A Road Trip Later (cont'd)

When we passed the border, everything was so different.

Actually, the only things that were different were the units, i.e. km/h and cents/litre. Everything else was the same.

My first Canadian meal was at Milestone's, where our waitress was good-looking and gave us free a free spinach-dip with nachos. That was awesome. We also had a waitress ask us randomly how our food was, but in the end, we decided she wasn't a waitress at all, but someone posing as one to decide what to order...It was kind of weird.

The next day (Saturday) saw us wake up to get Sean signed up for the gym and run a few other errands. For dinner we went downtown to Calgary Tower.

"Hi," I said, addressing the waitress smilingly. I was ready to order. "I'd like the Fresh Fish of the Day, but please, please don't tell me the fish. I want it to be a surprise."
Without skipping a beat she said, "It's halibut."

Wtf? She caught herself right away, but still. How daft can you get? I wasn't angry since the halibut was exquisite, but it was still rather funny.

Afterwards, we walked a bit downtown to look at some of the avenues. We saw a few homeless people. We saw what we thought was a homeless couple.

"Excuse me, sir," one of them said, smiling toothily. He smelled of liquor. "Can you spare us a few dollars for our pursuit of hard liquor?"
I was caught off-guard, but before I could react, the indigenous lady said to me, "We can give you this shirt, if you'd like!"
She showed me a shirt from Spencer's displaying a cannabis leaf insignia. Below it read, "I'D HIT THAT," and below that was a large joint underlining the caption.

At first I was tempted, but we walked away, the three of us, brusquely. Two steps out, we stopped.

"Do you want a souvenir of your trip to Calgary?" asked Claire-Lise, Sean's sister.
"Yeah!" Sean interjected. "It would make for a great memory!"

So we turned around, and I gave them some change. And I got the shirt in return.

What impressed me most was how honest the homeless in Calgary were. In America you hear things like, "can you spare some change? I'm trying to catch the bus" or "Do you think you could help me out? I want to make a phone call."

But no, these bums were honest as hell. No lying or deception for Calgarians, homed or homeless, no. If they want money for liquor, that's bloody what they'll tell you. Anything else is just crass.

We also met Dave, who was very homeless. He had tried numerous shelters to no avail. He is one of the only Canadians I've heard use "eh?" in conversation, but he made up for the lack of it, using it at an average rate of .75 eh/ss (spoken second), a number not to be taken lightly.

Put it like this, .75 eh/ss is the same as 750 meh/ss.

And the three of us have some harsh words for Dave. His hygiene is just despicable. As his friends, we have decided to talk to him about it. I think Sean should, but we'll see. Dave just has to change. He can't go on living like this.

Anyways, The rest of the trip was fun. I bought some Canadian beer that night, and had to drink it all alone, since Sean is allergic, and Claire-Lise decided not to like beer. Canadian beer is a bit stronger, but hey, I liked it a lot. Plus, I was legal, so it made it even tastier.

That's it for my trip, really. The rest is rather ho-hum. I met Sean's friend Ashwin, who was hilarious. We somehow got him to leave his number for the waitress at Earls, who was very pretty.

Actually, Canadian girls are generally prettier than American girls, as I found out. They're nicer too.

I leave you, then, with a quotation that best represents the general attitude of our conversations for the weekend.

I was talking to Ashwin, "Are all your friends in the medical field somehow?"
"Almost, I think," he replied, thinking, as we were about to part our ways outside at earls's parking lot.
"Sean's going dentistry," he started. "Declan's medical, I think. I'm medical..."
"Oh, Tyler!" Sean said.
"What's he doing?" I asked.
"He's doing business with my sister," was Sean's accidentally genius reply.

A Road Trip Later

Finals were over, and I had smelled the spicy scent of freedom in the air, like the chili you know you will not be able to handle but still enjoy smelling regardless. Sure, I had started a Restaurant City account (more on that tragedy later). Sure, I was still at school days after my last final. Sure, I had only a week before summer school started and grades would (unfortunately) be out. Yeah, I had failed a final or two, but at the very, very least, I was finished with the semester.

I hung around Pacific for a day or two before taking the last of my stuff home on the immediate Sunday following my Friday final. On Thursday after everyone's last final, I planned to drive up to Canada with my good friend Sean (not Eric). But for a few days at least, I was free, free at last. (Actually, I ended up writing an essay or two before Wednesday, but it was still awesome the lack of responsibility.)

I think I overuse parentheses.

Thursday morning rolled around. My week was finally over. Seven straight sunrises I had seen and gleaned, and I knew Wednesday night had to change. So Thursday morning rolled around, finding me woken up at 7:45AM simply by the sheer excitement of leaving Stockton, officially ending the months of existence that I thought akin to prison but must concede to label "school."

Oh, I know why the caged bird sings, alright.

Yes, I just compared the life of the average college student to the plight of pre-Civil Rights Era blacks. I am indeed a Renaissance man.

We dropped Eric off at Sacramento Airport, about an hour north of Stockton. I was forced into the cubbyhole backseat, not unlike the ones my father used to describe to me when he was escaping the warfare in Vietnam.

Yes, I just compared sitting in the a cramped back seat to the struggles of Vietnamese refugees escaping a war-torn country, harrowingly haunted by the napalm and smell of burning flesh that followed them until they left in the barren waters that still held no promises.

But Eric left, and gave me a hug. I say this because his goddamn cologne (perfume) stuck on my collar for about 10 hours. It's like he never left at all.

As Sean and I drove past Truckee, we noticed the Sierra Nevada hills, and we agreed that a camera would have been nice. Man, those hills scream vista and beauty.

We stopped at Reno for lunch, at a place called the "Wild River Grille." According to Sean, they had the best bread, at least for a (turkey) burger. I had a salmon wrap that was superb. We continued to trek across the Nevada desert, rarely stopping and using smallish towns as milestones to mark our travel. In the process, we came to the conclusion that Sean's car should be named Jenna. It has something to do with Moses. Ask me if you're really curious.

We also started calling each other S-Man and A-Dawg. It had something to do with the town of Elko, NV ("The Heart of Northeast Nevada"). The website says to "take a moment to explore the "City" of Elko and all it has to offer!" because it really only takes a moment to explore all Elko has to offer.

But take it from S-Man and A-Dawg. That moment may be one of the greatest moments you'll ever have while exploring. Elko has loads to offer. Like the Fire Science Academy. And Metro Gasoline...

Both were lame. One was defunct and decrepit.

In Elko, we had a chat about whether to take a different route or not. It would be about the same distance as the previous one, but would cut through Utah, which I wanted to do, just to say we went through Utah. However, we agreed to stay on course and just take the original route to be safe.

Instead we missed the exits to both routes and ended up in Utah regardless of our intentions. West Wendover, NV-UT was our destination, to be precise.

We only crossed the border of Utah for about 50 yards, but we stopped at a gas station 50 yards in Utah, realizing that Utah was definitely NOT a part of our road plans. Sean got an apple and a coffee, and I bought a hot dog.

As we drove back into Nevada (which took about a minute since we were so close to the NV-UT border), we both agreed: Utah has the best apples, coffees and hot dogs. Damn that hot dog was good. I got one in Idaho, and it wasn't even CLOSE to the quality of dog I experienced in Utah.

Anyways, we drove up to Idaho and believe me you, Idaho is by far the WORST state. It's so bland and boring.

I swear, when we got to Montana, everything was just so much better. I recommend that everyone experience a Montana sunrise. Since it was so early, few cars were on the road. Thus, I was "allowed" to go 100-115 on the highway uncontested. Those damn mountains were so goddamn beautiful I have to swear to describe them.

Actually, Sean described them best when he said that Canadian mountains were better.

Said Sean, "These snow-capped mountains look like they're wearing a yarmulke while the Canadian mountains are wearing KKK hoods."

True dat.



vs.




When we were driving in Montana, a tantalizing 60 miles south of the border (it's weird from that perspective, isn't it?), Sean was pulled over for going 90 miles on a 75mph stretch. The fine was $40, which had to be paid right there. The cop was nice, but he would have been nicer if he let us go. So close. I actually thought it would be a good revenge idea to go outside and take a dump in the grass while the cop was looking up the information. Sean was against it.

Anyways, we stopped by Helena, Montana for some breakfast. By breakfast I mean Sean and I both had burgers. Eric called shortly thereafter, as he does twice daily to see how Sean is doing, and when I told him we were in Montana, well, it was funny.

"Where are you guys right now?" Eric asked through the reception-seeking phone.
"We're in Helena," I replied. I fielded a look from Sean, shaking his head.
There was a silence in the car magnified to me by the silence on the phone.
"...Is that in North Dakota or South Dakota?" Eric asked hesitantly.

I laughed, but Sean said he didn't know it either. He said he doubted most people knew...which makes me the abnormal one.

Dammit. Talk about story of my life.

I'll have more to come later!