DAY 37 - "Speedy."

We have been in Canuck country for nearly a week now and, so far, the decision to travel home via the northern route has been a solid one...even though we’ve had zero moose sightings...

I opened the day at the wheel with perhaps our prettiest drive yet.

It was early morning, traffic was light, gas-station coffee was decent, construction zones were minimal, and we were cruising.

For two hours we enjoyed the final scenic stretch along the largest fresh-water lake in the world (Lake Superior).

We were coming down the hill into Thunder Bay, going with the flow and looking for a good place to change drivers...when...

I felt the invisible knife of radar pierce my heart.

The cop car pulled out and turned on his red and blues. Even though there was an SUV going the exact same speed in front of us, I just knew he got me.

Von Borzyskowski

I pulled over, put the hazards on, and waited. The guy in front of me, with Ontario plates, did the same.

It took ages for the very young and very polite officer to get out of his car, but when he did, he walked right up to my window.

Officer Von Borzyskowski got me for going 128 km in a 90 km.

That’s about 79 mph; which isn’t outrageous considering we have Utah plates, but wrong in this circumstance none-the-less.

He excused himself and walked up to the parked Canadians to make their day.

This did two things: it gave me a moment to accept my fate and it allowed me to take a breath. I was shaking. The car was quiet. I needed to think.

When he came back, Officer Von Borzyskowski asked questions; I answered plainly, not making excuses.

He was tough to read...clear and adamant without being too stern, considerate but not sympathetic. We spoke for a decent amount of time; not a peep from anyone else in the car.

Officer Von Borzyskowski then retreated to his vehicle for what seemed like a lifetime. 20 minutes, at least.

The relentless clicking of the hazard lights kept growing louder and louder, my entire existence shrinking in the Volvo's interior echo chamber.

I wanted to hurl. I felt stupid. Irresponsible. I am transporting precious cargo, after all.

Still, no one spoke.

He finally, finally strode back to the window. Holding a single page printout, Officer Von Borzyskowski handed me my license and registration...and mercifully explained that he was just going to give me a warning.

I was speechless. I was without speech!

Saint Von Borzyskowski.

Then he told me what speeds in miles-per-hour I could get away with on Canadian highways and wished us a safe journey.

Ha-ha-hallelujah.

As soon as the window rolled up, Steven yelled from the back seat, “Peel out!!!”

Well-crafted, big guy, but I did not peel out. I silently wide-eyed and white-knuckled it at 35mph to the nearest gas station where, I swear to God, Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive” greeted us, blasting from the outside speakers.

Yet another nod (and huge sigh of relief) to the travel Gods.

After switching drivers, I planted myself firmly in the backseat and we headed for the day’s final destination, Kenora.

We AirBnb-ed it in little one-bedroom apartment that was a just block away from (the other) Lake of the Woods brewery. Pretty cool and I was in desperate need of a cold one.

We all enjoyed official Lake of the Woods brews and chews on the patio, and our last evening in Ontario.

Police Warnings: 0-1-0-0

DAY 38