Friday, 27 November 2009

• Hitchhiking Canada,pt2

  There are certain rules of the road when you are thumbing.At least there were in my time.I learned these rather the hard way when I thumbed up to my cottage when I was 14. If there is a line of people hitching, the front of the line goes first, even if they stop for YOU. I took a ride that time, and the guy at the front of the line caught up to me later down the road.
  
  He was a veteran hitcher, he smacked me around a bit, nothing too serious, but he got his point across.
  
  So Bruce and I left my dad and joined the line. As I said in my last post, hitching was common back then. You couldn't actually thumb on the highways, but the ramps to them often had several people using their thumb to get somewhere.
  
  It took us about an hour to finally get to the front and get a ride.Oh and what a ride it was.Remember when milk was delivered to your house? Our house had a built in milk chute.The dairys would deliver milk right to your home, hence all the "pregnant by the milk man "jokes from that time.
  
  The guy that stopped for us had converted an old milk truck.It was so much better than a van, you could stand right up in it for one thing.He had a row of upholstered seats along the sides and a mattress in the middle.The tunes were blaring and he shouted at us to throw our packs in the back and get in. We did. He introduced himself as Hans and after we told him our names and had pulled onto the highway he said..."lift up the seats , I pick up everyone and we party!" Lifting up the seats revealed that each one was a cooler filled with beer. Eight seats, eight coolers filled with ice and beer. Hans cackled with glee when he saw our reaction.
  
  So we started drinking, toasting ourselves for finally beginning our trip.Hans was more of a pot smoker than a drinker, I guess since he was driving, but we were soon all feeling extremely happy.True to his word he looked at every on ramp and if someone was hitching he pulled over on the highway and yelled for them to come on. It seemed like in no time at all there were ten of us and various articles of luggage cruising up Highway 400 having a beer and digging the tunes. Hans himself was having a blast.
  
  He was headed to Parry Sound which was the way we were going so Bruce and I rode with him for about three hours.Some of the others got off where 400 turns westward but some stayed.When we reached Parry Sound, believe me, we were sorry to say goodbye to Hans. We were also quite drunk. We kept on to a place called Pointe Au Baril and decided that a motel room was in order instead of using our tent and camping.
  
  If you have never seen this part of Ontario, well let me tell you, it is beautiful.It isn't much farther north than my cottage, but it is very different.Georgian Bay is big, and the shores are rocky in a picturesque kind of way.The trees tend to be more coniferous than deciduous , though there are plenty of those too.Blue water, rocky shores and giant pine trees.
  
  A very pretty sight.
  
  Bruce and I checked into a motel, it had blatantly uneven curtains. I pulled out my tape recorder and put on some tunes.There were no ipods or walkmans back then, so the tape recorder and a bunch of cassettes came with us, and a lot of batteries too. We listened to tunes and rehashed the day. It was all good.
  
  We set out the next morning and were told by some other hitchers to make sure we didn't get caught around Wawa. "take a ride past it, or don't take the ride" we were told. Apparently some hitcher had murdered a family around Wawa and no one would pick you up there. It was just an urban legend , pure horseshit, but we had been told the same thing by a guy on the 400 ramp. We didn't want to be stuck on the side of the road, it gets pretty desolate near Wawa.
  
  An older American guy driving a pickup stopped for us.He had a daschund in his lap, you know , one of those little weiner dogs.We threw our packs in the back and squeezed into the cab with him. As we passed a lot of pine trees and gravel pits he told us how he had been married 5 times and how in his Will it was stated..."To each of my wives I leave a pair of my pants, they always wanted to wear them and now's their chance." I have never forgotten those words, or that man.
  
  He pulled a .357 Magnum on us.
  
  

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