On a voyage around the world, a little gift goes a long way around, gift, successful, existing, little

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On a voyage around the world, a little gift goes a long way



By Garry Sowerby, Vancouver Sun October 12, 2012















Toronto's CN Tower was less than five years old in 1980 when Ken Langley and I set off from its base in an attempt to drive around the world in 77 days or less. If successful, our trip would eclipse the existing Guinness Record for world circumnavigation by car by more than a month.
Before leaving, the Tower's public relations people gave us 10 miniature replicas of the tower to hand out as gifts to special people we met along the way. "Good to meet you Mr. Diplomat, Movie Star, King or President. Here's a statue of the CN Tower so you will remember the two yahoos from Nova Scotia who wanted you to grease the border so they could get a spot in the record books."
Surely they would will the gift on for their grandchildren's grandchildren to fight over.
The towers seemed a good idea until Ken and I had a chance to take a closer look near Moose Jaw, Sask., on Day 3 of our big adventure. The fake plastic marble bases supporting cheesy gold towers were the personification of tacky. At the top was a plastic antenna that, when flicked with a thumb, would make a loud "doinnng" noise. Ken and I laughed like silly children over that noise. Imitating the sound after meeting anyone of any importance became an inside joke.
"Thank you for signing our log book, Mr. Mayor. Sorry we don't have the heart to lay one of the towers on you." "Doinnng, doinnng," and we were outta there.
By the time we finished North America and Australia "doinnnging" had evolved into somewhat of a mantra, one of the foolish things that got us through our brutally hectic days. A little naughtiness that in reality wracked us with guilt as we sped around the world without giving a single one of the replicas away.
The evening of Day 27 of the adventure found us in central India. We'd been driving since 6 a.m. in the usual Sub-Continental drill of three parts horn and one part driving while Montezuma's Revenge tortured our bowels. Accident avoidance was routine as packs of lumbering Tata transport trucks came at us, filling the road like bad dreams.
As the sun set we entered Jaipur, another massive city I'd never heard of, and negotiated our way through the creeping rickshaws, buses, bicycles and taxis in search of a place to spend the night. The signs were written in local script so when we saw a dim neon light that read, in familiar English, Jackson Hotel, I yanked the wheel and drove through an archway into a tidy compound. A security guard saluted as we entered.
We asked about a room and were obliged with a spacious, clean suite with private bath and an air conditioner about the size of an Austin Mini that took the attendant 10 minutes of coaxing to fire up.
Soon a fresh-faced young man came to the door, introducing himself as one the Jacksons. He had been looking at our car and, realizing we were driving around the world, would be honoured if we would meet his parents who were across the courtyard in the residence. The interior of the house had a peculiar layout with no hallways. We went from room to room ending up where Mr. and Mrs. Jackson were in bed.

After a few minutes of pleasantries I looked at Ken and discreetly flicked my thumb. Finally, a place to unload. I excused myself, walked through the maze of rooms then ran across the quadrangle to the Volvo.
I unpacked a CN Tower and the fake marble base shimmered under the interior light. I gave the antenna a couple of flicks with my thumb. "Doinnng, doinnng." It sounded the same as it did back in Moose Jaw.
After presenting the tower to the Jacksons, Ken and I were surprised by their excitement. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson jumped out of bed and took the tower through a door on the far side of the bedroom. We followed them through another three rooms into an amazing library. The walls were lined with hundreds of books. Lush carpets covered the floor. At the far end of the room a stone fireplace with a wall-to-wall mantle held objects that were obviously treasured family heirlooms.
"This is unbelievable," I thought. "The tower really will be passed on from generation to generation signifying the time the rogue Canadian adventurers were in the Jackson household holding court with tales of the road."
Then Mr. Jackson looked at Ken and I smiling proudly as he placed the gift on the mantle, beside another CN Tower ... identical to the one he'd just received.
"Doinnng!"






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