Mark had mentioned going to Georgian Bay a number of times before, so when the subject came up yesterday morning over coffee it was not an unfamiliar one. And it was a hot summer day in the middle of a long Holiday weekend here in Canada, so what better time is there to pack the family in the car and head for the beach.
I grew up on the Atlantic coast of New Jersey, on a barrier island that fully suffered the whims of the ocean and the elements; so a placid Lake Huron beach sounded just perfect. It would be like going home and something new at the same time. We could take long walks on the shallow-sloping, sparsely populated beaches that M. described to me. The dogs could run and play in the miniature surf and I could see another scenic part of Ontario, my adoptive home.
We packed the car enthusiastically---a cooler packed with beverages (including a gallon of water for the dogs), leashes, a change of clothes, towels, sunblock, mp3 player, digital camera, palmpilot, headphones, portable radio and the most recent 'New Yorker'.
Right away reality bitch slapped us. The dogs were whining with concern and confusion. The car's air conditioning and fan stuttered and stopped functioning right after we both gulped down fast-food 'veggie burgers' before getting on the highway. We were both instantly nauseated by the food since it had been a long time since a stop at Burger King. We had to stop and confirm the dog's leashes were in the trunk. The anxiety level was mounting rapidly.
And then, traffic. LA traffic; thick and dense with big tits. New York traffic; long and whiney with big noses. No, this was Toronto traffic; banal but massive. After a few minutes in stop and go, the air conditioning stopped completely. One crack of the window caused the interior temperature to simulate the core of the sun. George was whining continually like a 55 pound chicken/dog with his leg caught in a trap, and I instantly became my Uncle Buddy, demanding immediate silence by shrieking at all creatures in the car.
We pulled off the highway after a half-hour of sweltering and canine chirping. M. examined the car fuse panel while I gave the dogs a drink and let them go ape shit in front of a school in some god-foresaken corner of Ontario. Blissfully the air conditioning started up again; another obstacle thwarted.
But the next block in the road to day trip satisfaction was unavoidable. We arrived at the beachfront more than two and a half hours after leaving and it seemed as if the entire population east of the Mississipi had beaten us there. Nothing like experiencing the subtle charm of grid lock in a tiny and tatty lake resort after hell drive.
One of our favorite saying these days, 'We can't have nice things' became 'We can't do nice things.' then and there.
The car was soon parked illegally and we bolted down the path to the beach in the blindingly hot sun. We didn't bring anything but the dogs. And there we stood, like Coney Island or Atlantic City on the freaking fourth of July, a jam-packed beach and we were shackled to two frenetic dogs.
"What was I thinking?", asked M.
Executive summary:
Hours spent in car: 6.75
Time spent actually on beach: 23 minutes
Purchases: 10 ears of local corn and a peach pie from a road-side stand (both bland but massive)
Pictures taken: none
Appreciation of rural Ontario: Yeah right. More outlet stores and fast food crap than Long Island, NY.
Memories: priceless