A Thanksgiving not to Remember - Part One

Thanksgiving 2007: here is the story of storms and mud and blood... and dashed expectations.

Perfect and unseasonable weather is forcast: sunny and warm with, maybe, showers late on the holiday Monday. Fantasmagorical! Now Thanksgiving is the traditional weekend to close up the summer place, including those with wheels.

And so, this was the last weekend to enjoy Lazy Lady and to get her all ready for her winter slumber. There would still be lots of time for walks and visits with the neighbours and to move Lady to a different site. (More about that in another post. It will involve dogs and short aggressive men and leashes.)

Now the previous weekend things really cooled off at night and Ruby (my retired racing greyhound) and I were glad to snuggle all night but, my goodness, she has a lot of pointy bits. So on Friday I purchased a little ceramic heater to take the chill off things. Originally, I was looking for an electric blanket but not at $80.00 on sale and besides, the little heater would do just fine.

We have a leisurely Saturday morning at home and the van loaded up by noon. Make quick stops for gas, groceries and some vino and we're on our way with the first spatters of rain on the windshield. Damn!

The rain sprinkled off and on for about 30 minutes then the heavens opened. Ever the optimist, I say heavy rain is a good thing; gets it over with fast. By the time I get out of the city, (ie away from civilisation), it's raining even harder and it is DARK. Headlights on full and wipers going at top speed, I dare not move along at more than about 30 kliks. Underpasses are crowded with huddled motorcyclists waiting out the storm. And then it happens... the wipers make their last
downstroke. Repeated twisting of the control has no effect.I'm on a minor country road with narrow shoulders. Haven't seen a gas station, country store or a wide spot for a while.

I decide, for good or ill, to continue: under normal conditions I'm only about 15 minutes away from the RV site. I make the second last turn, which is onto Herald Road, without event. I'm now 6 miles from the last turn which is half a mile from the entrance. No letup in the rain or darkness. I'm beginning to feel like I'm in a murky water world all by myself: no sound but the pounding rain, very little visible beyond the smeary windows. I know I'm doing something dangerous or at least really dumb but for some reason I continue.

Here we go, watching for the sign and watching the odometer. Six miles is about 9 kilometres and so, after 8 kliks, I start looking as carefully as I can - consistent with staying out of the ditch. Eight kliks, nine kliks, 10 kliks - no sign - 11 kliks. Damn, how did I miss it? How much further until I can find a safe place to turn around? Finally, after another 5 kliks, a side road with the stub end of a long forgotten driveway to nowhere and I make a three point turn and get back to Herald Road.

I've been keeping track of distances and so I go back to where the last turnoff before Grangeways should be and there's a country store on the other side of the road. Great. I can't be more than a few kliks away so I cross the road and park beside this typical Ontario country store. You know the kind where you can buy everything from a loaf of bread to replacement springs for your tractor. Inside, the place is stuffed with well, stuff, is dark and smells
powdery - not unpleasant. I approach the counter where a young man sits hunched over looking at a tiny TV sitting opposite him on a second chair. He looks up with that vacant
blank stare and I hear the melody of Dueling Banjos. Taking a deep breath, I ask him if he could direct me to Grangeways Trailer Park. Blank stare, never heard of the place.

It can't be more than 4 or 5 kilometres from here and he's never even heard of the place. I tell him that it's on the 3rd Concession Road and he tips his head toward the intersection where we presently are and informs me that this is it. Well, I know it isn't because the turnoff for Grangeways is at the 3rd Concession Road and this isn't it. I'm not sure in which direction it is but this it ain't.

"Thanks, friend." and I'm otta there. Outside, back in the deluge, people are building boats in their backyards and asking "what's a cubit?" An older couple pull up in a late model SUV and the Mr. gets out. "Excuse me, Sir, are you from around here?" "Why yes", the reply. So figuring this guy has better than a room temp IQ I ask him where Grangeways is and he has no better clue than banjo boy.Well, there's nothing for it but to head back to the last place where I knew where I was and start over... or go home.

About 3 kliks along the way back to Hwy 48 I see the Grangeways sign and make the turn. Less than a kilometre to go. Can't miss the entrance, a great loang wooden rail fence marks the spot and I turn in. The rain stops. Natch.

I pull up to the gate and swipe my card. Of course it doesn't work. I press the intercom button which for some strange reason does work and they open the gate from inside. In I go, across the bridge and along to my site. There's Lazy Lady waiting for me... in the middle of
what looks like nothing so much as a rice paddy. Out I get and slog around to the hatch to let Ruby out. Unh, unh, she ain't getting out. Maybe I like slogging around in water almost up to my ankles but not her.

I bodily wrestle her out of the van, (How is it dogs have this power to increase their weight at will? A dog which normally wieghs about 65 pounds, when she doesn't want to go into the bath or into the rice paddy or whatever can instantly double her weight.) and squelch up to the door and in we go.

I give Ruby a big "Rollup" slice as a reward and go back to the van to get the most important bag: the one with the wine!

This is the end of the beginning of Day One of Thanksgiving 2007. A weekend that shall live on the wall of shame of bad weekends.

Ginger