Canada pt. 1



About fifteen minutes before the California/Oregon border, high in the Siskiyous, we pulled over at a truckstop that looked like its first dollar was made servicing a stagecoach line. The name of the place was unclear to me. Judging from the signs, it was called either "Restaurant," "Gas," or "Snacks & Drinks."

Parked out front were a few pieces of ruddy, skeletal farm equipment. I first assumed that these had been abandoned here sometime during the Great Depression, like a team of malnourished oxen or a covered wagon with a broken wheel, because they couldn't make it over the pass. Upon entering the truckstop (you have to go through a small room that has been converted into a convenience store in order to get to the dining area), I discovered three ragged men who could only have arrived on those iron-wheeled tractors and plows. Each man sat alone at his respective table, completely enthralled by the "Home Improvement" episode playing on the television in the corner. Now I know who watches that god-awful program.

The dining area was decorated with stirrups, bumper stickers touting mottos like "For Your Country--For Your Children--Vote Republican," and newspapers that displayed what these people probably thought were current headlines: "Hitler Killed" and so forth.

I was only there to take a leak. Unfortunately, the restroom door was on the opposite side of the dining area, so that it was necessary to cross in front of the hillbillies to get to it. I can only imagine their thoughts as we paraded before them with our all-black outfits, dyed hair, eyeliner and piercings.

When I made it into the bathroom, I was shocked to discover a woman's body lying in a bathtub next to the toilet. It was a manikin, but I wasn't expecting it, so I nearly pissed a moment too early. The tub, like everything else, was old-style--free-standing with a lip all the way around and taloned feet. The manikin wore a hand-made dress and had no hands. Instead, flowers protruded from her wrists. It was quite unsettling. I regret not having brought my camera into the bathroom. I considered going back to the van and getting the camera to take a picture of the horrors I had found within, but decided against this out of concern for how the natives might react. I'm sure that if the rubes saw me leave the bathroom and return a few minutes later with a camera, they'd be convinced that I was about to perform some unimaginable queer acts in there, and I'd be immediately lynched.