Clouds

Another 1,000 miles down

After crossing the border into Idaho I crossed the 13,000 mile threshold. From Prince George to Idaho I drove through British Columbia and part of western Alberta. There were barely any straight sections of road as the hill and mountains deformed the terrain.

At on point on the Trans Canadian 1 from Banff to Vancouver I drove under a very large new bridge. This bridge obviously made the road much straighter and easier to drive. It was at least 100 feet high towering above the narrow river valley below. I would have taken a picture if not for the signs saying "Do Not Stop" (right before one that said "Prepare to Stop"). After looking up at this brand new advancemenr I glanced down to see the remnants of the old road, smaller than the one I was on. When I saw this I imagined my grandparents on their honeymoon in 1949 traveling the same route, certainly on the smaller old road. I wonder if they looked up to see the construction of my section and thought, next time this'll be a faster and easier road. Because that's certainly what I thought as I gazed up at the 3rd visible incarnation of this road. I've had the thought all over, I wonder how this looked 60 years ago. I imagine the trees and mountains are indistinguishable whereas the buildings, towns, and roads have certainly aged. While progress may seem like a continuum, change happens in steps, sometimes in leaps, others at a snails pace. I hope that my pictures and stories will give me a basis to compare the change when I do this again.

Travels with Charlie

I’m reading an excellent book by John Steinbeck, "Travels with Charlie" that my friend Jeremiah got for me at the famous Powell’s in Portland. It’s a story of the writer deciding at 58 to travel solo around the country in a truck with a camping topper to really see the country in his stories. I’m less than a third of the way through, yet I’ve observed many of the same phenomenon he witnessed 45 years ago, including the shrinking of small towns and the growth of big cities.

I even met one of the character types that he met in a diner. The waitress he desrcibes as one "who can drain off energy and joy, can suck pleasure dry and get no sustenance from it. Such people spread a greyness in the air about them" (47).

Yesterday just before the sun set under a low cloudy ceiling I crossed the empty border from Canada into Idaho. As I pulled up to the window a man came to the only open booth waving for me to stop. It turns out I’d coasted through the first of two stop signs one car length apart. After not seeing any cars in either direction for a few minutes, I guess I figured I’d just roll up to the window and get the crossing over with. For some reason I always get nervous at borders because the border officers have so much power at their disposal, they can hold and search you, make your crossing very difficult. And there’s not much you can say. After appologizing several times to an unaccepting shaking head, I pulled out my passport and handed it to the Irish grinch. He thumbed through it more carefully than I’ve ever experienced. He skipped the Russian and French visas, and asked about my many stamps from England and the Chunnel. Then he picked up the Irish ones and asked before I could answer his previous question, what I’d done there. I said instictively I’d gone to Ballynahinch to visit my grandparents. To which he quickly responded "County Gallway, ok." He said the Sweenies are part owners, which totally surprised me. Not only did he know of this small lake area but he also knew the names of some of the owners. I asked if he was Irish and received a curt "yeah". I thought this commonality between us would crack the frigid facade. The tone of his last utterance should have contradicted my assumption, but it didn’t, I tried to ask another question as he rapidly closed the window and waved me on. He went back and sat at the computer that he was blankly starring into as I pulled up. Mind you, no cars had come or gone in either direction during this exchange, so there was no rush.