What sweeter ride than a newfie truck driver, going exactly where you want to from the depths of the deadest hitching spot in Canada.  You may not know this but Northern Ontario is as far across as all the prairie provinces put together including some of BC.  Throw in some hash and good conversation and that about sets it.  Never got his name, no matter.

He was concerned about my adamant decision to stay in Winnipeg, offering the opportunity of going straight to Regina that night.  But I don’t wanna skip anywhere.  I guess I could have done without Thunder Bay.  God knows I could’ve done without Ignoranabrook or whatever it’s called but I’m probably just bitter from having to sleep under the awning in front of the library.  And no one would give me a ride from 6am-noon.

But anyways, the trucker picked me up sitting by some lights at the bottom of a hill in Dryden.  He said he usually only picks up girls but I was right about to get rained on.  He was talking about how he smoked half of his weed stash before leaving and, consequently, ran out before Quebec.  I was very appreciative of the ride so I offered up some hash from my little ball,  even littler now and getting smaller all the time.  So we pulled over at a rest stop, packed Sally (my pipes name) and smoked it up.

He was probably about 50 I figure, with a short grey mustache and a shock of red hair.  He told me his hair was long, hippie style, just a couple of weeks ago.  I say 50 ’cause he said he had 30 years truckin’ experience, putting to rest my fear of him having any trouble operating that monstrous machine under the influence of a couple of pipe hits.

Passing a weigh station that was closed he told me how his load was overweight and that he’d missed every weigh station so far since Quebec.  There was only one more from here to Winnipeg that, if it was open, would be open until 11:00 pm or so (landing me in Winnipeg a ‘lil too late to get into a hostel there).  We stopped at a restaurant to get some chips and he noticed one of his tires was getting ready to blow but if we made it to the Husky in Winnipeg we’ld be fine (AHH!)

As we approached the weigh station he called passing trucks on his CB asking if the station was open or not.  It sure was!  shit.  At least 5 different trucks couldn’t be wrong right?  The trucker decides he’s going through anyway and if he gets busted so be it.  Only a $500 fine and a four hour stop to unload on to another truck.  “We’re screwed if the lady’s working tonight.  She’s a real bitch!”  It wont be open, I said to myself.  That’s just how my luck’s been going.

Weigh Station.  No lights…  Everyone going east is getting checked but we speed right through, thanks to that bulletproof luck that’s been keeping me between raindrops all day.  Now if that tire holds out we’ll be fine….

As we loop through an extensive detour on a Winnipeg overpass he goes over the precautions I must take in order to live through the night in this den of thieves.  “Cab it straight to the bus station, lock up everything you can fit in a locker, find that hostel, don’t make eye-contact with anybody, sleep on top of every possession you have with you with that butterfly knife you have there in one hand and whatever other makeshift weapon you can find in the other.  But if you’re lookin’ for a party, downtown’s the place to be!”

Whether this is the den of thieves

I’ve been led to believe it to be

remains to be seen…

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