If any city needs a by-pass it has to be Calgary. If Kenora can have a by-pass why this city can not is beyond logic. Rolling into the city on the heavily traveled hwy 1 I bring my cruising speed down a considerable amount. If feels Like I am crawling. I am hardly moving, the city is congested with traffic made worse by the vast amounts of construction that dominate the city scape.
Before I left home I removed a large duffel from the car and placed it in my parents living room. "Can you ship this out to me in a month?" I ask. My parents eagerly agree, blissfully unaware that I have ample room for the bag. I cleared out the bag and compressed a few items in order to keep the passenger seat clear. For the first two days of my voyage the empty seat provided a stable platform for Cd's snacks and a slew of books and journals.
my motives for keeping the seat clear were far more complex, almost sinister and indeed self serving. I kept the seat vacant to allow for the possibility of a passenger. I am a voyeur and I desired deep down to fill the seat with a vagabonding voyager. I want to interact, to converse to learn. Every hitchhiker has a story, a reason, an excuse as to why they have the their thumb out and back to the wind.
I hitched many rides during my previous exploits in the western provinces and every trip was an enriching experience for my self. You learn about lives and hear stories, life lessons are taught and beliefs and values are shared. Sitting beside a stranger for hours on end leads even the most introverted individual on a journey of self exploration.
I scored a ride from Canmore to golden once. It was a tiny blue hatchback, the driver in his thirty's was tall and thin, his hair prematurely grey. We talked about life, his ex wife and further strife. We were both on the same stretch of road but for very different reasons. Above all I remember the other passenger in the vehicle that day. With his back seat full, a hatchback fully packed. I rode shotgun with a rotweiler puppy, only a few weeks old, with a full set of teeth. The little guy gnawed at my hands, my feet, my leg and occasionally to shots at my groin. New teeth razor sharp easily penetrated my denim leggings and took chunks from my leather boots. The discomfort added to the ambiance. The scene was set in a way I couldn't have dreamed off. The trip was real, it was interesting and invigorating.
My subconscious desired to recreate this scene, not exactly not to the letter, more of a sequel than remix. The subconscious desire for discomfort and discovery, this is what drove me to leave my front seat empty. This is dreamy desire lead me to Calgary, it lead my Chrysler Concord to the side of HWY 1, and above all it lead Marc from the side of the road into my car.
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