NOTES FROM THE SCOTCH COLONY
A bus trip from Montreal
by Robert LaFrance
After
spending all too few glorious days visiting my grand-daughter in Montreal (I
believe her parents were there too), I jumped on a bus that, ten hours later,
deposited me in front of Squeaky’s in Perth-Andover. I had been missing my
grand-daughter for about ten hours.
Before I
told you something about the trip I want to give you a good reason why the rest
of us don’t live in cities.
It was
about 7:15 am on that Tuesday when I was sitting in my bus with another five
dozen people and we saw, off to our left, something that made us all sigh in
relief that we weren’t there.
Ten lanes
of city-bound traffic were stopped solid. We watched and watched and couldn’t
see it budge an inch, or even a centimetre. Meanwhile we were zipping along at
100+ km/hr as we headed for, in my case certainly, rural Canada. Ten lanes of
traffic back there. I didn’t know there were that many cars in Quebec.
I will
mention more about my trip later on, but first this anecdote: as our bus neared
Perth-Andover, I received a text message from my wife, who was to pick me up at
Squeaky’s which is the Maritime Bus Lines pickup point. “I might be a few
minutes late,” she wrote. “They’re paving Fred Tribe Road and the flagmen and
women have us backed up for a long way, maybe 15 vehicles. It’s a gridlock
here.” My mind went back to those ten lanes of traffic going into Montreal.
********************
It was a
great visit to Montreal, at least for me. My daughter and son-in-law may have
wanted me to git after two hours, but I hung on and kept Violet Grace
entertained with trips around the streets of Verdun in her stroller. I mean,
she was in the stroller and I was pushing it. We often allowed one or more of
her parents to come along so they could pay for everything.
There is a
playground near to their apartment that is on 5th Avenue near
LaSalle; Violet sure loved visiting
there and trying out all the equipment. I mean ALL the equipment.
Picture this 71-year-old grandfather trying to keep up with the 13-month-old
girl who zoomed from the slide to the swing to the see-saw to The Thing.
I call it that because neither I nor anyone else had any idea what it was
called, but, for some reason, it was Violet’s favourite.
Then of
course there was a whole lot of sand on the ground. At a guess I would say that
the city has to bring in a truckload of fine sand once a month because all the
many kids who played in were taking it home on their clothes and flesh, some
even putting it in their mouths. Not to mention any names.
Alas, my
vacation from retirement was over all too soon, and on September 10th
I set my alarm for 5:30 am and quietly went out to the street at 5:45. The taxi
driver pulled up to the door right on time and my journey back to New Brunswick
had begun. This guy drove like a taxi driver too, if you know what I mean. I
noticed that the city speed limit was 50 km/hr but my driver added a zero to
that. We were zooming down Ontario Street (Is a name like that even legal in
Quebec?) when I stuck my head out to see that we were going 495 km/hr. I put my
head back down and prayed some more, to whatever gods I could think of.
We went
through what seemed like half a dozen tunnels with the taxi driver doing a
continuous narration. If I understood correctly, the Lafontaine Tunnel was
going to be replaced with a new one within a few years. I said that was nice,
could he keep his eyes on the road please? At 495 km/hr one could only imagine
how much would be left of old Bob LaFrance if we hit something more determined
than we were.
Once out of
the tunnel(s) I could see some famous Montreal landmarks, the Molson Building,
Maple Leaf Gardens, construction cranes. I mentioned these to the taxi driver
and he said Maple Leaf Gardens is not called that any more, and besides is in
Toronto. The Montreal Canadiens play at the Bell Centre, right near the
building where my son-in-law works. You learn something every day.
By the way,
the taxi driver didn’t actually say that my son-in-law works near the Bell
Centre; I supplied that information. However, he knew everything else.
I mentioned
that the taxi I was in was crossing Verdun and downtown Montreal rather
quickly, now here’s a question for you: On the Trans Canada Highway, the part that
goes past Perth-Andover, the speed limit is 110 km/hr, but in the
quickly-moving city of Montreal and the quickly-moving province of Quebec, the
speed limit on the TCH is only 100 km/hr. Go figure.
I wonder
how fast my Montreal taxi driver would drive on the New Brunswick Trans Canada
Highway? I can picture him crossing the provincial border above Edmundston:
“Yahoo! Now I can open this thing up!”
In Ste.
Foy, where the Quebec City bus station is located, all the lunch counter signs
were in French of course. I told the guy I wanted two (I was hungry) boites aux
letters. “You just asked for two mailboxes, sir,” he said. “Sure you don’t mean
croque-matin?” Apparently I did, because they were delicious.
Aside
from the joy of seeing Violet Grace, those were a few of the high spots of my
trip to another country, Quebec. I am home in Kincardine and after I finish
writing this column I plan to go split some wood for the winter of 2020-2021
and then have a cold beer, perhaps a Molson or whatever that’s called now.-end-
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