It's been a bizarre two weeks.
A long road-trip, followed by what seems to be a never-ending list of bad news. I'm wondering when it's going to end.
I go back to work this week, and I'm not sure I'll be able to slip back into the old routine - at least, not as easily as I'd like.
Having two weeks off let me look forward somewhat to school, and beyond. The more I think about it, the more I get into my old mindset. Namely, I don't want to stay around here forever. It almost seems like every other minute I catch myself thinking about the road again.
And that's mostly what I've been doing lately. A lot of thinking. It's almost strange that I'm at a point in my life where I've got so much to look forward to. There's almost no time to look back and reflect. Or re-live, as the case may be. It's all just a furious charge uphill to something unknown, and only when I get there will I see if it was all worth it.
...that is, if I haven't passed it by completely.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Traveller
I left with the sun behind me, barely risen. It was early, yet I was wide awake, and yet had been for most of the night. I always feel like that before a new journey, a new adventure. Even something as mundane as driving takes on new dimensions when it's pushed to new limits.
I go over potential routes, shortcuts, stopping-off points, rest areas, and points of interest. The route is laid out once, twice, three times. But I never end up following it anyway. Secondary highways are my guilty pleasure. Little to no traffic. Nothing but farmsteads and median lines.
Gas is always a concern, and it's times like this that I'm reminded that my current vehicle, though trusty and powerful, cannot last in these new times. Gas is too expensive to be filling up every three or four hours.
It's always amusing to pull up to gas stations in small towns and old settlements. Often times the gas pumps were installed in the 70's or 80's, and still operate a manual switch. Most people are completely perplexed by the simple machinery. What hath the digital age wroth? Cannot we pump our own gas?
Whitecourt was a new experience. Divided highway that seemed to run forever. The nearest vehicles were a hundred clicks behind me and a hundred ahead. The only landmarks were bumps in the road, and the odd industrial mega-complex. The further north I went, the more garish they became. I suppose, in their drive to promote business, many of the more remote towns allowed big industry to set up shop wherever they could find the room.
I don't think they understood that seeing a belching, steel monster upon entering a town for the first time is not a good way to promote tourism.
Desolace followed. Unending fields, trees, valleys, and of course, the road. Despite my assumption that I was going somewhere remote, the road stayed constant, and in good repair.
Six hours in, fatigue was starting to set in, but the worst was over. Valleyview, then Nampa passed on my way to my destination. Finally, I arrived in Peace River, an unexpected jewel, hidden on the riverside. Grimshaw, upon the other side of the river, lay a mere half-hour away, but it would be here where I'd have my first proper meal away from home.
A weekend of laughing and drunkenness ensued. I'm reminded in my sobriety that good friends, despite distance, are always friends. We all grow old, but in a way, that just makes our old jokes even funnier. And allows for some new ones too.
The time to go came too soon, and again, I was packed and on the road. This time the sun was on my face, a final good-bye before it too was swallowed up by an endless wall of fog, starting around Ponoka and dogging me the whole way home.
I was thinking the weather was about to fail when, just before the city limits, the fog broke, and between to jaws of clouds, the sun sat, red and blazing, staring down right on me as I rolled in home.
What a trip.
I go over potential routes, shortcuts, stopping-off points, rest areas, and points of interest. The route is laid out once, twice, three times. But I never end up following it anyway. Secondary highways are my guilty pleasure. Little to no traffic. Nothing but farmsteads and median lines.
Gas is always a concern, and it's times like this that I'm reminded that my current vehicle, though trusty and powerful, cannot last in these new times. Gas is too expensive to be filling up every three or four hours.
It's always amusing to pull up to gas stations in small towns and old settlements. Often times the gas pumps were installed in the 70's or 80's, and still operate a manual switch. Most people are completely perplexed by the simple machinery. What hath the digital age wroth? Cannot we pump our own gas?
Whitecourt was a new experience. Divided highway that seemed to run forever. The nearest vehicles were a hundred clicks behind me and a hundred ahead. The only landmarks were bumps in the road, and the odd industrial mega-complex. The further north I went, the more garish they became. I suppose, in their drive to promote business, many of the more remote towns allowed big industry to set up shop wherever they could find the room.
I don't think they understood that seeing a belching, steel monster upon entering a town for the first time is not a good way to promote tourism.
Desolace followed. Unending fields, trees, valleys, and of course, the road. Despite my assumption that I was going somewhere remote, the road stayed constant, and in good repair.
Six hours in, fatigue was starting to set in, but the worst was over. Valleyview, then Nampa passed on my way to my destination. Finally, I arrived in Peace River, an unexpected jewel, hidden on the riverside. Grimshaw, upon the other side of the river, lay a mere half-hour away, but it would be here where I'd have my first proper meal away from home.
A weekend of laughing and drunkenness ensued. I'm reminded in my sobriety that good friends, despite distance, are always friends. We all grow old, but in a way, that just makes our old jokes even funnier. And allows for some new ones too.
The time to go came too soon, and again, I was packed and on the road. This time the sun was on my face, a final good-bye before it too was swallowed up by an endless wall of fog, starting around Ponoka and dogging me the whole way home.
I was thinking the weather was about to fail when, just before the city limits, the fog broke, and between to jaws of clouds, the sun sat, red and blazing, staring down right on me as I rolled in home.
What a trip.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
I dream I leave I travel
I booked two weeks off from work, starting this past sunday. I'll be hitting the road soon, though I don't imagine I'll be stopping anywhere for too long until I get to my destination.
The camera's in tow, as is both laptops and enough clothes for a week.
It already feels like I should be driving. The only hard part now is tricking myself into sleeping long enough that I'm not exhausted when I wake tomorrow.
The camera's in tow, as is both laptops and enough clothes for a week.
It already feels like I should be driving. The only hard part now is tricking myself into sleeping long enough that I'm not exhausted when I wake tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Some Days
Some days, it's seems that I just walk in half-way through. I'm a stranger in everything. I walk in, unannounced and unwelcomed, turn everything on its head, for good or ill, and then leave.
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