Monday, January 22, 2007

My Friends Now Have an Average Age of 52

Not to be gay, but I thought this looked particularly nice.

I’m often asked just why in the world I came up here. On days like Saturday, one remembers that the sheer vastness and remoteness of our pristine north (or south, if you’re living in, say, the Yukon) is hard to ignore. Sure, I wasn’t ready for the rocks through the car window, the “Mr. Smithers you fucking white cunt” and the nauseating smell of Flin Flon (I keed, I keed), but I was hoping for some ice fishing and damn it, I finally got a bit of that in this weekend.
The day started innocently enough with an early morning phone call from one of my colleagues. Let’s cal him, oh… Roger (because, you know, that’s his name). This was surprising to me, given that Roger the night previously likely drank the equivalent to three mickeys of rye. Being a Newfoundlander of some age, Roger is no stranger to the booze.

One Roger P. The height of healthiness!

Myself, along with Roger and George (the latter of which regular visitors will be familiar with) had planned to visit Rob out in his cabin this weekend. Before I continue, I should say that the very act of visiting Rob’s cabin is the whole reason to go out there. This man, another teacher at the school, is the former VP here in Sandy Bay. To get to his cabin, you drive for a half hour through a winding winter road (that is to say that in the summer it’s just an unpassable strip of mud in the wilderness) and across a lake. I guess to write that down and then read it back it doesn’t sound like much but, brother, it sure the hell was an ordeal.

Observant readers will wonder how Rob gets across when there is no ice. The answer is, literally, a homemade hovercraft. Don’t forget that on his way to and from school, Rob is doing this every fucking day. Yep, that’s the kind of people we’re dealing with.

Yep, that's remote. And, note the 1949 Bombadier that Rob picked us up in to cross the ice.
Extra note: George is drilling a hole to make sure he won't die if he drives his truck across the ice.

Rob has been living out in his cabin, near as I can tell, for most of the past quarter century. It is insane. It’s a one-room cabin, a few bunks, a kitchen, TV, satellite Internet, generator outside… probably some other stuff. It boggles the mind to think that a normal, well-adjusted person has been living like this, literally, for decades. Rob was the VP. He teaches computers now. There is nothing in his behaviour, conversation, attitudes… nothing that would betray the fact that he is, essentially, a hermit. I am also boggled by the fact that he makes this insane odyssey every day. To see him in the morning, you would not know that he just went through it and has to do it all over again at 4:30.

The cabin in question. Note that it is unsafe for human habitation.

At any rate, that was Saturday. Sunday I had the pleasure of driving out to the junction (that is, the end of the 120 Km of gravel where the road to Sandy Bay meets the “normal” highway) to pick up none other than Mrs. Buz Trevor, George’s mother. She will be staying the week and lending her expertise and experience to the school’s library. Oh, and after George and I picked her up I drove back the 120 Km. All in all a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon, eh?
You kids still think being a hermit is cool? It's not always drugs and naked ladies!


Anonymous Christa said...

That is all well and good but the classic part to that blog is the SWEET wife beater you are sportin' in that pic! You remind me of Eddie (with black dickey showing through white sweater) on National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation! Oh Mike...the wives you could beat with that tank top...

5:00 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Comments on your Lawrence Welk blog. The accordian has straps on the it like a harness so you don't actually have to hold it up while you play. Despite their politics the old Guy and Ralna team had some spectacular duets over the years and I consider them among the best of the vocal performers on the show. Even when they were singing some bad songs they always had near perfect tuning and ensemble.

PS...I'm glad you like pizzacato.

Lawrence is fun just for the old clothes.

A Lawrence Lover in Arizona, USA

10:37 pm  

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