My holiday from hell started out
as just a routine trip to our summer cabin at East Barriere Lake. A trip
that normally takes six hours. The only difference this year, I thought,
would be that it was our first time up to the lake without my Mother, who
died last November. My Father had gone up about a week ahead of us. I was
to make the trip on Saturday and bring my three young children. I managed
to get an extra two days off work, and my wife decided to join us for the
weekend and return home by bus on Sunday.
Everything started well, I got home
from working night shift and slept until noon. When I woke, I found our
1987 Blazer had been packed and was ready to go. I hooked up the boat trailer,
we jumped into the truck and headed off in the sunshine. The air conditioner
was on, music playing on the tape deck and all was right with the world.
That is, all was right, until we got to Abbotsford. All of a sudden the engine
just stopped. We coasted off to the side of the road where I started repairs.
It was a blown fuel pump fuse. I quickly replaced it and we were on our
way again.
About five kilometres down the road,
it happened again. Another fuse and we're on our way. "Must have been a
defective fuse" I confidently told my wife. This one lasted about ten kilometres
before popping again. Still another replacement and back on the road. Good
thing I had a supply of fuses. This time I got to the Chilliwack exit before
it went again. Unfortunately, no more fuses. So, a little bit of creative
swapping got us going again.
We pulled into a service outlet where
the mechanic refused to look at it, since the electronics are all computerised.
He directed us to the Chevrolet dealership down the road. They were wonderful,
but it still took four hours of waiting to get the word from the mechanic.
"I couldn't find anything wrong" he stated. "Sometimes these things happen
and you move a few wires and it fixes itself".
Never being one to trust to luck,
I pulled into a Canadian Tire store and bought a twenty dollar supply of
fuses. The journey begins anew. I was determined to get to the cabin and
surprise my Dad, if I had to replace fuses all the way.
All was going well until just before
Hope. We were in a torrential downpour. The boat has no top on it, but at
least most of our luggage was dry in the back of the Blazer. Pop, another
fuse gone. There's nothing more thrilling than leaning half in and half
out of your driver's door, fixing a fuse in the rain while giant semi trucks
race by a few feet away.
Fuse repaired and on the way again.
This time, for whatever reason, the fuse held. Now we hit the killer hill
of the Coquihalla Highway. This was the one spot I was the most worried
about. Sure enough, I'm watching the temperature gauge race its way to the
red line and I pull over and let the engine cool. No problem, I expected
this. I repeated this procedure three more times before cresting the summit.
Finally we're over the top and still
going. "Miracles do happen," I think. Everything is fine until, we crest
the hill just outside Merritt. I look in the rear view mirror and our truck
looks as if the Snowbirds and Blue Angels are doing stunts on the highway.
The cloud of blue smoke behind us just obliterated the view of everything.
Not, that I could be see much in the dark. Off to the side of the road again.
A quick check with the flashlight, confirmed my worst fears. It was a blown
main seal on the transmission. The transmission, was pouring oil out like
a Texas gusher.
Luckily the people behind us stopped
and headed into Merritt to call BCAA for us. However, before they could
arrive, one of the many tow companies who patrol the highway looking for
victims showed up. This road pirate was sympathetic to our plight. By now
we are all tired, hungry and very frustrated. He told me that the BCAA service
trucks from Merritt quit work at six o'clock and that he would tow us into
town. The tow would cost sixty dollars for the truck and an additional forty
for the boat. The situation being what it was, I quickly fell for his con
job.
My wife and kids went with the truck,
and I remained behind to guard the boat. About fortyfive minutes later
the second tow truck arrives and hooks up the trailer for the tow into town.
When we arrive, I find the BCAA representative
and the road pirate about to come to blows. He could not have been more
helpful, first he saved us from the towing bill, then he arranged transport
to a nearby hotel so that my family could eat and get a good night sleep.
Meanwhile he also towed my boat and contents to a locked storage compound.
I wish I could say, that this is
where it all ended, but it gets worse. Much worse. Later that night after
having been fed and tucked into bed, the kids were sleeping soundly. My wife,
unfortunately, was not. She was spending the night in the bathroom with the
stomach flu. By morning, so was I.
So here we are. It's a hot, sunny
day, in a hotel room with three healthy and energetic children and the air
conditioner in the room is not working. All the kids want to hit the swimming
pool but, are too young to let out of our sight.
Saturday morning arrives and we're
ready to go. Stomach flu over and the mechanic has told us the truck will
be ready at noon. The bill paid and we're back on the road and optimistic.
"We're only three hours away from the cabin," I tell the kids. "Everything
is fixed, and there won't be any more problems." Well, I was wrong. As soon
as we hit the first hill, the truck is overheating. In desperation, the
air conditioner goes off, the windows are open and the heater turned on
full. The tactic works, keeping the engine just below red line, but, it's
like a blast furnace inside the truck. We made it as far as the Logan Lake
turnoff, some fiftyone kilometres later, when poof, the Blue Angels
imitation starts again. Smoke is billowing out behind us, and I just know
it has happened again. Sure enough a quick look shows the Texas oil gusher
again. So now we sit. Nobody is stopping. I finally get a large piece of
paper and borrow a red crayon from the kids. I scrawl the single word message
in big bold letters "HELP," and then stand out on the highway for two and
a half hours. At the two hour mark, a guy in a pickup truck stops. "Great,
some help," I think. Then I see the condition of the driver. He was absolutely
intoxicated. After a short time, he jumps back in his truck and promises
to send a tow truck. I don't hold out much hope of that happening.
Finally a young lady stops. She is
a new mother and has her baby in the back. She is very hesitant to stop,
but loans me the use of her cell phone. BCAA is called again. By this time,
I must be gaining star status with them and approaching admission into their
hall of fame. We go through the same procedure all over. He tows the truck,
with my wife and kids into Kamloops and drops them off at a transmission
shop, situated in the "bad part of town." I remained behind to guard the boat
again.
I sent her with one of my business
cards and instructions to contact the Kamloops RCMP. Being a policeman myself,
I'm sure that arrangements can be made to contact the Barriere RCMP through
them. My plan is to have a Barriere RCMP member make a quick run up to the
cabin and get my Dad to come and pick us up and tow the boat to the cabin.
Unfortunately, even more went wrong.
Arriving in Kamloops, the driver drops everyone off at the transmission
shop. It's right at closing time on the BC Day, long weekend. Diane turns
the truck and keys over to an employee and leaves. She then discovers that
the driver has left as well and she and the kids are stranded. Spotting
a phone booth she tries to call my cousin, but, no answer. They are already
up at the lake as well.
Finally a Mountie cruises by and
sees the four of them looking forlorn and lost. He stops and takes them to
the RCMP sub station. There he and a dispatcher attempt to contact Barriere
RCMP to put my plan into action. This should be easy, right? Not a chance.
All the members of the Barriere RCMP are busy with a homicide investigation.
This is the first one in a long, long, time.
Not easily deterred, Diane starts
calling the East Barriere Lake Resort to enlist the assistance of the operators
there. Unbeknownst to us, the proprietors whom we are all familiar with,
have sold their business last summer. The new people don't know my Dad and
are too busy to be able to send somebody out looking. As fate would have
it, while they are talking on the phone, my Dad walks in. He has become worried
because we haven't shown up and he was on the way to start phoning for us.
Meanwhile back on the highway. I'm sitting in the boat dressed in shorts
and a tank top and no sunscreen. It is sunny and very hot. The only solution
I find is a woolen camp blanket which I wrap around me to keep the sun off.
It's hot, but better than the alternative sunburn. The hours drag by. My
portable radio doesn't work because of the mountains. I try reading but cannot
concentrate with vehicles racing by at 100 kilometres per hour and more.
So, I sit.
Eventually the sun goes down, and
now it's getting really cold. Time to get rid of the sunglasses and switch
to my regular ones. No such luck, my glasses are missing. It is one more
disaster among a string of them. I root around in the boat and don't find
my glasses, but I do find my down filled sleeping bag under the deck. I wrap
myself in that and despite the traffic noise, I fall asleep. I finally awaken
to the sound of a horn and look up to find my Dad along with my family.
By this time, the youngest is asleep,
the middle one is suffering from a migraine and the rest are, tired and
hungry. A quick hook-up, and a stop at McDonald's and we are on the way.
We arrived at midnight.
Like the cast of Gilligan's Island,
we started out for a routine six hour trip. The final tally for travel time
was sixty hours. The total bill came to just under Three Thousand Dollars.
It was definitely a holiday of horrors but I'm pleased to say, we had a
great time up at the lake. The weather was great and so was the company.
I think because of the result, we can now look back and laugh. The poem
sort of sums up the whole experience.