Forester to truck

Jeff was a Forester on his way from his home in Rossland to pick up the work truck in Nelson. Why he had his thumb out at the Brilliant Rest Area north of Castlegar I wasn’t able to eek out of him. It was a June Sunday afternoon and I was going to Nelson for building materials. He had to have the truck for Monday but his usual travel means/connections weren’t available today.

We chatted about careers, the recent mill shutdowns and their affect on his hometown of Prince George, and our common outdoor pursuits. I dropped him at Hall and Front St and continued to the Hardware store.

Miner to Rilkoff’s

As I was heading into town on errands late one morning, there was a group of folks at the corner of our street and the highway when I stopped to turn. The 3-4 oldsters crossed the highway as I waited and left a young fellow standing with his thumb out. I turned and stopped. That’s when I noticed his big duffle bag, so I got out and opened the bed tonneau to accommodate. We agreed that, although I wasn’t going far, I would take him through town to better his next leg chances.

Gage was a miner from an old Salmo family. He was trying to make his way to a job in northwest B.C. but the promised mileage compensation wouldn’t be paid until he arrived, so the deal he had arranged to finance the drive with his buddy had fallen through. He was also waiting for a credit for an airline ticket. A couple of references to being banned from one certain airline wasn’t really explained but it sounded interesting.

He had his challenges, with an -ex-wife he was trying to co-parent their four-year-old daughter with, and a “hot” girlfriend that wanted nothing to do with any of that. She had aborted his child that he had sought paternity confirmation via ultrasound dating(?) of. Resource workers aren’t always home full-time. I never asked anything about any of that.

He enlightened me on B.C.’s Golden Triangle and the latest Aussie purchases, influences and questionable operating practices. I had a lot of questions about all that.

His goal was to make it to a buddy’s place in Sicamous for a bed and to get the rest of his travel plans sorted. It was going to be in the high 30’s and I was glad he was near the store for shade and/or fluids. He was sincerely appreciative of the short lift.

Staff to Shambhala

I left the Lake early Monday to get over the steep passes in the cool morning. I made it over the Bonanza and was happily coasting down the east side at about 6 AM when I saw a vehicle and group of people on the wide shoulder. It was a long stretch and I was booming along. These days we assume everyone stopped has a phone and doesn’t need our help. That has changed in my lifetime from when you always slowed by stopped vehicles on the road as a precursory check to their situation and whether to stop or not. So still I pay attention to who and what.

This group was mostly on the road side of the vehicle and I saw a thumb or two raised as I sped by. I also saw, soon enough, their group dejection and disapproval as even the hippie van wasn’t slowing. Those signs made me brake and gear down in a hurry. I had to back-up aways to get to them.

“Are you going to Shambhala?” one of them asked. “No” I replied. Another bit of group disappointment was noticed. “Castlegar?”. “Yep, and beyond” I said. Eyes lit up, shoulders raised. The one sitting sideways in the driver’s seat shared that they had a broken driveshaft and a tow truck wouldn’t be dispatched until 6:30 AM. They had been stopped since 1130 last night. I assured them that they were likely at the top of the dispatch list and a wrecker would be coming soon after. Of the five, four were volunteers and one had a shift at Shambhala “in about four minutes”. I only had room for one so we agreed that he was the ride lottery winner!

Damien was a working musician from Vancouver. He had connected with the others in the roadside group via FB messenger for the ride share from the coast and he hadn’t been through the southern interior before. They had been having a good trip with stops and enjoying the views along Route 3. His prior experience with the Vancouver Folk Music Festival had helped him with getting this first staff position with Shambhala. We talked alot about the status of the music business, creativity and integrity. We were just delving into the current North American political landscape when we arrived at Salmo. Conversation shortened as we looked for road signs to the event. With directions and assistance from the happy folks on the entrance road, I was able to drive him right in to the site office, turn around and exit. It was cool to see the beginnings of the festival and already a varied cross-section of folks and dress. I didn’t get any images, but stopped at the highway to check the boat and was on my way to the Kootenay pass, the last and worst of them, while it was still cool.

A boy, a boat and his uncle

On the way west along that same pass we saw, on the opposing shoulder, a boat, trailer and truck with an obvious damaged-beyond-flat-tire wheel. A young man and boy stood beside, waving. We stopped and asked what they needed. Their best plan was to return to the lake and family for rescue operations. Pete and Dylan squeezed in amongst the hastily cleared spot in the much loaded Westy. They were bummed about not making it east as planned, Pete had to work Monday, but glad to be close to their people for help. We dropped them at Alpine Point.

Worldly Mushroom Picker

Returning north on the logging roads of Haida Gwaii we saw someone on the side of the road. There isn’t much going on in these parts aside from logging and questionable touristing practices such as ours. We had spent a day and night at Moresby Camp, about as far south as you can drive on the islands. Not tracking the tide to our trip, it was out and we weren’t paddling. We stopped. What was a young woman doing out here, alone? Laura, from Chiapas Mexico was leaving the mushroom picking after one day, five hours of being lost and dropping all her ‘shrooms. This summer job is akin to tree planting job and can be quite lucrative if everything aligns. This year it hadn’t worked out for Laura. She was making her way to Sandspit and eventually Montreal to meet her boyfriend. She squeezed into the rear Westy mess and we stopped for lunch on our way to drop her at Sandspit.

Westy rescues

Alternator – The first big trip with our Westfalia van aka “The Westy” was to The Gorge, Washington for the Labour Day DMB weekend concert. We were stopping and dropping Kacy and Becker at the Lake where the rest of the clan was gathering. We overnighted at the Raging Elk hostel in Fernie and the next day just east of Creston the van quit. Luckily there were some driveways on the highway nearby so Becker and I went to explore the first. We saw “No Trespassing”, “Security by Smith and Wesson”, “We don’t call 911” signs nailed to trees along the way. Returning to the highway, we walked up the next drive but couldn’t find anyone home. Back to brave possible target practice up the first drive, I yelled a few “Hello”s as we climbed the steep road in the trees. Once we were up on a flat clearing an older fellow wandered out of his shop wearing a “World’s Greatest Grandpa” t-shirt. Mike was immediately friendly and when I explained our situation and lack of cell service he was over-accommodating. I used his land-line to find a replacement alternator and arrange a tow truck. He recommended High Calibre, a good garage to tow the Westy to. Because the wrecker could only carry two, Mike gave Tami and Kacy a ride into Creston as well. The shop owner Tony was also friendly and helpful, confirming the pooched alternator with his diagnostic tool. Doug arrived with the alternator and I borrowed a prybar from Brian to complete the repair.

Our next trip back that way, we stopped with a homemade Saskatoon pie and a six pack of Big Rock beer for both those fine fellows.

Shifter – On the return leg of that same trip the shifter failed as we approached Manning Park Lodge. We made it into the parking lot and I pulled the boot off to confirm the shifting problem was a broken stick shift. I tried to cobble it together with some rolled plastic sheet and tape. Initial parking lot tries proved to be less than successful. The parking lot trials and having the tool box out and scattered about attracted the attention of a couple of the park worker lads. They surveyed my shifter situation, offered to look for more suitable material at the maintenance shop and returned with some sheet metal. This provided much better performance when wrapped and heavily duct-taped around the stick. They were so pleased to have helped us, as we thanked them and went on our way. Their fix made it all the way, albeit with some funky shift moves as it got wobblier, to Grand Forks where a copper pipe sleeve upgrade helped us back to Langdon.

Fuel – Once when we were returning and a few kilometers north of home, the Westy stopped again. I suspected fuel but after a bit of fiddling about, and being so close to home, we decided to walk the rest of the way and return with a gas can. As we walked south alternating between the narrow shoulder, steep transition and bug-infested level a young fellow slowed, stopped and asked if we wanted a ride. Of course we did and accepted the lift form the local. We returned later with fuel to confirm the gauge was inaccurate.

Samaritan Mom

I heard this from Mom, in her usual low-key-just-wanting-to-share tone and then later from one of the sibs. Somehow she met a young mom and daughter who were stranded at the town bus depot, which was just a room off the lobby of one of the ancient hotels. I can’t remember how that occurred or what the gal’s predicament or needs were, other than a safe place for her and her daughter for the night. Mom would have been in her 70’s, widowed and living on an acreage 4km out of town. She brought the girls home for the night, returning them to their journey the next day. Probably after a breakfast and maybe a twenty dollar bill tucked in somewhere.

True travellers are of a community that generally tries to help others on the road. If you’re not, then you’re just passing through.