We set out this morning for the long day’s drive to Regina.
First stop was for fuel, where we discovered that Shell gift
cards purchased in the US don’t work in Canada.
Second stop was for breakfast at Tim Horton’s, the Canadian
fast-food joint that you see everywhere up here. Seriously, they’re as common
as McDonald’s or Dunkin’ Donuts. And, actually, very much like a cross between
the two.
Then on for the seven-and-a-half hour journey to Regina. That’s
7 ½ hours of pure driving time. Not counting pit stops. Not counting time spent
trying to find lunch. Just driving.
When one of Sue’s friends had learned that we’d be traveling
home via the Trans-Canada Highway, he remarked that, oh yeah, that’s the road
that’s so flat and straight, if your dog runs away you’ll still see him running
three days later. HaHa
He wasn’t wrong. Even though our route took us though towns with
interesting names like “Medicine Hat” or “Moose Jaw” the journey turned out to
be pretty underwhelming. Not hatin’ on it. Just underwhelmed. These are the
plains, and … well, I wonder if our use of the word “plain” to describe
something kind of uninteresting came from the plains. Or did scientists name
the biosphere “plains” because they are uninteresting? Either way …
We stopped in the town of Swift Current, which seemed to be a
large enough town though curiously deserted – to be fair, maybe everybody was
working? – and found the Akropol Family Restaurant. It was an unusual-looking kind
of place, like something you’d see in a movie set in New York from the 50’s. We
chose their “signature” dish – Spinach Pizza – and although it had been made
with canned (or maybe frozen, but certainly not fresh) spinach, it was pretty
OK. Honestly, I think if you’re this far away from Athens or Tarpon Springs,
you’re asking to be let down if you expect the same level of awesome Greek food
that you’d get in one of those locales. And our server was a hoot! Kind of a
dry sense of humor. Nice stop.
We took away the last two slices of our lunch-size pizza and
continued on our way. More riding, more driving, more riding and driving, until
finally we came to Regina.
After the crack that the customs agent made the other day, I
wasn’t expecting anything at all, but this is a pretty happenin’ city. There’s
a big university here, and some nice parks, and best of all the AWESOME Air BnB
that I’d rented. This place is beautiful! (Seriously, here’s a link so that if
you ever find yourself needing to stay in Regina, you should stay here: Laurie's Place )
Our host, Laurie (whom we will not meet, unfortunately), is a
caterer, and she’d left us with all sorts of recommendations for places to eat
or to go out. What a sense of humor she has! Her descriptions of the food, the
management, and the typical clientele were thoughtful and occasionally very
funny. We studied her list very carefully, chose a place and googled it, and within
mere minutes found ourselves at the wrong end of the street. Or something. Because we
found only a private residence at the address that I’d taken down. So we drove
around the city for a bit, spied Victoria’s Tavern, which had been one of our “finalists”
from Laurie’s list, and went in for wings and Reuben sandwiches and beer.
About a half-hour in, I suddenly turned to Sue and said, “Did
you think to bring those leftover pizza slices into the apartment?” Well, no,
she hadn’t. And after a half hour, those pizza slices were probably gone.
(Think back to the Scones Incident of a week ago, the day we traveled to
G.N.P.) So we both shrugged our shoulders, laughed, and carried on with eating
and drinking and people-watching and laughing some more.
On our return to the car, we found Henry and the pizza box in
the back seat.
Much to our surprise, the box was closed – as you see – and you may also see there are no teeth marks on it anywhere. So amazingly, Henry has gotten into the front seat, into the floor where the pizza box lay, picked it up and
carried it back into the back seat and then had an attack of Good Boy-ness and
did not eat the pizza.
Or not.
Meet Farting Hedgehog, one of Henry’s favorite toys. Was Henry attempting to pay for the pizza? To apologize for the theft? Who knows? Only two – Henry and Farting Hedgehog – know the answer, and neither one is talking. I’m a leavin’ you laughin’ at that.
More photos from the Forces of Nature Tour at Flickr.
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