12:10pm. With the car packed, Dad and sister in the car, I called Aunt Rita in Sudbury to let her know we were pushing off.
“I’ve got a big dinner for all of your when you get here,” she said. “Don’t spoil your appetites with snacks.”
Puffs of clouds skimmed the hazy skyline as we made our way across the 407 to the 400. The driving was smooth and fast.
1:20pm. Stopped for gas and a late lunch at the first Petro Station, spending too much on Wendy’s half decent burgers and syrupy shakes. Don’t want to do that too often.
The traffic was down to a crawl when we got back on the road. First we crawled past two police cruisers with a pair of cars -- one with its rear end a mash, the other with its front end a mush. No one was hurt. But still we crawled along. Soon four more cruisers, 2 fire engines and an ambulance came into view. As if for protection, they surrounded 3 cars. Both the front and back end of the central car were pretzels of twisted metal. A fireman backed into the road in front of us, raising his hand to stop us. He waved an ambulance through and let us by. The ambulance did not hurry, there were no lights blaring. It was just driving along ahead of us like any other vehicle. We wondered if this was because the patient inside was not badly hurt, or perhaps dead.
Three hours in, layers of the Canadian Shield jut from the land as if trying to break free of it. The sky is clear now, and the dots of lakes can be spotted through the trees, a beckoning blue. When I see those rocky points framed by red pines I recall so many times on campsites that looked just like that, so many years ago. How we’d lunch on banana chips, cheddar cheese and bannock, swim and when the sun went dare, stare at the stars in the night sky.
3:37, Just north of Gravenhurst. The traffic stopped again. Not even moving. Bad sign. When a police cruiser guns ahead of us and begins to turn the cars off the highway, we know there’s an even worse accident ahead.
We’re turned onto a road that wanders through the Muskokas. It winds and weaves up and down through scrub. We pass moss covered lanes that lead to cottages hidden amidst the trees. Wet haired boys walk the side of the road wearing flip flops and scowls. I imagine that between their jumps in the lake, water skiing craziness, they whine about their Crummy Cottage and how Ace it would be to be back at home playing videos games with their buds.
We arrive at a small village called Bala - The cranberry capital of Ontario. One hopping cottage village of Victorian houses and small stores. There’s a falls at its centre, a museum (on what topic, I don’t know), Don’s Bakery, a restaurant with a patio filled to capacity, boys jumping off the railroad bridge, people walking barefoot and flower pots hang from light posts.
Back on the highway, a road sign: “Wide vehicles need more room.”
And uh... can you tell me who doesn’t know this?
There is something poetic about the white pines, their wide swooping branches, pushed by the wind so they all point in one direction. It is as if they are dancing with the sky.
7pm. Arrived at Auntie Rita's. Well... kinda. We arrived in Sudbury and were having trouble with the directions. We called Auntie Rita, she put on her husband Terry on. "Okay, I can see you, continue down the hill. No! Don't turn right!" He could actually see us driving and was directing us, but we couldn't see him. Wild.
Rita served us an amazing dinner of lasagna, salad and an array of cheeses that can't be beat.
