THE (MIS)ADVENTURES OF OUR CROSS CANADA TRIP

THE (MIS)ADVENTURES OF OUR CROSS CANADA TRIP
1997 JoJo

The year 1975 was an especially significant one for us –
my husband and I became Canadian citizens. I remember it as if it happened yesterday. We drove to the Palais de Justice on Rue St. Antoine in Montreal where, hand on Bible, we solemnly swore allegiance to Canada and to Her Majesty the Queen in front of a Justice of the Peace. Since both of us had British nationality, it goes without saying that Her Majesty already had our full and wholehearted allegiance so this part of the procedure seemed to us … well a trifle redundant. But what the heck, it didn’t in any way detract from the thrill of the event.

In celebration, that summer, hubby and I and our three children Paul (7) Mandy (5) and Mike (4) drove across Canada in our station wagon, towing a hard top tent trailer. The purpose of this trip wasn’t just to visit family in B.C., but also to get to know our new country better. Our destination was Port Alberni Vancouver Island, where my parents lived, as well as my sister, brother-in-law and their family. We also took along our trusty hound Sammy, a Miniature Schnauzer who was short on brains but long on charm and doggy devotion.

Having just become proud Canadians, we decided to take the Canadian route all the way, so as to see as much of our new Country as possible. To our surprise, we found out that Trans Canada 1 was a single lane highway for approximately ninety five percent of the way!

Our first stop-over was Sudbury, Ontario, a place which gave a new meaning to the word “mosquito.” Overnight, I was severely bitten everywhere, including my eyelids and next morning I looked like Rocky Marciano after a bad fight. I received many sympathetic looks and occasional pats on the back from kind ladies in the campsite’s washroom. It only dawned on me later that they’d thought I was a battered wife! I hasten to say, nothing could be farther from the truth.

Along the northern shores of Lake Superior, near Wawa, the Trans Canada l is a mountainous, twisting and winding road, making it extremely difficult to overtake anyone, especially when towing a trailer. And it was along this stretch of road that we ran across the VINTAGE CAR CLUB OF NOVA SCOTIA, commemorating their tenth anniversary by driving across Canada coast to coast in their antique cars, all bustling along at the amazing speed of 30 m.p.h. (I read a write-up about them in the Vancouver newspapers when they arrived there, two weeks after we did). My husband gritted his teeth, and by means of artful dodging and driving dexterity, finally managed to overtake these forty five cars. He was just settling back and feeling pleased with himself when one of the kids piped up “I WANNA GO PEE”. The other two said that they also felt an urgent call of nature, so we had no option but to pull over onto the hard shoulder. While I escorted the kids to some nearby bushes, hubby gloomily watched the VINTAGE CAR CLUB OF NOVA SCOTIA putter by. All forty five of them. Meanwhile, back in the bushes, the three kids managed to squat down onto a deep patch of poison ivy. I later commented gloomily to my husband that it was probably the only patch of poison ivy in the entire region!

We got lost in Calgary and drove around in circles for hours. “Don’t you think we should ask for directions?” I ventured to ask.

“No, I don’t. I’m sure I know the way,” was his terse reply. What is it with men? Why do they hate asking for directions? I’m blessed if I know.

After driving around aimlessly for hours, we rounded a corner and I recognized the same service station we’d passed at least three times. “Pull into that gas station,” I said quickly before he drove straight by it. “I need to go to the bathroom.” Hubby wasn’t pleased. “Oh alright, but be quick about it.” I was quick about it, but managed to nip into the office and ask for directions. If I hadn’t, I swear we still would’ve been going around in circles in Calgary!

We arrived at a camp site in Lake Louise, Alberta, on a Sunday. As Hubby was manoeuvring the trailer into position at our allotted camp site, he drove our station wagon over a large rock which pierced a hole in the crank case. Travelling on a very limited budget this major expense was a blow. He set off on a five mile hike to the nearest garage to seek help. When he got there, he found out that all garages in Alberta are closed on Sundays. His mood when he finally made the long trek back to our camp sight wasn’t a jovial one. It could truthfully and literally be said that he was NOT a happy camper. We were forced to stop over for two extra days before the car could be fixed (it goes without saying that they had to send off to Calgary for a spare part).

We also stopped off for the night in Revelstoke, British Columbia and set up camp. In the small wee hours of the morning, I crept out of our tent trailer, carefully making my way to the Camp Site’s Ladies Room. With flashlight in hand, I stumbled up a

dark, stony pathway, eyes fixed firmly on the ground lest I trip over an obstacle or worse yet, step into something unpleasant. Suddenly I was confronted by a very large bear, who was in the process of raiding the garbage cans. It reared up on its hind legs and roared “AAARGH” right in my face. Such a terror seized me that I no longer needed the bathroom facilities. I swear it took at least one and a half years off my life! Fortunately, the bear was far more interested in the contents of the garbage can than it was in me, so I was able to beat a hasty retreat to the sanctuary of our tent trailer.

The drive up into the Rockies was both beautiful and uneventful. However, as we drove down the other side, the gorgeous scenery was the farthest thing from our minds because we were hit by a violent rain storm. This was accompanied by lightening and deafening thunder which never seemed to stop, as it bounced all around the surrounding Rocky mountains in a continuous roar. In spite of our windshield wipers going at full speed, the torrential downpour greatly diminished visibility. Furthermore, the gradient of the road was very steep, and Hubby was scared stiff that with the extra weight of the tent trailer behind us, the station wagon’s brakes might not hold. He was also deeply concerned that the tires wouldn’t be able to grip the wet and slippery surface of the road and that we’d all go plunging to our deaths over the precipice which was right there on one side of the road. It goes without saying that it didn’t happen. Thank God he kept these fears to himself and only told me about them later (much later) because I was quietly wracked with terrors of my own: would our car get struck by lightening, and if so, would the rubber tires insulate and protect us from being turned to toast? Or would the water deluging us on all sides act as a
conduit, overriding the rubber tires, thereby enabling the full charge of the lightening bolt to sear through our helpless
bodies? Had I known about the possibility of brakes burning out and/or tires failing to grip the road surface, I think I would’ve had a nervous breakdown on the spot.

When we arrived in Vancouver, we joined the line-up for the ferry to take us over to Vancouver Island, the last leg of a long and very arduous journey. It was pouring and we had to wait in line five and a half hours to get onto the ferry, by which time the kids were cranky and rebellious, and the dog had vomited a couple of times, for reasons best known to himself.

I have a very dim recollection of the actual ferry ride over to Vancouver Island. The kids had somehow gotten their second wind and were barrelling all over the ferry in a high state of excitement, but we were so weary, we just didn’t care. Several fellow passengers gave us dirty looks as we sat slumped in our seats, while our kids roared around making a thorough nuisance of themselves. I heard one lady comment that it was “Shameful how some parents can’t seem to control their children.”

We somehow managed the long drive from Nanaimo to our final destination, and checked into a camp site on the outskirts of Port Alberni. Leaving Sammy on guard, we drove into town to my parents’ tiny home on 7th Avenue. While we were away, someone broke into our trailer and stole all our money. Along with being a dog of little brain, Sammy also left a great deal to be desired in the watchdog department. Thankfully our money was in Travellers’ Cheques, so we were able to claim it all back.

Though this vacation was fraught with mishaps, we wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Not only did we acquire a full appreciation of Canada, marvelling at its magnitude and awesome beauty, but we felt as if we’d undergone a rite of passage, a kind of graduation exercise which had transformed us from ex-patriot Brit/Brazilian into dyed-in-the-wool Canadians. All in all, it turned out to have been a grand adventure!