Spence's Bridge. Open again. For now, anyway. And Doc with no internet, and downtime... I guess I'll explore along the Nicole River here, take a short run down Highway 8, see what I see...
Racing trains might be popular around here, I don't know. I do know that this is a place where there are often two trains running. There's track on each side of the Thompson here, and at night the big train lights come racing out the tight canyon sides, crying out at each other over the water. It takes a few seconds for the echos to do it again, backwards this time.
If I had a can of paint maybe I'd paint my name on one of these boxcars. Something about taggin' a train, sending out your name. If you can't go, you can let your name go out across the land. You can follow this road, or you can stay under the big sky.
I ride my big, steel horse out onto the range. That's an easy ride. No barbwire scars on my arms. Only a heart, blowing in this crisp, desert air.
Most of these cowboys are probably First Nations people. Ironic, somehow. We used to play cowboys and Indians. We didn't know that Indians were First Nations, we didn't know that they were cowboys, too. I hope someday my friends will make me a grave with as much love.
Most of these markers are carved out of wood.
I was looking for John Smith's stone, but never did find it. Wrong side of the River. I'm probably on the right side of this roaring river. I'm breathing in the high desert air. Dogs barking in the distance. Trains. Wind. Truck lights flickering miles across the canyon. See you soon. See you in Kelowna. I'm going to burn a candle against the night.
Now that's what I call a graveyard with character.
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