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Princess For A Day "Respect yourself most of all."
I awoke with the horrible realization we had camped inside a toilet ... and I had slept like a log. My face flushed with embarrassment. Outside, a savage cold wind howled. Instead of complaining, I should have been thanking my lucky stars for my good fortune. Without shelter I'd have suffered another sleepless night, frozen like a cow turd in January ... and tired and cranky the next day. At least it hadn't snowed, as the charming Mrs Malapropos had predicted. Sharon, being so close to the emotional edge of calling it quits, was dubbed "Princess-for-a-day." I agreed to do anything, and everything, her little heart desired. "Let's have breakfast at a restaurant," she said, testing her new powers. "Certainly, my dear." "I like this!" Sharon exclaimed. Her smile popped out for the first time in two days. We bid our commode home farewell, and rode into town to find a restaurant with a blazing fire. Heat and piping hot food regaled us. Unfortunately, when we emerged from the restaurant's snug interior an hour later, the hostile wind felt twice as nasty. "Gosh," I said, holding my hands over my ears. "Amazing how soft I become in such a short time." We left town - straight into the horrendous headwind. Sharon usually let me ride in front to break the diabolical wind. But, every five kilometres, she spelled me off, taking the lead on several occasions. Hey, I thought, maybe I should take her to restaurants more often! Whatever the reason, I was glad for it. Sharon had been much too spry the previous evening - peppering me with questions I didn't have the stamina to think about. When cycle touring, I found 12 hours of sack time barely enough to survive on. (If someone says a person needs an average of eight hours sleep a night, and you're only getting four, hey, I've got you covered.) In New Richmond, attempting to solve the cold-as-ice dilemma, Princess Sharon bought fleece mitts, and two pairs of 'Chilli Willie' socks, reputed (by their own advertising) to be "the best thing for cold toes since sitting in front of a roaring fire." She donned her new attire, and we headed out. Immediately, a mean headwind slapped us in the face. Sheer willpower and dogged determination kept us going. Have you ever been so far behind you could see yourself up ahead? We crept along, slower than sludge. Eventually, we attained a distance we usually covered in half the time. "The sooner we're off this peninsula," I whined, "the sooner we'll have less wind." Grinding along at a laggard snail's pace, my stomach turned queasy. I had trouble pedalling. Something I ate? Or maybe from exerting myself near maximum for so long? I spied a corner store. Reaching it (barely), I dropped my bike in the gravel. Clutching my belly, I made it inside (barely). A small sound, involuntary and wordless, broke from me. The clerk pointed to a washroom. "Crap," I said on my re-emergence, "cycling and being sick don't mix." I climbed back aboard and pedalled for another six hours. Early evening, near Pointe-à-la-Garde, we spotted a school playground and swung in to see if it presented any possible overnight spots. Teetering behind the school, we found an alcove surrounded on three sides. "Looks like our best bet," I said. A ferocious gust suddenly drove into me, flapping my ears, and curling my toenails. "Oh, I see a restful sleep with the fly flapping all night!" "Wait," I sputtered, blinking grit. "I'll check around and see if there's anything else." I traversed the schoolyard, scouting the area for a more sheltered site. Across a field, I spied a skating rink. Its bleached boards harboured three-foot-high weeds, but maybe the enclosure would offer better protection. Then I spotted a shack. It didn't seem occupied. At least no smoke curled from its chimney. Maybe it's a change house? I suddenly realized. I slogged through the weeds and peered in a window. What I saw heartened me: a row of wooden benches for use while putting on skates. Surely no one would mind if we stayed there. And, if someone did discover us, I'd just say we were a little early for skating. I tried the door. Locked. Loping around to the back, I found a second door. Saying a silent prayer, I jiggled the knob. The door creaked open! I went back and told Sharon the good news. "I guess your Princess status is still in effect." "We must be living right," Sharon sighed. "Either that or the guardian angel pin that Pat gave you is working overtime." We hauled our bikes inside the change house. The wind continued to rant, rattling the window panes. Handfuls of grit peppered the old glass. The wind, disgruntled that we had found sanctuary from its energy-sapping howls, was throwing a monumental temper tantrum. Leaving the wind to beat the door, we discovered a kitchen. I flipped a light switch. "No electricity," I reported. I twisted a tap over the sink. "No water, either." "Oh, well," Sharon said. "Beggars can't be choosers," she said. "I'm just glad we're inside." She was right. Rather than complaining, I should have been counting my blessings. I put on a happy face and helped whip up noodle soup, tuna sandwiches, and hot chocolate. For the first time in a long while, we sat on real chairs, at a real table. Luxury! Who needed electricity? "What's the forecast?" Sharon asked between bites. I turned on our battery-operated radio. The weatherman was calling for a daytime high of four degrees Celsius, accompanied by a meteorological cocktail of precipitation: freezing rain mixed with flurries, ice pellets, and a chance of rain later in the day. "Oh, it just keeps getting better and better," Sharon grimaced. "We'd better get overseas and head south. Fast. Before we freeze to death. Almost all the leaves have blown off the trees, anyway." "Yeah," I sniffed. "Seeing how strong the wind is I'm surprised trees are still standing." |
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