Test of Endurance

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When I agreed to take the two and a half hour flight northwest from Toronto to Winnipeg to meet Ro and then the 5 hour bus ride further north again, I didn’t quite connect that with the reality of having to get back to Toronto. Overland. Circumstance and some planning meant that we split that return journey into 3 parts. But we’d done the shorter legs and were now left with the mammoth 26 hour trip from Thunder Bay to Collingwood, Ontario to meet our next host.

Over the course of the last couple of journeys on the Greyhound, Ro has taught me that there are four categories of traveller on the service:
1. Tourists
2. Students
3. Native people
4. Crazies

We normally fit into category 1, although given the drugs I’m taking (which could exhibit a host of side effects including psychosis), my extreme tiredness, and general lack of comfort on the bus, I could also probably be included in category 4 at this point. Most of the rest of our bus seemed to be categories 2 or 4 (including a subset of the elderly who must be crazy to put themselves through that ordeal). Particular favourites were a bunch of French Canadian hippies dressed in an assortment of rags and a strange skeletal middle aged woman who was obviously a chain smoker in a lot of discomfort at not being allowed to smoke for prolonged periods.

The bus was really crowded again, which didn’t bode well for a chance of sleep overnight. Sitting is bad enough, but trying to sleep whilst sitting in that cramped position is nigh on impossible. The journey started off well enough - the sun was shining and the scenery was beautiful. Lots of lakes and fabulous autumn colours on the trees. It actually reminded me a lot of Sweden in terms of landscape. Except that in Sweden I don’t think I’d see Bullwinkle and Winnie dead on a trailer in the car park of Tim Horten's! A small reminder that we really are in the wilds here, with real live hunters sitting in the cafe drinking the same awful coffee (thankfully having left the guns and ammo outside in the truck).

That particular incident was at White River, which is a miniscule place but has 2 claims to fame. Firstly it is apparently the scene of the lowest temperature recorded in Canada and has a tacky big thermometer to commemorate the fact. Secondly, and my personal favourite, is that is claims to be the “birthplace” of Winnie the Pooh. Actually the story goes that the Lieutenant of the local regiment bought a black bear cub in White River. He called the bear Winnie after its birthplace Winnipeg and she became the regiment’s mascot. Whilst the regiment served in France in World War I, Winnie was left in the tender care of London Zoo, where A.A. Milne and his son Christopher saw and fell in love with her, thus inspiring the creation of Winnie the Pooh. Which is commemorated by a tacky big Winnie the Pooh sitting in a tree. Every small town in Canada seems to have something like this sitting proudly by the highway - in Great Plains, just down the road from Grandview, it was a giant golf ball character, in Wawa it’s a giant Canada goose... Why, I have no idea. But no planning committees are around to stop them!

Once we got to Sault St Marie (pronounced Soo San Marie for some reason), darkness fell and the gates of hell opened. The problem with overnighting on a bus, as opposed to an aeroplane, is that every couple of hours they stop, turn on all the lights and encourage people to get off for a rest stop. Or stop in the middle of the highway, turn on all the lights and let people off at their stop. And then there’s the oncoming headlights that flick past at regular intervals. Thankfully, after our hour-long rest stop in Sudbury at midnight I managed to commandeer a double seat left empty by a disembarking passenger, pretended to untie my shoelace for a full 10 minutes, thus avoiding eye contact and so having anyone come to sit next to me. Ro was less lucky when a category 2 plumped herself down in my vacated seat, but I suspect she didn’t get any less sleep than I did! A double seat is only marginally more comfortable than a single one.

5.30am arrived and we were deposited at Yorkdale, a shopping centre on the outskirts of Toronto, where we had to spend 3 hours before our connecting bus arrived to take us back north to Collingwood. On very hard metal seats with only a Tim Horten’s for sustenance (which didn’t open until 6.30am anyway!). Also rather annoying as we had to come almost all the way into Toronto to then backtrack up north again.

Finally, the last leg, a short 2 and a half hour hop to Collingwood. And no-one to meet us yet again! After an abortive attempt to call our host (for which I had to beg 50c from a nice man at the Municipal Offices as I had no coins - turns out I’m quite good at begging), I found an internet connection at the library. I was in the process of reading the mail from Gordon, telling us that his mother would pick us up at midday as the bus was always late (it wasn’t for once!), when Ro tapped me on the shoulder with Barb in tow. Salvation 😊

Ro informed me later that the distance we’ve covered since leaving Grandview is about the same as the distance she’s covered in the last 4 months... Nothing like breaking me in gently! Note to self - never travel overnight on the Greyhound again. Ever. It was an experience, but one not to be repeated! Although to be fair, I have probably now seen more of the country than most Canadians 😊

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