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Hope

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 16 November 2021

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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...