Tror Orcboot's Cave
Monday, May 19, 2003
Sunday, May 04, 2003
Regular blogger gives me so much trouble when I try and post anything over a paragraph, so this is a test to see if this new Blogger Blue can handle more than 200 words:
I was hitch-hiking to BC a few years ago. I had a training conference to go to, and I thought it would be fun to get back on the road and thumb my way there. I would stay with some friends in Surrey when I got there. It was a pretty decent trip; fairly typical. I slept the first night in my tent just outside Kamloops. The second day I made it the rest of the way. One of my rides was a forestry professor at UBC, and he was driving a pickup fully outfitted as a bushmobile. I could see he even had a mattress in the back. Turns out this guy wasn?t really big on talking, answering most of my questions with monosyllables or grunts. The only time he actually initiated talk was to test my observational skills- he asked me if I could name all of the Fraser River sandbars we had passed. I was able to name three of the five, Boston Bar, China Bar and (I think- it's been a while) Sailor Bar. I misnamed one, calling it Rose Bar or something, and he rather sharply corrected me. I thought I did pretty good, though, considering I had no idea I would be subjected to a pop quiz on the subject.
I decided I would ask him a question of my own, since I had a theory. "So, what's your favorite thing about being a professor? Research, fieldwork, or teaching?" My theory was, given his somewhat antisocial demeanor, he would choose the fieldwork, where he could spend weeks by himself with his trees.
"Definitely teaching. I love interacting with my students."
"Oh yeah," I nodded politely. I felt kind of sorry for his students.
But my most interesting ride of the trip was the lady who brought me on the last leg of the journey, right to my friend's house in Surrey.
Forestry Man dropped me off in Hope, and I was just walking up the ramp towards the highway to Vancouver when I was almost run over by a lady who had to come to a rather abrupt stop in order to pick me up.
As I got in, I noticed the unusual fact that she was an elderly lady, a demographic that almost never picks up hitch-hikers, at least in my experience. But it turns out that picking up hitch-hikers is her hobby! Highly unusual, but I definitely wasn?t complaining. She explained that she lived in a retirement home, and found her life achingly boring. So she decided to buy a car and cruise up and down the Trans-Canada trolling for hitchers. She had just dropped off two different sets of hikers in Hope, the farthest East she cares to drive, and was turning around to return home for the evening when she saw me.
As we drove, I began to see that the reason she liked hitch-hikers so much is that they provided her with a grateful, and captive, audience to whom she could relate her life story and problems and such. This was fine by me, as I enjoy listening to people?s stories, especially after the awkwardness of forestry Man, and hers was interesting. Even more interesting, however, were her driving habits, which were somewhat appalling. As you may know, the highway into Vancouver doesn?t leave a lot of room for error. She was having a hard time staying inside her lane, and would pass people and then slow down again. I was listening to her as best I could, while keeping a vigilant eye out to make sure she didn?t get us both killed.
I told her she could just drop me off at the nearest exit to Surrey, as she lived quite a ways further in, but she insisted that she take me right to my friend?s door, and I was quite pleased to accept this generous offer. And anyways, she missed my exit by a long shot.
A good three or four exits down, we turned in and were supposedly still in Surrey, but on the very edge of it, if not in the next suburb altogether, and on the opposite side of where I needed to be. She started heading the wrong way, so I pointed this out to her and she turned around. Coming to the first intersection, she slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop in the middle of the intersection to see what street it was. Craning her neck to look almost straight up at the street sign, she saw that we were on 250th street. Stomping her foot on the accelerator, she took off but screeched to a halt exactly one block later and looked up again. I?m not sure that her eyesight was that good. This time we were on 249th street. So off we went. My body was alternately being pressed into my chair from the G forces and almost slammed into the dashboard as she repeated the process at each block. Finally, at 242nd street, I said, as diplomatically as I could, ?The streets seem to be numbered consecutively, and since we want 97th street, I would guess that we have about 145 blocks to go.?
"Oh, you think so?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."
She didn't really believe me, so she pulled into a gas station and made me get out and ask directions. Having made my way all the way across Canada in my time (and getting lost once or twice, I?ll admit), I felt I had a pretty good idea of how to get there, but she wouldn?t listen, so I trudged inside and asked the guy. This sort of goes against The Code, you know.
The attendant was a helpful fellow. "Well, you're going the right way," he said, "you just gotta go down about another 145 blocks. You really should have got off four exits earlier, it would have been a lot faster."
"Thanks," I sighed and got back in the car. I paused and reminded myself how grateful I was that this lady was voluntarily helping me when she could be at home sleeping or playing shuffleboard or something. And anyways, as a hitch-hiker you learn to appreciate every situation and just shake your head and laugh when they're all over.
A few wrong turns later, we arrived whole and in one piece. My friends, Mike and Cindy were glad to see me. But not as glad as I was to see them.
In hindsight, I realize I should have tested the lady?s knowledge of the highway. ?Can you name the four exits we passed but should have taken?? Forestry Man would have known the answer, but Surrey Lady was way more fun.
I was hitch-hiking to BC a few years ago. I had a training conference to go to, and I thought it would be fun to get back on the road and thumb my way there. I would stay with some friends in Surrey when I got there. It was a pretty decent trip; fairly typical. I slept the first night in my tent just outside Kamloops. The second day I made it the rest of the way. One of my rides was a forestry professor at UBC, and he was driving a pickup fully outfitted as a bushmobile. I could see he even had a mattress in the back. Turns out this guy wasn?t really big on talking, answering most of my questions with monosyllables or grunts. The only time he actually initiated talk was to test my observational skills- he asked me if I could name all of the Fraser River sandbars we had passed. I was able to name three of the five, Boston Bar, China Bar and (I think- it's been a while) Sailor Bar. I misnamed one, calling it Rose Bar or something, and he rather sharply corrected me. I thought I did pretty good, though, considering I had no idea I would be subjected to a pop quiz on the subject.
I decided I would ask him a question of my own, since I had a theory. "So, what's your favorite thing about being a professor? Research, fieldwork, or teaching?" My theory was, given his somewhat antisocial demeanor, he would choose the fieldwork, where he could spend weeks by himself with his trees.
"Definitely teaching. I love interacting with my students."
"Oh yeah," I nodded politely. I felt kind of sorry for his students.
But my most interesting ride of the trip was the lady who brought me on the last leg of the journey, right to my friend's house in Surrey.
Forestry Man dropped me off in Hope, and I was just walking up the ramp towards the highway to Vancouver when I was almost run over by a lady who had to come to a rather abrupt stop in order to pick me up.
As I got in, I noticed the unusual fact that she was an elderly lady, a demographic that almost never picks up hitch-hikers, at least in my experience. But it turns out that picking up hitch-hikers is her hobby! Highly unusual, but I definitely wasn?t complaining. She explained that she lived in a retirement home, and found her life achingly boring. So she decided to buy a car and cruise up and down the Trans-Canada trolling for hitchers. She had just dropped off two different sets of hikers in Hope, the farthest East she cares to drive, and was turning around to return home for the evening when she saw me.
As we drove, I began to see that the reason she liked hitch-hikers so much is that they provided her with a grateful, and captive, audience to whom she could relate her life story and problems and such. This was fine by me, as I enjoy listening to people?s stories, especially after the awkwardness of forestry Man, and hers was interesting. Even more interesting, however, were her driving habits, which were somewhat appalling. As you may know, the highway into Vancouver doesn?t leave a lot of room for error. She was having a hard time staying inside her lane, and would pass people and then slow down again. I was listening to her as best I could, while keeping a vigilant eye out to make sure she didn?t get us both killed.
I told her she could just drop me off at the nearest exit to Surrey, as she lived quite a ways further in, but she insisted that she take me right to my friend?s door, and I was quite pleased to accept this generous offer. And anyways, she missed my exit by a long shot.
A good three or four exits down, we turned in and were supposedly still in Surrey, but on the very edge of it, if not in the next suburb altogether, and on the opposite side of where I needed to be. She started heading the wrong way, so I pointed this out to her and she turned around. Coming to the first intersection, she slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop in the middle of the intersection to see what street it was. Craning her neck to look almost straight up at the street sign, she saw that we were on 250th street. Stomping her foot on the accelerator, she took off but screeched to a halt exactly one block later and looked up again. I?m not sure that her eyesight was that good. This time we were on 249th street. So off we went. My body was alternately being pressed into my chair from the G forces and almost slammed into the dashboard as she repeated the process at each block. Finally, at 242nd street, I said, as diplomatically as I could, ?The streets seem to be numbered consecutively, and since we want 97th street, I would guess that we have about 145 blocks to go.?
"Oh, you think so?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."
She didn't really believe me, so she pulled into a gas station and made me get out and ask directions. Having made my way all the way across Canada in my time (and getting lost once or twice, I?ll admit), I felt I had a pretty good idea of how to get there, but she wouldn?t listen, so I trudged inside and asked the guy. This sort of goes against The Code, you know.
The attendant was a helpful fellow. "Well, you're going the right way," he said, "you just gotta go down about another 145 blocks. You really should have got off four exits earlier, it would have been a lot faster."
"Thanks," I sighed and got back in the car. I paused and reminded myself how grateful I was that this lady was voluntarily helping me when she could be at home sleeping or playing shuffleboard or something. And anyways, as a hitch-hiker you learn to appreciate every situation and just shake your head and laugh when they're all over.
A few wrong turns later, we arrived whole and in one piece. My friends, Mike and Cindy were glad to see me. But not as glad as I was to see them.
In hindsight, I realize I should have tested the lady?s knowledge of the highway. ?Can you name the four exits we passed but should have taken?? Forestry Man would have known the answer, but Surrey Lady was way more fun.
