MEALS.MILES.SMILES

MEALS.MILES.SMILES.

         I recently experienced the trip of a lifetime. It was both bum-numbing and bone-rattling. It was eye-opening, yet body-bruising. More than any amusement park ride, I was bounced, bucked, jerked, jiggled, jostled, and shaken. Harnessed with my arms and legs within the vehicle, screaming was not an option. My driver had enough distractions to deal with.                                                                                

         For twelve days, I was the passenger in my husband's transport truck. As the "rig roadie", I was free to observe everything and anything while we travelled from Sundridge,Ontario to Campbell River, B.C.                                                                      

         What soon became apparent is that Northern Ontario seems endless. Bugs, trees, rocks and water....repeated over and over. The Iroquois couldn't help but notice all of this when they decided upon the name, Ontario, meaning " beautiful lake".                                                                                                                                  

         I took note of the native names that we passed with Wawabe wawa catching my eye. "Wa" is popular in Ontario. I think of Oshawa, Mattawa, Wawa, Ottawa, Petawawa, and Attawapiskat. Shabaqua..now this grabbed my attention! Immediately, I thought of magic show words, like " Alakazaam!" SHABAQUA! Poof!                                                                                                                                  

         Another thing I noticed were signs: big ones, small ones, billboards. Some were shiny and new. Too many were forlorn and forgotten with faded lettering. One actually proclaimed, SIGNS NEVER SLEEP. Really? I'd never considered this. Certainly, they seem to be everywhere, just patiently waiting for me to acknowledge them. Day or night, they always had something to say.                              

         There were the obvious signs: LARGE VEHICLES NEED MORE ROOM and TRAFFIC CONDITIONS CHANGED. Throughout our cross-Canada journey, we were forced time and again to manoeuver the obstacle courses known as road construction. ( Oh wait.. there were a few signs that chided me with the words, THOROUGHFARE ENHANCEMENT or HIGHWAY IMPROVEMENT.) I had no difficulty grasping the concept of my chariot's size. I was sitting in a Peterbilt truck hauling a loaded flatbed trailer. "Threading the needle" has a new perspective when it involves thousands of orange traffic cones, concrete barriers, heavy equipment, workers, broken/missing/fresh asphalt or gravel, and too many vehicles, all being funnelled/channelled/corralled/compressed to a single lane. Many ignore the SHARE THE ROAD signs. The buffer zone around the transport is invaded by the annoying and the impatient who gain a precious few seconds in the stop and go procession. Illuminated by the red brake lights is another sign: IMPROVING SAFETY AND ACCESS.                                                                                

         Unfortunately, there are construction workers who do not heed their surroundings. An orange hardhat and an orange vest are not armour. Wearing this colour does not invoke super powers or invincibility. The little sign on a stick is not a shield either.                                                                                                    

         Too many drivers seem to read the sign, BRAKE RETARDER, ( intended for truckers), and act accordingly. They operate with "retarders"--- no common sense, no care, ( due or otherwise), no courtesy, no respect. Mindless, senseless, careless...even reckless. I witnessed it all from high in my cab. Each driver is oblivious, tucked into their own cocoon.                                                                      

         Some seem so tense and rigid. Both hands clench the steering wheel. Spines are ramrod straight. A few favour the wheel pressed tightly to their chests. They stare ahead, no glances right or left. It's tunnel vision.... One focus, one goal. Other drivers are talking to imaginary friends or passengers or headsets or handheld cellphones. They steer casually with one hand. The other hand is often fluttering, waving, carrying on its own conversation. Rarely, this hand is draped mutely across the backrest of the passenger seat.                                                            

         Then there are the multi-taskers. They steer with a knee as they juggle any number of activities. They eat, drink, text, read, apply makeup, brush their hair, shave, and even change their clothing.                                                                      

         I truly cannot comprehend the drivers who share their space with a wriggling, clawing, climbing, slobbering, shedding mound of fur. They need to control their own four limbs and focus their own eyesight. The dog(s) can enjoy their ride at another window. All vehicles have spares.                                                  

         Too often, transport drivers are dealing with the dazed, the dippy, the defiant, the distracted, the dim, and the daredevils. This leads to venting via a CB radio. One exasperated trucker complained about "stupid drivers". Heaven knew he wasn't getting rich. He thought he probably "did this' just to see what could happen next. He was constantly surprised. Another trucker commented, " They've got to have a mind to make up."                                                                                

         Humour becomes a trucker's best defence. They all wish they could declare that their loads were sailboat fuel and motorcycle doors. They bemoan having to stop at a "chicken coop" or they warn about "the lights blinking on 401". This is code for a weigh scale and one that is open for business. They refer to flatbed trailers as "skateboards" and a "centipede" is a multi-axle trailer. Those large curled chunks of black rubber, on the highway, are known as "gators". Truckers with C.B. radios might still have " handles" such as "Hustleman" or "Bear Bait". ( Translation: an independent and a speeder. "Bear" or "smokey bear" or "black and white" elude to the police.)                                                                                

         In that vein, I believe there are things that a trucker should never ever say to civilians .Non-truckers are not always very understanding. Who wants to hear, "I'll run into you" from someone piloting a big rig? "I'll just drive right over", begs the question, "drive over what?" "Look me up" is a more intimidating "Look up at me". ( Similar to "Watch for me in your rear view mirror".) "Maybe we'll meet by accident" is not very reassuring. It would be too easy to misconstrue, "I'm loaded". In this day and age, with both real and imagined terrorism, "I'm dynamiting the brakes" could incite a panic,especially if combined with the preceding phrase; Don't Drive Drunk--- It May End In A Bang. Relax. In actuality, this is slang for "engaging the parking brake". The only explosion is that of released air.                                                                                                                        

         Trucking is tough. It's an endurance test. There's so much more to it than steering and reacting. Before a truck actually travels along a road, the driver must locate and secure his/her load. Not everything is carried and packed into an enclosed trailer. Some loads must be tarped and chained. A trucker should complete a circle check and inspect the mirrors. Paperwork has to be dealt with: invoices, cargo manifests, logbooks. They might consult an atlas or a G.P.S. to plan their delivery route.                                                                                                    

         I believe that The Highway of Heroes should not just be in recognition of the sacrifice of armed service personnel. There's an army of truckers who sacrifice everyday, yet they are taken for granted, or worse, vilified. They are also often separated from their families to provide essential services.                                        

         Yes, transport trucks are big--- they have to be. Anything or everything that we consume, manufacture, market, or trade is shipped via transport. All our wants and needs must be attained somehow. Fruit doesn't just magically appear in a grocery store. Lumber for construction and pipes for water and gas require large carriers.                                                                                                              

         Nonstop loads are being delivered from Point A to Point B. From Kalamazoo to Timbuktu, from St. John's to St. Paul, from Campbell River to Deep River, from Gander to Goose Neck, from Menomonie to Temagami, from Moose Jaw to Moosonee..... a trucker has been there. They deserve not only our thanks , but our respect.                                                                                                                        

         My personal chauffeur and I were not alone . We were accompanied by Miss G.P.S. I still cannot quite place her accent. She insisted upon pronouncing kilometer as " key-law-met-er", emphasizing the "key". I don't think she ever slept. Her green screen announced READY TO NAVIGATE. Never did she sigh, or admonish, or scream in exasperation, " Fine, do it your way then! You're not listening to me anyway! That's it. You're on your own!" Always she repeated, " recalculating, recalculating". At one point, I thought she was giving us the silent treatment or she was just struck speechless. Apparently, we were following the exact route she'd recommended. Once, on a very rough road, G. was rattled from her perch, and I expected to hear, " Rolling, rolling, reeling, reeling, reverberating, reverberating" . She was a trooper though. Momentarily, she had a stutter.                                                                                                                        

         The three of us found the prairies to be endless flat fields and sky. I now understand " BACK 40". Never mind looking for a needle in a haystack, heaven help anyone who misplaces anything here! In these forever fields, the trees are green islands.                                                                                                              

         We noted the deer warning signs, but where would the deer hide or suddenly dart out from? ( Apparently, wind gusts are also so unpredictable that they warrant their own warning signs!)                                                                      

         We spotted a crow walking next to the highway, in the middle of nowhere. This cross-country traveller defied the expression " as the crow flies".                              

         As we approached the Rockies, we could see clouds touching or resting on mountain tops. Now I have a visual for " her head was in the clouds".                              

         Words are not enough to describe the Rockies! They are majestic, magnificent, mesmerizing and magical. As we mountain climbed, big truck style, we heard the radio play the song, " Ain't No Mountain High Enough"!                              

         This should have been the theme song for the incredible ingenuity, imagination, and sheer determination of the people who managed to build roads, tunnels, bridges, and even a railway line through this area. There are spots seemingly resting on thin air.                                                                                          

         The mountain signage attempts to both predict and prevent so much. We were cautioned not to stop in avalanche areas...as if!! EXPECT DEER ON OUR ROADS, ( Of course, a deer was dutifully standing nearby.) WATCH FOR POTHOLES AND WILDLIFE. These two did not always occur together. Even the elk, the mountain sheep, the deer, and the bear avoided the rougher roads. In the dusk, my husband spotted what he hoped was a large dark garbage bag near the highway. It was in fact a black bear munching on fresh berries who didn't so much as flinch when he heard the air horn. HIGH MOUNTAIN ROAD EXPECT SUDDEN WEATHER CHANGES.... Just the comforting words a driver hopes to see.          

         British Columbia is breathtakingly beautiful, greener and lusher than Ontario. B.C. should indicate " Big Country" or "Bushy Country". Flowers are bigger and brighter. Trees are gigantic. Water can be found everywhere.                    

         While in B.C., our horoscopes proved prophetic. Mine stated, " You may be tempted to sit back and watch the world go by". My husband's forecasts mentioned, " The more you are on the move over the coming week., the more interesting people you will meet" AND " You will be on the move in some fashion".                                                                                                                        

         Even funnier was a CRACKER BARREL CHEESE billboard that caught my eye. It summed up my cross-country road trip so eloquently----- Meals. Miles. Smiles. (1778 words)