I had returned to Ontario after being away for seven years. On the way from the airport to Owen Sound, I was surprised to see the variety of shades of green in the countryside. There was corn green, potato green, maple tree green, lawn green and many others. In Northern BC, the only greens you saw were shades of the black spruce.
The atmosphere at the Chalmers' was a little tense – the grandparents' house had been invaded by two slightly unruly kids who were taking it over. However, I had other worries than boisterous children. I had been out of work for almost six months and my unemployment insurance would soon run out. I had to decide whether there was a better chance of finding a job in Ontario or whether to pack up the family and return to BC.
Searching through the newspapers I saw a few engineering jobs still being advertised. Ontario's economy was in better shape than BC's. But finding a job and moving to Ontario would solve only one of my problems. What would happen to the sailboat and truck, to our furniture and all personal possessions scattered in different parts of BC? How about our house in Kitimat? I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
One day I heard on the Owen Sound radio station CFOS a familiar voice with a thick British accent. It was Norm Brumfield, my former boss at the PPG plant. I gave him a call. He was now working for the McGrewer Company, which built sailboats, and on weekends he was moonlighting as a radio host. "Come over, I will show you our factory and you will tell me what you've been doing since you left PPG." Norm gave me a tour of the plant and then we went to his office.
I started to spill out my bad luck. "There is a chance for you” he interrupted, "we will be soon shipping a couple of sailboats to Vancouver. The truck driver works for us part time and maybe he could bring your boat back." I couldn't believe my ears.
John, the truck driver, was in his twenties, recently married, and eager to make a deal with me. "My truck is licensed to transport commercial goods one way to BC and I would be coming back empty. But I can transport a private boat. I will charge you just to cover the cost of fuel, about thousand dollars." I could not have asked for a better deal.
He showed me the boat trailer. I measured it and figured out that beside the sailboats I could fit two large boxes on it. There was nothing else to do in Owen Sound so I flew back to BC and was greatly relieved to see the sailboat still safely anchored at the New Castle Island marina in Nanaimo. My next project was to pack up everything we had left in a storage unit. Out of 8'x4' sheets of plywood, I built two large boxes and looking at the contents of the storage locker, I wondered how much stuff would fit in and what would be left behind. Amazingly, all of it would fit inside the boxes except the kitchen chairs, so I took drastic action and cut the legs off. They were wobbly anyway, and when glued back together they would be as good as new.
It wouldn't make much sense to take the truck and camper to Ontario and John told me that I would get a better deal selling it in BC. The truck was parked at the house of a retired Alcan co worker on Gabriola Island and on the ferry to the island I struck up a conversation with another passenger. He had recently retired from the Canadian Army and now had a part-time job as a Bee Inspector. A Bee Inspector? He must be pulling my leg. "Actually my title is Apiary Inspector and I am going to the island to inspect a couple of beehives. It is not too far from where your truck is so you can come with me. The couple I am going to see makes good wine."
We drove to a small cabin that had seen better days. An elderly couple greeted the inspector as a good friend. We sat down and were soon drinking smooth, homemade wine. After the second bottle, the inspector went to check on the beehives and I was given the tour of their "farm". The retired couple was from a small town in Saskatchewan where they had had a hair salon. They had put most of their savings into one of those "get rich quick" investment schemes that went bust. When they retired, they had scrounged enough money to buy this property and made it into their "farm". In the chicken coop hens were laying eggs to sell, they grew rabbits for meat, and they showed me rows of canning jars with the harvest from their large vegetable garden. A big part of the garden was taken up with grapevines and on an enclosed porch were ten demijohns bubbling with fermenting grape juice. The inspector winked at me and tipped his thumb, indicating that the couple liked to drink. They were a little tipsy, but they radiated such calm and happiness with their simple life that it made me a little envious. We had more wine and I woke up in my camper the next morning, not knowing when or how I had got there or where that happy couple lived.
After driving around to various car lots, a small Mazda GLC station wagon caught my eye. My truck and camper were only a few years old and I thought that I could make a good trade for the new Mazda. But I was dealing with a slick used car salesman. He hemmed and hummed, the province is in recession, the camper would sit on the lot for months. Finally, I drove away with new Mazda and $1 500 cash, which would cover the moving expenses.I wasn't in a hurry to drive to Ontario and took side trips, sleeping comfortably in the back of the station wagon. One evening I stopped at Lake Louise and when I woke up early the next morning, I was awarded with a breathtaking view of the mountains perfectly mirrored in the lake.
Two weeks after I arrived in Ontario, John called me to get ready – he was loading sailboats onto the trailer. When I saw his truck, I realize it wasn't going to be an ordinary trip. John was driving an old, almost antique MACK truck, all chromed and polished. A couple times when we stopped for fuel, an old truck driver would come, kick the tires, admire the chrome work, talk shop with John, or tell us that he started trucking with that kind of MACK and what it was like to drive across Canada before the Trans-Canada highway was built.
Also, I was learning the intricacies of the trucking business. "I am supposed to buy a single-trip trucking permit for each Province." John explained "You get it in a toll booth at the provincial border. The booth is closed at night so we have to time our arrival after it closes to skip paying for the permit. Also, each province has truck inspection stations that pull trucks over to check for overload, safety, and if they have a trucking permit for the province. The stations are closed at night so we have to drive the whole night across the province to avoid inspection."
Ontario is a big province and we were driving all day, stopping only for fuel. It was evening when we arrived at the Manitoba border and the booth was closed. John rested for half an hour in the parking lot. "Now I have to drive like hell to get to the Saskatchewan border early in the morning. I better take my pills," and he took out a couple of small white pills. "What is it?" "It's Benzedrine, to keep me awake." This is going to be an interesting night, I thought. I didn't want to sit in the cab with John the whole night so I climbed into one sailboat, closed the hatch, put the cushion on the floor and lay down. John barreled across the province for the entire night while I tried to sleep, but it wasn't easy. There were frost heaves on the highway and many times just as I was falling asleep I was catapulted into the air and then slammed down hard onto the floor. Finally, I fell asleep and when I woke up, everything was quiet. We were parked at a truck stop and John was sleeping in the cab.
British Columbia greeted us with snow on the road and we got a bad scare when John went too fast into a curve and the trailer started to fishtail. Past Revelstoke we stopped at some nondescript café. "Let's have something to eat" suggested John. The cook in the restaurant greeted him like an old friend. They chatted for a bit and then went back inside the kitchen. "Who's that guy?" I asked John later. "Oh, he is my old buddy, I buy pot from him."
The rest of trip to Vancouver was uneventful. We unloaded the sailboats in the False Creek Marina, took the ferry to Vancouver Island and drove to Campbell River. I moved the sailboat to the Marina and the Travelift dropped the boat and two boxes onto the trailer. The boat didn't look very secure, but John told me not to worry, he knew what was he doing, and we were off to Ontario. To prevent any trouble I offered to pay for the provincial trucking permits and we parked each night at a truck stop, sleeping comfortably in the boat berths. John said that it was the first time he had ever driven across Canada during the daylight. When we arrived in Winnipeg, Manitoba, I was surprised that after traveling 2 200 km we were only halfway to Toronto. Canada is a big country. We got to Owen Sound, unloaded the sailboat, the boxes went into storage, and my trucking adventure came to an end. I wasn't looking forward to my next undertaking, job hunting.
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