2019-02-03 Sun

I am awake comme l’habitude as Bertrand Wooster would remark, around four, so I log my mileage and dollar figures and start typing up Friday and part of Saturday. For some strange reason I ordered Belgian Waffles with Bacon Strips, Real Whipped Cream and Maple Syrup for breakfast in the hotel dining room. Who knows what today’s road conditions will be? Best to start off with a healthy stomach-lining breakfast, I think. Failing that, a stomach-lining breakfast anyway.

I have no newspaper to read so I deke out to the lobby and grab an “attractions” brochure which seems to be 25% skiing, 50% other sports, and a library page. I like the idea of an “Information” session, where citizens come in and explain matters regarding the town.

I trundle around the one-way road system back to last-night’s Ultramar for a mere $69 of gas. That $69 is another measure of the snow storms and roads. When I calculate my gas consumption I will find that I burned gas at twice this truck’s previous rate, just with the slow speed and my inability to convert potential energy to kinetic energy over a 4+ hours drive through mountainous country. I suppose too that scrunching snow out of the way represents extra work carried out by the six wheels. The rear axles dual wheels lie outside the front wheels, so I leave a six-wheel track. I pick up another jar of -40°c glycol and remark to the cashier that another day of roads like last night and It’ll be me drinking the glycol, instead of the truck.

Here is the back of the truck, cunningly disguised as not-a-UHaul truck. I have dutifully swept snow away from the lights, but it will accumulate there anyway. Ford Arizona never thought of solving this problem. I have circled where the padlock is hidden. When I arrive in Bonavista I will find that ice has filled the key cavity and I have no cigarette lighter (see “naked flame”, up next in 2019-02-04 Mon). I should have taped it over with packing tape, several times, then wrapped the thing in a sealed plastic bag, more tape, more baggies. How was I to know that I’d have seven days of driving in snow? Greaves Toronto never thought of solving this problem!

Two shots of my living quarters these past seven days. Starting at the right: My computer satchel sits atop my “cab” box which, I have just remembered, has a zip-lock bag of raisins in it, two novels for if I get bored (hah hah!) and other useful stuff. My orange shoulder bag is, in theory, an overnight bag with pyjamas, toothbrushes. My floppy hat sits atop. Buried somewhere under the bag is my ear-flap hat. To the left are two 15L flasks with the necks sawn off. Contained apples and carrots, still has a carton of eggs in who-knows-what state. If I’d thought, I could have brought them in here last night and experimented. They have a hospital in Clarenville.

In the far corner a suitcase with nice clothes for when I visit the lawyer, a pair of rough trousers with the right hand leg smeared with carrot-and-apple pulp from my right hand. In a black plastic garbage bag is a one-gallon kitty-litter pail with a colony of vermicomposting worms. My mood seems to pick up after I have swung myself up into the truck and. They have survived so far, then in the top-right corner the flask with guppies.

We have had many interesting conversations on this trip, the guppies and I. Guppies are very good listeners and I issued a cheery “We’ll soon be home” to them all. There is more junk than you can shake a stick at. A stick with a brush on one end and a scraper on the other for dealing with windscreens. I use it too to tap down the door lock on the more-than-arm’s length distance. One full and one almost empty glycol container, the luggage trolley, sundry sets of ear buds and wrappers from those bowls of candies that receptionists have on their desk. Envelopes marked “Mon 28”, “Tue 29” and so on with receipts and dockets and, I hope, a souvenir ferry boarding pass.

And it is “Ho! For the Open Road” which today is not bad, which says nothing. After Saturday night, driving a fifteen-foot UHaul truck along the sea bed would be a doddle. The roads are dry in some spots, wet-slurry in others. I make much use of the glycol (for the truck) By mid-day I am in a dry spot and the roadside trees bear no snow – a novel sight. I gas up at Grand Falls and book a room at the Clarenville Stanley House and the lady says she will text me the keyless entry codes and instruction. I baulk at this. I am knackered and hate texting and don’t want to fart around with my cell phone looking for a house and deciphering codes. I suggest we meet. She says “take the second exit in Clarenville” and I know it well. I suggest that I stop at the Irving gas station, which is where we will meet 3½ hours later.

At Gander I fill up with gas, another less-than-$100 charge. I gas and glycol up more frequently now. I suddenly realize that I am so used to the truck by now that I am thinking I am in a car. Worse, I start thinking I am in my 1993 Hyundai Excel. This is dangerous. I am driving a 15-foot sailboat, and the crosswinds are strong, and snow falls again at two o’clock, and snow whips across the roads from the bare stretch alongside the highway. I WANT TO GO HOME! Waaagh! More snow at a quarter to four. Will this trip never end? The guppies, wisely, say nothing, because I have the power to leave the flask standing outside the truck and drive off without them. I reflect that at this time time tomorrow I may be wandering around my house.

Around three forty-five I contemplate, briefly, that this time tomorrow I might be asleep on my couch in my own house.

I reach Clarenville at 16:20, and my landlady escorts me to the house. I am the only guest tonight. Fully-equipped kitchen, lovely wood floors. After she leaves I lug the fish, worms, suitcase, and two shoulder bags, also a take-away of French Fries from the ferry and a 4-litre tub of popcorn. Well, I can pretend it still has ice-cream in it, can’t I? I notice that although I left everything standing on a weather mat to drain and dry, my suitcase tracked salt into the bedroom, so at 5 p.m. I am on hands and knees doing my charlady interpretation with a wet wad of paper towel.

I have heard nothing back from the Insurance agent, neither voice- nor email. I have heard nothing back from the lawyers, neither voice- nor email. I go to sleep a worried, worried man .