By Lucy

Tuesday was not as slow of a day as I wanted it to be. I had to start putting my life back in order; go grocery shopping, tidy my room, do laundry. Yes, I could have done my laundry at the Vagabond’s house, but I decided I shouldn’t make that a habit.

As you may or may not recall, I had moved rooms in the house in a hurry between shut downs, so my belongings were just crammed wherever there was space. Now was the time to unpack and put things away properly.

The Vagabond surprised me by sending me a screenshot of a fire-sale for motorcycle gear. I was on the fence about dropping another couple hundred dollars when I was freshly laid off, but I decided if he was sending it to me, it was a good opportunity. I had an appointment at 1:30, and then afterwards I walked down to the sale.

It was dead. They had 4 racks of jackets, mostly polyfibre stuff, two tables of gloves, one table of half-shell helmets. But the prices were good. I had the clerk help me select a jacket – the sizing is American and confusing. They had no ‘female’ jackets, but I’m not really concerned about that. I complained the sleeves seem long, and he explained that when you’re driving the bike with your hands at the controls, the sleeves pull up, so it is by design.

They had two jackets there with purple velour detailing and I debated it for a while. I eventually decided to just get a plain black jacket. My helmet is already plenty colourful! The Vagabond pointed out later, black is also better if you want to add patches to it.

I was relaxing at home with my new prize when I got a text from Duff, saying he got a job in Regina. I told him I was laid off, and he asked me if I wanted to come out there and work with him. I said yes, not really expecting it to actually turn out, and he asked for my email and said he’d call me later (he never did).

Duff’s a funny guy. He’s from backwoods Manitoba and conducts himself thusly. If you mention his name on any jobsite, the usual reaction is a burst of laughter followed by a story so insane you only believe it because it’s Duff. I have more unprintable stories about Duff than I do the Vagabond. I like him, though, he’s a smart guy when he’s not at the bottom of a bottle.

I slept in Wednesday, went out about noon and did two hours of running around. When I got back home and booted up my PC, I had several emails from a scaffold company in Saskatchewan.

Wait, what? He actually did get me a job in Regina?

The emails were light on details… actually, details didn’t exist. There was no “you got the job, be here on this date” anywhere. Just boilerplate on-boarding: safety certs, some orientation videos (pro tip – if you don’t wear a hard hat, you might bonk your head! Who knew), etc. I texted Duff for clarity; where am I going, and when?

This address, ASAP! The job will be 3 months, with one day off every 21 days on.

WHAT?

Crap.

I could probably be ready to head out Friday morning if I really wanted to. Thing is, I didn’t really want to. The Vagabond wouldn’t be back until Thursday afternoon and I wanted to see him in person before I potentially left town for 3 months. I texted him, then sent an email back to the job, for clarity. The guy said it was probably only a month for me, maybe a little longer. 12 hour weekdays, 10 hour weekends, double time.

Well, a month is manageable. Actually, it might be really perfect, how this worked out. I get my week off, then right back into making insane shutdown paychecks. See a part of the country I haven’t seen yet. The Vagabond had been talking about going out west and he wasn’t going to be laid off for another few weeks. So I was already still only going to see him on the weekend. He can always just come out here when he’s laid off, and then we go on a little vacation around Alberta when I’m laid off and flush with cash. Win-win.

I puttered through the on-boarding, taking breaks to arrange things for while I was away. I was bummed out about one thing – I had just officially joined the Soroptimists, and the meeting was next Wednesday, but I’d no longer be able to make it.

Regina… I knew nothing about the city, actually. 200’000 people, southern Saskatchewan. They got a lot of flack a few years ago for a stupid advertising campaign saying the city “rhymes with fun”. Because it sounds like vagina. Yup.

It’s a 13 hour drive from Thunder Bay. The first four hours I was familiar with, because I’d be heading to Dryden. After that, it was a mystery. I knew the prairies were flat, but not where the flatness began.

As day turned into evening, I realized the Vagabond hadn’t texted me back. I called his phone and it went to voicemail.

Weird.

I was really torn. It’s not unusual for him to have his phone off and ignore it for the day, but this was important. Or was it? Would he just roll his eyes and say I should go forth with confidence? I was starting to really hate his constant refrain of “do what you want” because I was totally adrift with regards to his preferences. I’m not a mind reader.

I had to get out of here – my head was spinning. I drove down to Boulevard for a walk and fresh air. Halfway through the loop, a thunderstorm blew in out of nowhere. A perfect reflection of my state of mind.

I decided to tell the job I’d be there Sunday. I could spend Thursday night and Friday with him, and head out Saturday. No rush hour traffic, construction, or cottagers that way, as well.

Thursday morning, more prep, more paperwork. I told my landlord I’d be away and he loaned me a piece of gear, for unboxing wedges (boxing meaning you’ve got the end of the wedge flat against something and can’t reach with your hammer).

I finally got a reply from the Vagabond, that his phone had been off and he was heading home. No comment on the job.

At two I went for another walk around Boulevard. There was a large prop plane noisily doing laps of the town. Turns out the air force was doing search and rescue practice. It was scary at first!

At three I went to the Greek Orthodox church for dinner. On certain Thursdays they sell a selection of homemade Greek food and it is delicious. I bought two gyros and a bougatsa. They gave me a number for my order, but I had barely taken a seat when a little old lady came out from the kitchen and yelled “hey, you!” at me.

I went home and ate my two gyros, saving the bougatsa for breakfast at the Vagabond’s. Eventually I got the text asking me to come over.

My landlord was lingering in the driveway as I tried to sneak downstairs with my motorcycle gear. He questioned that, and the fact I was clearly dressed up for a date.

“My boyfriend has a motorcycle.” I said, unable to keep myself from grinning from ear to ear. My landlord laughed before going on a ramble about how he wants to get a motorcycle, with a side car and a little dog.

The Vagabond was visibly dejected when I got there. I showed off my new motorcycle gear, then jumped right into conversation about the job – I was quite anxious for tips, and also reassurance.

Reassurance was not forthcoming.

To be honest, he was pissed off. He’s never raised his voice at me, but he never has to – he’s such a bear of a man, and his voice is so animated at the best of times, that the angry tone was enough to reduce me to tears. I was already quite anxious about the 13 hour drive to parts unknown, for a job I had few details about, and I could have guessed he’d be less than pleased I was leaving town for a month. I don’t think I’d deserved anger like that, from a man who would skip town himself without a second thought, and who had yet to formally commit himself to the relationship.

“Do you want me to go home, then?”

“Do whatever you want.”

What, are you pissed off at me, or aren’t you? A lightbulb flicked on above my head.

“Tell me you want me to stay.”

“No. I don’t care.”

Hah. Wrong answer.

He wasn’t mad at me. He was mad at himself. He wanted so badly to ask me to stay, and couldn’t bring himself to do it. What a poker face he has! How he must have burned alive at Dryden, just like me! My tears dried up instantly, and I crossed the living room to sit next to him on the couch.

Gradually I talked him through the anger. I inched closer to him, putting an arm across his back and my head on his shoulder, until finally he placed his hand on my leg. He burned himself out, and sheepishly excused himself to go shower.

I flopped back on the couch, exhausted and no closer to clarity on the drive.

When he came out from the shower, he pulled me into a big hug and apologized for losing control of his emotions. It still fell flat, however, because the underlying issue was the same – he was unwilling to address his actual feelings.

Another night of him stealing out of bed because he couldn’t fall asleep. This couldn’t go on as it had been, regardless of if I left town or not. I love this lyric from Glorious Sons;

You can’t trust a man at war with himself.

Maybe this was the kick in the rear he needed. This is the moment the guy runs to the airport to profess his undying love, or drives across the country to be at her hotel!

As usual, I got out of bed before him and made myself breakfast. I puttered around longer than usual, knowing he needed to catch up on his sleep. And I wanted time to think alone.

I think the thing that bothered me most was, I could expect most men wouldn’t want me to leave. It’s just the way it is – no one wants their partner to travel for work. But he’s travelled for work for decades. Surely he’s had this conversation many, many times with other women. Now he was on the other side, he couldn’t remember how frustrating it was? Or how futile? One thing that attracted me to him was the idea of the kindred spirit; a fellow restless traveler who would instinctively understand the urge, and not try to hold me back. Yet here he was, trying to make a homebody of me, just as I thought I was finally free! The promise wrenched from me.

Eventually he was persuaded to crawl out of bed and flake on the couch. We discussed some of the details of the job and what I should expect from the other guys. He warned me that Winnipeg is a dangerous place (what, more dangerous than him, with his one-percenter buddies and other things I dare not publish?). Duff told me I should bring “nippers”, so the Vagabond checked his tool chest, but didn’t have any. I still had to gas up, so I headed out. I grabbed gas and Gatorade at the reserve, then went to Home Depot. 20 dollar nippers was all I needed, and Home Depot only had one pair, Husky brand with a nail puller. Good enough. There was a sexy pair of 7-in-1 wire strippers next to it on sale, and I grabbed those too. Yes they’re more for sparkies, but I strip wires occasionally. I learned a thing or two from my dad.

He was still moping on the couch when I got back. It was gorgeously sunny out, so I requested a bike ride with my new gear. He decided to check it out more thoroughly. He thought my helmet was too gaudy and too large, but it’s my helmet! He approved of the jacket more. Eventually we geared up and headed out.

It was really windy out! But that was a good test of the gear – I didn’t feel the wind through the jacket. I can feel it in the gap between the collar and the helmet, though. The helmet was comfy, although we discovered he can’t hear me when the visor is down (I can hear him just fine). The gloves were alright.

We went for a medium loop, up Lakeshore, then zigzagging south until we eventually wound up at the Stanley Tavern. We ordered some food and he ordered a beer he said his old Choice buddy preferred, which I’ve never seen him order. At some point, I’d lost him in the past. He suggested we go for a walk at Kakabeka, but I pointed out to him I still needed to pack and get ready for my long drive, so we went back to his place.

We were both lost. Neither of us wanted me to leave, yet we both seemed powerless to make me stay. I was unwilling to throw away an amazing job opportunity that had landed in my lap for a man who still hesitated to say he loved me. And he had his own demons. When we got inside, he had more alcohol.

We cuddled on the couch in silence. Every time I tried to think of how to say goodbye, words failed me. At some point I started crying again. I didn’t want to leave, even if logic dictated that I should.

That set him off again.

I was more lost than before. I had a limited amount of time to pack, but I didn’t want to leave in the middle of whatever this was. Maybe that was the point? I deferred as long as I dared to, gathered my belongings by the door, then I went over to where he was seated on the couch, fuming silently. I kissed him on the forehead.

“I forgive you.”

Instantly he was enraged again. He followed me to the door as I went to bring my stuff out to the car. “You forgive me? For what? You’re the one leaving! You should be apologizing!”

“When you sober up tomorrow and regret what you’ve said, I forgive you. I know you don’t mean it.”

I walked out to my car with my stuff, then came back. He was back on the couch.

“Can I have a hug?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but he stood up and gave me a hug anyway. He held me for a long time. I finally had to break the hug and he murmured “Be safe.”

Once I was safety ensconced in my car, I burst into tears. Christ, what a mess. I was supposed to be relaxing and preparing for a long day tomorrow, but good luck getting sleep now! I texted Hanuman and picked him up from the hostel. I needed someone to talk to face to face or I wouldn’t be getting sleep tonight. My boyfriend should be reassuring me, not making me more anxious. Hanuman saw my red, swollen eyes even before he got in the car and took my hand.

“I just need help packing.” I choked out between sobs.

When we got back to my place, my landlord was loitering outside, no doubt wanting to shoot the breeze a bit before I left. He saw my tear-stained face and bailed immediately.

We spent an hour and a bit chatting, packing and loading up the car. Shortly before we called it a night, I got a text from the Vagabond apologizing for his behavior.

Quelle suprise! I imagine he kept drinking after I left. I wasn’t expecting an apology this fast. Did that make it better or worse, that he was apologizing while drunk? Hanuman invoked in vino veritas, so I decided to accept it. As he headed out the door, Hanuman took my hand again.

“Don’t let this get to you. It’s a reflection of him, not you.”

He wasn’t wrong, and I knew that logically. But the wounds were so fresh they were still bleeding.

I tossed and turned all night. Around 4 I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep again – 2 hours early. I changed my alarm to 7 and hopped on my PC. Maybe if I distracted myself for a bit, I’d fall asleep again.

No luck. At 5 I gave up and started packing to go. I’d done longer drives on less sleep.

Almost every other vehicle on the highway was a truck towing a boat.

The drive to Dryden passed as it had many times before. The day was warm and sunny, not a cloud in the sky. Shortly before Ignace, I encountered my first instance of a moose on the road. A cow, who saw me coming – and I her – with plenty of time, and she moseyed out of my way.

I was blinking spots from my eyes by the time I got to Dryden. I pulled into the Tim Hortons, which was hopping with cottage country traffic, used the bathroom, and bought a coffee. Then I went across the road to the Walmart lot, pulled into a spot in the back, and tried to nap in the back seat.

I was not successful. After twenty minutes I gave up – every minute wasted trying to nap was another minute I was getting more drained and not approaching my destination. I grabbed gas, then went down the road and grabbed a Sub, which I ate in the store. Hit the bathroom again, rubbed sunscreen on my forearms lest I get a burn, and headed out at half past ten. On to roads unknown, now.

The highway scenery continued much as it did to Dryden; rolling hills, evergreen forests, ponds and rivers. The sun poured down mercilessly from the cloudless sky and not even the AC was enough.

Around the Manitoba border, it changed. The rolling hills flattened out, although the forest persisted. The highway changed from a 90 kilometer country road, to a 2 lane divided highway at 100.

About half an hour before Winnipeg, the trees abruptly stopped. There was suddenly nothing but farmer’s fields, as far as the eye could see. I thought I’d at least get past Winnipeg before I found the Prairies legendary flatness.

I passed a place called “Cripple Creek”, which made me chuckle. I aught to retire there.

Just before I got onto the Winnipeg Bypass, I pulled off the highway and found another Timmies. It is 4 hours from Thunder Bay to Dryden, and 4 hours from Dryden to Winnipeg, so I was over halfway to my destination. I had gained an hour going west, so it was now 1PM for me. 4 hours is more driving than I’d like to do at a time – I’d prefer 3 hours, but there was nowhere to stop in that time frame.

This time I did a few laps of the parking lot to stretch my legs before I headed out. Some fluffy white clouds had moved in, finally.

The next stretch was 3 hours but covered less ground, as I encountered road construction. At the very least, clouds had moved in and protected me from the sun.

There were several fresh dead deer by the road side, so clearly deer were a hazard. I also noticed quite a few dead raccoons – at one point I was counting them every 20 clicks. It seemed odd when we had left the forests far behind us.

I stopped in Brandon, which is sadly missing an opportunity for a photo op, because the name is hilarious. Another Tim Hortons. There was a small roadside chapel as well, for some strange reason.

One last leg. Do or die.

I caught a second wind. I had almost made it and I was overtired and past feeling it. I gained another hour crossing into Saskatchewan. Duff texted me to ask where I was staying, so I called him (hands-free in my car) and told him I had simply booked the same hotel as him because I was too busy to research hotels. He told me to call him when I got to town and he’d meet me at the road on his bike.

He did indeed meet me on his bike. I thought he’d meant his motorcycle, but he meant an actual pedal bike. He did some loops around my car in the live lanes of traffic before we pulled into the hotel parking lot.

I was unsure where I stood with Duff. Our only real connection was that we both ended up on Stu’s crew last year. We’d hung out a couple of times after work, but that’s pretty normal for shut-downs – you don’t know anyone in town but the other guys. But I’d texted him off and on through the winter and I liked talking to him. I just wasn’t sure if he actually considered me a friend, or a work buddy.

When I got out of the car, he yelled “hey sis!” and folded me into a big hug.

Guess we are friends!

He helped me unpack the car, which was only two trips cuz I pack light. The clerk at the desk knew I was coming and was quite giggly around Duff (presumably he’d been chatting her up while waiting for me). I checked in – room was at the top floor, at the end of the hall. Quietest seats in the house. And there is a guest laundry on site! Perfect!

We went to the hotel bar and ordered drinks and a plate of nachos. I was up past my bedtime, but then anything more than immediately going to bed was past my bedtime. I was amazed I was still coherent. Duff showed me pictures of his house and cemented our friend status.

“S’ppose out here, I’m a scaffolder, not a carpenter.”

He laughed. “Yes, absolutely do not tell anyone you are a carpenter! Also, I won’t be here tomorrow.”

Waddya mean, you won’t be at work tomorrow? I just got in a fight with my boyfriend and drove 13 hours for this job, you can’t abandon me with a bunch of redneck scaffolders in what may as well be a foreign country!

But there was no arguing with him, so we finished our drinks and I went back to my room, to fall asleep in my king bed… alone.

I like this new song by Kings of Leon. I think most people think of them as a one-hit wonder with “Sex on Fire”, but I still listen when they put out new music. This new song is a little dorky, but I like the chorus. “Are you a Mustang or a kitty?” Mustang meaning powerful, thrill-seeking…

Yeah, I’m a Mustang!