At about 3 or 3:30 in the morning, one hardly expects anything very important to happen. After all, most civilized people are asleep in their beds at that hour. But last Tuesday night, I didn’t have any choice. I had to drive a long distance – between Winnipeg and Saskatoon – to arrive in time for a media appointment the next morning.
As I drove my car rental late that night, I suddenly became aware that the sky was growing brighter in the wrong place. Not behind me to the East where the sun would be rising in a couple of hours, but to the North. I dimmed the lights on the console of the car and peered off to my right.
“The Northern Lights,” I said to myself in a hushed tone, as if speaking the words aloud would scare them off. “Aurora borealis,” I added.
I hadn’t seen them in years, probably since the last time I’d been driving in Western Canada, back in the 1980s. But there they were. For anyone who hasn’t seen them, they are shimmering shards of light – sometimes red or purple or silver and green – dancing from northwest to northeast in the night-time sky.
They’re usually brightest and most lively in the winter, but in the Prairie latitudes I travelled through last week, the fall edition was just what the doctor ordered. They kept amused and occupied for the many hours I had to drive before I arrived in Saskatoon.
Driving long hauls at night, I admit, is something I’ve adapted to in recent years, not because I moonlight as an overnight tractor-trailer driver. However, with the number of occasions I find myself dashing off to speaking events these evenings, I’m usually the first one to arrive – setting up my presentation equipment (a laptop and a projector) – and then because I enjoy chatting with members of the audiences until the last one’s left the building, I usually leave just before the janitor locks up the place for the night.
Then, I’ve got the long, night-time drive home, sometimes from the London area, other times from Muskoka or Collingwood area, and often all around the golden horseshoe – from Port Hope or Cobourg to Burlington or Hamilton and back.
Anyway, last Tuesday night, I needed to try to stay awake for that long haul between Winnipeg and Saskatoon, about 780 kilometres (or about 500 miles). And after putting in a full day of work – from morning until evening – keeping myself from drifting off for another eight hours straight was no mean feat.
My first concern was knowing that I had enough gas to drive the distance; I was travelling across territory, unlike Highway 401, that didn’t have rest stops with coffee shops to keep me going and gas pumps to keep my car going. I learned from friends in Winnipeg that the last open gas station northwest towards Saskatoon was in Portage, Man., an hour west of Winnipeg. And that meant I’d be pushing it to make nearly 700 km on one tank of gas. But I had to get to Saskatoon by early the next morning or bust.
That’s when I discovered a lifesaver I didn’t expect. Several years ago, when I finally broke down and purchased a cell phone, you know one with all those rows and rows of applications such as a camera, Google Maps, Twitter, Facebook, IMDb, and all the national newspaper downloads, my daughter had forced me to open a music app that store-housed dozens of the family’s favourite songs – jazz, pop, classical and, yes, even highway-driving blues and country and western.
So, Tuesday, after I’d gassed up at the last all-night gas pump in Portage, I thought I’d charge up my cell phone in case of an emergency. Suddenly, the speakers in the car blared with Marvin Gaye’s “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” and then “Ain’t Nobody’s Business” with Willie Nelson and Wynton Marsalis. I realized there was an entire library there.
The music my daughter had downloaded on the phone forced me to tap hands and feet and bob my head all night long. And eight hours later, I’d listened all the way to the Buddy Rich Band and “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy,” from A to M about half way through my cell-phone playlist.
And that was perfect, because in just a few hours, after I had completed all my Wednesday media appearances in Saskatoon and finished a talk at the McNally Robinson Booksellers store there, I had to pull another all-nighter, driving six hours farther up the Yellowhead Highway to Edmonton. No problem, I thought.
The Northern Lights would probably be back to keep my eyes peeled and, thanks to my daughter’s foresight, I had all the music on my cell-phone playlist from N to W, or The Band’s “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” to Joe Cocker’s “With a Little Help From My Friends.”
Bring on the monotonous night driving. I’m all set.
