Late in the summer, my daughter and I packed up her new car with all her belongings – at least the ones that weren’t already half way across the country – and began what was either the best or worst idea we’d had to date.
We had four days to get from southern Ontario to Kelowna, BC, and then one more day to move her to her new home in the Kootenay mountains and for me to get back to Kelowna to fly home. It would turn out to be just over 5,000 kilometres of driving.
I admit, I was worried. That’s a lot of time in a car, over very few days. Would we kill each other? Would we wish half way through that we hadn’t done it? Would there be tears – hers or mine? And more importantly, how would my backside and hips manage that much sitting at a time?
We got up early the first day, determined to get out of the city before the dreaded rush hour traffic. Five o’clock was pitch dark, and by the time the sun should have been rising, the rain was pouring down. Not a good start. But things got better and we survived day one. Over dinner in Thunder Bay, we amused ourselves by trying to figure out how many countries our British relatives would have travelled through in the same amount of time, when we hadn’t even left our home province yet (all the way to Bratislava, Slovakia, it turns out).
The first two days were the hardest. We planned for 15 hours of driving on each of them, to allow us more time through the mountains, and ad the end of day two. We did celebrate on day two when we finally left Ontario, and stopped for pictures when we reached the centre of Canada. And we collapsed in Regina for the night.
On day three, we had a bit of an “adventure” when my daughter blindly followed the GPS down a road I’m not sure I would have chosen. Yes, it may have been faster in good weather, but this very straight farmer’s “short cut” had seen a lot of rain, and underneath its seemingly innocent rough stone topping was several inches of pure mud. It was one of those roads where you don’t stop, for fear you’ll never start again. So as she slowly fishtailed up this path for what felt like hours – it was probably only 10 minutes – I prayed we weren’t going to end up in the ditch. But she did it, and I now have extreme confidence that she’ll able to handle whatever snow and ice the mountains throw at her.
The ten hours in the car that day felt like nothing, and we even took some time to “play” in Drumheller, getting out to calm our nerves to stretch and wall around some of the badlands. By now, we’d finished our audio book (if you haven’t read Andy Weir’s Project Hail Mary, stop now and buy it), listened to several podcasts (Ologies with Alie Ward – no relation – is definitely worth a listen), and I was concerned we were running out of things to talk about. But I needn’t have worried. Three days in and we were still friends!
Now, it wasn’t like the rugged beauty of Lake Superior and the golden fields of wheat weren’t gorgeous, but day four took us from Calgary through the Rockies. We stopped for breakfast in Banff and then headed to Lake Louise. Despite our best efforts, hundreds of people arrived before us and there was no chance of getting close to the iconic lake. Instead, we treated ourselves to a gondola ride up the mountain and took pictures of the lake and the amazing scenery from the top and even had time to stop for more pictures as the scenery continued to astound us.
From there we twisted and wound up and down the mountains , singing show tunes, until we came to Kelowna. We were almost there! My daughter was starting to feel a sense of “home” as she’s spent much of the last four years there.
The next morning, I rented a car and we packed the rest of her belongings into it before driving back into the mountains to her new home for a year of Teacher’s College. My overprotective mother’s anxiety kicked in as I took in the multitude of road signs reminding of the requirement – not just suggestion – for snow tires by October 1. Suddenly, every third sign seemed to be reminding trucks to check their brakes. We were not in flat southern Ontario any longer.
It was bittersweet to move her in and then to turn around and drive the four hours back to Kelowna. My car may have been lighter, but my heart was heavier. And heavier still when I got back to the hotel and it was just me.
We’d survived four days in a car together. No, that’s not right. We’d come out the other end closer that we’d started. And that’s a good thing. So on this Thanksgiving Monday, I’m grateful for the four longest days of driving I’ve ever had. And the daughter I got to share them with.
