19 February 2004
45
R. Linda:
As you know, or perhaps you don't know, I took me week's holiday by visiting the great northern neighbour Canada. I rented a lovely little motor, a Chevrolet Cavalier and off I tooled into me least favourite state (that be New Hampshire, where bizarre things happen to me) at the break of dawn and onward up the coast of Maine to the border of New Brunswick. Before I got there, I got more than halfway through Maine when I found a small motel for the night. I had driven a good ten hours and was like a pretzel when I got out of the car.
To see me doubled over with hands still up in steering column mode must have been a hoot to anyone awake and watching. I crouched into the motel like a crab and could barely see above the counter to ring the bell for service. This be very unusual for someone who is over six feet tall, to not be able to straighten up enough to see over a four-foot countertop. I inched me way until I half stood. I tried me best to look like nothing was wrong. I was leaning over the counter for support, and if the man behind the counter noticed, he didn't let on.
The following day, I was up and crouching (yes, still stiff as a board), but I was able to lift me torso a few more inches than the night before. I looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame, like I had a terrible back problem. I made it to McDonald's for an Egg McMuffin and a cup of dishwater disguised as coffee. Mind you, the skies were cloudy, and snowflakes did cross me windscreen many a time during me drive to the border, but I thought nothing of it. I was playing CDs without listening to the news and weather. After all, I wanted nothing to do with news of any kind. I was on holiday!
I reached the New Brunswick border and got out me trusty passport, waiting me turn in line to cross the border. I'd say I waited a good thirty minutes before the police officer squinted in at me and asked for my port of pass. I handed it over, and he scoffed, "You're from the UK. What is your business in Canada?"
I stated I was on holiday and going to sightsee and try me legs at a wee bit of cross-country skiing. He then asked me to "Park the car over there and step out of it."
Well, as you can imagine, I was thinking he was never mistaking meself for a terrorist, now was he? So I do as asked and step away from the motor car. Another officer comes over and asks me to open the vehicle's boot, and he looks inside. The other asks me if I be Irish. What gave it away? Me accent? Me last name? Probably. I declare proudly I be that, as if what of it, and he asks where in the UK do I live?
Begorrah me! I have to explain that I be from Ulster County, Northern Ireland, and that raised more eyebrows. A terrorist, for sure. I volunteered I be living in Boston (which he already knew because I have me an American driving license) and told him why I be there.
Without a word, he hands me passport back and waves me into the car. I pass through the gate on me way to Fredericton where I have reservations for some cross-country skiing. By now, the snow is flying, and I be simply thrilled it is going to be a snowy time on the trails. Off I go, and within a bloody hour, the snow was so heavy I could hardly get me tiny vehicle to stay on the road. I was in blinding snow and couldn't see a bloody thing. Somehow, I got on the Trans Canada Highway, and I saw this massive river below me. I was not going north; somehow, I was going east to Nova Scotia! I crossed the river (I found out it was Saint John) and I am now in Nova Scotia, way far out of the way. How to get back? I can't find a turn-off because I cannot see a bloody thing and I almost run up the car in front of me because the visibility was blinding. I slammed on the brakes and slid to the side of the highway, nearly taking out a truck.
I find I can't get me vehicle to go because I was stuck in a snowbank! This was not good. I tried backing up and going forward and nothing. I got out and, with my gloved hands, attempted to scoop the snow from in front and behind the car. I must have looked like a jackarse for sure, but who could see in that raging stuff? I was lucky I wasn't killed since there was no visibility to speak of.
I got back in with me frozen digits and slammed the gears into neutral, opened the bloody driver door and tried to push the car forward. This took some effort. Me shoulder was sore from the attempt. I got back in and hit the steering column in me frustration when bam, someone hit me from behind and me car started rolling forward. Well, damn it, I wasn't at fault, and I was moving, so I put the thing in gear and drove off. The other person did too, so they must have been in a rental and didn't care what the car looked like either. If they were in pursuit of me, well, me vehicle was a lot faster than the thing they were driving since they gave me quite a rolling start.
This was panicky stuff, this snow. I switched on the radio to find out it was a freaking blizzard. I had no idea where I was, so I kept driving, hoping to find a turn about to go back over the bridge. Finally, I see a turn and inch up the carriageway to go back. I got to the bloody bridge, and there were flashing lights. Vehicles everywhere -- stuck. Tow trucks and police cars were all over the place. A police officer waved me and everyone who could move to start backing up and getting into line behind a patrol car with flashing lights that took us back the way we came into oncoming traffic!
This was a hairy experience, Linda! Here I was, me heart pounding inside me chest, thinking that someone was going to come careening into me again from the traffic coming from the wrong direction. Oh, begorrah me! As it was, cars were going sideways, trying to avoid the line of vehicles I found meself part of.
Somehow, I made it. I found meself on the way to Halifax. Luckily, I found an open petrol station, got me vehicle filled, and off I went. I followed the signs to Halifax since the bridge was closed to New Brunswick, and after what seemed like an eternity, I finally made it.
The problem was, there was not a bloody thing open. No food, no petrol, no nothing. Add to that, the streets were closed. I was looking around, wondering where in heaven's name I be spending the bleeding night! I could barely make out the street sign of where I was and good I did, because within minutes it was covered in a gigantic snow drift! I got me trusty mobile phone and got an operator. I told them me predicament, and they said to me in so many words they were not the rescue squad. I called three operators before one decided to have mercy on me and put a call through to a hotel. Of course, the problem was I had no idea where in Halifax I was, and neither of us knew where the nearest hotel was. Anyway, the operator got a hotel on the line; they tried to help me find the hotel, which turned out to be all the way the hell on the other side of the city! The clerk told me the roads were closed unless I wanted to walk. Mind you, I could not see two inches in front of me. The last thing I wanted to do was to trek through a blinding blizzard in a city I was not familiar with and freeze to death with luggage in hand.
The operator stayed on the line to see if I got any satisfaction. I told her no, I was still stranded. She told me to hold on to the line as she went to get me help. Saints preserve me, a woman with a brain and a kind heart! So, while the winds blew and drifts began to cover the car with me in it, I prayed to Jesus, Mary and Joseph for deliverance.
The operator came back on and asked me if I was near the corner of Connaught and Kempt. No, I was on Windsor before the snow covered the sign, I said, I had no idea where those streets were. I was in luck, she said; they were not far, and there was a B and B I could walk to. It would be two blocks to Connaught, and they would take me in. I was relieved beyond words and would have kissed her and given her all me worldly belongings for saving me neck.
I got directions down and decided to get me skis off the rack. I got me luggage and strapped that to me back with me belt. I put a final call into me car rental and told them where the car be and why. They were not happy with me. I left the bloody useless thing and began skiing down the city street. Yes, I did; I must have been an unusual sight, a long-legged Irishman on skis, a suitcase strapped precariously on me back, and polling for all I be worth. The problem was the snow drifts were like seven feet, and here I found meself learning fast the art of downhill racing on cross-country skis. It was a trip I can attest to that much!
Finally, with me feet frozen blocks of ice, I saw the street sign sticking out of almost ten feet of snow. I used every ounce of me strength to slosh up the snowbank and ski on down at a harrowing rate of speed (cross-country skis are not made for super-fast descents). With no control whatsoever, I came down the other side and crashed into garbage cans left out and not well disguised in the snow.
I got up, frozen trash hanging off me, and a woman opened a window of the building next to me and shouted, "Are you all right?"
No, I was not alright. I was frozen solid, me eyelashes almost adhered to swollen ice-encrusted cheeks, me teeth were chattering in me head so badly that it sounded like someone was playing castanets, and me nose hairs were frozen stiff. I could nod, though.
"Are you the man looking for the bed and breakfast?" She shouted.
I nodded again, and she said she would be right down. Did I see the shovel by the path? I nod once again. Would I be an angel and start digging me way to the door? Oh, for sure, I could if I could find a way to thaw out me now stiff arms and pry me frozen fingers from the ski poles. Well, survival is a strong instinct, and I somehow managed to do it all, still wearing skis because I could not get them off, the bindings were frozen solid.
R. Linda:
As you know, or perhaps you don't know, I took me week's holiday by visiting the great northern neighbour Canada. I rented a lovely little motor, a Chevrolet Cavalier and off I tooled into me least favourite state (that be New Hampshire, where bizarre things happen to me) at the break of dawn and onward up the coast of Maine to the border of New Brunswick. Before I got there, I got more than halfway through Maine when I found a small motel for the night. I had driven a good ten hours and was like a pretzel when I got out of the car.
To see me doubled over with hands still up in steering column mode must have been a hoot to anyone awake and watching. I crouched into the motel like a crab and could barely see above the counter to ring the bell for service. This be very unusual for someone who is over six feet tall, to not be able to straighten up enough to see over a four-foot countertop. I inched me way until I half stood. I tried me best to look like nothing was wrong. I was leaning over the counter for support, and if the man behind the counter noticed, he didn't let on.
The following day, I was up and crouching (yes, still stiff as a board), but I was able to lift me torso a few more inches than the night before. I looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame, like I had a terrible back problem. I made it to McDonald's for an Egg McMuffin and a cup of dishwater disguised as coffee. Mind you, the skies were cloudy, and snowflakes did cross me windscreen many a time during me drive to the border, but I thought nothing of it. I was playing CDs without listening to the news and weather. After all, I wanted nothing to do with news of any kind. I was on holiday!
I reached the New Brunswick border and got out me trusty passport, waiting me turn in line to cross the border. I'd say I waited a good thirty minutes before the police officer squinted in at me and asked for my port of pass. I handed it over, and he scoffed, "You're from the UK. What is your business in Canada?"
I stated I was on holiday and going to sightsee and try me legs at a wee bit of cross-country skiing. He then asked me to "Park the car over there and step out of it."
Well, as you can imagine, I was thinking he was never mistaking meself for a terrorist, now was he? So I do as asked and step away from the motor car. Another officer comes over and asks me to open the vehicle's boot, and he looks inside. The other asks me if I be Irish. What gave it away? Me accent? Me last name? Probably. I declare proudly I be that, as if what of it, and he asks where in the UK do I live?
Begorrah me! I have to explain that I be from Ulster County, Northern Ireland, and that raised more eyebrows. A terrorist, for sure. I volunteered I be living in Boston (which he already knew because I have me an American driving license) and told him why I be there.
Without a word, he hands me passport back and waves me into the car. I pass through the gate on me way to Fredericton where I have reservations for some cross-country skiing. By now, the snow is flying, and I be simply thrilled it is going to be a snowy time on the trails. Off I go, and within a bloody hour, the snow was so heavy I could hardly get me tiny vehicle to stay on the road. I was in blinding snow and couldn't see a bloody thing. Somehow, I got on the Trans Canada Highway, and I saw this massive river below me. I was not going north; somehow, I was going east to Nova Scotia! I crossed the river (I found out it was Saint John) and I am now in Nova Scotia, way far out of the way. How to get back? I can't find a turn-off because I cannot see a bloody thing and I almost run up the car in front of me because the visibility was blinding. I slammed on the brakes and slid to the side of the highway, nearly taking out a truck.
I find I can't get me vehicle to go because I was stuck in a snowbank! This was not good. I tried backing up and going forward and nothing. I got out and, with my gloved hands, attempted to scoop the snow from in front and behind the car. I must have looked like a jackarse for sure, but who could see in that raging stuff? I was lucky I wasn't killed since there was no visibility to speak of.
I got back in with me frozen digits and slammed the gears into neutral, opened the bloody driver door and tried to push the car forward. This took some effort. Me shoulder was sore from the attempt. I got back in and hit the steering column in me frustration when bam, someone hit me from behind and me car started rolling forward. Well, damn it, I wasn't at fault, and I was moving, so I put the thing in gear and drove off. The other person did too, so they must have been in a rental and didn't care what the car looked like either. If they were in pursuit of me, well, me vehicle was a lot faster than the thing they were driving since they gave me quite a rolling start.
This was panicky stuff, this snow. I switched on the radio to find out it was a freaking blizzard. I had no idea where I was, so I kept driving, hoping to find a turn about to go back over the bridge. Finally, I see a turn and inch up the carriageway to go back. I got to the bloody bridge, and there were flashing lights. Vehicles everywhere -- stuck. Tow trucks and police cars were all over the place. A police officer waved me and everyone who could move to start backing up and getting into line behind a patrol car with flashing lights that took us back the way we came into oncoming traffic!
This was a hairy experience, Linda! Here I was, me heart pounding inside me chest, thinking that someone was going to come careening into me again from the traffic coming from the wrong direction. Oh, begorrah me! As it was, cars were going sideways, trying to avoid the line of vehicles I found meself part of.
Somehow, I made it. I found meself on the way to Halifax. Luckily, I found an open petrol station, got me vehicle filled, and off I went. I followed the signs to Halifax since the bridge was closed to New Brunswick, and after what seemed like an eternity, I finally made it.
The problem was, there was not a bloody thing open. No food, no petrol, no nothing. Add to that, the streets were closed. I was looking around, wondering where in heaven's name I be spending the bleeding night! I could barely make out the street sign of where I was and good I did, because within minutes it was covered in a gigantic snow drift! I got me trusty mobile phone and got an operator. I told them me predicament, and they said to me in so many words they were not the rescue squad. I called three operators before one decided to have mercy on me and put a call through to a hotel. Of course, the problem was I had no idea where in Halifax I was, and neither of us knew where the nearest hotel was. Anyway, the operator got a hotel on the line; they tried to help me find the hotel, which turned out to be all the way the hell on the other side of the city! The clerk told me the roads were closed unless I wanted to walk. Mind you, I could not see two inches in front of me. The last thing I wanted to do was to trek through a blinding blizzard in a city I was not familiar with and freeze to death with luggage in hand.
The operator stayed on the line to see if I got any satisfaction. I told her no, I was still stranded. She told me to hold on to the line as she went to get me help. Saints preserve me, a woman with a brain and a kind heart! So, while the winds blew and drifts began to cover the car with me in it, I prayed to Jesus, Mary and Joseph for deliverance.
The operator came back on and asked me if I was near the corner of Connaught and Kempt. No, I was on Windsor before the snow covered the sign, I said, I had no idea where those streets were. I was in luck, she said; they were not far, and there was a B and B I could walk to. It would be two blocks to Connaught, and they would take me in. I was relieved beyond words and would have kissed her and given her all me worldly belongings for saving me neck.
I got directions down and decided to get me skis off the rack. I got me luggage and strapped that to me back with me belt. I put a final call into me car rental and told them where the car be and why. They were not happy with me. I left the bloody useless thing and began skiing down the city street. Yes, I did; I must have been an unusual sight, a long-legged Irishman on skis, a suitcase strapped precariously on me back, and polling for all I be worth. The problem was the snow drifts were like seven feet, and here I found meself learning fast the art of downhill racing on cross-country skis. It was a trip I can attest to that much!
 |
| Trudging through the blizzard |
 |
| Yup, this is the result |
No, I was not alright. I was frozen solid, me eyelashes almost adhered to swollen ice-encrusted cheeks, me teeth were chattering in me head so badly that it sounded like someone was playing castanets, and me nose hairs were frozen stiff. I could nod, though.
"Are you the man looking for the bed and breakfast?" She shouted.
I nodded again, and she said she would be right down. Did I see the shovel by the path? I nod once again. Would I be an angel and start digging me way to the door? Oh, for sure, I could if I could find a way to thaw out me now stiff arms and pry me frozen fingers from the ski poles. Well, survival is a strong instinct, and I somehow managed to do it all, still wearing skis because I could not get them off, the bindings were frozen solid.
 |
| Me shovelling me way in. Sad, isn't it? |
By the time she got the door open (much pounding and pushing her weight to get it unfrozen), I had dug a trench to her, more like a fox hole, if I be honest about it. She pulled me in, skis and all. She slammed the door behind us, causing snow on the porch roof to cover all of me shovelling efforts. I lay on the carpet panting, me arms sore, fingers frozen to the shovel handle, poles dangling from me snow caked wrists, no feeling in me feet, and the skis straight up in the air, snowflakes drifting down from the wind that came inside with me.
Poor old biddy didn't know what to do. Laugh or help me. She started laughing. I closed me eyes blotting it all out. The last thing I remember was the hall light overhead blinding me. The last bit of snowflakes floating down onto me frozen face. Pure frozen oblivion.
I be shivering with cold just reliving this. I will conclude it next mail. I need something hot to drink and must go find me an electric blanket and turn it to high. Burrr!
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
2 comments:
LMAO
I REMEMBER THIS ONE! AND SORRY FOR CALLING YOU NAMES. Using the search, I found it in under 30 seconds!
SHUCKS I thought this would keep you busy for a year or two at the very least! :(
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