Travelling Adventures, Vol. III

I woke up around 3:30AM Thursday morning (New Year's Day), having stayed up till past midnight the previous night--it was New Years Eve, so obviously I stayed up and watched Evel Knievel's son jump over some artificial volcano. My flight was leaving at 7, so I had to be gone by 4--in theory, anyways. I took a shower, taking me to about 3:45ish, then I began packing my things, figuring I didn't need long. Given that I finished packing by 4:30, I'd say I was justified. (And given that I forgot my USB stick, I'd say I was proven wrong.)

My Dad drove me to the airport, which was an hour away. My mother made me a wonderful lunch. Unfortunately, I forgot it in the car. Perhaps it was a function of getting only two hours of sleep the previous night. Besides forgetting lunch, the airport went quite smoothly, and I made it to the gate with 30-45 minutes to spare.

Landed in Vancouver about 9:15AM. The Greyhound to Seattle left at 10:45AM. I figured I had plenty of time to make it. I was one of the first ones off the plane, as I was sitting in the first row (no first class on this plane for some reason), and quickly made it to baggage claim. Around 10AM, I got tired of waiting, and was getting hungry, so I went to the Harvey's and ordered a Veggieburger, Poutine, Fries, and a bottled water. I tried to pay in such a way that I would retain at least one five, one ten, and one twenty, in the event occasion ever arose to show off "monopoly money." After paying, I retained one five, two tens, and a twenty.

While waiting for that, I went back to check for my bags, and thankfully they had finally come through. So I grabbed my blue roller and went back to the Harvey's, and collected my meal in a paper to-go bag, and started rushing to the bus stop, as I realized that I now only had half an hour to make it to the bus terminal--which, though not impossible, would now present a challenge.

After getting to the bus stop, I noted the fare, and reached into my wallet to have it ready... and realized I didn't have enough coins. So I ran back in the terminal, found a change machine, and inserted a ten. Then I noticed the "out of change" light was on. So I ran deeper into the terminal to a convenience store/newsstand, and bought a BreathSavers while asking for at least four quarters in return from the cashier. (If you're keeping count, this gives me one twenty, one ten, and two fives.)

At this point, I should mention that this entire time, I'm carrying an oboe inside my coat. I'm carrying it inside my coat because it is wooden, and a rental, and because twice two years prior, I had cracked rental oboes from the same company for unknown reasons, but presumed to be exposure to cold temperatures. When you crack two oboes in the space of a few months, you make sure you don't crack a third. So I'm carrying this thing inside my coat anytime I go outside, and it's rather awkward, because it makes me look like a pregnant woman--if I shift it up, emphasis on woman; shift it down, emphasis on pregnant--and in order to keep it there, I'm clutching at my supposed abdomen. I get many, many, many looks.

Made it back to the bus stop. Bus pulled up five or ten minutes later. Rode a few minutes, got off at the transfer point, and waited for another bus, waiting another ten minutes. This bus carried me into downtown Vancouver. Once there, I ran across the street to the SkyWay station, and while taking an escalator underground, walking down the escalator, my paper bag ripped open. My fries magically stayed in the bag, the veggieburger stayed wrapped... but the poutine fell out, the top popped off, and all that glorious gravy and cheesiness landed face down on the escalator. After staring at it in shock for ten seconds, I became grateful that it was a rather long escalator, giving me time to clean up before reaching the bottom. Not that this prevented me from cursing life, over and over again for the next few minutes.

Finally made it to the combined bus/train station at 11:25. I went up to the ticket counter and asked if the bus to Seattle had left yet. He said yes while giving me a look that said "why would that bus ever be late?" Evidently, he hasn't seen what I've seen. He then told me that CanTrail, a rival bus line, had a bus to Seattle leaving in three minutes--11:30--and that if I ran out and caught the driver, I might be able to see if there was still space on board the bus.

It took me three minutes just to find the bus--it was a rather large terminal. Once there, the bus door was already closed, but the driver opened it for me, and I asked if there was room. There was. I asked the price. The fare was $38. He only accepted cash. I quickly pulled out all the Canadian bills I had carefully saved up and handed them over. (Oh, the irony.) He quizzically asked how I didn't have a reservation. I answered that some plans got cancelled. (Quite true, in fact--my plan was to buy Greyhound tickets at the terminal, and those plans got cancelled when the stupid baggage carosel took nearly an hour to get me my luggage. It wasn't the first time in Vancouver my Greyhound plans had been messed up because of slow baggage workers.)

So I make the bus. I was grateful when over the next three minutes, the scene I had just created forcing the busload of passengers to wait was recreated twice, by a couple and then by another guy. The lady behind me started grumbling loudly about the wait. I was to hear her grumble about anything and everything for much of the rest of that bus ride. It was actually entertaining to listen to her grumble. (At this point in the story, I finally have a chance to eat my veggieburger and fries.)

After crossing the American border, an hour and a half into the bus ride, I pull out Anna Karenina, which I had bought earlier in the Christmas break when I found it for only $10, and start reading.

I get to Seattle at 3pm, getting dropped off in the Amtrak station. Never been there before--it's by Qwest Field--but a helpful information sign was nearby to provide direction. The Greyhound station appeared to be a mile away, but as the bus to Walla Walla wasn't leaving until 5pm, I thought I had plenty of time. There was a light mist of a rain.

I get to the Greyhound station about 4pm. I get to the ticket counter, and ask for tickets to Walla Walla. The ticket guy points out a sign saying all buses eastbound have been cancelled because Snoqualmie Pass is closed. I ask if the pass will be open tomorrow. He says 50-50.

So at this point, I start thinking. I had originally planned to work Friday and get a head start on practice hours on Sunday. If I couldn't get back tonight, I might not get the opportunity to get that work done; and even if I did, I'd lose some practice hours.

I start looking at alternatives. I call up Alaska Airlines. They say they have a flight leaving at 7pm. Cheapest fare is $178. I say thanks but no thanks. I go back to the ticket counter and ask if I could get a ticket through Portland, then Hermiston, then Pasco, then Walla Walla. He says that buses going east from Portland have been cancelled as well, as that road was also closed.

I formulate an idea. I call some rental car companies; bset price for a day is $130, if I'm willing to return the car to Pasco airport the next day. I figure I could borrow my roommate's bicycle and bike back from Pasco. I then call a friend who lives nearby, and ask her to look some things up on the internet for me--specifically, if any parts of British Columbia highway #3 go over passes, and therefore could be closed due to weather. She says no. I thus plan to drive back up to Vancouver (irony strikes again), across to Cranbrook, south to Spokane, and into Walla Walla.

I figure staying in Seattle costs $40 a night at the hostel I frequent; the Greyhound ticket is $60. If the pass is closed tomorrow (Friday), renting a car is cheapest.

I call the rental car company again. I reserve the car. As the only agency open is at the airport, I must try to get to Sea-Tac airport myself, most likely by bus. It turns out the car is actually $160. But as I've already made the decision in my head, and I have a tendency to stick to decisions I've made, I accept the increased price. It's now 5:30. I agree to pick up the car by 7.

At this point, I decide I'm tired of looking like a pregnant woman, so I rearrange the oboe. I put it on my back, between my backpack and my back. This sets the stage for the next two hours of utter agony, as the oboe case constantly shifts position between my shoulderblades, and up and down my spine, resulting in what I think is a bone bruise on my lower back. Further, the addition of something between myself and my backpack resulted in the straps tightening, bruising my collarbones.

Why was I walking about for two hours? I couldn't find the bus to the airport. I stop by a coffeeshop, order a marshmallow brownie thing, then ask what bus route goes to the airport. I get told 174/194. I follow his directions to the bus stop, and when I get there, I don't see 174 or 194 as a bus that stops there. This begins the process for the next two hours of walking, through the rain, visiting what feels like every bus stop in downtown Seattle looking for the magic numbers, while stopping countless numbers of people to ask if they knew where I could find a bus to the airport. I didn't get a good answer until the last guy I asked--"you have to go to 2nd street"--which was odd, because all the major bus lines ran down 3rd and 4th streets, which I had been walking up and down, even asking several passing bus drivers who were also clueless.

So I finally find a bus stop with both 174 and 194 on it, and set down under the shelter and wait 15 minutes for the bus to show up. Since the phone call, I had plenty of opportunity to reconsider my plan. My regrets were two-fold--$160 wasn't much better than a plane fare, especially given the price of gas I had failed to consider in my initial calculations; and a journey by car, back to Vancouver, across to Cranbrook, down to Spokane, Pasco, and finally Walla Walla could easily take upwards of ten hours. It was now 7pm. Ten hours away would be 5AM, which would be 8AM in Eastern Standard Time, which I had begun the day with; and on top of that, I was operating on two hours of sleep. Further, the roads conditions would likely be terrible. So to attempt this journey would be a significant risk to my life.

After waiting at the bus stop for 15 minutes, I walk away, go to the hostel and get a bed for the night.

At the hostel, I go online, and try to cancel the reservation; but, according to my best guess, they got my name wrong, and so I was unable to figure out what name they had me down as (I tried Party, Hardy and Pardee) and gave up, grateful that I hadn't given them my credit card number over the phone. (When I had booked the car, I gave them my name, and the guy on the other end goes "your name is Party, huh?" with disbelief in his voice. Serves him right for thinking I was a prank caller.)

The hostel served free dinner that evening (and every evening, which is why I love them so much), consisting of burritos. Quite good. After that experience, I think I can make myself a burrito now. (Took me long enough to learn :-)

The next morning I woke up, too late for the free breakfast they served, but with plenty of time to get to the Greyhound station. First thing I hear when I get to the front desk is "Five O'Clock World" playing loudly. It made me smile. Snoqualmie had opened up, and so I managed to get passage onto a quite full bus going east.

The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. I switched back to carrying the oboe on my front, deciding that personal comfort trumped looks. The bus was delayed for 30 minutes as the driver first put on chains before Snoqualmie, then took off chains after the pass; the bus was delayed another 15 minutes when the wheelchair ramp broke, so the driver had to operate it by hand-pump in order to get the guy out of the bus. This turned a one-hour layover in Pasco into a 15 minute one. I managed to get to page 348 of Anna Karenina, which was quite an accomplishment for me, reading speed-wise. So far I'm quite enjoying it. (The book being Anna Karenina, I only have 615 pages to go!)

Somewhere around Wallula, I was inspired to come up with this quote: All words are lies, because they conform reality. While thinking of this, I reached down, and drank half the remaining water in my water bottle, saving the rest for when I might need another drink, and that drink inspired this poem.

Dying of thirst, I drink
a draught of water which
tumbles down, leaving
my mouth and throat
parched, no memory of
its existence, except
a quake in my belly.

And I thought that my original quote was so correct--this poem was so much better before I had to destroy its beauty by turning it into words. Words only approximated the thought.

I got to College Place to discover snow, everywhere. Well, slush, anyways. I noted with disgust that, besides the University and Davis Elementary, there were only two sidewalks shovelled in the entire town. I wanted to get a bullhorn and excoriate the people by telling them about how in my hometown, a law was passed requiring all sidewalks to be shovelled within 24 hours of a snowfall, in order to protect the senior citizens who might otherwise slip and fall trying to walk on the ice/snow; and that the general response to that law was not that it was communist, but rather "finally the 10% of the population that's too lazy to shovel their own sidewalks is being forced to do their part." (My roommate later informed me the snowfall was fresh, so my strong feelings were rather undeserved, even if College Place is still the laziest town for snow-shovelling that I have ever seen.)

And so I returned home to the view of the setting sun on the horizon.