Archive for July, 2011
The Tree That Wouldn’t
Posted by Nadia in Getting There on July 28, 2011
Driving a bus and trailer is sometimes difficult in the city. At least a short bus is quite a bit easier than a big one.
We were in Abbotsford BC. Dan wanted to visit his father, who was staying at an elderly assisted living facility there. I was driving the bus as we pulled into the crowded parking lot. There was a path around the bulk of the cars in the middle, I recalled, with not too much room to spare. I eased the bus to the far corner, and beheld a tight path, between a curb protecting a grassy verge and a tree, and a shiny blue truck. I kept the bus close to the curb, on the outside of my turn, and watched the trailer follow around. It looked like it was gonna clear the blue truck, but the space was not generous. It was an awfully shiny truck.
I crept the bus forward, eyes flicking between the road ahead and the side view mirror showing a limited slice of what was to my side.
*crunch* *pop*
I froze, foot planted on the brake, eyes wide. I met Dans eyes in the rearview mirror.
Oh right, that tree.
I threw the bus into park, and slid out of the door. Sure enough, the big tree had one thick branch thrust out over the roadway, already bearing scars of encounters past. This branch had halted our progress by way of my costume box. The sturdy blue lid, survivor of rain, snow, and being shipped greyhound, was flattened. Blue plastic fragments littered the ground beside the tree. Fiddlesticks.
I got back in, reversing the bus gingerly. The trailer jinked sideways, jackknifing slowly. Dan guided me as I heeled the bus over, away from the defiant tree. The bus nosed forward, the trailer cleared the shiny blue truck, and the tree merely menaced our roof storage.
I climbed up, and surveyed the damage. I would need a new roof storage box. One cargo strap had been pulled off, but was still good. The custom built shiny aluminum roof rack was thankfully unharmed. (Don’t worry Justin, I won’t be whining at you for a welding repair. Yet.)
The problem with roof bins is you have to get a good one. And good ones are hard to find unless you are willing to spend four times the amount on a bin that was actually made to ride strapped to a vehicle. I was not about to shell out megabucks for a Thule, and the rubbermaid hingelids were all but useless. You couldn’t even run across the tops of them, for heaven’s sake!
Sadly, todays casualty was my best bin. A GSC extra heavy duty with a securely clipping lid, reinforced top that could be stood on, and foam tape I had added to seal the lid when closed. It was also big enough to fit my gargoyle wings and at least half my costuming stuff. All, if you didn’t could the stilts or foam rabbit ears. Or fox costume… Ok, I might have outgrown one bin. Don’t judge me.
The resilient lid of my costume box had never been designed for tree encounters. A large piece of the leading corner was missing, and one top ridge was split. My costumes were exposed to the light BC drizzle. This was A Situation, to be sure.
After the visit, we made our way to Walmart. the bins there had lousy flat clip on lids, stuff you could dislodge with a firm blow of your hand. The tooltotes were small, and expensive. They looked sturdy, however. They had no GSC products at all.
Home Depot had some cheap rubbermaid hingetops. Those things had flimsy lids that didn’t even fasten. That may be fine for storing your christmas tinsel in the safety of your basement, but was utterly impracticle for bus top use. I bought one on sale, because I needed temporary containment for my costumes on this rainy day. We still had a ferry to catch today, and no time for this unplanned errand. I turned to the internet, where a little google-fu revealed the GSC Product toll free number.
I navigated my way thru the automated phone system, preparing myself for my shot at interacing with a real live person. Like a well trained monkey, I pushed the right buttons.
“Welcome to Big Name Company, manufacturers of Amazing Summer Clothes and Superiour Patio Furniture, and GSC Storage Solutions. Press one for English. Pour Service en Francais….” *bloop*
“….Press three for GSC products….” *bleep* One step closer to actual living beings. It is amazing how the big companies are interwoven, where all their branches are. “… Press one for Sales……” *bloop*
“GSC Sales.” A tired voice answered. Over the road noise of the moving bus, I miss his small voice at first. “Hello?”
“Oh hi!” I startle out like a stereotypical cheerleader. That’s me, lightning fast reflexes when actually reaching my goal. “I was hoping to get some information from you on where to buy a certain GSC tote box.”
“Right, do you have the model number?” His voice emerges muffled, like he has the phone cradled on his shoulder.
Oh right. That’s what I was supposed to do, when I was peering up at the label that has miraculously survived life atop the bus.
“Ummm..”
“Tell me what it looks like.” he interrupts me with. I can nearly hear him rolling his eyes. I bet the sales office of the big company doesn’t get too many calls from confused hippies bent on getting just one tote.
“It’s a heavy duty model, grey sides and a blue kinda domed top. About a 150 liter.” That was one thing I picked up in Home Depot. Bins come in fluid measurements. I tend to think of them as Keep Small Items Together size, Could Put Maeg In size and Costume Box sized. I was guessing this sales guy wouldn’t appreciate my sorting system.
“Ok, how tall is it? I need to know, because we have a 125 liter and a 174 liter. Do you know?”
“Oh boy, it could be about…” I temporize.
He cuts me off. “We don’t have a 150 liter, so it has to be one of those.”
I didn’t think the smashed costume box was quite a 174 liter. That sounded like quite the large box.
“The 125 liter?” I hazard.
“Ok, where are you?”
“We are in Abbotsford BC, soon to head to Vancouver. I was hoping to pick a new one up somewhere on our travels…” I have no idea where the call center is located. I hope this guy has heard of BC. I hope he knows where Canada is. Even roughly.
He breaks in “Rona carries most of our products. You do have Rona up there, right?
“Oh yes! That was just the clue I needed.” I am so relieved to know where to begin my search. “Because I just love that tote box. It is the best I have ever owned!” I blathered.
“Right. Glad to help.” he states, sounding anything but. I guess he doesn’t get too many hippies calling in to enthuse about the proud GSC products.
“Oh yes, you certainly have. Thank you again! Bye!” I decide to retreat before I can detect more than a hint of irony in his voice.
That call being done, we proceed to Rona. Sadly, it turns out to be a small store, with only the regular duty totes with hinged lids. These things do not stand up as well to being strapped all out of shape to the top of the bus. I decide to hold out for the extra heavy duty model. Somewhere, out there….
For now, my precious costumes are swapped into the severely inferior rubbermaid hinge top. The lid doesn’t even click shut. I wrapped the cargo straps over it, and cinched them down viciously. Hopefully that will do to keep off the intermittent drizzle.
We press on for Vancouver.
Finding the Ice
Part of bus living as you travel to a certain event (read: have to get your lazy hippy ass to a certain place by a certain time, so you are busting balls to get all your stuff done and make it) is like deploying the troops.
Dan pulled the Comet into a parking lot between two small strip malls. Dan grew up in Abbotsford, so he knows all the cool places. There is a delightful wrap place here, and we also need blocks of ice. Some gas stations sell blocks, in addition to cubes, but Safeway usually carries blocks and cubes in abundance. If you are gonna live in a bus, and you decide not to spring for the fridge, cuz you are silly, you will want blocks for your cooler. They last longer.
Dan makes his way to the wraps of Awesomeness, and I head into Safeway. I have my little reusable bag in my hand, and I know exactly what I want. How often does that happen, I ask you? I scan the front wall of the store for the sometimes locked freezer invariably proclaiming ICE in a snow covered decal. Not obviously about, but they don’t get far, now do they? I strode confidently up to a bored looking cashier, smiling.
“Can I get two blocks of ice?” I asked her, making eye contact politely. She stared at me for a moment like I had just asked how much for a night with her sister. One hand reached for the phone next to her till.
“I will call someone for you.” she drawled. I furrowed my brows, and then I remembered all in a rush that Safeway keeps its ice in the freezer aisle, so you can toss them in your cart in the middle of your shopping spree, giving the slacking teenage clean up crew some water droplets to follow. Or to lure you in, I’m not sure which.
“Oh, I forgot. I can…” I lift one hand to forestall her. I am actually capable of getting my own ice. But it is too late.
“Carry out to till three” The disembodied voice crackles over the store speakers.
I try again. “I can go get it, I remember now it’s in the freezer aisle…”
She waves me off, just as a burly woman in a safety vest walks up, and gives me an appraising look. I stand there, holding one hand forestalled and useless in the air. The burly woman raises an eyebrow. I can feel the blush on my cheeks.
“Can you get this girl a couple of ice blocks?” the cashier asks with a certain malicious gleam in her eye.
“Blocks?” Burly Woman asks, looking at me once more. Maybe if I was lucky, she would assume I was injured, and couldn’t lift my own damn ice. Maybe she would just assume I was mentally sideswiped by the challenge of navigating the supermarket aisles.
“Yes.” I replied meekly. Burly Woman strode off, while the cashier turned back to her till in time to see another customer approaching.
“Why don’t you go up to Customer Service to pay.” She shooed me off as a more profitable and less needy person started unloading her purchases onto the conveyer belt.
I slunk up to Customer Service, quietly waiting for my ice to be delivered to me. This cashier was chatting on the phone, and I was just as glad to be ignored. I idly looked at the lighter section, and pondered the nearly magical fact I hadn’t lost the one I carry in my party belt to lend to scattered festival goers who have misplaced theirs.
“…..just hang on a minute.” I heard. And then a little louder: “Can I help you?”
I turned to see the Customer Service cashier leaning over, one hand cupped over the phone.
“Oh, I’m just waiting for my ice..” I stammered.
She spoke over the last bit of my sentence.
“Do you need me to call, or have you paid yet?” Her hand was already hovering over the call button.
“No no!” I nearly yelped. “I have already been helped, I was just told to come pay…” I waved my hand weakly in the direction of the first cashier, and trailed off.
“Ok, well you need to wait until the ice gets here to pay.” She stated, and turned buck to her phone call with a smile. “Look honey, I have some customers now… why don’t you do that? OK, see you later.” Another customer came up to the desk, and I stood aside, wringing my eco-responsible cloth bag.
Burly Woman arrived, in a short time, all considered. She put one block of ice in my bag, and then held the other one up for Customer Service Cashier to scan. I meekly accepted this block, and Burly Woman smiled at me as she walked off, possibly resisting the urge to pat me on the head. Perhaps she assumed my keeper was just outside of the store, seeing if I could carry out simple tasks in a day to day life. Maybe one day I could live among ordinary people again!
Customer Service Cashier swiped my card for me, and held the slip of paper down for me to sign. I got my ice and my reciept, and I got the heck out of there.
Remember, Safeway carries their ice in the big freezers.
Shuswap Morning
The sun crept thru the scattered clouds, hit the trees and left the road dappled before me. The trees stood tall by the road edge, in the slim margin between pitted gravel road and lake bank. The mountain flank reared up above me, to the left. The road cut across its toes, eking out a bare necessity to allow the trucks to thinder past. Then the mountain reclaimed her base, and plunged ever steeper into the lake. It was rocky, big jagged black boulders, little ones that had broken off, equally toothy. The drop off under the water mirrored the steep hill above, leaving little that could be considered proper wading depth. As far as I knew, the bottom of this lake had never really been plumbed. Plenty deep, as the locals would say, nodding sagely.
Except the locals had by and large vanished, or at least taken to hiding every year. And the big lumber trucks didn’t pass this way much any more. I can recall as a child, being woken up by the trucks passing the cabin every hour or less. To my country softened ears, the whooshing roar was startling in the extreme.
Now, this gravel road winding along the base of the mountains, once so vital to the lumber trail, this road is quiet, and possible to walk along. At this early hour, the lake beside me is calm and quiet. The previous day, being a sunny Sunday, it was torn with pleasure boats, cut to a seething surface by boat wakes. The craft had darted all over its surface on the only sunny day in a week.
I had watched from the shore.
Today, I strolled along the shore. Monday morning, not even that early. The lake was still, not a single craft on the surface propelled along. The boats sat at anchor, bobbing in the water. The occasional bird flitted out from the trees, to skim the surface of the water before swooping back up in acrobatics to make the land bound envy.
The dogs trotted out before me, ranging back and forth on the road, seeking the elusive scents on the breeze. A squirrel chittered angrily, and both dogs dashed in to the trees. I paced along the worn gravel road, the rocks all long flung off. A rotted tree jutted out of the water nearby, pointing at the mountain top. An eagle or hawk of a great size soared out above my head. The jingle of the dogs collar heralded their return, and they trotted past me, scouting the way.
I took a deep breath of muggy air, and smiled. Just another lousy day in paradise.
Slate and Nuthatches
Small birds flitted about the wire feeder strapped to the tree. I watched the red breasted nuthatch peck at the seedcake within, others below the feeder, searching the ground. The diffuse sunlight brightened the scene only a little. Clouds blanketed the flank of the mountain, softening the edges of the day. The exposed wood beams framed the window, framing the day in turn. I reposed within a two room cabin, crouched on the hillside. The wood stove rested cold this morning, the embers from last night having given their heat some hours before. The iron oxide slate floor gave no heat back, leaving the wooden floor on the other half of the room to warm the space. I reclined on a cushy chair, keeping my feet off the floor, and tucked under a caribou hide.
Dan and I had driven a few hours west of Calgary to Golden the night before, and we were now guesting at Graham’s cabin. Last night, Babz had taken us out on the town. I had held the picture of Golden as a quaint little town set in the mountains. Apparently it is chock full of river rafting guides, and they know how to party! We traipsed from bar to bar, ending up at a house at one point. There was a great deal of drinking, and a few tables got flipped over. At one point, I looked up just in time to see a ghostbuster throw himself into a shrub, disappearing into the neighbor’s yard. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the rcmp showed up shortly after this, clearing out the party. As the designated driver, I found myself on the fringes of the party, and was able to stroll off discreetly. Our little group all escaped unscathed, and on to the next bar.
Finally, the night drew to a close, shortly after we had tossed all our quarters off the bar, in an attempt to hit a small glass. Now quarterless, we piled into the truck. I stood next to the driver’s door, as all within got settled, and sorted out seatbelts. I could see the bright lights of a truck behind us, just sitting on the street. A discreet glance revealed the outline of lights on the roof. Rather unsurprising the rcmp’s had found us here, the majority of the group. Searching for seatbelts for everyone was well underway, and I was loath to move from the spot without all being buckled in. I figured there was no way we were just driving off. These cops were just waiting for us.
Fortunately, we had chosen a dd at the beginning of the night. And that was me. Sigh. I was not looking forward to having a nice chat with grumpy cops. Nor performing a field sobriety test. I slipped my heels off, my feet aching from traipsing all over town. If I had been drinking, maybe I wouldn’t feel my feet, I reflected wryly.
Just as I was getting settled in the truck, familiarizing myself with the controls, a flurry of movement on the corner caught my eye. Some of the more rowdy members of the group had made their way there, after being shooed out of the bar. it looked like they had decided to continue their antics out here.
The cop truck moved off our tail, and stalked the wayward partiers. We didn’t stick around to question our good fortune, but took the chance to drive off. A short jaunt thru the dark woods, down a paved, then graveled road, and we were safely back at the cabin.
Wherever you are, Be There 