Adventure day!

Adventure!

Today was rainy and chilly day, not good for hiking on potentially muddy hill trails, so we decided to visit one of our old haunts, a favourite town named Eastend, on the east end of the Cypress Hills. A few years ago, while there, we hiked on Old-Man-On-His-Back, named by the First Nations people who lived there for thousands of years. The owners of the land had given it to the Nature Conservancy of Canada, because it was land that had never been “broken,” or plowed. It as all native grass and cactus. A weird experience to be walking on land that has never been subject to the depredations of white society.

We struck out across country, driving into heavier and heavier rain as we went. We drew near our destination after about 90 minutes o driving. We had left the paved road, and were driving on a good gravel road. Suddenly, the car began to slew right and left, and the “Slide” light flashed from the dashboard. I realized –not quickly enough – that the road had ceased to be “good gravel” and was now mud, with a few pebbles on top! The mud displayed two characteristics: it was slick and slippery, and it rolled up on our wheels.

I managed to get turned around in order to get off the two hundred yard stretch of mud on which we sat. As we started back, a pickup truck came up the rise, slewing right and left, and racing past us. The Prius, either by design or malfunction (we’ll find out on Monday) would not pick up speed, but moved very slowly, no mater what I did with the gas pedal. I suspect it was a design feature, because the car moved over the mud very slowly, virtually inch by inch, until we were finally back on gravel.

To add to the tension, we discovered that the meadow to the south (our left) contained a herd of about 100 bison, who began running this was and that, in circles. They ran toward us, turned and ran past, about 20 yards away. They crossed the road 50 yards behind us! Imagine, being on the edge, almost in the middle, of a bison stampede! It was…tense.

We had a 20-kilometer drive on gravel before we reached the highway, and it was raining hard enough that the road was two water-filled ruts in the gravel. I haven’t driven on a road like that since I was a student, and that was 60 years ago! At last we reached the highway, and started for Eastend. The car, however, was shuddering as we drove, quite noticeably above 80 km per hour. I had noticed, while checking after the mud episode, that our wheel wells were packed with mud, touching the tires at the rear. I suspected the buildup of gooey crap was the cause of the problem…but I wasn’t sure.

In Shaunavon, we stopped for lunch at a bar that ripped us off for $45 for a lunch of soup and a small salad. Then to a car wash to get the gunk off the car, and out of the wheels as much as I could. The car was considerably better after that. However, tomorrow, I will attack the buildup of mud inside the wheels. Once home on the weekend, Beatrix will have the whole thing checked out with Toyota.

The gravel and mud drive was exhausting. I had to literally wrestle with the steering wheel to keep the car in the ruts, and not off the road. Plowing through the water filled ruts washed the bulk of the sticky and slimy gunk out of the wheel wells. The mud was like that from the oil fields: brown yellow, with oil in it. It sticks like glue and stains every fabric it touches. I managed to keep it off my clothes.

So…we had an adventure, but not the kind we planned. And we missed spending any time in Eastend, and visiting the grave the soldier whose body was repatriated from a German military cemetery, where he was mistakenly interred 70 years ago. He “came home” to Eastend, after his grandson’s exhaustive search for him in archives and records. The re-burial was last week, with full military honours, a color guard, and a cadre of veterans groups and US military. He had joined the US army, and died in their uniform. The confusion came because he had wrapped himself in a German raincoat or cape, taken from a copse, because the US troops were ill equipped for the early onset of winter in the fall of 1944 in the Ardennes.

By eight thirty tonight, I was ready for bed, but decided to record the day before turning in. Hopefully, tomorrow – our last day here – will be quieter!