It was almost unbearably hot and dirty standing on the side of the road somewhere along the east side of the Winnipeg ring road. The sun was just blasting down upon my head and there were enough construction vehicles going by that there seemed to be constant clouds of sand in the air. I could feel the sand and grit clinging to my beard and hair. I had some water and I could have gone to one of the two gas stations close by to get some more. But I was afraid to leave my spot just in case that one in a thousand cars came by when I wasn’t there. And there were at least a thousand cars going by me in an hour. Many of the vehicles contained people going home from work but an ever increasing number of the vehicles looked to be cottagers heading up the road for the weekend. I really do not like travelling on a Friday (or Sunday) when I am in or about to be in cottage country. The area between Winnipeg and east of Kenora is cottage country. Vehicles going to cottage are usually far too crowded with kids and toys for there to be room for me. The last time I had travelled this road it had been on a Friday. I had got stuck in this general area for quite a long time. I was hoping that history was not about to repeat itself. There was however little choice. The train had long ago left and the thought of taking a bus was far worse than anything else I could imagine. So I stood there, eyes squinting because of the bright sun (drivers have consistently told me that they stopped for me in part because they could see my eyes, which means no sunglasses for me when my thumb is out), and sweat leaking down from my scalp on to my neck. In spite of the dust and the sun and my shirt glued to my back with sweat I tried to look pleasant and nice. Sometimes it is hard to stay focused on the job. There are times when my eyes glaze over and I drift off to some other place. I don’t get a lot of rides when that happens so I worked hard at making eye contact with the drivers who were looking my way. Eventually, after some time, a vehicle did stop.
Robert, my newest driver, was headed off to his cottage somewhere just east of the Manitoba/Ontario border. I was once again sitting in a large pick-up truck although this one was not quite as new or as fancy as some of them had been. Robert was a certified elevator mechanic by profession but he was now working as some sort of arborist. He said he helped house owners with their problem trees. It seemed like a pretty good profession. Within five minutes of being in the truck, it started to stall and Robert had to exit off the highway. He told me not to worry – he had just run out of gas but he had some gas in the back. I am sure he did not hear it but I groaned. Not again. I did not think I was quite ready for another few hours of being with someone who had car problems. Robert did have gas in the back and there were no further incidents or problems with his vehicle. I was relieved.
Within ten or fifteen minutes we had made the turn on to Trans-Canada A few minutes later we were at a gas station. It was a zoo!!! It felt as if every vehicle that had passed me in the last thirty minutes was at this gas station. I am of course exaggerating. But I do not think I have ever seen so many cars in a gas station. Of course they were not there just to get gas. They also had to get their propane tanks filled and buy ice and pop and anything else they had forgotten in their rush to leave home and beat the traffic. It was crazy. I bought a popsicle and some water and sat in the truck and watched the circus. There was nothing else I could do. I suppose if I had been driving I might have been frustrated but I wasn’t driving. Where I got to and how fast I got there was out of my control.
Initially I thought Robert and I would have a lot in common. We were of similar age, our fathers had both been products of the depression and then WWII. Both had worked for the railroad and both had died far too early. We both agreed that perhaps they had not realized their full potential as they struggled to support their families. For much of our time together chatted about this and that in a companionable way. By the end if I had to sum Robert up, I would say: he was an expert shot (his son was almost as good); he was a Baptist (at one point when we were talking about climate change, he said it really didn’t matter that the weather was getting more unpredictable as he knew that he was of the few who was saved and would be transported to heaven), he was the world’s best dad and he knew all kinds of interesting people.
My notes say that he was a braggart, but in hindsight I don’t think that is entirely accurate. He was just competitive. For example I mentioned at some point that I had seen bison in the NWT. He immediately shifted the topic to a buffalo hide coat that he had seen in some movie and how he would like to get one just like it custom made for him. As the conversation progressed it turned out he knew a master leather worker and clothing designer as well as knowing where to get a perfectly tanned buffalo hide. We never did get back to my trip north or the buffalo I saw on the side of the road.
It was an interesting ride. He was entertaining and certainly had a range of topics that he could converse knowledgably about. Perhaps only in my mind, but I find it remarkable that not once did he ask any questions about me or what my life was like. Like three or four of my other drivers, while it would have looked as if we were having a conversation, in fact there was really just a monologue with a supporting cast. Robert drove me a little bit out of his way to a gas station/general store somewhere near (I think) near Granite Lake, about fifty kilometers west of Kenora. It was well after supper by this time. While there was a lot, in fact perhaps too much, traffic I was not sure if I could get another ride. There was however, a really nice picnic area across the road. It looked like a fine spot to get a good night’s sleep.
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