My Affinity for Train Stations

I have always loved trains. My earliest recollections are of trains.

When I was about to be born, my mother went into Vancouver General Hospital, and while she was there, the family apparently moved from a house in Vancouver, to a new one in Burnaby. The house we moved to was actually the former BC Electric Railway Jubilee station on the Central Park Interurban line. The link below shows one of the old BC Electric trams at the Jubilee station. I couldn't find an old picture that actually showed the station house itself.

http://www.railpictures.net/viewphoto.php?id=276931



Here is a picture of me (the littlest one) in front of the old station house.



And another one of me with my two sisters, in the yard.

Some of my earliest memories are of the trains coming through. They never moved very fast, when coming through this area, but I still remember the feel of them, so big, impressive and powerful. Rumbling their deep, deisel-electric rumble. I've always found trains so comforting, like a lullabye.

When I was just four years old, our family moved across the street into a house that had a perfect view of the old station house. I think we moved because the building was condemned. I have recollections of buckets catching the rain leaking through the roof when I was still living there.

I still remember watching as my dad and his big friends carried the furniture and other belongings across the street for the move. Shortly after the move the station was torn down. We stayed at the house across the street until we moved to Mission, when I was twelve.

From that house I continued to see and hear the trains coming past. I'd kneel on the couch in the front room and watch them come by. I always loved to watch the trains. I have recollections of walking on the rails, balanced on them. I recall how the hot metal felt on bare feet, and how the hot tyes, with their creosote felt, too. My friends and I would ride our bikes along the right-of-way next to the tracks as a shortcut. You'd think that would be the end of my train experiences, but no, they continued beyond that.

I remember when I was 18, moving from Maple Ridge to some cabins in Albion near the Albion Fort Langley ferry. These were called the Albion Cabins, and were managed by a gentleman named Carlos Hovi (I may have the spelling wrong, but that's roughly his name.) I worked at a spindle factory at the far end of river road, just outside of Haney. To get there, I walked down a trail through a ravine to the tracks and then along the tracks till they came to the east end of river road. Then I'd walk all the way down river road past the ferry terminal. Every morning at least one freight train would come by, and I'd stand at the side of the tracks, just a few feet away, as a fully loaded freight train would race past at about 60MPH. This was a good way to wake yourself up first thing!

Some time later I was visiting an older friend in Mission, named Chris Desjardins. He had been a scoutmaster in Mission, when I had been a junior leader (read: annoying teenager). I was visiting him with another friend of mine, when he got a call from his brother Clive. Clive had taken out a lease on the Matsqui Canadian National Railway Train Station with a friend of his sharing the rent. He had an old Dodge Fargo truck that he wanted to repair. He was trying to hand push it and jockey it into the workshop attached to the train station, but he pushed it too far back and the back wheels went off the platform. The back of the truck was across the tracks and he didn't know when the next train was coming!

We hopped in our cars and raced across the Mission bridge to the train station. We both blew the speed limit right out, but I took it a little easier, so Chris got there first. When I got there with my friend, they had 3 people on the tracks behind the truck. They had jacked the truck up as far as they could go, but it was still about 4 inches shy of getting back on the platform.

Now a 1950's Dodge Fargo was not a modern, fiberglass, crumples-if-you-hit-something affair. Modern cars and trucks are designed to crumple in an accident, so they absorb the shock instead of your body. I think the idea behind the Fargo was, if you hit something, you went through it without noticing it. The thing was solid steel and weighed a ton!

We joined in, and for a good 5 minutes we struggled mightily, getting about an inch shy of putting the truck onto the platform, but it just wouldn't do the last bit. Then, in the distance, we heard the train whistle, as a freight came around the north end of the Sumas mountain range. We knew we had about 2 minutes. Suddenly the adrenaline kicked in, and with a mighty push, the truck went up on the platform!

We pushed it into the workshop and were just about to close the doors when the freight arrived, roaring past at 60 MPH!

We had a bit of a chat, and I found out that they were looking for another person to split the rent. The lease was for $150.00/month. CN provided toilet paper, cleaning supplies, heat, electricity and light bulbs. Clive was responsible for keeping the waiting room clean (they had about 1 passenger stop per week), making sure all the lights on the platform were going, and keeping the outhouses clean with toilet paper. I decided to take Clive up on it. With 3 of us renting, the rent was $50.00/month each, heat and light included! That was a pretty hard deal to beat, so I moved in. We divided up the duties, and I wound up cleaning the waiting room out once a week. I would have done it more if it needed it, but almost no one ever came through there.



Here is a picture of the station as it looked just before it was torn down. Loretta took this picture of me in front of it.







Here is an artist's sketch of it from happier times. I bought this card from Dianna Ponting many years ago.




Now it is still a stop, but it's just a sign indicating a stop.



They were working on a room for me, but it wasn't ready yet, so I spent the first week or so in the ticket office in the front of the station. As you can see from the picture above, the ticket office sticks out onto the platform, and has tall slit windows that face up and down the tracks. The other tenant, Dan, was in the already finished room that faced the tracks. He would wake up with every train that went by, while I typically slept through them, only hearing the ones that went by when I was awake, or half-awake.

When a freight went by a full speed, the house shook so hard, that you couldn't see your reflection in a mirror. All you could see was a blur. Conversations were briefly impossible at anything less than a yell.

While I was still using the ticket office as a room, I had the 12-year-old son of a friend over for a sleepover in the ticket office. At about 5:00 a.m. a freight train came past. As it got nearer and nearer, its headlights shone in through the ticket office's tall windows. The boy lay in his sleeping bag, irrationally convinced that this roaring behemoth was actually going to go right through the ticket office. He told me later that morning that he nearly wet his sleeping bag with fright! (He really enjoyed the experience - a bit like the thrill of a roller coaster ride!)

In September, when the weather cooled off, we discovered one of the downsides to that station house. It had no insulation, and its windows were not well sealed. The heater ran non-stop. Now CN paid for heat so the cost wasn't a problem, but the house temperature dropped to 65 fahrenheit (18 celcius), and it wasn't even that cold outside yet. For reasons of work, I moved back to Albion again, sad to leave the train station, but realizing that from a temperature point-of-view it probably didn't make sense to stay there and freeze as winter came on.

I'm glad we got our picture of the train station before it was torn down. I also have an artist's drawing of the train station that I purchased.

For our 25th wedding anniversary (and Matthew's grad year), we took at trip for 3 1/2 weeks to Europe and the UK. We travelled the whole time on Eurail and Britrail, and really enjoyed the experience.

Yes, I've always loved trains, and I still do!

(Special thanks to http://www.railroadforums.com and http://www.railpictures.net for their excellent libraries of photos.)
Also to Dianna Ponting who did such a nice sketch of the station when it still looked nice.

Canada Day - 1967 Centenial Celebration

This morning on News 1130, as part of a Canada Day segment, they played a song that I had not heard in a looooong time! It was that song from the 1967 Centenial celebration.

Wow did it bring back some memories! I dug around on YouTube and found a great clip of the song, with lots of pictures. I remember that maple leaf made of triangles all over the place (even have it on my Scouting campfire blanket!)




I was 7 turning 8 when I first heard that song, and I remember that it felt like the most glorious, happy, optimistic song. That was a very special year for me (I'll blog about that, some time.) I loved the feeling of celebration that the song presented, and the fact that the main singers were children like me!

Here's a picture of me about that time (I'm on my dad's lap on the left):



It felt like a wonderful, optimistic world, despite that so-called experts were telling us that we'd all be wearing gas masks from pollution and starving from overpopulation in less than 20 years. Funny how children will latch onto the positive and the optimistic, and strive to make that vision a reality. Also funny how grumpy old scientists with an urgent desire to get funding for their pet project will blow a problem out of proportion...

As someone who works with children as a volunteer, I can say that the ones I know seem for the most part to share that same bright, happy, optimistic outlook. I have no doubt that they will find ways to fix the problems that will confront them in the years ahead, even as my generation managed to avoid the gas masks and global starvation.

We live in the best country in the world! Here on the wet coast (or is that WEST coast?) we live in the best region of the best country in the world!

Happy Canada Day!

My Miles for Millions Adventure

When I was a boy, there was a fundraiser for third world nations, called the Miles for Millions walk. I believe it was around for several years before the year that I walked it, but I do know that I was ten years old when this adventure happened.

The schools had encouraged everyone to get pledges and raise some money, so I had gone around and got a few pledges (I don't think I had very many, but I was determined to do my bit.)

On the day that the walk was to happen, my father dropped me off at the starting point. I was a Cub Scout and had gone on numerous hikes, so I already had a day pack and a canteen (real army issue), a rain coat (it was a normal, overcast, Vancouver day, I think in May.) I got my checkpoint card, and someone saftey pinned it to my pack strap so I wouldn't lose it, and I started out walking with a large group.

Now there was a big group of people all walking together, and I was in the middle of it, but I really didn't know anyone, so I walked quietly, by myself, in this big group. I was comfortable with the large group and enjoying the independance. As I reached each checkpoint, I would stop and get them to check off my checkpoint card.

It was somewhere about the middle of the walk, I remember being about the middle of the checkpoints, and they had one in a fairly large park. As I was walking up to it, I looked at my pack strap where my checkpoint card should have been, and it wasn't there!

I was devastated! I stood there for several minutes, trying to figure out what I could do. It never occurred to me to walk up to the checkpoint and tell the adults my problem. Looking back now, if a crestfallen ten-year-old had turned up at my checkpoint having lost his card, clearly having hiked that far, with pack and raingear, I would have found a way to get him on his way, but I was convinced that this was the end of the walk, unless I could find my checkpoint card with all it's previously marked off checkpoints.

So I started retracing my steps. I walked back quite a ways, looking for my card, and then realized that there weren't very many people anymore, so I realized I'd have to continue, if only to meet my parents at the end point.

I returned to the park, still looking for my card. I actually found someone else's card, but it had their name on it, so it was no good for me, and I left it.

I didn't bother going to the checkpoint. But now I had another problem. There were so few people walking, I was a bit anxious to not get left too far behind. Again, it never occurred to me to talk to any adults. My wife tells me that I'm too independent, and I guess I was, even then, as a ten year old. I saw a couple with rain ponchos on, clearly walking the walkathon, so I followed them.

After about 8 blocks, they turned into an apartment, and I realized that I was in big trouble. My frustration at losing my checkpoint card was now being superceded by an unpleasant, anxiousness in my tummy. I was now on King Edward (25th) street, and I knew what parts of it looked like but wasn't really sure where I was. I walked another block or two, and saw a familiar sight. It was Helen's Grill at Main and 25th, which is still there. As soon as I saw it, I knew where I was.

I had brought a dime with me, and had it in my pocket. Now, back then, a child's fare on Vancouver buses for one zone was ten cents, so I had enough to get to somewhere on Boundary road. I figured from there, I could walk to my home in the Jubilee neigborhood of Burnaby (behind where Metrotown and Sears are now - it was Simpson Sears, back then.) Now it was also the amount you needed to use a phone booth, but phone booths were pretty notorious for eating dimes, and since no one had answering machines or cell phones, there was a good chance that I would lose the dime and then really not have a way out. Again, it never occured to me that I should walk into a store and tell them I had a problem. I'm sure that I could have used a store's phone to call home. Most people would have helped out a stranded little boy, but that never occurred to me.

Anyways, I decided that I would wait for a bus and ask the driver what bus I could take that would get me close to Central Park so I could walk home.

Having come up with a plan, I was feeling a bit less anxious. I don't recall coming too close to tears at all this disappointment and trouble, but I suspect if I'd had a sympathetic listener at one or two of the worst moments I might have dissolved into a puddle. Anyways, I was alone and had to get myself out of this, like a good, resourceful Scout, so I stood there waiting for a bus to come, at the back of the line of people, so I wouldn't block them while I asked the driver for directions.

A few minutes later, the bus pulled up, and several people climbed down off the bus. One of them was an oriental man, who walked up to me, handed me an all-day pass and said "Here, you can use this, I'm done with it." I don't know if it was legal for him to pass that off to me, but at the time I was so relieved that I think I half squeaked my "Thank you" to him! I sometimes wonder if he was an angel, sent to rescue me. Whoever he was, he solved a serious problem for me, and I instantly changed my question for the bus driver. It was now "What bus will get me to Jubilee in Burnaby?"

The driver told me that I could get there on his bus, with a transfer, so I climbed aboard and sat down. Now, the only available seats were all next to occupied ones, so I picked a younger adult man whose face I liked and sat beside him. He probably noticed my gear and asked me what I was doing. Before I knew it, I'd poured out my whole unhappy story to him. I can't remember his name, but he told me he was a scientist, and was just off work, and that if I stayed with him, he'd get me to my home. OK, that was angel number 2. Looking back I have my doubts that his route really took him past Jubilee station. I think he said that just to help me out.

I don't recall what all we talked about, but we chatted all the way. Despite all the talking, it felt like one of the longest bus trips I had ever taken. It was now well past the point where my parents should have been picking me up, and I knew that they were going to be frantic with worry.

The scientist made sure I switched busses at the loops and got on the right ones, all the time insisting that he was going my way, although I had this nagging, but grateful feeling that he was doing this to make sure I got home safely.

Finally the bus pulled up at the stop nearest my house. I thanked the young scientist who had helped me, and climbed off the bus, waving at him as it pulled away. Then I walked to my house.

When I unlocked the door and walked in, my brother Wim was there, looking really concerned. He told me that the rest of the family was driving around looking for me, and they had the police looking, too. He had stayed home in case I showed up or phoned. He called the police to let them know I had showed up on my own, and they found my parents and told them I had been located.

When my family all arrived, I had to tell the story to them. I was told next time to find a grownup and explain my problem. In fact, I was told I should have gone to the people at the checkpoint and they would have taken care of me. I discovered in a very real way that God sent angels to take care of little boys, and that those angels were disguised, or perhaps just were, ordinary people. And I discovered that my family were really seriously worried about me, and actually loved me. I guess I knew that all along, but my brother actually looked stressed when I walked in the door. It was kind of nice to know that you'd be missed if something happened to you.

And that is the story of my Miles for Millions adventure!

My First Orange Crush - Five Cents

As I ride Vancouver's skytrain through Burnaby to my office in New Westminster, I pass by the Jubilee neighborhood that I used to live in. Sometimes just seeing the place brings back memories, although so much has changed. I only need a few cues to bring back the memories.

One of the cues is a small building that used to be a corner store with a house attached, but now is a computer place. I have a particularly poignant memory about that place.

I was just seven when this happened. It was a very hot summer day, and I was playing in the back lane in just my shorts. The lane now is paved with blacktop, but then it was a gravel lane, that got a fresh layer of tar every few years. On a hot day, the tar absorbed more of the sun's heat and made the middle of the lane unbearably hot for a child's little bare feet, so I was inclined to walk along the edge. The edge of the lane had less tar, always seemed to be cooler, had patches of grass you could step on to let your little feet cool, and it seemed to have a less even distribution of rocks, so there were more patches of just dust that weren't as hard on little feet. If you could find a thick patch of dust that hadn't already been stomped, the dust was fun to plop your feet on and feel it gush out between your bare toes. I guess we got a lot of tar on our bare feet in the summer!

Somehow, while playing, I spotted a nickel on the ground. Now a nickel today is not a lot of money, but back then, a nickel, for a seven year old, was a serious haul. I was standing there, with the sweat trickling down my little bare back and tummy, standing on a tuft of grass so my bare feet wouldn't burn, feeling the hot sun baking my bare skin, and I realized that this nickel would buy me a pop.

At seven years old I had never gone alone into a store, without either family or friends, and bought anything, but being a very independent little boy, I decided it was time I did so. I hadn't ever been told I couldn't. So I walked down the lane towards the corner store. Our lane ran behind the house, parallel with Imperial St., and to the East where I was walking, ran into Jubilee St. I made my way down the lane, walking on the concrete parking lot of the Laundromat at the end (King Coin Laundromat - still there, too!) I crossed the street, stepping gingerly over the rocks on the side of the road.

I hesitated a bit outside the store, screwed up my courage to overcome the slight squirming sensation of nervousness in my tummy at doing something new by myself, and, with the nickel clutched firmly in my sweaty little hand, I stepped onto the wooden step, opened the door and stepped in. I clearly recall the feel of the step on my feet, rough wood, hot with the baking sun. They didn't have air conditioning, so it was fairly warm and a bit stuffy inside, but they had a fan and the old linoleum floor inside the store felt cool to my little bare feet, after the hot gravel and pavement.

There was an older lady at the till, wearing glasses (I suspect she was a lot younger than my recollection, but at 7, anyone older than 25 felt ancient), and she smiled at me, so I smiled back. Her smile ended the nervousness in my tummy, so I walked up to the soda cooler, which was right next to the counter, and pulled it open. It was one that had a lid on top that you had to lift out of the way. I believe that there was a little step-stool there, so little ones like me could reach in more easily. I leaned in, my bare tummy right against the cold edge of the cooler. It felt delightfully cold on my bare skin! Then I had to choose.

There were lots of different flavours, but the one that jumped out at me was the Orange Crush. I had never had one and the thought of something orange-flavoured and cold and fizzy on a hot day appealed to me, so I grabbed an Orange Crush and closed the lid of the cooler. I handed it to the lady and asked her to please open it for me. I gave her the nickel and told her I would drink it there. It would have cost 1 cent more for deposit if I wanted to leave the store with it, but if you were willing to drink it there, it cost only the nickel. The lady opened the bottle for me, and handed it back, still smiling (I was probably a very cute intrusion into a quiet, boring day for her.)

I tilted the pop back and began to drink. I had never had an Orange Crush before, so I was delighted with the explosion of tangy, fizzy, cold, sweet flavour in my mouth. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes and drank. As I gulped the first mouthful down, I felt its coldness going down inside me. I felt the coldness from about the bottom of my breastbone down to the middle of my tummy, where it spread through the middle of me. At the same time, I clearly recall feeling a bead of sweat running down the outside of my tummy, cooling and drying in the breeze of the fan. I would take a mouthful of pop, swirling it around in my mouth to get the most of the cold, fizzy, tangy-sweet flavour, then gulping it, feeling it going down cold to my tummy, with my head tilted back and my eyes closed. I had to pause once or twice to catch a breath of air. It tasted so good I was neglecting to breathe while drinking it. Finally, much too quickly, it was gone. With a big breath that was half sigh, I handed the bottle back to the lady, smiled, said "Thank you!", and wiped my mouth with my hand. Then I turned and left the store.

I don't recall anything else I did that day, but that little episode has stayed with me over the years. Orange Crush is still one of my favourite drinks. Now, when I ride past that corner store on the skytrain, the memory of that day comes back to me.

Our Olympic Moment

It's a little after the fact (I've been really busy with work) but I thought I'd post a quick video of my Willingdon Church small group's gathering to see Canada take the Olympic gold medal for men's hockey.

We wound up with a spontaneous "Oh Canada!"

Go Canada Go!!!

One Day Tour of Free Vancouver 2010 Olympic Sites

I took yesterday off to take in some of the free Olympic venues, and while explaining what I did and what my recommendations were, I was asked to put it in an email, so I thought I'd blog it instead, and email the link.

Someone gave us a tip, and the first thing we did was arrive 1/2 hour before the Mint opened. The Mint Pavilion is at 500 Granville Street (at Pender). You want to line up at least a half hour before, as it still took us 2 hours to see the medals. You can just walk in, but you won't see the medals. If you line up, they give you a hand-stamp and you get in a line. While you are in there, have someone hold you place in line and send someone else with a bunch of quarters. There are a couple of stations where you can line up to get a coin holder and exchange regular quarters for Olympic ones.

You will get a white glove which you must use to hold the coins. You cannot hold them in any way that looks like you are wearing them or awarded them, but you can get your picture taken with them.







When you are done, you can go into another section, hold a gold ingot and see a 1 million dollar gold coin. There's also an interactive kid's section, but it was not open when we were there.

This is well worth the visit.

Then we went around the corner on Pender and walked to Northern Canada House. There was no line and it would have been worth a line! They had interesting crafts, a place to build your own innukshuk (and lots of explanations about what the different types are and what they meant), draws for prizes, you can make an interactive video of yourself overlaid on Northern Canadian landscapes, they even had games that involved drums that they demonstrated, then brought the kids up to play them (and the drums.) We had heard this was the best venue and I would agree from what I saw.

Then we had lunch and crossed over to see the Russian tall ship. If you've never been on one, then maybe the $18.00/person admission would be worth it. Having been on the Pacific Swift when Matthew was in Grade 7, I skipped it.

Next, we went to the Post Office on Georgia Street. They have Olympic stamps. We recommend that you bring some sheets of paper, or a notebook for your kids to stamp these on. There is one for each event, and one for the mascots, so there are a ton of them. They did a commemorative day-of-issue stamp for Bolideau's first-ever gold medal on Canadian soil. They also have an athlete signing autographs every day, I beleive at 2:30 pm.

Next we went to the Live Entertainment site across from Canada Hockey Place (GM Place for locals.) The one disappointment here was that there were no seats for us, and we both needed to sit for a bit. The Canadian Pavilion, which was inside here had a line where you could pose with a torch with a glacier as the background and they'd take your picture with your camera. They also had a game where you tried to score a virtual goal in hockey. You could also get your picture taken with a fake bobsled. And they have interactive table-top multi-touch screens with games for kids and adults alike.

This venue also had the Saskatchewan house which was easy to get into and quite well done. While you're there, take a quick wander through it, just because you can.

Then, because there was no place to sit and it was getting colder, we went home to watch the Canada vs. Norway hockey game.

Later, we went back downtown, first to see the cauldron, then we walked through Robson Square. The buzz there after a hockey win is something you have to feel. Next we went to Granville Island. One of the best venues there is Atlantic Canada House. Be prepared for a long line, but they have seafood that you can sample and amazing entertainment.

So that's what we did. There is more, but we ran out of time. That was one long, exciting day at the Vancouver 2010 Olympics!

Visiting Vancouver 2010 Olympic Venues

We checked out some of Vancouver’s Olympic venues and sights, and I’ve got two videos from it.

Just around noon today we decided to take transit downtown. We got out and ate at a food fair. We sat next to some Swiss people. The city feels like the Tower of Babel with all the languages.

Then we signed the electronic guestbook, and walked to see the Olympic Cauldron that Wayne Gretsky lit last night at the end of the opening ceremonies.

Next we were going to take a train up to the art gallery, which has free admission during the Olympics, but the train had what looked like more than an hour lineup, so we walked instead (about 10-15 minutes.) There we discovered that there was a several hour long lineup to get into the art gallery (we were worried this would happen). But while we were there, I took the first video.

This an arial tramway that runs from our court house building to our art gallery building across Robson Street. It’s probably one of the better advertized free things you can do, but they have lineups of over 5 hours to get on it. It looks pretty hair-raising.



So then we decided to walk up to another venue, called the Live Site, but it had a huge lineup as well, so we were walking along a stretch of inlet called False Creek (there’s a story behind that name, too) and saw a ferry dock for a small ferry that navigates that inlet, so we took it to Granville Island. Another video:



Our son works at Granville Island in a cheese shop and he actually had the 9-5 shift, but took off early, so we arrived at 4:45 but he was already gone. I checked out another venue that had East Coast Canadian Celtic music, but it had another 4-hour long lineup, so I gave up on it too.

My take-away from all this is, the venues are too hard to do, but the buzz in downtown Vancouver is amazing. Really enjoying all these people we’re meeting.