Hello Readers,
Most of you are not from the Montreal area. But, this city, like most medium-to-large metropolitan areas, drives its motorists crazy with its never-ending construction projects, mislabelled detours, and lack of proper signage.
Although the story below takes place on Highway 20 - a main corridor leading into downtown Montreal - the feeling that years of your life are being lost to to your brake pedal is one which is shared by millions of motorists daily.
Road-rage: another reason aliens hesitate to visit this planet.
Monday, 7:30am,
February 2013:
My 8-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter are strapped into their respective
booster seats. No longer prisoners of the 5-point harness, they are free to
reach books stored in the seat pockets in front of them, as well as the booklet
containing their favorite CD’s. These distractions will be more than enough to
occupy them during our commute to Daddy’s work in the east end. Mom has her
morning copy of the Gazette and, at least for the moment, control of the car
radio.
All this media will be helpful as the on ramp to the 20 eastbound is already
backed up. 5.2 centimeters of snow fell around midnight last night; salt trucks
were deployed just prior to 7am this morning.
Two days
later:
We are just past Sources Boulevard. A tow truck on its way to remove a stalled
vehicle from the side of the road clipped a minivan which was attempting to
pass that salt truck Monday morning. There were no injuries. After attempting
to survive on 4 apples, 2 bottles of water, fishy crackers and a granola bar,
my wife has been bravely hoping fences with the kids on her back alternating
between bathroom and snack breaks at Tim Horton’s.
Her next trip may have to be to a pharmacy: although clean-shaven when I left
home; my stubble is really beginning to irritate me.
Wednesday,
8:42, March 2016: Thankfully,
my wife took over driving duties a couple of months ago. I was able hop out,
run into that mall at the Dorval circle and purchase a laptop. Who knew the
airport’s free Wi-Fi extended all the way to the 20? I just completed my son’s
high school application. I had intended to send him to an institution somewhere
near home, but I think I’ll also register him at a school in Lachine in case we
never make it back.
I’m impressed with the new overpass here. They completed it six weeks ago; traffic
is really flowing over us nicely.
I also must shout out to Mazda for creating those two fold-away seats in the
back as well as a Bluetooth connection in front. Both were invaluable for
hiring and housing the private tutor who has been instrumental in keeping up my
children’s education during these tough times.
Tuesday
6:40pm, August 2023: Just
passed Angrignon. You won’t believe our good fortune. Not only has our son been
accepted to Veterinary College in Guelph, but he is engaged to his tutor. Sure,
she’s six years his senior, but, at 18-years-old, we feel he’s old enough to
make his own decisions. Besides, you can hardly blame them, they’ve spent a
decade together in the back seat; plus she’s been instrumental in getting him
into that school in Guelph. Yes, I know, Guelph is west of here; that’s a
problem right now. Fortunately, my daughter left the car a month ago to go get
her driver’s license. Worst case scenario, she’ll swing by on the west-bound
side and drive her brother and his new wife to Ontario.
Friday
7:10pm, October 2029: It’s
just my wife and I now. That “daughter rents a car and drives to Guelph” plan
worked like a charm. The two of us
lost our jobs long ago. Fortunately, we’ve become so close with many of the
construction workers along the way, we are now official members of the union,
and are living very comfortably in the front seat of our Mazda (boy, the
Japanese really know how to build a car!) thanks to direct deposits from a CUPE
pension.
Sure, we miss the kids, but at the moment we are lost in the romantic glow of
the new Turcot Interchange. It really is beautiful. Once we figure out how to
get on it from here I’m gonna open the car windows and really let it all hang
out for the rest of the trip downtown.
Saturday
8:45pm, July 2032:
We’ve been diverted due to the Jazz Festival.
We are back enjoying a steak at Magnan’s in Pointe-Saint-Charles. Fortunately,
we are also joined by our two children, and five grand children. They are so
cute. My son has a lucrative Veterinary practice set up in a new
commercial/condo complex just a block west of here. It was part of that
gentrification project back in the late ‘10’s. My daughter is completing her
degree in civil engineering. Although she was offered a bunch of cash to work
for a construction consortium working out of a small office in Laval, she chose
instead to head the committee working out the final kinks in the traffic flow
in N.D.G. around the nearly-completed super-hospital.
My wife and I are going to head home after supper; tonight are the season
finales of both “Survivor” and “Here
Comes Honey Boo-Boo’s Kids” - two shows we never miss.
Our kids and I have agreed to make this Magnan get-together a monthly
tradition.
My daughter suggests that for our next supper out, we take the 40; apparently
it flows quite nicely.
Montréal orange paradis by racineur
