I won’t pretend to be surprised by how Deeply One sleeps when there’s nothing to distract you from the act of sleeping. Once I had satisfied myself that I hadn’t prepared my body is a tasty treat for a peckish grizzly, and wrap myself up in a tarp like a blue polyurethane burrito, I managed to get a fantastic night. If I woke up at all I don’t recall it. I was awake at first light and before turning my cell phone on I quickly and correctly surmised that it was up at 5:30 in the morning. I do believe that we all have an internal clock but years and years of ignoring has made it a little less than reliable. I cleaned up camp, packed up my things, and headed to the truck stop but I’ve been dropped off the night before. I may have just totally roughed it the night before but there was no way I was going to start my day without a hot cup of coffee. Come on! I’m not an animal!
Even though the truck stop and attached fishing tackle shop had not quite opened for business, the parking lot was already quite full of pickup trucks hauling well apportioned fishing boats. They’re probably can fishermen eyeballing me as I strolled out of the woods. With my now well-worn fishing hat perched upon my head, I think they thought I was either a bum when the most badass and night fisherman that they’d ever seen.
I bought myself a hot fresh coffee and a can of Deep Woods bug spray. I I sat down on one of the many picnic tables to enjoy my Java and a morning cigarette. I’m not going to lie. My closest friends and acquaintances will tell you I’m not exactly the person they think of when they have to recollect who is an outdoorsy person. But I need to spend a whole night in the Woods by myself and was feeling pretty darn impressed with the Badger.
With the cigarette and the self-congratulations over with, I slowly strolled out to the highway, unraveled my headphones and started mentally preparing myself what I had allotted to be at least three or four days of thumbing it to get through the rest of Ontario.
Well, I must have sat on a horseshoe somewhere outside of Regina, because what was about to happen was going to propel me to legendary hitchhiker status.
I stuck out my thumb and the very first car…the very first one…pulled over for me. And as I jumped in her car I told her, as I’ve told many of my drivers, ” I need to get to Halifax by next Tuesday morning so I’m willing to go as far as you’re willing to take me.”
Very long story made very short, as far east as she was going to take me turned out to be a Orillia, Ontario, only two hours north of Toronto.
There she is! Her name is Cara! If there’s a patron saint of hitchhikers, she should be it. I don’t even know if she’s Catholic. But she put up with me for 21 hours and 1700 kilometers, so if that’s not worthy of canonization, I don’t know what it is.