Travel Biography - Week 13, extra pics.

 A Quote from a Backpacker's Bible?

I believe that most churchgoers are familiar with what Jesus said about Worry, recorded in Matthew 6:25-34. But if I were to quote from a Traveller's Bible, I may read words such as these:

Consider the Arctic Tern. He doesn't need passports or visas, and nor does he buy airline tickets or carry a rucksack on his back. Neither does it need a camera, as he knows every area of his convoluted route. Yet, each year, he flies from Pole to Pole, crossing the Equator as he does so. In a single year, he's able to cover up to 44,100 miles or 70,900 km. Yet, your Heavenly Father feeds and guides him. If he's so concerned about the birds in the air, how much more is he concerned about you, oh ye of little faith? 

The Arctic Tern. Stock Photo.

Perhaps, we Homo Sapiens need to learn a thing or two from this fascinating bird. Why is such a humble bird able to fly around the globe so freely whilst I tend to tie myself up in knots in an attempt just to fly across the Atlantic Ocean at a fraction of the distance? Especially where visas are concerned. As I have already noted, whilst waiting in line, I watched a man dressed in a business suit storm out of the American Embassy in London with his passport in his hand and a look of frustration on his face. I didn't have to make any effort to realise that his application for a visa was refused for reasons only he knew.

Meanwhile, the Arctic Tern flies overhead, and if his instincts lead him to make a pit stop in the States whilst on its way to Antarctica, then not a single human would even notice, let alone take any action! I suppose this scenario makes me wonder just how accurate evolutionists are when they say that we Homo Sapiens are the most advanced in Evolution, especially for the white race of Nazi understanding. 

A bird can fly multiple thousands of miles - and land at the precise spot where he was the previous year. Yet, among the human race, there is, on one end of the scale, the mentally retarded who can't leave the house on his own without supervision. On the other end of the human spectrum is the high-ranking scientist whose research may call for business world travel. Yet, not even he has the global navigation powers of this fascinating bird. Instead, he has to depend on the skills of a trained pilot.

As for me, I have considered myself very fortunate to find myself travelling Westwards from Chicago to Salt Lake City, and like the scientist, I too had to depend on someone else for navigation - first the airline pilot, and then the bus driver. The Greyhound Americruiser is a long-distance bus whose network covers the whole of the United States and also the Canadian Highway. Not to be confused with escorted coach tours. With the Greyhound Ameripass, I have enjoyed as much independence travelling on my own as if I hired a car. Indeed, the FlyDrive scheme became very popular among British tourists visiting the States, especially throughout the nineties.

But, due to not holding a Driving Licence, I couldn't hire a car whilst I was in the States. Not that I wanted to, either. One of the conditions of hiring a car is the Collision Waiver Fee, an extra expense for which without this extra payment, the user would be responsible for the cost of the vehicle, either repairs or even a replacement, should a collision occur. Such a heavy responsibility I don't need whilst on my travels. The Greyhound Americruiser was ideal for me. However, there were disadvantages.  

This included missing out on various national parks such as Yellowstone with its Old Faithfull geyser, Yosemite, Crater Lake, Bryce Canyon, Arches National Park - and the Grand Canyon National Park - the one I felt was the most important attraction. Greyhound Buses linked city to city and as far as I was aware, those buses did not call at these national parks. Hence the big advantage of hiring a car, and that despite the heavy responsibility of looking after it, along with all the paperwork attached.

Another example was the big difference between downtown Chicago and the Old City of Jerusalem, both across eight time zones apart. Such a cultural difference between the compact, pedestrian-only Medieval streets in the Middle East where pedestrians stroll at a leisurely pace accompanied by Eastern music, and that of a modern bustling city where a police officer had to direct busy traffic filling the wide street with constant car-engine noise and horn blasts. Maybe this was why I didn't book a hotel in Chicago. Instead, after several hours spent in the city, I decided to move on.

View from the Willis Tower, Chicago.

City Rapid Transit, Chicago.

At Chicago Fountain

Near the shore of L. Michigan, Chicago.

The bus journey from Chicago to Salt Lake City took about 22 hours, including at least two major stops, each an hour long. These were service stops, first at Omaha in Nebraska, and then at Cheyenne in Wyoming. The purpose of these stops was refuelling, oil check, tyre pressure gauging, and general maintenance of the bus to avoid any possibility of breakdowns. It was during these stops that I ate in the terminal cafeteria, including breakfast at Omaha during daybreak, along with a quick exploration of the town itself. Shorter breaks, those lasting only twenty minutes, were for refreshments. These included Des Moines in Iowa and Rock Springs which is also in Wyoming. After a journey of nearly 1,400 miles, the bus eventually pulled into the Salt Lake City terminal in Utah for an hour's stop before proceeding to Los Angeles. At Salt Lake City, I alighted to look for a hotel, as I planned to spend a few days here.

I have gained another hour as I was already in Mountain Time Zone, seven hours behind BST. I saw a reasonably priced hotel not far from the bus station. After checking in at the reception, I climbed the stairs into my assigned room, slumped onto the bed and quickly fell asleep.

I must have slept for up to three hours, as it was already evening when I woke up. I had a stroll around the streets and inquired about a reliable venue where I can board a bus to see the Great Salt Lake for myself.

The next morning, I arose, had breakfast at the Greyhound terminal cafeteria, and then made my way to the pick-up point to board a local bus (for which I had to pay the fare - the Ameripass wasn't valid for local buses.) To my surprise, there was a crowd of people all waiting to board the same bus. I got by word of mouth that they wanted to see the open-cast copper mines, and the Great Salt Lake was a stop on the journey.

We all boarded the bus. The driver then gave a commentary on the journey ahead. The final destination was Kennecott Copper Mines, west of Great Salt Lake, which is open to the public. Then the driver asked,

Does anyone here wish to alight at the lake itself?

I raised my hand as if this was a school trip. Much to my surprise, mine was the only hand that went up amongst the people filling the bus. But as the driver tried to start the engine, all it gave was an unhealthy whine and the vehicle refused to move. Further attempts to start the bus also failed, and we all had to alight as the driver phoned for help.

Shortly afterwards, another bus arrived from the same depot and we all boarded. Then the driver called me over to his cab for a briefing, instructing me on when and where to wait for its return to take me back to the city.

Having a high saline content, the Great Salt Lake can be compared to the Dead Sea in the Middle East, but the Salt Sea's salination wasn't nearly as intense. Furthermore, while the Dead Sea was a totally lifeless lake some 430 metres below sea level, the Great Salt Lake had an average of 1,283 metres above sea level, although this varies slightly due to the intensity or lack of rainfall. At this moment, drought, along with the use of snowmelt, is causing the lake to shrink further, and there is a future threat of the lake drying out completely. Also, unlike the Dead Sea, this lake supports countless numbers of brine shrimp.

In a way, I felt sad that this was once part of a much larger body of water which covered much of Western Utah, also covering a little of Idaho and the eastern fringe of Nevada. This was Lake Bonneville, formed during the melting of the last Ice Age. However, it's believed by geologists that an earthquake had breached a dam containing the lake, and the water escaped through Red Rock Pass in Idaho, resulting in the Bonneville Flood, eventually leaving the present salt lake as a remnant.

Having stripped down to my bathing trunks, I managed to wade into the lake. The beach sloped very gradually into the water as the shrimp swarmed around my feet without touching the skin itself, and I was far out before I managed to float. Eventually, a few other people arrived by car to enjoy the lake.

Posing on the beach of the Great Salt Lake, Utah.

View of Salt Lake City from Twin Peaks.

The next day, I decided to climb the western slopes of Twin Peaks, on the eastern side of the city, for a splendid panoramic view. Although I never realised it back then, where the city is located, it would have been underwater of that once great lake with the mountain forming the east coast.

The last two days in Salt Lake City I spent in the city itself, which to me, has a very interesting historical legacy. It's what I call, "The Vatican of the Mormon Faith." Although not a follower of Mormonism, nevertheless, its headquarters has a history that contrasts sharply with the headquarters of the Watchtower Society - the latter just a large block of offices and printing press - that once stood in Brooklyn, New York. Here in Salt Lake City, the main building is the Temple, the original and the oldest Temple of its kind in the world, but not open to the public. Nearby, the Visitor's Center is a museum of Mormon history, with many exhibits displaying Bible verses (and hardly any from the Book of Mormon) along with short films on its history and its theology.

I liked the place, and it has a relaxing atmosphere where I can just sit and meditate, although it was very unlikely that I'll end up as a member of the Church of Latter-Day Saints. However, I was intrigued by how they take the Story of Joseph Smith, the founder of their faith, so seriously and as a historical fact of finding a pile of golden plates buried on a hill outside New York City, and with the text written in "Reformed Egyptian", he was able to translate the text into English using oversized spectacles named Urim and Thummim, to produce The Book of Mormon, before the plates were supernaturally taken up to heaven.

And so, this city was built on a story that was, I believe, borrowed from a fiction novel, yet taken seriously as essential to the faith of every Mormon. Yet, on arrival at the Center, I was obliged to give my name and address, as all visitors had to, to give them a huge master list for future proselyting.

And indeed, a few weeks after arriving home to my apartment, there was a knock on the door.

Going back to Salt Lake City, on the next day, I vacated my hotel room to continue the journey further west to Los Angeles.

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Next Week: Arrival in LA and I head straight to Disneyland.

Travel Biography - Week 12.

Niagara Falls. 

One of the main reasons why I flew to Toronto was to visit Niagara Falls. From Toronto, it's a 90-minute journey on the Greyhound Bus covering approximately 85 miles, or 137 km. As the road skirts around the western end of Lake Ontario, from my window, the north coastline was already behind the horizon, giving the impression that we were travelling along the ocean shoreline. We passed through one central town, Hamilton, nestling on the very end of the lake. The journey ended at the resort which borders the US State of New York, with the international boundary running along the middle of Niagara River.

As I stood at the lookout with the falls almost at touching distance, I felt the ground constantly shake as the water crashed over a crest 57 metres high. Whenever the sun was out, the constant spray created a permanent rainbow within the mist. Thus, my impression of nature was a combination of the waters thundering over a rocky ledge causing the ground I was standing on to literally tremble, along with the delicate mist lingering directly in front of the falls and the rainbow seen as the sun shone through it.

Horseshoe Falls, Niagara. Taken 1977.

From time to time, the famous Maid of the Mist sailed along the River Niagara to within metres of the base of the curved waterfall. I have wondered just how well the sea of umbrellas on the deck had kept those passengers under them dry.

From where I was standing on the Canadian side, I was looking across the river to the USA. In 1977, the opposite shore lacked the facilities of a holiday resort. However, since the Horseshoe Falls which is the widest of the three waterfalls, spanning 820 metres, is on the Canadian side, I'm not too surprised that the main resort happened to be where I was. One of the other two waterfalls, the American Falls, is 290 metres wide. Finally, the narrowest of the three falls, Bridal Veil Falls, is only 17 metres wide, and it's separated from the American Falls by Luna Island. Both of these are in the USA. The promenade running alongside the Canadian side of the river passes directly opposite the two American falls, giving a fantastic view. The promenade continues on to Rainbow Bridge which crosses the river.

Within the resort, and right next to the start of the Horseshoe Falls, a visitor's centre marked the start of an underground passage that opens out right behind the thundering falls. In my day, I was able to walk almost right up to the cascade itself. Only a safety barrier stopped me from actually reaching out and touching the falls, as it was placed so that the cascade was indeed just out of my reach - as actually touching the cascade from behind might have proved fatal by its powerful suction force.

The whole manmade cave shook as the mighty falls tumbled over its mouth, creating a curtain-like phenomenon accompanied by constant thunderous noise. Like all other visitors, I was kept dry by wearing a hooded black plastic mackintosh provided at the reception upstairs at ground level.

Afterwards, I strolled along the promenade toward Rainbow Bridge. This bridge carries the main road over the Niagara River and over the border to the American side. At that end of the bridge, a checkpoint allowed traffic to cross the international border.

However, the actual border itself is in the middle of the bridge, halfway across in either direction. Along the whole length of the bridge, a barrier separated a footway from the main road. Here, it was possible to walk from Canada to the USA and back. Halfway across the bridge, two parallel lines were painted across the path, each with the letters spelling Canada and the USA. I sat on the two lines, my left leg in the US, my right leg in Canada, and facing the Horseshoe Falls, some 2 km away!

The American Falls is directly behind me.

After a while, I completed the walk across Rainbow Bridge, and I found myself standing at the US Passport Control gate. Having my passport on me with a US entry visa stamped inside, I was eligible to enter the USA legally. But at this point, I refused to go any further. After such difficulty in getting a visa in London in the first place, I was afraid that here at Niagara, having entered the States already, the visa I had would no longer allow me into Detroit early the following morning, as I was intending. Therefore, I was given a removable tag placed inside my passport bearing the words, Voluntary refused entry without prejudice. This was shown to the Canadian border control at the other end of the bridge.

It was one of those occasions when I had to exercise caution. After having gone through a bureaucratic wrangle at the US Embassy in London, at this point, I wasn't sure about the validity of the visa, and if I was refused entry into the USA at Detroit, the whole schedule would be blown to pieces. Therefore, I sauntered back into Canada in readiness to board the Greyhound Bus back to Toronto.

Entry into the States.

Later that evening, I vacated the hotel room and made my way to the Greyhound Bus Station. After booking, I, among others, boarded the bus for a 4-hour, 233-mile, or 376 km overnight journey to Windsor, Ontario, where I would see whether my entry visa had any powers.

As the bus arrived and rode alongside the Detroit River, I was astonished at how close we were to the city skyline. In a guess, that part of the river was between 500 to 600 metres wide, perhaps equivalent to the width of the River Thames in the Greenwich area of London. The skyline was very much like Manhatten at night, city blocks rising into the sky, each sparkling with interior lighting, giving almost a Christmas tree effect. The Detroit coastline was quite a big contrast to the more sedate Canadian side.

At the US Border control, the bus parked in a bay and we were all instructed to return to the same bus for the final run into Detroit. Inside the building, we all lined up, each of us to be questioned by two tired and fed-up-looking officers sitting behind a desk. My heart began to beat faster as my anxiety rose. In front of me was a young oriental couple. As one candidate after another was given the all-clear and made his way back to the bus, it was the turn of the couple.

With the usual questioning, the pair had to produce documents that apparently didn't add up. Something to do with their marital status not conforming to their documentation. The questioning kept on longer than those who were given the all-clear. Eventually, I saw the officer shake his head and apologise.

Sorry, but your present status disallows your entry. We're sending you both back to Canada. Now please stand aside.

Indeed, the two just stood there, looking morose and downcast as my turn arrived. The officers examined my passport and checked my visa. With no further ado, I was waived through and told to return to the bus. As I moved on, feeling rushed with relief, I turned in pity to the oriental couple still standing aside. 

On the Border at Rainbow Bridge, Niagara.

With everyone checked and the bus full, it began its last leg of the journey by crossing the River Detroit on the Ambassador Bridge, the one link between Canada and the USA before the river emptied into the nearby Lake St Clair, a small in-between after the much larger Lake Huron and the next major body of water, Lake Erie, all part of St Lawrence Passage that allows a ship to sail from the Atlantic Ocean to Chicago, on the southern tip of Lake Michigan, the only lake wholly within the USA and in the heart of the continent.

Chicago - and some unexpected news.

The journey ended, after just five minutes, at Detroit Bus Terminal. Rather than remain in Detroit, I booked a seat on another bus bound for Chicago, where I would arrive by early afternoon. Then I settled at a cafeteria table for breakfast, which by then, daylight has broken.

A fellow passenger from Toronto, a young man about my age, asked if he could sit with me with his food package. I welcomed him. We talked about the strict entry requirements for the States and how unfortunate it was for that couple who had to be sent back to Canada against their will.

As my back was turned towards the entrance to the cafeteria, my new friend suddenly jumped and looked on in horror. 

The US Immigration officers, they're here and heading straight for us! He almost shouted.

WHOA-WHAT??? I cried and turned around to look. But I saw nothing significant. I turned around to see him laughing. "Why, you..." then I breathed a sigh of relief. 

We talked further. Chicago wasn't on his hit list. Instead, he was heading elsewhere.

Eventually, I boarded a Greyhound Americruiser and settled down for another four hours-plus of bus travel to the Midwest. By road, Chicago is 283 miles or 463 km from Detroit, and I should arrive there by lunchtime, having gained an hour after entering the Central Time Zone, which is six hours behind BST.

In Downtown Chicago, I alighted from the bus at the terminal and wandered through the streets, only to see a large crowd gathered with TV cameras here and there. Intrigued, I approached one in the crowd and asked him what was going on.

You have not heard? Elvis Presley died today.

Oh dear, the King of Rock - dead? What did he die of?

We think it may be from cardiovascular disease, or maybe even a drug overdose. We're not yet sure.

Checking on the records, the day of his death was Tuesday, August 16th, the day I entered the USA for the first time in my life and my arrival in Chicago. I sauntered off, feeling pensive about how life can come to a sudden end, just like that. As the Bible says, nobody knows what tomorrow will bring. I felt fortunate to be alive and well, and it's something I have learned to appreciate as I grow older.

The tallest building in the world at that time was located in Chicago. It was then known as the Sears Building, a skyscraper standing 442 metres high, and now known as the Willis Tower. I managed to take the elevator to the observation deck, at 412.4 metres, thus the highest Skydeck in the USA. From it, I had a good view of the Ogilvie/Union Canal as it splits into two just north of the tower.

The Willis Tower, formerly the Sears Building, Chicago. Stock photo.

A while later, I made my way to Lake Michigan. To do so, I paused to ask a police officer, a giant of a man in uniform and carrying a gun in his waistbelt whilst directing traffic, where I can find the coastline. He wasn't unkind when he gave me the right directions.

The lakefront of Chicago is adorned with one of the largest fountains I have ever seen. It was a good place to meditate, especially on the death of Elvis, away from the busy traffic that makes this city bustling with life. However, I decided not to look for a hotel this time, but to board a Greyhound Americruiser and head further west.

This was the plan. When booking a seat on the bus, I had to state my chosen destination. If this involves an overnight journey, then I take this to my advantage. Although I'll be the first to admit, I can't sleep well at all whilst in a sitting position, nevertheless, it does great credit to the budget. It was well into the evening when I left Chicago. I was about to settle for a long journey to Salt Lake City in Utah to see for myself another wonder of nature.

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Next Week: A Bus breaks down in Utah.