The Northern Run

I knew it wasn’t right. The car remained between the lines, its speed constant at 100 kilometers an hour but I was no longer the driver. Instead I sat in the passenger seat watching with horror as the car drove itself. ‘Pull over” I thought to myself, “who knows where you really are on the road.” I cringed as the car came close to an oncoming semi. Was I dreaming? Was I awake? Was this real? The car moved on, driven by a phantom of myself. I saw the reflective signs of a driveway, the only light on the dark and lonely number 16: The Highway of Tears. I begged the phantom to pull over, reluctantly, he obliged.  

It was the 16^th straight hour of driving and I had been unable to stop. The vessel was a tired Buick Century with a transmission that could fail entirely at any given moment. I had begun in Fernie where I had left my apartment. Once warmly lit with the sounds of Motown music and an ongoing card game, the apartment was a cold, empty place upon departure. Only the ghosts of memory hinted that it had ever been inhabited, and those ghosts would leave with me. I drove away from the pre fabricated rift in time with that mix of sadness of parting and excitement of being on the road. I was moving on again.

I felt the roar of the engine, screaming and unfettered by the restraints of the gears. Turning down music that was playing too loud, I felt the “chunk” of the car sinking into gear. It was still in the first hour and already the car desired its final rest. It would not be granted such a rest. 500km of highway 93 north was ahead, the most sustained mountain road in Canada. The car could drive once it was cruising, but stopping could spell death for the car. It could also leave me stranded hundreds of kilometers into the Rockies where it would be very cold.

Construction ahead

Shit

I applied the brake and felt the wobble of hot, warped rotors as they screamed against the brake pads. Ahead, a line up of cars stood in front of a chasm of rock. Inside, a machine swept away rock debris that had tumbled off a precipice above. The road climbed sharply upward, switchbacking up towards the heavens. I stopped, the worker turned the sign and the caravan started moving. All except one wine colored Buick. It wouldn’t budge in drive, I put it into first and it began to move. Up to second, and I hear and feel a loud CCHHHUNNNKKK. Up to third, quickly shifting now. The engine struggles to get up the steep hill, slipping out of gear, catching before I slip down the hill backwards. The blue cavalier behind me curses my existence, I hope he understands. Eventually I arrive on the top of the hill. I must keep in it gear but this means I must not brake too much, the turns are sharp the hill steep but as I fly down the mountain staring at the ends of switchbacks, a constant mountain vista flies by. Just don’t lose momentum.

It’s the 8th hour and the sign says 60 kilometers to Jasper. Aside from a fuel up and construction, I have not stopped. Luckily, the beauty of the mountains on this highway inspires awe. There is so much ice to climb, endless rock to climb and innumerable aesthetic lines that carve down the sharp and frigid peaks. I share the vastness with Ontario Blue Tercel and Alaska Red Sunfire. We form a group, traveling through the mountains, our beaters all hovering close to death. We gain momentum going down and glide up the steep inclines. Our speedometers dropping from helter-skelter high speeds of the descent to the 70km struggle of the ascent. Occasionally, the leader will drop to the back as we cross the frozen ice field. The new elected leader will warn the others of large potholes, a police cruiser and will be the lantern to guide though the thick clouds. I drop back and let Alaska Red Sunfire pass, my transmission just barley staying in gear on the steep hill. His car is full of gear, the back plastered with bumper stickers, he gives the nod. Ontario Blue Tercel passes and I see a similar picture. 

We hit the crossroads and we part ways, Blue Ontario Tercel heading into Jasper for a well deserved rest, Red Alaska Sunfire driving east into the darkness. Unable to downshift, I carve west, chasing the last golden rays of the sun. The road is lonely now. Robson looms up to my right. As darkness descends, it becomes harder to see. The twilight plays tricks with the mind. Suddenly it appears without warning; a moose shoots on to the road, 50 meters… I have time. I apply the brake, careful not to lose control with the violent wobble. There are no cars on the road. I am lucky. I let go of the brake and carve around the huge animal. I honk my horn and berate the animal disappearing in my rearview mirror “ya fuckin stupid gangly bastard you almost killed me!” I yell. No one is listening. So I listen to the gears, as they struggle to return to cruising speed.

14^th hour: Prince George. I smell it long before I see that sea of yellow lights and smoke. I roll down the main strip, with run down motels, shops selling porn and liquor. At this time of night, the people walking this strip are not doing it by choice. I don’t want the Buick to die here. Luckily, the car handles the one red light with minimal complaint, accepts the libations from Petro Canada and continues northwest free of the PiG. 

16^th hour: Everything seemed normal and then suddenly it was not. I was dreaming, I was driving, I was keeping the car moving, and I was not in control. The car was in control but I was not driving it. I breathed deep and tried to manage my senses, it did not help. I had to stop I could not stop but instead had to will the phantom to stop reluctantly. I could control the phantoms actions but I did not perform them. I asked the phantom to stop and to my relief, he pulled over.

It was dark. 

The car rolled to a stop and I kept moving. Was I dreaming? The realm between real and dream was still far too grey to get back in the car. The real was far to cold to stay out of the car. I could not stay here. I knew there was a rest stop in 10 kilometers. Could I make it without summoning the phantom? I rolled down all the windows, turned up Motley Crue’s Kickstart my heart. The car struggled to move but sputtered to the highway rhytmn. Finally, I saw the blue rest area sign, pulling in; I parked and turned off the car. I fell asleep within minutes.