I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind
in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in
sequential order.
It was a rather pleasant walk along the narrow highway. There were relatively few vehicles on the road - which was a good thing as I was walking on the opposite side of the road. The road was so narrow and the shoulder so non-existent that I had decided that it was better to hitch from the left hand side as opposed to having a car come up behind me and knock me into the ditch. It felt quite awkward sticking out my left thumb instead of my right one. While I, of course tried to look optimistic whenever I heard a car approach, I really didn't expect any of the car or truck to stop. I had resigned myself to having to walk for quite a distance.
There were little farms along the way. Some of the farms looked quite successful while at other places it appeared that their only product was derelict cars. It was so early in the morning that very few of the houses looked as if the people inside were up and getting ready to start their day. In fact except for a farm dog that cautiously followed me until I left his/hers property lines and one older gentleman watering his garden I saw no one. With the fog still lying in the low lands and in spots along the river it felt as if much of the land was abandoned. It was just a little bit spooky. It was quite a charming road to walk. The river was really pretty and there were cows and horses in the fields along it meandering shore.There is something quite virtuous in feeling as if one is the first one up and about. It showed that I was not a lazy vagabond, that I was someone who deserved a ride or at least was prepared to work for it.
After walking for over an hour and half, I noted that there were a series of driveways together on the other side of the road. It looked as if there might possibly be enough room for me to stand and for a car to stop. I decided it was time for a break. I had been on this road before and I had a memory from a few years ago
of there being a really nice spot with great sight lines and wide
shoulders up the road. I just didn't remember how far up the road it
was. My chosen spot, as I got closer and crossed the road, was not quite as good as it had appeared from a distance but it was good enough for a break.
I had just started to drop my pack on the ground when a SUV type vehicle slowed down and swung onto the narrow shoulder/driveway. I love it when things appear to have worked out like I had planned it or something!
My driver was a middle aged man who was going all of the way to Kamloops. That was about perfect. He had just spent a few days at some sort of new age retreat designed to enhance his ability to be in touch with himself and to improve his communications skills. Typically I am a bit leery about those kind of events and the people who attend them. They (the event) always seem to be created with at least a slight taint of an evangelistic camp meeting combined with a dash of over-the-top high pressure sales event. The participants, perhaps because they need to convince themselves first and then anyone around them that the experience was not a waste of their money, are inclined to be overly exuberant about their experiences. My driver was thankfully not like that at all. He had had a good time, had developed some insights into certain things that were going on in his life and recognized that at least part of the process during the last few hours was a sales pitch to attend the next training event. He had no intention of doing so. On the other hand I thing it would be fair to say that my driver enjoyed being a fringe member of the self help generation and would probably continue to read books and on occasion attend weekend get-a-ways. We didn't talk much about the actual activities but he was in a rush to get home to his family. It sounded as if he had realized something about his relationship with his family; he was anxious to get home.
At some point during our drive together my driver mentioned that he
didn't usually pick up hitchhikers but was more likely to do so if he
saw them walking - as if they were at least trying to get somewhere on
their own. While I think I understand that sentiment, sometimes the logic of walking all day to travel 20 or so kilometers (when the nearest town is 80 kilometers away) just doesn't make any sense.
My driver had a rather unusual business - something that does not exist in Ontario. The Provincial Parks in Ontario are managed by civil servants. That is the people who take your money at the gate or the folks who drive around and make sure that you follow the rules etc are all employed directly by the government. In BC, while the Provincial Park land is owned by the state, the parks are administered and run by private companies who bid for that privilege (and profit). My driver was responsible for the administration of five or so parks. It was a fascinating conversation about how the process worked in terms of bidding and what the relationship was between the Province and the independent managers. It was a complicated job that clearly required good people skills and some business management skills. I don't think it was a way to get really rich. On the other hand, he clearly made enough money to support his family comfortably while not having to work for at least 4-5 months of the year.. It seemed like a pretty good life. While in the late spring and summer things were pretty busy, he obviously had good employees that he trusted to run things so that he could take at least part of a week off during a peak time.
I have had a lot of drivers; I have met a lot of people, but every trip I meet people who have occupations that I have never heard of. Every trip I meet at least one or two people who spend their lives doing jobs that I think I would have liked to try. This was one of the jobs.
He drove me to almost the other end of Kamloops. I still had to walk a kilometer or two to get past the last stoplight. It is a busy section of the highway. No mater when I stand there -and on almost every trip I stand there - there are so many cars, so close together and with the drivers all in a rush - that it is hard for someone to notice me or to have the space to stop. After a while I decided to walk further out of town just so the traffic would perhaps spread out and at least feel less hectic.
It was a good decision. After a 20-30 minute walk and just a few minutes on the side of the road another car stopped.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Monday, October 7, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 #20
I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind
in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in
sequential order.
Laying in my little clearing it was far noisy than I thought it would be. While I had assumed that I was at least a mile or so away from the little village, it was I think, much closer than that. Through the woods I could hear people quite clearly yelling back and forth. In fact it sounded as if there was quite a party happening. While I was very aware that I was trespassing on someone's land, I was a bit annoyed that I could not have absolute peace and quiet when I wanted to sleep. However in spite of the noise I did drift off.
I think I slept fairly well until about 1:30 or 2:00. I am not too sure what woke me up. Perhaps it was the incredibly bright moon that was just showing itself over the forested hills, perhaps it was the realization that finally the party had stopped and there was no more yelling, but most likely it was the number of dogs barking. Not just a few dogs occasionally barking but a whole pack of them going at it for five or ten minutes at a time, then a brief respite from the noise and then they would start again. Clearly something was agitating them. I would drift off to sleep during a lull in their excitement only to be woken up again when whatever it was that was stirring them up, stirred them up. When I think back to the night it strikes me that not once did I hear anyone yell at the animals to shut up. Perhaps no one did because it was a nightly occurrence.
As I lay there wondering what all of the excitement was - I remembered the bear that I had seen the year before. I suddenly realized that I was in bear country and that most likely a bear (or two) was around the village and perhaps that was why the dogs were so excited. As I lay in my suddenly far too small and far too restrictive bivy sack, I realized that if an animal came towards me, I would not be able to get out of it quickly. I decided that I would unzip the sack and then my mummy bag - just in case I saw or heard something. That way I would be able to make a quick dash to the pile of wood and grab a ten foot piece of lumber to ward off the bear if it should decide to get overly interested in me. It was a great plan except for the fact that I could not find the zipper. The more I looked for it (and couldn't find it), the more I panicked and therefore the harder it was to find. As I mentioned a number of blogs ago - it really is cramped inside that sack and it is difficult to move around. In a momentary lull from the barking and from my frantic search for a way out I was sure that I heard something thrashing in the woods around me. I would have bet money that it was getting closer. I became quite convinced that I was a much more tempting target than anything around that village.
Eventually I found the zipper to the sack (I have promised myself to practice getting in and out of it in the dark or at least attaching some sort of larger tag on the zipper) opened it up and sat up. By that point the dogs appeared to be calming down a bit and the noise in the bushes seemed to have, if not stopped, at least it was not getting any closer. I sat there for awhile making sure that my boots were close by and that I knew where my glasses, flashlight and watch were. Eventually I decided to lie down. I think I dozed for the rest of the night.
In hindsight it was all rather silly. If a bear really wanted to check me out, there is no way I could have gotten out of the bag and to the wood pile fast enough. I also realized that night that I was just a bit more claustrophobic than I thought I was.
I was up the next morning before the sun showed itself over the mountains. It was gray and foggy; I was cold and damp and there was no point in hanging around. I had decided at some point in the night that rather than stay at the corner, I would start to walk down the road. There had to be a better place to stand. No one builds a road that has no shoulders on it - do they?
Laying in my little clearing it was far noisy than I thought it would be. While I had assumed that I was at least a mile or so away from the little village, it was I think, much closer than that. Through the woods I could hear people quite clearly yelling back and forth. In fact it sounded as if there was quite a party happening. While I was very aware that I was trespassing on someone's land, I was a bit annoyed that I could not have absolute peace and quiet when I wanted to sleep. However in spite of the noise I did drift off.
I think I slept fairly well until about 1:30 or 2:00. I am not too sure what woke me up. Perhaps it was the incredibly bright moon that was just showing itself over the forested hills, perhaps it was the realization that finally the party had stopped and there was no more yelling, but most likely it was the number of dogs barking. Not just a few dogs occasionally barking but a whole pack of them going at it for five or ten minutes at a time, then a brief respite from the noise and then they would start again. Clearly something was agitating them. I would drift off to sleep during a lull in their excitement only to be woken up again when whatever it was that was stirring them up, stirred them up. When I think back to the night it strikes me that not once did I hear anyone yell at the animals to shut up. Perhaps no one did because it was a nightly occurrence.
As I lay there wondering what all of the excitement was - I remembered the bear that I had seen the year before. I suddenly realized that I was in bear country and that most likely a bear (or two) was around the village and perhaps that was why the dogs were so excited. As I lay in my suddenly far too small and far too restrictive bivy sack, I realized that if an animal came towards me, I would not be able to get out of it quickly. I decided that I would unzip the sack and then my mummy bag - just in case I saw or heard something. That way I would be able to make a quick dash to the pile of wood and grab a ten foot piece of lumber to ward off the bear if it should decide to get overly interested in me. It was a great plan except for the fact that I could not find the zipper. The more I looked for it (and couldn't find it), the more I panicked and therefore the harder it was to find. As I mentioned a number of blogs ago - it really is cramped inside that sack and it is difficult to move around. In a momentary lull from the barking and from my frantic search for a way out I was sure that I heard something thrashing in the woods around me. I would have bet money that it was getting closer. I became quite convinced that I was a much more tempting target than anything around that village.
Eventually I found the zipper to the sack (I have promised myself to practice getting in and out of it in the dark or at least attaching some sort of larger tag on the zipper) opened it up and sat up. By that point the dogs appeared to be calming down a bit and the noise in the bushes seemed to have, if not stopped, at least it was not getting any closer. I sat there for awhile making sure that my boots were close by and that I knew where my glasses, flashlight and watch were. Eventually I decided to lie down. I think I dozed for the rest of the night.
In hindsight it was all rather silly. If a bear really wanted to check me out, there is no way I could have gotten out of the bag and to the wood pile fast enough. I also realized that night that I was just a bit more claustrophobic than I thought I was.
I was up the next morning before the sun showed itself over the mountains. It was gray and foggy; I was cold and damp and there was no point in hanging around. I had decided at some point in the night that rather than stay at the corner, I would start to walk down the road. There had to be a better place to stand. No one builds a road that has no shoulders on it - do they?
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 #19
I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind
in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in
sequential order.
I suspected that it was going to be a long and sometimes frustrating day. The corner I was stuck at really feels like the middle of nowhere in spite of the fact that there is a church and house on the corner, lots of people walking by and a little bus shelter . I suspect that the narrowness of the road (especially as compared to the highways leading up to and around Whistler) adds to the sense of isolation. It is also one of the few spots in Canada where I feel like a true outsider. I am never really part of the communities I pass thorough, but usually I am not aware that I might not fit in. As mentioned previously there are a number of First Nations Communities in the area. All of the folks who were hitchhiking at the corner were from the local area and they just ignored me. No eye contact, no smiles, no friendly waves. But then there is no reason why they should reach out to me. I am a visitor to their land. Perhaps that is what makes me uncomfortable.
I stood there for hours and hours.The day that had started off being bright and sunny - stayed that way. When there were no vehicles coming I ducked inside the bus shelter to get out of the sun so that I could avoid getting a sunburn and more importantly becoming dehydrated. Cars passed at irregular intervals with at least two thirds of them being driven by local folks just going up the road. Every time a vehicle did pass I had to remember to smile which sometimes seems like a useless exercise as I am not sure if people can see my smile underneath my shaggy mustache. The local bus drove by every hour and more than once I was tempted to flag it down for a ride just to get away from the corner. The driver however never gave any indication that he would stop even if I did flag it down. Maybe there is a rule that I don't know about - hitchhikers can't ride rural buses. Or maybe he just did not want me.
In spite of the sense of isolation there were a couple of events that re-confirmed to me my sense that the world is full of good people. I needed to get more water so I went to the nearest house and asked if I could fill up my jug. The dad who was looking after his four children was gracious- not communicative but gracious and kind. A car which had just picked up a local hitchhiker stopped so that my fellow hitchhiker could pass me a few apples to munch on and a kind lady going the other way stopped to ask me if I was okay. She said that she had seen me a few hours earlier and was worried about me. It is impossible for me to express how such small gestures can make me feel.
By the time it was 9:00, it was clear that I would not get a ride that day. All day I had been looking at various spots along the side of the road as potential sleeping spots. None were very attractive either in terms of some privacy, being level or being reasonable without rocks. I also had some concern over that bear I had seen the year before. The best sleeping spot was right where the bear had left the forest to cross the road.While I might not be the brightest traveller or the most careful, camping near a bear trail sounds particularly stupid. I was not happy about any my choices so I picked up my pack and walked 100 meters down the road and turned at dirt road that I thought might lead to somewhere safer and quieter. Much to my surprise, just after I turned on to the dirt road there was a lovely clearing with lots of flat land and thick grass. At one end there was a pile of long skinny bits of cedar that appeared to be the off-cuts from a small milling operation. It was perfect. I quickly assembled my bivy sack in the near dark, ate one of the apples and got into bed. It had been a long day. I had not gone very far but at least I was on my way and that was good enough.
I suspected that it was going to be a long and sometimes frustrating day. The corner I was stuck at really feels like the middle of nowhere in spite of the fact that there is a church and house on the corner, lots of people walking by and a little bus shelter . I suspect that the narrowness of the road (especially as compared to the highways leading up to and around Whistler) adds to the sense of isolation. It is also one of the few spots in Canada where I feel like a true outsider. I am never really part of the communities I pass thorough, but usually I am not aware that I might not fit in. As mentioned previously there are a number of First Nations Communities in the area. All of the folks who were hitchhiking at the corner were from the local area and they just ignored me. No eye contact, no smiles, no friendly waves. But then there is no reason why they should reach out to me. I am a visitor to their land. Perhaps that is what makes me uncomfortable.
I stood there for hours and hours.The day that had started off being bright and sunny - stayed that way. When there were no vehicles coming I ducked inside the bus shelter to get out of the sun so that I could avoid getting a sunburn and more importantly becoming dehydrated. Cars passed at irregular intervals with at least two thirds of them being driven by local folks just going up the road. Every time a vehicle did pass I had to remember to smile which sometimes seems like a useless exercise as I am not sure if people can see my smile underneath my shaggy mustache. The local bus drove by every hour and more than once I was tempted to flag it down for a ride just to get away from the corner. The driver however never gave any indication that he would stop even if I did flag it down. Maybe there is a rule that I don't know about - hitchhikers can't ride rural buses. Or maybe he just did not want me.
In spite of the sense of isolation there were a couple of events that re-confirmed to me my sense that the world is full of good people. I needed to get more water so I went to the nearest house and asked if I could fill up my jug. The dad who was looking after his four children was gracious- not communicative but gracious and kind. A car which had just picked up a local hitchhiker stopped so that my fellow hitchhiker could pass me a few apples to munch on and a kind lady going the other way stopped to ask me if I was okay. She said that she had seen me a few hours earlier and was worried about me. It is impossible for me to express how such small gestures can make me feel.
By the time it was 9:00, it was clear that I would not get a ride that day. All day I had been looking at various spots along the side of the road as potential sleeping spots. None were very attractive either in terms of some privacy, being level or being reasonable without rocks. I also had some concern over that bear I had seen the year before. The best sleeping spot was right where the bear had left the forest to cross the road.While I might not be the brightest traveller or the most careful, camping near a bear trail sounds particularly stupid. I was not happy about any my choices so I picked up my pack and walked 100 meters down the road and turned at dirt road that I thought might lead to somewhere safer and quieter. Much to my surprise, just after I turned on to the dirt road there was a lovely clearing with lots of flat land and thick grass. At one end there was a pile of long skinny bits of cedar that appeared to be the off-cuts from a small milling operation. It was perfect. I quickly assembled my bivy sack in the near dark, ate one of the apples and got into bed. It had been a long day. I had not gone very far but at least I was on my way and that was good enough.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 #18
I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind
in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in
sequential order.
It was a bright hot day. There were a lot of cars on the road. However, most of them were clearly only going a short distance and neither I nor the drivers gave each other much of a look. I am sure than in the space of 30 minutes literally hundreds of cars went by me. There were also a lot of high tech road racing bikes on the road - some which had those fancy solid wheels that one sees at the Olympics - designed, I assume, to be more aerodynamic. The bikes were ridden by guys wearing really weird equally as aerodynamic bike helmets. In the past around Whistler I had noticed a lot of mountain bikes ridden by mainly guys wearing a lot of protective body armour designed, I assumed to protect them from spills as they bounced/sped down the mountain. While both groups rode machines with two wheels there was a considerable difference between the two types of participants. The road racers looked dead serious, they were minimally dressed and were working very hard. The down hill guys were frequently covered in mud and they looked quite relaxed as they biked around town before going up the mountain in the chair lift again.
Neither sport appeals to me. In one the rider is exhausted by the countless miles of uphill climbs done at maximum speed and effort, all the while being aware of and afraid of idiot drivers speeding along the mainly two lane highway; in the other one must always be scared of the steep downhill course with all of the twists and turns of the mountain trails as well as the hidden rocks and roots just waiting to flip you.
My first ride, after almost an hour of standing there was a brief one but it got me out of the commuter traffic around Whistler. The driver and his other passenger worked in the area and were just on their way home. We did not get the chance to talk much but clearly they were just two nice guys who had hitched before and knew that where I was, was not a great spot. They drove a few miles down the road to where traffic was less chaotic and where there was a chance that people going by might be going a fair distance. I noticed some signs along the highway informing the public that the road was going to be closed for a large part of Sunday as there was a triathlon happening in Whistler on the weekend. Which explained all of the road racers practicing. I was so glad that I had left a few days earlier than planned. If I had gotten to Whistler on Saturday, I might have had a very hard time getting out of town before Monday.
My next ride, which happened within 20 or so minutes of standing there was from a dad with his two daughters. In the last year or so I have noticed a slight change in who picks me up. There was a time when if I saw that there was a child in the car, I just assumed that I would not be getting a ride. That has started to change. Not that I get a lot of rides from parents with children in the car but I am getting more now than ever before. I am not too sure why but I am grateful. Anything that expands my potential audience is a good thing. Unfortunately these folks too were just going down the road a short ride but my driver kindly decided to go just a bit further and take me down to the corner where one either goes straight to Duffy Provincial Park or turns and continues east down highway 99. The most exciting thing of this short trip was that one of the young girls in the back had a tooth come out. It was a big deal - and so it should be. Their dad and I talked about dad stuff - raising kids and trying to figure out the balance between rules and structure and how to give enough freedom so that they grow up strong. It is a fascinating discussion - one that I will, I suspect, have with every dad I travel with. We all want to know the answer.
I had been at this spot a few times before and I knew three things about it. One was that I was in the middle of a First Nation community and that there would be lots of hitchhikers who would all get rides fairly quickly; two, that there were no shoulders on the road. The only place to stand was where every one else did; and three that there were bears in the area. Last year I had seen one cross the road within ten or fifteen feet of me. I settled in for what I knew could be a long wait.
It was a bright hot day. There were a lot of cars on the road. However, most of them were clearly only going a short distance and neither I nor the drivers gave each other much of a look. I am sure than in the space of 30 minutes literally hundreds of cars went by me. There were also a lot of high tech road racing bikes on the road - some which had those fancy solid wheels that one sees at the Olympics - designed, I assume, to be more aerodynamic. The bikes were ridden by guys wearing really weird equally as aerodynamic bike helmets. In the past around Whistler I had noticed a lot of mountain bikes ridden by mainly guys wearing a lot of protective body armour designed, I assumed to protect them from spills as they bounced/sped down the mountain. While both groups rode machines with two wheels there was a considerable difference between the two types of participants. The road racers looked dead serious, they were minimally dressed and were working very hard. The down hill guys were frequently covered in mud and they looked quite relaxed as they biked around town before going up the mountain in the chair lift again.
Neither sport appeals to me. In one the rider is exhausted by the countless miles of uphill climbs done at maximum speed and effort, all the while being aware of and afraid of idiot drivers speeding along the mainly two lane highway; in the other one must always be scared of the steep downhill course with all of the twists and turns of the mountain trails as well as the hidden rocks and roots just waiting to flip you.
My first ride, after almost an hour of standing there was a brief one but it got me out of the commuter traffic around Whistler. The driver and his other passenger worked in the area and were just on their way home. We did not get the chance to talk much but clearly they were just two nice guys who had hitched before and knew that where I was, was not a great spot. They drove a few miles down the road to where traffic was less chaotic and where there was a chance that people going by might be going a fair distance. I noticed some signs along the highway informing the public that the road was going to be closed for a large part of Sunday as there was a triathlon happening in Whistler on the weekend. Which explained all of the road racers practicing. I was so glad that I had left a few days earlier than planned. If I had gotten to Whistler on Saturday, I might have had a very hard time getting out of town before Monday.
My next ride, which happened within 20 or so minutes of standing there was from a dad with his two daughters. In the last year or so I have noticed a slight change in who picks me up. There was a time when if I saw that there was a child in the car, I just assumed that I would not be getting a ride. That has started to change. Not that I get a lot of rides from parents with children in the car but I am getting more now than ever before. I am not too sure why but I am grateful. Anything that expands my potential audience is a good thing. Unfortunately these folks too were just going down the road a short ride but my driver kindly decided to go just a bit further and take me down to the corner where one either goes straight to Duffy Provincial Park or turns and continues east down highway 99. The most exciting thing of this short trip was that one of the young girls in the back had a tooth come out. It was a big deal - and so it should be. Their dad and I talked about dad stuff - raising kids and trying to figure out the balance between rules and structure and how to give enough freedom so that they grow up strong. It is a fascinating discussion - one that I will, I suspect, have with every dad I travel with. We all want to know the answer.
I had been at this spot a few times before and I knew three things about it. One was that I was in the middle of a First Nation community and that there would be lots of hitchhikers who would all get rides fairly quickly; two, that there were no shoulders on the road. The only place to stand was where every one else did; and three that there were bears in the area. Last year I had seen one cross the road within ten or fifteen feet of me. I settled in for what I knew could be a long wait.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 #17
I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind
in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in
sequential order.
I don't know why leaving is so hard. I know that I am going to see my western family again at Christmas which is really only a few months away. I know that I will get to spend another two months with them next year. I also know that Peterborough is a great place to live. There is great food, good music, lots of green space and I have both good friends and a wonderful job but none-the-less there is an almost physical pain deep within my body when I leave. One would think that I would get better at leaving. I have done it so often.
My son along with the rest of his family drove me to Nanaimo so that I could stay in the hostel and then catch the early ferry to the mainland in the morning. Them driving me was a fitting end to this summer's trip. It is not that I could not have managed to get around the islands without their help - but this year more than most years they drove me those few extra miles to get me started and more importantly they rescued me a couple of times when I was too tired to make the last 50 miles home. They also received my guests into their home and made them welcome without a seconds hesitation. I am blessed to have such fine family at either ends of my travels.
Nanaimo has a large and well designed park along its waterfront. We had subs for supper and then went for a walk. Within the park there may be the largest children's playground I have ever seen. There are three separate play structures, each of which would dwarf most playground areas; there are lovely walkways and of course the pier where one can go and watch the local crab fishers throw in and then haul back their baited traps. It is a great place to hang out. But it is also the place I hang out every year as I start to process of separating from my island life and mentally getting ready to hitch across the country. Part of me wanted them to stay for ever, but there was part of me that wanted them to just go so that I could start the process of leaving. When they did leave, in spite of the psychological [reparation it was still painful. As always, as I hugged my daughter-in-law and my son good bye there were tears in my eyes. Other than saying thank you there is little that I can say to express my gratefulness to them or to say how I feel. I am just too choked up. It was especially hard to say good by to my almost four year old grandson who didn't understand that I had another home to go to. He just assumed that I was going on another trip and that I would be back soon. While I had talked about it too him, it felt somehow like I was lying to him when I hugged him good bye.
The hostel was fine, I got a lower bunk which was great, the common room was crowded with lots of travellers making late suppers and using their computers but by 11:00 it was quiet so that I could at least try to go to sleep. I went for a brief walk before settling in for the night. I ended up buying some fries at a shop along the main street. I was the only customer in the store and the young server/cook asked me if I would mind if she went outside for a smoke. She then told me that her mother had just called to say that she had been diagnosed with cancer and she needed to compose herself. While of course I told her that I did not mind - I felt as if I should say something else. I didn't know what, so I said nothing.
The next morning I was up by 5:00 and out in plenty of time to catch the taxi I had ordered the night before. I could have (and have) walked to the ferry terminal. It is a long hike but certainly quite manageable. But the taxi ride is one of two things that I do to pamper myself before I start the journey. The second pampering thing that I do is to take the Greyhound bus from the Horseshoe Bay Terminal on the mainland to the town of Whistler. There is no way that I have found to hitch out of the ferry terminal. There are no shoulders for the first 30 minutes along the Sea to Sky highway. When I say none I mean that there is the road, then a ditch and then a rock cliff. There is no where to stand and certainly no where a car could pull off. I suppose I could walk it but it is all uphill and I suspect that it is illegal to walk along the highway. It is one of the few spots in Canada where I agree with the anti-hitchhiking laws. It would be dangerous for both the traveler and the driver to stop anywhere along the initial part of the route.
The bus was a hour later than I thought it would be so I had to spend almost two hours outside the terminal doing nothing. It was frustrating. I was so close to being on the road and yet I could not quite get started. However the bus did come, it got me to Whistler and five minutes after arriving at this once beautiful but now rich tourist focused village, I was on the road with my sign showing and my thumb stuck out.
I was finally on the road.
I don't know why leaving is so hard. I know that I am going to see my western family again at Christmas which is really only a few months away. I know that I will get to spend another two months with them next year. I also know that Peterborough is a great place to live. There is great food, good music, lots of green space and I have both good friends and a wonderful job but none-the-less there is an almost physical pain deep within my body when I leave. One would think that I would get better at leaving. I have done it so often.
My son along with the rest of his family drove me to Nanaimo so that I could stay in the hostel and then catch the early ferry to the mainland in the morning. Them driving me was a fitting end to this summer's trip. It is not that I could not have managed to get around the islands without their help - but this year more than most years they drove me those few extra miles to get me started and more importantly they rescued me a couple of times when I was too tired to make the last 50 miles home. They also received my guests into their home and made them welcome without a seconds hesitation. I am blessed to have such fine family at either ends of my travels.
Nanaimo has a large and well designed park along its waterfront. We had subs for supper and then went for a walk. Within the park there may be the largest children's playground I have ever seen. There are three separate play structures, each of which would dwarf most playground areas; there are lovely walkways and of course the pier where one can go and watch the local crab fishers throw in and then haul back their baited traps. It is a great place to hang out. But it is also the place I hang out every year as I start to process of separating from my island life and mentally getting ready to hitch across the country. Part of me wanted them to stay for ever, but there was part of me that wanted them to just go so that I could start the process of leaving. When they did leave, in spite of the psychological [reparation it was still painful. As always, as I hugged my daughter-in-law and my son good bye there were tears in my eyes. Other than saying thank you there is little that I can say to express my gratefulness to them or to say how I feel. I am just too choked up. It was especially hard to say good by to my almost four year old grandson who didn't understand that I had another home to go to. He just assumed that I was going on another trip and that I would be back soon. While I had talked about it too him, it felt somehow like I was lying to him when I hugged him good bye.
The hostel was fine, I got a lower bunk which was great, the common room was crowded with lots of travellers making late suppers and using their computers but by 11:00 it was quiet so that I could at least try to go to sleep. I went for a brief walk before settling in for the night. I ended up buying some fries at a shop along the main street. I was the only customer in the store and the young server/cook asked me if I would mind if she went outside for a smoke. She then told me that her mother had just called to say that she had been diagnosed with cancer and she needed to compose herself. While of course I told her that I did not mind - I felt as if I should say something else. I didn't know what, so I said nothing.
The next morning I was up by 5:00 and out in plenty of time to catch the taxi I had ordered the night before. I could have (and have) walked to the ferry terminal. It is a long hike but certainly quite manageable. But the taxi ride is one of two things that I do to pamper myself before I start the journey. The second pampering thing that I do is to take the Greyhound bus from the Horseshoe Bay Terminal on the mainland to the town of Whistler. There is no way that I have found to hitch out of the ferry terminal. There are no shoulders for the first 30 minutes along the Sea to Sky highway. When I say none I mean that there is the road, then a ditch and then a rock cliff. There is no where to stand and certainly no where a car could pull off. I suppose I could walk it but it is all uphill and I suspect that it is illegal to walk along the highway. It is one of the few spots in Canada where I agree with the anti-hitchhiking laws. It would be dangerous for both the traveler and the driver to stop anywhere along the initial part of the route.
The bus was a hour later than I thought it would be so I had to spend almost two hours outside the terminal doing nothing. It was frustrating. I was so close to being on the road and yet I could not quite get started. However the bus did come, it got me to Whistler and five minutes after arriving at this once beautiful but now rich tourist focused village, I was on the road with my sign showing and my thumb stuck out.
I was finally on the road.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 #16
I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind
in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in
sequential order.
Rosie and Ignacio hung around for a day and a half. They did all of their laundry (at a laundromat) organized their car and went for walks with us.They were easy guests to have around - quiet, respectful of the house routines and easy conversationalists. If I had a complaint it would probably be from my grandson who really wanted their dog to be a bit more playful. The rest of us were grateful that the dog showed no desire to play with anything -especially the chickens or the dogs next door.
Rosie and Ignacio hung around for a day and a half. They did all of their laundry (at a laundromat) organized their car and went for walks with us.They were easy guests to have around - quiet, respectful of the house routines and easy conversationalists. If I had a complaint it would probably be from my grandson who really wanted their dog to be a bit more playful. The rest of us were grateful that the dog showed no desire to play with anything -especially the chickens or the dogs next door.
My drivers left for Crofton and the ferry to Salt Spring around mid-day of their second day in Duncan. I was sad to see them go. The reality of my summer life is that lots of people come into and go out of my life- most of them I will never see again. Which in some cases is a damn shame. Rosie and Ignacio were good people who were kind and generous to me; they were bright, funny and had a sense of nonchalant adventuresome-ness that was fun to be around. I did email them a few days later to see where they had ended up but I never got a response. I will always wonder if they made it to Chile to help their friend start/run some sort of Eco-hostel. I wonder if they will have kids. And perhaps most of all I wonder if our paths will ever cross again. I hope so.
It was now into the second week of August. My time out west was coming to an end. When I had left Raft Cove, I had thought that perhaps I could convince my son to take his two sons up to Tofino so that we could all go to a Rainbow Gathering together. It would have been great fun. However, by the time that Rosie and Ignacio left I had decided that it was just too far to go for an over night trip. As well I had checked on line and not only did the weather look crummy in Tofino but it appeared as if neither the local authorities or the First Nation community were thrilled about the Gathering happening on their doorsteps. With a partial sense of relief I shelved the idea of going north again. I would spend another week or so with the family and then head east. While part of me was excited about doing some travelling, that terrible sense of sadness about leaving once again threatened to consume me. I dread leaving so much that I become fixated on eking every possible moment with my family. As my tension increases I suspect that I become a poor house guest the last week I am there.
I was going to leave on the Friday - the last Friday before Labour Day weekend. My niece was getting married in Kingston that weekend and I really wanted to be there. As I started to read her excited postings on Facebook about the wedding I realized that one week to get from Duncan to Peterborough was cutting it rather tight. It would mean that I could not afford to get stuck anywhere. I always get stuck somewhere for at least a night. I have always said that hitchhiking is a great way to travel if you are not in a rush. Leaving at the last possible date - would make me incredibly anxious and in the language of the road - send out bad vibes that would scare off potential drivers. Also by leaving a few days earlier than planned , perhaps I would have fewer days to be sad. So I babysat my two grand kids while their parents went out for an anniversary dinner, hung around for another day and got ready to leave on Wednesday. That would give me two extra days to get home. Once again I would be on the road.
Monday, September 9, 2013
On the Road Again 2013 #15
I am now back in my apartment. I am obviously somewhat behind
in my blog postings..... I will continue to discuss my trip in
sequential order.
Like most things at a Rainbow, Rosie and Ignacio didn't leave quite as early as they had planned. First we had to wait for the fourth member of our crew to get up to the top. Sometimes saying goodbye takes longer than one thinks and other times people just do not seem to realize that people are waiting for them. Personally if someone offers me a ride, I stick to them like glue. I want to do nothing to give them a reason to change their minds.
After the car was all packed and we were ready to go - it wouldn't start. The battery was dead. We thought that something had been left on for the week. The Parks people who were at the parking lot to make sure the park stayed closed graciously gave us a boost. They really were nice people. I think the fact that we talked to them not as the "enemy" but as fellow forest lovers let them like us. We then had to get gas at little town of Holberg. The car just made to the little one pump gas station - stalling twice as we travelled on fumes.
Holberg was a dying town. It had been the site of a Radar Station during the Cold War years but once that base had closed down, there was little point in folks hanging around. From what little I saw, the town mainly functioned as a place for the lumber crews to park their vehicles. I suspect there was more to the town than that but I didn't see it. Pity - it was in a gorgeous part of the country as long as one did not mind a 50 kilometer ride on dirt roads.
We went into Port Hardy to both load up on some junk food and to fill up the tank with slightly cheaper gas (the gas at Holberg had been $1.58 a liter). The plan was for Rosie and Ignacio to drop off the fourth passenger at the turnoff to Tofinio and then to continue on to Duncan to stay the night at my son's house. They needed to have a shower and to do some laundry. As far as I was concerned it was a great plan. And in fact it was.
I had gone a lot of miles in the back seat of that car and with the exception of the back seat not having quite enough support - it was great. The three of us got along well together and I think we were good company for each other. The car which they had bought for $300-400 was amazingly reliable - especially as they had been told that perhaps they should not go on any long road trips with it. The hours blend together in my head and I can not say what we talked about for all of those hours- we just talked as good friends do.
The only thing I can remember talking about were their plans for the future. It looked as it the Gathering was going to be moved to Rainbow Beach near Tofino and so they might end up there. But as our mutual friend on Salt Spring wanted to go to the Gathering in the Slocan Valley - they thought they might end up there with her. There were pros and cons for both destinations and it looked as if they were just going to go with the flow and where ever that took them. They did have a goal of going up northern BC to work for a while before their visas ran out. Then I think, they were off to South America.
We got to Duncan just before dark, went to the grocery store and bought some pizzas. We were tired. I had started up the trail almost 12 hours earlier. While after the initial two hour walk I had done little or day but sit in the back seat, it had been a difficult week. The tension of not knowing if we had to leave, where we would move to and the silly arguments about protocol (for a group that prides itself on not having any rules it sure seems to have a lot of them) had tired me out. I was glad to be home with my son and his family.
Like most things at a Rainbow, Rosie and Ignacio didn't leave quite as early as they had planned. First we had to wait for the fourth member of our crew to get up to the top. Sometimes saying goodbye takes longer than one thinks and other times people just do not seem to realize that people are waiting for them. Personally if someone offers me a ride, I stick to them like glue. I want to do nothing to give them a reason to change their minds.
After the car was all packed and we were ready to go - it wouldn't start. The battery was dead. We thought that something had been left on for the week. The Parks people who were at the parking lot to make sure the park stayed closed graciously gave us a boost. They really were nice people. I think the fact that we talked to them not as the "enemy" but as fellow forest lovers let them like us. We then had to get gas at little town of Holberg. The car just made to the little one pump gas station - stalling twice as we travelled on fumes.
Holberg was a dying town. It had been the site of a Radar Station during the Cold War years but once that base had closed down, there was little point in folks hanging around. From what little I saw, the town mainly functioned as a place for the lumber crews to park their vehicles. I suspect there was more to the town than that but I didn't see it. Pity - it was in a gorgeous part of the country as long as one did not mind a 50 kilometer ride on dirt roads.
We went into Port Hardy to both load up on some junk food and to fill up the tank with slightly cheaper gas (the gas at Holberg had been $1.58 a liter). The plan was for Rosie and Ignacio to drop off the fourth passenger at the turnoff to Tofinio and then to continue on to Duncan to stay the night at my son's house. They needed to have a shower and to do some laundry. As far as I was concerned it was a great plan. And in fact it was.
I had gone a lot of miles in the back seat of that car and with the exception of the back seat not having quite enough support - it was great. The three of us got along well together and I think we were good company for each other. The car which they had bought for $300-400 was amazingly reliable - especially as they had been told that perhaps they should not go on any long road trips with it. The hours blend together in my head and I can not say what we talked about for all of those hours- we just talked as good friends do.
The only thing I can remember talking about were their plans for the future. It looked as it the Gathering was going to be moved to Rainbow Beach near Tofino and so they might end up there. But as our mutual friend on Salt Spring wanted to go to the Gathering in the Slocan Valley - they thought they might end up there with her. There were pros and cons for both destinations and it looked as if they were just going to go with the flow and where ever that took them. They did have a goal of going up northern BC to work for a while before their visas ran out. Then I think, they were off to South America.
We got to Duncan just before dark, went to the grocery store and bought some pizzas. We were tired. I had started up the trail almost 12 hours earlier. While after the initial two hour walk I had done little or day but sit in the back seat, it had been a difficult week. The tension of not knowing if we had to leave, where we would move to and the silly arguments about protocol (for a group that prides itself on not having any rules it sure seems to have a lot of them) had tired me out. I was glad to be home with my son and his family.
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