It only took an hour to get picked up this morning, but the ride turned out to be pretty useless. I was dumped in the middle of nowhere, an hour outside of Calgary.
There were no stores, no access to food or water (though fortunately I had both) if I ended up getting stuck here for days.
This spot looked pretty damn similar to the spot that me and friend had gotten stuck at for two days the year before. Great.
It was time for some cosmic manipulation.
I used my devious mind to suck the sympathy out of all the douche bags whipping by who weren't picking me up. I flipped over my sign (REGINA!) and wrote WATER? on the back.
Holding that sign high, I began to wonder... did the people passing by honestly have no water? Or did they just not give a shit about a potentially dehydrated man standing alone hours away from civilization? Whatever, fuck 'em.
Regardless, someone pulled over pretty quickly - a black dude from Kenya, who worked for CP Rail of all places. He didn't have any water, but he'd felt so bad that he pulled a U-turn a click down the road to come back and grab me.
The ride passed through stories of train hopping and railway safety and secrets; two opposite ends of the Railway spectrum. I was the criminal, he was the worker.
He dropped me off an hour down the road and left me with 20 bucks, an uplifted mood, and a new hope. These had been the first proper conversations I'd had in weeks. There was still a chance for my brain to restore itself.
Hopefully, the next ride would be from an astrophysicist - or a psychologist - and then I'd have some truly mind-bending conversations.
Alright, brain. We're getting back on track.
Tuesday, 23 July 2013
Retardation 05/13/13
Finally! Time to myself.
I'd been growing tired of talking nonsense for weeks on end. Funny, yes, but talking about ass while snorting wasabi and pouring liquor into your eye doesn't satisfy any intellectual cravings.
I was alone now. I'd just woken up from my nap by the underpass. I was a bit hungover, and a bit dejected in the absence of my friends (particularly Will, seeing as this was the first day we'd spent apart in almost 2 months), but, finally - alone. There would be no more abundant stupidity, no more senseless acts of a retardation complex- so I thought.
Being alone didn't mean these ideas were going to stop. We'd unearthed parts of our psyche that were best left locked up. I stood on the highway for a few hours, thinking with mindless patterns that resonated with the word ass, and otherwise fabricating ridiculous situations in my mind. I urged myself with as much psychological power as I could to THINK! People have brains for a reason. Was this enough to blossom into a contemplative mindset?
I hoped so, but as I stood on the highway with my thumb hung half-assedly over the white line, I wondered. The sun hid itself be hind the horizon, painting the sky in a neon-orange and dumping buckets of golden-yellow across the endless plain, and I began to lose hope. I was still dumb. Maybe it didn't matter if we were together or not.
I pondered, setting up my sleeping bag under the bridge.
This was a problem we'd all started - maybe it was a problem we'd all have to fix.
Ass.
I'd been growing tired of talking nonsense for weeks on end. Funny, yes, but talking about ass while snorting wasabi and pouring liquor into your eye doesn't satisfy any intellectual cravings.
I was alone now. I'd just woken up from my nap by the underpass. I was a bit hungover, and a bit dejected in the absence of my friends (particularly Will, seeing as this was the first day we'd spent apart in almost 2 months), but, finally - alone. There would be no more abundant stupidity, no more senseless acts of a retardation complex- so I thought.
Being alone didn't mean these ideas were going to stop. We'd unearthed parts of our psyche that were best left locked up. I stood on the highway for a few hours, thinking with mindless patterns that resonated with the word ass, and otherwise fabricating ridiculous situations in my mind. I urged myself with as much psychological power as I could to THINK! People have brains for a reason. Was this enough to blossom into a contemplative mindset?
I hoped so, but as I stood on the highway with my thumb hung half-assedly over the white line, I wondered. The sun hid itself be hind the horizon, painting the sky in a neon-orange and dumping buckets of golden-yellow across the endless plain, and I began to lose hope. I was still dumb. Maybe it didn't matter if we were together or not.
I pondered, setting up my sleeping bag under the bridge.
This was a problem we'd all started - maybe it was a problem we'd all have to fix.
Ass.
Thursday, 18 July 2013
Delusional 05/13/13
The day hadn't turned out as good as expected. That's not to say it wasn't a great day - it was, filled with laughter, smiles, and jokes - but it was almost too good. Our sense of humour had declined into such a simplistic state of idiocy that we were incapable of holding a normal conversation with eachother. To add to the fact, we were all pumped full of whiskey, so the thought of an interaction between us, without either
a. making a fucked up face
b. making a fucked up noise, or
c. saying something fucked up and inarticulate,
was incomprehensible.
We'd developed quite the bond together, having realized that the three of us were more fucked than anyone we'd ever met. We delved so deep into the farthest and most truly fucked regions of our brains, uncovering sections of insanity that even we'd been unaware of. Our words were truly fucked, (forgive the overuse of the word fucked, but there are few other words to describe this degree of delusional bullshit), our conversations would drift into sadistic, perverted monstrosities. The ideas we shared would have made Quentin Tarantino quiver in his boots.
The balance was maintained by Karla, our voice of reason. When our minds lapsed so far into perversion that we couldn't handle ourselves, we'd call on her to help us remember that we could talk about something that made at least a little bit of sense.
Anyway, I decided I needed to take a break from my husbands. Take some time to reevaluate my mind, to remember the fraction of intelligence I'd once held dear. Hopefully some time apart would do them good, too.
Once we'd finished the whiskey, Karla's boyfriend was kind enough to drive us to the highway. I decided to let my husbands and Aids head out by themselves. I stayed by the bridge we'd been dropped off at and let myself drift into an uneasy slumber.
It had been a while since I'd been on my own... tomorrow, it would be just me and the Road.
a. making a fucked up face
b. making a fucked up noise, or
c. saying something fucked up and inarticulate,
was incomprehensible.
We'd developed quite the bond together, having realized that the three of us were more fucked than anyone we'd ever met. We delved so deep into the farthest and most truly fucked regions of our brains, uncovering sections of insanity that even we'd been unaware of. Our words were truly fucked, (forgive the overuse of the word fucked, but there are few other words to describe this degree of delusional bullshit), our conversations would drift into sadistic, perverted monstrosities. The ideas we shared would have made Quentin Tarantino quiver in his boots.
The balance was maintained by Karla, our voice of reason. When our minds lapsed so far into perversion that we couldn't handle ourselves, we'd call on her to help us remember that we could talk about something that made at least a little bit of sense.
Anyway, I decided I needed to take a break from my husbands. Take some time to reevaluate my mind, to remember the fraction of intelligence I'd once held dear. Hopefully some time apart would do them good, too.
Once we'd finished the whiskey, Karla's boyfriend was kind enough to drive us to the highway. I decided to let my husbands and Aids head out by themselves. I stayed by the bridge we'd been dropped off at and let myself drift into an uneasy slumber.
It had been a while since I'd been on my own... tomorrow, it would be just me and the Road.
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
Reunion (4) 05/13/13
Her face pressed up close to the window separating me from her as I sat down on a seat at the back of the bus. She waved goodbye, a tear glimmering as the sun bounced back in the reflection of her iris. Our eyes locked. Was she really leaving?
It was so perfect... our gazes recognized each other's as we shared this thought.
Just as the bus began to roll away, she tore herself from the window; swishing tendrils of fire through my heart as she tossed her crimson hair back. She dashed to the front of the bus and flagged down the driver, who slowed down and let her on.
Gallivanting to the back of the bus, she threw her arms in the air and dove into mine (despite the driver's protests about not running on a moving vehicle.)
Our lips locked for a moment as those stupid butterflies burst into flight in our bellies; her hand shooting sparks of excitement into each of our souls. She was doing it! She was coming with me!
We were together!
Finally...
At last...
At last....
At last I opened my eyes to the rude sunrays that penetrated my privacy. Fuck. That had been a dream? I tossed and turned for a bit, trying to return to the embrace of her beauty, but it didn't work, so I spent a second remembering where I was.
I was at Karla's house! Awesome!
I jumped out of bed with a surge of excitement, eager to start the day. The group was back in action.
The year prior, right before Fernweh and I had decided to begin our first cross country trip, we'd ran into Karla at a drop-in center for bums, lazy teens, and people who were genuinely in need.
We'd struck up a quick friendship, and before long, we were planning to accept her into our group.
Skeptical at first (we'd only known her for a couple hours. How could we expect her to drop everything and come traveling?), our doubts gave way into excitement as Karla kept her word and joined us in our excellent expedition.
This year, she'd settled down and gotten a place, and had been nice enough to let us stay there the night before. She was a kind, rational and understanding soul - and, to emphasize this point, I found her working on a breakfast of bacon and eggs to share with us.
Calgary was seeming like a brighter place every day, and this day was starting out to look pretty damn good.
It was so perfect... our gazes recognized each other's as we shared this thought.
Just as the bus began to roll away, she tore herself from the window; swishing tendrils of fire through my heart as she tossed her crimson hair back. She dashed to the front of the bus and flagged down the driver, who slowed down and let her on.
Gallivanting to the back of the bus, she threw her arms in the air and dove into mine (despite the driver's protests about not running on a moving vehicle.)
Our lips locked for a moment as those stupid butterflies burst into flight in our bellies; her hand shooting sparks of excitement into each of our souls. She was doing it! She was coming with me!
We were together!
Finally...
At last...
At last....
At last I opened my eyes to the rude sunrays that penetrated my privacy. Fuck. That had been a dream? I tossed and turned for a bit, trying to return to the embrace of her beauty, but it didn't work, so I spent a second remembering where I was.
I was at Karla's house! Awesome!
I jumped out of bed with a surge of excitement, eager to start the day. The group was back in action.
The year prior, right before Fernweh and I had decided to begin our first cross country trip, we'd ran into Karla at a drop-in center for bums, lazy teens, and people who were genuinely in need.
We'd struck up a quick friendship, and before long, we were planning to accept her into our group.
Skeptical at first (we'd only known her for a couple hours. How could we expect her to drop everything and come traveling?), our doubts gave way into excitement as Karla kept her word and joined us in our excellent expedition.
This year, she'd settled down and gotten a place, and had been nice enough to let us stay there the night before. She was a kind, rational and understanding soul - and, to emphasize this point, I found her working on a breakfast of bacon and eggs to share with us.
Calgary was seeming like a brighter place every day, and this day was starting out to look pretty damn good.
Saturday, 13 July 2013
Kalgery 05/11/13
Here we were!
Downtown Calgary - a city I'd known before to be only drab and grumpy; a city that could frown upon the happiest child or the loneliest grandmother that stepped upon its well-maintained infrastructure.
Fortunately, Calgary's reputation was soon to change.
After Officer Swass dropped us off downtown, we'd hardly walked for ten minutes before we were met with a smiling face. We introduced ourselves to Michelle, who was sitting on the front porch of her apartment. She sympathized with our situation and brought out a bunch of beers.
Her and her happy boyfriend's happy faces began to burn away any sour opinions of Calgary, replacing them with a brighter and more solid vision.
It's not the place that makes the impression on you: it's the people.
You could bare witness to the most rundown, crack slanging ghetto in the world, but if you shared the experience with nothing but good people, it would be a good memory. If you left feeling uplifted (for reasons aside from smoking crack) it would be a good memory.
Such was this experience, and as we parted ways, we found ourselves feeling great.
Here we were, Downtown Calgary. A city I'd once thought to be plain and impersonal, but now a place I found to be promising. Tonight was bound to be a good one.
Downtown Calgary - a city I'd known before to be only drab and grumpy; a city that could frown upon the happiest child or the loneliest grandmother that stepped upon its well-maintained infrastructure.
Fortunately, Calgary's reputation was soon to change.
After Officer Swass dropped us off downtown, we'd hardly walked for ten minutes before we were met with a smiling face. We introduced ourselves to Michelle, who was sitting on the front porch of her apartment. She sympathized with our situation and brought out a bunch of beers.
Her and her happy boyfriend's happy faces began to burn away any sour opinions of Calgary, replacing them with a brighter and more solid vision.
It's not the place that makes the impression on you: it's the people.
You could bare witness to the most rundown, crack slanging ghetto in the world, but if you shared the experience with nothing but good people, it would be a good memory. If you left feeling uplifted (for reasons aside from smoking crack) it would be a good memory.
Such was this experience, and as we parted ways, we found ourselves feeling great.
Here we were, Downtown Calgary. A city I'd once thought to be plain and impersonal, but now a place I found to be promising. Tonight was bound to be a good one.
Tuesday, 9 July 2013
Officer Swass (05/11/13)
Well, we were home again. We were back on the rails, soothed by the gentle rumbling of the engine, healed by the infinite scope of untouched nature that surrounded us in all directions. The four of us and our guiding force, this great Steel Snake, were alone with mother nature in all of her entirety.
The mountains slowly melted away into mundane plains as our home province submitted itself to the ferociously boring plains of Alberta.
Regardless, we didn't get much of a chance to enjoy the sights, because we were all highly irritable. We'd been together for too long, and now we were stuck together in tight quarters with hardly a few feet to move around in. The ride passed quietly.
We rode through the plains for a few boring hours. The lack of excitement sedated us into a lethargy and we soon found ourselves asleep.
Bad idea.
We awoke to the sound of the knock on the unit's door. Scrib hollered to us.
"Fuck. Get up. There's cops." The words serrated my mind like a sawblade and I jumped up, muttering curses. I stepped downstairs and looked up into the glowering eyes of a cop. We tossed our bags off the train and jumped off. I accepted the handcuffs dutifully - no sense arguing, nowhere to run. I hoped they wouldn't read up about my charges for train hopping last year.
They told us there had been a bunch of grass fires and they'd had to stop the train for safety. In doing that, they also decided to check for train hoppers. (Suspicious? Somewhat...)
The cops didn't seem too angry with us. We hadn't messed up the unit or vandalized anything, so they had no reason to be upset besides the fact that we were trespassing. "I don't give a fuck if you steal a car. I don't give a fuck if you do a BNE. Just stay the fuck off the rails, because this is my department."
They ticketed us and gave me a bit of a break. They did, indeed, look up my charges from last year, and heard that this was my third time getting caught hopping a train in Alberta (which is bullshit and tremendously confusing.) They initially planned to give me a charge and a court date for which a Canada-wide warrant would be issued, but they decided to give me the same ticket as the other hoppers (which still resulted in a court date, though only an Alberta wide warrant.)
So, here we were stuck on the side of the highway with no train to take into downtown. We charmed the cops into giving us a ride back into town, and were thus introduced to Officer Swass.
"Alright kids. As long as you don't have swass, you can get in the back of my car."
We burst out laughing and hopped into Officer Swass's car, and he drove us into town. That was an easy break. At least we'd made it into Calgary.
The mountains slowly melted away into mundane plains as our home province submitted itself to the ferociously boring plains of Alberta.
Regardless, we didn't get much of a chance to enjoy the sights, because we were all highly irritable. We'd been together for too long, and now we were stuck together in tight quarters with hardly a few feet to move around in. The ride passed quietly.
We rode through the plains for a few boring hours. The lack of excitement sedated us into a lethargy and we soon found ourselves asleep.
Bad idea.
We awoke to the sound of the knock on the unit's door. Scrib hollered to us.
"Fuck. Get up. There's cops." The words serrated my mind like a sawblade and I jumped up, muttering curses. I stepped downstairs and looked up into the glowering eyes of a cop. We tossed our bags off the train and jumped off. I accepted the handcuffs dutifully - no sense arguing, nowhere to run. I hoped they wouldn't read up about my charges for train hopping last year.
They told us there had been a bunch of grass fires and they'd had to stop the train for safety. In doing that, they also decided to check for train hoppers. (Suspicious? Somewhat...)
The cops didn't seem too angry with us. We hadn't messed up the unit or vandalized anything, so they had no reason to be upset besides the fact that we were trespassing. "I don't give a fuck if you steal a car. I don't give a fuck if you do a BNE. Just stay the fuck off the rails, because this is my department."
They ticketed us and gave me a bit of a break. They did, indeed, look up my charges from last year, and heard that this was my third time getting caught hopping a train in Alberta (which is bullshit and tremendously confusing.) They initially planned to give me a charge and a court date for which a Canada-wide warrant would be issued, but they decided to give me the same ticket as the other hoppers (which still resulted in a court date, though only an Alberta wide warrant.)
So, here we were stuck on the side of the highway with no train to take into downtown. We charmed the cops into giving us a ride back into town, and were thus introduced to Officer Swass.
"Alright kids. As long as you don't have swass, you can get in the back of my car."
We burst out laughing and hopped into Officer Swass's car, and he drove us into town. That was an easy break. At least we'd made it into Calgary.
Escape Artists (05/10/13)
Well, we figured it was time to get out of Golden.
We'd spent the last six hours getting drunk in garbage cans, puking, bothering the locals, and making homeless buffoons of ourselves. We'd relocated with Fernweh, who'd replaced his depressed demeanor with a much happier one - he'd just needed a few hours by himself to regroup his mind and make some new friends. A new friend is a surefire way to help you out of a rough time.
It had been a good day, but we figured we'd already expended Golden for all of its resources. We'd made 70 bucks and a bunch of friends, and figured that the small town didn't really offer much more. We headed down to the train bridge to make camp.
The walk was short but rewarding. When we arrived at the bridge, we saw a tag dedicated to our old travel "friend," aka travel pet, from Portland (henceforth known as Portland.) The tag said Dear Portland John: Go suck so many dicks that you end up in jail and get deported.
We busted a gut and promptly passed out because we were wasted, thus sleeping through however many trains rolled through at night. We awoke at sunlight and realized how visible we were to passers by, train workers and police, so we headed down the highway to find a more viable spot.
There wasn't one, but a train rolled up and stopped right beside us. We double checked the road for traffic. There was some, but not much, considering it was only 7 am. This was our only chance though, so we ran the risk of the few cars we saw calling the cops as we formed into the alpha position and bolted towards the slave. Two of us hit the front door of the unit, two of us hit the back.
For my first time in a few years of train hopping, I found the door of the unit locked. Me and Aids frantically looked around. Should we run to the back of the train? There were too many cars now, but we had no other choice but to expose ourselves again. Before doing so, we hammered on the door.
Fortunately, just as another car turned the corner behind us, Scrib opened the front door for us and we bolted inside, throwing ourselves to the floor and hiding beneath the guise of the unit's wall.
Before long, we were rolling out of Golden. We'd made it - again.
We'd spent the last six hours getting drunk in garbage cans, puking, bothering the locals, and making homeless buffoons of ourselves. We'd relocated with Fernweh, who'd replaced his depressed demeanor with a much happier one - he'd just needed a few hours by himself to regroup his mind and make some new friends. A new friend is a surefire way to help you out of a rough time.
It had been a good day, but we figured we'd already expended Golden for all of its resources. We'd made 70 bucks and a bunch of friends, and figured that the small town didn't really offer much more. We headed down to the train bridge to make camp.
The walk was short but rewarding. When we arrived at the bridge, we saw a tag dedicated to our old travel "friend," aka travel pet, from Portland (henceforth known as Portland.) The tag said Dear Portland John: Go suck so many dicks that you end up in jail and get deported.
We busted a gut and promptly passed out because we were wasted, thus sleeping through however many trains rolled through at night. We awoke at sunlight and realized how visible we were to passers by, train workers and police, so we headed down the highway to find a more viable spot.
There wasn't one, but a train rolled up and stopped right beside us. We double checked the road for traffic. There was some, but not much, considering it was only 7 am. This was our only chance though, so we ran the risk of the few cars we saw calling the cops as we formed into the alpha position and bolted towards the slave. Two of us hit the front door of the unit, two of us hit the back.
For my first time in a few years of train hopping, I found the door of the unit locked. Me and Aids frantically looked around. Should we run to the back of the train? There were too many cars now, but we had no other choice but to expose ourselves again. Before doing so, we hammered on the door.
Fortunately, just as another car turned the corner behind us, Scrib opened the front door for us and we bolted inside, throwing ourselves to the floor and hiding beneath the guise of the unit's wall.
Before long, we were rolling out of Golden. We'd made it - again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)