America

Puerto Rico – Day 1

Posted on by timteece

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We flew standby to Puerto Rico, four of us, from different cities. As fun and easy as it sounds it was not that enjoyable. We had to reroute through Edmonton to get to Toronto because of full flights and every flight was delayed and crammed.

Full flights suck! The flight down to San Juan was looking good: 17 seats, 4 standbys. I checked before heading to the airport: 3 seats, 6 standbys. One of us wasn’t going to make it so we had to make a plan. Vic was going to have to fly with American down to Miami and then hop over to San Juan. I had to go down and get the “car rental” because it was under my name.

As we were making this plan and Vic reached level 8 on stress scale, a miracle! A couple was detained in American customs and wouldn’t be flying. Thanks bad decision makers for trying to fly to the states with a suitcase full of oranges. Or babies. Or breast milk. I’m not certain.

Delayed flights are one thing when I am sitting in the ops room looking at them on a screen but quite another when I’m sitting at the airport looking at the problem first hand. The bridges in YYZ were stuck because it was wicked cold. Maintenance was behind as they ran around with heat guns and lassoes like cats after the red dot. The two hour delay meant we would miss our car rental because the Enterprise we rented from closed at 5pm.

But I had a backup plan; I reserved a car with Fox. Tip: Never rent from Fox! They may or may not exist. Let me complain for a minute; I reserved a car from Fox through carrentals.com because it was the cheapest. Our plans had changed so we could only fly out a day later. I emailed carrentals.com and they said I would have to rebook. I called Fox and they said the same but to try San Juan. The guy just agreed to everything I said so I’m still not sure what I signed up. None of the guys at the airport had heard of the agency but tried to help anyway. I called a few times for a ride but no answer at all. My guess is that they might be a mind washing dark room that turns travellers into windmills. Or the worst scam in history because I didn’t pay them a cent.

We thought we would have to spend the night in San Juan and make our way to the VRBO in Aguadilla in the morning. Each of us took turns talking with the car rentals trying to arrange a car but to no avail. Until Enterprise took pity on us. We hung around long enough for them to find the perfect car, a Yaris. Paul ran faster than gravy trying to please the bag-laden tourist families but still managed to get us that Yaris. A Yaris, by the way, can avoid accidents better than most. Puerto Rico almost claimed us on Highway 22 west before we had even passed through the tunnel. A driver didn’t see us and swerved into our lane causing gasps, tears and sore shoulders. But Yarry was up to the task.

An hour and a half later through night storms, slow drivers and right turns we pulled into our condo. The key worked and the breeze splashed our faces. 25 hours of travel, 15 pleading conversations and 4 strokes of good luck later we were sprawled flat on a soft bed.IMG_0741 IMG_0744

Lost Angeles

Posted on by timteece

Los Angeles (Spanish for Lost Angels in a Sea of Dark Melodic Sea Salads) sprawls over the L.A. County like a patchwork quilt. The most populous county in the U.S.A. is home to more than 10 million people, of which at least half have uttered the phrase, “I’ve actually always been a Kings fan”.  The city is a densely packed world, itself a snapshot of the country’s diversity.

IMG_4306I had a thought while we were stuck in traffic on the way to Malibu, “We are in an ant hill.”I looked up half expecting to see a magnified eye staring down at us through glass. I remember looking down at ant piles as a kid and marvelling at the chaotic uniformity. The ants were scurrying about on certain paths towards unseen goals. They were oblivious to the giant eye.

Then I dumped gas on the anthill and lit it on fire. I had to! The friggin hills were on the lawn and I was trying my options.

The city made me think of pockets. Everywhere we went there was a different pocket: the surf pocket, the skid pocket, the affluent pocket, the junkie pocket, the celebrity pocket, the earthy pocket, the immigrant pocket, working class pocket, the tourism pocket, the stanky-ass pocket. People left their pockets for other pockets but preferred to stay in their own pocket because it was safer and they would feel lost outside of their own pocket. This pocket is the best pocket. Each pocket has its own smell and flavour.

It would take a long time to feel every part of the vast city. There is so much to do and experience it would take a lot of three-day stints to cover. Luckily L.A. is only a two-hour flight so it’s a perfect three day escape.

Also, luckily, I know the initials of the city so I can find the right gate. Also, I’m happy that it smells like tacos and water there. Also, luckily, I’m glad I realized how cliche that last sentence was before clicking publish so I could make fun of myself right after. I like LA. It has a lot of different Van’s stores and if I want to surf without a shark biting my bumhole, I can. Sharks are the perfect three day escape.

That last paragraph is the perfect three day escape.

“Head to the Rockies! Alberta’s perfect three day escape.”

“Drive a Ford Escape. It’s the perfect three day Ford Escape.”IMG_4340

The Brown Machine Will Make It

Posted on by timteece

I’ve never chosen to cease driving because of 20 km/h winds before but three minutes of wobbly bobbin on the Trans-Canada highway in the 1978 Ford truck underneath a massive camper with the words “you suck” scrawled over the horse logo made stopping the only option. We might as well have attached a sail to the top and taken it out on the lake. Every cross-wind gust just about tipped the ol’ girl into the ditch.

Some might think that choosing to drive for 1000’s of km’s in a $500 camper/truck set is a tad foolish. Perhaps, but it’s better than not doing it when it’s an option. What would be better? I’ve already awoken-worked-worked out-hung out-slept-repeat for years while thinking of my next safe-ish vacation. The two-tone brown unit represents a plunge into the unknown.

Aside from a bewildered look from a border guard and a nasty knock in the engine in Montana that was cured by adding oil instead of turning up the music (who knew), the freedom cruiser rolled along like the ocean liner it is. There is a letter that needs to be written to the city of Denver however, stating that the roads through that high city are not brown-boat friendly and need to be flattened. The Bronco just about fell over on a few unsuspecting motorists.

Hopefully this is just the beginning of many more kilometers for the ’78. Not knowing if we are going to make it to the next gas station or town is a test in patience and faith that there may be something else pushing us along. What is there to worry about? Probably nothing.ImageImageImage

$1 Freedom in Montana

Posted on by timteece

The old story about the bird that left the cage and went to a fantastical meadow that was filled with melody, super cheap beer, and a popcorn-eating black lab bartender came to life in a tiny road stop town in Montana.

The birds were 6 campers from Canada with one purpose; escape the high prices of oil-soaked Alberta and taste freedom; the freedom found in Kip’s Bar in St Mary Montana.

The liquid form of this freedom was known as “Beer 30” at Kip’s and was served by dog named Russell (he preferred being tipped with popcorn). Beer 30 came with its own original soundtrack from the open air stage in the back area of the bar and a nice mix of camping tourists and locals with short-shorts and beer holders tied around their necks.

At first glance Kip’s seemed like a cardboard shack on the side of the highway that could blow away if a 20 km/h wind came up. From the smell of the dilapidated bathroom you’d assume that it once housed chickens that specialized in burning hair. The red spot on the working urinal may or may not have been dried blood but who’s worried about a little blood on the top of a urinal? Nobody drinking Beer 30 was. The women’s washroom had an open floor concept that caused some awkward exchanges. Especially when I walked in to check it out.

$1 was the price for one of these Beer 30 cans. A far cry from the ridiculously priced $2 Pabst’s that we started the night with. Beer 30 was perfectly priced for a rousing beer pong tournament at the (of course) beer pong table at the side of the room with no roof. Competition got heated as the local band played twangy originals in the background. Our chants and hollers rose to the point that a girl came over and told us we were louder than the band.

We felt bad and quieted down. Just kidding. We laughed and chanted. We took pictures with the locals and dumped popcorn on each other’s faces. This was what freedom looked like. What budget? What inhibitions?

We hit our pillows at the campsite feeling satisfied. A satisfaction that only a place like Kip’s can give.

The next morning we drove by the spot and there was nothing there! Did we dream the previous night? We went to the store to see if we could find Beer 30. Nothing. Just regular brand names. Where had Russell and the rest of the locals gone? How did so many friendly, somewhat strange, people appear one night and not exist the next morning?

Although perplexed, we were thankful for what may have happened and assumed a gust of wind blew up in the night. All we could do was to roll on through to the next adventure.

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My Fat American Kids

Posted on by timteece

This past weekend my wife and I were in California to use up the Six Flags Magic Mountain passes we bought online. I was scared of roller coasters; as scared as the baby duck must have been before my cat bit its head off.

But that’s not what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about the patch cord we didn’t bring and didn’t end up buying. Instead of plugging in our own music we tuned into Los Angeles radio.

Soon I began to feel fat, poor, lonely, and uneducated. How did it happen? I felt fine before so why did I suddenly want to climb into a mountain of Big Macs and eat myself to death?? I was amounting to nothing anyway and soon everyone will know that I’m going bald if I don’t buy that surgery.

And then I started to worry about how fat my kids would be and how I would combat that.

The radio seemed to be trying to tell me something, to help me.

“Worried about your fat kids?”

Yeah!

“Are they eating too many delicious Big Mac’s?”

They must be!

“They are going to get so fat that porpoises are going to try and mate with them if they wade into the ocean”

Oh No! I love porpoises!

“Don’t worry. For $200 000 we can help your kid work out so he/she won’t die before you”

Oh good!

I was relieved.

The next ad promised to cure my stupidity at a college I’ve never heard of. I started to clue in.

I wasn’t worried about my fat kids until someone promised to help me out with the problem I didn’t know I was going to have. I wasn’t worried about my V-Neck chest hair line before someone offered me a product that could easily sculpt it for me so I wouldn’t have to be an embarrassment to my entire family.

I was getting suckered! I felt what it must be like to be American for a few days and I didn’t like it! Where is the advertising that talks about how awesome running around is or how much puppies love to lick your face?

Six Flags became a blessing. If I were an American watching the 9/11 ceremonies be interrupted by countless “Your too fat! Have a hot dog.” commercials, I would buy a seasons pass to the park and ride roller coasters all day.

For those 90 seconds there is nobody telling me that I’m not good enough, just my body telling me to survive this.

I love roller coasters now.

Slain

I call this the "Mennonite Roller Coaster" because it's pieced together with wood they found.