By Lucy

They let us go early on Thursday, so I stopped at Superstore on the way home. I had this plan for dinner; The Vagabond likes salads, so I wanted to pick up the ingredients to make a Cobb salad, using the cheap rotisserie chicken as a short cut. I didn’t have a shopping bag with me, so I just dumped my work bag on the backseat and took it instead. I grabbed arugula, partially because the sharp taste is a flavour contrast compared to boring old iceberg lettuce, but also because he likes arugula. Which always makes me laugh, because back in Roman days it was considered an aphrodisiac and there were arguments made against allowing its consumption, for public decency. Lord knows he doesn’t need to be more hot-blooded!

I planned to just grab the usual Castello blue cheese, which crumbles nicely on a salad, but as I picked it from the shelf my eyes fell to the shelf below it. Gorgonzola! He had spent all year complaining he couldn’t find any gorgonzola in Thunder Bay, and here it was! I instantly put the Castello back and grabbed a package. How precious would I be, for finding it?

Should I text him and tell him now, or surprise him tomorrow? I decided to text him, sending him a picture of the package before hopping in the shower. I was surprised when I got out of the shower and had a reply; he was home already, they had shut ‘er down at noon. Did I want to go for a motorcycle ride?

As if he even needed to ask.

The groceries were still in my bag and they weren’t going to fit well in the overstuffed fridge anyway, so I decided I might as well bring them with me and put them in his fridge. I threw together an overnight bag and decided I’d simply leave it in the backseat until I had confirmation I was staying over. I didn’t want to assume I was staying over or that he even wanted to be asked every weekend, although I was pretty sure I’d be asked to stay the following night. I also get a little leery about staying over on a worknight, because he stays up later than I do if he doesn’t have work. Even when I was staying there, I’d often go to the spare room to sleep on worknights just so we weren’t waking each other up.

I ran over, threw the bag of groceries in the fridge, and suited up quickly. He handed me a pair of tinted biker glasses he had apparently picked up just for me. Then we were off!

He was tired from work, so we just did a short drive around Fort William First Nations. He showed me Chippewa Park, which he mentioned visiting a couple times last year, but it never happened. We stopped at a place named Squaw Bay, which I’ve seen on the photography group sometimes. It’s gorgeous, and Pie Island looks so close!

We stopped and walked along the shale beach for a bit, skipping rocks in the water. Well, he skipped rocks, and I tried and failed. Oh well.

As we walked back to the bike, a car pulled over and an older woman got out and jogged over to us. She complimented the bike before mentioning she used to ride with some bikers. When she offered names, he nodded and confirmed they were old Satan’s Choice members and people he knew.

I managed not to drop my jaw in surprise, although I’m sure my eyes were the size of dinner plates behind my tinted glasses. My suspicions confirmed! Although he might have given me a straight answer if I had asked.

I think she might have been hoping to get picked up by him, because at some point she seemed to tweak that I was not his daughter but his girlfriend. At that point she hurriedly apologized for interrupting us and ran away.

We continued on our lazy Sunday drive, looping around to the highway, then doubling back along the highway to the top part of Mountain Road and following it all the way down again. I yelped with delight when I realized this was the road I could see from the roof of the steam plant! Silly as that may be.

On our way through town, we passed some buddies of his who were also on motorcycles. They honked at us, and he did a U-turn once it was safe and went back to where we saw them. I was too excited – meeting some Choice members, perhaps? Sadly, nothing came of it; they had kept going and we lost them.

We also had a near miss. Some idiot blew a stop sign and turned left in front of us! Fortunately there was no one else on the road and he was able to pull into the empty oncoming lane, because we did not have space to stop otherwise.

When we got home, he declined dinner, which deflated me a bit. We did, however, tear into the gorgonzola, and almost ate the entire package that night. I grabbed myself a bit of the chicken as well. I declined alcohol, but he poured himself a few glasses.

He surprised me by remembering it’s been one year since we met. Well, he said May 26th or 27th, but I wouldn’t expect him to get closer than “the end of May”. Did he write it down? Look it up? Commit it to memory? I can always call it back, clear as the computer screen in front of me, but that’s just my freaky memory. I wasn’t sure what to expect from him.

The dawn was cold and cruel when my alarm woke us up at 6AM. Again, I wondered if I should have dragged myself in to work on Wednesday and asked for a layoff last night, because more likely than not I was going to be laid off today and I should go in. Ah, but he’s so tempting! He jumped on top of me and said jokingly that he should call my boss and tell him I can’t come in. It was only in jest, though, because when the clock struck 6:30 he panicked and threw me out of bed. Even with all that, I still got to work ten minutes earlier than usual, because it is a shorter drive from his place.

The regret only got stronger when we were given our first, and only, job.

We were told the job was over by the gravers, which are pits outside for storing wastewater. It seemed like a good gig – a cool temp, a mix of sun and cloud, we didn’t even bother grabbing our H2S monitors. Unfortunately, the job was actually in a building that had sprung a leak of unidentified fluids, in the form of a brown geyser springing three feet above the concrete. The foreman said it was river water, but we were pretty sure it was untreated sewage. The smell was near unbearable!

We went back and grabbed some gear and our monitors, among other things. We went back and spent not even two minutes in the building before the alarms went off.

So, not river water.

How many minutes had we spent in it before, without our monitors? Silly us. Now we knew, there was no working in it. We called a different foreman and he called health and safety. We spent a couple of hours waiting next to the building (to be “present”) while men in white hard hats and suits wandered in and out of the building and debated what to do about it. Ironically, the job was to build an access to the valve to shut off the geyser, so they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) just turn it off. They eventually settled for diverting water to the pipe, to dilute whatever it was, and they hooked up a generator to run the exhaust fans in the ceiling. This brought the gas level down to acceptable levels for working in.

Of course, safe for work does not mean comfortable. The gas turned my stomach and made my head foggy. Stu didn’t even suggest I try to do the build despite it being rather simple. I was able to wander outside quite frequently to grab gear, but any duration longer than five minutes caused me to stagger outside for fresh air regardless, before I either threw up or passed out.

We had planned for and only grabbed enough gear to get us to lunch. Shortly before lunch, however, the radio told us we were expected to work through our lunch break because the job was “priority”, a request so disgusting Stu walked away and refused to respond to it. They also increased the scope of the scaffold. For expediency sake, they assigned another crew to assist us, and we were allowed to order them to grab gear from the yard for us. We finished it within a few hours and went back for our overdue lunch, not that it mattered much. I had a headache and the gas had upset my stomach to the point that I couldn’t eat. Everything on google said there’s no real treatment for the gas exposure except to remove yourself from it and wait for the effects to subside. Possible pulmonary edema within 72 hours, but otherwise no real long term effects.

We took a long lunch. Then we went back out to find out if we had another job, and were told to take break. Half an hour later, we geared up and went outside.

The boss was waiting for me. He gestured for me to follow him into the office, and for a heart-stopping moment, I wondered if something bad had happened. Turns out they were just laying me off, which he could have done in the yard without the drama. I wonder if he thought I would make a scene. Instead, I had a huge grin on my face, because I was so done with this place! They even told me I could leave now, because there wasn’t any more work, and they’d pay me ’til the end of the day.

I geared down, made sure to take all my stuff with me, and hopped in the truck for a ride to the gate. They also laid off Yari, Tucker and another labourer. Turned in my pass at the gate and went back to my place.

Back to my place? Yes, indeed. I had neglected to pack shower supplies in the overnight bag, and when I texted the Vagabond that I was laid off, he hadn’t replied. Since I hadn’t asked for the key back, it was possible that he was out and I would be locked out anyway, so I went back to my place. I fell asleep immediately, however – the gas exposure. I woke up an hour later and had a text from him asking me if I was coming back. I said I had some stuff to do but I’d be back at 6, and hopped in the shower.

I had some puttering around on the computer to do, one of which was ordering motorcycle gear. I need to order a full suit of gear before my M2 course, but I’m buying it pieces at a time. The first thing I wanted was a helmet. Of course I can always borrow the Vagabond’s spare, but it’s a half helmet and I don’t like it. Sure, it’ll save me from cracking my head open in the event of a crash, but it won’t stop me from losing my pretty face all over the pavement. I also bought gloves. As a carpenter, my hands are my livelihood, and I should protect them better. He’s offered me gloves, but I’d like to start breaking in my own pair before I drive. The near miss had underlined that neatly. He can be the safest, most competent motorcycle driver in the world, and all it takes is one idiot to smear us across the road like liverwurst!

Of course I went for the one with the taijitu-flower-mandala! I messaged a couple of friends with motorcycling experience and asked for their opinion and they agreed it was probably decent, baring the experience of actually having it on my head.

The gloves were harder to pick. I wanted plain leather – a quick google will confirm the “impact armor” is mostly a gimmick that limits your dexterity while not really protecting your hands. But that’s what the website kept throwing at me, probably cuz they cost more. I finally found some no-frills leather gloves that seemed decent.

I went over to the Vagabond’s place afterwards. He had gone to the store and grabbed two more packs of gorgonzola, naturally. He had forgotten that I planned to cook dinner and bought something for dinner, after which he informed me I had to stay for dinner Saturday night as well, so it could be eaten. Hah!

We chatted a bit before I cooked dinner – not like assembling a salad really takes that much time. The only problem was that the eggs were mysteriously undercooked, only being soft-boiled. They were hard to peel, and probably safe to eat, but I threw them in the microwave anyway, just in case. He teased me that I should leave the cooking to him and just wash the dishes, and I’d agree with him, except the only cooking I did was boiling eggs and frying the pancetta, and surely I can manage that! Otherwise, the salad was very good. We used his good olive oil as a topping so you can get the full flavour of the ingredients and not whatever commercial salad dressing people usually use.

I hadn’t told him about New Zealand yet, but soon I’d have to start planning for it. I should tell him sooner rather than later. Part of me was concerned he’d be upset by it, even though that would be massively hypocritical.

“You know, I’m going to New Zealand this winter.”

Pause

Incredulous laughter. “You are? Why? How long?”

As I outlined my plan to get the working holiday visa, and work and live in New Zealand for six months, the smile on his face grew. I felt my anxiety melt away. This was the opposite. He was glad I was going.

“Well, you did say you wanted to be a Vagabond like me. Good job! I’m proud of you.”

“So, you can stop worrying that I’m putting my life on hold for you, or whatever.”

“Yeah, now I don’t have to worry about breaking up with you. You’ll be doing it in October.”

Hardy har har.

The night did not end well, unfortunately. There’s this catch-22 with blogging, where you want to be honest, without violating anyone’s privacy. The thing that comes to mind is Julie’s husband yelling “I don’t want to see this fight on the blog!” before slamming the door behind him and disappearing for two weeks. How do you not write about it? But I understand the desire for privacy. So be satisfied that there was a fight, substantial enough that I would have gotten in my car and driven home were I not intoxicated, and he was entirely, unmistakable in the wrong. Once I impressed that upon him, he voluntarily exiled himself to the couch to give me space.

Of course, there is always the morning.

I woke up far too early for the time I had finally drifted off, tossing and turning. I also had the usual brisk shot of anxiety at the thought of still being here when he woke up. I texted Hanuman, who said he’d be available within the hour. At the appointed time, I dressed and snuck out the back door. I parked behind the hostel and we walked to Sweet North for breakfast. I finally got the filled cruffin I had been trying and failing to get for weeks (they’re always sold out!). I still have no idea what the flavour was, but it was soft and the layer were buttery and flakey like the best croissant, and the outside was a crunchy crust of sugar!

We went for a long walk afterwards, up McVicar creek. There was a porta-potty, a sharps’ drop, and quite a few tents that hadn’t been there the last time either of us had gone for a walk on this trail.

Hanuman agreed that what had happened last night was beyond the pale. I was glad he didn’t try to suggest we break up. The Vagabond might try to “walk in the light”, but he still occupies in a mental headspace where things like his “recreational habit” are part and parcel of the everyday, and he can’t comprehend someone living any other way. It was an honest mistake, just one outside the realm of people with white picket fences and nuclear families.

As we got to the top of the trail, we noticed some whisps curling around the tops of the houses. For several minutes we were concerned it was smoke, until we realized it was a late morning fog rolling in. We kept walking anyway, and soon we were engulfed. We cut a path behind a business, following McVicar down to the waterfront, jumped a couple of fences and cut across the train tracks. We ended up on a shale beach with perfectly smooth, flat rocks, and I had Hanuman teach me how to skip rocks properly while we talked.

We’d made plans a long time ago to go on a bike hike in Red Rock once I got laid off. Now I finally was, I asked him which day he had off so we could go.

“Monday.”

Monday. Of course Monday. The only day I had an appointment. Also, the first full day I’d have to myself, since I was staying at the Vagabond’s again. Oh well. Make hay while the sun shines.

I got thirsty – feeling the hangover from the night before – so we walked back into the downtown core to find a store to sell me orange juice. It was closed, but the bubble tea place was open. We got a mango bubble tea for myself and a plain lychee juice for Hanuman. We wandered into the pawn shop to look around; they have a confusingly large selection of new carpentry supplies. They also had an entire coyote skin, which I was very, very tempted to buy. Then we wandered across the road to a mall and discovered there is something called the Boreal Museum in the mall. We didn’t go in because I was aware that I was just avoiding going back and talk to the Vagabond. We did decide we should do the Foragers’ Walk sometime soon!

When I got back the Vagabond was still flaked out on the couch, although wide awake. We chatted about my morning for a bit. Then he sat up, that look in his eye.

“I noticed that book in your bag. About the Choice.“

Ah, yes. The conversation with the biker chick the other day had lit a fire in me, but it was still somewhat directionless. I had a sneaking suspicion that if he thought I was trending towards “the dark side” he’d clam up, so my interest had to be carefully measured. So I threw the book in my bag, waiting for an opportunity. When I had left this morning, I purposefully left it on top of everything else, and he had to know it was intentional.

“Yes, I bought it in November.” I said neutrally.

(Actually, I checked my purchase history and it was the end of December. Oops. Point is, I bought it after I left.)

He thought for a long minute, before finally asking, “Want to go for a ride?”

Despite the dense fog on the other end of town, it was bright and sunny here, so we dressed in layers and hopped on the bike.

At one point a young punk in a fart can pulled up next to us at a red light, and apparently took umbrage with the PYT on the back of the bike. It culminated in a race once the light turned green, which we won and had a good laugh about there being more horsepower in the bike than in the stupid little car, no matter how many holes he pokes in the muffler!

We drove in a straight line out of town for a long time. Clouds drifted by overhead without any rain, luckily. Eventually he pulled into a gas station with an attached hot dog stand and we stopped for a bit. He instructed me to order something so I’d last until he felt like cooking dinner tonight, and wandered off to buy beer. I ordered something and told the lady at the cash I didn’t have money but he did. She was a nice sport about it, cooking my order and giving it to me before he got back to pay her. I suspect she was also a biker. They don’t seem to judge us. Perhaps a little bit of nostalgia and understanding, from when they were wild girls seeking solace on the back of a bike. Some more punks wandered in, one of them refusing to wear a shirt to go into the store, then spending most of his time outside staring at me. I was glad when he left without saying anything to me.

On the way back the Vagabond wanted to stop at a buddy’s place, so we ended up driving into the fog, which was still just in one part of town. The buddy was mysteriously not home, so we just headed back home. We crossed a hill on the way back and noticed that the fog was just squatting over Port Arthur like it was programmed in a video game – there wasn’t any clouds above it! It was a perfect half circle, like it was trapped in a snow globe. How very odd! Sadly no pictures, I’m always worried about dropping my phone from the bike because I sincerely doubt I will be getting it back after that.

He took the long way home, stopping by a business downtown. He told me it used to be a Choice clubhouse, a long time ago, but they sold it.

Indulging my fascination? Or confessing his sins?

When we got back home, he pointed to one of the obituaries he had cut out of the newspaper and stuck to the mantle. “He was Choice too. He was my best man.”

“They should have stayed Choice, and not patched over.”

He shrugged. “The war was getting to be too much. Do you want bombs in Thunder Bay? That’s what it would have been.”

That’s what they wrote in the book. And maybe it was accurate, I wasn’t there. It just seemed a pity, the number of things we’ve lost to the Americans in the last 30 years. We don’t get to keep anything.

Dinner was lovely, as always. Salmon and prawns, with a cream sauce. Usually he just does a white wine sauce.

I had just two glasses of wine that night and retired to bed early. Not that I wanted to punish him or for him to think I was punishing him, I was just tired and wrung out.

At some point during the night, he got up and had some more wine. When he crawled back into bed, he woke me and confessed he was scared to be in a relationship, because he isn’t “relationship material”. Not in those exact words.

There was something soft and vulnerable in that simple admission.

I laid awake in bed longer than he did after that, pondering it. It’s been discussed before, in a way. We are a rare breed. Most women his age have settled into a quiet life of being grandma’s, with comfortable clothes, cats and knitting. The ones who aren’t are like the woman who parked her car and ran over to us – probably not very stable. We walk the line between the light and the dark, as it were – too wild for the daywalkers, not wild enough for the denizens of the night. And, as much as I like him, it’s plain to see he is difficult to be in a relationship with. That’s not news.

Still, I believe in “where there’s a will, there’s a way”. That doesn’t always work, but surely a commitment to make it work instead of this half-assed prophesy of doom would yield better results.

I woke before him and went to the kitchen to make breakfast for myself. I discovered something when I cracked the eggs into the pan – they were frozen! I hadn’t messed up hard-boiling the eggs, I just didn’t know I was cooking them from frozen instead of fridge temperature! Cuz his fridge broke… again.

After he got up, I stuck around what I judged to be long enough not to be rude, and packed up to head out. I still have no idea what I am supposed to do with the morning. I’m such a get up and go person, I don’t know what to do with myself at someone else’s house. I want to make breakfast and then get to work immediately.

When I got back to the house, Joe was in the hallway. “Where have you been for three days?”

“At my boyfriend’s.” I said with a cheeky grin. Me and K are pretty sure everyone in the house thinks we are dating, so they can fill in the blanks themselves. “Got laid off.”

Joe nodded. “Thought you might have gone back home.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? Thunder Bay is my home!”

Half-hearted shrug. “Lot of sightings of moose out between Upsala and Ignace, be careful if you head out that way. A couple of white moose, too. I’d love to see one.”

White moose… the indigenous call them spirit moose. They’re considered a good omen. Nonetheless, I texted the Vagabond to warn him, since he’d be heading out that way this evening.

I’ve discovered I’m not as afraid of spiders as I used to be. Still depends on size, distance, and if I’m at work and can beat it to death with my hammer. Usually I throw a book at it, when I’m at home. I hate abusing my books, but they’re just perfect for the task! Not too light, not heavy enough to damage the wall beyond said spider. The pen is mightier than the sword, except when it’s a book, then it can be both!

The Red Rock Hike

The idea that started the intention to complete the hike was a little silly. Within the first ten pages of Hard Road mentions Bernie spent some time as a child living in Red Rock. It’s a small section, barely a page, if that, but it does mention the town used to be a prisoner of war camp and I was curious if any of the camp still stood. It does not – it’s buried under the marina. But the mention that at the time he lived there, the hike was the only way to get to the store, or to the postbox, seized my mind. Hiking through the woods like the ancient settlers, how magical!

For the hike, I packed my essentials; Tylenol and Metamucil, obviously. A bottle of water and a bottle of Gatorade, because I get dehydrated easily. I packed three different granola bars, just to try some different flavours. I hemmed and hawed for a while, but finally decided to bring a hoodie and my hi-vis jacket. It would be hard to carry if I got too warm, but it’s the only thing I own that is waterproof.

I grabbed Emily and Hanuman bright and early for the hike – 7AM, to be precise. Hanuman sat up front with me and Emily napped in the back seat during the hour and change drive to Red Rock. The turn off and the trail were easy to find and clearly marked, although I was surprised. The parking lot for the trail was tiny and looked more like the turnaround at the end of a cul-de-sac. There was a well maintained porta-potty at the trailhead, which we used since who knows when the next proper toilet is?

The rain had started already, but we had all decided we were ok with walking in the rain. It was a light drizzle, and between a light drizzle and baking in the sun, I prefer the former. The rain also kept the bulk of the bugs away. Hiking on the first day of the rain is also better than after it has been raining for a few days, and the ground has had time to get good and soft.

The first bit of the trail is uphill, not steep but enough of an angle that I quickly ran out of breath, and went doggedly up for about half an hour, a click. It was well maintained but there were still quite a few large loose rocks, and tree roots tangling the path. Emily, despite her grumbling about it being too early, took off like a bullet from a gun, and Hanuman wasn’t far behind her. I took up the rear by a large margin, huffing and puffing and grumbling about the fact that I was young and spent the past 8 weeks doing scaffolding and I shouldn’t be this wiped already. I suppose I haven’t really given myself a proper break yet, because Saturday and Sunday weren’t really restful.

The map says it is less than a kilometer to Lloyd’s Lookout, and it is either lying or hasn’t been updated in a while (or both). It is about a click and a half to two clicks, steadily uphill. There was also a smaller lookout shortly before Lloyd’s Lookout that seems to have been named “Windfarm”. Or something.

Red Rock is fascinating as a location. Surrounded on all sides by sheer cliffs, painted blood red by iron-rich lava flows and contrasting sharply with the fresh spring green of the trees. I imagine it was strategic in the days when canoes were the most efficient travel vehicle, but the continued survival is perplexing.

To be a child here, gazing in wonder at the insurmountable walls of stone! Or a prisoner, deep in the hostile wilderness of Canada (unless they were Bavarian, then it was probably fairly familiar). What a lost, lonely place!

The next section was not determinedly uphill but was still quite up and down. We lost track of how much elevation we had gained. The map says occasional steep inclines and it is lying. The rain picked up slightly but wasn’t really filtering through the thick tree cover, and the cool misty breeze was pleasant. This was the only part of the hike where I was working out enough I took both my jacket and my hoodie off.

We ran into some man-made structures – a couple of rustic benches. Some bridges and causeways. A couple of freshly downed tree. And the largest morel any of us had ever seen! We were very tempted to take it with us and cook it up later, but we weren’t sure how well it would keep in our bags when none of us had packed for mushroom picking, so we let it be.

We found a flight of actual stairs, which caused me and Hanuman to dissolve into fangirling over the craftsmanship of them while Emily rolled her eyes.

Ten minutes later, we had made the summit and trekked over to “Eagle’s Ridge Lookout”. And wow, what a view!

The view almost brought me to tears. I had accomplished so much in the last year, and I had these wonderful friends accompanying me through these accomplishments!

The Nipigon bridge… how many times have I driven past it? Usually first thing in the morning or the last thing at night, the light to inform me I was almost back home. It’s a behemoth, a feat of human engineering on par with the bridges that connect islands to the mainland, like P.E.I. To see it so small on the horizon, dwarfed by the slate grey rocks and trees that have stood for aeons beyond counting…

Me and Emily sat at the edge of the sheer cliff and had a bite to eat. Hanuman stayed safety back on the platform like the rest of y’all should!

After that we found some more stairs and a sign that said Nipigon was 6 kilometers away, which is also lying. It was 7. I wonder if they changed the route and forgot to update the length?

At this point, we heard a ferocious growl within the woods. We never saw what made it, but it was some sort of wildcat. Bobcat, lynx. It left us alone, but I was spooked and insisted on Hanuman taking up the rear in case it was stalking us. I was confident of my ability – with steel toed shoes and cut-proof jacket – to fight the wildcat off him, but not to try and tear it off myself. Fortunately, nothing came of it.

After another kilometer, we were back at the river level. Shortly afterwards, we found Stillwater creek and the train tracks, which turned into an unintentional pitstop. We all got distracted searching for rocks beside the tracks! We found some red columbine, and Emily found a rail spike lying next to the tracks.

The next bit between Stillwater and Sawmill Point were very marshy. Emily insisted on taking point (a position I did not take once during the entire hike!) so she was the one to discover the thick black mud hiding under the grass! She forged ahead with confidence, but at one point she got so stuck in that she collapsed to the ground in a fit of giggles, and me and Hanuman had to haul her out!

We found some strange plant that looks a lot like asparagus, but it couldn’t be, right? A whole lunch out here – morels, asparagus, chagas for tea!

There was a big ol’ sign indicating we were now on private property, which always makes me nervous. When we reached where Sawmill Point is, the sign indicated the trail went one way. But there was a picnic bench a bit of a distance off the trail. I didn’t want to trespass, but it was not clearly marked if that was for our use or not. We went off the trail to the waterfront so we could see how far we’d come, and found a pile of what looked to be ancient sawmill bits and bobs. Pretty cool!

The rest of the trail was smooth sailing. No ups or downs, no mud puddles. Just a pleasant walk by the river. Towards Nipigon, we found a boat graveyard.

Then we emerged from the woods, and we were in… Nipigon!

Holy cow!

I walked 12 km through the woods from one town to another!

At the start of March, the thought of completing the loop around Boulevard was daunting. But I barely felt this hike. I wasn’t tired, sore or out of breath. I felt fine, and that was magical.

That was when the real problems began.

It was around noon – so, four hours, and 12 kilometers, for us to finish the hike. We wandered down to the waterfront to sit down for a minute and gather our bearings. I called the number on the Nipigon official website for a shuttle back to Red Rock.

No answer. Left a voicemail.

Half an hour later, I gave up. No one was coming. We started texting people who might know someone who could give us a ride while walking out to the highway. Emily and Hanuman were confident they could make the hike back, but I was not.

At least the rain finally stopped.

We tried hitch-hiking along the highway for a bit, with no offers. I wished we’d had a sign – I felt people would be more likely to stop if they knew we only needed to go 5 minutes down the highway! I was also annoyed that two of three of us were young women and no one wanted to stop. What happened to girl power? I also felt dumb for not checking to see if the number was active before.

I finally called it and we went to sit inside a nearby gas station with a truck stop for a bit.

Fortunately, someone did know someone in Nipigon, and we were able to get a ride back to Red Rock shortly before 3.

Total count for the day: 17 and a half kilometers, 25’000 steps.

I spent the rest of Monday and Tuesday morning relaxing. Then I got a text Tuesday evening:

Want to work in Regina?