One hundred and ninety-seven

Second post today to make up for my missed day…

[I’m writing this from a diner two hours from Thunder Bay along the Trans Canada highway with WiFi and the greatest coffee ever.]

Camping last night with the wind roaring around our tents, snuggled in my sleeping bag I had crazy dreams about tornados.  Yesterday I met a man from Japan who was cycling across Canada.  He started in Victoria, BC and is heading to Quebec City or “as far as I can go”.  I hope he doesn’t have to bike through any of these storms!

My second first kiss story from the road comes from a Quebecois lady I met in the bathroom this morning who’s doing a trip around Ontario in a camper van with her husband.  We were comparing provincial park stories and talking about our journeys when I told her I was a writer and if she wanted to share her first kiss story with me.

“I was five.”  “Five!” I said.  She laughed.  “Yep, five. He was beautiful.  Curly dark hair, green eyes.  He was from my neighbourhood.  We were friends.  We snuck a kiss in his living room while watching cartoons.”  She smiled as we left and we wished each other luck on our trips.  A moment in time that made both our mornings a little better.

On our way to Winnipeg today.  We’re hoping to cut a day off our trip and get out of Ontario early.

One hundred and ninety-five

[I’m sitting in the truck outside of Travelodge near Marathon, Ontario “borrowing” their internet to post what I wrote last night]

Lake Superior Provincial Park, where the sounds of the loon and the crackling fire are the only noises I hear besides Drew sketching in his notebook and my typing on my friend’s notepad I borrowed.  What a surprise!  I probably should have planned this better…  It is beautiful here on our second night of the trip.  So peaceful and perfect weather.  The campsite is next to a still lake and I sat and watched as the sun set over the pine trees on the horizon – the rocks protruding like humps from the mirrored surface.

Driving north through Sudbury and heading west on the Trans Canada highway, we stopped last night at Chutes Provincial Park.  Walking into the town of Massey from our campsite, Drew commented on how this would be the perfect place for a horror film.  Abadonned buildings, boarded up and eerie from disuse.  Almost everything closed, including the only restaurant where the waiters peer through the windows at us like the tourists we are.  The only person we talked to, at the only thing open in the town – the gas station, let us steal sugar (because everyone does it) and couldn’t remember the name or the directions to the only bar in town (she asked a friend of hers helping himself to a free cappucino and still they weren’t totally sure what the name was).  I can just imagine us trying to find the bar, leading to a trap set by the locals where they sell us so people can pay good money to torture and kill us (oh wait, that’s Hostel…).

Stopping along the way to get gas for the motorobike a few times I’m surprised at how friendly people are.  At the Tim Hortons the cashier asked us about the bike, which turned into a conversation with the man in line.  At the gas station both of the attendants came over to ask us where we are going and to tell us how sorry they are to hear we live (or lived, in Drew’s case) in Toronto.

The funny thing is, I’m having a hard time asking people their first kiss stories.  I want to ask them.  I almost do ask them.  Yet the fear of rejection is too much.  I’m not used to strangers talking to me and the Parkdale incident of no-one responding to me when I tried to say hello has scarred me.  How do I approach someone to ask them such an intimate thing as their first kiss?  Why would they want to share it with me?  I almost approached a German couple, but then chickened out.  I hate that I have a hard time approaching strangers.  I’ve definitely lived in the city too long!  When did I become shy?

Another post next time I find internet with a first kiss story – I promise…

One hundred and ninety-four

Today I leave to drive from Toronto to Vancouver – me driving a red pickup truck, my friend Drew driving his motorbike.  Because of the motorbike, the maximum amount of driving time is about six hours per day, so I figure we will take eleven or twelve days to get there.   Although I will try my best to post every day (fun first kiss stories from Toronto to Vancouver), there might be times when I don’t have internet access and will post double the next day.

It’s 10am and I’m about to leave, but here’s a quick story from two sisters and their first kisses in the late 1960s:

The two sisters…

“I think I was about 14 or 15 and my sister was two years younger than me.  We used to go up to a cottage every summer for two weeks on Georgian Bay with our family.  We met two boys there.  They weren’t brothers, but they both had cottages year-round – rich Toronto people.  We used to hang out with these boys.  They were more worldy than us.  All four of us went under this cottage on stilts (the stilts because of it was on sand). We were necking with the boys under the cottage.  My sister remembers her guy trying to feel her up.  That was my first kiss.  I had forgotten all about it until my sister reminded me.  Gary and Huey.”