A Montreal dernier soir!

We're in a hostel in the Latin quarters of Montreal. We spent last night drinking in sketchy bars and relearning basic French.

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We woke the next morning and attempted to hitch on the edge of town. Streams of cars passed without a glance. Frustrated, we began walking down the highway towards the next town. Our luck didn't change. Vehicles began swerving into the opposite lane as a precautionary measure. They were scared.

Finally a car approached and a young woman offered us a ride. She was buying diapers for her child an hour away in Brandon, Manitoba. "I end up saving money by shopping at Walmart," she claimed. The price of fuel seemed to negate the bargain.

After arriving, we said our goodbyes and hiked to the far-edge of town. A vacated motel stood across the highway, greeting visitors from the East. Two hours passed before we landed a ride with two young construction workers. A quick ride landed us in Carbury, Manitoba. While trying to catch a ride, a van scribed with "Grad 09" slowed on the opposite highway. "You have any weed?" a voice yelled in a heavy French-Canadian accent. He seemed unsatisfied with our response and left empty-handed.

We eventually caught a ride with Derrick, a stone mason, to the edge of Winnipeg. He related tales of gang-violence in the city. "One time a fourteen year old pulled a knife on me in a Seven Eleven. He thought I was lookin' at his 'old lady'." Almost every ride mentioned the increase of gang activity. Most of the incidents seemed isolated though and I wondered how much influence the local newspapers had in stressing the fact.

We camped on the hind-side of a small cropping of trees by an A&W and spent the night reading. I managed to finish Arthur C. Clarke's Against the Fall of Night.

I spent the following morning drinking free coffee refills and writing at the A&W, while Gregg refilled our water supplies and attempted to hunt down a ride. We left past noon and began thumbing until a station wagon pulled over. A guy in his mid-twenties offered us a lift to Hawk Lake, on the edge of Ontario. He related tales of the road, "Yeah, my sisters hitched all over the place and even hopped a few trains. She got busted in a train yard though and was stuck with a massive ticket." The prospects of train hopping have interested me for years. We got on the highway, and continued into town.

Our next ride approached after an hour. The aroma of marijuana wafted from his car as we discussed his destination. After a few seconds we hopped in and met Mark, a carpenter traveling home from Winnipeg to his house in Wabagoon, Ontario. Bootleg cassettes full of soft-rock littered the center console of the car. Strange noises persisted from the rear of the vehicle.

We drove into Kenora, Ontario before Mark realized he had a flat and used the opportunity to chain-consume another cup of coffee. I used the occassion to sneak photographs of Mark changing the tire. We were back on the road in under an hour.

The Canadian Shield was welcomed at this point in the journey. Provinces of vast-nothing had made me itch for more interesting terrain. I wasn't let down.