I spent the night about two K beyond Grand Forks parked on the side lawn of a wonderful person and fellow saxophonist named Jan. He had a dinner commitment but because of a mutual friend Ellen left me with his house open so that I could have a leisure shower and use his sink to make a ceasar salad. I played chase the ball with his dog a while and then went to sleep in Toto the wonder RV.
Next morning I was awake much earlier than I imagined Jan would be and drove back to Grand Forks since I was feeling less cavalier about the prospect of running out of gas. I waited behind the library doing some work and when I thought it was late enough phoned Jan who was already tucked in to breakfast.
While I was in G.F. I decided to do some walking and I walked almost to the road that I’d started the morning from. On my way out I spoke with a young Quebecois gentleman by the name of Mario who had a dog and enough stuff that he could carry on his back to make old me cringe. I crossed the highway and spoke to him again on my way back and described to him why I thought he’d have better luck hitching a ride just ahead around the bend where drivers could see him sooner and make a stopping decision much more easily. After being in touch with Jan I drove past his new spot and he was still there. I pulled over, apologized that I was only going a couple of K but his reply was “I don’t care. I want to move” Two K later I dropped him where I was exiting the highway and later was delighted to see that he had been right because when I left Jan’s and went by where I’d left him, no him no mound of stuff and no dog. Someone I met had a dog named “Popeye” and I think it was he. Good luck following the fruit picking Mario and Popeye.
I found a rest stop on the highway about halfway between G.F. and Christina Lake that because in both directions was very soft and limited elevations I was able to do some quite long walks. I subsidize the gas usage by picking up beer cans along the highway and I’m not sure if it was here or elsewhere but somewhere along the way I had to make the mental connections between the 1,500-1,600 beer cans and the amazing number of little monuments to mostly young people who have died from vehicular accidents along the road. Stephen Harper and the incredibly dishonest cabal of which he is the head can’t possibly be stupid enough, nobody can be that stupid, to not know that those little crosses along the highway have almost everything to do with booze and almost nothing to do with pot.