Hamiton to Winnipeg...45 hour journey

On Dec. 20, 2008 I boarded a plane to Hamilton. I was excited to see my family and semi-excited for the road trip back home. I love to drive and I especially love road trips. But this one would prove to be like no other I had ever been on.

The plan was that I would fly out to Hamilton, stay a day and then drive back with my dad on Dec. 21, but that last part didn't happen. I was happy in a way, because it granted me more time with family. But when Tuesday, Dec. 23 crept up, and dad's truck was in the shop, I got nervous. I wanted to be home for Christmas. Around 6pm, Aunt Lisa drove me to meet up with dad at the garage. I said my goodbyes, then dad and I went to load up the truck.

His stuff was stored at 3 different places, so it took a while to pack everything into our vehicle. By 10pm we left Hamilton. Driving was good for a few hours, until we had to pull into a truck stop after our vehicle started chugging. The smell of gas was overwhelming. I looked under the truck and saw gas pouring out from the tanks. I wasn't surprised that we had broken down and I figured we'd be there for a while. After a couple hours of trying to figure out a solution, we decided that we'd call a tow truck and a mechanic shop in the morning. Sleeping in a hotel was an option, but paying $100 for 3 hours of sleep didn't make sense to me. So we slept in the truck. It wasn't cold outside and we had blankets, so we were comfortable enough.

Christmas Eve day, we awoke. As we waited for the tow truck, dad phoned 4 or 5 people to ask them to put money in his bank account, so he could pay for repairs. I watched as he used a tiny flashlight to read out the numbers. They must like him, because he ended up with $350. The tow truck arrived at 8am, towed us for 2 minutes and dropped us off at a Ford garage in Barrie, ON. We decided to shop while we waited.

At 1pm we started to walk back to the garage. On our way, we walked by a very cheery lady who gave dad two loaves of bread. I don't know what prompted her to do this, I suspect it had something to do with dad's hobo hair. Maybe he looked hungry. Then, we arrived at the garage and they told us that the people who last "fixed" the gas tank issue, had broken a couple pieces that were slowly destroyed even more as we drove. He had fixed the problem and assured us that we were good to go. So we started driving, again...with the hope that we'd make it the whole way this time.

Now, when you drive from Hamilton to Winnipeg on the Northern route, there is a long stretch of road between Longlac and Nipagon that is curvy, and a long long way without any signs of life. We drove through the blizardy conditions with caution. I was worried about falling asleep at the wheel, so I told myself that if I ever thought "I will just close my eyes for a second" that this was the point where I would not drive anymore. That moment didn't come, but I did, for the first time in my life, start to hallucinate. I was shocked and freaked out, so I told dad that I wasn't able to drive anymore. So he took over and after 30 minutes he couldn't go any farther either. After an hours sleep we continued on our way.

After about 20 minutes, the lights started to dim, then a loud screeching sound was heard as they brightened up again. This happened over and over again. We were very worried that it was the alternator. So we stopped, rummaged for a piece of cardboard to protect the rad, tightened some bolt, greased up a belt and continued driving. Things seemed fine again, for 30 minutes. Then, the fan made grinding noises and after a short while, it stopped working.

So here we were, in the wee hours of Christmas day, on the bad stretch of road, with no heat...using debit cards to scrape the frost off the windows, trying to keep ourselves warm with pillows lining the doors and blankets wrapped around us. At one point we stopped and bought a small heater which we propped up on the dashboard with a loaf of bread and it defrosted the window enough so we could see where we were going.

In Nipagon, I couldn't feel my feet. It was so hard to walk on them and the place we stopped at was closed. But thankfully the older couple there let us warm up after they noticed the frost covered windows. For the rest of the trip, we would stop at every place possible, face the truck to the sun so the frost would melt off, and leave it running while we used the hand dryers in bathrooms to warm up our shoes, socks and feet.

By 6pm Christmas day, we were home. I realized in a hot, hot shower that I had some sort of frost bite on my driving foot. My family arrived an hour after I got home, we exchanged gifts, I told them my story and we talked a bit. Missing 2 nights of sleep, I was not myself but I was happy to see them.

When I think about this trip, I realize how strong I am and how well I can handle myself in a bad situation. I was never so scared that I cried or was out of control with worry. At times I was a little concerned, but overall, I was very calm. I know now that I have something in common with my dad. We hide our concerns in order to be strong for family. And when faced with a tough situation, we try to figure out a solution before calling for help. If I could go back and change the trip, there's only one thing I would alter. I would have bought boots in Barrie.