Bob Grylls of Westmeath shares this story he wrote two years ago, but thought would bring some humour to our readers in this bleak winter wonderland.
Each Fall, the Riverview Social Club, comprised of 70 or so Westmeath and area residents, plan a bus trip for an overnight stay of one or two nights. That year’s co-ordinator makes viable suggestions and the members take a vote on the location they prefer.
AGAWA CANYON TRIP – Sep 10-12, 2013
A well-planned chartered bus trip for the Riverview Social Club deep into Northern Ontario went off the rails and without any hint of warning – until reaching their hotel destination that evening.
Forty men and women had been anticipating this Sault Ste. Marie excursion for weeks and bedding down at the Holiday Inn for two nights. The first day was mostly travel, 11 hours to the Sault, made bearable by coffee and lunch breaks but mostly by our favourite amateur entertainer Cathy W. She told jokes; many unfitting for the ears of a bus driver, played timely music from the 50’s but so old the words couldn’t be remembered by the others. Her protégé and rookie back-up, Phil C., with his raspy voice that wasn’t meant for a portable sound system playing on a moving bus. Some ladies did some wiggling down the aisle to the music that was modest but rather noteworthy. The Sault was reached on schedule, despite a gaping sink-hole on Highway 17 at Iron Bridge, making a lengthy detour for the driver. The first stop was for a lovely dinner at Giovannis (the culinary craft learned in Italy) and afterwards to the Holiday Inn Express where we heard the breaking news of the horrific shock affecting our excursion.
The next morning, Wednesday, was booked as a 10-hour train ride further north to explore Agawa Canyon, over a billion years old, older than all the ages of the Social Club passengers collectively. None of the group had ever seen it and most hadn’t heard of it. Before the front desk was reached after Giovani’s, the cancellation of the train to the canyon spread like wildfire, due to a flash flood the previous night that had flooded the tracks. Co-ordinator Irene O., who had fair skin, turned so pale that her face was virtually invisible. What would happen now? Fortunately a few cooler heads prevailed and it was decided to hold an emergency meeting the next morning to reschedule the schedule. Even Sault native and astronaut Roberta Bonder couldn’t arrange an alternative flight on such short notice.
Nine o’clock in the morning the group met with heavy hearts, sagging jowls and bearing some bitterness about the locked-down train. The thought was to head straight for home that morning or stay the second night at the hotel as had been planned and make the best of it. The majority voted to stay but then a third option popped up: take the bus to Sudbury (half-way), stay overnight there and return home the next day. The sole vote by Bob G. in favour of the Sudbury idea caused him much teasing, almost bordering on persecution. He insisted on a vote recount but the co-ordinator would not hear of it – knowing it wouldn’t change anything.
The hotel manager, dismayed over our dilemma, donated the use of the banquet room to the group for the rest of our stay. He also had information about many local events in the vicinity. The social planners got busy, studied the information and agreed on some agendas. The Bushplane heritage centre was a popular choice, as was the art museum. Strolls along the boardwalk bordering the St. Mary’s River and only a short hike to the USA border appealed to those who didn’t have bad legs, hips, backs or anything else that ailed them.
There were other attractions as well but the evening thrill was the OLG casino where cash slipped through fingers like silk. However, Sylvia P., Pat K. and Sheila U. managed to stay in the black. The guys couldn’t get the hang of it. There were plenty of blackjack tables available to try your luck but the slot machines were boss. The cafeteria there was busiest of all, even serving breakfast day and night.
Meanwhile, back at the banquet room, avid card players stayed rooted until the wee hours, afraid they might miss a trick or not catch someone else dealing from the bottom of the deck.
The pressure on Bob G. didn’t let up all that day. Determined as he was to go on his own to Sudbury for spite, he didn’t have enough funds for a ticket. The casino outing had taken care of that. Tired of being called Nickel Head and Sudbury Sam, he made arrangements with Gérard the bus driver to let him off before reaching the designated coffee stop in Sudbury and to inform the rest of the passengers that he felt rejected and was staying behind because of it. Bob G. left the bus with his small carry-on bag and its meagre possessions, heading to a small group of stores in the distance to become invisible from the others. But the bus didn’t leave the corner. Green light after green light was passed up. Something was wrong.
Then Phil C., sequestered to bring him in, was approaching him. He said everyone was worried. My sister Margaret P. was crying and even Keith B. wanted me to come back.
Phil was saying, “Appear like you are resisting me.”
Bob replied, “I am resisting you.”
He really did want to go back and with enough arm-twisting, he faked it and let Phil drag him back.
It seemed legitimate enough as when back on the bus, Irene O., the co-ordinator who had by then regained her rightful shade of colour, presented him with a Pluckers tee-shirt she had nested away to make up for the hard time he had been given.
Gerard explained later to Bob that he got mixed up and stopped too soon so then couldn’t go ahead. If he had, Bob would still be wandering around that god-forsaken city.
As it was, he was glad to be back in the good books. Homeward bound, the frivolity was even more intense than the trip up. Playing cards at the back of the bus, Pierrette L. and Sylvia P. (the Princess of Euchre and Texas Dolly) from North Bay, among others, barely stopped to catch their breath. Cathy W. and Phil C. resumed telling of jokes and singing. The day’s break didn’t improve their gig that much. One of the Plumes inadvertently asked Edgar W. a question about farming. For hours everyone nearby was educated on everything from how cows and bulls did it, to fertile corn crops and the effects of rain on hay fields.
Upon arriving at the community centre, the parting of ways seemed as foreign as leaving home for the first time. In fairness, the train may have been side-tracked but everyone overcame it. New friendships and silly memories along the way should bide us over for a year.
