Onm the Road Again 2012 # 35

I, as readers of this blog may remember, always get on the road as early as I can. I do so under the unproven principle that the “early bird gets the worm”. In my experience however, this saying is seldom true if a worm is defined as a good ride. In fact the vast majority of my longer rides seem to happen in the later part of the day. Not always true but often enough to make me question why I am driven to be out on the road just shortly after the sun rises.  But there I was, just past the exit ramp on to the Trans-Canada at the north/east end of Kenora. I was slightly damp, cold and I am sure that I looked like a drowned rat that had been partially revived with a low wattage hair driver. My hair is really hard to comb when it is wet. It had gotten wet during the night has I had scrambled to sort out my sleeping arrangements and in spite of the fact it had been braided I had developed some major knots and tangles that I had not been able to get out. I had done the best that I could with it but after two days of not really seeing myself in a mirror, I suspected that describing my appearance as being drown rat-like probably was an understatement. On the other hand I must confess to a sort of weird pride of having survived another night. I always have this sense as I stand there in the early light of day of how unique my experiences are. I take some pleasure from the fact that I know that I am doing something that other folks would never dream of doing. This goes to show that people who, in the past, have questioned my intelligence may have been on to something.

In spite of my inclination to be a minor martyr to my travel muse, I was delighted when after only being there for fifteen minutes, a car stopped. As I ran up to the vehicle, the driver popped out and said that he hadn’t planned to pick up anyone and that he need to clean his car. My newest driver, Nick, had been doing some serious driving. His front seat was a bit of a disaster. As soon as there was room for me and my stuff I gratefully got in and closed the door. When he asked me I was, I said “a bit cold”. Nick turned on the heat. I knew right then and there that it was going to be a great ride. And it was.

Nick had left Jasper and was on his way back to Montreal. His goal was to make the trip in four days which meant that he needed to average 1,000 kilometers each day. He had spent six weeks at Jasper investigating as to whether or not he wanted to live out there permanently and was now on the way back to his home city. His plan was to work for a few months and then to sell his stuff and move west. Nick had lived in Jasper for a few years and had been happy but he had moved back to Montreal to be closer to his mother and his old friends. I think he had really moved back east because he felt somehow that he needed to grow up and have a more responsible career.  Being a worker in the tourist service industry and snowboarding whenever he could just does not seem to meet society’s definition of “grown-up”. But in spite of have a good job working in a concert hall as a producer/facilitator. Nick was not happy in Montreal. He had become a person of the mountains and needed to be in a place where he could wake up in the morning and see the mountains and smell the air.

Initially Nick was not clear how far he would drive me. Our first stop was in Dryden to get some breakfast at a Husky. I was hungry and very glad that he wanted to eat breakfast. I, over his protest, paid for his breakfast. I was damn grateful that he had stopped. I was now warm and fed. Life was good!!

Later in the day we stopped at another town (maybe Nipigon) so he could buy some food for supper. I asked him in the parking lot of the grocery store if I could travel with him the next day. Nick, in fact, had seen me the evening before across from that gas station/store and had decided not to pick me up. He was initially a bit reluctant to drive me any further than one day but did somewhat grudgingly agree that he would. I was never sure why he was reluctant. But I think it was because he liked being by himself. He knew when he got to Montreal things would get very busy very quickly. He was savouring the chance to be alone for awhile longer. It was almost as if he was glad of the company but at the same time a bit resentful that I had invaded his personal space.  I understood completely and have felt the same way when I stop to pick up someone. As much as I like to meet new people (and to return a few drives back to the cosmos) I like to be by myself and the intrusion of another body into my personal space can be mildly irritating. I had been driving in the car for a number of hours before it became clear that Nick would drive me all of the way to Sudbury. As much as like travelling I was delighted to know that I was done with having to hike with a pack on my back.

Nick was looking forward to going down the east side of Lake Superior and I think the fact that I was as excited as he was made my company more tolerable. He had seen a camp ground heading west earlier in the season and his goal was to get there in time for sunset and a swim on the sandy beach. It was such a delight to have a conversation with bright articulate and thoughtful thirty something driver. We talked about what it was like living in the mountains and what the draw was, why he was prepared to leave his reliable career, his mother and his long term friends for a life that sounded at the very least a bit sketchy in terms of income; we talked about Quebec politics and the absurdity of separation discussions (Nick was very clear that he did not want to get into a heated debate around Quebec politics and so we skirted around that issue carefully); we talked about parents and old friends and how it feels to not quite fit into the mold that other people have set out for you.

Although we were almost thirty years apart, we were very similar in many ways, particularly in taking that perverse pleasure for being different than others and in attempting personal journeys that other would not dream of trying. We were both excited that our epic trips for the summer were almost done and equally apprehensive about that transition into normalcy and all that entailed. There were periods of silence when we had nothing to talk about, but those times did not feel uncomfortable. It was if we had quickly become old friends who did not need to always talk.

Nick was tired. He had driven almost 2,500 kilometers in two and half days and started talking about either stopping early for the night or at the very least stopping for a nap.. He didn’t want to, but he was concerned about staying awake. For almost five hundred kilometers I “entertained” Nick. It was fun.  I told him about the people I had met, about Reg from my first trip or the Aurora Borealis from the second trip or the places I had seen, the stories I had heard. It was the first time in the entire trip that I had talked about Reg. I was glad that I had done so at least once to keep his memory alive. Between my stories and my attempts to use his GPS (which was in French) to find the provincial parks he stayed awake and on the road for the rest of the day

The drive along the shore of Lake Superior was as magnificent as always. It is such a delight to travel along this road with a true lover of the Canadian landscape. We “oohed” and “awed” at the same time and caught our collective breath at the majesty of the lake. It is extraordinary. Every Canadian, at least once during their life time, should travel down its length on a bright summer’s day. We stopped just once at a look-out place – although we really stopped because there was an old ski hill there and Nick wanted to see what it was like and if it was in operation in the winter. (it wasn’t)

We realized that we would not make his destination in time for sunset, but we found an equally great Provincial campsite on the lake, with a sandy beach. It was a bit close to the highway and one could hear the trucks roaring by but that is always music to my ears. Just as we turned into the campsite, the odometer clicker over – we had travelled a thousand Kilometers together. It felt pretty good.

On the Road Again 2012 # 34

 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.