A short travelogue in two parts

Part I.

Smooth, blue and sharp cliffs crowded the car on one side of the highway and the cold waters that spilled out of lake Nipigon splashed against the other. Anthony imagined that he was driving along the rim of some long since spent and deserted mine that a hundred years of rain had only tried to fill. Anyway, the view now was at least better than the stunted and decaying half-forest he had just sped through, with its stagnant bogs and weeping trees. Here the world refused decay, it stuck its bony limbs out in mocking defiance of rotting death.

But for what he gained in scenery he lost in time. The highway, hemmed in as it was by these natural obstacles followed no straight lines. All twists and turns. So as chance and luck would have it, it wasn’t long before he found himself tight up against the bumper of a lazy driver. He fell in behind a red Pontiac for what seemed like an hour before at last the highway climbed a long steep and straight hill taking him out of the depression of the lake waters. As he sped by the red machine at what was now a new altitude he also noticed that the highway was taking a change in direction, heading more towards the south than the west. And the change in direction was reflected in the scenery too, the trees were getting greener, taller and the air warmer.

All alone now coasting on the vacant road he took a look at the map and thought that Lake Superior must only be sixty miles away. As fine a place as any to spend a night, he said to himself. Although it was now after eight in the evening, eastern time, the sun was still pretty high in the sky. And this too despite that Montreal, not to mention New York city, was now hundreds and hundreds of miles behind him.

It was just after nine when he rolled onto the lake shore. And even at such a late hour he found that the beaches and cliffs were still populated with the summer timers. Middle aged men and women mostly. Quite a spectacle. He’d find no privacy on this road. All these bicyclists and dog walkers spread themselves out as a plague on the rim of the sea. That’s where they start. Funny thing is that as he passed by they looked at him as if he had murdering on his mind, the murdering of their dogs, their children, their investments. Evidently, as their smugness reflected, it took only a cruel glare to thwart his plans. Now that’s something to invest in.

Anyway, at the edge of the summer vacation and where the road ended and rounded out he noticed a clean stretch of ground off to the left, shaded by a ring of fir trees. So Tony parked the car in a way that would shield the site from the road and reached into his backseat, grabbed his tent and rolled it out onto the ground. In no time he had the poles extended, fed through the nylon hoops and pegged to the ground. He reached again into his back seat and felt around for a blanket and a sweater, unzipped the fly of the tent and tossed them both inside.