In the last week I have travelled a lot of miles.
For the third time in two weeks I walked on to the ferry to cross over from Vancouver Island to the mainland. I was off to a Rainbow Gathering and I was excited. I was excited in part because it was going to be an international Gathering with people attending from around the world. A few weeks earlier I had attended a Vision Council where we had consensused on a Gathering site somewhere in the Kootenays and now I was off the help with seed camp (seed camp is when some folks arrive earlier so the things can get started. There is a pile of work that needs to be done including digging fire pits and building a kitchen. I go earlier to make things for the kitchen including tables, counters, rails and other things). I had chosen to go by bus to Nelson. I was feeling lazy and did not want the hassle of getting through Vancouver. I think I am getting old......
While in Vancouver I stayed at the International Hostel. It is a nice hostel with tiny rooms but with great bunk beds made out of wood so that they don't shift or creak when the person above you moves around. The hostel is located on Granville Street which is a strange combination of young relatively affluent young people and street people both young and old.There are lots of good restaurants and a few cheap stores including the requisite store selling porn and 25 cent peep shows.The side walks are full of business people and young travellers. It is an interesting place to spend an afternoon.
The next morning I was up by 5:00 AM. I was at the Greyhound Bus Station before 6:00. The bus to Nelson was suppose to leave at 6:30 - it left 20 minutes and continued to run late the rest of the day. I chose to sit in the second row behind the driver for two reasons. One there is a little bit more leg room in the first three rows behind the driver and secondly the driver usually stores his stuff behind him in the first row and therefore there is less chance that someone will lean their seats back and crush my knee. The bad part is that there is a mirror effect in the side window so that one can only see the opposite of the road reflected in the window. it makes all very confusing when looking out the window.
The first bus driver was quite nice but the 2nd one was, while friendly enough was not very flexible about where people could be left off or some of the other rules such as when a lady got on with crutches. As there was already someone in the very front seat cross from the driver, she moved down the bus. At a stop the first lady got off and someone who was large and had some difficulty climbing the stairs sat in that seat - the driver insisted in offering the front seat to the lady with crutches who was seated in her seat half way down the bus. It seemed to be a needless exercise in following the rules.
When we got to Nelson, the bus driver had a hard time finding my pack. It was a bit scary fora few minutes. The hostel was easy to find but it was at the top of a short but steep hill. If I ever open a hostel it will be at the bottom of the hill! Nice hostel, very friendly and lots of people around. I was exhausted and after a walk around town and a bowl of soup I was off to bed.
While I had crossed much of BC, it did not feel very satisfying. I hoped tomorrow would be start of an adventure.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Saturday, July 27, 2013
On The Road Again 2013 A Brief Intermision #4
I don't do funerals. I don't like them and if I had a choice, I suspect that I would never go to one ever again. I prefer not to grieve in public. It is not that I am embarrassed by my or anyone else's tears - I would just prefer to think about the person in the quietness of a forest or beside a body of water. Sitting in some cold, man-made structure whether it be a funeral home or a church always feels artificial to me. It is not the place I want my last memories of the individuals to be. In spite of all of those feelings, last week I went to a funeral.
It was the funeral for a man I had only met a couple of times and who I hadn't talked to for a few years. We had first met at a Gathering. He, like so many of us, had come to his first Gathering by accident or at least because of a strange set of coincidences. We spent hours and hours debating philosophy, the state of the world and why it was so hard for members of his community to become re-engaged in the culture of the grandparents. We also argued about diet. I as someone who has consciously not eaten meat or fish for some years argued that if I were invited to a meal at his house, I would not eat the salmon, and that if he insisted then he would not be respecting my philosophy/religion. He, of course argued with equal passion that if he offered me some salmon as part of a ceremony, I would be disrespectful to him and his culture if I refused it. There was, of course, no simple resolution to the conversation. I don't think that we expected there to be.
They were great discussions and I treasured the memories of them for years. I suspect that if I had continued to live in BC we would have seen a lot of each other. But I needed to leave to head back to Ontario. As we were saying goodbye he went to his red truck and from behind the seat he pulled out a necklace that he had made and gave it to me. I travel with it - seldom wearing it as it is a bit bright for me. I wore the necklace to the funeral.
I had for years carried in my pack a wide red and gold sash that I had woven. I was never sure why I carried it around....I never wore it. But when he gave me that necklace I knew why I had carried around, why I had brought it to this Gathering. I gave it to my new friend.
The following year I came out in May, rented a truck and drove up to his house 60 miles from Duncan. We spent the day together talking about the Rainbow Family and about the kids in his small community. I think we agreed that we had much to teach other. For the rest of that summer and the next, tentative plans to see each other were made but we never again talked.
The funeral was full of stories from friends and family about the silly things that he had said and done. People also talked about the gifts that he had shared, the songs that he written and his vision of a community made whole. He was a much loved man. I am glad I went to hear those stories.
Today my son and his family took me to a forest near Port Renfew. While much of the forest had been logged decades ago, there were still some cedars left standing that were so old that ancient does not begin to describe their age.
I said good bye to my friend today amongst those grandfathers. I said good bye to him in a grove similar to where we first met. It felt right.
It was the funeral for a man I had only met a couple of times and who I hadn't talked to for a few years. We had first met at a Gathering. He, like so many of us, had come to his first Gathering by accident or at least because of a strange set of coincidences. We spent hours and hours debating philosophy, the state of the world and why it was so hard for members of his community to become re-engaged in the culture of the grandparents. We also argued about diet. I as someone who has consciously not eaten meat or fish for some years argued that if I were invited to a meal at his house, I would not eat the salmon, and that if he insisted then he would not be respecting my philosophy/religion. He, of course argued with equal passion that if he offered me some salmon as part of a ceremony, I would be disrespectful to him and his culture if I refused it. There was, of course, no simple resolution to the conversation. I don't think that we expected there to be.
They were great discussions and I treasured the memories of them for years. I suspect that if I had continued to live in BC we would have seen a lot of each other. But I needed to leave to head back to Ontario. As we were saying goodbye he went to his red truck and from behind the seat he pulled out a necklace that he had made and gave it to me. I travel with it - seldom wearing it as it is a bit bright for me. I wore the necklace to the funeral.
I had for years carried in my pack a wide red and gold sash that I had woven. I was never sure why I carried it around....I never wore it. But when he gave me that necklace I knew why I had carried around, why I had brought it to this Gathering. I gave it to my new friend.
The following year I came out in May, rented a truck and drove up to his house 60 miles from Duncan. We spent the day together talking about the Rainbow Family and about the kids in his small community. I think we agreed that we had much to teach other. For the rest of that summer and the next, tentative plans to see each other were made but we never again talked.
The funeral was full of stories from friends and family about the silly things that he had said and done. People also talked about the gifts that he had shared, the songs that he written and his vision of a community made whole. He was a much loved man. I am glad I went to hear those stories.
Today my son and his family took me to a forest near Port Renfew. While much of the forest had been logged decades ago, there were still some cedars left standing that were so old that ancient does not begin to describe their age.
I said good bye to my friend today amongst those grandfathers. I said good bye to him in a grove similar to where we first met. It felt right.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 #5
I am not sure if hitchhiking is a profession, an occupation or a vocation. When I ask other folks who hitch, they do not seem to have thought about it. Yet for me hitching is more than a cheap way of getting from one point to another; it is not just a way of traveling that I use because I cannot afford a car or because I don't have the money to fly or because I can't stand traveling on a bus for any distance. All things being equal it is my preferred way of travelling. It may not be a profession but there are times that I think it could be a vocation.
This year has been unusual because I have done so little hitchhiking. As noted earlier, it only took one ride for me to get from Jasper to Horseshoe Bay. I was therefore looking forward to going to Salt Spring Island in part because traditionally the hitchin' is easy. Everybody does it, or at least that is the popular perception.
However the fact is that hitchhiking has, in the past 10 years, been harder and harder to manage on the island. This may be in part because there are a lot more cars on the road and things are busier. But I think it is because those cars are being driven by people who while wanting to be on SSI because of its traditions of acceptance of various life styles and the sense of being a neighbourhood are not willing to participate in those activities (such as picking up up hitchhikers) to maintain those traditions.
Getting a ride off of almost any ferry has always been a challenge for me. While many hitchers are quite comfortable asking for a ride on a ferry, I am not. All ferries let their passengers off first but generally I can not get to a good (safe) spot until most, if not all of the cars have left the ferry. In a location such as Vesuvius which is almost at the tip of the island, once the ferry traffic has left the area there frequently is little traffic.
This occasion was no different. By the time I had climbed the rather steep but thankfully short hill up from the harbour to a safe spot all of the cars had left the area. I think I had to wait 15 or so minutes before a car did stop and I was offered a drive. It is only a short drive from the harbour to the Country Market Plaza where I need to get off. Perhaps what was most interesting about my driver was the fact that his wife was visiting her family who had a cottage on Stoney Lake which is the nearest lake to Peterborough. I am always surprised at how many people know where Peterborough is. Later that week the owner of the restaurant that I ate in had got his first job after immigrating to Canada at Trent University in Peterborough.
On my way back to the ferry a week later it took three rides and over an hour to complete what should be a 15-20 minute journey. However the last of those rides was a great one as they took me all of the way into Duncan.
The driver was a former Australian. We had a lot in common with each other including the fact that he had been on the dissertation committee of one of my professors at Trent University. Because we had so much time together we had lots of time to talk about the difference in politics between his former country and Canada, gay politics, aboriginal treatment, economics, compulsory voting (it does not work very well), how difficult the job market is for people like him ( he was, I think, quite envious of my position) and the price of gas.
So while hitching is harder on SSI than it use to be, it still works (although I did miss a ferry because it took so long to get a ride) and perhaps most importantly the conversations are still interesting and fun.
However the fact is that hitchhiking has, in the past 10 years, been harder and harder to manage on the island. This may be in part because there are a lot more cars on the road and things are busier. But I think it is because those cars are being driven by people who while wanting to be on SSI because of its traditions of acceptance of various life styles and the sense of being a neighbourhood are not willing to participate in those activities (such as picking up up hitchhikers) to maintain those traditions.
Getting a ride off of almost any ferry has always been a challenge for me. While many hitchers are quite comfortable asking for a ride on a ferry, I am not. All ferries let their passengers off first but generally I can not get to a good (safe) spot until most, if not all of the cars have left the ferry. In a location such as Vesuvius which is almost at the tip of the island, once the ferry traffic has left the area there frequently is little traffic.
This occasion was no different. By the time I had climbed the rather steep but thankfully short hill up from the harbour to a safe spot all of the cars had left the area. I think I had to wait 15 or so minutes before a car did stop and I was offered a drive. It is only a short drive from the harbour to the Country Market Plaza where I need to get off. Perhaps what was most interesting about my driver was the fact that his wife was visiting her family who had a cottage on Stoney Lake which is the nearest lake to Peterborough. I am always surprised at how many people know where Peterborough is. Later that week the owner of the restaurant that I ate in had got his first job after immigrating to Canada at Trent University in Peterborough.
On my way back to the ferry a week later it took three rides and over an hour to complete what should be a 15-20 minute journey. However the last of those rides was a great one as they took me all of the way into Duncan.
The driver was a former Australian. We had a lot in common with each other including the fact that he had been on the dissertation committee of one of my professors at Trent University. Because we had so much time together we had lots of time to talk about the difference in politics between his former country and Canada, gay politics, aboriginal treatment, economics, compulsory voting (it does not work very well), how difficult the job market is for people like him ( he was, I think, quite envious of my position) and the price of gas.
So while hitching is harder on SSI than it use to be, it still works (although I did miss a ferry because it took so long to get a ride) and perhaps most importantly the conversations are still interesting and fun.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
On the road Again 2013 A Brief Intermission #3/
No matter how closely one follows the news about the train wreck/crash in Lac-Megantic, it is difficult to imagine how absolutely horrendous the past week or so have been. And in the weeks to follow, long after the media have stopped reporting, the challenges will test and exhaust many of the residents' emotional and physical resources.
It was interesting to note how quickly the blame game started. The company that owns the train blames the engineer for not doing his job properly, and a former colleague of the engineer suggests that the company's decision to only have one staff on board may have led to the accident. The government and its various agencies are saying there will be a through investigation of the incident and it causes. They have, of course, promised new and tougher regulation to insure that such an incident never happens again, which would be a bit more believable if this was the first such accident. While all of the points need to be discussed and investigated, I wonder if anyone will ask the real questions.
Are freight trains the right way to transport such dangerous cargo and why? It doesn't really matter if the tracks are going to by-pass small towns (although that would be good interim step) or if by law, there are going to be in the future two or more workers on the train or if an improved and perhaps automatic braking system gets installed. Another accident will happen. While the loss to life and personal property may be less, the environmental carnage might be even greater if an accident happened in a remote area. Again the question is do we need to transport crude oil by train.
There are only three other obvious options. Send it by boat via the Panama Canal, ship it by tanker truck or build more pipelines. The first option is not only too expensive, but people who live along the coastline on both sides of the continent might have legitimate concerns as their environment. Trucking oil is also too expensive and while the spills are smaller, it is equally as dangerous. Which leaves us with pipe lines - which would make some sense except for the fact that their track record is not clear and therefore the risks appear to be fairly high that breaks in the line will occur.
There is another option. It is not a quick fix but it may be the only long term answer. Stop using oil. We live in a large country much of which gets damn cold in the winter. Canada can not be a viable entity if we are all forced to live either on the Gulf Islands or perhaps in the southernmost parts of Ontario or the Praries. The nation can not exist if we live in only isolated communities. So we need to find some way to transport our goods and ourselves and to heat our homes. Not only is oil a limited resource that is not sustainable in the long run, its use will continue to pose an environmental risk.
Perhaps it is a fantasy - but maybe, just maybe the horrible incident at Lac Meganic will be a wake-up call to start thinking of the alternatives to oil.
It was interesting to note how quickly the blame game started. The company that owns the train blames the engineer for not doing his job properly, and a former colleague of the engineer suggests that the company's decision to only have one staff on board may have led to the accident. The government and its various agencies are saying there will be a through investigation of the incident and it causes. They have, of course, promised new and tougher regulation to insure that such an incident never happens again, which would be a bit more believable if this was the first such accident. While all of the points need to be discussed and investigated, I wonder if anyone will ask the real questions.
Are freight trains the right way to transport such dangerous cargo and why? It doesn't really matter if the tracks are going to by-pass small towns (although that would be good interim step) or if by law, there are going to be in the future two or more workers on the train or if an improved and perhaps automatic braking system gets installed. Another accident will happen. While the loss to life and personal property may be less, the environmental carnage might be even greater if an accident happened in a remote area. Again the question is do we need to transport crude oil by train.
There are only three other obvious options. Send it by boat via the Panama Canal, ship it by tanker truck or build more pipelines. The first option is not only too expensive, but people who live along the coastline on both sides of the continent might have legitimate concerns as their environment. Trucking oil is also too expensive and while the spills are smaller, it is equally as dangerous. Which leaves us with pipe lines - which would make some sense except for the fact that their track record is not clear and therefore the risks appear to be fairly high that breaks in the line will occur.
There is another option. It is not a quick fix but it may be the only long term answer. Stop using oil. We live in a large country much of which gets damn cold in the winter. Canada can not be a viable entity if we are all forced to live either on the Gulf Islands or perhaps in the southernmost parts of Ontario or the Praries. The nation can not exist if we live in only isolated communities. So we need to find some way to transport our goods and ourselves and to heat our homes. Not only is oil a limited resource that is not sustainable in the long run, its use will continue to pose an environmental risk.
Perhaps it is a fantasy - but maybe, just maybe the horrible incident at Lac Meganic will be a wake-up call to start thinking of the alternatives to oil.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 A Brief Intermission #2
For those who live on the Islands ( for example the Gulf Islands on the west coast of British Columbia) it is tempting and perhaps even somewhat arrogant sounding to suggest that these islands are special places (and some would argue the only places) to live. Or at least it would be arrogant if it were not at least partially true. Perhaps all islanders whether they are from small islands off the east or west coast of North America or some windy and and isolated by storms island off the coast of Scotland feel this way. There is a special magic in these places that is hard to define.
It is not that things are immeasurably better on, for example, Salt Spring Island than anywhere else. It shares with the the mainland all of the social and economic problems that can affect people anywhere else in the world. On the Island there are people with addictions, people who are living with mental health issues, people who are ( by Canadian standards) very poor, people who are without adequate shelter and on occasion people who are inclined to break the law. There is no reason to assume that any of the above happens at a lesser frequency on islands then anywhere else. In fact because there are perhaps fewer services on Island and a generalize perception on the part of many islanders that there are not any serious problems, the consequences of such social conditions may be more severe. The problems may be compounded by the fact that islands such as SSI are a mecca for people who are searching for new experiences or life changes. While the Islands may provide those opportunities for personal growth - for some- the lack of structure and the dearth of opportunities for meaningful, fulfilling and sustainable occupations can create more stress.
For some the weather, at least in terms of the west coast Gulf islands, is a major factor in their decision to live here on a full time basis. Almost all of those islanders who offer me drives and almost everyone that I know are migrants from another part of the country. But while the weather in the Gulf Islands is without question remarkable, not all islands in the world have great weather. However, I suspect that most islanders think their home islands are special places.
If the social conditions on some islands are not significantly better than elsewhere; if people for example, are not freer on SSI from the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" than anyone else; if the weather is not always a consistent factor in glorifying one's home island - why do islanders almost always refer to themselves as a special breed of people who are unique and by extension perhaps better that those of us sometimes called "mainlanders" (which may at times been seen as a less positive description)?
I think it is the perceived isolation from the rest of the world that causes this sense of being in a different place, a different time. And it is only a perceived difference. As I was walking downtown yesterday I saw a number of people drinking their coffee while reading their Globe and Mail. I am sure that they would have said, if asked, that they enjoyed being away from the rat race and the chaos of the mainland as they folded their newspapers to a new page. But perception is always more important than reality. I suspect that all people everywhere, when they have the luxury to believe that they have a choice as to where they live, create the perception that that place is special. They do so perhaps because to believe in the uniqueness or a place validates their decision or need to be there. It is not the place that is unique or remarkably different, it is people's belief that it is.
It is not that things are immeasurably better on, for example, Salt Spring Island than anywhere else. It shares with the the mainland all of the social and economic problems that can affect people anywhere else in the world. On the Island there are people with addictions, people who are living with mental health issues, people who are ( by Canadian standards) very poor, people who are without adequate shelter and on occasion people who are inclined to break the law. There is no reason to assume that any of the above happens at a lesser frequency on islands then anywhere else. In fact because there are perhaps fewer services on Island and a generalize perception on the part of many islanders that there are not any serious problems, the consequences of such social conditions may be more severe. The problems may be compounded by the fact that islands such as SSI are a mecca for people who are searching for new experiences or life changes. While the Islands may provide those opportunities for personal growth - for some- the lack of structure and the dearth of opportunities for meaningful, fulfilling and sustainable occupations can create more stress.
For some the weather, at least in terms of the west coast Gulf islands, is a major factor in their decision to live here on a full time basis. Almost all of those islanders who offer me drives and almost everyone that I know are migrants from another part of the country. But while the weather in the Gulf Islands is without question remarkable, not all islands in the world have great weather. However, I suspect that most islanders think their home islands are special places.
If the social conditions on some islands are not significantly better than elsewhere; if people for example, are not freer on SSI from the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" than anyone else; if the weather is not always a consistent factor in glorifying one's home island - why do islanders almost always refer to themselves as a special breed of people who are unique and by extension perhaps better that those of us sometimes called "mainlanders" (which may at times been seen as a less positive description)?
I think it is the perceived isolation from the rest of the world that causes this sense of being in a different place, a different time. And it is only a perceived difference. As I was walking downtown yesterday I saw a number of people drinking their coffee while reading their Globe and Mail. I am sure that they would have said, if asked, that they enjoyed being away from the rat race and the chaos of the mainland as they folded their newspapers to a new page. But perception is always more important than reality. I suspect that all people everywhere, when they have the luxury to believe that they have a choice as to where they live, create the perception that that place is special. They do so perhaps because to believe in the uniqueness or a place validates their decision or need to be there. It is not the place that is unique or remarkably different, it is people's belief that it is.
Friday, July 5, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 #4
I have been on the island for just over a week and have done almost nothing. That is not entirely true but it feels that way. I have been to the beach a couple of times, socialized a few times with my son's friends and their kids, spent a fair amount of time playing with my grand sons and finally typing up my blogs already posted and piles of emails etc. I have as well started working on the design for my newest walking stick/cane.
The sticks are always a challenge both in terms of design and implementation. I am always
aware that the vision that gets shaped in the wee hours of the morning as I lay in my bed, unable to sleep is both impractical and for someone of my limited artistic and carving skills, somewhat impossible to achieve. But the more critical factor in deciding how it will turn out is the wood itself. I am never sure what type of wood I am gong to get to work with. I am always amazed at how beautiful the end product is as it gets sanded and oiled. But sometimes when I am carving the stick the beauty of the wood (and on occasion) the design is not readily apparent. Of course the little drops of blood from the countless nicks on my fingers seldom add to the beauty. This year I am attempting to do a cane with a dragon for the handle and dragon/snake scales down the shaft. It should not surprise anyone that figuring out how to do that has me stumped. It is clear in my head how it should look but what is in my head and how to get the stick to look like that are about a million miles apart. Still it keeps me busy.
Keeping busy seems to be important. I think I have lost some of my capacity to do nothing. I do wish that I could get it back. I suspect that I would feel as if I had accomplished something if I felt like I did not need to accomplish something.
The weather on the island has been hot (some might even argue that there were a few day when it was too hot) with no rain on the horizon. Which is of course great for all except for those who worry about, monitor and on occasion have to fight forest fires.
The sticks are always a challenge both in terms of design and implementation. I am always
aware that the vision that gets shaped in the wee hours of the morning as I lay in my bed, unable to sleep is both impractical and for someone of my limited artistic and carving skills, somewhat impossible to achieve. But the more critical factor in deciding how it will turn out is the wood itself. I am never sure what type of wood I am gong to get to work with. I am always amazed at how beautiful the end product is as it gets sanded and oiled. But sometimes when I am carving the stick the beauty of the wood (and on occasion) the design is not readily apparent. Of course the little drops of blood from the countless nicks on my fingers seldom add to the beauty. This year I am attempting to do a cane with a dragon for the handle and dragon/snake scales down the shaft. It should not surprise anyone that figuring out how to do that has me stumped. It is clear in my head how it should look but what is in my head and how to get the stick to look like that are about a million miles apart. Still it keeps me busy.
Keeping busy seems to be important. I think I have lost some of my capacity to do nothing. I do wish that I could get it back. I suspect that I would feel as if I had accomplished something if I felt like I did not need to accomplish something.
The weather on the island has been hot (some might even argue that there were a few day when it was too hot) with no rain on the horizon. Which is of course great for all except for those who worry about, monitor and on occasion have to fight forest fires.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 # 3
I did not sleep well. Part of the problem was that the spot I had chosen was on a bit of a slope. Just a small slope but it was enough to cause me to slide down to the end of my sleeping bag and the bivy sack. Having my legs scrunched always wakes me up. But there were also other distractions.There were at least two other people in the part all night. One of them walked quite close to me. There was also a skunk who walked closer to me than I would have chosen. Neither the four legged or the two legged mammals paid me any attention. I was happy with them ignoring me.
I was up and getting my stuff together by 5:00 am. It was getting light and I was pretty sure that the city fathers (and mothers) did not want folks sleeping in the park. I am quite sure that there would have been no consequence if I had been seen but there was no point in looking for trouble when I could avoid it. As well that silly skunk was rooting amongst the flowers just across the path from me. Again it is better to avoid trouble as opposed to fixing it. And finally it was starting to rain and I would much prefer to pack my stuff when it was nearly dry as opposed to it being soaking wet. So up I got, not feeling particularly well rested but happy to be moving again.
There was not much happening in the area. There was a guy sitting in the bus shelter who when I asked him the time ( I had neglected to set my watch to Pacific time the previous night) answered rather grumpy that he didn't know and a lady with two well behaved but large dogs who told me that she had missed the last ferry and had spent the night walking around. She apologized if she had stepped on me in the dark. I don't think she did but I wondered if the dogs padding by had been one of the things that had awoken me.
I bought my ticket as soon as the terminal opened and shortly after 6:00 was on the ferry. I used the bathroom to clean up a bit, saw and talked to Michael for a bit and then had some breakfast. People complain that ferry food is lousy - I personally like their scrambled eggs and it was nice to have a cup of tea after my long and somewhat uncomfortable night. By 8:00 I was in Naniamo, I got a city bus to the Greyhound Terminal and five minutes later I was on to a bus to Duncan.
I was at my son's house by around 10:30.
Not the most eventful trip out west by any measurement. It was in fact probably the eaiest. While I am not complaining, it was not at all what I had envisioned as I lay in my bed during the sometimes cold and frequently dreary days of winter but then it does no good to complain about what the gods of hitchhiking send us. Whatever happens - I need to be thankful. And I am.
I was up and getting my stuff together by 5:00 am. It was getting light and I was pretty sure that the city fathers (and mothers) did not want folks sleeping in the park. I am quite sure that there would have been no consequence if I had been seen but there was no point in looking for trouble when I could avoid it. As well that silly skunk was rooting amongst the flowers just across the path from me. Again it is better to avoid trouble as opposed to fixing it. And finally it was starting to rain and I would much prefer to pack my stuff when it was nearly dry as opposed to it being soaking wet. So up I got, not feeling particularly well rested but happy to be moving again.
There was not much happening in the area. There was a guy sitting in the bus shelter who when I asked him the time ( I had neglected to set my watch to Pacific time the previous night) answered rather grumpy that he didn't know and a lady with two well behaved but large dogs who told me that she had missed the last ferry and had spent the night walking around. She apologized if she had stepped on me in the dark. I don't think she did but I wondered if the dogs padding by had been one of the things that had awoken me.
I bought my ticket as soon as the terminal opened and shortly after 6:00 was on the ferry. I used the bathroom to clean up a bit, saw and talked to Michael for a bit and then had some breakfast. People complain that ferry food is lousy - I personally like their scrambled eggs and it was nice to have a cup of tea after my long and somewhat uncomfortable night. By 8:00 I was in Naniamo, I got a city bus to the Greyhound Terminal and five minutes later I was on to a bus to Duncan.
I was at my son's house by around 10:30.
Not the most eventful trip out west by any measurement. It was in fact probably the eaiest. While I am not complaining, it was not at all what I had envisioned as I lay in my bed during the sometimes cold and frequently dreary days of winter but then it does no good to complain about what the gods of hitchhiking send us. Whatever happens - I need to be thankful. And I am.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)