Mile 621: Edson, Alberta, Oil and Bars
We started the day in Jasper, AB, deep in the Canadian Rockies, collecting Athabasca river water to take as medicine—a gift to people we’d meet at the tar sands—and riding east. The strange thing about the Rockies were how suddenly they terminated: we rode around a turn after one final ridge, and they were done.
The last ridge of the Rockies. Image by Erika Lundahl.
We rode into the southern extent of the boreal forest, into the Hudson Bay watershed, and for our purposes, into oil country. Canada 5 took only a couple slight turns in the vicinity of the Obed Summit (a higher altitude than we were at at any point in the Rockies), but otherwise became straight as an arrow.
Nearly 100 miles of riding later, Kyle and I rode into the town of Edson, AB in search of our campground. We picked one campsite until we heard a domestic fight start in the camper next door. Eventually, we found a good spot and waited for Serendipity, the support vehicle, and the rest of the gang to arrive.
About an hour later, I was staring at the camp host, staring back at me sitting in her air conditioned office. They had a way they wanted people to check in, and we hadn’t exactly done that, and more interestingly, it didn’t look like we were too friendly toward the oil industry. The lady seemed to study me intensely while I said a bit of our story, until she interrupted.
”Miles? Feet? You’re…..not Canadian. But you can’t be American. You don’t sound American.”
It turned out that most Americans seen in Edson are from Texas. No drawl: not American. Welcome to oil country!
That brings our story to a bar named BAR. Derek and I could see it clearly from our campsite, and after everyone went to bed, he and I decided that we’d go have a beer. What followed was one of the most insightful moments of the entire trip.
Derek and I had put ourselves into a locals bar, surrounded by oil workers, and plenty of alcohol. What could go wrong? This was the kind of place where you order one Kokanee, and the next one is open and waiting for you as soon as you’ve had half your beer. When we walked in, the music seemingly stopped, conversation halted, and heads turned to follow us. They had a finger bear trap too. It was expected that Derek would put his finger in the bear-trap as some kind of rite of passage before anyone would be at ease.
That said, once we passed the test, the bar keeper was super friendly, and with the exception of one guy who was a little surly (we’ll call him Josh), everyone else was mellow and friendly too.
So we talked with folks—mostly men who worked for the oil companies and on pipelines. The conversations were real, and sincere, and they vividly revealed the “dualism” that we would see over and over in Canada. One guy with whom we talked for a long time spoke about hiking trips into the wilderness, community resilience, and concepts of non-monetary economies. Yet, the oil companies were who he was going to work for, and there wasn’t much else of a possibility for him. Entrepreneurism and self-determination were concepts, or practical realities, that were out of reach.
Then there was a good hour-long conversation with “Josh”. He was a little heavy on the testosterone, but willing to have a long conversation on everything from the state of the climate, to politics, and beyond. From him I encountered an eye-rolling attitude toward the First Nations peoples, and he proceeded to tell me stories of corruption within the various bands. When I questioned how quick we should write off all things indigenous on account of humans being humans, he laughed and said “Nevermind…. Don’t worry, you’ll see.”
I was in a conversation with someone else when I realized that we were now many beers in. Too many beers in. And what’s more, “Josh” had decided in his inebriated wisdom that “we weren’t going to represent him very well,” and he was getting visibly angry. Using our best concentration, we paid our tab, said our goodbyes, and backed out.
The friendly caretaker of BAR, and its people. Image by Phil Jones.
The truth is, the evening offered a valuable and candid meeting with folks who weren’t predisposed to see our point of view, which was a vital thing. The next day, Erika and Lou would have their own sincere conversation with a local just across the street from the campground. Over the next week, we began to get an idea of what made Alberta tick.
Looking online, I can’t find any sign of BAR, and neither can Derek. The best we can do to pay homage to one of the stories of our trip is remember it and the people involved in pictures and words……while we sip our Kokanees.
