Road hogs
“Yes, I’ll take the baby car seat and GPS options please, plus the take-it-to-the-max insurance,” I tell the tall, young, professional-looking man at the car rental counter. In short order I had my pick of colour and finish. Two hours later, I’m driving through some fog-covered township north of Montreal when the fatigue started kicking in. Two deer leap out of the way, along with my heart and tired body and I decide to call it a night. I had just worked all day then took the plane from Great Whale to Montreal to rent a vehicle with unlimited mileage. Groaning I pull up to a well-lit hotel and spend the night.
Early the next morning my caffeine addiction hits full steam. Gulping down a complimentary KCup coffee is not enough as I head north to Val-d’Or, then onwards to Chisasibi, humming along for a few minutes before braking for potholes. It’s like that for most of the final thousand kilometres to the Big River. Early in the morning I check into the bed and breakfast, which is thankfully well out of range of Chisasibi’s bustling nightlife. I wake up not knowing where I am.
After a quick breakfast sandwich, I wait it out at the local airport to pick up my family, who are eager to head out on this road trip. At least I didn’t rent a station wagon, I was thinking. Twelve hours later we arrive at a well-known hotel in Val-d’Or to spend the first night, then headed off to the Ontario side of our little world. For the next five days we stayed in that beautiful country that had no potholes or cracks on their roads. The baby on board slept like a baby.
After what seemed weeks of night after night of sleeping in different towns, I finally settled back down after returning the still sizzling rental to the airport outlet. The well-groomed, walking, talking mannequin salesperson questioned my cleanliness because of the scuzzy looking appearance of the minivan.
“Yeah, isn’t it great?” I said in my tried-and-true style of getting away with things, and then paid the final balance with the prepaid credit card. “The trip was great, went to New Mexico because it’s kind of cold up north, then headed to Alaska afterwards.”
After the classic quizzical look from the sales guy I added, “Yeah, it was too hot in New Mexico, so I went north to cool off then I came back, that’s why there’s nearly 9000 clicks on the odometer.” The eye-popping moment went by. “Yeah, sorry just joshing,” I said to relieve the tension. “I went to James Bay twice.”
After a quick recovery and a well wish, I was walking back to the free shuttle bus to the nearest hotel to check in and collapse.
At the front desk, I mentioned that I had been here a few days earlier and had forgotten something dear to me in the room, an antique from India. It was a wooden elephant that stood eight inches high and had real ancient ivory and a rugged old carved look about it. There were three others like it and they were the footing for a dinner gong. The elephants held up a massive gong that had ornate woodworking reminiscent of 17th-century British India.
This wooden elephant was little more than an antique but also a strong reminder of how close the past is to today. History safely packed away in my last-minute luggage purchase, bought just to keep items left behind on our lengthy family journey in the quest for great breakfast joints and fine clothing.
The shuttle jolted violently, waking me, as it bumped along in the early morning hours on the roads that are amazingly always under construction to the Montreal airport. Then I check in for the last 1800-km ride home. I’m still strung out and walking rather robotically as I land back home then head to work for the rest of the afternoon. It’s payday and some people I tend to know are getting edgy. My mind still works and I slowly walk up the final steps to my home and head to bed. Soon, the family notices that I have returned and I sleep like a baby, but cry all night. My eyes can’t open anymore, afraid to see that yellow line again.