The Most Terrible Trip

This bit of prose is in response to a query recently put to me via a radio program that asked listeners to share their most terrible travel experiences.

Thus:

It was on Christmas Day, 1981. 

The place was on a snow-blocked gravel surfaced country road in Southeastern Saskatchewan.
The sky was blue and the sun shone brightly.
The temperature was around minus 25 degrees Celsius.  
The wind  was blowing enough to cause ground drifting. 
The vehicle was a front wheel drive 1978 Buick Century Sedan. 
The occupants were myself and my new husband. 

The background of the story is that we had  eloped the week before 
Christmas and were in the process of making the big announcement to our families by firstly arriving at my parent's house with plans to  meet up with my new in-laws in the afternoon about 30 miles away. 

After making the Grand Reveal and partaking in a bit of 'punch bowl diving' at my parent's rural home we gaily proceeded cross country looking forward to  springing the news on the next group of unsuspecting relatives. 

Waving gaily goodbye with hugs, kisses, and well wishes off we went heading south on snow packed gravel roads.  I appointed   myself  the confident guide due to the fact that as I had lived in the area all my life  I would certainly know how to get from my parents' house to where my new in laws were spending Christmas. 

About five miles down the road I, in my homing pigeon mode, decided that we had to turn   left at the next corner. My husband being in love and wanting to please obediently did so.

For some reason these two prairie raised newlyweds paid no attention to the fact that there were no marks in the snow on the road except for some rapidly disappearing snow mobile tracks and that the snow filled ditches were level with the road .

We did notice after a while  that the snow seemed to be getting deeper and deeper as we traveled forward.  As there was no way of being able to turn around we just kept moving forward until the inevitable happened and we became stuck about three quarters of a mile down from where we turned off  from the main road.
It being 1981 there were no cell phones and being young and stupidly confident there were no extra coats, blankets, or survival kits in the car so we decided we would have to walk for help.

I remember that long cold walk with the wind blowing on my nylon covered legs (as brides did not wear ski pants in those days). I did have mitts and a toque but the coat was woolen and the wind cut through it wherever there were seams.   There was no traffic on the road it being Christmas Day and most people were already settled in for the day of festivities. 

 We headed into a farm yard after about a 40 minute walk and rushed up to the door eager for warmth and comfort but alas, no one was home!  We then had to turn around and go back to the main road and walk another half mile to a farm yard with lots of vehicles parked in the driveway.  

The startled family was still sitting around the kitchen table finishing its Christmas Dinner.  My parent's were phoned and after about 15 minutes family members came and helped get the car out of the snowbank and we continued on our Christmas Wedding Way.   

Never again have I ever driven in winter without proper clothing, candles, shovel, extra blankets and food in the vehicle.

Bowing ..I Hope Not ...to the Absurd

We are in the midst of typical winter weather where frost hangs on the trees with every bit of tenacity as it does on windows and windshields; where the  sharp and inexplicable sound of  a nail being 'pulled' in the middle of the cold dark night can jolt one awake with same burst of terror that one has when awakened by a door slamming or something falling to the floor *.  You know something wakened you but you are quite sure what it was.


It is the type of cold that makes the butter hard in the cupboard, the cloths that one has wedged into the edges of the door  freeze onto the jam, and the wood when placed on top of the glowing embers start to flame even before one finishes filling the stove. 


 It is the type of cold that harkens a cloud of frost filled air to follow anyone who returns from the  outside   become a fog bank of ice and frigidity whose chilly fingers scurry over the floor  seeking warming solace in the feet, legs, and ultimately  spine of any living being six feet from the door  resulting in goose bumps and shivers to its host.


It is during this type of cold that one can only be thankful that wood  and  fibreglass are reasonable
insulation and that the discovery that air between two or three  panes of glass can ward off both wind and freezing temperatures.   It is truly a marvel indeed that within a space of about 6 inches  the destiny of human life is allowed to survive and even thrive in sub zero temperatures.


It is one of these types of cold days that I chose to stop in for a midmorning coffee at a neighbour's unannounced .


It was one of those winter days where footsteps crunch, frosty breath lurks around one's head and quickly freezes the 'all hairs' of one's facial features.


  It was one of these winter days that  I left my vehicle, climbed noisily up the steps of the deck and  I pushed the doorbell and heard the welcoming call of  'Come In the Door Is Open'. 


 It was one of these winter days that I  opened the frost jammed door with a bit of a jerk and went inside  and was immediately accompanied by a cloak of foggy  ice crystals as the cold air met warmth. 


It was one of these winter days that my glasses  fogged up as I entered the house and as I took my mitts off to lift them off my nose I looked in at my hosts and saw  evidence of the beneficial effect of fibreglass insulation and trapped air pockets between two panes of glass, although I was not immediately conscious of that scientific analysis right at that moment. 


What did impress me at that very moment when I returned my defogged glasses to my face is something so image filled, so mind etching, so visually inerasable   that it  can and should only be expressed in rhyme .

Bowing....I Hope Not to the Absurd

Stopping for warmth on a cold winter's day
For a short little chat and a friendly Good Day
My mind became confounded and really confused. 
And not because of the frost or the fog that ensued
 
I saw three great big men at the round table 
And through my frosted specs able 
To see they were naked from the chest up
Eating their cheerios and  slurping from cups.


 As I stood there in shock, I looked in dismay
I said a short  prayer to quickly convey
My hope that I would not ever be able
While during that visit, see under that table.




* I refer to the sound  of a dresser situated  at the end of the bed in the middle of the night falling over because the drawers weren't properly closed.  Apparently it was a traumatic experience for a new bridegroom so much so that it has been referred to at least 4 times a year for the past 30 years of marriage. The tirade usually starts out with..."just like the time you didn't close the drawer of that dresser....."  So the unexpected and unexplained sounds in the middle of the night can bother a person for years to come...or so it seems.