Sunday, August 30. 1 day before the start of school.

We woke up early in our Holiday Inn Express suite, less for the urgency of getting home in a timely fashion than for the free breakfast buffet. It was the usual uninspired mix of dry cereals, muffins, yogurt, and sterilized fruit that populates all breakfast buffets, but it was made more exciting by a do-it-yourself waffle machine. The waffles I made looked like mutant ping-pong paddles, but Those Johnston Kids ate them anyway. I don’t eat breakfast so I just waited and watched the Russians at the next table.

Their group was comprised of one really old guy in a shirt that Magnum P.I. might have worn, one young guy, and twin blonde women in their late teens. None of them look related, with the exception of the twins. They were dressed at 8 AM as if their first stop was going to be a night club. I was fascinated but that mystery remained unsolved. We took a couple of muffins and hit the road.

I would like to say that we had an uneventful trip home, but it is never that easy. In order to satisfy the narrative arc we’ve come to expect, the heroes have to face adversity before we believe in them. Otherwise it’s not a story. Challenges have to be met, the protagonists seemingly overcome, then comes the retribution and victory to close out the tale. So our asses were adversarialized.

Somewhere east of Montreal, our trailer blew another tire. The tires had less than 5000 KM on them, so I was a little nonplussed. It’s also a strange coincidence that our tire blew in the home stretch again. This time we were ready though. We had a decent spare, already inflated, a tire iron, and a jack. Of course I had to empty the car to get at the tools, but that wasn’t too bad. It looked like we were setting up a yard sale on the side of the highway.

As I was starting the tire change, another car pulled up behind us. A smiling fireplug of a man got out and asked if we needed help – in French. Language practice time! I explained that my French was poor and that we would have to speak slowly. He agreed and set in assisting with the repair, which was mostly watching me carefully to make sure that I did it right. I didn’t mind. It was nice to have company anyway. We smalltalked as best we could in our pigeon dialects. He told me that he was a mechanic.

I’m not sure why he stopped; I think he was just being a good Samaritan for a family on the road. After a while, I noticed his wife dozing in their car. I apologized for delaying her and thanked her for the assistance as well, which she accepted graciously. When we were done, I told the fellow (whose name I scandalously did not get) that I didn’t have any money on me, but I would like to give him a cake. Why did I want to give him a cake, he asked? I thought hard about the question then realized I had confused gâteau, cake, with cadeau, gift. No, no, I corrected myself, a gift.

I explained that we were autochtones, Aboriginal, and gave him a sage bundle that I had picked in the Cypress Hills. I told him that it was medicine. Medicine, he asked? Well, not true medicine, I replied, medicine for your heart. He understood and accepted it solemnly. It was really quite a moving exchange. We all got back on the road, happy with the encounter for our own reasons. I think it was good for the kids to see adults, strangers, helping each other just because it was the right thing to do.

We blew through Montreal, and completely bypassed Ottawa. Our next goal was Fitzroy Provincial Park in Ontario. That was where Baby Girl had forgotten her wallet in the camp store a couple of weeks earlier. It seemed like a long time ago. Around 4 PM we groaned up to the campground and manoeuvered into the parking lot. The wallet was recovered with nothing at all missing. The vacation souvenir fund was intact. I’ll be honest though: I bought all the souvenirs anyway. Those Johnston Kids have to save for university.

And that was about it. The 5 hour drive from Fitzroy to home was punctuated by really biblical rain on the 401, but that only slowed us down. Nothing was going to stop the homebound train. We pulled into our own driveway around 10 PM on Sunday night. With school in the morning I only took enough time to empty the car of electronics and other costly sundries before calling it a night. The dirty laundry, books, and rocks could wait until morning.

Our leg east added another 5780 kilometers to our previous mark of 14 840, bringing our summer total distance travelled to 20 620 kilometers! Holy cow.