Keith Muise: Crossing Canada in Times of COVID, Part 3
As I made my way across the country, I survived on bananas, Ritz Crackers, and Nutri Grain bars. At every gas station I wore a pair of rubber gloves to avoid touching the gas nozzle, and I made sure to throw away all of my garbage at every stop. City to city, I breezed through, like a ghost, among the people but never really there. Since the only people I spoke to were hotel workers, I doubt I left much of an impression on anyone I encountered. As far as the universe was concerned, I was never really in any of the places that I passed through, and I was fine with it. I had one goal, to make it home without getting sick, and I had no issue flying below the radar to achieve that goal.
One night, in a motel in Ontario, I woke in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and I did the unthinkable: I forgot to put my shoes on my way to the toilet. I panicked. I felt like I had my system down pat, how the hell could I forget? Luckily my Lysol bottle was on the side of the bathroom sink so I grabbed it and walked on my heels back to the bed, making sure to thoroughly soak my feet before getting back into my king-sized safe zone and drifting off back to sleep.
On the trip I encountered many people, and since I had been wearing masks every time I was inside, it was then that I started becoming accustomed to the sly looks that people give when they are put off by the sight of a mask. You can just tell when someone has an issue with it. While there is no way of knowing what that issue is, I have, since the start of the pandemicA global outbreak of a disease., felt a sort of proud defiance when I catch someone glaring at me, as if I am doing something wrong by protecting myself.
It is like the mean looks push me further in the other direction, and I want to make sure they see it in my eyes that their opinion does not matter. Sometimes I felt like screaming, “take a picture, it’ll last longer”, but I refrained then and still do. When I am in public, I just want to do what I have to and leave, like a ghost everywhere, but never fully there.
Once you drive for 12 hours, 2 more hours is no big deal. Some days I would drive more than I had to just so that I could stop at a river, or forest, or park to relax for a while. On occasion, I ordered a pizza while sitting in the parking lot of a pizza place so I didn’t have to go in.
On the eastern side of Canada, the four Atlantic Provinces of Newfoundland and Labrador, Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick had all formed a safety alliance called The Atlantic Bubble. Anyone entering any of those 4 provinces, by plane, sea craft or land had to pass through a COVID check-stop upon entry. At the check-stops, there were police officers and medical personnel who would ask a series of screening questions, and in some cases, isolate people on site.
Upon arrival in New Brunswick, which borders on Quebec, I was met with a large lineup of vehicles and makeshift structures that housed those who were being put through additional screening, those who were being turned away, and the workers who were upholding the rules of the Atlantic Bubble.
As I drove up an officer asked me to pull down my window and he asked me if I had been in contact with anyone with COVID, if I had any symptoms such as feverA common symptom of infection marked by elevated body temperature. or cough, and if I had travelled anywhere outside of the country or met with anyone who had in the last 3 weeks.
I answered no to all questions, and even though I knew I wasn’t sick, I still felt anxious like they were going to pull me from my vehicle at any minute and throw in me a cell. Nah, that only happens in the movies, I thought, and as I drove through the makeshift town they had constructed out on the highway, I felt a little uneasy about the integrity of The Atlantic Bubble.
That’s all it was? A few questions, and they are basing the safety of four provinces on the honor system? This was before I knew about asymptomatic transmission, so my anxiety quickly faded after I convinced myself that they knew what they were doing, and I drove on down the highway.
Six days after leaving Alberta, I had made it to North Sydney, Nova Scotia, which is 5338 kilometers (3316 miles) from our old home and just an eight-hour ferry ride away from our new one.
To get to the island portion of Newfoundland and Labrador, you have to take a large ferry, and even though I had hated taking “the boat” because of sea sickness, this time I welcomed it like a hug from an old friend.
When I was finished checking in to my last hotel, I was having difficulty containing my excitement. After speeding through my “Keet Bomb” routine, I decided it was time to order a pizza and watch some tv. I sat down on the bed, freshly covered by my last king sized sheet, and realized that I had left my phone charger in the van. I got on my shoes, threw on a mask, and headed out to the parking lot.
As I exited the building there was a group of men hanging around a bench, drinking beer and smoking. I walked around to the passenger side to get the charger as to avoid them and their prying eyes.
“Why do you got that bullshit on your face my buddy” asked one of the guys, and a couple of his friends started laughing. I didn’t want any trouble, so I said, “oh, cause I’m too ugly to go out in public, my son”, and they all laughed. Then the guy who asked me why I was wearing it said, “is it because you think we got COVID”, and I said “nah, I just don’t know if I have it, and I don’t want to get anyone sick”. “Oh”, he said, “well man we ain’t worried”, and nodded at them as I walked back into the hotel with my cord.
What he said stuck with me, all that night, and even though I only knew a fraction of what I know now about the damage that COVID can cause, even then, I was worried about where we were heading. I couldn’t understand how seemingly nice guys could risk their lives, and not care if they caught something like COVID. Thousands of people were dying, and it was no joke, and still people couldn’t be bothered to avoid it? This was a notion that continues to confuse me to this day.
That last night in the hotel flew by, and even though I was worried about the sea sickness, I was pumped to finally board the boa. As I sat there in the line up of cars waiting to get on, I burst out in tears and didn’t stop crying until I boarded the boat about 20 minutes later.
While sitting there, it hit me, what had happened over the previous 10 months, the amount of stress and anxiety that we had all been through, the fear, the chaos, and the general state of the world, it all got to me in that moment waiting for the boat.
Along with feeling overwhelmed, my tears were also brought on by the happiness I felt to be heading back to my first home, and for the possibilities that were ahead of us, so to say that it was an emotionally confusing time would be an understatement.
Over the years I had taken the ferry to Newfoundland many times, but this time was the most exciting time yet. I had a private cabin booked and a 3M N95, which were hard to come by back then, so I was feeling positive and confident about my journey, and crossing my fingers that the Ginger Gravol I took were going to do the trick and spare me the wobbles.
On the boat I was not allowed to leave the cabin, which was fine by me. I napped on and off while watching tv with my N95 stuck tightly to my face with some painters tape.
I actually did it! To my surprise I had fallen asleep on the boat, and with only about an hour left in the journey I decided I would snap some pictures to post on social media to let people know I was on my way home. During those last minutes, my excitement was growing, so much so that I had, for a brief moment, forgotten all about the pandemicA global outbreak of a disease. and COVID.
Once the ferry docked, I drove off and there was a line to answer more screening questions, much like the ones we answered in New Brunswick, and after I told the attendants that I was not sick and had not been out of the country, I was free to go.
Port Aux Basque is a beautiful town and the scenery on the way to my destination is breathtaking. The Appalachian Mountains provide a backdrop that can hypnotize you if you allow them to. Just as I hit the highway, the sun was setting behind them leaving the sky a beautiful blue and the clouds a pinkish orange.
Across 5691 kilometer (3536 miles), I had held the stress, anxiety and raw emotions that were building up inside me at bay, but as I made my way down the highway, the song Walk of Life by Dire Straits, came on the stereo. It was one of my late grandmothers favorites, and as the first notes hit, my tears did again. It’s hard to drive when you’re crying, but I didn’t want to stop so I slowed down a little and let it all out.
The enormity of the journey I just experienced, and the reminder that we were in a pandemicA global outbreak of a disease. hit me. For a brief moment my excitement was suppressed by fear and anger.
I finally made it home, and as I turned in the driveway, my family ran out in the yard to greet me. They were one week into their mandatory isolationSeparating sick individuals from healthy ones to prevent disease spread. and had decided that we would restart once I got home and do another full two weeks.
Cases were minimal in those early days, and I thought I was careful the whole way home. So as far as we knew, the risk was minimal. Knowing what I know now, about asymptomatic infections and incubation periods, and airborne transmissionThe spread of pathogens through aerosols or droplets suspended in the air., I never would have risked it. I should have done my full two weeks alone in the cabin that we had rented for me just down the road, but we lucked out and I was not a carrier, and hindsight really is 20/20.
For the first time in months, I breathed a sigh of relief, genuine relief, the kind you feel when you are filled with hope. While I laid there, in a comfy old school bed that was no less than fifty years old, imagining the future felt fun for the first time in a long time.
Even though I was exhausted from the trip, I couldn’t fall asleep, and I was so happy to be back on the island that I must have walked outside in the frosty night a dozen times, just taking it all in, because I couldn’t believe where life had taken us.
I was excited about the path ahead, and I was proud of the path I had already walked. I had never driven across the country alone before, and somehow in the face of the difficulties that a pandemicA global outbreak of a disease. poses, I had made it, and I was home.
That night just before I dozed off, I thought to myself that the pandemicA global outbreak of a disease. would be over as soon as we got vaccines, and that in no time at all these terrible days would be behind us. Those dreams gave me hope.
As you know, my dream of the pandemicA global outbreak of a disease. ending quickly never came true, but that’s another story for another time.
