Beyond the Setting Sun

London, Chatham and Windsor... but this ain't no England

'Sshhhshhh!'  It hit.  Through the fabric of my tent it struck - a powerful jet of water, pushing against me: cold, pressing hard, for the moment only damp.  And 'sshhhshhh' came the sound.

I was startled.  I struggled with the zip and crawled out under a wet hail of stinging water.  Before I could stand I was drenched.  Shocked, and looking for someone with a hose, I stood up.  Water sprayed in my eyes and blinded me for a moment.

I leapt clear of the bushes and looked around.  There was no one there.  I shook my head.  I peered into the bushes... and spotted a metak nozzle, which was spraying water right into my tent.  I laughed.

It had been late when I'd sneaked into the concealing undergrowth by the lush green lawn of a Canadian tourist centre.  In the dark, and feeling exhausted, I hadn't wondered why the grass was so thick and soft.  As I stood there in a stupor, another sprinkler opened up behind me.  I leapt back into the bushes and dragged my tent clear of the flying sprays of water.  It was five in the morning and I'd had four hours sleep.

I set my bivi out again, only to have more sprinklers open up.  Defeated and bedraggled, I crawled off the grass and onto some concrete.  There was no one around and I changed into some dry clothes.  St. Catherine's was a few miles away and that would be my stop for breakfast.

Packing up, I eased on down the road.  The sun had only just risen and it was still cold.  The 'Queen Elizabeth Way' signposts seemed out of place in the very American-feeling surroundings.  I was in Ontario, Canada, but the U.S. influence was very strong.

As i walked on, a four-lane expressway appeared before me - rising into the air on massive concrete supports that carried the road upwards fifty feet above a small river.  A 'No Pedestrian' sign lay on the ground, battered and twisted.  Even at this early hour there were cars and truckd streaming by and straining up the aerial expressway.  I was trapped.  The only way out was up that flyover.  The only space left for me to walk on was a couple of feet at the edge of the road.

I tightened the buckles on my backpack.  There was a lull in the traffic and I took my chance.  Jogging as fast as I could, I began the ascent of the bridge.

To the side of the road I saw the drop grow.  To my left trucks roared by, moving over to give me room.  Thick and cloying, diesel fumes were thick about me.  The smoke cut into the back of my throat.  The sound of the trucks altered pitch as they changed down gear for the climb upwards.

The middle of the bridge came.  Below was the deep blue of the river.  The traffic and blasting horns filled my sensed.  Jogging on and on, with my forty pound pack swaying from side to side... time seemed to stand still.  In reality it was only a matter of minutes, but seemed much longer, as I waited to be hit by a speeding car.

The road sloped down to the ground.  There was welcoming grass to the side.  I dodged off to the right hand side and reached safety.

'Weey-oh, weey-oh, weey-oh, wirrhh.'  It was a siren.  A black and white Ontario Police Patrol car pulled up right by me.

The door opened... slowly.  Bull-necked, barrel-chested, with eyes hidden by mirrored shades, the cop emerged from the car.

'Hey, whadya think yer doin', eh?'

The cop came closer, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered gun.

'I'm walking across the country to raise money for people with cancer.'

'Not on this highway yer not!  if ya don't get off, it's a fifty buck fine.  Where's ya I.D.?'

I swung my pack round and brought out my passport.