. Jesse was taking some sort of mood leveler vitamin and some sort of "fat reducer" pill. Jesse told me that if I had not been in the cab, he would have been listening to his tapes. Clearly not only were the pills useless, but to get people to believe that this would "improve them" seems to me to be fundamentally dishonest and perhaps even more importantly morally corrupt.
Jesse not only ate a lot of fruit he, also smoked a lot. In hindsight I wondered if that was why he liked driving in the States. Tobacco products are so much cheaper there. While he was polite the first time he lit one up, and quite often offered me one, the smoke did get to me. There were times when I thought about getting out at the next stop and trying for different ride, but the stops were few and far between and besides I had learned the hard way that the Hitchhiking Gods punished those who rejected rides.
Friday, July 29, 2011
On the Road 2011 Intermission
Computers are a pain in the ass.
I am typing my blogs on my tablet using a linux version of Word....I save it to my. yahoo e-mail account. Tried to use an Apple Computer to cut and paste onto the blog.....the whole thing has stopped working. I am getting all kinds of errors - it is posting 95 copies of unfinished poorly formated blog (the same one 95 times !!!!!)
Is screaming an option ????? Would anyone hear me?
I am typing my blogs on my tablet using a linux version of Word....I save it to my. yahoo e-mail account. Tried to use an Apple Computer to cut and paste onto the blog.....the whole thing has stopped working. I am getting all kinds of errors - it is posting 95 copies of unfinished poorly formated blog (the same one 95 times !!!!!)
Is screaming an option ????? Would anyone hear me?
On the Road 2011 blog #11
Jesse and I had driven for quite a few hours before we got around to where he was actually heading. We had both assumed that Calgary was our common destination. Jesse was a real long distance driver who preferred to drive in the States. In fact he was more than a bit upset that he was not turning south at some point but instead had to go Vancouver. Many of his trips took him deep into the western states. He liked it that way. He was quite happy being gone for up to 14 days. Needless to say I was more than slightly happy to hear his destinaton. He never said I could go all the way with him....but then he didn't say that I couldn't.
If I had had a choice I would have preferred to not go through the Rockies in a truck. The good news was that they drive non-stop for 13-14 hours. The bad news is that trucks don't go very fast. Jesse's truck had a governer on the engine went meant that even going downhill, his speed was limited just over 100 kilometers per hour. This meant that going up hill his speed was reduced. It was fortunate that his load was relatively light. He was carrying equipment for the BC Gaming Comission. If one would be allowed to, I would have loved to see what was in the back of the truck. Of course it is not and I resisted the temption to even mention it him. Jesse had carried some interesting cargo, perhaps the most interesting was the costumes and sets for a production of Cats. Going to see the play if for no other reason than to see how these props were used was on his list of things to do.
Regardless of the slowness of truck travel, I was thankful for the ride. No matter how slow it might feel, I was not spending the time on the side of the road waiting for the next ride. Traveling with Jesse through the Rockies also, unfortunately meant that I did would not really see the Rockies. While one has a great view of the road from the cab, the view looking up is surprisingly limited. While the windows always look large from the outside, they are rather small when one is on the inside looking out.
We stopped at a Great Canadian Super store in Regina for a quick bathroom break and for Jesse to buy some food. I am always a bit nervous when I stop. I don't want to follow them around, nor do I want to ever be too far away from my stuff. Especially after my experience of last year when I was abandoned in Wawa I was especially careful. I therefore spent twenty or so minutes in a fine mist hanging around Jesse's truck. He eventully came back carrying a large bag of groceries including some chips, two dozen oranges and some bananas. I have never seen some one eat so many oranges at one time. Jesse would put five or six on the dashbord and within in a mater of fifteen minutes peel and eat them. He could also go through three or four bananas just as quickly. He was a generous man and kept on trying to get me to eat his fruit.
At some point the other side of Calgary, Jesse decided that he was tired and pulled off at a small truck stop. We still had not decided if we were going to travel together through the Rockies. I am never too sure what to do in such situations. I really dislike having to ask for favours (one of the reasons that I would make a very poor salesman) and so I usually wait until I am offered something. It worked this time. Jesse asked if I had a sleeping bag, I said yes, and then he said "there is a top bunk- you are welcome to it"
Within 15 minutes the upper bunk was dropped down, the thick curtains were drawn around the back half of the cab and we were ready to sleep. I think it must be a requirement for a trucker to be able to drive hard and then within a few minutes they are ready for bed. I coul not live that lifestyle. Almost every trucker I have ridden with has been the same. Perhaps that is why they pick me up - quite simply they are lonely. Or perhaps it is because I am with them that they don't need stop. I sometimes wish they would stop just for the break. I know other truckers stop for meals, I have just never have ridden with one.
If I had had a choice I would have preferred to not go through the Rockies in a truck. The good news was that they drive non-stop for 13-14 hours. The bad news is that trucks don't go very fast. Jesse's truck had a governer on the engine went meant that even going downhill, his speed was limited just over 100 kilometers per hour. This meant that going up hill his speed was reduced. It was fortunate that his load was relatively light. He was carrying equipment for the BC Gaming Comission. If one would be allowed to, I would have loved to see what was in the back of the truck. Of course it is not and I resisted the temption to even mention it him. Jesse had carried some interesting cargo, perhaps the most interesting was the costumes and sets for a production of Cats. Going to see the play if for no other reason than to see how these props were used was on his list of things to do.
Regardless of the slowness of truck travel, I was thankful for the ride. No matter how slow it might feel, I was not spending the time on the side of the road waiting for the next ride. Traveling with Jesse through the Rockies also, unfortunately meant that I did would not really see the Rockies. While one has a great view of the road from the cab, the view looking up is surprisingly limited. While the windows always look large from the outside, they are rather small when one is on the inside looking out.
We stopped at a Great Canadian Super store in Regina for a quick bathroom break and for Jesse to buy some food. I am always a bit nervous when I stop. I don't want to follow them around, nor do I want to ever be too far away from my stuff. Especially after my experience of last year when I was abandoned in Wawa I was especially careful. I therefore spent twenty or so minutes in a fine mist hanging around Jesse's truck. He eventully came back carrying a large bag of groceries including some chips, two dozen oranges and some bananas. I have never seen some one eat so many oranges at one time. Jesse would put five or six on the dashbord and within in a mater of fifteen minutes peel and eat them. He could also go through three or four bananas just as quickly. He was a generous man and kept on trying to get me to eat his fruit.
At some point the other side of Calgary, Jesse decided that he was tired and pulled off at a small truck stop. We still had not decided if we were going to travel together through the Rockies. I am never too sure what to do in such situations. I really dislike having to ask for favours (one of the reasons that I would make a very poor salesman) and so I usually wait until I am offered something. It worked this time. Jesse asked if I had a sleeping bag, I said yes, and then he said "there is a top bunk- you are welcome to it"
Within 15 minutes the upper bunk was dropped down, the thick curtains were drawn around the back half of the cab and we were ready to sleep. I think it must be a requirement for a trucker to be able to drive hard and then within a few minutes they are ready for bed. I coul not live that lifestyle. Almost every trucker I have ridden with has been the same. Perhaps that is why they pick me up - quite simply they are lonely. Or perhaps it is because I am with them that they don't need stop. I sometimes wish they would stop just for the break. I know other truckers stop for meals, I have just never have ridden with one.
Monday, July 25, 2011
On the Road 2011 blog# 10
I have had a strange relationship and relatively speaking, a long relationship with Brandon, Manitoba. A relationship that exists only in my mind and in spite of the fact that I don't really know her at all. In fact I have never really entered Brandon. I only know what exists along the highway, at the very fringes of the city. She is but temporary friend, I know nothing about her inner workings,who lives within her, how they earn their money, or what makes her happy. I only have touched the outer most portions of her skin, and yet I say we have a relationship. One day I may get to know her better.
I first became aware of Brandon in 1967, the years of Montreal's World Fair. I was away at a children's camp in Northern Quebec, developing my duel crafts of looking after other people's children and wilderness canoeing. My parents opened up their house to tourist visiting Montreal. Some of those good folks were from Brandon. I never met any of them, but I became aware that summer that such a town, and perhaps even more importantly that another country existed outside of Quebec.
Brandon has this motel that I have stayed in at least 3 times. What is remarkable about this motel is that each unit is a separate little cabin built in an arch shape....exactly like the first house that I built. Every time I see that motel I think of that first house and my life back then. I could never have dreamed of how things have turned out.
I have arrived in Brandon tired and somewhat discouraged and in spite of the fact that it was only 5:30 in the afternoon and therefore there was lots of hitchhiking light to continue, I have stopped for the day. I have slept by the side of the road arriving there at 2:00 in the morning after an excilerating three car ride from Lake Louise. And I have been standing on the side of the road just about dusk and been picked up by a man going to Calgary, wanting company throughout the night. As I said...Brandon and me go a way back.
Brandon may have one of the most complicated sets of traffic lights in the nation. That is because at the cross roads there is not only the Trans-Canada to deal with, there are also the service roads that run on either side of the highway. They all need access to the highway and to downtown. To make things even more complicated, there are 3-4 truckstops that the big transport trailers use for their breaks and for getting gas. And of course on a Saturday afternoon there were lots of local shoppers out for the day, doing what ever needed to be done after a full week's work. It can make for a type of crazy, hectic traffic patterns that require the hitchhiker to be alert. One needs to stay focused, so that eye contact can be made in those cars that are heading west. It can be tiring and it is easy to miss cues.
I had been there, for what on this trip was turning out to be, a long time. At least 20 minutes. I saw a transport truck swing out on to the highway, gave him a quick glance, saw that he was not looking at me and went on the next vehicle. I was surprised when he slowed down and honked his horn. I wasted no time grabbing my pack from the shoulder of the road and swinging it on to my back. Because of some pot holes he had had to park a bit up the highway but I didn't mind the brief jog.
In the past I have had some difficulty in getting both me and my pack up into the truck. Trucks are surprising high off the ground, and they are rather small inside. There is not a lot of room to manouver once one is halfway in. The trucker invariably says "oh just throw it in the back". Quite frankly by the time I have hauled both the pack and me into the cab, I lack the strength to throw my hat into the back, never mind the pack. But I was much smoother this time. Part of the secret was that my pack was lighter than ever before because of the smaller tent and of course because I had mailed so much stuff out to BC. But as well I had spent some time thinking about how to do it. It was not that I felt the need to impress truck drivers, I just didn't want them to think I was a complete uncoordinated idiot. I still groaned when he said " just throw your pack in the back". At least this time I was not so out of breath that I couldn't thank him for stopping.
Jesse's first words to me after directing what to do with my stuff was to say " I honked at you when I pulled into the card lock ( where they get their fuel) you should have been paying attention" . I decided not to bother telling him that I had been paying attention, there were just too many cars and trucks to keep track of them all. Hell it was his truck and if he felt the need to give me a lecture, I could stand it, it seemed a small price to pay for a ride. Jesse had stopped because he had seen my sign for Calgary and wanted some company. He was heading for Calgary although he was not sure if he would make it that day. But if he was going to Calgary so was I. Winnipeg to Calgary in one day was quite respectable.
I was happy.
I first became aware of Brandon in 1967, the years of Montreal's World Fair. I was away at a children's camp in Northern Quebec, developing my duel crafts of looking after other people's children and wilderness canoeing. My parents opened up their house to tourist visiting Montreal. Some of those good folks were from Brandon. I never met any of them, but I became aware that summer that such a town, and perhaps even more importantly that another country existed outside of Quebec.
Brandon has this motel that I have stayed in at least 3 times. What is remarkable about this motel is that each unit is a separate little cabin built in an arch shape....exactly like the first house that I built. Every time I see that motel I think of that first house and my life back then. I could never have dreamed of how things have turned out.
I have arrived in Brandon tired and somewhat discouraged and in spite of the fact that it was only 5:30 in the afternoon and therefore there was lots of hitchhiking light to continue, I have stopped for the day. I have slept by the side of the road arriving there at 2:00 in the morning after an excilerating three car ride from Lake Louise. And I have been standing on the side of the road just about dusk and been picked up by a man going to Calgary, wanting company throughout the night. As I said...Brandon and me go a way back.
Brandon may have one of the most complicated sets of traffic lights in the nation. That is because at the cross roads there is not only the Trans-Canada to deal with, there are also the service roads that run on either side of the highway. They all need access to the highway and to downtown. To make things even more complicated, there are 3-4 truckstops that the big transport trailers use for their breaks and for getting gas. And of course on a Saturday afternoon there were lots of local shoppers out for the day, doing what ever needed to be done after a full week's work. It can make for a type of crazy, hectic traffic patterns that require the hitchhiker to be alert. One needs to stay focused, so that eye contact can be made in those cars that are heading west. It can be tiring and it is easy to miss cues.
I had been there, for what on this trip was turning out to be, a long time. At least 20 minutes. I saw a transport truck swing out on to the highway, gave him a quick glance, saw that he was not looking at me and went on the next vehicle. I was surprised when he slowed down and honked his horn. I wasted no time grabbing my pack from the shoulder of the road and swinging it on to my back. Because of some pot holes he had had to park a bit up the highway but I didn't mind the brief jog.
In the past I have had some difficulty in getting both me and my pack up into the truck. Trucks are surprising high off the ground, and they are rather small inside. There is not a lot of room to manouver once one is halfway in. The trucker invariably says "oh just throw it in the back". Quite frankly by the time I have hauled both the pack and me into the cab, I lack the strength to throw my hat into the back, never mind the pack. But I was much smoother this time. Part of the secret was that my pack was lighter than ever before because of the smaller tent and of course because I had mailed so much stuff out to BC. But as well I had spent some time thinking about how to do it. It was not that I felt the need to impress truck drivers, I just didn't want them to think I was a complete uncoordinated idiot. I still groaned when he said " just throw your pack in the back". At least this time I was not so out of breath that I couldn't thank him for stopping.
Jesse's first words to me after directing what to do with my stuff was to say " I honked at you when I pulled into the card lock ( where they get their fuel) you should have been paying attention" . I decided not to bother telling him that I had been paying attention, there were just too many cars and trucks to keep track of them all. Hell it was his truck and if he felt the need to give me a lecture, I could stand it, it seemed a small price to pay for a ride. Jesse had stopped because he had seen my sign for Calgary and wanted some company. He was heading for Calgary although he was not sure if he would make it that day. But if he was going to Calgary so was I. Winnipeg to Calgary in one day was quite respectable.
I was happy.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
On the Road 2011 blog #9
If someone had asked me, before this trip started - "who doesn't pick you up?" I would have immediately said "Asians, recent immigrants and families". There have been some exceptions to the bit about families and recent immigrants. By my count in all of my years of hitchhiking, four recent immigrants have offered me drives and only one family who were tourist from Australia have. I would have probably bet money on those rules remaining consistent this trip if I could have found anyone silly enough to take the bet.
I crossed the highway at the set of lights, dropped my pack and waited patiently for a friendly driver that hopefully take me out of Manitoba. In particular I have had the odd problem getting out of Brandon the next city down the road. I did not want to be stuck there. Nor did I want this trip to be a series of short drives with long waits in between. As of yet I wasn't exactly stuck in the middle of nowhere. There was a gas station across the road and there was certainly lots of traffic going north up the Yellowhead Highway ( how I love those two words) .... but not a lot going my way west. Maybe I should have gone with Jack... I could have gone all the way to the west coast on that highway and I would have be able to write "Yellowhead highway" a hundred times.
I was at that spot for no more than ten minutes when a van pulled over,a young person got out of the front, helped me load my pack into the back of the van and invited me into the front seat, while he along with a younger and older sister sat in the back seat.They were a Chinese family, who as I later found out had immigrated last November. It is a good thing I never found someone silly enough to take that bet...I would have lost money.
In spite of the fact that they had picked me up to practice their English, there was initially not a lot of conversation. I think they were shy about their language skills. I do not think that they knew what questions to ask. Their young son acted as translator, with me asking him questions, him translating the questions into Chinese, getting the answer and then passing the answer back to me. I was surprised at this in part because every once in a while Dad would answer a question directly to me in fairly clear English. Two small conversations remain in my mind. One was about dandelions. They wanted to know what those nice yellow flowers were in their front yard. It took me some time to make myself clear what they were called. It was my fault. They were having some difficulty pronouncing the word....I separated the word into two syllables. When I said "lion" they got quite animated..... and confuse. Why was I talking abut animals -they were talking about flowers? We eventually got it sorted out. Their real questions seemed to be "why were their neighbours so upset about the beautiful spring flowers?". I suspect me telling them that they could eat the greens and make wine from the flowers will do nothing to make their neighbours happy next spring.
The second topic started of with me asking the father how he was allowed to have three children. I told him that it was my understanding that in China families were only allowed to have one child. They were confused by my questions...where did I get three children from, he only had two. I had mistakenly seen the older female in the back seat as a daughter when in fact she was his wife and the mother of the two kids. I covered my embarrassment by saying she looked far too young to be a mother.It was the truth but the fact that she was in the back seat had strengthened my impression. Their answer when it came was quite simple...in the northern and more rural parts of China two children are frequently allowed
The little girl who had been quiet for much of out ride asked me what I called my facial hair. She knew the word for mustache, but not beard. The all seem to have fun pronouncing the word until they had internalized it. I am not too sure if I would have been so dedicated to learning another language.
All of a sudden my driver pulled of the road and started down a poorly paved country road. I was surprised to say the least....they had told me they were going to Brandon. I was being abducted by Chinese immigrants! Their son perhaps because he saw the panicked look upon my face quickly explained. They were going to take a few minutes to look at a cafe that the father wanted to buy. It would be charitable to call Austin, Manitoba a one horse town. There was, if I remember rightly a feed store, a small grocery store and a closed cafe. I didn't see the horse but it would have fitted right in. The two parents and their little girl walked around trying to look in the windows while the son stayed with me. His mother was not that keen on them moving to a small town and running business but the dad thought that it would be a good way of establishing themselves. When I asked what they knew about business, they admitted they knew very little. (Dad was some sort of professional designer in China).
Fairly shortly afterwards they let me out at the east end of Brandon. I wish they had driven me to the west end, but that is being picky. It was not that far to walk and I was very grateful for the ride. They were an amazing family. Canada continues to be blessed with immigrants who chose to come here and who are committed to not only becoming Canadians but as well to contributing to our/their society. I was honoured to have them choose my country to be theirs. I told them so. As they drove away and I started my brief hike down the road I wondered if in five years they will pick up hitchhikers, or whether they will have become so completely Canadian that they too will share the paranoid view that all who are on the road are dangerous.
It would be a shame if they became that Canadian.
I crossed the highway at the set of lights, dropped my pack and waited patiently for a friendly driver that hopefully take me out of Manitoba. In particular I have had the odd problem getting out of Brandon the next city down the road. I did not want to be stuck there. Nor did I want this trip to be a series of short drives with long waits in between. As of yet I wasn't exactly stuck in the middle of nowhere. There was a gas station across the road and there was certainly lots of traffic going north up the Yellowhead Highway ( how I love those two words) .... but not a lot going my way west. Maybe I should have gone with Jack... I could have gone all the way to the west coast on that highway and I would have be able to write "Yellowhead highway" a hundred times.
I was at that spot for no more than ten minutes when a van pulled over,a young person got out of the front, helped me load my pack into the back of the van and invited me into the front seat, while he along with a younger and older sister sat in the back seat.They were a Chinese family, who as I later found out had immigrated last November. It is a good thing I never found someone silly enough to take that bet...I would have lost money.
In spite of the fact that they had picked me up to practice their English, there was initially not a lot of conversation. I think they were shy about their language skills. I do not think that they knew what questions to ask. Their young son acted as translator, with me asking him questions, him translating the questions into Chinese, getting the answer and then passing the answer back to me. I was surprised at this in part because every once in a while Dad would answer a question directly to me in fairly clear English. Two small conversations remain in my mind. One was about dandelions. They wanted to know what those nice yellow flowers were in their front yard. It took me some time to make myself clear what they were called. It was my fault. They were having some difficulty pronouncing the word....I separated the word into two syllables. When I said "lion" they got quite animated..... and confuse. Why was I talking abut animals -they were talking about flowers? We eventually got it sorted out. Their real questions seemed to be "why were their neighbours so upset about the beautiful spring flowers?". I suspect me telling them that they could eat the greens and make wine from the flowers will do nothing to make their neighbours happy next spring.
The second topic started of with me asking the father how he was allowed to have three children. I told him that it was my understanding that in China families were only allowed to have one child. They were confused by my questions...where did I get three children from, he only had two. I had mistakenly seen the older female in the back seat as a daughter when in fact she was his wife and the mother of the two kids. I covered my embarrassment by saying she looked far too young to be a mother.It was the truth but the fact that she was in the back seat had strengthened my impression. Their answer when it came was quite simple...in the northern and more rural parts of China two children are frequently allowed
The little girl who had been quiet for much of out ride asked me what I called my facial hair. She knew the word for mustache, but not beard. The all seem to have fun pronouncing the word until they had internalized it. I am not too sure if I would have been so dedicated to learning another language.
All of a sudden my driver pulled of the road and started down a poorly paved country road. I was surprised to say the least....they had told me they were going to Brandon. I was being abducted by Chinese immigrants! Their son perhaps because he saw the panicked look upon my face quickly explained. They were going to take a few minutes to look at a cafe that the father wanted to buy. It would be charitable to call Austin, Manitoba a one horse town. There was, if I remember rightly a feed store, a small grocery store and a closed cafe. I didn't see the horse but it would have fitted right in. The two parents and their little girl walked around trying to look in the windows while the son stayed with me. His mother was not that keen on them moving to a small town and running business but the dad thought that it would be a good way of establishing themselves. When I asked what they knew about business, they admitted they knew very little. (Dad was some sort of professional designer in China).
Fairly shortly afterwards they let me out at the east end of Brandon. I wish they had driven me to the west end, but that is being picky. It was not that far to walk and I was very grateful for the ride. They were an amazing family. Canada continues to be blessed with immigrants who chose to come here and who are committed to not only becoming Canadians but as well to contributing to our/their society. I was honoured to have them choose my country to be theirs. I told them so. As they drove away and I started my brief hike down the road I wondered if in five years they will pick up hitchhikers, or whether they will have become so completely Canadian that they too will share the paranoid view that all who are on the road are dangerous.
It would be a shame if they became that Canadian.
On the Road 2011 blog #8
I have writer's block.... or at least if I was a writer I would be blocked..... not too sure why. I know the next part of the story - after all I was there. I can see the car and the driver clearly. Perhaps it is just that I think that it should have been a phenomenal ride or that something exciting occurred or that there was a moment of absolute truth in our conversation.. It was after all my first ride of the season and surely something exciting should have happened. But nothing exciting happened. We didn't solve the problems f the world, we barely had time to discuss them.
What was amazing was that I got a ride.... I swear, I wasn't really trying to attract the attention of a driver...I was just practicing for that spot down the road where I would drop my pack and stick out my thumb for real. But he did stop and I ran. I don't think that I ever have got a ride so easy....never with the pack still strapped tightly to my back. It is a lot easier to run with the pack still attached to one's body as opposed to hanging off of one shoulder. Another first was that I got to the car hardly out of breath. My cardiologist would have been pleased, I think.
Jack was off to somewhere along the Yellowhead Highway just south of Saskatoon. (does any other country have such romantic names? "Along the Yellowhead Highway - just south of Saskatoon"....does it get any better than that?) I was tempted to go with him just so I could say that I had done it. The turn off to that northern route is only few minutes the other side of Portage so it we did not have much time to talk once we got the basics out of the way...such as who I was and where I was going, and who he was and where he was going.
Jack was a young guy and had not done a lot of hitchhiking but he said that he always picked up hitchers. No particular reason - he just did it. Folks like Jack give me a lot of hope for the future. Just basically nice people doing what makes them feel good. He worked in Winnipeg but his parents home was north of there. He was going home to see his family. I don't know what he worked at, we did not get that far in the conversation. But I sure what ever he does, he will do it well. He struck me as that kind of guy. Jack like so many of my drivers in the past and I hope in the future are people who I would have liked to spend more time with. Not because they are brilliant or wonderfully creative or have done amazing things but because they have interesting things to say, because they have thought about their lives and the world around them. So as is almost always true the ride was too short. Not just because we only travelled relativity few miles together but because we had just started that slow dance of getting to know each other. I suppose it is a good thing that I leave many of my drivers with a sense of regret that is shared by both us.
I guess I really didn't have writer's block after all.
What was amazing was that I got a ride.... I swear, I wasn't really trying to attract the attention of a driver...I was just practicing for that spot down the road where I would drop my pack and stick out my thumb for real. But he did stop and I ran. I don't think that I ever have got a ride so easy....never with the pack still strapped tightly to my back. It is a lot easier to run with the pack still attached to one's body as opposed to hanging off of one shoulder. Another first was that I got to the car hardly out of breath. My cardiologist would have been pleased, I think.
Jack was off to somewhere along the Yellowhead Highway just south of Saskatoon. (does any other country have such romantic names? "Along the Yellowhead Highway - just south of Saskatoon"....does it get any better than that?) I was tempted to go with him just so I could say that I had done it. The turn off to that northern route is only few minutes the other side of Portage so it we did not have much time to talk once we got the basics out of the way...such as who I was and where I was going, and who he was and where he was going.
Jack was a young guy and had not done a lot of hitchhiking but he said that he always picked up hitchers. No particular reason - he just did it. Folks like Jack give me a lot of hope for the future. Just basically nice people doing what makes them feel good. He worked in Winnipeg but his parents home was north of there. He was going home to see his family. I don't know what he worked at, we did not get that far in the conversation. But I sure what ever he does, he will do it well. He struck me as that kind of guy. Jack like so many of my drivers in the past and I hope in the future are people who I would have liked to spend more time with. Not because they are brilliant or wonderfully creative or have done amazing things but because they have interesting things to say, because they have thought about their lives and the world around them. So as is almost always true the ride was too short. Not just because we only travelled relativity few miles together but because we had just started that slow dance of getting to know each other. I suppose it is a good thing that I leave many of my drivers with a sense of regret that is shared by both us.
I guess I really didn't have writer's block after all.
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