Friday, December 9th, 2011
Another night in Canada. I was joking with the border guard about becoming a citizen up here, and she replied, “You spend enough time up here that you don't need to apply.” After delivering in Grande Prairie, Alberta, I went to go grab some fuel. It was a balmy 30 degrees out. you know you've been up here too long when you can walk about in a single long sleeve shirt in 30 degree weather. I fueled without incident, then the day began.
Having waited 45 minutes for someone in charge to say, “yes, Ian. Buy some D(iesel) E(xhaust) F(luid) [a solution of urea which breaks down some of the more odious exhaust fumes] and we'll reimburse you for it.” For such a small company, I was a bit surprised at how long it took them to respond. The sunrise was worth the wait though, and I'm sure I would have missed it were I driving. A radiant streak of peach and fiery orange luminesced under the dark pall of overcast skies. Wonderful contrast. Leaving the fuel stop and on my way to Fort Saint John, B.C., I let it all hang out on AB 43 west. The headwinds were a bit of a beast, and the going was much slower than it should have been for hauling an empty trailer. Driving up a small incline, I was startled by a bright light in my mirror. “What the hell is that?!” Turns out it was the sun finally breaking the horizon. The time? 0915 local. Seriously? I know I'm kinda close to the time zone boundary, but man I'm way up north.
Sometime later, and after a bit of a backing fiasco, I pull out of the shipper at Ft. St. Johns. This is the farthest north I've ever been in my life, by the way. I'm fully loaded with OCC, which I have no idea what that stands for, but I do know that it is a shitload of cardboard baled up for recycling. Each bale weighs between 350 and 675kg. I've got 36 on my truck, so I'm pushing the gross vehicle weight limit, and probably axle limits as well. The shipper is a small place, so there is no way for me to tell how much weight is on my axles (this is important and regulated, probably because if it gets too heavy on an axle it tends to break roads and bridges). I've been instructed to go to the nearest scale, which is farther north, and fortunately along my route. So, it turns out that here in Canada, the scales that the DOT equivalent up here operate can be used for public weighing when not open to check trucks for violations. I learned that yesterday, watching a truck scale his axles. Well, I roll out and it turns out that the scale is open and I can't adjust my axles, but they sure can ticket me. I drive past the scale, park, walk in and explain the situation. I plead that there is no scale before here, and I was going to check my weights here. The officer was not very moved. She said I had to cross the scale and that I'd be liable for any fines. It turns out that I could have simply driven across the platform without them really noticing, since they both were talking to some guy who had a zillion axle truck and had some permit issue. Doing the right thing... even when I didn't need to and would have been helpful to just skate on by. So I turn around and cross the platform. Apparently my weights are OK, since I was not stopped. All of that to-do for nothing.
Continuing my trek, I start driving along BC 29. This two lane road follows the Peace River, which, if the signs are any indicator, is the site of a locally disliked plan to construct a hydro-electric power plant. The river has cut a fairly deep and wide valley in the surrounding rock, and I could see the idea behind a hydro plant. There was even a sign on a farm stating that “All proceeds from this crop go to fight the Site C dam project.” Yeah. People are that pissed. Needless to say, with all of this wonderful space and steep valley walls, I'm pulling some hills and driving down some gnarly slopes. Serious slopes. 10% grade slopes. Four of them, up and down. A 10% grade slope feels like driving down the hypotenuse of a 30-60-90 right triangle, with the opposite side parallel to the ground. (because driving down the other angle would be impossible and/or deadly with no chance of survival). I pulled these hills in 6th gear. A standard hill is 5-6% grade, and I pull those in 8th , rarely 7th. That said, this road is on the, “man it is pretty, but not pretty enough to drive that slow on ever again, so I'll take the longer flat way next time,” list. Even the guy at the shipper warned me about it so I should've known better. Seeing is believing they say.
I could go on about finding the zen of driving, or watching raven dance in the wind, or how awesome it is to have a shower, but those will all happen again, and I'll find inspiration to write on those topics another time.
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