First things first: you’ll all be excited to hear that I got asked out. Yes, you read that right. And I said yes. And yes, it was the gorgeous girl I mentioned in the previous post. Her name is Sharleen, and she’s a babe guys. Seriously. How did I get so lucky? Who knows. I’m certainly not questioning it!
On to the trip:
So you know how (in Ontario, at least) you’re always driving by construction sites but you never see any workers?
I found them. All of them.
They are ALL in Minnesota. Particularly along the I-69. I swear, I wasn’t out of a construction zone for more than ten minutes before I’d go back into another one. And they were ALL WORKING. Frustrating, but also so…inspiring? Whatever, I don’t know.
Not too much exciting happened on Day 2. I went through a place called Bonanzaville. I laughed at that. Made it another 990km which is pretty good. Total drive time for the day was about 11 hours, bringing it up to…a lot. I stayed in a hotel in Valley City, North Dakota.
Today was…interesting. Let’s just say, if I had a Wikipedia page (and I checked, I don’t), it would be updated to read “mass murderer of bugs”. I washed my windshield in North Dakota while I was getting gas, and by the time I reached Saskatchewan about four hours later, there was about 10,000 bugs-worth of guts on it. Some were yellow. I swear they were doing it on purpose. I…I don’t feel any remorse.
Actually, on that topic, I have a story I need to tell you. Buckle up, it’s a tough one.
Once upon a time a baby bird named Flappy was born. He was brought into the world in the usual way (something about bees I think) but he was always a little special. His mother, recognizing this, tried to protect him by keeping him sheltered. She brought him all his food (in regurgitated fashion of course) much longer than all the other young birds received theirs. She kept Flappy in the nest all the time and never allowed him to venture out. However, eventually the day came where he had to go to…bird school.
Flappy, understandably, was very nervous. Due to his over-protective mother, he had no friends, and no social grace whatsoever. However, he was very anxious to leave his nest, so when the day arrived he mustered up his not-inconsiderable courage, and hopped down the longest branch in his tree to the school-house (which was actually a birdfeeder).
Now, at this point, most people ask what birds learn at bird school. Well, they learn quite a few different things—they learn what food is good to eat (up until now they’ve depended on their mother, remember); they learn how to whistle melodies; they learn how to get up early to get worms and the like; and most importantly, they learn how to fly.
And this is when something amazing happened. Flappy, although he had never been out of his nest prior to that day, was called upon to try flying first. And, much like Harry Potter, he found he was a natural at it. He plunged off the branch into a complicated series of twists and turns, loops and twirls, and when he landed in front of his awe-struck classmates and teacher, they all chirped him. For birds chirping is actually good, because they can’t talk or cheer so it acts as everything. Anyways.
This display of athleticism caused Flappy’s popularity to jump from non-existent to through-the-metaphorical-roof (birds don’t have roofs). He quickly gathered a following of friends, admirers, and occasional lovers.
But with popularity comes consequences, as Flappy soon learned.
One day, one of his friends acquired some hard liquor. Now, Flappy had never drank before, but his social status demanded he partake, lest he fall from the graces and return to his old, unpopular self—and this, he was not willing to do.
With the first sip, he was hooked. Time went on, and Flappy drank more and more. Slowly, the admirers and lovers drifted away. Flappy didn’t notice. Eventually, it was only his two closest friends that hung out with him, and even they were beginning to get worried with Flappy’s obvious drinking problem.
And so time passed. Flappy was drunk most of the time, and oblivious to his dwindling popularity—the very thing he began drinking to save. Finally, one day, his best friend couldn’t take it anymore.
“Flappy, you’re acting like a damn fool!” he said, quoting the famous Adam Sandler flick Happy Gilmour but changing Happy for Flappy.
This was still early on in the day, so Flappy hadn’t reached his usual rip-roaring drunk state yet. He looked around slowly, and for the first time seemed to notice that his covey of bitties and gawkers had vanished. Desperately, Flappy shouted out for everyone’s attention.
“Guys, I’m still cool! I…watch me do something wicked awesome!”
Tipsy, Flappy took off from his branch. His takeoff was much shakier than usual, and if someone had noticed that things may have ended differently. But they didn’t, so they didn’t.
Flappy flipped and twirled and ducked and dodged and swooped and soared, and while the other birds were relatively impressed, he saw he’d have to take more drastic measures to win them back. Through booze-blurred vision, he saw a trail of dust rising from the nearby highway.
“Watch!” he shrieked, and took off in that direction.
I’m not sure if anyone knew what he intended to do, even Flappy himself; all I know is what happened, and I’ll tell you.
Flappy swooped out over the highway, angled around in a tight U-turn, and flew head-on towards the oncoming car. The birds in the tree cried out in unison:
At the last second, Flappy suddenly saw clearly. With cold precision he realized exactly what was about to happen, and what he had to do to avoid it. He banked upwards and away from the car—but the beige Buick was traveling at 110km per hour (which was the speed limit; Saskatchewan has weird highways) and Flappy struck the windshield going about 80km per hour in the opposite direction.
He was dead before he hit the highway behind the Buick, and the dust settled on his mangled body seconds later. The driver of the Buick looked in the rear-view mirror, and muttered something that sounded like “damn suicidal bird” to himself. Soon the car vanished, and the birds from the tree gathered around the corpse of Flappy.
Death is inevitable and the birds knew this. It was a way of life for them. And though they were sad, they all agreed on one thing.
Flappy had gotten the attention he wanted.
Okay yes, I had to fill in a bunch of the story I didn’t know. But I think it’s pretty plausible. Anyways, a bird totally committed suicide and used my car for it today. It was super lame.
Moving on. I crossed the border into Saskatchewan and it literally took 30 seconds. It was amazing. About two minutes later I found a Tim Horton’s and my LIFE was made. I didn’t realize how much I missed it while in the States.
The rest of the day was pretty boring and flat. I mean, I’m a tall guy, and I can literally see all of Saskatchewan from any given point. Whatevs, it was still gorgeous in areas.
I’m now holed up in a place called North Battleford, Sask., where I paid a ridiculous amount for a motel room.
I passed the halfway mark sometime today though. Halfway THERE, anyways.
In total, I have now traveled 2,860km in 32 hours of driving, over three days. Not bad.
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