Wing Night

Posted on by
7

Now I’m at the hotel bar. It’s a good one. A whole bunch of guys just came in, and they have a $100 bet that one of them can’t eat 30 suicide wings in 30 minutes. You know I’m sticking around for that. Usually there’s a cover charge for a show like this. The victim is drinking a big glass of milk right now. There was a brief scare that the kitchen didn’t have enough wings, but we’re go now. I have an excellent view.

3 wings in, he’s sweating. He’s doing a diligent job wiping the sauce off his lips. He’s trying to pick up speed without success. He’s got another milk. He’s using his fingers to tear the meat off the bones to save his lips, but before long his fingers are going to start burning. He doesn’t know that. He’s Canadian. My Greek Salad is so cool and refreshing. He’s starting to lose focus, but he’s still going. Deep breath, another bite.

He’s nodding now – He’s in a groove. The pain has stopped getting worse.

He’s starting to wipe the sauce off his fingers. My camera’s back in the room. Dammit.

Posture change. He’s back in his chair now, not forward over the table. His friends, who stand to lose a hundred bucks if he succeeds, are completely behind him now. Shoulder massages, a new five-minute “bump” period after the 30 minutes have expired. They’re checking his pace against the clock, giving him advice. Mostly, “eat faster.” He’s falling behind. The call has gone out for more napkins. Not from the eater; he hasn’t said a word for fifteen minutes.

He quit. There are 14 left. 16 is pretty damn good. The waitress says 16 is a house record, but I doubt she really knows. The dude is hurting, but he’s recovering already.

He’s thinking about going for it! 5 minutes, 14 suicide wings. He’s doing it! “Better get a bucket,” I advised the crowd. “Don’t bother chewing,” a friend advises. What a way to choke to death. Two minutes, one wing. He’s a black guy, but he’s looking green. He’s chewing. Chewing. He’s not looking good.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, and got up quickly. His buddy followed with the camera. Buddy returns. “He had the door closed,” Buddy says, “but I got the audio.”

Now the remaining wings are being passed around. “I’m not eating one because I’m not a dumbshit,” the guy at the end of the table said. Someone just found “Fire Down Below” by Bob Seger on the jukebox.

Thus we learn the price of hubris. He has returned from his de-winging and is having another milk. It seems last night he had first said he could eat fifteen, but had escalated to 30 to get a bigger bet. Instinctively he knew his limit, but he had to push it. He’s smiling now, but he went through an hour of hell to be $100 poorer.

Thanks!

The Perfect Road

Posted on by
11

Location: Nakusp, Canada
Miles: 5235.2

I’m making my way back down to the states now, but I’m taking the scenic route, as usual. By scenic, I suppose I mean indirect, since all the routes seem to be scenic. As I studied the map for today’s leg, I had to choose between a larger road marked as a scenic route and a smaller road with no such blessing. I took the smaller road and am really happy I did. I took it because it had a ferry at one point. I knew the ferry would be nothing fancy, but it was a nice change of pace.

Let me tell you, boys and girls, that Highway 6 from Vernon to Nakusp is a great bit of driving. It probably isn’t marked as scenic because it’s too small to be noticed, but it is beautiful, and curvy, and not busy. The pavement is rough in some places, but I was happy to put up with that. I had breakfast at Waddy’s in Vernon, eggs over easy done almost perfectly, bacon, toast, and hashbrowns for five bucks, including coffee or tea. Good deal. I feel good as I find the highway and continue east.

I’m getting better at reading the isolated clouds that wander around dumping rain, and after only a few miles I decided to put the top up. I patted myself on the back as I passed through Lumby and the rain started to fall. There were signs up all over town for the “Lumby Days” celebration this weekend, which probably explains why it was raining there.

My atlas shows the road out of there as being pretty straight, but happily it is not. As the rain began to fall harder, the road became curvier, and the slopes steeper. I recognized the big, fat drops that presaged a hail storm back in New Mexico, and sure enough the drops started leaving little grains of ice behind on my windshield. I slowed down further, hoping that no one would run into me from behind, and glad that I wasn’t one of the motorcyclists I saw passing the other direction.

Then the sky opened up, flinging abuse at me like I was back in junior high. The roar of the ice crashing against my windshield drowned out my music and thunderclaps from even the closest lightning strikes. The road was immediately coated with icy spheres. I was driving on ball bearings made of ice with badly worn tires. Not good. Put an infant in the car and you have a tire commercial. I just wanted off the road. Twice the car skated dangerously, once taking me into the oncoming lane while I pointed the front wheels the right direction and prayed.

Finally I found a place to pull off, but someone else was already in it. There was no way I was going to stop if I couldn’t get all the way off the road. Solid rock was on my right, and I really couldn’t see what was down the slope on the other side. I crept on. After a couple more miles I found a spot to pull over, but by then the hail was letting up, yielding to ordinary, small-drop rain. Not far past that was a little restaurant with several motorcycles parked outside. As my adrenaline levels returned to normal I began to appreciate the road again.

The sun came out, and the wet road began to form its own fog bank, which I failed to photograph well. Once the top had time to dry out I pulled over next to a deer and went into sunshine configuration. When I stepped out of the car I was a little wobbly. I walked around a bit, trying to see the river I could hear far below me, but it was lost in the dense foliage. The deer watched me warily but was not going to give up whatever choice grazing it had found. No other cars passed while I stayed there.

crossing%20the%20lake.jpg Ten miles down the road I had to put the top back up. So much for my ability to read the clouds. Don’t like the weather? Drive a mile. The wet road and my recent brushes with four-wheel drift made me cautious, so I didn’t get the most out of the road, but it is a very, very good road. The ferry was on the far side of the lake when I pulled up, which allowed me to walk around for a bit in the gentle rain. I had a chance to read that I would soon be passing through Osprey Country, and that there would be nests on many of the power poles. I took some pictures, experimenting with different settings on the camera, then when the rain picked up I went back and put King Crimson on the stereo and studied my map. I decided that Nelson looked like a good place to shoot for.

When I got here I changed my mind. Nelson can wait until tomorrow. Nakusp is beautiful. I drove down the main drag and decided I had gone far enough this day. With plenty of daylight left I had time to walk along the lake, which is a long, well-cared-for park, with gardens lovingly tended. Unusual, I think, for a town this size. All along the walk are benches dedicated to the people who first settled here 100 years ago.

The lake is very low, I noticed. If it gets any lower the boat dock is in trouble. That can’t be good at the peak of runoff.

Now I’m at the hotel bar. It’s a good one.

Thanks!

Desert City Downpour

Posted on by
Reply

Location: Duffy’s Pub, Kamloops, Canada
Miles: ????

Drove back through Prince George (it looked like all the alternate roads were unpaved), stopping there for breakfast. There was a newsletter at the front counter that looked similar to the one I had read in Mcbride, so I picked it up. It was the first issue ever and, alas, the quality of the writing was really poor. The publisher did seem sincere about supporting the rural communities around Prince George, though, so good luck to them. The standards will probably improve with practice. That’s what I hope happens for me, at any rate.

On the way out of town I stopped off for a brief visit at the fairly lame farmer’s market, then drove up the highway I had first come into town on. Now that I wasn’t going to Alaska, I reminded myself to slow down and take advantage of photo ops, like I had earlier in the trip. “Get out of the car, Jerry,” I reminded myself often. It helped. “Stop the narrator in your head, writing about things as you see them,” is tougher. I’ll start with getting out of the car.

I took some pictures, but I’m starting to feel limited by my little camera. It’s a good camera for what it is, but I wish I had multiple lenses now. And the colors see washed out to me. I’m starting to experiment with adjusting the white balance (or something like that) to see if the colors are more vivid. Anyone know what other adjustments I should look at? I also want more pixels, but then don’t we all? What would be cool is a camera that hooks up to the computer while shooting to use the computer monitor as a super high resolution viewscreen. Not always practical, but when feasible it would be really nice.

Passed 50,000 miles on the cars odometer, passed 5,000 miles on the trip staring at the ass of a lumbering truck, and at 50140 miles my road trip was 5014, 10% of the total miles on my car.

Went through some more pretty country, then at Cache Creek things abruptly turned arid. I cruised into kamloops hoping to perhaps find a cheap place with Internet. I had passed a couple up north earlier in the day, so I had hope for the relatively large town. I didn’t look that hard for high-speed, though; I was willing to settle for working dialup.

The pimple-faced kid working the desk of the hotel where I stayed recommended a bar called Duffy’s, a short walk from the hotel. You know you’re in the boonies when you meet a pimple-faced kid who doesn’t know crap about computers, but his bar recommendation was a good one. Here I sit at Duffy’s now, sipping a good Pale Ale which purely by chance is on special tonight, watching the driving rain outside. (“Desert City my ass,” I told the waitress. “We need the rain,” she said.) I can’t take my laptop home in this weather. Looks like I’m stuck here until the rain lets up. Curses!

I think I scared the waitress. She asked me, “You want another beer, honey?” and we had gotten accustomed to each other, so I said, “Certainly, Dear.” I think I put more growl into the “dear” than I intended. It was a while before she came back and after that she called me “guy.”

Thanks!

Epiphany, Schmepifany, Epiphany

Posted on by
2

Location:Vanderhoof, Canada (The geographic center of British Columbia!)
Miles: 4639.6

Slept in a bit tis morning, made tea, and emerged to a wet morning. The mountains to the west I had looked forward to photographing in the morning light were gone. I loaded up all my crap and headed back up to Highway 16 and continued west. West, toward Prince George, the next step on the trip to Alaska. Potential trip. In Prince George I would be able to get all the information I needed about ferry schedules and prices. I tried to figure out what I was willing to pay for a 3 to 4 day boat ride. I guessed that’s how long it would take.

In the bar last night Amy had been surprised when she heard I hadn’t seen any bears in the area. Well, today I saw bears. Where the forest is cleared back from the road bears were munching berries off the bushes. I saw signs warning of crossing deer, elk, moose, wolves, and bighorn sheep, but the only animals I saw on that stretch actually crossing the road were bears. They should protest for better signage.

Even the grocery store is overweight I stooped in McBride for fuel for the car and food for me. I asked the woman taking my money at the gas station where a good place to eat was. She pointed to the hotel across the street. “Best cook in town’s over there right now.” The woman was really fat, so I figured she knew what she was talking about. There are a lot of fat people in Canada. I noticed that from day one, sitting at the Kokanee Pub with a really fat group of people at the table nearest mine.

I moseyed over to the restaurant and sat myself down. The people at the table next to mine were thin – they were also Japanese Tourists. The two girls that came in right after me were quite large. Don’t get me wrong, I have a few extra pounds on me and the trend is not favorable. I ordered my fat sandwich from the fat waitress (“do you want gravy on your fries?” “Sure.”) and idled the time away reading the little news pamphlet on my table. Ah, life in a small town. The newspaper is a weekly, and is a single sheet of yellow paper, larger then legal size, covered on both sides with ads and community news. This was the first entry under Community Announcements:

On Friday, June 4th 4 guys from Burns Lake had their Air Conditioning Pump pack it in around Dome Creek. They were heading to Calgary to join the block party on 17th Ave. watching the big Hockey game. The guys were picked up by Blaine Davis from P.G. in his SUV and their vehicle was towed to McBride for repairs. Blaine is working in Valemount so he offered to let the guys take his SUV to Calgary so they wouldn’t miss the game. Anyone who would like to help with anything for the guys can contact Blaine at…

Editorial critique aside (yes, those capitalizations are all in the original), how many places are you going to break down and the guy who picks you up and drives you an hour into town (I passed Dome Creek on my way to Prince George) then loans you his car to drive to another city? Damn, I want to break down there.

Leaving town there was a sign that said “Check your fuel gauge. Next gas 211 Km.” Actually, whatever the original number on the sign was had been covered with a piece of cardboard with the new number written by hand. Later I passed a gas station that had closed. The point is, things are far apart out here. Clouds, rain, and all that for the first hours of driving. There were a couple of graceful bridges over sudden gorges with rushing rivers, but the annoying thing is they always put the dramatic gorges in the middle of narrow, winding sections of the road, so no pictures.

Prince george In P.G. I overcame a brief bout of VICBS (visitor Info Center Blindness Syndrome) and got a ferry schedule and rate sheet. I sat for a while and realized, not surprisingly, that there aren’t many runs that go all the way up the coast, and the schedule just doesn’t work. Much better is driving up there and taking the boat back. I head out. Alaska, baby!

But what if the boat is already full? Simple fact is I am tired. The thought of the boat trip has given me a little wind, but I start thinking about the hours of driving. My road trip is becoming a job. Do I even have the juice to keep writing “Drove to new place. The world is beautiful.” and keep it interesting? Is it still interesting to me? I prefer not to drive the whole day, and 5000 miles round-trip was looking like a reasonable estimate if there was not a boat in the picture.

I called. The boat was full. I stopped and got a fairly cheap room in Vanderhoof, discovering that although there was a phone in the room, and there was not charge for dialing an 800 number, the phone system was some sort of wacky thing that worked only with special phones. The sign in the room said hooking the phone line to a computer could damage their phone system. How’s that for lame?

No boat, no Alaska. The more I thought about it, the more I knew it was the right choice. I’m not equipped for an Alaska road trip – for that I need two fewer suitcases and one more tent. A sleeping bag I fit in would be good, too. (My current bag is a relic of backpacking days when I was in high school. It’s a great bag but now it’s too small.)

But if not now, then when?

Next morning…

That ate at me all night. When would I ever be driving around up here again? This morning I was sipping my tea when I figured out the answer to that question. When? Whenever I want to. It’s possible that I’ll never go. It’s possible that there will always be something more important to me than a road trip to Alaska and a boat ride back. But if I want to, I can go. That got me so excited I almost decided to drive to Alaska right now.

Thanks!

Crossroads and Epiphany

Posted on by
1

Location: Valemount, BC, Canada (map)
Miles: 4386.2

Before I describe to you the recent past, it is only fair that you understand the present. Let’s just pretend for a moment that I was somehow important to national security. Maybe president, or something like that. Let’s say then, that as president I’m sitting in a bar and I notice they have a pretty good selection of single-malt scotch. “The genie has left the bottle,” a secret service man would whisper into his cuff, and the damage control teams would swarm into action.

My drive today, through some of the most spectacular scenery yet, was dominated by a single question. Should I drive to Alaska? I have always wanted to go there, and when was I going to have a better chance? But fundamentally I am tired, and the idea of two weeks or more of nothing but strangers didn’t appeal. Not when there was a place I could go in Montana where I could feel connected. Most important of all, in Bozeman I could relax for a few days, not drive, and spend the hours instead on my other projects. Hang out there, go to Vegas, head out to the space launch, take care of my business in San Diego, then head east. Simple.

I thank the sweet lord for bartenders every day, but this day I offer an extra homily. Her name is Amy, and for today she is my honorary favorite bartender.

Out of Edmonton I went straight west. I followed 16A and then 16 back up off the plains and into the mountains. In Jasper, there was a decision to make. Continue west and by implication north, drive for several days to Fairbanks, or turn south through spectacular country and head back on something more closely resembling my original course – whatever that was.

All I knew was that I was tired. I had spectacle fatigue. I saw things that would have made my heart leap ordinarily, but I could hardly blink. The rain fell off and on while the clouds tore at the impervious peaks, and I simply drove. I didn’t think, then, about how the assault on the stone by the air seemed futile but ultimately the tireless air and water would wear down the stones, as long as the sun shone. I just drove.

I reached Jasper and knew that I was just too plain tired to make the decision about which way to go. I ate lunch there, poring over the atlas, trying to estimate the effort involved to get up there. I had been planning to see the space launch in Mojave later this month. Were the two exclusive? I decided to stop, sleep on it, and perhaps even solicit input from you, my faithful readers. The only problem was that Jasper is a really expensive place to hole up this time of year. I tried several places, but couldn’t stay there. I hit the far end of town and there is was: the choice. South or West. I chose West for the simple reason that sleep was closer in that direction. I was so very, very tired.

Down, down, down I went, while the mountains shook their fists at the sky all around me. Occasionally I realized that I was driving through some of the most breathtaking scenery on this big earth, but when I did I also understood just how tired I was, Another mountain range. Sun in the distance, rain close by. Rushing river next to me, feeding into Moose Lake. I drove through it with the vague apprehension that perhaps I should be appreciating it all more.

I was heading toward Alaska, but more important I was heading toward rest. When I got to Terre Jaune I had made up my mind. South. Driving to Fairbanks, was, I realized, work. It was a long time without the safe haven of someone to crash on, of no preregularization. It was a commitment. So it was that I turned south at Tete Jaune (the whole yellow head thing is for another episode if I ever figure it out) with a sense of relief. I was back on track. If not now, then when? echoed in my head, but I knew that I wasn’t out here to commit to anything. I had done the right thing.

So I came to Valemount. I found a cheap hotel (actually a very nice cheap one) right next to the town’s only bar. After a nap I headed over. I didn’t take any technology with me, so for quite a while I was sitting at a dead bar with nothing to do but think. I unblocked a problem I’ve been having with The Monster Within and eventually started a conversation with the two bartenders. I mentioned to Amy that I had thought about driving to Fairbanks and she said, “Do it.” I told her about how much I had been driving lately, and how tired I was, and she said, “You should take the ferry up. they call it a cruise, but really it’s a ferry.”

Perfect. Not driving for a few days, going somewhere cool, and on the way become a regular on the boat. As long as I can plug in the laptop, this is ideal.

Thanks!

And so it ends

Posted on by
20

The project is finished at last. Kids will be able to learn the alphabet now, thanks to me and dozens of other dedicated people, even in Canada where they say ‘zed’ instead of ‘zee’. I’m no longer tied to high-speed Internet and expensive hotels. I can go where I want and do what I want. I can devote myself to Jer’s Software Hut and to writing novels.

I had been looking forward to seeing the message all day. There were a couple of last-second crises and some fine-tuning of the product that forced me to extend my stay here another day. That was not unexpected; that’s been the way this project has gone.

I read the message. I sighed in relief. It was over at last. We had made something. I read the message again. I wanted to write everyone on the project and tell them how much I had enjoyed working with them, but I didn’t know what to say. I read the message again. It was very short. I did not feel the rush of joy I had expected. In fact, I felt much like I had driving away from my house for the last time, when I first took to the road.

The project had been an anchor for me both figuratively and literally. It had limited my movement when my life is supposed to be all about movement. It also provided stability, and regular contact with other people. It was my last anchor. Now, if I don’t keep my sail up I will drift. I still have stars to guide me, and ports to pull into, but I blow where the wind takes me and I could easily get lost.

Maybe the rush of joy will be all the stronger later, when the freedom sinks in. I don’t know. When I read that message today the world got bigger. Scary bigger.

Thanks!

Why the Stanley Cup is the Best Trophy in Sports

Posted on by
8

Simple rules for trophies:

There can be only one.
The trophy itself must have a history.

There are three big sports in America, and Hockey trying to become the fourth but shooting itself in the foot every time it gets close. Each superbowl you hear that “the blahblahblahs have won the Vince Lombardi Trophy!” Wrong. As anyone from the Czech Republic who has after some struggle mastered the difference between “the” and “a” can tell you, when you say “the” you imply uniqueness. “The Vince Lombardi Trophy” says that there is only one. Pish. They make a new one every year. When a team wins the Superbowl, they get a trinket to display forever. When a team wins the Stanley Cup, they have the trophy only as long as they remain champions.

There are many such trophies. Many of these totems are passed between only two teams, symbols of rivalry and substance of respect. I have a friend with a lump of coal. The challenge every Christmas is to give it to someone else within the circle. If they open the gift, they inherit the coal for the next year. It’s an antitrophy, but the principle applies. There is only one lump of coal, and all in the family know its every fissure. All in the family can recite the entire history of the lump, who got fooled which year and how. It is a great trophy.

The Stanley Cup has history. There was a time no one knew where it was until it turned up in a bar, where it was being used as a spittoon. Better, it has the name of every player on every team that has won the trophy engraved into it. That’s why there’s a little cup and a huge base now. To make room for the history. When a team wins the cup – the cup – they take turns circling the rink with the cup. They hold it over their heads and shout senselessly for their victory lap. But they are holding in their hands the name of every player who has ever done the same thing, and their name will be added soon. Later they will read every name on the cup, and they will get a shiver as they imagine another player, 100 years from now, reading theirs. Once your name is etched into that surface, you are a champion forever.

1

Thanks!

Hockey night in Edmonton

Posted on by
3

Location: Cedar Park Inn, Edmonton (map)
Miles: 4070.2

There were three things I promised to write about: Robert the quintessential Canadian, ten beers, and Canadian turncoats. Unfortunately, the ‘ten beers’ part has sort of dulled my memories of the other two.

I was at a bar called Mo’s. Mo was my bartender. I saw a barstool and grabbed it. I needn’t have worried. The first of my Rickard’s Reds was quickly on its way. I settled in.

I won’t go into detail; the experience just wasn’t the same. They didn’t cheer when the Flames came out onto the ice. They didn’t sing O Canada with one voice. There was not the same electric anticipation. The passion wasn’t there.

The game began. The first time Florida scored there was significant cheering in the bar. The second time Florida scored there was even more. There was a significant percentage of that bar that preferred seeing the cup melt in Florida than rest in the city down the highway. I thought of them as Canadian turncoats.

That wasn’t really fair, however. Rather it was fair, but I have to recognize that if the Dodgers were playing for the world championship against the Kyoto Carp (I know there’s a Kyoto team, and I know there’s a team named the carp, but it would be an amazing coincidence if there actually were a Kyoto Carp. But I digress.), I would not root for the Dodgers, the team up the road, simply because they were American. But if the world series had been won by Japan for several years in a row, or perhaps more appropriately if baseball was slowly being sucked from its roots and transplanted to China, where there are plenty of potential fans but for the most part they simply don’t understand the sport, and you watch your teams over the years moving far away into strange lands, then perhaps there would be a place for national pride to transcend local rivalries.

For the latter part of the game and some time after, I sat next to Robert. He was middle-aged, a little overweight, and congenial. He had had his head in his hands for much of the third period, so his greying combover was standing up. Not only did he append his questions with “eh?”, he appended his statements of fact. “I have two kids, eh.” “Oh, eh, I couldn’t believe that, eh.” He was a thinking man, though, aware of the world but cautious about expressing his opinion.

I’m pretty sure there was more I wanted to say about him, but then there were the ten beers.

Thanks!

The Road to Edmonton

Posted on by
6

Morning came in Calgary and I worked hard right up until checkout time, when I sent an email to Deena (oddly, I think that’s the first time I’ve mentioned her name. She’s the producer on the project I’ve been working on) saying that I would be unreachable for a few hours and I gathered my stuff and quit the room.

Outside is was blowing hard and steady out of the north. I was tempted to drive with the top up again, but while the sky was filled with puffy clouds it didn’t looke like they were going to manage to combine up and amount to anything. I watched them for a few minutes, because they seemed to be forming up in long north-south ranks. I wondered if it was a trick of perspective or of perhaps there was some gigantically long-wavelength resonance in the atmosphere that was pushing the clouds into their slots. That’s the way I was thinking that day, in my interlude between fixing software bugs.

It’s always windy in a convertible, so the top went down and off I went, north. I’m not sure why I chose Edmonton except that I knew I could get the Internet, it was reasonably close, and it was a hockey town. OK, when I put it that way, it’s pretty compelling, but still it would have been wiser to head south, more in the direction of my next destination. Toward where I won’t be racking up hefty roaming charges when the client calls. Wiser, schmiser. I went north.

The highway between Calgary and Edmonton is what you would expect between two large cities, wide, easy, and under construction. When I turned north into the wind I turned off the tunes. The roar of the wind was so fierce that even with the stereo up pretty high I couldn’t tell it was on at all. I wondered what the roar was doing to my ears. Many of my peers have rock ‘n’ roll deafness, I think twenty years of convertibles may have had a similar effect on me (along with the rock ‘n’ roll, of course).

That’s what I did on that drive. I wondered things. On a small highway I’ll turn my headlights on, but on a road like that in the bright sun I won’t. Why? To save electricity. The logic goes like this: You turn off your lights at home to save energy, and your headlights take just as much energy as the lights in your house. That energy has to come from somewhere. Turning off headlights should improve your mileage. And I’m sure it does. Just not measurably. That got me to thinking about how people, when energy is very dear, will diligently turn off lights before driving half a mile to the convenience store for milk. So I’m thinking about the amount of energy a car cruising along the highway consumes relative to a lightbulb. If our engines were rated in watts instead of horsepower, the relationship would be easier to see. But then I thought some more. You can’t compare them outright because the efficiency of producing the energy and transporting it are different. then I thought some more. And some more.

I passed a gas station sitting right next to a refinery with the same brand name. I thought they should put out a sign bragging about how fresh their gas was. “Straight from the refinery to you!”

I thought about thinking about stuff. I thought about thinking about the American Road Myth. I shouted my thoughts into my dictation thingie. “The farther north I go,” I hollered, “The easier it is for me to imagine that I am on a ball, scrambling up the curve of it’s surface.”

“It’s all in my head,” I added.

Thanks!

Calgary

Posted on by
3

The morning broke bright and clear in Canmore. I spent the morning doing a little work and writing about the Hockey game the night before. You might have heard about it. Finally I checked out and loaded up the car. It was chilly, but not top-up chilly. I tied everything down and as I was getting ready to leave when a motorcyclist who was parked next to me noticed the license plate.

“Californ-eye-eh” he said. “You’ve come a long way.”

Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I’m getting anywhere, but he didn’t want to know about that. He and some friends had ridden in from Edmonton for the weekend. “It rained on us the whole way,” he said. “We got soaked.”

“I must have been lucky,” I said.

“Top down the whole way, eh?”

“Pretty much.” I had the top up the first day, from San Diego to Grover Beach. That was more than two months ago. There were other times the top was up, but not when I was traveling.

We chatted a little more. I asked if Edmonton was rooting for the Flames now, or if even the idea of Lord Stanley’s Cup coming to Canada was not enough to overcome the rivalry between the cities. “Oh, during the season, ya kno, no way. But when things get this advanced, we’re all Canadians. Although,” he added, “Half the team is Americans and the other half is Europeans. But you know how it is.” He laughed, I laughed. He recommended I take the old highway 1A down into Calgary, rather than the new highway 1. “More relaxed, ya kno?” I wished him a safe and dry ride home, and pulled out.

I filled up the tank and pointed the car east and down, through foothills covered with lush grass, following a shimmering river. Overhead the sun was becoming more the exception than the rule, and ahead was a solid wall of black. The end of the world. I was heading right toward it. The air abruptly became decidedly colder and somehow fresher. Livelier. I started looking for a place to pull over to put the top up. I was driving along a stretch of road with ditches immediately on either side. In my head I was tallying the value of the electronics lying exposed to the weather when I finally found a spot. I pulled off the long straight road as far as I could, unloaded, put the top up, and reloaded. I had gone less than a mile when it started to rain hard.

This will sound strange to anyone not from Southern California, but I had no idea how my tires were going to handle the rain. They have a lot of miles on them and will need replacing soon. It had been many months and thousands of miles since they – or I – had driven in significant rain. People joke about how many accidents there are when there is the slightest sprinkle in San Diego. I expect part of it is that after all those months, people have no idea their tires are bald and their wiper blades are shot. But I digress.

I got to Calgary and found a hotel for the night. I figured this would be a good place to see my work to completion, but there were simply no rooms at all in the city for the following days. None. There is a big petroleum conference in town this week. One hotel guy suggested I try Canmore.

No matter. I had a place for sunday night and an excellent Internet connection. I got a lot of work done. I had been invited to a chinese restaurant/lounge in Calgary by the woman next to me while I watched the hockey game, but I didn’t make it down to that part of town. This is what has become of me. I passed up a chance at a free beer. She had been pretty enthusiastic about my road trip as well, asking questions that in other circumstances I might have found leading, but she was just friendly. Her husband was friendly too.

In Calgary, then, ensconced in a nice but pricey room, I had a little time on my hands, so I went to find a bar nearby. I landed a block away at a place called earl’s. earl’s could have the slogan, “We’re pricey, but we’re trendy.” I nearly turned around and left when I saw the fancy decor, but the hostess caught me while I was trapped in indecision and therefore easily led. The hostess was also very attractive.

The entire staff was clearly chosen for their looks as well as their outgoing personalities. earl’s report card – price: D; ambience: D (unless you like that sort of thing); service: A. I had no urge whatsoever to become a regular there, nor I suspect, would the management be that excited about having me as a regular. I had some good food and pounded my head against The Monster Within for a while.

After that it was work and figuring out where I would sleep the following night. I knew it had to be a Hockey town.

Thanks!

Google Quickie

Posted on by
5

Had a couple of good ones lately:

  • Google: two beers – whoever visited didn’t leave any new languages, though. When checking the search I came across another “two beers” collection here. (My collection can be found here.)
  • perfectnav.com: calgary flames were screwed
  • Google: no pants day calendar
  • Google: hitchhiking myth
  • msn: weed
  • Google: lucky squirrel cult
  • Google: megan smells – my favorite! Links to this.

As always, there’s La Dolce Vida, relatively few rutabagas, and one polkacide.

Thanks!

Danger…?

Posted on by
10

Between Calgary and Edmonton I saw several signs that looked like this:


It was a good thing these warnings were up. Those unicyclists juggling while on a rough road can be a real hazard.

Thanks!

Stuff

Posted on by
2

Alas, I have not the time to discuss

  • Robert the quintessential Canadian
  • Ten beers
  • Canadian Turncoats

I have a lot in common with the turncoats. What I do not have now is time to write about it. Sit tight, dear readers. It will come.

Thanks!

Hockey Night in Canada

Posted on by
4

Location: Boston Pizza, Canmore, Canada (map)
Miles:3799.1

I woke up fluffy-headed and groggy, none too enthusiastic about breakfast, but I knew that what I needed more than anything was some good greasy breakfast food. I shambled down to the dining room of the hotel, where I had a 10% off coupon. Plus, I didn’t have to go out into the daylight to reach it. The dining room was overrun with little old ladies (well, they weren’t all little) wearing vests that identified them as belonging to the Fraternal Order of Eagles. An odd fraternity, I thought, with no men evidence. I assume they had stashed their husbands elsewhere. The women were getting ready to go into a meeting of some sort, so they had all had breakfast at the same time. I don’t think the hotel was ready for that kind of rush. They were doing their best to keep up, but there was just no way they could.

I sat and read the menu about fourteen times, wishing I had brought my book or my laptop down with me. Finally I ordered two eggs over easy and hash browns and toast. $4 Canadian, less the whopping 40 cents off for the coupon. “No meat?” the waitress asked, surprised. Breakfast without any meat? Who was this strange man? After not too long my food came (sunny side up but firm whites, with just a few crunchy bits around the edges – not bad at all) and I managed to eat most of it.

Back in the room I puttered around for a bit. I managed to find an AOL 800 number that (for a fee) allowed me to check email and look at the comments on this site. Finally I schlepped my stuff out to the car. It was my first day driving without a bright sun to cook me. The sky was gray, but with texture, like a bowl of gray popcorn overhead. Rain in the future? With the car loaded, it takes a few minutes to go from top-down to top-up, and the computer equipment probably didn’t like getting wet. I put the top down and piled all the stuff in.

After one wrong turn I headed north, toward the jagged mountains that stretched across the horizon, the teeth of a giant table saw cutting the world asunder, the teeth trimmed in white. The gloom did not mar the drive. At Radium Hot Springs I turned right and headed into the <I’ll put the name here after I look it up> national park. That was a good choice. As soon as I paid my entrance fee I found myself passing through a deep cut in the rock, and when I came out the other side there were big-horn sheep grazing by the road. One of them had big horns indeed. I drove up a valley between two rows of mountains. The road was in good condition and an easy drive. All along they way there were signs that read “Avalanche Zone. Do not stop.” as well as the usual animal crossing signs, which seemed to indicate that there were certain areas reserved for deer to cross, others for big-horn sheep, elk, and moose.

Canada is a bilingual country, so all the signs were in both French and English. I found the translations for place names to be funny. “Dog Lake” became “Lac Dog”. I had to wonder why, if they translated the word lake, why they didn’t also translate dog? Lac Dog. There was also “Somethingorother Glacier” Which translated to “Glacier Somethingorother”

There was also ample evidence that there had been a very big wildfire in the area not too long ago. It was another relatively dry winter up here, so there’s probably more of that to come.

Originally I had thought to stay in Banff, famed for it’s mountain splendor. I drove into town and looked around for a bit, and I’m sure I could have found broadband Internet there, but the whole place was a little too cute for my taste. Modern rustic taken to extreme. It looked expensive as well. Back onto the highway for me, heading east toward Calgary. I’m glad I decided to stop in Canmore. It’s still nice, but not in a prefabricated Disney MountainLand sort of way. The first hotel didn’t have broadband access (“We’re putting it in soon”) but the very helpful girl at the counter called around until she found a place that did. (Note to self: email best western and commend her – whatever her name was.) So here I am, Web-enabled with only a few annoying hiccups.

At the desk as I was checking in, I asked where would be a good place to watch the game that night. No need to say which game. He recommended Boston Pizza, which surprised me, but it was a good choice. I got there not long before the game started. The restaurant has a bar area with a big-screen TV. The room was full, but there was one empty stool at the bar, just waiting for me. I settled in and wished I had something red to wear, surrounded as I was by Flames jerseys. The room cheered when The Star Spangled Banner played, and the whole room sang along to O, Canada. There was a cheer as the team came out onto the ice, and an extra loud cheer for the goalie. There were as many women as men in the room, and they all knew their hockey. I have never watched a hockey game in a bar while surrounded with such enthusiasm. It was infectious. I was a Flames fan, through and through. (The woman sitting next to me at the bar asked me if I was a Flames fan, and I answered quite truthfully, “Of course! Hockey belongs in Canada. What do they know about Hockey in Florida?” I did admit that I had not always been a Flames fan, but she forgave me that.)

To finish so I can hit the road, the game was great fun, but the Flames lost in the second overtime. CBC coverage of the game was very good, better than American coverage. They don’t have to explain as much. they just make comments like, “That was stupid. That kind of trick doesn’t work here!” I don’t think the restaurant was getting very good service, the waitresses were all standing at the entrance to the lounge, watching the game. A whole row of pretty hockey fans. Who could ask for more?

Here’s the view from my hotel room this morning:
viewfromhotelincanmore.jpg

Thanks!

Funny Money

Posted on by
5

Got a build done for the client and got onto the road about 2:30 – not as early as I would have liked. I came down into Colville and gave Bob a call to thank him and decided to grab a quick bite at McDonalds. It was not a quick bite. I waited in line, trapped by the cars behind me, for several minutes. When I reached the order box what I heard was “Sorry for the wait. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” Finally it was my chance to order. “I’ll just want a Quarter Pounder with no cheese and a medium Coke,” I said. I watched on the panel (to ensure accuracy) as she rang up a quarter pounder with cheese, hold the cheese. I thought of trying to explain to her what she had done, but at that point it simply wasn’t worth forty cents to me. When I got to the first window, the 50ish woman took my money and apologized for the delay. Not all McDonald’s are the same. Some are worse.

On the road at last, burger sitting heavy in belly and caffeine increasing my heart rate, I took Highway 20 east out of town. At the outskirts of town there was the faint smell of skunk, my totem animal if they’ll have me, and I decided that was a good omen. I had put on plenty of sunscreen while waiting in the drivethrough, so I was protected. I put Stiff Little Fingers in the CD player and blasted Suspect Device.

At mile 3490.2 (kilometer 5628.2) I was quizzed briefly by a nice Canadian Customs lady and I crossed into Canada. I have never been to Canada before, so I was pretty excited. The only real changes I noticed were the speed limits were in km/h, and one in four cars had Calgary Flames flags attached to them.


I followed a route recommended by Bob, largely on the strength of a bar he liked. Traffic was not bad and I made good time, arriving at Kokanee Cove Pub at suppertime. I looked over the menu and decided to splurge a bit – I had to have the barbecue prawns in secret butter sauce (I a sucker for secrets), but that didn’t seem like a meal so I had the steak and prawn combo. Of course, I also ordered a beer. The beers seemed a little on the pricey side until I realized that these were Canadian Dollars. Woo Hoo! That was like 20% off or more right there.

After dinner I made the short trip up to Cranbrook to find a place to sleep. I searched high and low for high-speed Internet but without success. The responses ranged from “We don’t have any access to the Internet of any kind,” to “We’re planning to put that in soon” to “We have two rooms with the Internet, but they’re both taken” and finally “We have one room left with high-speed. It’s a Jacuzzi suite and it’s $350.” That’s too much even in Canadian dollars. Finally I just gave up and went somewhere cheap near a bar.

I ended up just going to the hotel bar instead of the one I saw next door. My laptop battery was dead and the hotel lounge was deserted, so I knew I could find somewhere to plug in. It worked out well, too. They had a good pale ale on tap for a good price (unusual in hotel lounges). I had four of them over the next couple of hours and as you may be able to tell from the last episode, written while I was there, I got pretty loopy. That must have been a pretty potent ale. I went back to my room and tried to connect to AOL, but I couldn’t figure out which numbers were local.

I woke up in the wee hours still on top of the covers, shoes on, an arm over my eyes to keep the light out. I want to know what my waitress put in that beer.

Thanks!