Breaking Rocks
Years ago, I was chatting with a truck driver about why it was so much cheaper for freight of bulk orders of grains coming from North Dakota to the coast, versus orders coming from Alberta or Saskatchewan.
“Breaking rocks,” he replied in a matter of fact voice.
Huh?
“The Rockies. Driving through the Rocky Mountains, “ he explained in a patient voice, as if he were speaking to an idiot.
This idiot was flying home from Calgary to Vancouver, ( after a 10 hour flight from London to Calgary) and fortunately was assigned a window seat. We were witnessed to many great sights in the last two weeks, from ancient art to modern art, from English history to the land and culture of Portugal. But here I was, a traveller in my own land.
Many times I have driven through the Rockies, but was usually crammed in a van with six or seven loud, farting human beings. One of these bands was The Jazzmanian Devils, and we played many shows in Edmonton at a club there called The Sidetrack Cafe. It closed in 2007, after suffering from financial difficulties.
Besides hosting the Jazzmanian Devils, the Sidetrack was the place to play in Edmonton for bands like Doug and the Slugs, Tragically Hip, kd lang, Sarah MacLachlan and Barenaked Ladies, among many more.
One snowy February, we organized a chartered tour of Edmonton , Jasper, and Winnterpeg. Instead of driving over the Rockies in winter, we flew. I did not know at the time that one band member was not a great flyer.
He got pretty much green over the Rockies, asking why we weren’t driving , as he liked driving. I replied that while I have a special place in my heart for driving over the Rockies, it was impractical to do so in winter. So we were flying to Alberta, where someone would pick us up and drive us to Jasper to play a private gig, then back to Edmonton for a week at the Sidetrack.
It was that same week that Karen Valentine ( Room 222) was playing at the dinner theatre. I had her sign her autograph on paper placemat. I think I may still have it in my sax case.
But here I was some 30 years later flying over The Rockies.
Their natural splendour cannot be described with a thousand words or a picture.
It seems odd to see them naked, here in the last gasps of summer. As we drive through them with my bands back in the 80’s and 90’s, it was my tradition to play Howlin’ Wolf on cassette, as we drove in the dark, up and down the mountains, praying that we keep between the lines on the icy winding roads.
It was almost what I would describe as a religious moment. Like when we got all Good Samaritan and picked up a hitchhiker outside of Canmore. We were this crazy bunch with our own private jokes. I can’t even imagine what he thought of us. He seemed almost frightened.
The last time that I picked up a hitchhiker was a rainy day in Vancouver in the 1990’s. She looked soaked and I took pity on the poor girl.
She asked me if I was looking for company.
Why no, but how nice of you to ask.
We nervously conversed until I dropped her off in front of a food line on the downtown eastside.
As she got out of the car, her purse fell open on the ground and a knife tumbled out.
This ride could have gone many ways. In the end, she got where she was going, and I never picked up another hitchhiker.
It’s funny what memories come to us when looking at a bunch of rocks.
