(May 2003)
Hello again.
In my last eMail I described part of
my recent trip through the Prairies. I'd driven Eastwards
through the U. S. to Minneapolis, then took the bus
north to Manitoba, then hitch hiked back Westwards
to Regina. I'm fortunate to have some spontaneous
friends in that town, and even though I had the best
intentions of forewarning them of my coming, a hitch
hiker's lifestyle makes it difficult to access telephones
and plan things on an actual schedule. But they took
the surprise of me showing up on their doorstep quite
well, and offered me a place to stay for the night.
The next day I headed northwest from Regina. I soon
found a ride or two that took me a little way further,
but then I got stuck for a while in a little town.
Mosquito season has started already in great parts
of the Midwest, and soon I was surrounded by a black,
stinging cloud. It is REALLY trying. It's hard to
keep a smile on your face as you implore drivers to
liberate you from this torture. Eventually, the guy
that had taken me the last stretch came by again and
took me a little further. He had several errands to
run across several prairie towns, and after another
period of standing outside against the mosquitoes,
he swung by yet again and took me all the way to Saskatoon.
It was very interesting to talk to him, because he
was an ecologist and also worked in construction.
I learned that a lot of prairie houses are built to
a large extent out of straw bales. You learn something
new every day, eh? He's also a Tom Waits fan, which
means he's a friend.
Outside of Saskatoon I got picked up
by a trucker (which is a rare thing, no matter what
you remember seeing in the movies), and he took me
all the way to Lloydminster. I guess he was really
wanting someone to talk to, because for the three
hours he flooded me with non-linear narrations about
everything from how drunk he got when he was posted
in the Mediterranean with the Navy to how birth control
medications are extracted from horse urine. (Another
thing I hadn't known previously. And apparently, most
of the horses you see frolicking around the Prairies
end up being shipped to developing nations in little
tin cans. See how much you can learn when you hitch
hike?)
In Lloydminster I met up with Kent Tisher,
a friend from University days. He's directing an upcoming
play in his community college, and I got to help making
some of the sets. It's been over a decade since I've
done anything resembling woodworking, so it was good
to be surrounded by the smell of sawdust and glue
(not enough to get high) for a few hours. Learned
some new things there as well. The next day we drove
to Edmonton, where we heard some of Canada's younger
generation (and a couple of veterans) of opera singers
perform with the Opera Nuova. It was very inspiring,
especially hearing Tracy Dahl again (she sang "Ach
Ich Fuehl's" from Mozart's "Magic Flute".
The crowd was so mesmerized, we barely dared to breathe).
Getting out of Edmonton turned out to
be a major ordeal (the most time-consuming part of
hitch hiking trips is always getting through the bigger
cities, because you have to take the bus to the outskirts
and then often walk through several miles of suburbs).
Outside of town, the wind was blowing snow and ice
down from the Rockies, but at least that meant there
were no mosquitoes. I put on my bright red poncho,
and I was wearing orange underneath it, so at least
I figured the bright colours would be seen, even if
people might find my fashion sense offensive. One
of the things I've found about hitch hiking is that
your chances are best when you look like a university
student who's on his way to a summer job or whatever
(except in redneck country. In redneck country you
gotta get cowboy boots and a big belt buckle before
anyone will trust you). A university student can be
counted on to be articulate, polite and intelligent.
Passersby are less likely to trust teens (the whole
youth culture thing) or over-30 people ("what
the heck are they doing without a car? Did they just
break outta jail?"). Of course there are no end
of tricks, from humorous cardboard signs to wearing
polo shirts and dockers and carrying a briefcase rather
than a backpack (the whole "respectable-businessman-whose-car-has-broken-down-but-he's-still-so-committed-to-his-appointments-that-he'll-do-whatever-it-takes-to-get-there"
look). But in general I figure I'm past my prime,
and I do whatever I can to convey a more youthful
appearance (I thought that would include shaving off
my beard, but I never got around to that. Fortunately
it wasn't necessary). I guess wearing red with orange
is a giveaway that you still remember the '80s, but
bright colours in general will give you a better chance
of being noticed than, say, gray or brown.
The other interesting thing is the expressions
on the faces of passersby. A lot of times it's fear,
sometimes sympathetic emotions, but surprisingly often
you get a resentful face, rude gesture, or some obscenity
screamed out the window at you. And it's not just
disapproval of hitch hikers. This sort of thing has
happened to me a lot when walking or riding a bike,
too. Try it sometime, getting around North America
without a car, and you'll be surprised at how offended
people are at you. Somehow in this culture if you're
not in the inside of a car, you're fair game to be
the recipient of people's anger. And the funny thing
is, it's usually not the anger of the driver, but
of the passenger, that you're expected to alleviate
by providing a target for his abuse. I end up praying
for a lot of people when I'm on hitch hiking trips.
Robert Pirsig (in "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle
Maintenance") also pointed out that the desperation
of the mass of our fellow human beings often can best
be observed through a car windshield.
I got a ride from a retired hospital
machinist for a little stretch, and then I got a ride
from an older man who works in the camps in northern
Alberta most of the year. He was the opposite of the
trucker from a few days ago, in that he seemed to
feel no urge at all to make conversation. But he was
very friendly and forthcoming, and even took me out
for lunch along the way.
There was another long stretch on which
I ended up walking several kilometers (I get bored
with standing in one place as I wait for rides). I
finally got picked up by a couple from Poland, and
they took me to Jasper. Jasper is a little ski town
high in the Rockies. Very picturesque. There are two
ways out of Jasper, one being straight west along
the Yellowhead Highway, and the other being Southwards
along the "Icefields Parkway". After trying
the Yellowhead for a while, I noticed there was very
little traffic there. I decided to head South, since
I'd heard a lot about the Icefields Parkway but had
never been on it. Besides, I was thinking I could
visit Diego and Michelle Bechthold down in Canmore
if I went along the Icefields. I got a ride pretty
soon from a guy who does a lot of hitch hiking himself
(those are usually the most likely to help out). It
snowed for much of the way, but we did get spots of
good weather, and some great views of the mountains.
He took me all the way to Canmore, and it was good
to be with the Bechthold's again. I also got a spontaneous
opportunity to talk and sing at their church service.
Getting out of the Canmore-Banff area
did not take too long. I got a four-hour ride down
to Salmon Arm. Here came the driest stretch of this
trip, and possibly even the driest stretch I've ever
experienced in Canada. I eventually had to walk about
seven kilometers before I got picked up again. It
was an older German man (his accent gave him away
immediately). It was good to be speaking German with
someone, and the day was pleasant and so is the countryside
around Salmon Arm. So my mood improved again, but
the ride was not very long. The two next rides were
short as well, both given by twentysomething guys
who were heavily into the party scene. One asked me
if I had any weed on me (something I rarely get asked
now that my hair is short), and the other one went
on about how Salmon Arm is THE place to be on May
long weekend, since all the houseboats on the lake
park side by side to make a huge floating party platform
where everyone can just get stoned out of their mind
while there's loud music and scantly clad women all
around. He dropped me off at some insane bend in the
highway, where there would be little chance of being
seen in time for someone to pull over. I had to walk
another 40 minutes or so to the next place where the
shoulder was wide enough. It was beginning to get
dark, and Mike and Liz Jones were expecting me in
Kamloops that evening. Fortunately I got a ride pretty
soon.
Mike and Liz are more old university
music friends of mine, and some of the most hospitable
people you'll meet. They keep a stash of new toothbrushes
in their house for any surprise overnight guests.
That's exactly the sort of people they are. After
teaching English in South Korea for 5 years, they
returned to Canada and were able to get a nice large
house with enough bedrooms for a whole vanload of
surprise overnight guests. (I'm sorry, I'm just realizing
that trumpeting out someone's hospitality can have
averse effects.)
Getting out of Kamloops was another
major stunt, though. Again, I had to walk, and my
walk down the freeway took me past a "correctional
institute". In case you can't figure this one
out, it's a bad omen against successful hitch hiking
in the area. I even met two other hitch hikers who
complained about it not being a very "generous
day", and who decided to walk to Vancouver (ca.
300 km) and accept a ride as an unmerited grace rather
than plan on receiving one. This seemed pretty bleak,
but I figured I might as well walk, my backpack hadn't
thrown out my spinal column yet. I eventually got
a ride from a guy who had actually been looking out
for hitch hikers, because he had been on the road
for seven hours all alone and was bored out of his
mind. He was heading to Merritt to see if he could
be of any assistance to his father, whose house had
just burned to the ground (no fire insurance). In
Merritt I met the same two hitch hikers again (they
had gotten a ride from a trucker lady, of all people),
and we split up again and I ended up walking uphill
for several kilometers as I looked for a place where
cars could pull over (pretty narrow, that Coquihalla
highway). Again it was getting dark, and I did not
at all cherish the prospect of spending the night
there. It's bear country and I have no tent. But as
the daylight was fading someone still stopped for
me. He was working on a film set (upcoming movie with
Morgan Freeman and Jennifer Lopez, I keep forgetting
the title) and had to return to Vancouver to testify
in court.
That's it pretty much, really. I'm just
in Vancouver, but I'll be on the road again soon.
(Probably not hitch hiking this time.)
Marco
(read previous travelogue)
<-back
|
pictures->
