My Toronado resting cold over the  Thanksgiving holiday at my parents' place 1970. If you click on the link, you will see in the right background, an American Elm. They grew like weeds on the fence rows and made great shade trees. But by that time, that one was one of the few left that had not died from Dutch Elm Disease. It died later, like all the rest.

Twice, I drove from the Bay Area to Canada and then home to Wisconsin across Canada, over 3000 miles. The first time was when I left work permanently at LenKurt GTE in August 1969 during the plant shutdown. I took my friend and fellow engineer, Jack Swanson, and his son, Kevin, who I believe was, about nine at the time, with me to Seattle. We stayed the first night at my grandmother's friends’ place in the Willamette Valley. For a while, I let Jack drive my Toronado. He had complained about how fast I drove, but soon, Jack was doing 90 mph in the Toro, something he couldn't do in his Rambler station wagon. Telling me stories of his father's fast driving in his Cadillacs.

We stayed at Jack's father's place in Seattle. Jack adored his father. Ben Swanson was an inventor, primarily of sewing machine parts. But Jack told me that Ben had designed the mechanism that controlled the gun batteries protecting Seattle and Puget Sound during World War II. Jack also served on an intelligence gathering submarine in the Pacific. At an advanced age with a young wife, Ben was still tinkering in his workshop, making chandeliers with crystal that he got from China. While there, while crossing Lake Washington, I got to see hydroplanes racing on Lake Washington, like I had seen them on Wild World of Sports.

I didn't get to see the Space Needle, but Jack told me to take the ferry to Port Angeles on my way to Victoria to visit Lew Brewer, another engineering colleague of mine at LenKurt. Jack had a buddy of his that he wanted me to "look up."

When I got to Port Angeles, I found a phone and called the number Jack gave me. A woman answered, his wife. When I explained that I was looking for this guy who was a friend of Jack Swanson, my friend, she replied, "I don't know where the hell he is, probably at…" And she named one of his haunts.

Somehow, I don't remember exactly how, I found the man at a bar talking to a woman. When I explained who I was and why I was there, he accepted me as his drinking buddy. I followed him around town to several bars, I think we ate something, but I left him in the wee hours accomplishing nothing more than drinking and him staying away from home and chasing tail, parked my car in the line taking the ferry to Victoria when. It opened in the morning and went to sleep in the car.

The next day, I was amazed at the quiet Old World elegance of Victoria with its tame crows and deer wandering in open, park like, spaces in town. It was August and every house and garden had flowers blooming in a multitude of colors everywhere. I joined Lew and his family at a hockey game, something that he loved. He was very short but very pucky… Had the missing teeth to prove it. Wore elevator shoes and replacement teeth. Heard that when he retired, Lew and his equally short, pretty wife, gave dance lessons on cruise ships.

The next morning, I took the ferry to Vancouver and beyond. Leaving Vancouver, two girls had their thumbs out. I gathered that one was 15 and the other 14. They were headed for their home in Thunder Bay, Ontario, after a summer of work in the Vancouver area. I was on Canada 1. Later that day, I reached the intersection with the road north to Prince George. Lew told me about a new road recently opened to Jasper. I wanted to see what that part of Canada was like and had the time.

I asked the girls if they wanted to continue on with me, offering to pay for food and motel. They declined and got out. In a hurry to get home.

After the beautiful mountains by the coast, the road I was on was rather plain and straight, even sterile, while fully wooded, in the valley between the coastal range and the Canadian Rockies. But Prince George surprised me with its new construction and hustle and bustle, similar to California. I thought about driving further north to the Alcan Highway, but thought I didn't have enough time, so I took the new road that was gravel east to Jasper.

It wasn't long before I came upon two large guys with heavy packs hitchhiking. I was moving all my worldly goods in my trunk, so it was completely full, Expertly packed by Jack. I still had room for these 200 lb., over 6 foot, guys in the front seat and room in the back seat for their huge packs and my electric typewriter. Like the road north, the straight new road was lined with trees on either side but otherwise with little by way of geography or animals. With little change in the landscape or wildlife in Canada after leaving Canada 1 up until now… I was disappointed. I had expected to see lakes, mountains and lots of animals. No bridges. Streams were so small there were just culverts.

The guys spoke broken English. They knew little. I gathered that they were from Czechoslovakia and had escaped during the uprising there against the Soviet Union in 1966-67. They had found their way to Canada and had been working for a man clearing brush. They showed me their hands to prove it--all calluses and scars. Off in the distance, as we approached Jasper, we could see Mount Robson, the highest point in the Canadian Rockies. When I pointed it out the two riders seemed uninterested. More interested in getting to where they were going, unknown, but east.

As we arrived in Jasper, I needed gasoline and offered to buy them food. They declined, saying, "We go to CN station." In my ignorance, I thought they meant Chevron station, so I pulled into one to get gas and for them to use the restroom. They thanked me, got out of the car, grabbed their packs and started walking down the highway. I got something to eat at a restaurant behind the station. And then drove on. As I passed the railroad station, I realized that they had wanted me to go to the Canadian National Railroad station. I was glad they didn't have far to walk. I gathered they would be taking the train. Those stations also provided everything a traveler would need, including showers and food.

Continuing onward into Jasper National Park, I turned south again to head back to Canada 1. Along the way, I saw cars stopped ahead. So I stopped. A guy pointed out mountain goats high on the mountain above. I had seen them before. They were so white that they stood out nicely against the gray rock. Amazing animals that could climb and live on sheer rocky slopes, defying gravity

Further on, I began to see elk. And there was a small herd of them just before a small rest area that I pulled into to spend the night. Curious about the elk, I walked back up the road toward them as darkness fell. Very quickly, it turned so dark that I couldn't see anything, but could loudly hear them snorting and grunting nearby. Thinking to myself, this is crazy, I retreated to my car and went to sleep.

Just as it was turning light, I pulled out on the road to discover I had a flat rear tire. I didn't know what to do. I was in the middle of nowhere and couldn't change a tire by myself. Or even empty my trunk where my spare tire was under all of my stuff where Jack had helped me load it carefully. But I looked up in the rearview mirror, and a 1956 black-and-white Pontiac pulled up with a rugged looking Canadian with a beard getting out and coming over with the greeting. "Can I help you ooout?" 

I watched as the strong guy emptied all of my belongings from my trunk to get at the spare tire and put everything in and on the front seat floor, seat and backseat. Then, he changed the tire and put the flat one in the trunk. It took all of about 15 minutes. He wanted nothing for his work. Canadian hospitality. I was relieved and drove on. About breakfast time, I arrived at the Athabasca Glacier and the Grand Hotel at its foot… Kind of.

There was a service station there, so I had the men fix the tire and put all my belongings back in the trunk after. I went into the hotel and had a nice breakfast. I could not see the glacier from the hotel windows because it had receded a half-mile since 1900 when the hotel was built at its foot. But I was able to take one of the tracked vehicles up the road and on the glacier for an excursion. When I got back, my car was repacked and ready. I continued south again to Banff and Lake Louise.

Lake Louise was beautiful, set in the mountains, but I didn't stay because the place was crawling with tourists and hippies. As I started back out on Canada 1 there were so many hitchhikers I didn't pick up any. Might end up with a car full. But as I drove a little further there was a lone couple that I did stop for. Like so many young people traveling east and west along that highway, they had worked during the summer and were headed back to Toronto, I believe. That night, I fed them at a restaurant and they shared a motel room with me. Since there was only one bed, they slept on the floor and she did laundry in the tub.

The next day, he wanted to drive, so I let him. There was a strict 55 mph limit and the Mounties were quite sneaky with radar posted hidden by bridges over small streams. It wasn't long before he was caught speeding. He was given a ticket with a fine that probably was too much for him. As soon as they could, they left my car to take the free bus that came along regularly and I drove on alone.

It wasn't long, on the next day that I was caught speeding in Manitoba. I was told to go to the county courthouse and pay my fine. It was a little town off the main route. I stopped at a little restaurant and had a terrible hamburger. The owner of the place told me that, "We sell all of our good beef to the States." That was supposed to satisfy me. It didn't. After the noon hour, I went to the courthouse and paid my dues to Canada. Was careful after that, not to go over 60. But I turned south into North Dakota as soon as I could. Once I got on I-90 I kicked it up to 90 mph and got to my parents' home in record time.

After two years of cold winters as an instructor at my alma mater in Northwestern Wisconsin, I yearned to get back "home" to California, so at the end of the spring semester, knowing that I was leaving Wisconsin for West Virginia and my doctorate in the fall, I planned a trip back that involved seeing if I could get riders rather than hitchhikers to accompany me and share expenses. I landed two, both sophomore women. One, probably the homeliest girl in the whole school, going to her parents in Northern California and the other, a homemaker type, who would be going to visit her best friend in Oakland.

We picked up the homemaker at her home in Minneapolis and were on our way. We shared cheap motel rooms when we had to stop for the night, not agreeable to the girls, but nothing seemed to be. By the time we got to Wyoming, they wanted to sleep out in the sagebrush. We stopped somewhere on the prairie and they both took their bedding outside to sleep. Within a few minutes, it started to rain. They rushed back in the car. I slept on the front seat. The homely girl got the backseat, and the other girl slept on the flat floor of the Toro beneath me. Cozy but uncomfortable… for the girls. Old hat to me.

I slept, but I'm not sure if the two girls did. Somewhere out there, I saw smoke coming from under the hood just as we were approaching a town downhill in the distance. Fortunately, there was a garage there, and I pulled in. The alternator bearing had seized up and the smoke was from the burning belt. Unfortunately, the guy didn't have another alternator. Fortunately, he was able to pop out the bearing and replace it. Good old American rural ingenuity. We were blessed not to be delayed but a couple of hours.

But the homely girl had enough what with having to sleep in car and share a bit with the repair of the car, not expensive at all. She wanted to get to California quick, clammed up, and was sullen the rest of the way. When we got to Yellowstone, there had been a lot of rain and it was very muddy, perhaps because of road construction. We didn't really see Yellowstone that trip, because it was obvious that both girls wanted to get to California without doing any touring.

I was so happy to drop that girl off at a bus stop on I-5 In Northern California. Good riddance. She still looked unhappy to be there. Shortly after we left, I was pulled over by the California Highway Patrol for speeding and because the officer couldn't read my license plate covered with mud from Yellowstone. It was the first time I had been picked up after all the speeding I did in that powerful car in California before, watching for black-and-white as I drove. The officer even mistook my rider as my wife.

I dropped her off at her girlfriend's apartment without any furniture late that night. I crawled off to a bedroom and slept on the carpet, while she and her friend reminisced about a cruise they had shared and some guys they met on the cruise. In the morning, the other girl was off to work, and my ride homemaker made me breakfast still dressed in her body revealing nighty. I left before I got in trouble, only to find her sewing kit still in my car. When I came back up to the apartment, she was already fully dressed. Took the kit, and thanked me for it. I headed back to Jack's house.

I had a wonderful time in California stopping to see friends I had made there and then headed back to Glacier National Park and then into Canada and the Waterton International Peace Park. While there, I saw magnificent 1930s style coaches that carried people around the parks. I guess I didn't have time to stop and enjoy the Canadian ambience that I saw there like I had seen earlier in Jasper and Banff. Always on the go… Just take a look and run.

Somewhere along the road in California I had found dried plants that were tall, probably yucca stalks and some grasses like Pampas grass for a dry arrangement. When I crossed into Canada, the border agent asked me if I was carrying anything. I told him I had some old weeds in my trunk. He had me open it up, half expecting that I had some marijuana. But then, a smile came over his face when he saw my weeds. Made a nice backdrop for the corner of my living room the A-frame I rented.

From the border I headed for Canada 1.  Near Medicine Hat, I spotted an old man ahead with a paper bag who looked like a bum. But he was in the middle of nowhere, so I felt a bit sorry for him and stopped. It turned out that he was an Indian and the paper bag was his lunch. He wanted me take him to the "Indian doin’s" just up the road. While we rode, he told me that he had played in a movie one time. The director wanted them to paddle canoes. He had never seen a canoe before, but enjoyed his part in the movie. When I dropped him off, I could see that it was an Indian rodeo. He asked me to stop and take in the good times but I didn't feel I had time.

When I got to Canada 1, there was a young couple with their thumbs out. To my surprise, the young man was Phil Coolidge, a Harvard student and his girlfriend, Ellie, from Radcliffe. She was clearly in charge. They had been with friends on the West Coast and while their families had wanted them to take a bus home, I guess it was Ellie that decided that they were going to hitchhike.

The first night I was with the Ivy leaguers we stopped at a campground by a lake for the night. There were a lot of people camping there. Ellie befriended a guy who was quite unsavory to me, but Phil seemed to be quite used to her attracting guys. They stayed with me all the way to my parents' home in central Wisconsin. When we got there about 6 pm, no one was home. We drove into town to the park where my father played softball, but we didn't see them. Back at the house, Ellie made coffee. To Mom's surprise, this stranger in her house served her a cup of coffee when Mom and Dad came home. It seemed like I was always dragging someone home to her good cooking and a bed, surprising her.

The next morning, I drove them to southern Wisconsin and dropped them off at Shot Tower State Park near Madison. I got one letter from Phil later. He wrote that they were driven away from the park by mosquitoes but had made it back to Connecticut all right. I also heard from the homemaker, something about returning in the fall with me being an instructor. I think the homely girl was upset primarily because the other girl cut in on her traveling alone with me. And the homemaker may have had a crush on me, too, after our trip. Fortunately, that fall I was in West Virginia and never saw them again.

I had other riders that I can't recall. But some were memorable. It's a long story, but when I was in my little cottage in West Virginia, a semi truck and trailer filled with oranges from California bound for Baltimore came down the long hill to the bridge below, perhaps losing its brakes, didn't make the sharp right turn, ending up in the lake and drowning the 23 old driver from LA who may have been lost.

I went down to investigate while they were pulling the trailer out of the lake with a huge wrecker. The guy doing the job gave me a sack of oranges and the trailer was still half-full of them. There was small, wiry and crusty old guy there, the father of the guy doing the work and owner of the wrecking company. I gave him a ride into town knowing he was a murderer. 

Earlier that year, his company had towed an illegally parked motorcycle to their impound lot from campus. A young engineering freshman with my brother, decided to go get his bike with some friends. Fortunately, my brother did not join him. He confronted the old man. When he threatened, the guy just shot him with his 22 rifle. The young student died. The old man got off for self-defense. The very same guy riding in my car and I knew it. But I didn't ask him.

There was a time when I was probably driving to a conference in Tennessee. I was driving through Kentucky and picked up two guys in the evening. As soon as they got in, their nervousness bothered me and I had a good idea that they might have been fugitives. Fortunately, before very long, they wanted to stop and I let them off under an overpass in the rain. I didn't panic or worry. But I did feel that they had other things on their mind besides riding with me. Glad to be rid of them.

Finally, when I lived in Atlanta I was on my way home driving down I-75 out of Gary Indiana when I picked up a young guy who looked to be around 18. One of the first things that he said to me was, "Have you been saved?" I always had trouble with that question and I'd heard it before, so I didn't really answer. But as we drove, he became quite agitated and told me that he had, "Sinned." I began to be suspicious that he was gay and fighting with it after a night out somewhere. Fortunately, I had decided to see my great aunt in Flora, requiring me to leave I-75. I was quite glad to leave the troubled young guy with his sins behind.

Copyright 2020 © Ronald W. Hull 

6/4/20