05travel.ind

Hey Kids,
I'd hoped to write you all a letter about the wonderful time I was having falling in love with the city of Montreal, but once again, the best laid plans. . .

About 11 am Tuesday my brother Dan, who I'm staying with in Montreal, came home and to tell me our Dad was in the hospital with kidney and heart failure, plus pneumonia, and that he was expected to live only a couple days.

We loaded up, Blu too, and headed out under a cloud of apprehension, as the tailings of Hurricane Katrina began to fill in the St. Lawrence River valley. I actually considered not going along, but it was clear I had to.

There were so many signs. The hurricane, which is the same thing that was happening when I was born, was one of them. Now it was happening as my Dad lay dying.

Dan, and his wife Carrie, were in a kafluffle, trying to do everything themselves and all at once. They were frazzled from sleep deprivation, which is their lifestyle, having two young children and full time jobs.

We shipped the kids out to Carrie's Mom's, then headed into Montreal traffic, where we promptly got stuck for about an hour. Eventually we got moving and stopped in Brockville Ontario, at a Harvey's fast food joint, which I didn't like the idea of, but said nothing about.

When we started up again Carrie was driving, which concerned me because she was nodding out before we stopped. For much of the ride my brother and sister-in-law had been discussing things. I'd not heard much of it, sitting in the back seat. I did hear something about speed and noticed we were moving at about 110 to 120 K an hour, average for the 401 Highway.

I'd also heard something about writing an obituary, and had just informed them that I once was an obit writer for the newspaper. Then they decided to make a list of things that needed to be done. Carrie reached for some paper in the driver side door when I noticed the car veering onto the lefthand shoulder.

I said loudly, "watch out!" She didn't react, so I said it louder, "Watch Out!"

The car wheels hit the rumble stops on the side of the road. Carrie pulled hard to the right, trying to get off the shoulder. The car started to dove tail, so she turned the other direction trying to bring it under control.

It had the opposite effect. We began swerving and rocking all over the highway. My left elbow hit the lowered seat beside me. Then I raised my arms to protect my head, certain we were going to roll. We hit the guard rail on the right side of the road, opposite from where we'd been when we lost control. The car rode up on the rail then spun back out into traffic, a full loop, before finally coming to a halt with its ass end plowing into the same guard rail once again.

The hood was emitting steam, we all sat there a moment stunned, with our front-end out in traffic. When I knew I was okay, I tried to get out of the car, but the back doors were "bubba proofed" and could not be opened from inside. Finally Dan was able to open his door, then he opened mine, while Carrie climbed out of hers and we all got off the road. We were alive, and are okay.

Soon ambulance and police showed up.

The Ontario Provincial Police were about to give Carrie a ticket, until I told them our reason for travelling. Then they turned into angels of mercy. It is not often that I get to say an encounter with police was the best part of my day, but it was. They drove us to their detachment in Kanonogie, made sure the car was put in dry storage, with Blu orphaned in the back, then tried to help us get a rental car to continue our journey. It was nightfall. The rain from Katrina was starting to fall, when we loaded into a police car, with our baggage, but not Blu, and headed to Kingston, about 60 K away.

So there we were, barreling down the 401 with a seven-foot police officer named David Vogelzing, a peach of a man, whom I eventually would make an honourary member of the Webster family.

When we got to the Kingston airport, where the rental car was supposed to be, it wasn't there. For about an hour my relatives, and Constable Vogelzing, tried to find us another car. They could not. All the while the rain continued to intensify. I walked up a couple times and said, "Guys, we need to learn to read the signs, and they're all stop signs right now. We should just get a room here in Kingston and try again tomorrow."

Finally, when the options dwindled, everyone saw the wisdom in what I was saying, and the police officer drove us to a nearby hotel, where Dan and Carrie caught some sleep (they snore in harmony) and I was up listless until the wee hours.

The next day, yesterday, we managed to rent a car and move on to St. Catharines, near Niagara Falls, where my Dad is in intensive care at the local hospital. It was sad to see the man so totally emaciated and unwilling to accept his fate. I cried and held his hand, which was the only thing that made him recognizeable to me. You see, back in the '50s Dad lost the FU finger of his left hand in a work related accident. It was the only thing about him I recognized, until he started to grump, mad I was there, mad his juice was cold, not warm, and mad at my brother for taking time off work.

We hung out until he fell asleep, then my brother Dan and another brother, David, and their respective wives, all went out for dinner at a friend of mine’s restaurant. When I was last in St. Catharines my friend was newly married and had just opened a little hole-in-the-wall called Cafe Amore, now he has two full-fledged restaurants, two kids (one born just two days ago) and grey hair. He greeted us well and sent my brothers and their wives a free bottle of wine. It was a lovely dinner, and it was nice for me to be among family and friends, even though in less than fortunate circumstances.

Dan and David, and Betsy and Carrie, all went to Buffalo, New York, where David lives, after dinner. I didn't not accompany them because, at this point, because of my lipping off at President Bush, I am persona-non-grata in the USA.

So I checked into a flea bag hotel here in St. Catharines. I didn't know it was flea bag until I got in the room, but I was too tired to fight or argue or complain. I turned the TV on and zoned out, but wasn't able to sleep.

This morning the clouds have cleared and it is a beautiful summer day. I've sat in a local park and written, and now that I'm done here, I'm going to go have some breakfast before getting back to Dad.

So, the adventure continues. I'm in my hometown. My foot is not healing well. Blu is in a auto body shop somewhere in Kingston, my luggage is in a bus depot, and life continues.

I will write you about Montreal, once I get back there. For now though, everyone pray I find a sack of dough, so I can get a decent room, and add a little something for my Dad.

I hope your days are going better than mine.
Will

On April 1, 2005 I set off across Canada on my bicycle. Or at least I'd planned to cross Canada. These pages are an account of that trip, as told through travelogs I sent to friends. I hope you enjoy the ride!

All material contained herein is copyright by Will Webster.
All Rights Reserved.

On April 1, 2005 I set off across Canada on my bicycle. Or at least I'd planned to cross Canada. These pages are an account of that trip, as told through travelogs I sent to friends. I hope you enjoy the ride!

All material contained herein is copyright by Will Webster. All Rights Reserved.

All material contained herein is copyright by Will Webster.
All Rights Reserved.