My trip to Edmonton started my trip with a ticket at the docks. The greatest consequence of rock and roll makes against the soul is acceleration. Politeness, discernment, and Solomon’s proverbs defied any actual quantifiable monetary manifestations of this vice, but as I pulled into Swartz Bay my speeding finally caught up to me, and I only escaped with a minimum fine. This monetary set back did not defy my optimism – consider that 10 years of cruising in the company of Freddie Mercury might be worth the cost of 137 cnd.
Hardy expecting to actually make the ferry I’d taken the Millstream Lake Rd route from west shore to Swartz Bay, and was obliged to wait for the 1700 to Tswassen. I texted my cousin P to confirm I could stay the night with him, crossing the rockies into Edmonton the next day. The GPS lady was giving wild and misinformed directions, and mistrusting her, I became lost in the labyrinth known as Burnaby, and when I finally found the house and windows to the apartment locked. My innate sense of direction defied, combined with the frustration of a rewardless quest, beligered my ego and I departed immediately for Kamloops in a great bout of denial. For a long while I staved off the impending eventuality of denial by blaming the deficiencies of my hypocampus on Burnaby’s defunct layout and Paul’s locked window. Hilariously, it was when I passed Hope that I felt acceptance of my directionlessness begin to sink in, and it was from the great mercy of the Father that I was provided with a distraction so I might never need to admit any shortcomings in my navigation-skills.
About 50km towards Merrit at around 20.00 I saw a man hitch-hiking on the icy Kokahala. If I hadn`t stopped he might have frozen alone, and his Langford dinner jacket reassured me that this hitch-hiker was legit. His story put my small predicament into perspective. He was discovered at the Greyhound station by a friend of his older sisters, who insisted he just catch a ride with him to Vancouver. Partway down the road his serendipitous driver began to suffer from bouts of schizophrenia and paranoia, induced by shrooms he`d consumed prior to leaving Merrit. That`s when the accusations began flying, and north became south, and fairies began flying next to the passenger-side window. My new friend had bolted out the door in a panic, and believing himself to be closer to Merrit than Hope, began 3 hours of hitch-hiking in the wet snow and howling wind.
You should listen to these mountains at night. I stopped past Kamloops in complete darkness. The valleys like sleeping mouths breathe cold smells of crushed snow and bleeding pines. A passing car becomes a rocket ship, alien, roaring strangely. The world you come from seems so backward and irritating, disowningly foreign. And on a clear night, cars do seem to pass through the very same heavenly blackness of the sky, and all is blackness and stars. I fell asleep in darkness, and woke to the most startling sight. All the great, black shapes of the rustling mountains still lay sideways in sleep. Their blankets wrapped tight about them, stirring occasionally with the sound of their breathing. The world had turned from blind to blinding.
Best Song Ever of the Day:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0-bUtJjSeA
Moral of the day: Take the Greyhound.
2nd moral of the day: When in doubt, blame the GPS.