Το Περιβάλλον ειναι ο Ναός μας
Ινδιανικο Καλοκαιρι
1376 αναγνώστες
Τρίτη, 2 Ιουνίου 2009

Jesse Bradstreet >  On The Road Again
Originally posted on toronto-subaru-club.com Oct. 17, 2002
My attempt at the longest post in our club's history.
I can't seem to keep a journal when I go on vacation, so this serves as my record.. Now the challenge is to see if anyone will actually make it to the end
Last year in July I had the opportunity to take the road trip I had always dreamed of: The drive out West. My Impreza was still in it's youth as the 7,000km on it's odometer quickly turned to ten, twenty thousand before my eyes. It was such an amazing experience, that given the same amount of time off this summer, I packed up and did it again.
For anyone who missed the novel that I compiled from my first experience, you can find it over at i-club:
That last trip was amazing, but it had it's faults. I never had any qualms over residing at posh hotels, or spending a couple of nights in Vegas (never again, I tell myself). With the financial sense of a 10 year old, I spent way too much money. This time, my bank account pointed out that those days were over, and this trip had to be different, or I'd be stranded come Calgary.
But some things never change.. Before I could even consider spanning the distance I had in front of me, I needed new tires. After selling all my earthly possessions, I managed to squeeze a set of Kumhos on my rims, and could embark.
Day One: Saturday, September 8; First stop Barrie. After saying goodbye to a sleep deprived girlfriend, I headed out for an early morning drive, and my first autocross in months. I guess it had been so long since my last race, that I forgot autocrosses are usually held on Sundays.
Day Two: Sunday, September 9; Once again I had to wake Sarah from her sleep prematurely, and repeated the drive to Barrie. A little dejavu for breakfast. This time the parking lot had transformed under the guidance of the TLMC into a great autox, instead of it's drab existence that I had the misfortune of visiting the morning before. It was great to see some familiar faces that fills the space between cones, with Luigi and Laurence rounding out our small club presence. It was great to get back into the sport that I had abandoned several months before, and be around other people, who obsess about their cares a bit too often.
With tear stained eyes, and heartfelt goodbyes, I left as the proud father of a 12volt cooler, and a little less tread. The cooler (thanks Luigi) completed the home that I would live in for the next month. The rest of the work had been completed earlier that morning by yanking out those pesky rear seats and installing some lightweight, high performance couch cushions and an air mattress. I may not be the fastest guy around the track, but you show me one other car there, or at any other event, that had a bed for rear seats.
Battered and worn from the day's racing, I set my compass to London for my grandmother's 80th birthday. Just in time for dinner. It seemed as soon I had finished my coffee, I was back on the road, headed West. Well, East first, then North, eventually to be West, but you get the picture. I realized I had seen my girlfriend and family for the last time for five weeks.. some sort of pre-emptive homesick blues caught me for a minute.
By the time midnight had past I was at a friend's cottage, sleeping in my make shift bed for the first time, staring at the stars through the sun roof. I remember laughing that here I was: day two of my trip, over a thousand kilometers in, and I wasn't even 200km from home. Odd that.
Day Three: Which could be considered Day One, from the scope of the trip, but still, I'm not at work.. I feel great. With a cooler full of food (okay a couple of granola bars and some fruit) and a tank full of gas, I left for the tip of the Bruce Peninsula. I arrived in Tobermory around 3:00, only to find the last ferry had departed at 1:00. With roughly 18 hours until the next ferry, I spent the day exploring Tobermory. I can't believe, with my love of Ontario's lakes and parks, that I had never been to this place. I will definately visit again with the return of summer. The scenery is gorgeous, the people are extremely friendly, and in a swim off a point not 5 minutes away from the ferry docks, I found myself in the clearest water I have ever seen. I can't recommend Tobermory enough. That night my mobile home was parked amongst the other behemoths that awaited the morning ferry. Their RV's may be a tad roomier, but I'm sure I can negotiate the mountain roads that lay ahead with a bit more confidence, with slightly better gas mileage to boot.
Day Four: Okay let's call this the official Day One. At last I had open road ahead of me. No ferries. No races. No sleep deprived girlfriends, with tired worried faces. I was on the road again.
This time, I had thought to myself, the trip will be different. I'm not going to haul bum across the country, I'm going to take my time, enjoy the scenery, ya know, real tourist like.. Well, even with my odd stops and bad timing, I found myself growing tired in the same small towns on the way across. Waking from my third night in my traveling accommodations, I found myself in a Winnipeg hotel room that was eerily similar to the one I had spent a night in a year ago. Same view, exact same room layout, yet a different hotel. Dejavu all over again.
From Winnipeg to Calgary I started hitting all the same stops I had made on the last trip. After a couple of hours I think I was subconsciously telling my bladder to sound the alarms, just so I could revisit the same truck stop I had visited before. I started to enjoy the familiarity..
By the time I had hit Calgary I was almost out of money. I had been driving for almost 16 hours, and that taste of a nice hotel room didn't make my mess of cushions look too inviting. Maybe I could find some sort of a low rate, late night motel on the outskirts of Calgary... no dice. On the last attempt, the guy at the front desk of a Motel 6 took pity on me and said I could just pull into a parking spot and crash there for the night. At around 4:30am I'm woken by a knock on my window. It's seems the morning manager had received complaints that some guy was sleeping in a car in front of someone's room. I explained to my wake up call that my girlfriend and I had a fight and I had taken the option of sleeping in the car, as there was no couch to call home. He apologized, and retired to the front office to brew a pot of coffee, of which I helped myself to a cup. You see it was included in the continental breakfast that I was entitled to, as I had rented a room for the night (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). Wake up. What an odd dream. I stumbled out of car, and went to the nearby Tim Horton's for my real breakfast. Come to think of it, Tim Horton'really should have sponsored me for this trip. It was a morning ritual that I rarely missed.
At this point it's Friday morning, and I realized I was within a day's drive of Vancouver. My first, and only planned stop was to see a couple of friends that had moved to Vancouver Island the year before. As I hit the road, I began hitting more familiar places. The family resteraunt I had eaten at before. The side road I had stopped to roll a.. uh, cigarette, and the small flat stretch of hwy.1 that transforms into the windy mountain roads of B.C...
I did make a couple of stops along the way... I checked out Banff, as I have friends who spend the winters there. I stopped at Lake Louise, to wonder at the cement sidewalks and masses of tourists, that wreck something that should be so tranquil. And I made a point to drive into any city or town, big or small, instead of driving around or through it. For the first time I could put a picture the places I had previously only known by name. Fort Frances. Sault Saint Marie. Thunder Bay. Kenora. Winnipeg. Regina. As rushed as it was, I felt I saw more of Canada this time West.
I started to near Vancouver around rush hour. There was a ferry leaving at roughly 8:30. Traffic caught me on the bridge. By the time I finally got around the outskirts of Vancouver, and up towards 99 and the Horseshoe Bay terminal, it was almost quarter to nine. Luckily they had a second sailing, and I just squeezed on. I don't know what it is about that ferry, but I always seem to bump into the crazies. Straight out of a warped Laurel and Hardy episode came this well-fed fella from the east coast, and his skinny, extremely plastered, side kick. As Hardy explained to me that the reason we are called the great white north is because everything is north of us, Laurel would stumble and try to counter balance the pitch and roll of the great ship, all the while yelling "Who's driving this thing?". Mind you this is a huge ferry, not a small sailboat.. so the pitch and sway, was his own. I think I explained to them I was headed for Campbell River about twenty times, but they kept asking, so I kept answering. Did you know that Vancouver Island has two high speed catamaran ferries that are unused due to all the government's mis-management? I do. Laurel and Hardy explained this to me as many times as they inquired as to my destination. One more cup of coffee kept me going as I drove off the ferry and made the drive to Campbell River. One of my friends (let's call him Kyle) had already passed out, but his roommate, my old friend Julian, made short work of that. We caught up for hours and were put to bed by our drinks..
For the next week I sat on a couch. It had been ages since I had really relaxed, so I took it easy... By the time I got restless, and had watched all there was to watch on one hundred some-odd channels, a week had past and my hosts were up for a little road trip themselves. Kyle and I had hit the roads of Vancouver Island the last time I was out here, but Julian (although having lived on the island for 6 months) had never seen the west coast. By rearranging those high-tech cushions in the back, we transformed my bed into a make shift seat, and we were off..
After failed attempts to reach an island off the coast of Tofino, we all packed into a hotel room and hit Long Beach the next morning. In search of a decent, free, non-commercial camp site, I somehow found my way back to a hidden camp site, in the middle of nowhere, that I had shared with two aussie hitchhikers the previous year. To our left was a group of hippies from quebec and to our right was a couple of guys from Ottawa. Combined we had three guitars, a couple of drums and a harmonica. What resulted were some very odd versions of songs that had us banging away on said instruments. A french version of country roads sticks in my mind, but there were others that boggled the mind. By the time we were finished with the weekend, we were starved from lack of planning, a case of minor food poisoning from some questionable meat when we tried to remedy that hunger, a slight hangover, and a wallet-less Kyle. We waited an hour or so as Kyle proceeded to sift through the whole beach, unpack and pack the tent and tear apart my car for his little leather friend. It was later found sitting in plain view in the trunk, but not after he had gone through the motions of cancelling his credit cards, etc..
In a page from my memoirs of Barrie, I returned to Campbell River to drop off Kyle and Julian so they could get to work on Monday, and turned right around, headed back to Tofino. I was determined to get to Vargas, the island we had been trying to reach just days ago. I had only $100 to my name at this point so I was intent on finding a beach somewhere and camping in solitude. Something didn't want me to get there. Before I could pass Nanaimo, I found I had less than the $100 I thought I had. It was closer to $0. I spent an hour on the phone to Visa trying to track down some mystery purchases on my credit card, and finally got them to increase my limit until they could find the source of the charges. As I pulled away from the phone booth I had occupied for the past hour, I realized my tank was empty. As the gas counter rolled into half of my funds, I picked out the rocks in my treads as I had done at most gas stops. The tread on the new tires grabbed onto stones any chance they had, and always made a racket. One particularly stubborn flat stone, gave me a bit of a fight. As I kept picking at it with my keys, it would answer with a "pssstt". My newfound stone turned out to be a 2" nail stuck right in the tread. A nearby tire store told me it would cost $25 to repair from the inside, and that they wouldn't be able to just throw a plug in. Thankfully Nanaimo Subaru came to my aid and fixed her up for free. I thanked them profusely and continued on. Once I reached Tofino, I tried to secure a ride to that illusive little island. After half an hour of searching, I had found only two options. One was a private charter, which would run around $100, so that was out, and the other was to try to get a lift with a native water taxi. I had hitched a ride with them to a different island last year, so I waited for them to show.. and waited... and waited.
Finally one of the old beat up silver boats docked in front of me, and I asked for a lift to Vargas Island. They said there was nothing on Vargas. I explained to them I had just got off the phone with the lady from the inn on Vargas. They countered that there is no inn on Vargas. I once again called the woman at the inn on Vargas, and she explained she'd rather not have the native ferry drop me off... it seems they were trying to operate some sort of hidden resort 5 minutes off the coast of one of the most popular tourists spots on Vancouver Island. Alright... With no other options, and the only water taxi around, I jumped on with my gear, headed for my consolation prize: Flores Island.
I had been to Flores Island with my buddy Kyle, when we had toured the area last year, but we had stayed at a tiny hostel, in a three man town. I wasn't ready for the hustle and bustle of such a town, so I took my ride to a deserted beach on the other side of the island. Here again, with my keen sense of planning, I was bogged down with too much luggage. On my back was a duffel bag (I had forgot to bring a backpack when I left Toronto) filled with 50 lbs of camera gear, canned food and clothes. In my left hand was my trusty guitar. To my right, my tent. Seeing as there was no dock and it was a shallow beach, the guy tried to balance the boat just off the edge of an out cropping of rock. As the boat heaved back and forth in the wake, I somehow managed to jump on the barnacle and muscle covered rocks with no free hands, and bag that was far too heavy. I knew I was in trouble when I strained to get all my gear to a nice spot on the beach, for I knew what would be ahead of me when I departed. The only way off the island, was to hike through a rugged trail to reach the other side of the island. I had made this hike before, with just a small pack, and it was no picnic...
For the next couple of days I was left with the wilderness. On that first night I realized, how truly awful my packing/planning skills were. I had no flashlight. I had no sleeping pad. And I didn't bring any warm clothing. Neat. The challenge, however, made the trip worth it. I only stayed on that island for a couple of days, but by the end I felt like Tom Hanks in Castaway. But, without the volley ball. And my teeth were fine. Christ I've never even been nominated for an oscar.. With my only form of entertainment being myself on guitar (and I ain't no Django Reinhardt), I tried to keep myself busy. This didn't prove too hard, however, as I needed a whole lot firewood to keep warm, and without a flashlight, all the gathering had to be done before sunset.
When I had first arrived, there were a couple of passing kayakers who had warned me that the bears were quite active at this time of year. Not exactly the first thing you want to hear about a beach you'll be spending a good chunk of time alone on. Then to add to that warning I found a worn old sign, advising people not to feed the wolves, it's dangerous. You don't say.. On my second night I had the pleasure of meeting these wolves. I was by the campfire just after sunset, but not quite dark yet, playing guitar, as a pack of wild dogs passed within 20 feet of me. As they passed, the leader of the pack turned to look at me, not in any menacing way, but more curiosity.. For whatever reason, I wasn't too worried about them, it just seemed to fit the scenario. When a stray dog from the pack came brushing by me minutes later, however, I wasn't as brave as before. Aside from that, the only other encounter with wildlife were the huge salmon that were jumping in the ocean in front of me, and some unnerving sounds in the rainforest behind me.. thankfully I never found any source of such noises.
By the third day, I was ready to move on, and packed my tent, and loaded my bags. This was the part of this little adventure, I wasn't looking forward to. The trail ahead of me was long. The last time I had traversed it, I had only a camera and a bottle of water, and I was exhausted by the end. This time I was completely loaded down. I don't think words can describe this hike, as it is as beautiful as it is complicated. It takes you through roots of massive cedars, over streams, logs, and a couple million cubic feet of thick muddy bog. With the straps of my duffel bag wrapped with socks, and both hands still occupied with guitar and tent, I started. By far the most stress I have ever put on my body. When I emerged from the forest, three or four hours had passed, and I had refinished my pants with mud to the knees. By the time I reached the little town, I was beat. I sat on the porch of the general store/post office/marina for a beer and a smoke. The rugged old bear of a man who works the store, listened to my story, and was either impressed or thought I was a moron for bringing all that stuff through the trail. Regardless, he acknowledged the task I had accomplished. After an hour of chatting with the locals, I caught the last water taxi back to Tofino, and checked into the hostel. As far as hostels go, the Whaler's on the Point is unbeatable. This again was a familiar stop from my previous trip. A hot shower and warm bed was all I was able to take advantage of that night. Best. Sleep. Ever.
With my last couple of bucks invested in breakfast and gas, I returned to Campbell river for the last time. Upon returning, I found my buddy had just become unemployed. This great news came after he had just totaled his truck a couple of weeks before. As we raised a glass to his misfortune, I received news from Toronto, that put me in bad shape. Misery loves company, I think is what they say. We weren't much of a pleasure to be around that night as we did our best to play the blues as best as a couple of white guys, who could easily be mistaken for hippies, could. That lasted for a couple of days, as my friends took pity on my financial situation and kept me fed and hazy. On the Monday a bit of money came in, and I said goodbye to me gracious hosts, and Vancouver Island. Just as the 2 hour drive returning to the ferry was spent feeling sorry for my self, the ferry trip itself did something to buoy my spirits. By the time I landed at Horseshoe Bay, I felt great. Hours before, I was on the brink of spending the next the week trading my car in for a dirty old van, and making my way home. Instead I dropped in on my old friend Adam from junior school, who was working out at Electronic Arts in Burnaby. Somehow we returned to where we had left off 12 odd years ago, going as far as to play some of the games from our youth. As it had been a decade ago, I was once again losing 10-0 in the second period of on an old version of NHL for the super nintendo. When I left his place, I  knew I was headed home.
My sister was about to celebrate her 16th birthday in five days. I figured the best gift I could give her was to be there. After stopping off at Specialty Subaru in North Vancouver for some work on the car, I made my way to Nelson for the night. I've had many friends pass through there at different times, and had been advised to see it for myself. Not anything that the average tourist would be blown away by, just a bunch of great people in very artistic based community. Lots of live music, little art shops and galleries fill the main strip of Nelson. I bought a print from a local photographer for my girlfriend, and a little silver sculpture for my sister. I had to leave that town far too early, I wish I could have stayed, but I had a good four and a half thousand kilometers of road ahead of me, that I needed to cover by Sunday. On the road that next day, I realized my trip was over, but I was looking forward to the faces of home. As I drove past Calgary and into the prairies I was thinking of my friend and hoping his luck would improve. I just heard from him today, and it looks like he'll be checking out South America next.. Driving through Manitoba, I received my souvenir speeding ticket, and hoped my situation wasn?t going to blow up in my face when I returned. I'm now back and things seem to have blown over. And the one thing that presided over all these thoughts ,was the anticipation of surprising my sister on her sweet sixteenth. When I finally did arrive home, I was on the phone with my family saying I was in Drumheller Alberta as I walked up the front steps of my parents house. The look on my sister's face was priceless as I walked in the door.
Happy birthday Ali, I'm home.

Το ινδιανικο καλοκαιρι ,τυλιξε με προσοχη και μεσα σε αγνο βαμβακι ,ολες τις αιχμες του χειμωνα που θαρθει βαρυς .

Ολοι μας νοιωσαμε την ζεστασια του και την γλυκυτατη λαχταρα του .

Και ετσι ξεχαστηκαμε  στην αγκαλια του.

Ειναι τοσο ζεστη και στοργικη η αγκαλια του.

Αχ και να κρατουσε για παντα!

Ειναι ωραιος ομως και ο ιντερνετικος ουρανος μας, με τους αιωνια γαλαζωπους αριθμους του .

Μας διατηρει  πακεταρισμενους μεσα σε αυτες τις κλειστες κονσερβες του βιομηχανοποιημενου  δικτυου.

Ειναι  ενας κοσμος ιδαιτερως νεωτεριστικος, ειναι σαν ενα ινδιανικο καλοκαιρι που κατοικει εδω και καμποσο καιρο μεσα στην ψυχη μας ,και μας κατευθυνει σε δρομο αδιεξοδο.

Σε εκεινο τον αδιεξοδο δρομο που βρισκεται το αντιπαθητικο  0Ν .Στο οποιο εχουμε αρκετα χρεη, ισως υψηλοτερα και απο τα πιο ψηλα βουνα. 

Εμεις οι ιδιοι εχουμε δωσει και θα δωσουμε την τελικη και αμετακλητη συγκαταβαση μας για την εγκαθιδρυση της μοναρχιας του.

Αυτη η ενεργεια μας εχει ως συνεπεια την αφαιρεση του προνομιου  της "φυσικης επιλογη¨ απο την εξελιξη του ειδους μας και πολλων αλλων ειδων ,ισως και του συνολου του οικοσυστηματος  .

Εχουμε αποκτησει εδω και καιρο,ειναι βεβαιο τωρα πια, την τεχνητη επιλογη.Με την οποια καταφεραμε  να δημιουργησουμε εδω  στη γη  .Οτι θα απευχομαστε να υπαρχει σε οποιοδηποτε αλλο μερος του συμπαντος, οσο ερημικο και τιποτενιο κι αν ειναι.

Εξαναγκασμενοι απο την ιδιομορφη αυτη κατασταση καλεσαμε το 0Ν να ερθει για να μας σωσει. Μα αυτο δεν ειναι τιποτα αλλο παρα οι ιδιοι εμεις .Εχει τις ιδιες καταστροφικες συνηθειες.


Και αλλοιμονο σε αυτους που θα  αντισταθουν στο 0Ν!

Αυτοι θα τιμωρηθουν απο τους ανθρωπους, και θα βασανιστουν ανηλεως απο τον αλλο τους εαυτο ,απο το 0Ν.

Χωρις να δεχτουν το παραμικρο ελεος ,και χωρις νοιωσουν  το Ινδιανικο καλοκαιρι να τους  φωτιζει με το αγνο  φως  . Και τον ηλιο του να τους ζεσταινει καταβαθα την σαρκα μεχρι την ακρη της ψυχης τους. 


Υ.Γ. Το ανθρωπινο πνευμα και τα δωρα του δεν ειναι εδω για να πλουτισουμε ,η για να γινουμε πιο σοφοι, η για να το χρησιμοποιουμε κατ επαναληψιν και μονο για εγωκεντρικους σκοπους. Η ακομα περισσοτερο, για να το διαθεσουμε στο 0Ν ετσι ωστε αυτο να επιτυχει τους σχεδιασμου του.

Το πνευμα  ειναι και θα ειναι για παντα η ελευθερη αναπνοη της ανθρωπινης υποστασης μας.Η ουσια του ανηκει  και θα ανηκει εως το τελος ,ταυτοχρονα στον ολολαμπρο κοσμο της ενορασης των μικρων μας φιλων (μικροοργανισμων)  και στον αυτοματο μηχανισμο που μας συγκρατει στην ζωη.

 Αυτο μας  εισαγει και μας βαπτιζει στον πλεον ποθητο απο εμας τους θνητους ,χωρο και χρονο.

Εισπνεουμε συνεχως και αδιακοπα την ιδια την ζωη με αυτο.

 Αυτη η απλη και αυτοματη λειτουργια  ειναι ολο και ολο το εργο του πνευματος.

Εαν μας φαινεται "λιγη" και υποτιμητικη η λειτουργια αυτη. Καλυτερα να σκεφτουμε δυο φορες. Αφου βεβαια πρωτα αντιληφθουμε τον αληθινο πλουτο της ζωης μας. 

Οποιαδηποτε αλλη χρηση του πνευματος απο τον εγωκεντρισμο του ανθρωπου  σημαινει πως κανουμε το πιο σοβαρο λαθος.

Κριμα ομως γιατι αυτο  το λαθος εγινε κοινος νους και ζει μεταξυ μας.

Αυτο κατευθυνει την ζωη μας στην ανυπαρξια. Μαζι και ολη την πολυποικιλοτητα που μας μεγαλωσε αναμεσα στα  πρωταρχικα και αξεπεραστα μονοπατια της Οικοσφαιρας.

Καθημερινα ,γινομαστε μαρτυρες της ανθρωπινης κακοδιαχειρισης των γνησιοτερων δωρων του πνευματος.

Στις μερες μας η ανθρωπινη αναπνοη του πνευματος που τοσο αναγκη την εχουμε.  Χανεται και εξαφανιζεται μαζι με οτι αλλο ομορφο μας εχει χαρισει η ζωη.

Το αποπροσανατολισμενο ανθρωπινο ειδος , τελικα αντι να δεχεται τα δωρα της πολυποθητης  ζωης ,καταστρεφει μηχανικα και αυτοματα οτιδηποτε εχει αξια και μας συνδεει με αυτην.


 Το 0Ν ειμαστε εμεις. Ειναι ολες οι αστοχιες μας συγκεντρωμενες  σε ενα ωραιοποιημενο συνολο. Το οποιο, επειδη  εξ αρχης ειναι λαθος, και κατα βαθος το γνωριζουμε  πολυ καλα. Εμεις το θελουμε ωστοσο ετσι, οπως και ναναι, και παντοτε  προσπαθουμε να το εμφανισουμε ως σωστο με διαφορες αντιφατικες συνηθως αλλα και ανορθοδοξες μεθοδους.

Το 0Ν ειναι η  επεξεργασμενη μορφη της αστοχης διαθεσης της λογικης μας .

 Αποκταει δυναμεις  πολυ ευκολα  στον υποσυνειδητο κοσμο μας. Γιατι η ιστορια του ανθρωπου εχει συμβαλλει στην αυτοματοποιηση της διαδικασιας παραγωγης του.

 Ετσι ωστε οι περισσοτεροι απο τους  ανθρωπους να θεωρουν την παρουσια του δεδομενη η ακομα και να την δεχονται σαν την αληθινη πηγη της ζωης . 













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