It was early November, 1990. Jeanie and I had been married for a year and three months. I was driving back to Coquitlam after a long fall stretch at the farm east of Edmonton. The crops were harvested, the cattle feed was all hauled home and stacked, and the calves were weaned and started on their winter rations. Virge, our hired man, was dependable and trustworthy.
I left Edmonton early, after spending the night and having breakfast with Mother and Dad. It was a cold and windy, winter-like morning. I would gain an hour, travelling west, when I reached the B.C. border. Conversely, you would lose an hour at the border going east. Going back to my new home in Coquitlam always seemed shorter.
I had some side-board racks on the box of the truck with a strapped-down tarp somewhat sheltering a sack of wheat for grinding into flour and several bags of potatoes and carrots from our local Hutterite colony to share with family and friends. An old, opened-up insulated sleeping bag covered the potatoes and carrots. My older Chev diesel pick-up just had a regular cab with a bench seat; there were no “quad-cabs” or four-door pick-ups at that time, so my suitcase of clothes was in the back too.
I had fuelled the truck up in Hinton, not too far from Jasper, so I was good for a long distance before needing fuel. I’d likely fuel up again in Kamloops and call Jeanie; it had become the agreed-to phone call spot, about four hours away from Coquitlam.
I got to the Jasper turn-off.
He was standing on the west side of the junction of 16 and 93, the Ice-fields Parkway coming from Banff to Jasper. He was hiking west, my way.
He looked shorter than average, but his head, covered by a new-looking winter cap with the ear-flaps down, was pulled down into his neck. It may have made him look shorter than he was. He had a very large, soft-covered black bag beside him.
He didn’t have gloves and wasn’t wearing a heavy winter jacket. He looked desperate and cold. I could see him shivering as I slowed down and stopped.
“Thanks mate, thanks a lot!” he exclaimed as he opened the passenger door. “Thought I’d never get a ride—I’m almost frozen through and through! Thanks mate!”
The voice was British, or perhaps Australian, and he said “mate.” He’s probably an Aussie, I thought.
“Let’s put your bag in the back of the truck under the tarp,” I said. “Not much room in the cab for your bag and us.”
I got out, put on my winter jacket and began unhooking the rubber straps holding the heavy canvas tarp down over the tailgate. He was standing there beside his big black bag, shaking, in the cold northwest wind.
“Mind if I sit in the truck?” he asked. “I’m just freezing— thought I’d never get a ride—wondering what I was going to do.”
“Sure,” I said. “Sit in the cab and warm up. I’ll put in your bag and hook the tarp back down.”
“Thanks,” he said, like he meant it.
I lifted the heavy black bag into the box and pushed it towards the potatoes and carrots.
I pulled the tarp back into place and started hooking down the tarp straps. The wind was strong and felt really cold.
A sudden thought struck me.
The truck was idling. My wallet with considerable cash was in the glove compartment. I was wearing my winter cap and jacket, everything else was inside the truck. If he just slid over on the bench seat and pulled the lever into drive he’d be gone, with all his stuff and mine too, and the fuel tank was full. I’d be left standing where he was a couple of minutes earlier.
I imagined trying to explain the situation to the Jasper RCMP, perhaps an hour from now.
But I didn’t rush the tarp-hooking job. I took my time and got back into the truck. He was warming up, jacket and cap still on, rubbing his hands together.
“Thanks again,” he said, extending his hand. “Name’s Danny, people call me Danny Boy. Home is London, London England. Going to be home for Christmas is my aim. Vancouver’s my last stop. You wouldn’t be going all the way to Vancouver, would you?” he asked hopefully.
“My name’s Walter,” I said as I shook his hand. It was still cold but a solid, firm handshake. I had a good vibe. “And I am going to Vancouver. Well, the outskirts of Vancouver. My wife and daughter and I live east of Vancouver in a city called Coquitlam. And it’s going to be a lot warmer there than it is here right now! But you’re a long way from your home, London! What are you doing here in the Rocky Mountains at this time of the year?”
“I’m on the last leg of my world trip,” he said. “Been gone almost two years, travelling the world. I’ve had a wonderful time, travelling around. Now it’s time to go home, maybe settle down. Got the idea from my brother. He got home from his world trip two years ago. Got the idea from him.”
“That’s how it started?” I asked.
“That’s how,” he said. “He was 24 years old when he started, 26 years old when he got home. I’m two years younger, so it will be just the same. I was 24 years old when I started, I’ll be 26 when I’m home. But I’ll tell you how it got started for me.
“When my brother got back to London after his trip, just before Christmas two years ago, my parents had a big dinner for his homecoming... invited all the family and some friends. After dinner, he told stories of his travels. We all laughed at some of them and asked a lot of questions. It was a wonderful evening.
“That night I couldn’t sleep. Something inside me wanted to do the same thing as he had done. But I had a good job as an accountant at a good firm, was engaged to be married; we were just making plans to buy a flat and were close to buying one. I had purchased a new car just a year or so earlier and still had a lot left to pay.
“But I couldn’t sleep, I really wanted to do it. In the morning I called my fiancée and told her about my plans, and the engagement was off! By noon, the flat purchase was cancelled, I had quit my job and I had sold my car—all by noon the next day!
“And I followed his basic plan—travel in the former British colonies and in the British Commonwealth around the world and work at any job to pay my way. I started by flying to Hong Kong, it’s British. I lived and worked there for about six months and really got to know my way around. It’s a very interesting, modern city.
“Then to Singapore and Malaysia and Indonesia, really interesting countries. I stayed as long as I found it interesting and exciting and fun. Every day was an adventure! There are still some Brits left in all the former colonies. If you find them, they’ll ask around and you’ll probably get a job for a few weeks or a few months. I tried my hand at a lot of different jobs from picking fruit to wheeling cement. You can go to a temp agency too, they’re in a lot of countries, to get a short-term job.
“My last countries were New Zealand and Australia. Beautiful countries, beautiful people. Spent a lot of time there, especially Australia! It’s a big country; it’s a whole continent! I met a lot of very nice people in those two countries.”
He went on about his recent adventures and I’ll try to remember two of them.
“I wanted to travel all across Australia, from east to west. The outback. I wanted to see Alice Rock. I wanted to visit some sheep stations, really large ones that my brother had mentioned.
“I hitched a ride on a big rig, a lorry pulling two large trailers—it’s called a caravan. They drive across the continent on not really roads, just trails across Australia. There are quite a few of those, long, lonely roads with no traffic, no cars.
“I remember sitting with the driver at night and seeing distant headlights coming towards us. The driver dimmed his lights; 20 minutes later, the other lorry passed us!
“Most of them pulled two trailers, and if they’re hauling sheep, there are three levels of sheep in each trailer. That’s a lot of sheep on each load!
“The driver told me I might be able to get a job for a day or two at one of the big sheep stations. I was really interested so he dropped me off at one he knew. “Good folks here,” he said.
“They were handling sheep, they could use extra help. My job was to lift lambs onto a large, slow-moving circular table, and fasten down their legs with strong rubber straps already mounted on the table. The rotating table had just a roof over it to provide some shade. It was 30 degrees celsius that day.
“Eight things happened to each lamb while it was on the table: tails docked, castrated if they were males, vaccinated more than once, treated for worms and insects—stuff like that.
“I was told to drink water, often and lots. It wasn’t cold and it didn’t need to be.
“Just drink lots of water and keep the table full of lambs!” the boss said as he showed me how to catch and lift the lambs.
“There were quite a few men involved, bringing in more lambs sorted from their mothers, then getting them back to their mothers when they were done.
“There was a lot of noise of bleating sheep,” he said. “I would get 15 cents Australian for every lamb I put on the table.
“It was a long day; I was tired and dirty and I’d drunk a lot of water!
“When the day was over, the foreman said, ‘Boys we’ve had a good day! We did 1,100 lambs today!’
“I’m an accountant and I knew in a flash I had made 165 Australian dollars.
“We cleaned up, had a good meal with a lot of laughter around the table. Nice bunch of chaps! Slept well, was bone tired but we did just under 1000 the next day. I was all done in by then but had made most of the money for my flight to Vancouver! It was an amazing experience, one I’ll never forget.”
His stories had kept me wide awake and I hadn’t yawned once. I liked this young man.
We ate lunch at Jim’s Truck Stop at Little Fort. The next stop was Kamloops to fuel up the truck and phone Jeanie from the Petro-Can on Copperhead Drive.
“We’ll have dinner ready when you get here,” she assured me. “So drive safely and don’t pick up any hitchhikers!”
“It’s too late,” I said, “he’s here with me now, just buying a snack. I picked him up at Jasper… I was just going to tell you about him and ask if he could come for dinner.” I told her all about my new friend Danny Boy.
“I know you will like him, I just know!” I stated. “He's a very nice person.”
There was a long pause on the phone.
Then she said, “Just give me the license number of the truck so I can give it to the police if you don’t show up.”
We drove the Coquihalla Highway mostly in the dark.
He told me more stories.
After he arrived in Vancouver from Australia he looked around for a few days then decided to go to the United States for a look at America before coming back to Canada. He wanted to see Banff and the Canadian Rockies on a circle route, then back to Vancouver before returning to England.
Back in 1990 it was much easier to cross the border into the United States for a few days than it is now. So Danny hitchhiked around Washington and even into Oregon before crossing back into British Columbia about a week later.
He told me the story of being picked up somewhere in Washington by a very large man driving a very large, older Cadillac.
They had driven several miles and were having a good normal conversation when the driver slowly reached under his left thigh, pulled out a revolver and pointed it at Danny.“It was the biggest revolver I had ever seen,” said Danny.
He pointed it right at my chest and said, “I just want you to know this gun is loaded and I’m not afraid to use it.” Then he pushed it back under his thigh.
“You know,” said Danny, “it was really hard to carry on a conversation after that!” I asked him to drop me off when we got into the next town.
“People think that picking up a hitchhiker is risky, but getting into a stranger’s car as a hitch-hiker is risky too. You don’t have any idea of the kind of person the driver may be.”
Then he told me of several strategies he had come up with during his two years of hitch-hiking.
“I like to use a cardboard sign with the name of the next town written on it with a black felt pen. Don’t write the name of a city 400 or 500 miles away. If you feel comfortable with the driver you can say, actually I’m going to—and name the city—if you’re going that way too.”
“Writing the name of the next town gives you an out if you don’t like the driver; and people are more likely to pick you up for a few miles than a long distance even if they are going that far. I carry some pieces of cardboard and a felt pen with me. I didn’t use one when you picked me up because I didn’t know the name of the next town and it was so cold and windy!”
I’ve passed that hint along to some of the other hikers I’ve picked up through the years. One hiker, whose story is included in this book, also carried along cardboard and a felt pen.
We arrived safely in Coquitlam where Jeanie and Sheena, perhaps cautiously, welcomed us. We had a very nice meal together with Danny, who shared more of his travel adventures. He was a fine storyteller. Sheena, aged 11, quietly listened carefully.
His manners, demeanour, and likeable character must have impressed Jeanie. Danny spent the night in the spare bedroom and he had breakfast with us. Then we drove Danny into downtown Vancouver to a temp agency whose address Danny had jotted down during his earlier stay in the city.
He thanked us warmly for our hospitality, and we wished him well. He planned to earn enough money for the flight back to London in time for Christmas with his family.
I was glad that I had stopped that cold November morning.