THE EXPEDITION Chapter 17: Serendipity (Section 1)

In which the Expedition enters Manitoba, an underappreciated province of serendipity   

Date: June 14 2019

Moosomin, SK to Elkhorn, Manitoba 37.7 km

My life has been extraordinarily full of good people. Some I’ve only just met while on this journey, and some I’ve known for years in spite of my weird gypsy life. Sometimes I spent my steps giving thanks, for all the things there are to give thanks for. This morning I was doing a variation of that, giving thanks for people, taking time to be specific about each and to appreciate them, and sometimes to wonder how they’d been in the long time since seeing them. Sometimes we lose touch, but there’s friends I know I’ll know forever regardless of time and geography and gaps.

As I was thinking of Maggie and Melinda, who were part of how I stayed sane as a single parent in university and whom I hadn’t seen in years, I realized that the people stopped and puttering around their car on the shoulder up ahead kind of looked like them, at least as much as vague shapes that far away could look like anyone. That was too funny – I’d have to send them a message when I reached the campground that night and tell them. Maybe someone could get a grant and do a study on the effects of wishful thinking upon perception. It could be titled Crystal Ball Coloured Glasses, or some such thing.

Or maybe there’s connections in the universe we simply don’t understand, like the webs of knowing between trees and the way crows and jellyfish share thoughts, or how a bumblebee can fly.

As I got closer, I had to laugh even more. Maggie and Melinda were on their way to visit family in Winnipeg. They’d heard what I was doing, but had been at least as surprised to find me as I was to see them, and had passed us, wondered about it, turned around, and come back to stop and wait.

It would have been great to see them any time, but it was like a gift to meet out of the blue like this. They had a timetable, but we had a good short visit anyways, and they gave us a care package with yummy things and things that made me smile. Maggie’s a devout and accomplished baker of goodies, so there were a few pieces of her work, and I forget what else. I remember the banana though – impossible to pack travelling my way, which made it a huge treat.

That afternoon, Mr Myrtle became the first Jamaican puppy ever to cross the Saskatchewan/Manitoba border by foot.

That afternoon, it also started raining. It was a long way to the next stop – too long, really – but that was going to have to be alright. Thankfully, it wasn’t a hilly day, and we managed alright in spite of weather and bod. I bribed myself with the promise of a shower, and told Mr Myrtle he’d be able to have all sorts of space to run around on his cable.

It was just a sprinkle as we celebrated our border crossing, but it got going more as I pitched our tent in the Elkhorn campground. It sang us to sleep, and continued on and off all night.

Date: June 15 2019

Elkhorn to Virden (ride) 30 km

At least it let me pack everything up before it started really coming down. I tucked Mr Myrtle into his trailer with the rain cover down around it and a tarp over the roof rack load. It was an all-out downpour by the time we got to the highway access road, and the world as far as I could see (which wasn’t very) was completely socked in by clouds. Rivers ran from the road

When I was little, I had a book about a pink sea monster, who had no idea what she was or was meant to be. She swam off into the wild blue yonder, though, and found good friends, and did good things. She had an open mind and believed in all sorts of positive possibilities, and the positivity she believed in manifested in her life and around her. She found her purpose and her place in the world. Her name (and that of the book) was Serendipity. My parents said there was no such thing as either sea monsters or serendipity, and the book ‘got lost’ like so many others they didn’t approve of. It’s still one of my favourites anyways.

There was so much rain sluicing off the highway that the big rigs were sliding and the small cars looked like they were hydroplaning, and I wouldn’t have been particularly surprised to see a sea monster surface. Honestly, the serendipities of this trip were more surprising by a long shot. At the moment, however, I wasn’t quite sure how anything like that was going to manifest, because I was already soaked right through my goretex jacket and all my clothes.

I considered going back to the campground. There had been no drinking water, however; it’s one of those areas with warning signs instead. Sometimes the whole area had to boil water, like Webb, and too many First Nations communities. Sometimes, it’s just the places sort of attached to the area (like volunteer based community campgrounds,) who aren’t on the main filtration system and have to maintain their own system but can’t or don’t, so they put up advisory signs instead. Often, like here, it looked fine but smelled terrible. I’d tried washing my hands and it made me itchy, as water in warning-sign places often does (and even some places with approved water). I had my filter, but wasn’t enthralled with the idea of re-pitching the tent in the deluge, or in the bathroom. Then I’d be sitting there half naked in a damp sleeping bag waiting for my things to dry, and having really smelly yucky water all day and for carrying the next day.

The tiny gas station where this road rejoined the highway looked like it had a good sized, warm, comfy restaurant attached. Maybe I could sit there and dry out until either the rain stopped, or something else happened. Goodness knows there was never enough time for catching up with messages; an opportunity to do some of that was never enough but always beautiful. The sandwich board in front of the restaurant said it was open, and I could almost hear a cup of tea.

Apparently someone had forgotten to bring the sign in when they closed the night before, the young East Indian woman behind the counter at the itty bitty gas station shop as she apologized repeatedly. She’d been a bit surprised to have a of couple water rats straggle in, but had gone to make a pot of hot coffee, the only thing she could offer to warm us. She found spots to hang our jackets, and quadruple-checked how late the restaurant would open (very late, and it was still very early in the morning). She looked up a weather report (my phone wouldn’t; I swear it would stick it’s tongue out and roll its eyeballs at me if it could). The rain wasn’t going anywhere, and with the road like it was, neither were we. Our impromptu hostess made sure we knew we could stay as long as would be helpful, and tried to think of something even more helpful, as we looked back and forth between the weather report and the map.

A few locals and travelers stopped in but not many, and none going my way or able to consider giving us a lift or a dry place to wait longer. They were all nice, though, as was the shop lady. Elkhorn must be a good place to live (except for the water) when it’s not disguised as Atlantis. I resigned myself to waiting there and then either going back to the campground or maybe pitching the tent out around back here or something if they’d allow me to.

We watched the rain and talked about how dry the ground must be. It’s true, it gets so dry that it’s hard like concrete and the rain can’t soak in. It just washes across everything, Instead of feeding, it floods. We talked about the farmers in India, in dire crisis with deadly drought and killer heat. The land is baked like pottery in a kiln and everything on it is roasting to death. Crops, if they sprout, are fried before they grow. Livestock and humans cook in the fields, their flesh barbecued slowly by the sun while their brains poach and they feel their blood turn to pudding. Some fall as they work and die on their land. Some go crazy or kill themselves first. She’d been home not long ago. It was sobering.

The older woman who’d come in as we talked asked my hostess about her trip, and her family there. Without devaluing the weight of the conversation at all, she shifted it into positive things. I got the feeling Gail is always very good at that, at quietly keeping things going well, and fixing things. She’s like a good cup of tea.

We also shifted into talking about what I was doing, explaining to Gail. She was touched, and before I even knew it, she was matter-of-factly saying she was just popping home quick to get her husband’s truck, he wouldn’t even notice, and we’d be off to Virden in a jiffy. I’d hardly realized she meant she’d be taking Mr Myrtle and I before she vanished out the door and sailed down the road in her little car.

Thinking I’d misunderstood, I turned to my hostess. She smiled, confirming that Gail was yes, taking us to Virden, and yes, was a very dear lady. I completely agree with both and I hope I manage to find Gail’s phone number again some day, I liked her so much and wish we could have borrowed an extra day from the universe just to talk. A man who stopped for gas helped us put everything in the back of Gail’s husband’s pickup, while the rain ignored everybody’s plans and pelted down around us. It was still raining heavily when Gail and Mr Myrtle and I reached Virden.

Rich had given me a couple of people to contact when we reached the town, but I couldn’t find the note and couldn’t remember (my memory is largely made of paper). There’s a nice campground right in Virden, though, full of great big old trees and not too many people. Coming through town, we checked at a couple motels to see if they’d give us a discount, and while the staff seemed quite enthused, they weren’t allowed to oblige. We also had a loud and rowdy run-in at one of them with another service dog, who apparently also loves people but doesn’t do well with other dogs. That probably didn’t help.

I’d rather camp anyways; when I did get rooms, I felt so uncomfortable. I’d wake up feeling like there was no air, and the walls and ceiling and floor would all be much too far away, and the absence of natural noises and weather would be momentarily scary. I get along better with trees and dirt than with buildings and furniture.

We found the campground and picked a spot and unloaded everything. I didn’t pitch the tent – we were going to find some late breakfast together, though it might really be early lunch. There was no one around to register with, but it seemed safe, and others had vouched for that, so I was going to lock our scooter and trailer to a tree, and put everything inside it and under a tarp. Actually, I did, but then Gail worried and we put most of it back in her truck. That all made our prospective breakfast recede to an even lunchier future, but she said she wasn’t in a hurry, and I liked her company so much. The rain wasn’t being quite as biblically melodramatic, so we decided I’d scooter along with MMS and the trailer while Gail drove slowly with us towards wherever it was we’d decided on for breakfast.

We did find lunch for breakfast, happily, and more as well. We weren’t even halfway where we were headed when Gail spotted the Alexandria Hotel. She’s a grand old lady from the early days of colonization, and the beautifully built, all-inclusive (the pioneer version of all-inclusive, with train station adjacent, and restaurant, bar, rooms, and girls all offered) must have housed a few ladies of a different sort. Or perhaps it was where the well-to-do came to deny the existence of dust and horses while they dined sociably and then rested upstairs. Either way, it’s new family are restoring her to her former glory, and she’s clearly happy about that. It’s a huge job, done well, and with good hearts.

Gail thought that what with the place being older, and owned by locals, and under renovation, they might give me a deal. I wasn’t so sure, but you never know if you don’t ask, and she really did care about us being alright, so I went in. As soon as I said who I was, they got all excited – Rich had told them I’d be coming. They’d been part of who I was supposed to look up. They gave us a big, warm, comfy, dry, room with an en suite and plenty of space for drying gear, and kept us there for two nights until the rain moved on and our gear, which was completely soaked, got dry. The Holowaty’s are a dear kind family; I’m so glad to know them, and so grateful for their caring.

Once we’d checked in, they got our things up to the room while Gail and I had brunch at the attached Papa’s Diner. They make seriously delicious breakfasts; it was so good I could have eaten it all again if I hadn’t been so full. Gail and I talked and talked. She’s one of those happy calm people with a whole layer of quiet brilliantness underneath. She could probably negotiate a nuclear armistice while making jam. Eventually, though, she did have to go back to her regular day. We hugged and goodbyed, but I do hope I find her number or address or something, or at least that this story finds her.

As I unpacked everything and spread it all out to dry, I did another round of ‘weeding’. More things came out of packs, never to go back in. I left them behind. Some were good and useful and I gave them to the Holowaty’s, some went elsewhere, some got recycled, or if no other future was possible, tossed. Then we tossed ourselves down on the bed for a nap.

Mr Myrtle and I had such a long nap we missed the diner’s dinner hours. Across the street was another bar, though, and their kitchen was still open. I think we had the ubiquitous nachos, with a side of good conversations. One of the people we talked with, Abe, stayed in touch with road advice for a long time, being so helpful.

Date: June 16, 2019 Virden

The next day, after another lovely breakfast downstairs, I found the grocery store and restocked our small but healthy stash of road food and kibble. A local RCMP officer browsing the baked goods wondered about our story, and while he politely advised me to be careful and call in case of trouble, he looked at Mr Myrtle and I both like we had turnips sprouting out of our heads. We got what we needed and gave ourselves a tour. That was an excellent idea, otherwise we wouldn’t have found the Gopher Creek Coffee Company. I wish they could deliver this far! That place is delicious, and healthy, with lots to offer those who can’t eat this and that and the other things… organic, vegan, gluten free, etc. Plus, they’re also extremely nice human beings. They wouldn’t even let me pay for lunch, so I bought a few important things from their grocery shelves to support them, and because they had good things I could very much use. I even still have a well-wrapped sarsaparilla teabag from there tucked in my emergency pocket. I posted about them on my page, and they posted about me on theirs.

I tried another place for dinner that night, but they weren’t very good and weren’t very friendly, so nevermind. The best part of that dinner was the young indigenous couple at the next table. They were in their early twenties,and were walking almost as far as Mr Myrtle and I but in the other direction, and had been having a rough time. They were both so happy and calm and positive, though, and clearly quite in love, and it was so nice to chat with them and trade road stories over our dinners. I hope they got where they were going safely.

We slept so well that night, and I looked forward to an early – dry! – start in the morning. The universe (and serendipity) had other plans.

https://www.empireadvance.ca/local-news/x-country-scooter-rider-stops-in-virden-4293301

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