Change Of Plans

Vancouver

My first visit to British Columbia’s largest metropolis,  as a stepping-off point to my first Alaskan cruise, offered me the opportunity to taste unique cuisines, stroll through the port’s nearby architecture, and meet west-coast Canadians.  Arriving midday, midsummer, and midway through my marital separation, life in Vancouver offered a glimmering escape, a chance to window shop without children in tow, and  a long stretch of afternoon into evening as the sunlight lingered well into the evening.  Traveling with friends for the first time offered a vastly different view of travel than I had ever experienced.  No family, no car, and no planning on my part marked my second soiree into Canada and the opportunity of a lifetime.

Fifteen years later, when finally returning to the northern nation’s western shore, the early days of autumn may not have offered as late a sunset, but the spectacular city again would be the place where my cruise ship moored.  Despite the detailed planning for ninety-five percent of the vacation, Vancouver remained an open day of strolling and shopping.  Much like San Francisco, the city’s greatest growth straddled between its port and railway connection, so I knew I could find plenty of curious locations to visit in my post-cruise excursion.  At the very least, I did map out the nearest Tim Horton’s location  (see “Brock University,” January 2012) to our hotel.

The Mountain Is Calling And I Am Definitely Going To Go

Socked in by a summer haze of heat and eastern brush and forest fires, Seattle stretches its drought far past the one one-hundredths of an inch of rain received a few days prior.  As I drive south on Interstate 5 towards SeaTac, the effects of the fifty-three-day rainless stretch loom obviously as the horizon disappears into an off-color smog typically reserved for pollution-laden valleys, the industrial core beneath the Great Lakes, and the dense humidity of inland Florida.  In less than a day, I will be on my way to the clear vistas of tranquil and breathtaking Alaska as soon as I drop off this rental car and get back to my hotel for a last night of landlubber sleep.  Suddenly, with a gentle curve to the left, rising above the layer of smoky gunk, Mount Rainier appears like a massive spacecraft hovering and drifting towards Puget Sound. My jaw drops.

I walk from the rental car garage at the Seattle Airport towards the light rail station with an urgency not tapped since my vacation began more than two weeks ago.  From the time I arrive at the station until the train departs for my return trip towards the Space Needle, I busily dial the phone numbers necessary to alter my departure from the Great White North immediately upon stepping off the Norwegian Pearl.  I cancel one hotel night in Vancouver and add another night in Seattle for the following week.  I move my shuttle across the Blaine border crossing to twenty-four hours earlier.  I tap my smart phone for a one-day automobile rental for the following week, all without asking my travel companions.  I fully understand one of John Muir’s most famous quotes, “The mountains are calling and I must go.”

What Would You Do For The Klondike?

The Gateway

Many cities may consider themselves the gateway to something even bigger.  Ellis Island served as the front door to millions of immigrants.  Clusters of “gateway cities” hover near the metropolises of Boston and Los Angeles.  St. Louis’ skyline screams “Gateway to the West.”  And just a few underground bus stops away from the Pike Street Market, teeming with purple jerseys headed towards CenturyLink Field, on an autumn afternoon I meander my way to a small, square, two-story display inside the converted old Cadillac Hotel that serves as the historic gateway to the Great White North: The Klondike Gold Rush National Historic Park.  This über-progressive, sleek city on Puget Sound became the jumping-off point for the gold seekers of the late 19^th century.

At this Seattle unit, the importance of the city’s role in the expansion of the forty-ninth state shines like the bullion bars stacked in the front window.  Seattle can rightly take credit for being the best place to gather and prepare for the journey northward, but just as rewarding, the boom in Seward’s Folly and the Yukon fields beyond it, brought growth, energy, and excitement to the Emerald City.  Nordstrom, the man, not the store, set off for the frozen ice fields and the fortune and glory they promised, and then he brought his fortune and glory back to Seattle.  As Erastus Brainerd of the Seattle of Chamber of Commerce professed, Seattle was the point of departure.

All That Glitters

The path to riches in the Klondike gold fields required more manpower than most men possessed.  Dozens of hikes up and down the Golden Stairs of the Chilkoot Trail broke the backs of men trying to enter Canada with a thousand pounds of goods strapped to their spines.  Likewise, the horse power of three thousand horses failed as these beasts of burden fell to their deaths along the lower, but narrow and harrowing hike over the White Pass summit.  Seeking gold in the Klondike truly fit the adage of the desire to succeed, “…or die trying.”

Unfathomable to me, as I stand in the cozy shelter of this most southern piece of the Klondike historic tour, may be among the scores and scores and bustling bodies that crowded into Seattle, then Skagway, then the Yukon just before the turn of the century.  Battling the stinging, wretched, blistering cold, only a small percentage of these prospectors actually found their richest dreams realized when they finished sailing downstream on the Yukon River.  An epic journey’s inspiration and steely-cold ambition must have driven these hearty souls to pursue an adventure full of peril and only minimal possibility.  I adore a great adventure, but witnessing the passion and endurance they mustered to reach the western edge of the Canadian territory, I flatly admit I would have not braved what they braved, embraced the struggles they embraced, or pushed myself as they pushed themselves for a Klondike bar – no matter how it glimmered and glistened and glittered.

Brock University

An Afternoon with Tim Horton

Sitting on the lush green lawn in the summer sun, Son #1 and I spend a fabulous afternoon with Tim Horton.  National Hockey League fans know Tim well as a frequent advertiser on the walls of the ice rinks of the Canadian teams.  But only a small percentage of Americans live close to the Canadian border to have the privilege of spending time with Mr. Horton.  In other parts of the country, Americans spend time with Tim Horton’s distant cousins.  Bostonians acquaint themselves with Dunkin Donuts.  The Krispy Kreme family has experienced a population boom in the South over the past decade. Out west, Winchell’s embraces its extended kin with its offerings.  I consider each of these close members of my own family, all dear to my heart, but this summer day belongs to Tim Horton.

In the lovely town of St. Catherine, we stop for a night’s rest in the vacant dorms of Brock University.  With the campus’ signature tower as a backdrop, we enjoy a sunny session on the tranquil campus with little collegiate activity midway through the summer semester.  We pull a small blanket from the car and spread out on the lawn at the main entrance and gathering space at the school.  In the winter, the wind whips across this open space, the students leave tracks in the snow, and the barren trees line its edges.  But in July, with fewer students and better weather, the open quad welcomes the students to stroll, sit, study, or, in our case, enjoy a box of donuts after a drive through Ontario.

Dorm Life

With the majority of scholars at home for the summer, the remaining enrollees are local coeds, with a minimal number of residents in the dorms.  We take advantage of the space and book a night in Brock’s “family suites,” which more closely resemble small individual rooms with a shared bathroom, but with the campus so deserted, we garner an entire floor to ourselves.  We have our own room, our own bathroom, and more than a
dozen additional rooms if we need them.  Every window of every room offers us unique and private views of the campus. We are spoiled, but we still curl up in one small area of the floor. Why be greedy?

Early in the morning well before dawn, we awake to the powerful rumblings and electric charges of a summer storm.  Pounding thunder immediately follows cracks of lightning and instantly we awake with the disorientation of stirring in an unfamiliar space.  After each flash of light, we count the seconds until its corresponding echo.  When the time between each reminder of nature’s replenishing grows long enough, we rise and begin the day’s drive back to the United States.  The rain finally tapers off leaving a delicate fog between us and the sunrise as we finish the last couple leftover delectable treats from Tim Horton’s.  Thanks, Canada, for the sights, the sounds, and the tastes.