It was on a bright January morning that we decided to take an unusual trip to Lanark County to pick up a half-converted schoolie. Wisely or unwisely, we chose to do the trip in one day — a six hour drive there and a six hour drive back. We left early in the morning, taking a small VW with three people, hopped up on coffee, carrying bags of snacks (chosen by our ten-year-old, so all of it was candy).
The roads out of London that morning were clear, although Environment Canada warned of a 30 cm snow storm in Perth and Peterborough. We thought that perhaps this was not such a wise idea, but the stars had aligned and everyone reckless enough to attempt this trip (myself — Jason — and my best friends Tyler and Lydell) had assembled in the car so it was now or never.
Spirits were high but experienced.
The ride down was something of a teenage dream. We talked movies, the supernatural (were aliens not inter-planetary, but actually inter-dimensional beings?), life, death (not a good thing), romance, and mid-life concerns. Were we the men we used to be? What on earth happened to us in the past twenty years? Was this school bus bookmobile thing just a huge mid-life mistake, after all?
Spirits were high, if not certain.
We learned that choices made in youth still motivated us. Jason (I) mentioned Philip Roth’s quote (paraphrased): “I’m taken aback that as a 90 year old man I’m still doing something I chose to do when I was 19.” Are we artists? Are we fools? How can things be wrong when three friends can hang out in a car for five hours and it feels like 15 minutes?
When we got to Perth, Tyler said, “That was the shortest 6 hour drive I’ve ever taken.”
Jason (I) remarked that, as a child a two hour trip to Toronto was agony. Even though I prepped for the journes with books, Mad magazines, puzzles, cassettes, and snacks, it felt like a lifetime. Sitting back there behind two parents, irritating my sister, looking out at what seemed like the pointless landscape (the non-landscape) of the 401 seemed to draw the absence of MEANING out for what felt like a eternity.
This trip with friends felt like a world away for that special parental hell. The landscape around Peterborough and Perth is dazzling, a gothic, leafless, aesthetic wonderland made for good literature: old barns, forgotten cars, twiggy, snarly bushes bordering deep brush (full of monsters). Each odd corner of this world held unusual secrets, and there was no storm to speak of, despite the experts’ predictions.
Here, after six hours to Perth, I felt rejuvenated. I knew nothing about buses, cars, electronics, or diesel engines, but I did know my friends. Good people. People full of ideas, weird theories, people game for adventure. Anyone who will just leap into a discussion about poltergeists is my sort of person.
Anyone who would help me get a bus from Eastern Ontario to Southwestern Ontario is a hero.
We reached the garage and poked around near the front desk like out-of-towners. Bryan Adams played on the radio. The mechanic came out smiling. The bus had been prepped and ready to go! The four of us walked into the big back garage, full of buses, ambulances, and trucks, to see (like an ugly duckling in the corner) a safetied, sparkly school bus.
It was beautiful.
It even beeped when you backed it up.
After some paperwork and a breath of wonder, Tyler and I hopped into the bus and took it to the gas station. Lydell followed in his car. The three of us stood there, a bit stunned, at the sight of this weird little thing being gassed up in small town Ontario. This was an adventure bus.
Was this the future of retail?
The way back felt deeper. Futures were discussed. Dreams analyzed. Plans confirmed. Phone calls were made to Lydell in the other vehicle, where Skinwalkers and the Mesas of New Mexico were described. Did they hold spiritual power? Did a spectral craft with illuminated tendrils appear one night near grandma’s house?
Yes it did. Grandpa saw it.
All of us were driving at night now, down farm-lightless back roads. We each expected to see the hint of future magic around the dark corners. Was that a weird light in the air over the trees? Was the promise of one’s second-half-of-life somehow linked to a belief in these things? How does one even talk to girls?
Apart from a quick pit-stop at McDonalds (the new spicy chicken is tasty), London was reached in minutes. We pulled into the parking lot of the new B&D office with Vanessa waiting at the front door. The bus beeped. The bus sang. We all took a moment to pour over the lovely details of this new craft. It has solar! It has faux stained glass in the windows! You can pull a lever and open the door JUST LIKE A REAL SCHOOL BUS DRIVER!
We no longer worried that this was a bad idea. If time collapses and twelve hours feel like two, at this point in life, that is a Sign. Something good has happened. Something exciting.
Soon we hope to share that excitement with you.
Much love,
Jason and Vanessa
