When I drove in
Alberta, I'd call my vehicle my Hypothetical Argument Simulator.
That was how I used to sort out my problems. I'd get in my vehicle,
drive somewhere, and have a good conversation with myself about why I
was ticked off, run through a collection of scenarios as to how to
tell someone off, realize that no matter what I said I was still
wrong, defuse myself and accept the situation.
When you drive in
Edmonton, there are long straight stretches of nothing but stop
lights. You don't have to think very hard when you drive, because
there aren't many turns, the roads are wide, and since you're staring
at a red light you have the time to think about whatever is bothering
you.
Here, forget about
all that. There are very few stop lights. You never get a second to
even pause. You better like what's on your play list because you
can't spare one finger to change the song. The roads are insanely
curvy so you have to focus all the time. Sometimes, I feel like
there's a driving instructor in the seat next to me. “You know how
to turn your car, don't you?” he says. And I say, “I've had my
driver's license for 15 years. I've probably done it twice.” And
then we laugh and laugh, because the roads here are windier than a
Mario Cart track. And so, yes, since I came from Edmonton, I can't
claim to have driven on curves before.
So, the other
problem is that if you go off the road for some reason, you'll die.
I mean, you will die. Die. Death. The shoulders here maybe have
enough room on them for half a car and then there is a wall of trees
that goes along the sides of the road forever. You will die if you
go off the road. You will hit a forest, total your car and that will
be the end of it. When I got here, there were some sweet little
wickets they put on the white line on the road by the lake. I saw
them and I was like, “This is how I prove I can live here, by never
ever grazing one.” Okay, so I didn't touch them, but the locals
have completely decimated all of them. Sometimes people go so fast,
they have a hard time staying on the road.
Those incredible
trees also mean it's dark here – really dark here. The moon and
the stars are shining, but you can only see a tiny sliver of sky
above you. The trees are that dense. The sky is only available
where the road cut away the trees. It's mostly black walls on both
sides of you. Drivers use their brights here all the time. After
driving somewhere at night, you honestly feel like you've been
interrogated for espionage and they've finally agreed to let you have
a glass of water. It's not just the cars in front of you either.
The car riding your back bumper has their brights on too. But
sometimes, when you're driving alone on the road, you make a turn or
have to go down a hill and it feels like you are diving into a black
hole. And I'm singing A-ha, Little Black Heart in my head, “But
I've never felt darkness the way I feel it tonight.”
Just a post script,
if you thought my mentioning a glass of water above was strange, it's
because you can't get yourself a drink when you're driving. You
wouldn't dare, even if your drink has a straw in it, because you're
about to take a crazy curve.
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