LOSING YOURSELF AT CAPILANO SUSPENSION BRIDGE

I was very, very lost once and I didn't even know it.  This is good because I don't think I would like the feeling of not knowing where I am or where I was going.  Infact, I was only lost in one person's mind.  And I was worried that he was lost, perished, while reading some arcane document produced in 2 count font regarding the minutes of life in the tree ring of a giant redwood that had perished

Crossing the bridge

during a hurricane on the northwest coast of British Columbia, breaking, to fall into the swirling waters below, splintered on the boulders peppering the river that was strong enough to send whole logs to the sea.  I thought he might have slipped on the same slippery slope and maybe hit his head while leaning over to read the very last sentence about the hurricane on the northwest coast of British Columbia.  Hopefully, he had fallen into a bed of evergreen needles.

But all I had to write with was a burnt match from a book of matches I had grabbed after dinner the night before.  And I was getting annoyed.  I didn't know about the plot of giant trees which had been felled in a hurricane.  I did know it was a very dreary afternoon and much cooler than I had expected.  When you are traveling, it is easy not to dress properly for the elements.  Was the Bell Man supposed to chase after our rental car, with New Jersey license plates, as we left the hotel and demand I run back to the room for my good coat?  Maybe.  I am a good tipper.  Did he know about the hurricane that had occurred on the northwest coast of British Columbia?  I doubt it.  But he did know the temperature in the elegant, enclosed drive was much warmer than the dreary Saturday morning that awaited us at the end of the driveway emptying onto the city street.  But I never blame the Bell Man. 

Now I was sitting on a bench in a small opening in the middle of a deep evergreen forest.  A trail passed about ten feet from where I sat.  Despite the gloomy weather, I watched packets of tourists walk right by me.  The Capilano Suspension Bridge is a very popular tourist attraction.  We had walked across the 450 foot long bridge and taken pictures from our vantage point 230 feet up in the air, swinging every minute atop the 13 ton cement and steel bridge.  I can't imagine ever using the original rope bridge built in 1889.

After crossing the bridge, a trail split in several directions.  A map showed the various areas to hike and also gave time estimates and mileage.  I decided to sit out this tromp through the woods due to an old injury.  We found the opening and I sat down.  But I know before I sat down, I said, "I will be waiting right here."

Sometimes husbands (and wives, to be fair) don't listen very well.  If I am going to sit out hiking with Burt, why would I decide to get up and wander around the huge park?  I didn't have a personal cell phone yet.  My phone in a bag was driving around my hometown, ever ready to help Burt's folks as they ran carpool back and forth.  At this point in technology, while it was very cool to hear a phone ring in your vehicle, unless you were an extremely important person, it actually was the most helpful for a reminder to pick up milk on the way home or to call and say the car is making that funny noise again.  All the new technology in the world was not at my fingertips, just yet.  Just a book of matches I was considering using as a crude writing tool.

Maybe he is busy taking pictures.  He rarely gets the camera but when he does he really goes to town.  The roll would only last so long, though.  He'd been gone for twenty minutes, twice the posted time.  A mist was beginning to fall but I was somewhat protected by the overhanging boughs.  When we first started visiting museums and historic sights, I had learned the way to avoid frustration and the inevitable words following two people going at totally different speeds.  In any but the smallest of museums, we would set a reasonable time to meet.  He has always been good about knowing when we were short on museum touring due to other activities.  Over time, we have worked out a moseying along system that works for us both.  How many words could there be to read way up here in North Vancouver on a cool, misty day.  At least he had his raincoat.

I was almost shivering in my turtleneck and fleece jacket.  And then I noticed that the people coming up, walking right in front of me, were also coming down, in about 10 to 15 minutes.  It wasn't unreasonable to think he should be down by now.  Definitely.  But I had told him I would be waiting right here for him.  And he is an Eagle Scout.  He couldn't get lost in these woods, unless he fell off somewhere, quietly.  No.  He wouldn't go down quietly.  The thoughts that race through your mind when you are sitting in another country, wondering where, oh, where, has your husband gone. 

Many different groups of people representing many nationalities had walked by me.  A tall, Egyptian man, just as handsome as Omar Sharif, said hello while passing by.  Thank goodness.  One person, in a sea of strangers, with manners.

Forty-five minutes.  I really felt like I must get a plan going.  Maybe I should go back across to the Trading Post.    I could wait back there in the warmth, for another fifteen minutes and then, if he didn't appear, we could start looking for him.  But I was getting mad too, just as much as I was feeling kinda' sick about what "if."  It was not a good feeling.  I decided to leave a note on the bench, marked with a heavy rock so it wouldn't blow away.  But the match idea was not working out. 

I really didn't know the area.  Maybe he had kept wandering, accidently into a spot and was making his way back to me.  With nothing real to write with, I had just pulled Perfect Wine Berry from my purse, considering this autumnal shade of lipstick for an implement.

Honestly, in the first seconds, I didn't know who was running towards the clearing.  I looked up and through the foggy woods, ran a crazed man, calling my name.  His unbuttoned coat was flapping, his arms were flapping, huffing and puffing, steam rising off of his head.      
 
Where have you been?!!!!!

Where have you been?!!!!

There you are, there you are!  He thought I was lost.  He didn't hear me say I would sit on the bench and wait for him. (?) I told him you always go back to where you started. 

Poor thing.  He was exhausted.  While I was waiting patiently on the bench, he had been running all over the park.  He thought I was lost in the woods or fallen down a precipice.  He had seen whatever he was looking for but for some reason, didn't come back to the little clearing.  He went back across the bridge looking for me, running acoss the swinging bridge three times, throughout the park, and across the street to the parking lot to check our car and then to the teahouse, telling people everywhere that I was lost.  

 

My description was even announced throughout the park.  Yellow turtleneck and maroon jacket.  He looked in the bathrooms.  Finally, a man came and told Burt he had seen me.  The nice Egyptian man, the only person in the forty-five minutes who had acknowledged my presence.  Of course, in the South we wouldn’t think of passing a complete stranger without a nod or hello.  After all, they might be related, the sister of your fourth cousin’s mother-in-law’s grandmother’s great-great grandchild.  People were very friendly throughout the trip, but on the street and on the path, there was very little eye contact and let me tell you, a strong absence of pleases and thank-yous.

If you have to be lost, it is better to be lost and not know you are lost.  Afterall, you don't want people worrying about you being lost. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NORTHWEST PASSAGE: AN EXCELLENT ADVENTURE GETTING STARTED

If you are walking about and discover you are lost, do not run around like a crazy person and lose yourself any further.  Stop and gather your wits.  Just sit.  If you have lost somebody, return to where you last saw them.  Always go back to the start.

This was our first trip out of the country.  One of us was on business and the other was along for the ride.  We had never left Cate for so many days, but she was in the competent care of her grandparents.  Going on about three hours of sleep, I had been up since 5 a.m. because I don't go to bed until I'm packed.  If making all the preparations for our travel, plus getting our home ready for our seven day absence while anticipating Cate's needs during that time wasn't enough, we had a shindig the night before, a not-to-be missed formal affair for the grand opening of a newly completed project. 

It was dark thirty and the car was packed.  The six of us drove to the airport.  The new wills were signed and filed, food was in the fridge and lunch items figured out, and a long list of helpful friends, necessary phone numbers and a few ground rules were completed.  Bye bye.  Tears welled up in my eyes when I turned my back to get on the plane.  For some reason, planes can make me cry.

We lucked out the entire trip to Seattle, never having to share our three seats, making the trip very comfortable.  According to the route map, we flew over Kansas.  The agricultural quilt was beautifully laid out with squares with circles inside them and also plain squares.  The huge territory seemed empty of towns.  Later, I saw a little town I recognized by the Air Force Chapel which I had visited a long time before.  Knowing it was Colorado Springs but without perspective, we still couldn't find Pike’s Peak.  And then the magnificent Rockies just popped.  Being in the air and seeing those awesome peaks rising up towards me was one of the most beautiful sights in my life.  My nose was glued to the window.  I realized I was singing to myself.  My heart just automatically turned to prayerful song – For the Beauty of the Earth and The Majesty and Glory – so well displayed before me.  I said a prayer of Thanksgiving.  I love flat Texas, I love the beach and I love those mountains.

We broke through clouds just before landing at Seattle.  I realized Fall was in full session, the vibrant yellow, green and red set against the abundant dark green spruce, prettier than any fall I could remember at home.  Driving out of Seattle and passing the Boeing Plant, I thought Burt would wreck the rental car trying to see the planes and drive at the same time.  

As we headed for Vancouver, the drive north grew more beautiful as the sun came out.  I remember thinking of  the t.v. show, "Here Come the Brides" which was popular in my house because Sister had a crush on Bobby Sherman.  One of the main characters, Joan Blondell, was my art teacher's sister-in-law.  I had never seen waterways jammed with logs until we got out of Seattle.  It looked like a person could walk across to the other side.  

 

We stopped in Mount Vernon, Washington for a snack at the Burger King.  Once inside, we whispered to each other, very quietly.  We couldn't help but notice that the majority of customers standing in line in front of us were wearing those black wraparound glasses used after eye surgery.  When we placed our order, we asked our server about the glasses.  She replied that many people, including her husband, had very sensitive eyes because of the lack of sunshine.  When the sun did shine, they needed the extra dark glasses.  She was serious.  We almost thought we were in "The Twilight Zone."    True Southerners, Burt and I didn’t feel the need for shades.

A lovely park surrounded the border crossing in Surrey.  While waiting, we watched dog enthusiasts going through their paces with their dogs.  The border patrol didn't wave us through (2000).  She did ask us where we were from and then was a little miffed as to why we had New Jersey plates.  After asking our destination and our reason for being in Canada, she let us pass, never once asking for the birth certificates we thought were required and had spent time in procuring.                                          

 

Near Vancouver, we finally got on a poorly marked Route which headed us into town on a 4-6 lane road that went right through the middle of town, complete with stop lights, buses, bicycles, car wrecks and any other road hazard that could generally have been avoided with a nice interstate or bypass.  

 

Actually arriving at our Hotel was no small feat.  There were a lot of one way and no turn signs and it seemed we went in a circle for thirty minutes.  The Hotel drive was the width of the Hotel, completely sheltered like it's own special room.  Large potted trees twinkling with white lights and gleaming brass accoutrements reflected in the windows.  The valets and bellmen were outfitted in full wool uniforms and hats.  They were helpful and cute.  Later in my visit, I took a picture (several cameras) of the blonde valet and a group of young Japanese girls who must have been around thirteen because they giggled the whole time!

 

This was before airlines charged a fee on every little bag.  With all seventy-eight pieces of luggage streaming behind us on the brass cart, we followed the bellman down a long hall and turned down two more short halls.  The last hall was a foyer with three doors.  I knew this was a good sign!  And it was!  Our room was quite comfortable.  The walnut walls were paneled on the diagonal which cast a golden glow on the room.  At the top of the walnut walls, a twelve inch border of beautiful art deco plasterwork melted into the curved ceiling.  The furniture was old in a good way and fit the room.  The bedding was plush - a red, green and taupe floral linen duvet, the first duvet I had actually seen.   

 

Two very large nightstands, one upholstered bench, a chair and an ottoman, a round side table, a large desk and a chair.  An elegant armoire filled most of another wall with some drawers, the minibar, a big TV and a counter top.  The washroom was down a short hall with a large closet, terry cloth robes, and real hangers!   I told Burt this surely wasn’t the Econo Lodge.  The washroom was entirely done in various colors of marble, except for necessary porcelain items.  It was well sized and every feature was perfect, obviously well thought-out to make you feel splendid. 

 

We definitely felt like we were in high cotton.  Burt later found out that our room had once been a private dining room in a large suite, dating back to the original 1928 completion.  He thought we got this room because he called close to our arrival date to request a king size bed.  Our room was on the business floor and most of the rooms were doubles, which we didn’t know ahead of time.  A re quest for a good night's sleep had been our good fortune.      

 

At this point, I was dog-tired and parched.  Before going to register, Burt had found the ice machine but had not located a drink machine.  I was functioning on three hours sleep minus a full day of plane travels and layovers, a rental car routine, a few hours in the car and the hustle and bustle to get registered and finally collapse in the privacy of a strange room, albeit a luxurious room in this beautiful Hotel.  When the tough need to get going, don't hand me a glass of juice or an amber bottle bubbling with beer.  Just pour me a tall one, with plenty of ice and fizzy carbonation, brown sugared elixir of life - miracle of the South, a Coca Cola. 

 

I called room service.  They knew who I was, very formal, British attention I could get used to.  I asked if they had canned cokes.  They did, so I ordered two.  Lickety split, the cokes arrived on a doily covered, silver platter with two water goblets full of ice.  I gladly tipped the man generously in American currency (this was my first international trip).  I could've tipped him just because I was glad to be there, finally.  He left. I opened the can and poured one up and drank and drank, proclaiming it was one of the best cokes I’ve ever had.  And maybe it was because it was one of the most expensive canned cokes I've ever had, to date.  Everything up to that point was leading up to an excellent adventure.  This was the only room service I ordered.  I've always wondered if it could have been the water or maybe just a real "Mountain Coke!"

 signed,

an American in Vancouver just getting started

Yesterday, when I decided to finally sit down and post about this trip, I discovered the adventure began thirteen years ago that very day.  Wow.