I, as it is patently obvious to any reader, spend a lot of time standing on the side of the road. Sometimes it gets boring. I spend my time looking at the scenery, singing and occasionally talking to myself. I also have lots of time to observe the driving habits of my fellow Canadians as they pass by. And in many cases it is not a pretty sight. For example from my perhaps rather narrow perspective there is no indication that the ban on using cell phones while driving is in anyway being paid attention to. Well over half of my drivers used cell phones while I was in the car; and it appeared that a large number of the drivers who did not pick me up were also using cell phones. As well it seems to be the general rule that many drivers of cars and pick-ups have no respect or understanding of the limitations of the big trucks. It would appear that most assume that the big rigs can maneuver, slow down or even stop as quickly as can a small car. Not true. The fact that there are not more accidents between transport trucks and small cars is due, from my perspective, to the skill and alertness of the truckers.
The
spot where Robert let me out was one of those stretches of highway that brought
out the worst in the drivers. The road itself was flat, slightly curvy, with
well paved huge shoulders. Everything in fact that would make it a good road.
Except for two things. One, drivers were
in a rush. It was getting late and I suspect they wanted to or perhaps even
needed to get to their camp or cottage
before it got dark; and two, on the west side of the highway across from me
there was the last gas station/grocery store for miles. Cars were making the
turn against the oncoming traffic to get to the parking lot while those behind
them who were too impatient to wait, used the shoulder to get by them.
Unfortunately I was on that shoulder. More than a few times I had to step down
into the deep ditch to avoid getting too close to a car that was using the
shoulder as a passing lane. I lost count of the number of near accidents I saw.
There surely must be a patron saint of cottagers who protects them from the
potentially serious consequences of their impatience.
As
the sun set behind the trees I started to wonder when the gas station would
close. I hoped it would be fairly early so I could cross the highway and get
myself comfortable under the trees. It is so much easier to get my bivy sack
set up with a bit of day light. I was therefore more than a bit surprised when
a smaller car pulled up and the driver popped out of his car to make room for
my stuff in his back seat.
He was from Winnipeg and was just
going to Kenora to see a business partner/colleague. He was a manager of a new
company that had developed an innovative way of people, when they were moving,
to pack their own household goods and have them shipped across the country. He
had never picked up a hitchhiker before but that morning when having a shower
the thought had come to him that if he saw a hitchhiker that day, he would.
Kenora was surprisingly close so we did not have the chance to get to know each
other. All I really know about him is that he was married with a child, he
worked hard and he had in his mind a pretty good life. In fact he struck me as
a well contented man.
We drove by the new business and then
he offered to drive me to the highway at the east edge of town. It was another
ten minute drive, in the dark, in a town that he did not know. I appreciated
his offer. He was a bit concerned about letting me out in the middle of
nowhere. I assured him that I would be fine. And I knew I would be. Across a
ditch there looked to be a lovely bit of land that was flat and well populated
with young birch, aspen and spruce trees. There were lots of places for me to
camp out for the night. In the morning I would be well positioned to get a
ride. As I got out I did suggest to him that he should have more showers like
the one he had had that morning. I wish I could clone that shower for some
other drivers. His last words to me were “Bless you my brother”.
My camping site was not quite so
idyllic as I had assumed in part because the ditched was lined with large
boulders that were tricky to navigate in the dark. Upon climbing the little
hill, what had looked to be flat grass was in fact full of hillocks which again
made walking in the dark a bit sketchy. There were lots of cars going by, there
were a number of very bright street lights and it was exceptionally balmy so,
while I never hitch at night I decided to give it a go. I put on my bright
orange jacket not because it was cold but because I wanted to be as visible as
possible. It was clearly a waste of time. The only nibble I got was from a
sports car driven far too fast which slowed down, asked me what I had to trade
for a ride and when I said only my stories, roared off again into the darkness.
I am quite sure that drivers could see me, but either they were in a terrible
rush to go somewhere or they were far too bright to pick up a stranger at 10:00
at night on the outskirts of a small northern town.
I found a better place to camp and was
about to get set up when I saw a coyote (I could not tell if I saw one a few
times or if there were a few of them) fairly close to where I was standing.
Going to sleep in the open quickly became somewhat unattractive to me. However
by 11:30 I finally acknowledged defeat, crossed the ditch, climbed the little
hill and opened up my bivy sack and crawled into it. It was so warm that I
didn’t unpack my sleeping bag nor did I zip up the bivy sack. I just needed it
to keep the few mosquitoes away from my face. When it started to rain, I was
not happy. I could not figure out how the bivy sack had gotten so twisted up
and by the time I got it sorted out there was water inside of it. As I lay down
I got even wetter. I was not, to put it mildly, a happy camper. Once again I
had made a mistake; I knew better than to go to bed without being prepared for
the worse. The balmy night had fooled me into believing that I did not need to
worry about the weather. Silly me.
I laid there in the rain that had
become a light mist. As long as I did not move I was reasonably warm. But if I
tried to just slightly readjust my body to get a bit more comfortable, I got
wet all over again. As uncomfortable as it was, I was tempted to just spend the
morning there. I did not want to get up, pack up wet gear and stand on the side
of the road getting sprayed. I debated taking the morning off. Perhaps when I
got warmer and it stopped raining I would make some tea and just relax. But I
was fooling myself. I knew I would get up just so I would know that I hadn’t
missed that one great ride of the day.
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