When we invited Matt down from Toronto to play in Chicago we envisioned driving back up in The Pooka but alas it wasn't to be. We had only our half-ton Beast to get four guys up to the T-dot. Let's just say it was a bit of a challenge squeezing in. There had been talk of Elegwen taking a bus but since we fit in so well(!) the decision was made to suck it up (in?!?) and go as a foursome. (Above: The Fearless Foursome hits the road: l-r Jon(in cab and visible in sunglasses reflection), The author, Matt, Elegwen)
At a light to the highway on ramp a dude came up to the window of the truck like a squeegee boy would in Vancouver but this guy was selling. Selling socks to be precise.
"Yo, Check THIS out!" he said as he clapped his hands together producing a 12 pack of tube socks. "Five Bucks!"
"No, thanks," offered Elegwen trying to stare straight ahead. Determined, our friend turned sideways, clapped his hands together producing two twelve packs.
"Yo, then check THIS out!...Five Bucks!" This continued until the light was about to change and he was holding four packs and I was contemplating not having to wash socks for almost two months. Elegwen swears the guy behind us went for the first pack at $5 per. Sucker.
Weeks later back in Edmonton our friend VW James suggested an image of our man chasing us down the I-90 at 100km/hr in forklift down with a pallet of sucks screaming, "YO, FIVE BUCKS!"
It took forever to clear the residual suburban traffic of Chicago and get to Indiana so we ended up taking a half hour break in an air-conditioned truck stop in Hammond, IN to cool our sticky, sweaty bones. Here, I was awestruck by the abilities of the woman at the counter... She could make change, take orders for fried chicken, run a credit card transaction and supervise the rest of the staff (who were clearly not at her level of multi-tasking!) AT THE SAME TIME.
As a teacher it pains me to consider that North American education systems are not doing their job but the calibre of employee in convenience stores and fast food establishments between Calgary and Chicago had left a bit to be desired. While it is understood that if you are working at one of these places in Alberta it means that you are not actually bright enough to work on the rigs in the Oil Patch, and duly noted that the population density of Montana, North Dakota and rural Minnesota and Wisconsin probably don't yield too much in the way of under-employed rocket scientists and neuro-surgeons, it was still so refreshing to not have to explain why you paid a $5.01 for a $4.76 bill...or wait until the first item you ordered to be delivered before ordering the second...that I was speechless at this marvel of efficiency and human engineering.
After leaving Hammond, we skirted the great state of Indiana on our way around Lake Michigan. I was as close as I'd ever been to the University of Notre Dame in South Bend, IN but we wouldn't be stopping in on this trip. Our next gas stop was in Potterville, Michigan outside of Lansing and Matt couldn't resist the patriotic imagery of the Stars and Stripes in front of a McDonald's. It was almost enough to make you enlist...or hungry for apple pie. Mmmm...pie. (Real, not McDonald's)
With all passengers reading to try and take their minds of the fact that we had never had been this intimate with three other people in our lives we ended up going west on I-96 instead of east I-69. Doh! We righted the ship and we on our way to the Port Huron Border Crossing. Passing through Flint, Michigan on the way, I remarked that although Michael Moore stretched the truth and obscured some facts in "Bowling For Columbine", he wasn't exaggerating about the condition of his hometown--it looked pretty depressing.
In Port Huron, MI we stopped for our last shot of cheap American gasoline and a coffee & pie break at a truck stop restaurant. Suddenly panicking, we realized this was our last chance to try grits before we left the States. Unfortunately, they were not part of the restaurant's all-day breakfast menu. It's for the best in the end as northerners probably can't do them justice anyway. Then Matt tried to pay the seniors' price for his pasta primavera. Gong Show.
You have to pay a toll to cross the bridge to access Canadian customs (Note to State of Michigan, Highways Commissioner--Nice Touch). Approaching the booth, we were a bit nervous about the fact that we had four people in a three seat-belt cab.
"Looks a tight in there," smiled the Customs agent. "Where's everyone from?"
Elegwen, who had all the passports responded, "Three from Vancouver, one from Toronto."
"What's under the tarp?" he said motioning towards the bed of The Beast. When Elegwen told him it was camping gear and musical instruments, the border guard asked how far we were going. When we told him Toronto and he laughed and said with a chuckle, "Well, I hope you make it before one of you explodes! Have a nice night." And with that we were back in our home and native land.
This transaction was remarkable not only for the fact that we were over the legal limit for passengers but also for the fact that none of the passengers reported to be from Alberta and the license plates on the truck were. No questions asked--Oh, Canada.
The ride to Matt's from the border is completely blocked out in my memory by the fact that after 8 hours of being sardined into a truck cab with three other men the combined effects of heat, smell, fatigue and muscle cramping were making me the most miserable I have been in a moving vehicle in a long time. So sadly, there isn't much to say about the darkness, fog and darkness on the 401 and 403 between Sarnia and Toronto, Ontario.
At Matt's place on Spadina, we had to haul almost everything to the elevator and into his apartment because we couldn't leave all our gear under a tarp on the streets of Toronto. This took about five times longer than it needed to as we all had Confused Traveller Fatigue Syndrome*. At last I was sprawled out on my thermarest on Matt's floor and the nightmare was over. Oh how I missed our Volkswagen Van.
*Not a real medical condition
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