In The Mountains of Madness

*** the journey continues ***


I can feel something building in your Mom. Something dark and disquieting. Something powerful and ominous and thoroughly unpleasant.

"Oh for God's sake. This is ridiculous.” She punched me on the shoulder but there was little enthusiasm in the act. “I saw a sign a bit down the highway for an ‘Information and Tourist Centre’. Let's just head over there, I'll go inside and I'll get directions."

This was the best idea that I'd heard all day. "Suz," I say, "you my dear are absolutely brilliant! No wonder I love you so much!"

She looks at me. Or maybe through me. "Sure. Whatever." She casts a weary eye about our surroundings, "Let's just get to the Lodge."

With the optimism that can only be mustered by the seriously mentally ill, we wheel the bike around and in a few minutes are pulling into the parking lot of the Information Centre to get the low-down on all things touristy. I don't even mind that the place is spelled all Frenchy.

"Tell you what," Mom says as she pulls off her helmet, "you stay here with the bike and I'll just pop in. I'll be back in a jiffy."

I think this has less to do with saving time, and more about having a short break from me, but I'm smart enough not to press the issue. "That would be grand sweetie. Thank you."

She heads off towards the building. Slightly shuffling, shoulders hunched. The day has certainly taken its toll. But I'm positive this will soon be just a memory that we can laugh about later.

I'm sure I make a sight, sitting in the parking lot in the pouring rain on a weird shaped bike, arguing with a GPS, but I could not care less. Any modesty had been beaten out of me long, long ago. Just for giggles I plug the PO Box into Sweet Alice. To my surprise, it actually registers on the screen! Although it is obviously wrong, because it shows the location up in the mountains where there are no roads. Yet, I'm encouraged that the Lodge is around here somewhere and not an internet scam as I was beginning to suspect.

The minutes tick by. And tick. Then tock. And eventually they drag on and there is no sign of your mother. I'm actually beginning to get worried. What if my premonitions were right, but I had the wrong Tourist Centre? What, if at the very moment, my loving wife of 28 years was being all molestered by cannibals? Canadian cannibals at that?

Right then and there I began to hate Canada.

*** the journey continues ***