Three days later and I’m still riding the Canadian, this morning while eating a continental breakfast in the dining car … I figure I may as well, for what could be my last morning meal on a moving train for some time.
US Air Force John and his wife Betty collude in my continental affair.
The chat once again proves more entertaining than the book cover. John and Betty, newly married, living in Braintree of all places, going to theatre revues and shows in swinging 60s London.
Then stationed in Alaska, seeing off the Russians in the latest Air Force fighter jets.
Even their weather talk is a scream.
As it would be when extreme Colorado hail is tough enough to write off your car, while it’s parked up in the driveway, minding it’s own business.
And John, way back when, bringing in the first female recruits to his command, all 40 of them … “That was a fun year!” says John, with much excitement and sparkle in his eyes.
In fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with more twinkle in their eyes before. The comment meets with a sideways shrug of the eyes from his companion here today, his wife.
Even the trees we pass seem to sigh a collective shrug, as me and John sit there, smirking.
In the observation car, the secenery outside is starting to become interesting again, as it slowly begins to fold in on itself, in unlikely origami shapes, and begins rising up … a landscape revolution as we leave the central plains and approach the Rockies.
As we round curves in descending mist, I glance back to catch a glimpse once more of the enormous length of this goddamn caravan.
I’m leaving the train today, so at mid-morning I pack my flatpack cabin away, and before I know it, I’m not in Jasper.
I’m stuck in the panoramic dome car, is what – looking at Jasper, but not quite there … not allowed to disembark as we’re waiting for another train to get out of the frickin’ way.
For something to do, and for a definitively final onboard meal, I head back to the dining car for lunch, where bizarrely I’m sat with John and Betty, again.
For my misdemeanours, I receive further light-hearted entertainment and banter over eggs benedict, in the shadow of Jasper, lines of campervans, and anonymous clouded mountains.
Must have been a heavy night, is my thought.
An hour later, and finally we gently roll backwards to gently roll forwards, to the platform, and all of a sudden I’m stumbling off the train into broad daylight. And delighted to see my checked baggage.
Which seems to have taken a wild ride here in the cattle car, emerging looking slightly the worse for wear. What the hell has been going on in there?
Dragging my life up the road, to wash it away in a hostel that’s not yet fully built, the Sleepy Hollow – the one with the bears in the woods, directly opposite, looking for a place to do business.
Unbeknownst to them, their every move is being tracked by two park rangers, with guns.
At the Sleepy Hollow, heads will roll … yeah yeah yeah.
In the bushes, sacrilege – watched on by a good many folk in the hostel, as if this is a spectator sport.
This is not a uniform process, and I wonder what I’m getting myself into.
In the event, no bears are harmed. A cat trots past looking slightly sick, and a duck gets accidentally shot, but that’s about it.
I head back out for a stroll around the busy town. Too many tourists. And I’m bumping into people from the train who have also got off here in Jasper.
A brewery provides an answer – at the bar, a trail ale, to toast my arrival in the Rocky Mountains.
After three nights of stop-start sleep, in my cabin over the wheels, I wake up in Albeerta, sat at the bar of Jasper Brewing Co, semi-lobotomised.
And I feel like I’m moving.
An appropriately conspicuous getaway car is waiting outside – an old Oldsmobile.
I wonder where John and Betty are.
As groups of tourists come and go around me, it suddenly dawns on me … I never asked USAF John what his goddamn call sign was!
In between berating myself for this major oversight, I spend my drinking time at the bar contemplating what it might have been.
Sparklehorse, is what I settle on.
An Outside World 