Hitching across Canada....

Following the advice from the Craigslist guy, I caught a bus to the last stop at the edge of town the next morning, where a lady with bags overflowing with groceries gave me a bunch of bananas, grapes, an apple, and even cut me a chunk from her huge block of Tillamook cheese. She said she had children who had gone traveling, who had always been looked after on the road, and thought she would pay it forward. Over and over on this trip I have experienced such random acts of kindness. I was proud to tell the tale of my folks picking up hitchhikers in Tescos in Swansea, they brought them back to the house, to pitch their tent in the back garden, and served them a great meal which included crumbed monkfish and crab claws.

Hitching is illegal on the main highways in Canada, positioning is critical, but more accepted here than in the US. It is the same case between NZ and Austrailia. In the UK I have often picked up hitch hikers, many of whom have been service men. Probably because they are unafraid, used to mucking in with strangers, and often find themselves in different locations without transport, on not much money.

Hitching is always an adventure, and touch wood, all my experiences have been good. The last time I attempted to hitch in the UK was from Hillend Campsite in Llangenith back to the town centre. I had a punnet of strawberries, and held them prominently instead of the universal thumb sign. This was on a busy, summer day, where traffic was at a crawl or stopped giving plenty of time for folk to make a judgement call. Friends! Though I have a beard, and often wear stained trousers, I am hardly a scary looking character.

I was eventually picked up by someone I knew who was able to drop me in Gorseinon. Now on a bus route I was able to get into town, but no bugger would stop as I walked along eating the strawberries – they were big Gower ones too! The filthy looks you get, especially from that same demographic who complain about how things were better in their day, and decry the youth of today. To whom I say:-

"You were young then and you are the generation that raised them, how dare you write off the young as hooligans? Your prejudice and fearfulness is every bit as much of the problem as their perceived aggression."

I really believe the stranger danger message drummed into us has kids has helped make the UK one of the most fearful places I have ever been

Interestingly the people who have showed such genorosity and trust, by inviting me into their homes and giving rides do not generally live with televisions. Perhaps this is why they are less fearful, or maybe they are a select goup who really enjoy conversation. Of the many couches I have surfed on this trip, only a handful had sets, and of those we only watched selectively. Almost all however had internet connections, large book collections and cooked very well.

I want to be picked up by the sort of people who pick up hitch hikers. They are generally nice folk, who have hitchhiked themselves, they know what its like to walk with a heavy pack in the sun, while huge air conditioned trucks pass with just one person in them, for hour after hour.

Thankfully Canada is a country known for its niceness, it is the only country I decided to visit because of the good experiences I have had with their stock. Four rides in quick succession got me to Merritt, Canada's Country music capitol. Thankfully I arrived just after the festival, and stretched out on a log by the river to snooze. I could not imagine much luck hitching onward from this ghost town in darkness, and was waiting for the few people around to depart before setting up my shelter.

A young couple approached, realising I was a hitchhiker – they had also arrived at the town by hitchhiking but had decided to stay. We swam in the river, which was refreshing, the wide, empty concrete streets shimmered in heat even now, as dusk was approaching.

Mark and his girlfriend invited me to stay with them, a very interesting chap – he and a friend had discovered dinosaur footprints in his home town of Tumbler Ridge, causing a media storm. The ex-mining town, only on the bones of its arse was now thriving.

We shared an enjoyable time, a meal of moose steak, ate the truffles then sang along to The Lion King and played with his tarantula.

Once again, I had met friendly people, who took me in, and looked after me. I would have enjoyed taking up their offer to go rock jumping, but time was pressing, I still had a lot of country to cover.

Getting out of Merrit was easy enough, but once outside the town, the traffic slowed right down. Hitching on highway 1 was illegal, but 1a – the older, and quieter road was ok. I watched a constant steam on the first, but only a few every ten minutes or so bypassed me. Many of the vehicles had couples, who rarely stop, cars full of camping gear with no space, and trade vehicles who are often not allowed to offer rides.

As I was cursing humanity for their lack of trust, and wastefulness a Volvo pulled into the layby. I used to have one, in conversation we found out we had both had to replace the headlamp. A lot of the early stages of conversation, is unconciously establishing whether we are from the same tribe. It was not long therefore that I discovered he had worked at a vineyard no more than 5 mins from a house I lived in, and frequented the same pubs. Over the next few hours other coincidences kept popping up.

Peter, the driver had a wealth of stories, gathered over 40 years of travel as a road surveyor and other jobs. Originally from Scotland, he had lived and worked in Austrailia, NZ, Canada, USA, been arrested in Argentina in the 1970s as an extemist, and had a lucky escape. He had lived in India with barely more than a loin cloth and bedding roll. It was a pleasure to sit back and hear his tales, rather than telling my own.

A self described christian-romantic-existentialist he was on a nostalgic journey across the country. We watched the scenery unfold as we discussed Walt Whitman, road construction, the Beat poets, his experiences with shamans and of course existentialism.

We broke our journey in a wood, where he brought out a salmon risotto and a beer, I unrolled my bivi bag and blanket, while he made up his usual bed in the back of the big volvo. Every sound I imagined to be a grizzly or mountian lion, but managed to sleep well, feeling refreshed and waking early as I always do, when I sleep outside.

Spoiled rotten in Seattle, Vancouver and Victoria

Washington had been a blast, with so many experiences to file away, I was content to muse over as I rode the Amtrack North to Seattle. On a long warm evening I met up with Natalia, a friend from Humboldt who had moved to study her Masters in Physical Therapy. She took me to her lectures to the gym and for dinner and easy conversation. What a contrast to the previous weeks excesses. We spent an enjoyable time sharing photographs and healthy meals.

I rode the greyhound from Seattle, uneventful save that one Sikh guy was peeing with the door open. One lady shouted out, you are not in India now, and threatened to punch him! If she had been there, she would not be shocked, and think twice about abusing members of an ancient warrior caste.

Vancouver has been described as Vansterdam for its excellent BC Bud, and liberal views. I wondered what the laws on entheogenic plants was, and entered a head shop. I got talking to one of the staff, who offered me some truffle chocolates. She made them herself and suggested I drop by if I wanted to buy any. Her apartment was again televisonless and stacked with books, plants and art. We drank many cups of tea as we shared photographs. A little later, bowls were filled with salmon chowder, caught by a friend. Later a fresh leafy salad and homemade cake emerged.

I was so well looked after, once again warm-hearted folk had invited me in, and made me feel totally welcome. What a run of good fortune, this had been my experience the whole distance as I traveled up the West Coast. By the evening I had accepted the housemates invitation to stay for the upcoming Salmon BBQ, an annual event to raise money for the fire fighters. The organization of this event at the farmers market fell to my host - who made up the sofa bed. Described as an interesting anti-cultural experience, I was taken to watch the Ultimate Fighting Contest by her boyfriend. I could not believe what I was really watching these pituitary retards beat their skulls together, stirring the crowd to near frenzy. I went to yet another party, then returned to the house. The preparations kept my hosts up late, nobody got more than a few hours sleep.

Despite the early start, we remained in good humor, the BBQ being a huge success. The Salmon tasted even better for the anticipation, and shifting heavy tables.

The girl's flat had was in a big pink 1980s apartment complex, with a pool, floating on my back, letting the strains evapourate I felt especially lucky. This was my first experience of Canadian hospitality, what a treasure these folks are.

I searched Craigslist for a ride across Canada, one offer sounded promising, 58 hours straight driving in a van with a guy and his dog, from Vancouver to the East coast.

Before leaving I decided to visit Mark and his family in Victoria, standing inline I one of the passengers offered me a ride to the ferry terminal, what a friendly place. Mark, and his daughter Kate were staying in the same accommodation in Cambodia before picking up their motorcycles to rode through Vietnam. I stayed for dinner during which Kate shared tales of Indian bus journeys which included peeing in a zip lock bag, when the driver refused to stop. She told a chilling tale of a stalker, which is sadly not the first one I have heard. Such a luxury to sleep in a real bed, for the first time in weeks, then spent the next day at the Royal museum. A fine lunch by the sea with Mark's wife, then dinner in town before we rode on his Harley Davidson to reach the ferry.

The ferry operated a reduced schedule, I had been lucky to catch the last ferry. I was a bit nervous as I had not yet managed to contact the man with the dog. I stocked up on food for the journey, and bought some exotic fruits to share with the girls who had not only put me up on their sofa, but even made me breakfast in bed with a pot of tea! Eventually the guy rang to apologize that his vehicle could not make it, but gave me lots of hitch hiking tips.