Travel Biography - Week 16

Last week I was away at the Creation Ministries International Third Conference, held at the Emmanuel Centre located near the Palace of Westminster. One of the issues at the conference was the probability of a cell of any living organism evolving from a molecule to its present form purely by chance and without any divine guidance. This turned out to be one chance out of 10 raised to the 340,000,000th power, or in plain English, one chance in one, followed by 340 million zeros!

By comparison, if we mark just one grain of sand so it stands out from the rest, then mix it thoroughly into a ball of sand the size of our known Universe with all its galaxies of stars, then the chance of a blindfolded man being sent into the ball and picking out the marked grain on his first attempt would be once chance in one, followed by only 96 zeros. With such a dramatic comparison as this one, to look into a volcanic crater that wiped out a civilisation nearly two millennia in the past, and to float on the surface of the Dead Sea, as well as swim in the Great Salt Lake, to stand near the edge of the mighty Niagara Falls, and then to experience the Redwood trees of Muir Forest in California, all of these has raised my appreciation of Creation, highlighted in last week's Conference.

And all that is only a part. Still to come is the Grand Canyon, the live crater of Mt Etna, the Great Barrier Reef, and the Blue Mountains NP. Indeed, I encourage you to keep reading this Travel Diary, as some astonishing events affecting personal experience are still in the pipeline.

Arrival in Vancouver.

The six-hour overnight journey on the Greyhound Americruiser from Portland in Oregon to Vancouver, British Colombia, covers 316 miles or 512 km. However, my re-entry into Canada from the USA at the Washington State town of Blaine was uneventful, unlike the chaos in our preparation to enter Detroit more than two weeks earlier. Back in Canada, I travelled east toward Toronto on the Trans-Canadian Highway, a single road that connects Vancouver with Toronto. Unfortunately, by not having a car, I missed out on most of Banff National Park, let alone the promising-sounding Jasper National Park further north. However, the highway passes through the Rockies, and I was intrigued by the mountains as the bus journeyed one late afternoon.

After arrival in Vancouver, I found a suitable hotel straight away, as it was like all other budget hotels, near the Greyhound Bus station. Like at all other times, I was offered a room after presenting myself at reception.

I explored the town which lines the southern bank of Vancouver Harbour, itself part of the Burrard Inlet. This Pacific inlet is partially barricaded by a natural peninsula jutting out of the city, bearing the name Stanley Park. This was one place I was intrigued by. When I visited this site in 1977, this was a virgin forest, except for the main highway passing through it before crossing the narrow neck of the inlet on Lions Gate Bridge. This was the original land before Vancouver was ever built, and thus the trees making up the forest were in all conditions, from young saplings to mature trees, including logs of dead trees that had fallen and were eventually covered with fungi. Amid the forest was The Lost Lagoon, (now called Beaver Lake) a large, weed-covered pond surrounded by trees.

The Lost Lagoon, Vancouver. Stock Photo.

The park is approx 2 kilometres across and it's crossed by the highway. It was during one early afternoon that I started to walk from the city to Grouse Mountain, on the North side of Burrard Inlet and visible from the city. This view inspired me to hike to the mountain summit to take some panoramic photos of the city below. Alas, it wasn't quite meant to be.

However, crossing the narrow neck of Burrard Inlet on Lions Gate Bridge was an experience in itself, and on the other side, I began to follow the road leading out into the wooded countryside. The sky was overcast but it wasn't raining. As I made my way along the road, a car approaching from behind gave me a blast from his horn. As he overtook me, he told me to walk on the other side of the road and face oncoming traffic. Here we go again! A repeat of the Walnut Creek incident, only this time on foot. I might have left Britain, but the UK is still very much in me, especially with the road traffic regulations.

Much to my surprise, I arrived at the lower terminal of a cable car system taking passengers to the summit of the mountain. At that time, I was aware that the only alternative was to stay on the road and walk up. Instead, this was far more adventurous. And it wasn't expensive either. Yet, if only I knew then what I know now, that there was the start of a hiking trail snaking through the forest to also reach the summit, it would have been a toss-up whether to hike the trail or ride in the cable car. Quite likely, the trip would have consisted of a hike up and a ride back down.

I boarded the cable car with a group of other people and enjoyed the smooth, noiseless glide up the mountain. By the time we reached the summit terminal, it was raining. I crossed the outside quadrangle and made my way to the summit cafeteria and found myself in a queue, waiting to be served.

A tall, slim man was a place or two behind me in the queue and he looked as if he was one of the Spaniards from the Los Angeles area. Like me, he too was on his own, and I wondered whether he would help me pass the time here on the summit of a mountain where all views were obliterated by the wet weather outside. I wasn't far wrong. During the ensuing conversation, I found out that his name was Craig, and he was from San Bernardino in Southern California.

We stayed together for the rest of the afternoon. His original intention was either to use the ski slope or partake in some other outdoor activity. He had an interest in clocks, and we both looked at some on display in the corridor outside the cafeteria. Indeed, we were both frustrated by the rain and the mirky air outside. Rather than clicking at the shutter, my camera remained packed away. Really, I shouldn't have been surprised at the weather, despite being August. British Colombia has an identical climate to that of the British Isles - mild winters, cool summers and plenty of year-round rain. Later, after a ride down the cable car together, he offered me a lift in his car to my hotel, having told him of its location. After I alighted, he drove off and I never saw him again.

At Calgary

Onward to Calgary and Winnipeg.

After three nights spent at the Vancouver hotel, I boarded the bus for my next stop along the Trans-Canadian Highway, Calgary, in Alberta. From Los Angeles to Vancouver, I was within the Pacific Time Zone, eight hours behind British Summer Time. But as we headed east into Alberta, we lost an hour as we entered Mountain Daylight Time.

From the bus, I was able to admire the Rockies as the road winded its way through the valleys, as it was still daylight when I boarded the bus. The journey took over twelve hours to cover 663 miles or 1,074 km. Up until one of the early morning stops, the seat next to mine remained vacant. Then, whilst at the Banff area service stop, another tall, slim young man boarded the bus and took the seat next to mine.

We started talking, and I found that this blond was from Holland or possibly Denmark, and his name was Henry Gebbineck, and he was alighting in Calgary to meet a married couple, Graham and Shirley Brown. But, as we talked, I noticed a slight stutter which, I believe, led him to ask a favour of me once we had arrived in Calgary. No, not to ask for money, but to make a phone call on his behalf for the couple to come to the bus station to collect him. After some hesitation, I finally agreed.

As soon as I made the phone call at the Calgary bus station, I handed the handset to him and he paid his fee. After the conversation ended, we both filed to the station cafeteria for breakfast, as it was now my custom. Henry was very happy and grateful for the favour I did for him. He then invited me to meet Graham and Shirley. Eventually, when they arrived, I saw that they were all my age. The couple took to me quite well and the four of us made a short trip to Graham's house.

Whether Henry's arrival was specifically timed for this or not, that day was to be an Indian Reservation festival held in a field or a park outside the city. We mixed into a crowd of American Indians as they danced and celebrated. This also included a visit to the Heritage Museum where, at one department, a blacksmith was at work, demonstrating his skills to us all.

Indian Festival, Calgary

Calgary was one city where I did not look for a hotel as I originally intended. Instead, I was taken to their house until the evening, when I expressed my desire to travel onwards. They then dropped me off to begin my next leg of the journey, a fourteen-hour, 822-mile or 1,332 km journey to Winnipeg in Manitoba. This overnight journey would cross Saskatchewan, with Regina its capital on the Trans-Canadian Highway, for an hour's service stop in the middle of the night.

Calgary Heritage Museum

On this leg of the journey, gone are the Rocky Mountains, and the view is one massive flat plain stretching for miles on end. From time to time, I could see those characteristic Canadian grain silos as we passed by them. Else, much of Canada is a flat semi-desert with little to offer any vistas and I imagine, a pretty cold and hostile environment during the winter months.

With my arrival in Winnipeg, I booked into a nearby hotel, the very last hotel of this 1977 North American trip. The final leg to Toronto would be a 1,280-mile or 2,075 km journey lasting over 22 hours - the longest continuous leg of the entire holiday. And just as well, as I am to arrive in Toronto on the same day as I take off on a flight back to London. Never mind that there is an industrial dispute at Toronto Airport that would delay my flight for six hours, I still need to be there on time.

I spent just two nights in Winnipeg. Unfortunately, without a car, I wasn't able to see the nearby Lake Winnipeg for myself, but I guess that once you see one freshwater lake, you've seen them all. Therefore, I wasn't too bothered.

Flowerbeds at Winnipeg.

However, Winnipeg had one highlight, a roller skating rink not far from the hotel. On both evenings, I went there and hired a pair of roller skates. Here, I let my hair down! By keeping to the outer perimeter of the rink, I was able to accelerate and speed around the edge of the floor whilst the music played, especially some of Abba's greatest hits. Perhaps for the first time since I was a boy who roller skated up and down St Georges Square in Pimlico so many years earlier.

The second evening, whilst I was skating, a group of young men and women entered. After starting a conversation with them, I found out that they were from a local church fellowship. Thus we stayed together, sharing both our social and spiritual experiences until closing time when everyone dispersed and I made my own way to the hotel.

The next day, I boarded the Greyhound bus for the last time and for the longest leg of the journey back to Toronto. It was during this journey that I made another friend, a resident of Toronto who recommend a visit to the Toronto Science Museum before heading for the airport.

The journey took two nights, arriving in Toronto on the morning of the third day after leaving Winnipeg. During the morning of the day after boarding, the sun rose as we skirted the north shore of Lake Superior. The view was excellent, as I sat on the side of the bus facing the coast. With the straight horizon, I could have been next to an ocean shoreline. With the lake so large, there was no real difference.

We arrived in Toronto early the next morning. After breakfast, at my friend's recommendation, I spent a good part of the day at the Science Museum, where hands-on exhibits made the visit more exhilarating. I also stood once more at Queens Street, looking across Nathan Philips Square at the two tall skyscrapers as if guarding the City Hall between them.

That evening, it was to Toronto International Airport, the "Holiday of a lifetime" coming to an end.

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Next Week: I Prepare for the 1978 Trip to the States.