Why are we here?

My Birthday Weekend

This is going to be a black diamond post in length. If you can navigate yourself to the bottom of it without getting stuck in a tree, falling over the edge of an abyss, or getting eaten by a hungry grizzly who realized that black diamond trails fell skiers by the dozens and they can just walk up and grab an injured one...then you clearly are not ADHD. Congrats.

(If you do not feel like reading it here’s the short version: Darcy and I went into interior BC with no plan, no supplies, and no shoes. But we did bring our guitars. We hitchhiked with stoner truck drivers, ate watermelon for free, burnt our feet beyond recognition (literally, toe prints were missing), and ate little more than trail mix and spinach dip. We slept outside and froze, and played guitar on the highway. How was your weekend?)

Here we go.

Random Friend: Hey Josh, I hear it's your birthday this weekend. What do you have planned?

Me: Actually, I'm going off into the wilderness with nothing more than my guitar and some spinach dip this weekend. Darcy will probably come too, since there’s spinach dip.

RF: Uhh...okay. I've always wanted to be on the news. (mockingly) "Josh was a great guy. Too bad he’s gone forever."

Me: Haha...see ya next week....maybe.



And then I left. And this is the story of what happened:

For the last three years, I've done epic things for my birthday. I turned 18 in Rome, 19 camping in BC, and 20 in Hofn Iceland. You don't even know where that is.

This year, since I’ve just moved out and am trying to save for school, I didn't have such a grand far away adventure planned. In fact, I didn't have anything planned until Thursday night. Over a game of Age of Empires, Darcy, Quade, And I formulated a plan.

Quade would drive to Vancouver to say he'd gone coast to coast this summer. Meanwhile, somewhere along the way, he'd drop Darcy and Josh off. There was no talk of WHERE they would get out or what they'd do when they get there. Friday night, the three casually locked their door and headed out.

They drove as far as Revelstoke that night to loud music. Refusing to spend a penny, they pulled over beside the river and reclined their seats (Darcy was in the back seat curled up in foetal position) for the night. Let me tell YOU. If you ever have the opportunity to sleep a night in a Dodge Calibre...DON'T DO IT. Sleeping under the train tracks wasn't the best plan either, and several times they awoke in fright from the screaming sounds of a train above them. Somehow, Josh left his sandals at the river.

The next morning, they groaned, grimaced, and grunted and carried driving to Sicamous. “Pull over here,” said Darcy. We were at a beach and park.

They decided this was the place to begin the adventure. The three of them strolled over to the park, sat in the shade and relaxed.

“This ain’t so bad, eh? We can survive all weekend without basic necessities.”

(It’d been five minutes)

“Yeah totally. I don’t even want to take shoes!”

(Our feet were deep in the lush green grass)

“Alright. Let’s leave them in the car with Quade.”

(hold on...let’s stop and think about that)

“What a great idea!”

(What a terrible idea!)

So off Quade went.

We stayed on the beach for a few hours. Playing guitar, eating, talking. Easy peasy. Then we decided we’d walk back to Revelstoke. I said “let’s do it. how far is that?” Eleven hours. “okay....let’s do it.”

We picked up our guitars and small backpacks and headed out. Shirtless, shoeless. Planless.

Now let me say that it’s really easy to make bad decisions when it’s 45 degrees on a beach. Your brain gets lazy. It’s also really easy to fully comprehend a bad decision when you are walking along the highway when it’s 45 degrees...our feet were burning!

We headed to the east end of town, trying to walk in shade or on grass. However, the grass is so dry out there right now that it’s like walking on needles. Darcy preferred the stabbing feeling, and I chose the burns. However, as time went on, it didn’t matter what we walked on: it all hurt. We didn’t even make it out of town before stopping. The river ran alongside the highway, so we thought we’d try walking in the cool water to give our feet a break as we carry on upstream. We hobbled to the river in severe pain and realized that it was mostly lined with cliffs and was deeper than we thought...so it wasn’t an option. We groaned as we realized we were far along a road to nowhere and had to turn back around to go back into town. It was only getting hotter as we approached midday. Our feet were black and swollen by this point, and we realized we could go no further without some sandals. I suddenly realised I had a pair of socks in my backpack, and we each put on one sock and proceeded to the far end of town to buy sandals.

IMPORTANT LESSON: If you want to be taken seriously, NEVER wear one sock. A person with only one sock and no shirt will automatically be regarded as crazy and unstable. TWO people wearing one sock each is approximately 20 times worse, as now we were a gang of crazy people.

We politely walked into a store and had a look at their sandal collection. All they had were crocs. And I hate crocs. I even hate them when the next best option is blistered, bloody feet on hot, black pavement for long hours. So we left.

Pff. Crocs. Please.

We found another store that sold flip-flops for $1.50. Bingo. That’ll do, pig. After carefully searching the front door of the store for the “no shirt/no shoes/no service” sign, I put on my smile and walked in. The lady sold me the shoes, mumbling something about the poor, poor dogs. I don’t think she was talking about me...but now that I think about it, she might’ve been.

A car of girls slowed to honk at us, but that wasn’t worth the pain. I was beginning to sunburn (no shirt), and the flip-flops were the worst I’d ever worn. We were getting blisters on the TOP of our feet now too. And even worse: whenever we took a step, the sandal would slap the bottom of our feet, reminding us of our stupidity. We conceded that we would never make it out of town on foot. The new plan was to hitchhike home.

It was now approaching 1pm as we reached the Husky gas station and restaurant at the east end of town. I went in and asked for tape, a Sharpie, and some paper. The girl working the restaurant would not meet my eye. Her name was Jodie. I peg her at around 17. She was cute.

We made a sign that read “CALGARY” and taped it to Darcy’s guitar case. We set up shop on the highway and hoped someone would stop. No one even blinked, so I pulled out my guitar and began to sing. NOW we got reactions! People waved, cheered, took pictures, laughed. But still, no one would stop.

8 hours later, it looked like it was going to rain. We needed to find shelter. We saw some old semi trailers parked behind the Husky, and decided to sleep there. Just as we were packing up our stuff, a man crossed the highway and approached us.

“Hey, I saw you two trying to get someone to pick you up. Too bad you had no luck. But here’s half a watermelon and a couple drinks. And some sardines. Good luck!”

What bliss! Euphoria! Watermelony deliciousness!

(We tossed out the sardines. Seriously...it’s not like we’re homeless...though we did borrow two spoons from the restaurant to eat the watermelon.)

Halfway through eating this sudden turn of luck, the cute blonde named Jodie came outside. Darcy was convinced I'd end up marrying her.

“Hey, I’m off in two hours. I can give you a ride 20 minutes up the road if you want.”

Darcy and I just froze, spoon half way to mouth.

“Uhhh...”

Ok lets step back and examine this situation. A cute blonde 17yr old girl is offering to pick up two slightly older guys late at night and drive them out of town. She doesn’t know our names. Nor why we are here. All she knows is we have a ferocious affinity for this watermelon and we clearly haven’t showered in a couple days.

“Do you realise how dangerous that is?” I ask.

“Should I be worried? You guys seem pretty nice.”

I chuckled to Darcy. We’d spent some time debating whether we look like that stereotypical psycho hitchhiker you see walking along the highways, or like a couple harmless hippies who might be fun to party with. Jodie is either attracted to the older grungy type/psycho rapist cannibal or we look harmless like kittens.

(Side note: Kittens aren’t all that harmless. I watched a kitten sink it’s baby claws into, and hang from, some guys nipple this week.)

We accepted the ride, and sat in silence as we both contemplated how many ways this COULD go wrong for her had we been the crazy psycho rapist type. We actually got fairly stressed about this for a while. I mean, she had just given us two hours to decide what we would do with/to her. Then we suddenly laughed and realised that us being us, nothing unpleasant or gruesome would be happening to Jodie tonight. But seriously. She shouldn’t have offered.

Ten Minutes Later.

Trucker dude approaches us and says “Hey guys, I’ll be in Calgary at 3am. Wanna ride?”

*Pause*

We had just spent 9 bloody hours at this husky trying to get someone to give us a ride to Calgary. The first words out of our mouth when we are offered a non-stop direct drive in a comfy semi:

*unpause*

“I dunno...what do you think, Darcy?”

“Hmmm...”

“I mean, we couuullld...”

He sweetened the deal:

“I’ve just picked up a load of fresh blueberries and I’m taking them to Costco. We can eat all the blueberries we want.”

Done.

I went to find Jodie.

We are ditching you for blueberries. Yeah. I know. But it’s a killer deal. Oh...and don’t ever offer to pick up a hitchhiker again. And thanks.

We walked over to his semi and jumped in. The first thing he asks is “Hey, you guys smoke up, right? You know, a little bud?”

Oh Em Gee. Honestly...not while he’s driving all night through mountain passes?!

“Uhh no.”

“Oh! Then I won’t bother either.”

The next few hours were mostly silent. We found out that this guy lives in his truck and works 7 days a week with a girlfriend on each end of his route. Ew.

I missed Jodie. She would have been more interesting. Plus, she was going to drop us off in a place called the Enchanted Forest which I assume is pretty freakin’ scary at night. Jumping in the truck with Trucker Tom Cuggins would end our trip much sooner than anticipated. So Darcy and I decided to get out along the way. Golden was too cold, so we decided Banff would be a sweet spot to be homeless. Up to now, we had considered sleeping in 6 different places: Sicamous, The Enchanted Forest, Revelstoke, Golden, Banff, and Calgary. That is truly a homeless mentality.

We jumped out of the train at Banff and began walking along the road into town. It was pitch black with glass on the roads (we’d long ago ditched our shoes again) so the going was slow, and we were brutally delirious too. Suddenly, we heard this very eerie sound. Like wolves, crying babies, and nails on a chalk board. The trees are swaying, and no one is in sight. We hold our breath to listen. A light shines through the trees, moving slowly towards us up ahead. I grab my phone and notice that the clock says it’s sometime after 3am. It’s now my birthday. Whoop dee, I’m about to be eaten by Sasquatch.

But it wasn’t the Sasquatch, it was a slow moving train (no more than 10 km/hr) up ahead. And it was about to cut off the road to Banff. If we didn’t make it past this train in time, we’d be sitting there for hours if it chose to stop. If you think we could have just climbed over it, you haven’t spent much time around trains.

Everything happened so slowly, since we couldn’t run due to our blistering feet and delirious minds, and the slow moving train.

“Darcy! Ruuuun!”

“Jooooshhh we woonnt make it!”

“Cooomeee ooonnn!”

“chuga...chuga...chuga...chuga”

When I jumped in front of the train, it was from your pillow to your bedroom door away. And believe me, that is one scary rush of adrenaline. Darcy and I collapsed on the road in a fit of psychotic evil laughter and relief. The conductor leant out the window and shook his head at us. We looked like idiots.

Let me tell you. Banff gets cold at night.

Well say, Josh, didn’t you bring any warm clothes?

Of course I did! I brought a hoodie. Please, I’m not stupid.

No shoes, though, eh?

....

After attempting to sleep in the mosquito infested lawns of a hotel I once stayed at while working, I gave up. I don’t remember waking up, but 45 minutes after collapsing on the lawn, I was standing, looking down at Darcy. He had his jacket pulled up over his head. He zipped it down to his nose and looked up at me. “J-j-j-osh. Why is it so cold?” It was more pathetic than Oliver Twist asking for more.

“I don’t know Darcy, I don’t know.” And I walked away. I sat in the lobby of the hotel and watched the clerk drool all over his desk while he slept. When my brain thawed, I realised I’d left Darcy outside in the cold for 20 minutes when he was already shaking and delirious. I raced outside, avoided running into an elk, and found the spot where we’d slept. He wasn’t there. “Darcy?” I heard a sniff. I turned to see Darcy clinging to the side of the hotel, trying to absorb any warmth it may or may not have been emitting. “Darcy, let’s go somewhere warm.”

We stalked some guy until he told us where he’d bought his coffee, and we slept in McDonalds for two hours until 8am. It was full of people dressed like Smith from The Matrix. I think they were there, anyways. When I woke up, they weren’t...so we’ll never know. I think I took the blue pill.

Feeling like absolute garbage, we decided it was time to get home. We attempted to hang out at the last gas station in town and get a ride there...but we just fell asleep and ended up sprawled out on the sidewalk blocking the payphone and washroom entrance. This was the low of the trip. We were disgusting homeless people who you try and avoid. Old ladies glared. Meh. We needed the sleep.

At 11:30am, we realised no one was going to drive us if we were sleeping on the sidewalk, so we cleaned ourselves up and headed out to the highway. We sang and laughed and waved. We saw Tom driving back the other way. He was probably high as a kite, since he didn’t wave. At 11:45am, a very nice couple in Subaru picked us up and we chatted all the way back to Calgary. We gave them our CD and they dropped us off at Foothills Hospital where we walked home from. All in all, we were only gone 42 hours....but it was ridiculous and dumb the whole time, so it felt much longer. Our feet were totally black and blistered from the heat and our whole bodies sore from the sleeping conditions. Happy Bday Josh. Aaallright.

Wherever you go, there you are

...Or so says a book I have been reading. It's called 'Velvet Elvis', and it's one of those books that is heavier than the weight of its pages. The tag line for this book is "Repainting the Christian Faith" which is a fairly vague and incomplete representation of what the book is ACTUALLY about-- or, more correctly, it's an understatement. Suffice to say that this book has radically changed my views and perspectives (but not necessarily beliefs), and I'd recommend it to anyone who likes a book that makes you think. Hard. But this is not a book club, and I am not Oprah. For now I'll focus on the phrase I've pulled from it and ...rant.

"Wherever you go, there you are."

The author is talking about escapism. He is saying that you can go rags to riches, move across the country, or get plastic surgery, but at the end of the day, you'll still be you --with all the same flaws and insecurities that you tried to fix by changing physical traits instead of dealing with the emotional issues behind your actions. I can understand how running away to another city because you couldn't make friends is not truly constructive. But I also think there is a method of escapism that is in fact beneficial...maybe necessary.

Sometimes running away for a few days/weeks/months is the best thing you can do. A little physical or emotional distance from everyone or everything gives you a chance to see your life from a new perspective. The root problem that what you are running away from may, in fact, be you. But that's fine. "You" coming with you on your escapist vacation, which means that you'll be able to determine exactly what baggage you are carrying with you besides that backpack. It's like an experiment, and your new physical/emotional distance is the variable. And when you travel you'll discover the constants: those patterns and habits and insecurities that seem to be unchanging no matter where you live or who you shut out. Does this make any sense?

I'm just trying to say that constructive escapism is a very helpful way to assess any problem, just as a kid will slam his door and sit alone in his room and think about why he's so mad. Timeout is such a beautiful thing. Constructive escapism = timeout.

This past weekend, I just had timeout.

Darcy asked me to go with him to Coldplay in Vancouver with his sister, Lena, and their mom, Ameeta. I really enjoy Coldplay, so I accepted the offer. Some other friends were coming out to Vancouver too. It was like we had taken our calgary life and brought it to Vancouver since so many close friends were there. I arrived with Lena and Ameeta on a plane late thursday night. Darcy had driven out with Marya and staying on Vancouver Island...somewhere, so I was supposedly fending for myself until I met up with them. However, I had made zero attempts at planning anything as far as accomodations and transportation for my five day adventure. Ameeta and Lena (who were very generous and patient in response to my lack of planning...thankyou!) offerred me a spot of floor to sleep on until I figured out a plan. Luckily, they hotel decided to upgrade their room, turning that spot of floor into a nice queensize bed. aaalllright.

That's one point for Not Planning.

I informed Ameeta that I would be taking the ferry across to Victoria the next morning in hopes of meeting with Darcy, Marya, Charles, and Brynn. But the details were very vague and too far in the future (15 hours later) to bother with.

"Okay, well what time would you like to catch the ferry?"
"hmm...morningish?"
"How are you getting there?"
"I dunno. bus? train?"
"Well I'm actually meeting a friend right near there in the morning. I could just drop you off on the way."

Perfect! Two points for Not Planning.

On the way to the ferry, she asked some fairly important questions:

"The ferry docks about 1/2 hour outside Victoria. How are you getting downtown to meet with friends?"
hmm... "I'll catch a bus I guess..I'm sure there must be one somewhere. I'll figure it out when I get there."

On the ferry, I watched whales jump and played guitar on the top deck, carefree. A man named Ray in his 50s seemed to be listening, and we eventually struck up conversation. Since he was a local, he asked what my plans were in Victoria. I told him I had none.

"Well don't you know where you're sleeping tonight?"
"...no."
"Don't you have friends in Victoria?"
"Yes, but i don't know where they are."
"Well where are you meeting them?"
" I dunno. Downtown, I guess."

I smiled and blissfully strummed my guitar. He did a little bit of panicking for me.

"How are you getting downtown?"
"I dunno. Bus, I suppose."

He shook his head and frowned slightly. "The busses needed to be pre-arranged. You're too late now. I suppose I can drop you off downtown if you'd like."

THREE points for Not Planning. (As long as you forget the part about getting into a stranger's cars far from home and all that. But Ray seemed like a cool guy.)

We jumped in his big truck and began headed to Victoria. I learned he was a weapons carrier for Vancouver area. And we are talking warheads, grenades, dynamite and torpedoes here. I eagerly tried to peer in the back of his truck. He claimed to work for the government, and I chose to believe him. He now has a copy of Clarity Amid The Chaos, which he was thrilled about. This serves as my first hitchhiking experience.

To lump the rest of my trip together, it was a great time. I love the west coast (grey skies and all), Coldplay was an 8.5/10(they were captivating, but not explosively epic. great seats though). Friends/family were amazing.

As I walked the streets of Victoria/Vancouver, I felt comfortable and at home, no matter where I was wandering. And it was at that point that I realized that it wasn't where I was, it was who I was. I am becoming comfortable being me... at home in myself. I realized that I'm still the same person there as I am here. It just took going there to see who I actually am, I guess.

Wherever you go, there you are.

My west coast timeout was wonderfully helpful. Self-reflection was the theme, spurred on by the aforementioned book. By not planning a minute, and remaining open to new plans as well as new ideas from this book, I was taken (both mentally and geographically) exactly where I needed to go...wherever that ended up being.

There's A First Time For Everything...

There's many things I'd like to do. This is one of them. I suppose we'll have to wait and see if I actually accomplish something here. It'll be something new and exciting for a while, which makes it easier. Hopefully, when the novelty wears off, habit will take over since some things get easier with time. Here we go.

Tomorrow, I head off to Vancouver and Victoria for 5 days or so. The primary reason is to see Coldplay (one of my top 6 favourite bands ever), but I'm just looking forward to getting away for a while. I can't say life has been monotonous and that this vacation will be a break from boredom. Watching the roller coaster that is my bank account has been thrilling enough. Moving out is expensive, and I had only just finished paying off various debt before calling 3344 Boulton Rd home. Money is definitely one of the things that really stresses me out. People say money can't buy happiness. I dunno about that. I can sincerely tell you that I feel waaay better knowing I have money to blow on traveling, friends, or heck..just to pay for University. So while I'll probably penny pinch the whole time I'm in BC, i'll be glad to know that i'm unable to pick up extra shifts, work more overtime, or have to wake up super early to catch the train to work. Time to relax!

I'll keep this short, but end with an good story.

I'm stackin' appples in Safeway, and an 50 year old man comes up to me and says, "Do you know what Gruyere is?"

"No...and we don't carry it in produce."

"I think it's a kind of cheese. My wife sent me here to shop for dinner ingredients."

That's the general trend with older guys alone in the store. They are lost, confused, and feel vulnerable. It's pretty funny how few guys can accurately label things like green onions and turnips. I smile, "OK, well it'll probably be down in the Deli with the other fancy cheeses..." and we proceed to walk to the far end of the store in search of these fancy cheeses. The entire time we walk, he complains about how his wife makes such complicated meals and how she's so picky about the ingredients. I politely nod and chuckle, find him a chunk of Gruyere, and decide to stop biting my tongue. "Hey, man. You should be thankful she cooks at all for you. At least she's not making macaroni and cheese, right?"

He squints at the block of cheese in his hand and shakes it in the air. "That's the thing," he says, "She IS making macaroni and cheese."