Breaking Point

It was mid-February when my cat and I set out on our cross-country relocation in the fully loaded Uhaul van. The time had come for me to set out on my own and fly free in a new and exciting chapter.

Mom, who lived only a few houses down, ran down the street as I drove away that day. I didn't grow up with her but we had formed such an amazing bond when I moved in with her for a short time in my early twenties, and we got to know each other with adult maturity. I saw her running in my rearview mirror but forced myself to keep driving.

My cat, Buckwheat, wasn't a big fan of crates or car rides so he spent the first day crying, incessantly. I'd reach over and pet his head but still he was having none of it.

Day one we travelled west in Canada, crossed into the USA, drove north for many hours, and then crossed back into Canada before finding our first hotel. All I wanted to do was collapse in tears on the bed but Buckwheat needed his litter box and feeding. By the time he was cared for I was done. Done, like I'd never felt before. Physically exhausted from the long drive, and emotionally exhausted from all the tugs on my heart strings.

Day 2 we got up early and the sun was shining. Buckwheat and I ate, and got on the road with a big day planned ahead. I did a circle check of the van, kicked the tires, and checked the gas gauge; I had over half a tank so I knew I'd be good for a while. But, because my parents didn't raise no dummy, I checked the map for gas stations on the route ahead. The first one was 15km away and still within the city limits, and the second one was 250km away in a remote small town. Bucko and I set our sites on gas station number 2 for fuel and coffee...and off we went.

The first 100km or so were great! Buckwheat still wasn't happy but the sun was out and my mood was better. The mission was feeling like it was back on track. But then the snow came. Oh boy did it come. This section of road, through northern Ontario, is all switchbacks as it snakes through lakes and wilderness; add a blizzard to that and it gets interesting really fast. I watched the map and kept telling Buckwheat "we're almost there" hoping we could both get refuge at the gas station. Then there it was, the sign for "gas station ahead", covered with a temporary sign that said, "closed for the season".

Fuck.

So now with less than half a tank of fuel, a crying cat, white-out conditions, and on a treacherous road we kept going to the next gas station which was a couple hundred km away. Back and forth, up and down, hearing tires hit the gravel shoulder we trekked on. The gas gauge crept lower and lower and I adjusted my driving to try and conserve fuel. Coast down hill and try to maintain momentum to get back up the next without using the accelerator.

The gas gauge showed empty and I estimated we were still 25km away from the station. The van would choke going down hill as the last few drops of get would get to the pickup, then roar back to life once level again. Then, there on the horizon, was the station! I ungripped one of my white-knuckled hands from the steering wheel to point it out to Buckwheat; his lackluster expression was underwhelming.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. I thought light thoughts and rocked in my chair to give the van any momentum help I could. The gas station got closer and closer but the van struggled more and more. Could I make it? It seemed so doubtful. We crested the last hill and it was all downhill to the station. I mashed the gas pedal to get the last drop of power, then shifted into neutral, and let gravity decide my fate. The van literally ran out of gas and died at the absolute limit of the gas pump's hose. Even an inch short and we would have had to tow the van through thick snow just to get it close enough.

Salvation! I collapsed from the stress and asked the attendant to "fill 'er up" with more joy than I'd ever felt when buying gas before.

Before I left Ontario I had quit smoking so that my new start would include healthy living. Once I picked myself up off the snowy ground that day I walked into the store, bought my favorite cigarettes, then polished off a few while sitting on picnic table. Cigarettes, in my childhood home, were an acceptable means of stress relief so I knew that they'd help...and they sure did.

Buckwheat and I regrouped and got back on the road to the next hotel, and it was smooth sailing all the way west. Years later I quit smoking again but I'll always remember the time I quit quitting.