Spike and Mike: Vancouver all by my lonesome

“Excuse me, sir? Look, I got the Beatles two CD set, I just bought it, its like…” and he walked away. I looked around for someone who looked cool enough to believe me, or to give me the time of day. What did it even matter if my story was true. I needed 15 bucks and I had some Beatles CDs to sell. Ironic that the CDs were a gift from Spike, the son of a bitch who’d put me in this fix.

I told the office I was broke. I told them I didn’t even have money for the bus ticket from Seattle to Vancouver. “No Problem” they said. “The bus ticket will be on call at the bus depot. Well here I was, I'd flown from Sacramento to Seattle, it was 9pm, there was no god damned bus ticket waiting for me, nobody at the offfice to call and Spike not picking up his cell phone.

“Excuse me, I need to get to Vancouver tonight or I’m sleeping in this bus terminal. I’ll sell these to you for fifteen bucks.”

“What?” Good. He wanted to hear my story.

“I’ve got a hotel room and a car and a job to do in Vancouver but the bus ticket that was supposed to be here, waiting for me, isn’t. I just bought this Beatles set in Santa Cruz. I haven’t even had a chance to open it. It’s like twenty five bucks in the stores, I’ll sell it to you for fifteen bucks.”

“It’s not stolen?"

"Oh come on man. I’m not a junkie. I just got stuck and I don’t want to sleep in the bus depot.”

“Alright man. Will you take ten?”

“Shit. You didn’t listen to me. I’m not lying man. Ten doesn’t put me on a bus. I’m desperate. No. I won’t take ten.” Yuppie asshole. What about ‘All you need is love’?

He gave me fifteen bucks and I barely made the bus. I had a few hours of bus travel including a border crossing and then I’d figure out how to get to my hotel from the Van Couver bus depot. After that I’d figure out how to kill Spike.

The ride was pretty. The northwest is gorgeous, by sun or moon. It had been some time since I’d travelled by bus anywhere and there was a nice nostalgia to leaning my head against the big window and watching the headlights go by.

I got off the bus and tried to figure out how to get to the hotel. I asked a cabbie how much it would be from the bus station to The Dufferin on Seymore. It would be about twelve American. Fine. I hopped in with no money and off we went. I hoped the desk would lend me some money. If not, well I’d jump off that bidge when I came to it.

The desk clerk had no problem letting me sign for 20 bucks. I paid and tipped the cabbie and I went upstairs to my room. The place was a mess. Goddamn Frank. He’d left me a mess, t-shirts, videos and stickers everywhere, boxes of flyers open and spilt out, the beds unmade, the do not disturb sign on the door. I didn’t slow. I walked to the window and opened it. I looked out from the sixth floor at this amazing city, so pretty all lit up in the rain. And I cried. I felt more alone than I’ve ever felt. It wasn’t all bad. There was something incredible about it. I’d just traveled across three states and into another country by myself with a serious lack of support. I finished my crying and called Bryna.

I tried to describe the feeling of strength and independence that facing this kind of loneliness gave me, it was a feeling I'd first become of aware of in Florida, but it was multiplied exponentially here. Bryna is an oldest sibling, whereas I’m near the bottom. Solitude and independence came more naturally to her, but then so did empathy. She wired me fifty bucks to get me through the next couple of days. I had a car and a room so all I needed was some money for food.

After getting off the phone with Bryna I took a walk. I found a store selling Samosas, three for a dollar. Frank may have left a mess, but in that mess he’d also left a jar of Loonies and Toonies, Canadian one and two dollar coins. Frank was the worlds worst penny pincher so I was sure it wasn’t on purpose, but it would serve me well while I waited for the fifty bucks from Bryna. I got two bucks worth of Somosa goodness and continued walking in the rain.

The next day I got up early, broke out a map and figured out Vancouver. I’d been here before of course, but I let other folks do the navigating. My sense of direction is abysmal but with the map and enough planning I would do okay, one more feather in my independence cap. I drove by The Ridge first. The Ridge is the very cool independent theatre where Spike and Mike were playing. I felt good having found my way there, and I was confident I could get back there.

It feels like half of Vancouver if not more is a big park, not a swings and monkey bars, have a bbq park, more of a national forest kind of park. I drove through the trees with my windows down, the cold air feeling good against my face. I loved my Volks Wagon bus at home, but it was great to drive a nice rental car that handled effortlessly, winding through the trees, listening to Elvis Costello’s Armed Forces on Bryna’s cd player with an adaptor allowoing it to play through the car's cassette deck. Life was good.

I stopped the car and sat on the trunk for a while. I may have felt strong and independent just being there, but I did not feel like pushing it. I was doing good, but I was still high strung enough from the trip up and to worried about getting to the theatre that night on time. Taking a walk was out though the park was out of the question.

I made my way back to the Duff and got the room cleaned up. I had moved things out of the way enough for the maid to make the bed and now I folded up and counted all the t-shirts and dvds. I loaded up the car and went to find some lunch.

I ran into a young white kid with a shaved head who was studying Buddhism and wanted to know if I might help his studies by buying a book. I said sure and gave him a Toony for the small volume explaining Budhist principles.

“Are you interested in escaping suffering.” He asked.

“No. I’m actually pretty fond of it, in moderation of course.”

He laughed. “Alright, at least you know what you like.”

I was intrigued by his unusual lifestyle choice. “How long have you been… well, you know, studying?”

“I’ve been a pilgrim for three years now.”

“Do you get to travel?”

He told me that he’d studied under teachers in California and Vancouver, and that he was hoping to visit Japan and maybe India in the next year. He was sweet and alert. I asked him if he wanted to grab some lunch, my treat, but he was meeting some other pilgrims. He asked if I’d like to come to their temple and I told him some other time when I was more relaxed would be better.

I made it to the theatre, an hour early of course and I got everything set up. A cool punk rock girl named Jenna, showed up to run the merch table. Apparently frank had hired her and nobody had seen fit to mention it to me. I had very little to do. I MC’d the show and since it was the original show I was able to relax and really have fun with it. I threatened to show the two hour film “How To Play Chess” if the audience did not quit being so Canadian. The show did in deed open with a funny short called “How to Play Chess” and it starts very dry. The introduction worked with the film and got the audience into playing and having fun with the films.

Jenna told me about a completely vegan Chinese restaurant a block away so I jogged over to get us some take out for dinner. The restaurant was in a huge old house and it was run by Buddhists. Ha. I was having an enlightened day. I picked up a beautiful postcard featuring a painting of The Buddah and ordered way too much food. It was great to have so many options.

At the end of the night I let Jenna keep the tips we’d made. She was shocked. Apparently Frank hadn’t given her a share of the tips once. What an ass. I went home and after lugging all the merch up the stairs and calling home I slept as soundly as I’d ever slept.

The next day I found my way to the Vancouver Aquarium. They had a giant octopus that I just stood and stared at for ages. They had Beluga Whales, big white fellas with humps on their heads and smiling faces. I don’t think it’s too cool to keep marine mamals in captivity and I was surprised to see such a thing at an aquarium, but have to admit to really enjoying them as they swim around their huge pool; amazing creatures. It was nice being at the aquarium by myself. I took as long as I wanted but no longer at each display and then I went back a second time to my favorites.

I went back to the hotel restarant for lunch. The food wasn’t the best but they had taken good care of me when I was broke on my first visit to Vancouver and it was nostalgic to sit in their booths again with a hot cup of coffee and a handfull of Fallafel filled pita bread.

Frank called asking about the jar of change he'd left.

"I didn't see a jar of change dude. The maid must have assumed it was a tip and taken it." That's what you get for leaving the room like that ya dopey bastard.

The show went well again. The employees of The Ridge were really cool. The manager told me she had just gotten a copy of Todd Haynes’ “Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story.” Back then it was hard to find as Haynes hadn’t gotten the rights to the music nor had he, or could he have gotten permission from Mattel to use Barbie. As a fan of Barbie, Indy Film and The Carpenter’s I’d been dying to see it. Too bad I’d be leaving in the morning. I packed up and headed back to the Duff. I was already midnight but I was it was my last night in town so I went out for another walk. I passed the strip club down the street and decided to venture in.

Some crusty’s spare changed me and I felt bad saying no. It was as if I was saying “No. You’re ugly and clothed. This money’s for the pretty naked people.”

I had the experience I’d been wanting to have at a strip club. I saw attractive women dancing seductively, I had a beer and I went home to go to bed. I passed a gorgeous woman on the way home. Better looking than anyone in the club. She reached out and stroked my shoulder. “Hey baby, want a date?”

Well, I most certainly did, or at least a part of me did. “Oh, no. I’m sorry I can’t. You are very lovely though.”

I made it to the hotel and since I’d be up in just a few hours to drive home I left the t-shirts and DVDs in the car. I figured the lot was safe and who would steal such low value stuff anyway?

I was getting up and on the road as early as possible. They had given me three days to make it from Vancouver to San Diego. I planned to make it two thirds of the way in one day, one straight shot from BC to Sacramento, so that I could spend the second day which happened to be Thanksgiving, with my girl.

I woke up, dressed, grabbed my bags and found the rental car with it’s back window smashed and one box of t-shirts gone. I checked the glove box and, yep, Bryna’s CD Player with my Elvis Costello still in it was gone as well. Worse yet, It had snowed. There was snow inside the car and no window so it would be freezing. I made a quick call to the office leaving a message explaining what had happened. I didn’t want to slow down for anything.

I drove. My bad sense of direction was not a factor. Highway five would take me all the way in. I stopped only to get gas and tape some carboard up where my window had been, and once at a cool yuppy super market where I got some hummus and avacodos and bread. It’s hard to make an avacaco hummus sandwhich while driving 90 mph, especially when it’s a loaf of unsliced sourdough but I made it happpen. The scenery was beautiful and I found a really cool Jazz station. I’d never really gotten into Jazz but I sure was digging it now. I wrote down names I needed to Remember. Jimmy Smith, Grant Green, and Sun Ra and his Arkestra. I lost the station but then I found another one. Were all jazz stations this cool north of Sacramento? Our local station played a bunch of fusion crap with way too much empahsis on crappy guitar, or they played bad jazz with worse rapping over the top of it. I like when the hip hop guys played with jazz but vice versa didn’t work out to well. Today though, everything was great and I was on my way to see my girl.

The sun set and I was getting mighty tired. Gas station coffee was lacking but I hadn’t found any mini-thins. Then I saw a hipy hitch hiking. I pulled over and let Stephon in the car. He was pudgy and covered in tie dye. He didn’t smell which was good but he wasn’t the conversationalist I’d been hoping for. He prattled on enlessly about weed, using stupid terms like diggity dank and shwiggity shwagg. I was wishing I could just go back to my jazz. He asked me if the tape player worked and I lied and said it did not. I don’t know what he was gonna play but I was ure it was going to be the diggitiest of dank.

A giant sinkhole had swallowed up one side of the 5 so traffic got to a crawl. There I was, not moving, 14 hours into the trip with at least three hours to go, more if we kept moving at this speed and some kid with a really low IQ, getting lower by the bong rip, diggity danking at me. It would be so good to be home.

We got around the sinkhole and I came to the hippy's exit. He asked me to go a block further where his friend lived. We went a block further and he asked me to make a left and go another block.

“Nope. Sorry dude, you gotta get out here, I’m getting back on the highway.”

“Oh dude, it’s just a block away.”

“That’s what you said a block go. I’m sorry man, I’m a nice guy, but I’m turning around and driving back to the highway and I have to do it with you still sitting there I will.” I put the car back in gear so he’d know I meant it. He got out, and I got on.

When I at last reached Sacramento, my own damn town, I got lost. I never entered Sac from the north. I kept grabbing 80 and 80 kept not doing what 80 was meant to do. I’d turn around and do it again. I was close to tears when I walked into an AM PM. The old black guy at the counter was cool.

”Calm down man, I’ll get you there.”

I laughed at myself and listened to his directions. I learned the difference between 80 and the stupidly named Business 80.

At last I got to Bryna’s, walked in the door and she took me right through her comfortable, dark house into her bedroom. She lay me down on clean sheets and wrapped around me. Life was great.

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