Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 21 November 2021

Hits: 601

Tuesday night. A knock at my jeep window - the gym across the street, the owner, he wants to know if I need anything - a shower?

And I think of the smell when I open the jeep. Yes, Yes I do. But I'm fine, I'll wait, there's many a misstep ahead.

He's persistent. The customers at the gym apparently have been complaining. 

Wednesday: Go to see the free matinee at the Cinema. Today they're showing "The Goonies". It was good, more than I remembered, but - a perfect exercise in the old-timey craft of writing movies with practical special effects. People in line talk of taking a helicopter in to Vancouver, $600 per person, some think it reasonable.

Caseloads, by the dozens, Bananas, Apples, Mandarin Oranges, Granola & Chocolate Bars, hundreds of cases of bottled water, arrive at the church. Anything you might want or need. By 4:00 the Pastor has an announcement. Highway 7 will be opening westbound into Vancouver, and easily half the church is emptying out, packing their stuff, preparing to leave.

*** 

The food arrived in anticipation the roads would be closed for a lot longer. Now that people are leaving the church is giving away bananas by the bunch, bottled water by the dozen, salads, apples, oranges, candy bars, cookies, everything, and there's still a surfeit of food, too much, they're making care packages for everyone departing, so for the first time in days I'm eating, lots, before a little wary of charity - but, fucking hell, it seems I'm the only one, so today, last day, not packing any food with me, too much to carry, but definitely eating - and it could be a while until I eat again next. 

They're warning everyone to get out while they can. The road could be closed again tomorrow.

I need daylight to leave - the jeep, it's on it's last legs, I want daylight. 

Hanging out now, in the much-deserted church, I notice how substantially the internet has improved - the lack of competitors means I can actually see what's going on in the larger world around me. Not that it should matter - there's enough going on in my immediate environs that needs my attention. 

Help them fold the blankets, there are dozens, hundreds, donated by the townsfolk. Peruse the internet, eat, eat again, and again, and leave.

****

Thursday morning, hungover, in no mood to travel. And the jeep - the stress of the jeep - it isn't helping. 

Make my way to the church. There's not even a dozen people left - everyone has made their way to the coast, the few that remain are waiting for rides, transport. 

Use the Public Bathroom - meet grandmother, brothers. She's in a wheelchair, they are all standing about talking. The Bathroom, it's the warmest - and driest place - in town. Grandmother is kind, looking at me, sizing me up - "You need some money?" she asks, reaching into her purse. 

Here I am. Here they are. The poorest people in the world  - me, the too white brother - and they're offering me money.

FUCK FUCK FUCK.

I'm overwhelmed, really, with the kindness this town has shown - to me, to everyone else. 

I do laundry. Read my book. Pass the time. 

I want the fuck out, but I'm in no rush to leave, the stress of the jeep dying is too much, I'm living in my head, positive thoughts only, I'll need a place to live, this is it, don't want to be homeless as well as vehicle-less, postponing the imminent separation, finally, finally, time. Take it to get gas. Max $20. But it doesn't make it up the slight hill, fails. Hood up, meet an older hippy off delivering joints to a friend, he's interested. Later, I got errands. Get oil, get transmission fluid.

Stop at McDonalds, order Filet O'fish, poutine, they fuck it up yet again, they're "out of" poutine, fries, substitute it instead with a hamburger. 

2 times I've been her, 2 times they fucked it up. Mother of God. 

***

And then, since she's ready, fuck it, I'm gonna do a runner - go for it - blaze out of town. Blaze in this mighty chariot of the Gods. 

Blaze blaze blaze!!! I'm on fire, baby!

Only, no, I make my way about 1 KM and this at a rollicking 3 KM per hour. 

And it stops. It's done. The engine is smoking, in front of the "Red Roof Inn" in Hope. 

Sooooooo

After a few more stops & non-starts I manage to push the beast into the parking lot. 

"Red Roof Inn", as humble a roadside inn as you're liable to come across anywhere in the world. I mean humble, and trust me, I've stayed in some pretty sketchy accommodations. No TV, No Internet. And all this for a mere - wait for it - wait for it -

$!43.75 per night.

He must have been watching push the Jeep into the parking lot, knew he had a sucker on his hands.

I'm not making this up. I took a photo of the receipt. Yeah, The town was kind, The Red Roof Inn, not so much.

***

Friday morning. I manage to find a wrecker to pick up the Jeep. After that - thumb out and lets see how long it takes to get to Vancouver. I checked for buses, there are no buses at the moment, and I missed - by a couple of days - the train in. 

The Jeep is gone, "MADE" a cool $150 on it, given I was expecting to pay to have it towed.

Now to Vancouver.

***

10 minutes hitchhiking gets me 30 KM out of town, pleasant native couple picked me up and dropped me off outside a reservation. Bleak as all out, an old church, doorstep covered in teddy bears. A cold half an hour until the next ride, pleasant lady, chat, dropped off in Mission. From Mission, bus to Coquitlam, from Coquitlam, Train to Broadway, change lines, then to Waterfront. From Waterfront struggle under the weight of too much badly packed luggage to The Cambie, a hostel in Gastown. 

Drop the luggage, then off to see the daughter & forage for food. It's 7:00 PM.

***

Vancouver, it's overwhelming really, the quantity of people, sketchy people, that populate the streets. And how they slide unnoticed amongst the tourists and people that live and work here - they're the invisible. Walk up to Chinatown, have a BBQ Pork/Duck combo, at a fraction of what this would have costed in Nelson, I'm back in the land of reasonably priced food. Eat, be satisfied, daughter's working but she finishes up and we go for a drink.

I like it here, remember it from when I was very young, tonight, it's dark but I'll explore further tomorrow. 

The hostel, well,  I'm not a fan - a shared bedroom, 2 bunk beds, 3 people so far, travelers, junkies, people that work here and can't find reasonable accommodation

***

Saturday, today - this morning. Up bright and early - 7:00 AM - before the tourists, the street is filled with the junkies, homeless, addicts, prostitutes. There must be - easily 10, 000 within a 1 KM radius. But I'll see the true extent of it later - right now, for the moment, it's a ballet of sorts, modern, interpretive dance, someone has just shot up and is doing the heroin teeter - don't fall over and crash or you'll lose the high, you see them everywhere - little foil packages with the brown gunk, discarded needles, shooting up, standing, holding on to the high for as long as they can, because when they fall over, they're done, they'll crash and it's over.

Someone else, skipping, high as a kite but it's gotta be something else, uppers of some sort, crack, maybe? Speedballs? I don't know. I thought I was pretty familiar with a lot of drugs, but there's a lot more I don't know. Someone else with a wagon filled with rubbish, I'm sitting on a bench rolling up my butts, he stops and asks me for a cigarette - I point out that I have none, hence the rolling of the butts, he walks a way, opens an eyeglass case and returns again a moment later to offer me a cigarette. 

Always, always, it's the people with nothing who are eager to share.

Watch the Pantomime of early morning, The shuffle, the dance, the skip, the teeter, the uncertain or confident swagger of the drunkard, someone who got too deep into the mouthwash, the crack-addled, chilling potheads, despairing newly homeless, the resigned, pushing trolleys or shopping carts or dragging wheelers or merely out freestyling in the street - before the tourists and people that work out here block the view, obfuscate them all, vanish them into the woodwork. 

OF course, they never vanish, you simply become habituated to their suffering, until you no longer see them, and they disappear. 

A hipster barber - inside, furnished with Edison lights, overstuffed leather, posters, customers inside the window getting a shave, they had to step over two people to get in, this is it - surreal pockets of gentrification, blight, vacant lots and shell-shocked buildings surrounding fashionable cafes, pigeons eating off the outdoor tables set up in Chinatown, luxury handbags and clothes in the worst of all possible neighborhoods...

For me - at this scale - it's all new, when I was a kid - 15 yrs old - East Hastings and Gastown had a reputation, since when, the Opioid crisis, the increasing inequality, price of real-estate - and it's grown, by 100, even a thousand times. 

Walk around East Hastings, the junkies in the alley shooting up, not even trying to conceal it, the prostitutes, homeless people with as much luggage as I have bravely picking up and marching on to their next destination. Discarded needles and puddles of vomit and diarrhea everywhere dot the street - stream down the sides of buildings, vacant buildings boarded up, half the real-estate in this area sits vacant, covered in graffiti, yet there's a "housing" crisis, the neighborhood, always rough - is 100 times rougher than ever. The insane, mentally ill, addicts, homeless, all are everywhere here - my camera - (my phone) - is damaged beyond repair and I'm loathe to repair it -but from the few photos I took - quality, not so good, but you get the idea.

And - now - long post, but I'm not always close to my computer or the internet. 

I'll post the pictures when I can.

Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 16 November 2021

Hits: 576

This is it, the lease is done, the job, done, there are no other places to rent - and I - like Stormy - I'm done with the Kootenays.

This is not to disparage it, but - the ante is too high, too rich, for me at the moment. I need to fix that. I need to find permanent shelter, employment, less-nutball friends. 

And, 1:00, the walk through done, the tenancy ended, and I'm off. 

Nope. The jeep, chariot of the gods, it's needing a tire inflated, a boost to jump start the battery.

And I'm off. The time now 2:30. 

Drive, over the Paulson Pass, snowy, slippery, southern interior BC now in for a "Atmospheric river", WTF Like the heat domes of summer, we're now perpetually inventing terms that gently describe a catastrophically decaying climatography.

To Princeton, foggy, rainy, but I make it and it's dark and I'm done, tired, need a shower and - every hotel/motel is booked.  

A few notes, The Jeep, Godly Chariot of Debt and Penury, the drivers side door no longer closes. And so the entire drive I'm alternating - one hand driving, one hand holding the door closed. Like - fuck - this jeep is possessed. 

And now - now - it no longer goes in reverse. This is the Transmission problem. I push it back and set out, over the Well's Grey Pass. David Paulides would have a field day with me.  

And this is the trip. 

Rainy, the "Atmospheric River", and - driving, holding the door closed, hydroplaning, I'm hitting 2 foot deep puddles that blind me, carry me into oncoming traffic and back, cars pass and blind me, cars approach oncoming and blind me - I'm getting old. The wipers can't keep up. This is the longest drive in my life. 

And I hit a pot-hole - wash-out, and jolt heavily - WTF - "Deathtrap" - as I've affectionately renamed the jeep - still going - but 30 cars pulled over at the summit, everyone out changing tires, checking damage - dark, wet, snowy, I got away lightly.

God, please, please, get me to Hope. I need Hope. 

Down, down, qown, and then there's the line of tail lights. 

Stretching into the distance, none moving, like every disaster movie you ever saw where people flee the big cities escaping a meteor strike, earthquake, tidal wave, what have you. 

And I slow to a halt. 

And the jeep, chariotest of the gods, failing transmission, now - its' not doing so well. This idling in traffic for 20 minutes to move 10 feet forward, it's not impressed. It's the beast of forward motion, chariotest me to my goal, my end, my doom, destiny, what have you - but - at 80-100 km per hour. 

Not this. 

Pull over, Hazard lights, wave cars pass, try again, transmission engages, move forward 100 yards, fail again. 

Same. Repeat. 

And - eventually I'm in Hope. 

Hope - closed early for a Sunday night - no lights, no lights whatsoever. Until the penny drops - 

There's no power. 

And find a place and park, because there are no vacancies - the hotels, motels, are all full, and wait it out. 

Next morning. Today. Monday after the apocalypse. No power. Get food. Panagogo is giving away free slices. Tasty. I take two. I want more. 

I need cigarettes been out for a day. 

I need liqour been out for a day.

I need power to charge up my phone been out for a day.

The rain, torrential, the highway washed out into Vancouver. In many places. Mudslides, avalanches, washouts. No estimate as to when it all will be fixed. Wander the streets. The Grace Baptist Church has set up an emergency base, filled with people coming and going, grabbing coffee, muffins, breakfast, water. The city grey, every shop closed - because - no power. The few places that are open in the darkness are working on a cash only basis - and I'm cash short. Wander the town, hamlet. Brooding grey clouds hang low. The inner core is filled with abandoned businesses, vacant boarded up houses, shopfronts, and everywhere there are the posters of the missing and murdered women. Hope - it seems - is a popular dumping ground. Never was a town so poorly named. 

Sit in the jeep, pass the time reading, avoiding the torrential rain. There are benches, I could be outdoors, but they're not sheltered, and it seems to me ridiculous that in a climate where 90% of the weather is "rain" they wouldn't think to shelter the benches. 

My phone, it's dying, I send a few last texts, call the boy, he's asking me: "What's the plan?" and I laugh, scoff - who needs a plan? Fill me up with piss and fury and when the skies and highways are clear I'll blaze westward towards the coast, the island, like a meteor or doomsday comet.

The end of the Atmospheric river is followed by torrential winds. Someone knocks at my window - I might want to move my jeep - the cedars - 100 feet tall, 12-16 feet around, they might come toppling down and we're all at risk. 

I heed the advice, the jeep mildly complies, I'm surprised, the transmission - it might have some life in it yet - might - it raises the flag of Hope, I drive it and park it outside the radius of crushing death to wait out the hurricane.

When the winds die down I canvas the town a little further.

There are a few shops, services, - most of the services seem to be of social assistance kind - Society for the Brain Injured, Society for Addiction, For Homeless, For Mentally Ill, For the Suicidal...the list goes on. The accessibility to these services is greatly at odds with Alberta, speaking volumes about the differences in culture. 

I find, near the highway and other shops and services, a liquor store - open. The line up - 20 deep - no power, they're letting people in 1 at a time, by flashlight, the line is estimated to be an hour. I take my place. The line-up, a festive cheery band of like-minded alcoholics of all ages and stripes, jonesing for a drink. I'm here on the premise they take debit, or so I've been advised.

By the time I get to enter the power has just been restored. Still - it's a shit-show - and I have every sympathy for the few employees who managed to show up. 

That said, I get my ration of Vodka - begrudgingly, and discover they don't sell cigarettes, walk across the road, another half hour in line for a pack of fags. 

Get 2 packs. The world is ending.

Night passed reading my book, "The Good Soldier Schweik", amusing, Czech-portrait of an brilliant imbecile, in brighter moods I'd be laughing out loud. Then, curl up in the front seat, bend, deform my body into some temporary pretzel-shaped comfort.

Morning, get up - hungover as fuck, stretch. The hordes of displaced travelers roaming to the public washrooms in their PJ's, find a coffee - for the remarkably few businesses that opened this is a boon - how many people are stranded here? Hundreds, if not thousands. The lineups are hundreds deep. 

Get my coffee, roam the town. How to pass the day. The vintage old cinema around the block from my new parking place is showing a free movie at noon - Pee Wee Herman. Why not?

And, right now, at the church, charging my phone, with the hundreds of others stranded - the miserable, unfortunates, but - fortunate they weren't on the highway, trapped between 2 slides, or swept away, listen to the news, go outside and watch the helicopters coming and going, I have - it must be admitted, admired, a talent for misadventure. Lemony Snicket's got nothing on me. Volunteer, help out, clean the toilets, help track the people coming and going, wait, wait, and waiting for what? Every pew is filled with sleeping bags, exploring the church, doing a census of all the people they've helped, as it were, and my initial impressions we're substantially off. The place is chock full, only most of them are off foraging, walking around the town.

And, walking around the town - meeting people, everyone has an opinion on how long they'll be stranded, some are forecasting today they'll reopen the highway, others, more pragmatic, are showing them their phones, photos of the slides, "3 or 4 more days, MINIMUM! they say. Pessimists. 

We're here a few more days I think. And - even if I leave, what then? Will the jeep make it to the coast, the island? Up Island? 

It remains to be seen. I am more than a bit curious. 

And it comes to me - as of late, especially since moving out here - I'm anxious. Anxiety - out here - is a serious business, hampered by the climate, housing crisis, EVERY FUCKING WHERE - and jobs, pandemic stress, climate change - and - to make matters worse - you're living in competition with a million other people in exactly the same boat, all of whom are developing - or are further along in developing - their own mental illnesses and Anxiety.

The world has gone insane.

Lunch, McDonalds, I order a snack-wrap, cheeseburger, double big mac, poutine. I'm starving. It's been 2 days since I had anything substantive to eat. My order # - 777 - I've hit the jackpot, only there isn't a McMonopoly sticker on a single thing. And they forgot my cheeseburger. A couple of bites into the Big Mac and I recall just how disgusting their food is, I'll finish what I ordered but they can eat their own fucking cheeseburger. 

Everywhere, wandering around the town, running into people like myself. Everyone is friendly, everyone says "Hi" or smiles & nods. 

If only I'd a packed a gold pan, or a shovel, but the river's too high...

Kill time in a used bookstore. Every book - or 99% of them - $2.00. I find a copy of Bill Bryson's "In A Sunburned Country". This will help to pass the time. And the jeep - I only got a screwdriver and a bit of fucking copper wire, but I gotta fix the door. It is possessed, I swear, parked for 2 months, no wear and tear whatsoever, and everything that can go wrong on it is.

Now, inside the Church, trying to keep warm...

Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 30 October 2021

Hits: 794

Today, a borrowed car and a few errands to thrift shops. Searching for Stormy Supplies, with little luck. Nothing of interest. 

Returning, through Castlegar, downtown, across from a copse of trees. There's a line of traffic, moving slowly. And a deer jumps out into the road - the van in front of me, going slowly - still manages to hit it. The deer, large, catapults 3, 4, 5 times in the air, lands in the middle of the lanes. Traffic both ways is halted. The deer, trying to get up, flips itself a couple of more times before landing on it's belly, front legs propping up it's head, it's back is snapped, it's going nowhere. Blood is coming out of it's mouth, tinting the froth that's building, and it's watching traffic. 

The driver of the van, he's pulled over, is gathering the bits of the van that flew off when he hit it. The deer is watching.  

Traffic slowly resumes around it, the deer, there's nothing we - anyone can do, but I'm surprised at how cavalier he is about gathering up the front of his van, the deer watching him, the cars go by, there's that shocked final look of intelligence in it's eyes.

Details

Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 27 October 2021

Hits: 731

And, getting nowhere in the departments that matter, in a holding pattern of sorts, I finally take it upon myself to clear the table. 

I really need a desk.

The table, piled high with notes, pertinent and largely irrelevant, is a source of Anxiety. Like the dishes piled beside the sink and the unmade bed. SO - 2 minutes later and the table is cleared. That's how long it takes. The table is cleared and I can begin to "concentrate" on the project(s) I need to get done. 

1 at a time.

This clutter, it's an externalization of my mental processes, an extension, I need only to review my notes to see, abundant notes, 100, 000 words where I only needed 1000, but the RIGHT words, the RIGHT phrasing, there is an alchemy to their combining, a recipe, a rhythm that I hit upon only occasionally, that I need to exercise, find the flow.

There are - so far as I know - 2 forms of creation. One, the generative - building, things upon things, growth - add letter to letter, build a word, word to word to build a sentence, sentence to paragraph to chapter to novel. So it goes. The other form, destructive, hammering upon stone to free the form you imagine is imprisoned within. 

I am somewhere between them both, add, edit, revise, add some more, edit, revise, from a page of notes I - if I am lucky, inspired, quick, find a paragraph or verse. And begin it again, write another page, then reduce, edit, compress, scratch out, erase, write again, and - perhaps - another paragraph at the end.

So it goes.