How do you know whether a person has passed out or is simply sleeping? I say wake them up and ask them. More on this technique later.
This bulletin, like Gaul, is divided into three parts but I don’t know whether I’ll be able to complete all three parts before I crash. It’s has been a long day.
Part One – The trip to the emergency room
Part Two – The Lac Frontiere Checkpoint
Part Three – The Flat Tire.
Part One
So, we are up at 5:00am and out in the motel parking lot. The vet check, during which the vets assure themselves that all dogs are healthy and able to run the required distance, is at 7:00am, about 30 minutes from here. The dogs must be fed and hydrated and then the humans have to eat breakfast. So time is of the essence.
About 5:15am, the Head Musher ducks back inside the motel room to open a sealed plastic canister containing a supplement that is added to the dog food. Two minutes later she exits the room with her left hand wrapped in bloody tissue and announces that she has cut her thumb with the brand new, very sharp hunting knife that I gave her for Christmas. Damnation, I knew I should have gotten her that semi-automatic assault rifle instead of the knife.
I put six dogs back in their crates in the car and hear the Head Musher say: “Jeez, I hope I don’t pass out!” The Head Musher has a low tolerance for the sight of blood, especially her own. Once, in her younger days, she was recruited to act as a French/English translator for a kid who had cut his head. The doctor looked up from his stitching responsibilities to discover the Head Musher out cold on the floor of the emergency room. She looked like Sonny Liston in the first round of the Lewiston fight. So, I don’t take her statements about passing out lightly.
Next we are in the car heading for the emergency room and realize we don’t know where the emergency room is and had better stop at the office for directions. The Head Musher comes into the office with me because whoever is in there is going to spout out directions at about 800 words per minute in Quebecois. I’ll keep saying “Parlez lentement, s’il vous plait!” and he’ll keep parlez-ing vite and we’ll end up at a hockey rink instead of an emergency room.
I think I catch words that sound like “The closest emergency room is an hour away.” My worst fears are confirmed. Why is it that you always understand bad news delivered in a foreign language with perfect clarity? The lady could have said “Congratulations you’ve won five million dollars in the St. Pamphile Lotto and I wouldn’t have had a clue what she said. But the words “one hour away” and “emergency room” came through as clearly as the opening exchanges in a French I dialogue.
The closest emergency room is in Montmagny one hour west of here in the direction of Quebec. This is what the roads look like between here and there, except for two things. First imagine that it is pitch dark. Second, imagine that it’s snowing so hard that you can’t see that road sign on the left. At one point the Head Musher complained that I was driving too fast. I said: “How can you tell? We can’t see a damn thing!”
We are on the road about five minutes when I glance over at the Head Musher. Her eyes are closed but she is still applying pressure to her left thumb with her right hand. This seems to me to be a good sign. You can’t pass out and maintain a grip like that, can you?
The more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. And the more I tried not to let it bother me, the more I thought about it. So finally I said; “Are you ok?” figuring that somebody who is asleep will wake up and someone who has passed out will remain silent.
The Head Musher says “Yeah, I’m ok.”
So I say, “Well how am I going to know if you’ve passed out if you’ve got your eyes closed all the time?”
She says: “I’m tired and I’m just resting!”
So I say, “Well I’m tired too but you don’t see me driving with my eyes closed.”
I’m trying to think what the heck it is that you do for people who have passed out. The last time I saw someone pass out was in grade school and the nuns sprinkled holy water on his head. Eventually, he regained consciousness.
I decide that I’ll put CNN on the XM radio and hope that they have another annoying telephonic interview with somebody on that cruise ship that is adrift in the Gulf of Mexico. That’ll keep anybody conscious. You can’t help but think: “Get a book, find a lounge chair on deck, sit in the sun, wait to be “rescued” and, for God’s sake, put a cork in it!”
An hour and a half, and four or five “Are you ok’s?” later, we arrive at the Monmagny Hospital prepared to do battle with the Canadian health care system.
More about that after I’ve had some sleep. I know I haven’t even finished part one but it’s 11:20pm and I have to get up at 5:00am again tomorrow in case the Head Musher decides to sacrifice another finger. The wounded one looks pretty gross but I’ll not send pictures for fear that the faint of heart will pass out.
Later,
The One-Man Ambulance Driver.
P.S. No, the head Musher did not make it to the starting line on time. Yes, she was disqualified for missing her starting time. This may seem like bad luck but just think about those poor people on the cruise ship.