24 Hours in a Vehicle -- Without Stopping
Define: Hell.
So we hit the highway in style -- in as much style that a bar band could be. We were traveling in a burgundy Cadillac pulling a trailer. It sure as hell is not a classic car. Given its size, it resembles a Hummer with low suspension.
"Tearing up the highway like a big old dinosaur," and the beast guzzles gas like it was going out of fashion. We arrived at Walsh to a ghastly sight: The 2 gas stations -- the only ones in the area -- closed. We didn't have enough fuel to get back home, let alone to the next town.
Since Walsh consists of 2 gas stations and about 2 houses, the powers of deduction told us that the families who operate those businesses must live in those houses. Since it was only 10:30 at night, and the lights were still on at the nearby house, Dave proceeded to knock on the door and kindly ask them if someone could turn on the pumps and help us out.
Moments passed with Dave standing at their door. Though it never opened, it appeared that he might be talking to someone through the screen. He returned just fuming. The people who owned the station where we were parked (apparently an immigrant family who are still learning the Canadian culture), didn't want to help us out in our little predicament. "Oh, we no have key" , "No get gas" , "Wait 7:30, then get gas" were their responses. It sounded to us like they were making up excuses in what little English they could speak.
Well, making a long story short, we couldn't find any help at the other fuel station either. We were not going to stay overnight, 30 minutes away from home, just to give our money to these unsympathetic boobs. We were stuck between a rock and a hard place, and we couldn't sit here and wait for the Gods to shine upon us. We had driving to do.
So we dropped the trailer, full of all our gear, and left it, right in the gas lane where we first parked, brightly illuminated, in the middle of nowhere. If this isn't a situation for someone to come and steal it, I don't know what is.
Our only option was to barrel down the highway back home, and just pray that the fumes can get us safely to an open gas station.
Now, Dave wasn't driving like a bat out of Hell, in fact, I think he was driving the speed limit. Regardless, an RCMP felt it was in his divine right to pull us over on the outskirts of Medicine Hat -- 2 minutes away from a refill.
I've dealt with this officer before. He isn't who you would consider someone you'd want to have a few drinks and a few laughs with. This particular cop made me take a sobriety test after I "allegedly failed" to come to a "complete stop" at a stop sign. Smelling alcohol fumes emanating from the friends whom I was escorting, he decided that it was I who had been drinking, and threw me in the back of the patrol car. Of course, I passed the test, and then he decided to be a nice guy and not write me a ticket for my traffic infraction. I think I was more insulted than relieved. Enough about that story; it happened ages ago.
This time, he decided to be nice again (he pulled Dave over because he was "allegedly speeding"). We managed to get back into town where we could fill the Cadillac with gas. We were back on the road in fifteen minutes.
On our way back to Walsh, we spent the time praying that some crook didn't make it off with a trailer full of our expensive equipment. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I saw the black trailer parked solitarily in front of the deserted gas station. We had wasted an entire hour because of that mishap, and we hadn't even made it out of Alberta yet. I jokingly said to Dave, "well, it can't get any worse, it can only get better".
We all took turns driving and sleeping. Arleen drove until 2:00 am, then Dave took over, where he drove until 7:00 am, somewhere near the Manitoba border. I took over, and drove to Winnipeg while the rest of the band slept.
We hit Winnipeg at 11:00 am CST, and we were starved. We found a Humpty's and Dave tried to wake Arleen up. She didn't even stir. It appeared that the two men would be eating breakfast alone.
By noon, we were back on the road. Maybe I was traveling well since I had been sleeping quite a bit on the road, but if we stopped to fill up every 3 hours, maybe I had a chance to sleep from 1-2 hours. I passed out pretty hard when we left Winnipeg. I didn't wake up until we were in Ontario. The views were spectacular -- compared to the prairies, but the highway is only single lane. To make things worse, it was pouring rain, and visibility was close to nil.
Another time change and several hours later, we found ourselves in Thunder Bay at 9:00 pm EST. The trip only took 20 hours, though it sure appeared to be a 24-hour trek. I was cramped, sore and miserable from traveling for so long. All I wanted was my hotel room, a hot shower, and a beer.
I didn't get any of the three -- which pissed me off. The hotel didn't book our rooms until Monday night. The thought crossed our minds that we could pay for the extra night, and settle with the manager later (if he's willing, and we haven't been getting much help since we left Medicine Hat) plus, I hardly have 100 bucks to keep myself fed this week.
There was one other solution, although I didn't like the idea, I had no other choice. Dave's father lives in Thunder Bay, and we could stay with him for the night. All I could hear was my mind telling me: "Staying at a stranger's house, hmm... Why don't I just sleep in the car?"
So Dave tells me that his father is 86 years old, and is not "playing with a full deck of cards" -- he even told me last week that his father would probably drive me batty. What else could happen to make things worse?
We pulled up to Dave's fathers' house. Now, from all the stories I've heard of this guy losing his mind, I was sure that I would not be welcome there -- and if he didn't recognize Dave and Arleen, neither would they.
Well, maybe he didn't lose all his marbles, but he did lose all of his teeth sometime in his life. When I first saw him, the first thing that popped into my head was that he looked like the grandfather in "Grumpy Old Men". I was sure he would approach Arleen, where he would say "Come here, and I'll show you my man-sized manicotti," or some sick line like that.
This is an old person's house. You can tell by the crocheted doilies everywhere, the old gaudy clocks from the fifties, and that smell... You know that smell -- of rotten mothballs, stale sweat, and Metamucil. If the situation I have been in the last day didn't kill me, the smell of this house surely would.
And Dave's dad -- he talks more than Dave does! And you can't understand him. All his stories predate both World Wars, and they go nowhere. Not one of us listened to him. We just let him talk, we nodded, and kept our eyes glued on the television set. Even getting out of the living room to go to bed was a challenge. He was still talking. And he's not your typical geezer who goes to bed at 9:00 at night, more like 3:00 in the morning. Still, I feel sorry for the guy. He lives in this house alone; the rest of his family lives elsewhere. I guess when you're as lonely as he, you'll talk to anyone about anything.
Gem of the Day: I did get a really good laugh at a picture Dave's dad showed me. It was a picture of Dave and Arleen some sixteen years ago. Arleen looked like herself, but Dave -- he had this spiky haircut that was all over the place, these huge tinted glasses, a thin mustache, and wearing this clashing God-awful suit. He resembled a pimp. It had to be the funniest thing I've seen since the sign that read: "Medicine Hat Lodge Casino: Sluts open at 10:00 am".
- Void in the spiritual plane where souls are banished due to ungodly deeds they committed while alive.
- Symbolic manifestation of the above; situation may be referred to as "hell", given the circumstances.
- What I have had to endure the last 24 hours.
So we hit the highway in style -- in as much style that a bar band could be. We were traveling in a burgundy Cadillac pulling a trailer. It sure as hell is not a classic car. Given its size, it resembles a Hummer with low suspension.
"Tearing up the highway like a big old dinosaur," and the beast guzzles gas like it was going out of fashion. We arrived at Walsh to a ghastly sight: The 2 gas stations -- the only ones in the area -- closed. We didn't have enough fuel to get back home, let alone to the next town.
Since Walsh consists of 2 gas stations and about 2 houses, the powers of deduction told us that the families who operate those businesses must live in those houses. Since it was only 10:30 at night, and the lights were still on at the nearby house, Dave proceeded to knock on the door and kindly ask them if someone could turn on the pumps and help us out.
Moments passed with Dave standing at their door. Though it never opened, it appeared that he might be talking to someone through the screen. He returned just fuming. The people who owned the station where we were parked (apparently an immigrant family who are still learning the Canadian culture), didn't want to help us out in our little predicament. "Oh, we no have key" , "No get gas" , "Wait 7:30, then get gas" were their responses. It sounded to us like they were making up excuses in what little English they could speak.
Well, making a long story short, we couldn't find any help at the other fuel station either. We were not going to stay overnight, 30 minutes away from home, just to give our money to these unsympathetic boobs. We were stuck between a rock and a hard place, and we couldn't sit here and wait for the Gods to shine upon us. We had driving to do.
So we dropped the trailer, full of all our gear, and left it, right in the gas lane where we first parked, brightly illuminated, in the middle of nowhere. If this isn't a situation for someone to come and steal it, I don't know what is.
Our only option was to barrel down the highway back home, and just pray that the fumes can get us safely to an open gas station.
Now, Dave wasn't driving like a bat out of Hell, in fact, I think he was driving the speed limit. Regardless, an RCMP felt it was in his divine right to pull us over on the outskirts of Medicine Hat -- 2 minutes away from a refill.
I've dealt with this officer before. He isn't who you would consider someone you'd want to have a few drinks and a few laughs with. This particular cop made me take a sobriety test after I "allegedly failed" to come to a "complete stop" at a stop sign. Smelling alcohol fumes emanating from the friends whom I was escorting, he decided that it was I who had been drinking, and threw me in the back of the patrol car. Of course, I passed the test, and then he decided to be a nice guy and not write me a ticket for my traffic infraction. I think I was more insulted than relieved. Enough about that story; it happened ages ago.
This time, he decided to be nice again (he pulled Dave over because he was "allegedly speeding"). We managed to get back into town where we could fill the Cadillac with gas. We were back on the road in fifteen minutes.
On our way back to Walsh, we spent the time praying that some crook didn't make it off with a trailer full of our expensive equipment. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I saw the black trailer parked solitarily in front of the deserted gas station. We had wasted an entire hour because of that mishap, and we hadn't even made it out of Alberta yet. I jokingly said to Dave, "well, it can't get any worse, it can only get better".
We all took turns driving and sleeping. Arleen drove until 2:00 am, then Dave took over, where he drove until 7:00 am, somewhere near the Manitoba border. I took over, and drove to Winnipeg while the rest of the band slept.
We hit Winnipeg at 11:00 am CST, and we were starved. We found a Humpty's and Dave tried to wake Arleen up. She didn't even stir. It appeared that the two men would be eating breakfast alone.
By noon, we were back on the road. Maybe I was traveling well since I had been sleeping quite a bit on the road, but if we stopped to fill up every 3 hours, maybe I had a chance to sleep from 1-2 hours. I passed out pretty hard when we left Winnipeg. I didn't wake up until we were in Ontario. The views were spectacular -- compared to the prairies, but the highway is only single lane. To make things worse, it was pouring rain, and visibility was close to nil.
Another time change and several hours later, we found ourselves in Thunder Bay at 9:00 pm EST. The trip only took 20 hours, though it sure appeared to be a 24-hour trek. I was cramped, sore and miserable from traveling for so long. All I wanted was my hotel room, a hot shower, and a beer.
I didn't get any of the three -- which pissed me off. The hotel didn't book our rooms until Monday night. The thought crossed our minds that we could pay for the extra night, and settle with the manager later (if he's willing, and we haven't been getting much help since we left Medicine Hat) plus, I hardly have 100 bucks to keep myself fed this week.
There was one other solution, although I didn't like the idea, I had no other choice. Dave's father lives in Thunder Bay, and we could stay with him for the night. All I could hear was my mind telling me: "Staying at a stranger's house, hmm... Why don't I just sleep in the car?"
So Dave tells me that his father is 86 years old, and is not "playing with a full deck of cards" -- he even told me last week that his father would probably drive me batty. What else could happen to make things worse?
We pulled up to Dave's fathers' house. Now, from all the stories I've heard of this guy losing his mind, I was sure that I would not be welcome there -- and if he didn't recognize Dave and Arleen, neither would they.
Well, maybe he didn't lose all his marbles, but he did lose all of his teeth sometime in his life. When I first saw him, the first thing that popped into my head was that he looked like the grandfather in "Grumpy Old Men". I was sure he would approach Arleen, where he would say "Come here, and I'll show you my man-sized manicotti," or some sick line like that.
This is an old person's house. You can tell by the crocheted doilies everywhere, the old gaudy clocks from the fifties, and that smell... You know that smell -- of rotten mothballs, stale sweat, and Metamucil. If the situation I have been in the last day didn't kill me, the smell of this house surely would.
And Dave's dad -- he talks more than Dave does! And you can't understand him. All his stories predate both World Wars, and they go nowhere. Not one of us listened to him. We just let him talk, we nodded, and kept our eyes glued on the television set. Even getting out of the living room to go to bed was a challenge. He was still talking. And he's not your typical geezer who goes to bed at 9:00 at night, more like 3:00 in the morning. Still, I feel sorry for the guy. He lives in this house alone; the rest of his family lives elsewhere. I guess when you're as lonely as he, you'll talk to anyone about anything.
Gem of the Day: I did get a really good laugh at a picture Dave's dad showed me. It was a picture of Dave and Arleen some sixteen years ago. Arleen looked like herself, but Dave -- he had this spiky haircut that was all over the place, these huge tinted glasses, a thin mustache, and wearing this clashing God-awful suit. He resembled a pimp. It had to be the funniest thing I've seen since the sign that read: "Medicine Hat Lodge Casino: Sluts open at 10:00 am".
posted by MC at 20:33
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