It was, of course, great to be in my second home. It was nice to be able to open up my box that I had mailed to myself and to have a wider range of clothing to wear. It was great to have a bed to sleep in, and even better it was quite wonderful to know where I was going to sleep that night. There was of course the immeasurable bonus of being able to hang out with my son, daughter-in-law and grandson. But there were times during those first few days of being in Duncan that I felt something was missing. I had in fact had this feeling ever since I had gotten on the ferry at Horseshoe Bay. For awhile I could not figure out what it was and then I realized - I was missing my adventure!
I was grateful for the rides and would not have wanted to change a single part of my trip. Everything had gone so smoothly. It could not have been better organized if I had hired a tour guide to arrange the rides. I had made it across the western half of Canada in what I thought was record time. No one I have spoken to has hitchhiked that distance any where near as fast. Most have never heard of anyone coming close. So I felt pretty good about my luck. BUT nothing exciting had happened. Now I want to be clear (in case the Hitchhiking Gods are reading this), if I had a choice between really good rides (if a bit boring) with no waiting between, or wonderful exciting rides with day long waits in between - I think I would chose the former. Although if I was allowed to be picky something in the middle would be nice.
All of that says that either I am getting old and my sense of adventure is less,or perhaps now that I have a clear destination in mind, the old saying about it is not the destination that matters, it is the journey....perhaps is no longer true for me. If the latter is the case - I feel bit sad. Sad because I will still be wanting the adventure, but not be prepared to do the work.
Non-the-less I was more than prepared to relax and enjoy my family. And I did for a few days. But I had plans to make and places I wanted to do to. One of the reasons that I had left so early from Ontario was that I wanted to go to the Rainbow Family's National Gathering in Washington (USA). I didn't know how I was going to get there and so spent some time looking at bus and train schedules. Just before I had left Peterborough I had talked to my friend Sally on Salt Spring about finding someone who was going and who had room for both her workers and all of her stuff (Sally was injured in a bicycle accident some years ago and is now a quadriplegic). It seemed unlikely that such a vehicle would appear. When called her from my son's four days before she wanted to leave, there was no van.
I went to Salt Spring Island on a Wednesday in part to tell her that I had decided to go down by bus or train. Just ten minutes before I had gotten there, someone had offered her a van for the trip. There was going to be room for me. Things always work in mysterious ways around Sally and her household. I stayed for supper, slept on the floor and the next morning took the first ferry back to Vancouver Island. I packed up my camping gear, gave the folks a quick hug good bye and I was back on Salt Spring Island in time for supper. (This was Thursday in case you are confused about timing)
When the van was delivered it was filthy. We had to work to hard to clean it but by just after noon on Friday we were off for the first set of ferries that would get us to the State of Washington. In the van there was of course Sally in the front seat, one of her workers driving and three of us in the back. Which sounds as if there would be a lot of room. But Sally does not travel light, not only was there the wheel chair and her bedding (encased in a tarp) tied to the roof but inside there were three drums, a guitar, a mandolin, a wok to cook popcorn with, glass jars to carry the popcorn and assorted packs for clothing and other stuff. It was perhaps not surprisingly, crowded in there. What made things a bit more complicated was that the back door didn't open at all and the two side doors had child locks that could not be released from the inside and therefore those of us in the back had to wait to be let out. But were off to a Gathering and that was all that mattered. According to the map, it was only 9 hours drive away. How long could it take?
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
On the Road Blog #14
The Sky-Train and bus connections to the ferry terminal at Horseshoe Bay were easy to manage and I only need to ask for directions once. I was pretty please with myself when I got to the terminal to find out that the next ferry would be leaving in about 30 minutes. At this rate I was going to be in Duncan well before noon. Silly me. I should have known that things could not continue to go as smoothly as they had in the past few days.
I do not know Nanaimo well. In fact I barely know it all. Last year I had spent an evening there waiting for an early morning ferry to Horseshoe Bay heading home via Whistler. As I usually do when I am in new city, I had spent a few hours walking around the town. I thought that I had gotten a sense of how the city was laid out. I was wrong.
After getting off the ferry I could have, I should have, taken the city bus that was waiting outside the ferry terminal. It would have probably got me to the Greyhound bus station in good time. I could have then had a nice quiet inner-city bus ride to Duncan and then with a ten minute walk, been at my son's home in short order with no fuss or a large expenditure of energy. But I did not do that, instead I decided without much thought and with the sure assumption that as my hitching had been so good, it would continue to be good, to hitch to Duncan.
As I have said, it was not a well thought out plan. I ended up walking for a long way through the city and I was never too sure where I was. There were a couple of streets that looked as if they could head towards the highway but they were all steeply uphill so I kept on walking. At one point an older man in a power wheelchair started to follow me, yelling abuses at me, accusing me of not working and being a bum. His comments were quite harsh and somewhat bothersome. I didn't bother to stop and talk to him. While I was curious as to know what had got him going, I was not curious enough to be exposed to any more of his foul abusive language. It all seemed so irrational that I did not think that a dialogue would do much good. It is the first time in all of my travels that I have been confronted this way. Occasionally drivers somewhere along the Trans-Canada will yell something out, but never have I been exposed to something so personally directed.It was unnerving and unsettling.
Eventually I got to the outskirts of the city and there was a spot that looked like great spot to stand both in terms of how wide the shoulder was and visibility. Unfortunately there was a person standing there already. So I had to walk bit further down the road to another spot that was not quite as good. There were lots of cars but none of them stopped. I was there for about 45 minutes before the other hitchhiker got a ride. I walked back down the road to his spot and stuck out my thumb. It was another 20 or so minutes before a car stopped for me.
My new driver said that he was in a rush as he had to make the ferry to Vancouver. Because I had just left one ferry terminal, I made the assumption that he was going to the terminal in Victoria. How many ferry terminals could there be? It turns out that there are more than I thought. He drove me down the road, onto the highway (who knew that the pleasant little country road turned into a major four lane divided highway?) And then six or seven minutes later, he turned off heading towards the other terminal. I got out, a bit confused, thanked him, and he took off. I was now standing at the worst imaginable spot to hitch. The traffic was zipping by at a 100+ kilometers an hour, there were merging lines of traffic and I knew that there was no hitchhiking allowed along this section. (actually hitchhiking is not illegal, stopping to pick up someone is) But I had no choice. So I stuck out my thumb.
Twenty or so minutes later I did get a ride. Just a short one but at least it was to a slightly safer spot. At some point during my wait, my cell phone rang. I never leave my cell phone on so I was more than bit surprised. It took me a few minutes to recognize what the noise was and then find it. It was my daughter-in-law wondering where I was. I had called from the ferry to tell her that I was going to be there soon. She assumed that I should have been in by now. She was right, I should have been. However I did not accept her offer to come and get me. Silly pride. It took two more short rides before I got to Duncan. It had taken me longer, in terms of standing on the road to get from Nanaimo to Duncan than it had to go from Winnipeg to Vancouver. So much for the theory that it is easier to get rides on the west coast than any where else in Canada.
But I was where I wanted to be - at home in Duncan. Two and half days to get from Winnipeg was still a good traveling time. It was almost exactly how long it had taken me last year going back to Winnipeg. Things were feeling pretty good.
I do not know Nanaimo well. In fact I barely know it all. Last year I had spent an evening there waiting for an early morning ferry to Horseshoe Bay heading home via Whistler. As I usually do when I am in new city, I had spent a few hours walking around the town. I thought that I had gotten a sense of how the city was laid out. I was wrong.
After getting off the ferry I could have, I should have, taken the city bus that was waiting outside the ferry terminal. It would have probably got me to the Greyhound bus station in good time. I could have then had a nice quiet inner-city bus ride to Duncan and then with a ten minute walk, been at my son's home in short order with no fuss or a large expenditure of energy. But I did not do that, instead I decided without much thought and with the sure assumption that as my hitching had been so good, it would continue to be good, to hitch to Duncan.
As I have said, it was not a well thought out plan. I ended up walking for a long way through the city and I was never too sure where I was. There were a couple of streets that looked as if they could head towards the highway but they were all steeply uphill so I kept on walking. At one point an older man in a power wheelchair started to follow me, yelling abuses at me, accusing me of not working and being a bum. His comments were quite harsh and somewhat bothersome. I didn't bother to stop and talk to him. While I was curious as to know what had got him going, I was not curious enough to be exposed to any more of his foul abusive language. It all seemed so irrational that I did not think that a dialogue would do much good. It is the first time in all of my travels that I have been confronted this way. Occasionally drivers somewhere along the Trans-Canada will yell something out, but never have I been exposed to something so personally directed.It was unnerving and unsettling.
Eventually I got to the outskirts of the city and there was a spot that looked like great spot to stand both in terms of how wide the shoulder was and visibility. Unfortunately there was a person standing there already. So I had to walk bit further down the road to another spot that was not quite as good. There were lots of cars but none of them stopped. I was there for about 45 minutes before the other hitchhiker got a ride. I walked back down the road to his spot and stuck out my thumb. It was another 20 or so minutes before a car stopped for me.
My new driver said that he was in a rush as he had to make the ferry to Vancouver. Because I had just left one ferry terminal, I made the assumption that he was going to the terminal in Victoria. How many ferry terminals could there be? It turns out that there are more than I thought. He drove me down the road, onto the highway (who knew that the pleasant little country road turned into a major four lane divided highway?) And then six or seven minutes later, he turned off heading towards the other terminal. I got out, a bit confused, thanked him, and he took off. I was now standing at the worst imaginable spot to hitch. The traffic was zipping by at a 100+ kilometers an hour, there were merging lines of traffic and I knew that there was no hitchhiking allowed along this section. (actually hitchhiking is not illegal, stopping to pick up someone is) But I had no choice. So I stuck out my thumb.
Twenty or so minutes later I did get a ride. Just a short one but at least it was to a slightly safer spot. At some point during my wait, my cell phone rang. I never leave my cell phone on so I was more than bit surprised. It took me a few minutes to recognize what the noise was and then find it. It was my daughter-in-law wondering where I was. I had called from the ferry to tell her that I was going to be there soon. She assumed that I should have been in by now. She was right, I should have been. However I did not accept her offer to come and get me. Silly pride. It took two more short rides before I got to Duncan. It had taken me longer, in terms of standing on the road to get from Nanaimo to Duncan than it had to go from Winnipeg to Vancouver. So much for the theory that it is easier to get rides on the west coast than any where else in Canada.
But I was where I wanted to be - at home in Duncan. Two and half days to get from Winnipeg was still a good traveling time. It was almost exactly how long it had taken me last year going back to Winnipeg. Things were feeling pretty good.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
On the Road 2011 #13
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.
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.
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.
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