Hey,
We're in Moncton again, staying at the same hostel. We're on the victory lap now, heading back to the East. We'll likely end up in Montreal or Toronto, trying to catch cheap plane tickets back home.
------------
We woke in the morning disgruntled from the poor night's sleep, headed to the gas station for supplies and started thumbing. A car approached. A young woman peered out. "I never do this, but you look like my friend. Climb in." She was an archaelogist working on the local Native sites, but had an interesting dichotomy: "Yeah, I wouldn't have picked you guys up if you were Native. I saw the white-skin and thought, 'this is probably safe.'" Many of our rides through the prairies mentioned a level of contention for Natives. Yikes.
She dropped us off by the parliament buildings in Regina and we explored the city for a few hours before catching a bus to the highway.
Two hours passed before a car pulled onto the shoulder. We tossed our packs into the bed and climbed in. An unassuming middle-aged woman sat in the driver's seat eating cold french fries. You're from BC? Have any weed?" she said jokingly. The conversation quickly progressed into her years of crystal-meth abuse in North Dakota. "The longest I stayed up was fourty-two days; I started tweeking real hard after the first week." She continued, "Yeah, eventually I was arrested in a motel, but the charges were thrown out for illegal search and seizure. I was real glad too; Any amount of meth in the states is a felony." I doubted the fact.
Despite this first impression, she was actually quite friendly; She eventually took us on a brief tour of the surrounding landscape and surprised us with bottled water after hearing our complaints about Regina's water quality. She unfortunately dropped us in the middle of nowhere in the cold.
Weather on the prairies was unseasonably cold this Summer. A strong southern wind dropped the temperature to a paltry seven degrees celcius. It wasn't surprising to see your breath in the evening.
A trucker eventually took pity and pulled over, using the ride as an excuse to flex his ego. He spat stories emphasizing his benevolence through a soup-straining mounstache, alternating them with banter about his truck. He had an over-the-counter stocked pharmacy residing in an ice-cream bucket in the front seat. Bottles of pills threatened to break the levee and spill into the cab. His short-term memory was unsurprisingly absent due to sleep deprivation and he appeared quick to anger. I wanted to take a photograph from the cab but couldn't muster the courage to poise the question. He dropped us in Moosemin Saskatchewan, fearing our extra mass through a weigh-station.
Moosemin appeared to be a typical highway strip-town on first glance. The town was built surrounding the CPR line and had progressively expanded upon the introduction and revision of the highway. We received a tour of Moosemin from Adam, a temporary resident working on a near-by oil pipeline. "There's nowhere to live here now man," he bemoaned. "Rent is close to two-grand a month and motels are booked a year in advance." He seemed bored, and chatted for close to an hour.
We camped in a secluded field, hidden from the highway, spending our evening drinking Pilsners and writing.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Hey,
We're sitting around in a Tourist booth right by the ferry terminal on PEI, waiting to hitch out to Charlottetown for the night. We left Vanessa in Halifax where she (hopefully) caught the bus back to Moncton. Having a third person for that leg of the trip was awesome.
"It's raaaiiining and I don't have my paauuuuncho. Thiiiissss stiiiiinks."
--------------
We walked fifteen Kilometers towards Strathmore as rides were sparse, pounding back roadwiches on the way. Clouds began accumulating on the southern horizon and a strong wind prevailed - the beginnings of what a local girl claimed was the "worst storm I've seen here."
One Kilometer from Strathmore the storm hit. Lightning forked in the skies, thunder boomed, and soft hail permeated our clothes in seconds. The prairies pounded our wills.
We quickly sought refuge under a trailor advertising a Ford dealership, but still caught a large portion of the storm. An hour passed before we checked if the trailor was open. the entire back was exposed, and housed a family of swallows that quickly vacated. Every inch of the enclosure was covered with guano, but the offer of shelter too enticing to pass. We quickly layed down a tarp and set up camp after changing our clothes. Grafitti lined the walls: "From Vancouver."
I added my mark: "Me too. 2009 July."
We passed the storm sleeping and walked into town for supplies. As our water supply was sparse, we bought a two liter bottle of cider with the intentions of refilling it in the morning with water. We drank it in the trailor as the night progressed, playing harmonica and recounting our journey thus far.
The following morning found us in a laundromat attempting to dry our supplies soaked in the storm. Guiltily, we snuck our sopping shoes into a dryer and dampened the resulting noise with a sweater. Twenty minutes later they radiated warmth. We passed the time drinking Morning Thunder tea and eating Roadwiches while concealing our true intentions.
We taxied to the edge of town and started thumbing. A sedan approached slowly. Two women leaned out the passenger window. "Sorry guys, we can't give you a ride, but here's two cheeseburgers and cokes." They handed the offering over. "Don't hitchhike though; Please pray before getting into a car." They left cheeseburgerless.
A large van approached and the driver garbled to us in a hearty central Canadian accent. Miscommunication landed us thirty kilometers down the road, hours between towns. Despite our isolation, spirits remained high; Warm laundry is usually a bonus.
Another "golden ride" pulled to the paved shoulder. A short, middle aged man greeted us with kindness. The sweet aroma of cannabis wafted from his truck and a coors tall-boy waited in a cup holder. Barry completely defied my expectations upon conversation, though. Previously a horticulturist, Barry had been unemployed for six months until his money ran out. He was travelling to Estevan, Saskatchewan to work on an oil pipeline. We offered him gas money at every filling station. "Nope. You need your cash. I'd be doing this anyway." Barry was a stand-up guy.
"That's good you're doing this trip. How old are you?"
"Twenty two," we responded.
"Yup, yup. Fantastic. Pretty soon you'll have wives, kids, and mortages; Best to do this while you can."
Beneath his exterior, I could detect a sense of longing in Barry's voice.
Conversation was usually kept to a minimum, but of what little he said, I largely agreed. Most of the talk centered around environmentalism and more specifically the destruction of Alberta's wild for oil.
We crossed into Saskatchewan mid-trip, marking the furthest I've been from home. Rolling hills of green greeted us as we bounced by towns situated miles from the highway. We stopped in Swift Current and grabbed some food at Humpty's. Barry ordered a steak sandwich - rare. "I'd have to file my teeth down to eat this thing," he said between bites of the leather. "Every so often I'm tempted by the steak; Almost always dissapointed though."
We said our goodbyes on the far edge of Moose Jaw before we hiked behind an Esso Station to squat for the night. Darkness and exhaustion gave us a poor sleeping situation; Our tent centered upon a slight ridge, tilting our bodies toward the extremities of the walls. Pills of Diphenhydramine were issued from Gregg's pharmacy to counteract the sleeplessness. A rough night of disphoria ensued.
We're sitting around in a Tourist booth right by the ferry terminal on PEI, waiting to hitch out to Charlottetown for the night. We left Vanessa in Halifax where she (hopefully) caught the bus back to Moncton. Having a third person for that leg of the trip was awesome.
"It's raaaiiining and I don't have my paauuuuncho. Thiiiissss stiiiiinks."
--------------
We walked fifteen Kilometers towards Strathmore as rides were sparse, pounding back roadwiches on the way. Clouds began accumulating on the southern horizon and a strong wind prevailed - the beginnings of what a local girl claimed was the "worst storm I've seen here."
One Kilometer from Strathmore the storm hit. Lightning forked in the skies, thunder boomed, and soft hail permeated our clothes in seconds. The prairies pounded our wills.
We quickly sought refuge under a trailor advertising a Ford dealership, but still caught a large portion of the storm. An hour passed before we checked if the trailor was open. the entire back was exposed, and housed a family of swallows that quickly vacated. Every inch of the enclosure was covered with guano, but the offer of shelter too enticing to pass. We quickly layed down a tarp and set up camp after changing our clothes. Grafitti lined the walls: "From Vancouver."
I added my mark: "Me too. 2009 July."
We passed the storm sleeping and walked into town for supplies. As our water supply was sparse, we bought a two liter bottle of cider with the intentions of refilling it in the morning with water. We drank it in the trailor as the night progressed, playing harmonica and recounting our journey thus far.
The following morning found us in a laundromat attempting to dry our supplies soaked in the storm. Guiltily, we snuck our sopping shoes into a dryer and dampened the resulting noise with a sweater. Twenty minutes later they radiated warmth. We passed the time drinking Morning Thunder tea and eating Roadwiches while concealing our true intentions.
We taxied to the edge of town and started thumbing. A sedan approached slowly. Two women leaned out the passenger window. "Sorry guys, we can't give you a ride, but here's two cheeseburgers and cokes." They handed the offering over. "Don't hitchhike though; Please pray before getting into a car." They left cheeseburgerless.
A large van approached and the driver garbled to us in a hearty central Canadian accent. Miscommunication landed us thirty kilometers down the road, hours between towns. Despite our isolation, spirits remained high; Warm laundry is usually a bonus.
Another "golden ride" pulled to the paved shoulder. A short, middle aged man greeted us with kindness. The sweet aroma of cannabis wafted from his truck and a coors tall-boy waited in a cup holder. Barry completely defied my expectations upon conversation, though. Previously a horticulturist, Barry had been unemployed for six months until his money ran out. He was travelling to Estevan, Saskatchewan to work on an oil pipeline. We offered him gas money at every filling station. "Nope. You need your cash. I'd be doing this anyway." Barry was a stand-up guy.
"That's good you're doing this trip. How old are you?"
"Twenty two," we responded.
"Yup, yup. Fantastic. Pretty soon you'll have wives, kids, and mortages; Best to do this while you can."
Beneath his exterior, I could detect a sense of longing in Barry's voice.
Conversation was usually kept to a minimum, but of what little he said, I largely agreed. Most of the talk centered around environmentalism and more specifically the destruction of Alberta's wild for oil.
We crossed into Saskatchewan mid-trip, marking the furthest I've been from home. Rolling hills of green greeted us as we bounced by towns situated miles from the highway. We stopped in Swift Current and grabbed some food at Humpty's. Barry ordered a steak sandwich - rare. "I'd have to file my teeth down to eat this thing," he said between bites of the leather. "Every so often I'm tempted by the steak; Almost always dissapointed though."
We said our goodbyes on the far edge of Moose Jaw before we hiked behind an Esso Station to squat for the night. Darkness and exhaustion gave us a poor sleeping situation; Our tent centered upon a slight ridge, tilting our bodies toward the extremities of the walls. Pills of Diphenhydramine were issued from Gregg's pharmacy to counteract the sleeplessness. A rough night of disphoria ensued.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Hey,
We met up with a girl named Vanessa in Moncton that joined us for this leg of the trip. We crashed last night in a hostel in Halifax, NS.
--------------------------
We began shopping for cheap Albertan beer, when two men loudly alerted us to their presence. "Let's get some FUCKING beer!" This was the prelude to one of the most surreal nights of my life.
"Backpackers? You wanna place to crash? I gotta big field and some beer-chicken for dinner. My name's Chris, and this is Dan."
We hopped into the bed of their truck and took off down the highway.
Chris began soliciting his "sister" in the process. "Man, you gotta fuck my sister; You like big boobs? You gotta fuck her." The offer did little to entice me.
We arrived to meet his "family," an unrelated group of five fully dysfunctional people living in a house. I met his "wife" (girlfriend) two months pregnant, double-fisting a cigarette and beer.
Thenight became hazy as Gregg and I began drinking malt liquor to weather the storm.
Dan eventually stole his girlfriend's wallet and made a break for the liquor store in his truck. He later phoned, claiming he threw it out the truck's window, sending Gregg and I on a a charity-enduced hunt.
When he returned - with wallet, Gregg and I hid behind the house as a domestic dispute raged in the front yard. The climax resulted in Chris knocking Dan out... Apparently Chris was a former boxer.
Video games and more beer followed. Gregg repaired a Playstation One controller with hockey tape after Chris' rage landed it across the room. Need for Speed '03 was an alarming anger-stimulus.
Chris' girfriend began hot-knifing hash - Chris' main source of income. "It's ok though," he assured me. "We're not keeping it."
"Abortion?" I inquired.
"Nope, adoption."
Yikes.
Chris became increasingly apologetic and emotive as the night progressed (or regressed, perspective depending)
"Man, get the hell out of Alberta; This place is a fly-trap."
"Sorry... Sorry... Sorry."
"My life is shot now."
We left early the next morning, glad to never see them again, but grateul for the experience.
-----------------------
We're off to explore Halifax, then likely hit up Antigonish or catch the ferry to PEI.
We met up with a girl named Vanessa in Moncton that joined us for this leg of the trip. We crashed last night in a hostel in Halifax, NS.
--------------------------
We began shopping for cheap Albertan beer, when two men loudly alerted us to their presence. "Let's get some FUCKING beer!" This was the prelude to one of the most surreal nights of my life.
"Backpackers? You wanna place to crash? I gotta big field and some beer-chicken for dinner. My name's Chris, and this is Dan."
We hopped into the bed of their truck and took off down the highway.
Chris began soliciting his "sister" in the process. "Man, you gotta fuck my sister; You like big boobs? You gotta fuck her." The offer did little to entice me.
We arrived to meet his "family," an unrelated group of five fully dysfunctional people living in a house. I met his "wife" (girlfriend) two months pregnant, double-fisting a cigarette and beer.
Thenight became hazy as Gregg and I began drinking malt liquor to weather the storm.
Dan eventually stole his girlfriend's wallet and made a break for the liquor store in his truck. He later phoned, claiming he threw it out the truck's window, sending Gregg and I on a a charity-enduced hunt.
When he returned - with wallet, Gregg and I hid behind the house as a domestic dispute raged in the front yard. The climax resulted in Chris knocking Dan out... Apparently Chris was a former boxer.
Video games and more beer followed. Gregg repaired a Playstation One controller with hockey tape after Chris' rage landed it across the room. Need for Speed '03 was an alarming anger-stimulus.
Chris' girfriend began hot-knifing hash - Chris' main source of income. "It's ok though," he assured me. "We're not keeping it."
"Abortion?" I inquired.
"Nope, adoption."
Yikes.
Chris became increasingly apologetic and emotive as the night progressed (or regressed, perspective depending)
"Man, get the hell out of Alberta; This place is a fly-trap."
"Sorry... Sorry... Sorry."
"My life is shot now."
We left early the next morning, glad to never see them again, but grateul for the experience.
-----------------------
We're off to explore Halifax, then likely hit up Antigonish or catch the ferry to PEI.
Friday, July 24, 2009
In Moncton
Hey,
We're in Moncton, NB currently. We caught a 13 hour ride two days ago straight through the majority of Ontario and Quebec. Western Ontario was horrible to hitch in, but we eventually got out. We spent last night drinking craft beer in Moncton, soaking up the night life. No journal update for now, we're heading for PEI in a few minutes.
-Tom
We're in Moncton, NB currently. We caught a 13 hour ride two days ago straight through the majority of Ontario and Quebec. Western Ontario was horrible to hitch in, but we eventually got out. We spent last night drinking craft beer in Moncton, soaking up the night life. No journal update for now, we're heading for PEI in a few minutes.
-Tom
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Thunder Bay all the Way
Hey,
We're in Thunder Bay, ON right now. Apparently it's about half-way through the country. Seems hard to believe. We were picked up last night outside of Wabigoon and switched shifts driving. The ride, Dale, offered to let us sleep in his garage, and treated us to breakfast a few minutes ago. Access to computers are rare along the road, but our time is relatively short so I'll only type a portion of my journal.
--------------
We left Nelson following a night of drinking malt-liquor by the lake. Free day-old buns were aquired at a salvation army, and peanut butter was soon to follow. The combination of the two was later dubbed a 'roadwich': A hard-times sandwich for those with shallow pockets and deep souls. A difficult trek greeted us immediately. We hiked up nine blocks of Nelson's terraced streets in the mid-day sun, and migrated to the shoulder of the highway to start thumbing. Two hours of work failed to land us a ride. Another hitcher appeared around the bend and approached with a smile. "How are you guys for water? Want some sandwiches?" The majority of other transients we've encountered have responded in a similar manner; The unwritten rules of the road seem to be well entrenched. The kindness of society's downtrodden never ceases to amaze me. We wished her the best, and she headed a few hundred meters down the highway to start thumbing.
We eventually caught a ride with a local to a spot just outside of Wymer - A halfway town between halfway towns. Ten minutes later we caught another lucky break, and entered Salmo.
Salmo took an exceptionally large amount of time to catch-out of. Four hours of hitching put the sun well behind the tree lined highway, giving us ample room to thumb in the resulting shadow. The conditions were more than hospitable to the tar-boiling oven of Christina Lake, but boring none the less.
After four hours a beautiful girl named Danni pulled over in a VW Jack Rabbit. We used every square-foot of the car to fit our bags in and took off. She was a hair-dresser in Nelson two days of the week, and was on the return-trip to her home in Creston. After talking about music for an hour, she dropped us off on the far edge of town near a campground.
A small music festival was occuring within the campground, which increased the already rotund fee to a whopping $50.00. In lue of paying, we hiked over a bridge to a railway trestle and found a suitable location to squat for the night.
We were awoken by a conservation officer the next morning. Instant panic set in. Luckily, he was a nice guy, and left soon after.
The following morning we caught a quick ride twenty kilometers down the highway with a French Canadian berry picker. According to locals, the migration of workers to the orchards is an annual event.
Still waiting for the "golden ride", we tossed out our thumbs again and were rewarded with another French Canadian driving to Ft. Macmurray to work on the oil sands. His personality initially seemed slightly obtuse and dissonant, but we quickly locked into syncopation on a variety of topics; The art of small talk was lost to him. Despite this, he was an exceptionally nice guy. Conversations varied between cultural differences of French and English Canadians, an the surrounding geography.
After dropping us on the far side of Calgary, we made some roadwiches by a cemetary and hiked to Chestermere, still riding the euphoria of our last journey.
Preperations were in order.
"Yeah, let's grab some beer."
Our priorities were second to none.
----------------
That seems like a good spot to leave-off for now. The next entry involves domestic violence and hash production.
-Tom
We're in Thunder Bay, ON right now. Apparently it's about half-way through the country. Seems hard to believe. We were picked up last night outside of Wabigoon and switched shifts driving. The ride, Dale, offered to let us sleep in his garage, and treated us to breakfast a few minutes ago. Access to computers are rare along the road, but our time is relatively short so I'll only type a portion of my journal.
--------------
We left Nelson following a night of drinking malt-liquor by the lake. Free day-old buns were aquired at a salvation army, and peanut butter was soon to follow. The combination of the two was later dubbed a 'roadwich': A hard-times sandwich for those with shallow pockets and deep souls. A difficult trek greeted us immediately. We hiked up nine blocks of Nelson's terraced streets in the mid-day sun, and migrated to the shoulder of the highway to start thumbing. Two hours of work failed to land us a ride. Another hitcher appeared around the bend and approached with a smile. "How are you guys for water? Want some sandwiches?" The majority of other transients we've encountered have responded in a similar manner; The unwritten rules of the road seem to be well entrenched. The kindness of society's downtrodden never ceases to amaze me. We wished her the best, and she headed a few hundred meters down the highway to start thumbing.
We eventually caught a ride with a local to a spot just outside of Wymer - A halfway town between halfway towns. Ten minutes later we caught another lucky break, and entered Salmo.
Salmo took an exceptionally large amount of time to catch-out of. Four hours of hitching put the sun well behind the tree lined highway, giving us ample room to thumb in the resulting shadow. The conditions were more than hospitable to the tar-boiling oven of Christina Lake, but boring none the less.
After four hours a beautiful girl named Danni pulled over in a VW Jack Rabbit. We used every square-foot of the car to fit our bags in and took off. She was a hair-dresser in Nelson two days of the week, and was on the return-trip to her home in Creston. After talking about music for an hour, she dropped us off on the far edge of town near a campground.
A small music festival was occuring within the campground, which increased the already rotund fee to a whopping $50.00. In lue of paying, we hiked over a bridge to a railway trestle and found a suitable location to squat for the night.
We were awoken by a conservation officer the next morning. Instant panic set in. Luckily, he was a nice guy, and left soon after.
The following morning we caught a quick ride twenty kilometers down the highway with a French Canadian berry picker. According to locals, the migration of workers to the orchards is an annual event.
Still waiting for the "golden ride", we tossed out our thumbs again and were rewarded with another French Canadian driving to Ft. Macmurray to work on the oil sands. His personality initially seemed slightly obtuse and dissonant, but we quickly locked into syncopation on a variety of topics; The art of small talk was lost to him. Despite this, he was an exceptionally nice guy. Conversations varied between cultural differences of French and English Canadians, an the surrounding geography.
After dropping us on the far side of Calgary, we made some roadwiches by a cemetary and hiked to Chestermere, still riding the euphoria of our last journey.
Preperations were in order.
"Yeah, let's grab some beer."
Our priorities were second to none.
----------------
That seems like a good spot to leave-off for now. The next entry involves domestic violence and hash production.
-Tom
Friday, July 10, 2009
First Post. Second Day.
Hey,
We're currently in Nelson, BC, staying in a backpacker Hostel. Seems like a really nice place so far; There's showers, a kitchen, and free pancakes. Seems golden. I'm dead tired, have blisters on my feet and a sunburned face, but it's worth it.
I'm taking pics along the way, but have no means of transferring them from my camera. I'll supplement the blog later with them.
-------
We caught the early bus into Princeton around 6:15am. It arrived about 10:30, and we headed down the highway attempting to hitch along the way. Two hours later we were still walking. The stretch of highway was beautiful, but the lack of success disheartening. Eventually a refurbished muscle car pulled over. "Give me all your drugs," he said jokingly as we climbed in. This introduction was fairly revealing of his personality; A few minutes into the ride he sparked a joint and stated he was seeing Blue Oyster Cult and Fog Hat in Penticton. We made idle small chat for the rest of the trip, and he dropped us on the edge of Keremeos. The ride definitely reassured us.
As we stood adjusting our straps, another hitcher approached us from down the street. "Hey guys, want to buy some mushrooms?" It appeared that drugs were a common theme with transients.
"No, we're good, man."
"No worries, bro. I'm just heading to a party on the Island. Later!" He reassumed his position on the street as we headed to a fruit stand for refreshments.
We had much better success hitching out of Keremeos than Princeton. Apparently there was an accident on the far edge of town, blocking all threw traffic. This left only locals to pick us up.
3 minutes of holding the "Osoyoos" sign snagged us a ride in an air conditioned truck. The driver was a native of Osoyoos returning to see an old friend that was back in town. Apparently his grandfather was one of the original settlers in the area, and owned acres of property. Half an hour later, he dropped us off and we made our way through Osoyoos.
The sun was beginning to set as we reached the far edge of town. We contemplated setting up camp, but thought we'd try for Greenwood. We located directly behind the turn-off for the Nk-Mip Winery in front of a fruit stand. This choice prooved rather frustrating as many vehicles capable of carrying us made us made a hard-left through the orchards.
Two guys on bikes stopped and chatted. They had biked with no supplies from Alberta into BC. Only a lack of funds forced them to turn around. We said our farewells as they creeped into an orchard to steal peaches. We related this story to a later ride and he said, "It's not stealing if your hungry." It seemed fitting.
After no luck thumbing for Two Hours we were about to give up. A voice beckoned us from behind.
"You boys going to Greenwood? We can take you as long as you behave." An eldery couple stood beside their motor home. I was vaguely aware of their presence, but thought better than to ask for a lift; None of our rides had come from this demographic. We climbed into their motor-home and headed through the mountain on the edge of Osoyoos. I had been awake for 14 hours at this point, so the jostling of the car eased me into a light sleep, and I awoke to find Greenwood. We got off near a campsight at the edge of town.
They strangely never offered us drugs.
Greenwood was a depressed town that's population barely reached the definition of 'city'. I'm assuming they use the term lightly. To create the image of normality, the town erected 'false-structures' comprised of only the fronts of buildings between the real ones. From the right angle the downtown core resembled a bad western flick. The businesses that still operated were likely for sale. I cracked a joke about the real-estate office being for sale.
We strolled into a pizza parlor and ordered a medium 'Green Thumb': A veggie-laden pie with a thick crust. The food slid down easily as we hadn't eaten in almost 10 hours.
We wandered back to the camp site after buying a case of beer and crashed following a failed attempt to build a fire.
The next morning we packed up and hitched out of town in favour of breakfast. Some left over apples sufficed instead. We employed a "BEER 4 RIDE" sign and quickly had a lift. Strangely enough the guy didn't drink, so we hauled the brews through Grand Forks and were forced to dump them on the side of the highway. Shameful.
Our next ride has been my favourite so far. He was an educated man that had hitched in the 70s and 80s. He related tales and was more than willing to part with advice: "I once broke into a National Food Resource Depot in Manitoba and started pulling vegetables: Peas, Carrots, Potatoes. It was either that or starve." Unfortunately, he was only heading a few kilometers down the road to Christina Lake.
This has been the hardest place to hitch out of so far. A lot of tourist traffic runs through the area and seems unfriendly to hitchhikers. Three hours in mid-day heat later a girl felt sorry and offered a ride. She was heading well past Castlegar, our intended destination, and a full 110km into Nelson. Hippie Culture awaited!
I almost threw my pack into her backseat before realizing her two year old own was placed directly under my sights. I recoiled in horror, and rode most of the trip with my pack on my lap. The boy was originally very withdrawn from his new companions, but eventually maintained a very friendly conversation with Gregg in the backseat. Part of this involved throwing his shoes at Gregg, then demanding them back with intermittant bouts of laughter. Pretty cute.
The road is curious; Moods can fluctuate greatly on very simple things. A good ride can instantly raise the spirits.
-----
So now I'm staying in a backpacker's hostel, waiting in line to have a shower and do some laundry. We're going to head into town tonight for some beers and music at a local bar. See ya out there...
-Tom
We're currently in Nelson, BC, staying in a backpacker Hostel. Seems like a really nice place so far; There's showers, a kitchen, and free pancakes. Seems golden. I'm dead tired, have blisters on my feet and a sunburned face, but it's worth it.
I'm taking pics along the way, but have no means of transferring them from my camera. I'll supplement the blog later with them.
-------
We caught the early bus into Princeton around 6:15am. It arrived about 10:30, and we headed down the highway attempting to hitch along the way. Two hours later we were still walking. The stretch of highway was beautiful, but the lack of success disheartening. Eventually a refurbished muscle car pulled over. "Give me all your drugs," he said jokingly as we climbed in. This introduction was fairly revealing of his personality; A few minutes into the ride he sparked a joint and stated he was seeing Blue Oyster Cult and Fog Hat in Penticton. We made idle small chat for the rest of the trip, and he dropped us on the edge of Keremeos. The ride definitely reassured us.
As we stood adjusting our straps, another hitcher approached us from down the street. "Hey guys, want to buy some mushrooms?" It appeared that drugs were a common theme with transients.
"No, we're good, man."
"No worries, bro. I'm just heading to a party on the Island. Later!" He reassumed his position on the street as we headed to a fruit stand for refreshments.
We had much better success hitching out of Keremeos than Princeton. Apparently there was an accident on the far edge of town, blocking all threw traffic. This left only locals to pick us up.
3 minutes of holding the "Osoyoos" sign snagged us a ride in an air conditioned truck. The driver was a native of Osoyoos returning to see an old friend that was back in town. Apparently his grandfather was one of the original settlers in the area, and owned acres of property. Half an hour later, he dropped us off and we made our way through Osoyoos.
The sun was beginning to set as we reached the far edge of town. We contemplated setting up camp, but thought we'd try for Greenwood. We located directly behind the turn-off for the Nk-Mip Winery in front of a fruit stand. This choice prooved rather frustrating as many vehicles capable of carrying us made us made a hard-left through the orchards.
Two guys on bikes stopped and chatted. They had biked with no supplies from Alberta into BC. Only a lack of funds forced them to turn around. We said our farewells as they creeped into an orchard to steal peaches. We related this story to a later ride and he said, "It's not stealing if your hungry." It seemed fitting.
After no luck thumbing for Two Hours we were about to give up. A voice beckoned us from behind.
"You boys going to Greenwood? We can take you as long as you behave." An eldery couple stood beside their motor home. I was vaguely aware of their presence, but thought better than to ask for a lift; None of our rides had come from this demographic. We climbed into their motor-home and headed through the mountain on the edge of Osoyoos. I had been awake for 14 hours at this point, so the jostling of the car eased me into a light sleep, and I awoke to find Greenwood. We got off near a campsight at the edge of town.
They strangely never offered us drugs.
Greenwood was a depressed town that's population barely reached the definition of 'city'. I'm assuming they use the term lightly. To create the image of normality, the town erected 'false-structures' comprised of only the fronts of buildings between the real ones. From the right angle the downtown core resembled a bad western flick. The businesses that still operated were likely for sale. I cracked a joke about the real-estate office being for sale.
We strolled into a pizza parlor and ordered a medium 'Green Thumb': A veggie-laden pie with a thick crust. The food slid down easily as we hadn't eaten in almost 10 hours.
We wandered back to the camp site after buying a case of beer and crashed following a failed attempt to build a fire.
The next morning we packed up and hitched out of town in favour of breakfast. Some left over apples sufficed instead. We employed a "BEER 4 RIDE" sign and quickly had a lift. Strangely enough the guy didn't drink, so we hauled the brews through Grand Forks and were forced to dump them on the side of the highway. Shameful.
Our next ride has been my favourite so far. He was an educated man that had hitched in the 70s and 80s. He related tales and was more than willing to part with advice: "I once broke into a National Food Resource Depot in Manitoba and started pulling vegetables: Peas, Carrots, Potatoes. It was either that or starve." Unfortunately, he was only heading a few kilometers down the road to Christina Lake.
This has been the hardest place to hitch out of so far. A lot of tourist traffic runs through the area and seems unfriendly to hitchhikers. Three hours in mid-day heat later a girl felt sorry and offered a ride. She was heading well past Castlegar, our intended destination, and a full 110km into Nelson. Hippie Culture awaited!
I almost threw my pack into her backseat before realizing her two year old own was placed directly under my sights. I recoiled in horror, and rode most of the trip with my pack on my lap. The boy was originally very withdrawn from his new companions, but eventually maintained a very friendly conversation with Gregg in the backseat. Part of this involved throwing his shoes at Gregg, then demanding them back with intermittant bouts of laughter. Pretty cute.
The road is curious; Moods can fluctuate greatly on very simple things. A good ride can instantly raise the spirits.
-----
So now I'm staying in a backpacker's hostel, waiting in line to have a shower and do some laundry. We're going to head into town tonight for some beers and music at a local bar. See ya out there...
-Tom
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)