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Part 4

28.
I drove all through the night.
My mind pretty much as blank and as desolate as the dark landscapes I passed. Snowflakes occasionally danced in front of my headlights.
The oncoming traffic was light and for long periods of time I had the road to myself.

29.
I pulled into a town at about ten o'clock that morning. It was a town which looked like it would serve my plans for the day - that is I could find enough to do to pass the day away before finding a place to spend the night. I wanted to get back on a normal clock cycle.
So I parked my civic on the main road, locked my skis inside and had a look around. Nothing special about this town, it was the same as countless other towns along this stretch of road. The type of town where the main street is easily recognizable as the main street, is even called Main Street.
The first item on my 'plan' was to get some food into me. I wandered around rather aimlessly for awhile before walking into the same small diner I could have walked into in any other town. You know the place - middle aged waitress in an apron, old man eating a solitary meal, soft music playing on the juke box. There was a local paper lying on the table so I took my time reading it while eating my greasy breakfast of eggs and bacon. I had time to kill. But I finished reading soon enough. I ordered another cup of coffee anyway and pretended to be engrossed in an article about the proposed McDonald's to be built on the Main. After procrastinating as much as humanly possible I got up to pay for my meal. As I was leaving the song came on over the radio. I paused. So did everyone it seemed. Not that the place was very busy, it had been pretty silent to begin with. But somehow it felt even more so now. The sounds of forks scraping plates and glasses being washed had ceased. I could imagine that everyone had suddenly cocked their heads and were now listening.
I was halfway out the door and letting all the cold air in. Although I had the feeling that no one would have complained or even noticed, I walked the rest of the way out and let the door close gently behind me. And, so again I was outside wandering around.
I found the local outdoor hockey rink. It was in a fair sized park along with a baseball diamond and soccer field, both forgotten for the season in favour of the oval sheet of ice. I leaned on the make shift boards and took in the activity. Not too much yet, just five kids playing around - taking shots, practicing moves. But I stood there for awhile and eventually more kids showed up and a game was soon underway.
So I watched them play for awhile. Parents and teenagers, young kids and older adolescents. Some wore team jerseys - both local and NHL, some wore helmets, some hogged the puck but most passed and gave the younger ones a chance. Those who knew each other gave little shoves along the boards and hollered for the puck while others simply waited for their chance. Cries of "no lifting the puck!" were always answered by "sorry, didn't mean to." Some people left but more always arrived.
It was all so familiar, like a page right out of my hometown.
I stood and watched and soon even the faces seemed familiar.
So I left and started looking for a place to stay the night. I found an economic but not cheap motel and decided to get my car and check in.
Having unloaded my skis and other belongings into the room, I drove around in search of some supper.
For some reason I ended up in the same diner.

30.
I had been up for almost 34 hours but was currently experiencing a second wind. I had flipped through both channels on the tv and my attempts to read myself to sleep had already failed so I got out of that room and headed back to the ice rink.
There were no lights so 9:00 pm found the ice empty. I walked around on it under the starry night and felt good. The ice was fairly choppy but cleared of snow.
"Hey," a voice startled me. I almost slipped while turning around to find to the source. A man stood at the gate with a hose. "We're gonna do some floodin', so if you don't mind..."
"Oh, sure, sorry." I made my way over to the boards and off the rink. The worker opened the hose and the water poured over the surface and into the cracks and grooves. Soon it would freeze leaving a brand new, smooth sheet for the kids to leave their marks on.
Under the stars watching the slow resurrection my eyelids grew heavy.
I headed back to my rented room and crashed for the night.

31.
I picked up a hitch-hiker the next day.
It was an impulse thing and I quickly justified it by stating to myself that the long drives can get boring and I'd already grown sick of all my tapes (except for that one song, I don't think I could ever get sick of that one).
I saw her standing on the shoulder next to her large knapsack with a sign reading "Whistler - or anywhere between here and there."
I slowed down and pulled over ahead of her. I watched her in the rear view mirror as she shoulder her pack, grabbed her sign and jogged towards me. She was by no means beautiful (in a movie she would have been, I couldn't help thinking) but she did have a healthy, athletic look about her. Straight brown hair stuck out randomly from her touque and as she got closer I saw that she wore a nose ring. Being a man, I tried to get an idea of her body but her large parka and loose pants gave no hints as to her shape.
I reached over to open the passenger door.
"Hi," She leaned in, one hand on the door, the other on the roof. "Where ya headin'?" She spoke cheerfully and confidently whereas I didn't even know how to answer that question. Where was I going?
"West," I said. I felt the need to elaborate. "Heading for the mountains."
"That explains the skis, not too much skiing in these parts." She smiled and maybe I was wrong, maybe she was beautiful. "You don't mind me hanging around for awhile? That's a helluva a long trip."
"I wouldn't have pulled over if I minded." I tried to sound witty and casual, but she was right, it was a long trip to take with a hitcher. Of course there was no saying I'd take her all the way. "Throw your stuff in the back and let's get moving."
"Cool." She smiled again. She stowed her bag and sign and climbed in. Her Doc Martins were well worn in and she had the general look of a serious hitch-hiker. Even I could tell that she was no stranger to the road.
"My name's Claire." She extended her hand.
"Nice to meet you." I took her hand and pulled back into traffic.
She stared at me awhile. "And your name would be..."
"Shit, sorry. Scot." I don't know why I lied, I didn't mean to. Scot just came out before my real name could. "Pleasure to meetcha Scot."
And off we went.

Installment 5



Photo by Avery Crounse
Appears in liner notes of the album "Trouble at the Henhouse" by the Tragically Hip

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