Last Saturday, the morning sun greeted me as I pulled out of my garage. My plan was to meet friends on the other side of the Mercier Bridge, over in St. Constant. My knapsack held a polyester jacket and a foam cooler: bottled water and orange juice filled that space. I hadn't checked online traffic. Why would I?
Who drives on weekends in Montreal?
Windows open, left elbow hanging on the ledge, I turned right. What I faced along St. Johns was a "walk-a-thon" of inexplicable traffic. I sighed, rolled my eyes and calmly followed until I saw the blue arrow — "HWY 20."
YES. Drivers on that road were primed. I sizzled into the left lane and turned those white ribbons into one solid line. Exits loomed then vanished: farm fields opened and closed. I passed gray and beaten barns leaning into the wind, holding secrets I'd never know.
Then my phone buzzed with the message. My friends were stuck in downtown traffic and couldn't make it. "Come on, guys," I groaned. This was the second time in a month they'd bailed. Who the fuck drives on weekends?
It was time to head home.
What I didn't know was that while I'd been cruising along, construction crews had shut down the Mercier Bridge for emergency roadwork. I was marooned without a map of how to get back to my island. I did what came naturally — I followed the other cars.
They must have known where they were going.
An hour and a half passed. I had looped the same exits and service roads twice, hunting for a sign. There were none. My heartbeat rose, music off, I slowed down and peered through my windshield, looking for any clues. One wrong turn left, a couple of rights, and I found myself on a bumpy two-lane backroad headed to — God only knows where. The GPS on my phone wouldn't work.
Plowed acres of brown land were my only companions. Hadn't I passed that cow before? To accelerate my growing panic, the "empty tank" light on my dashboard began to blink a taunting yellow. I had less than ten miles. I watched the road and my odometer as it counted down. Two more miles and I'd be stranded.
And then, a miracle. SHE raised her beacon. "Luck" occasionally feigns an attraction to me.
Up ahead, to my exhausted relief, was a gas station. I filled (and emptied) my tank. The woman behind the counter must have recognized my hopeless confusion as she handed me my receipt. Before I could open my mouth, she smiled and pointed a slender finger. "Turn left and follow the signs."
Huh? How could it be that simple?
The world immediately blossomed into cerulean blues and emerald greens. Streams mirrored clouds. The air was fresh again. Wind whistled tunes through an open crack in a window. Miles counted themselves in obscurity.
Then I spied that huge green emblem, "Montreal." The pressure on my chest lifted, panic vaporized. A familiar skyline gradually loomed behind a brilliant orange haze as the setting sun welcomed me back home. Of course, I was stuck in wall-to-wall traffic on Decarie Boulevard.
But I didn't mind at all.
Did I learn any lessons from that convoluted mess I found myself in? Of course. I'll always make sure the GPS on my phone works, and I'll definitely figure out "North" from "South."
Friends simply say I should just avoid that fucking "black hole" Mercier Bridge. There's always something weird going on there. Sheesh... 😐
I think every town has a "black hole" place you have to avoid.
Ever get really lost out there — somewhere without signs? 😶
... this is what that cashier looked like — without her uniform — probably...
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13 comments
Guess Paul I'm famous for getting lost in suburbs - am ashamed to say, but those streets, or avenues all look alike! Now I'm wondering how did we ever survive before before smart phones and GPS?
I used to carry maps in my car; then I got lazy and overconfident.
But for me to get lost in my own city? Embarassing. 😲😂
She's like salma little... good
She's very good... 🤗🔥
Lost never just several interesting side tours. Friends who don't show and waste time, really friends? Hot for cashier
Those buddies were reelee stuck, and no way I was waiting in the boonies for more than an hour while they crawled along. It's what it was. 😐
The cashiers here are always stylish. 🤗
I don't do well at being lost. If your trip had been mine, I'd have been reduced to tears. The places I avoid are one-way streets. Those are my black holes, and signs don't help. Goodnight Paul.
I hate to admit it, but I was close to losing it. What a cluster.😲
At least if someone were sitting beside me... we BOTH would have lost it. 😂
@Paulxx001 I do better with company, but then they might just see me having a meltdown. Not too much fun for them. Lol.
@MyNameIsKay
Nah... Two people freaking out is always more fun than "solo."
In the center of Bilbao, my hometown, less than a kilometer from the place where I worked for thirty years, there’s a neighborhood made up of about a dozen blocks, and for some reason, every time I go in there, I lose my bearings and get completely disoriented. It’s not even an old maze of alleyways, just an ordinary neighborhood. Once, I even started to feel the beginnings of a panic attack because I just couldn’t find my way out and kept ending up in the same spot 😀
I know that feeling, and can imagine it clearly. 😲
Hello! Navigator Supreme here! I navigated through Montreal once because J'étais le seul à savoir distinguer l'ouest de l'est.
The key to my success (besides a good sense of direction) ... paper maps.
I used to carry maps when out of town. But here? So many construction detours in summer that they are useless.
Your French is really good. 👍🤗
She has faced many with that “I am lost and pissed “ look. She was your angel there. Yes I have been there. Before gps. Not a good feeling. And you know down here. Deliverence could be more than a movie.😳
OMG. I am imagining THAT. 😲
Ya know? I do really well when I have a helpful co-pilot with a sense of direction.
Less well, when I'm juggling my phone, trying to read fricken confusing road signs in unfamiliar territory.
Take care.🤗
We played many of their tunes — easy to dance to.
Sometimes I walk alone...