BAD HOP

Thunder Bay, Ontario: you know, life really is pretty good. In baseball, a bad hop is when a batted ball bounces in front of you but not the way it’s supposed to. If you’ve analyzed its trajectory correctly, you get your feet and hands in position to field it cleanly and make a throw. But if the ball has a weird spin or hits a tuft of grass or an unauthorized pebble it can squirt off course and make you look like a fool. You can miss it, bobble it, get hit by it in any number of places, all of which will be painful and embarrassing. With a bad hop, react fast enough and still make the play, it’s high-5 time. I’ve had several bad hops today. But at the end of the day, life is still pretty good. 

I decided to kill this day in Minnesota with water falls and state parks, waiting for the ferry to Isle Royale National Park tomorrow. I thought making a reservation a day ahead would work but no space available until next week. No reason to hang around, they only had one line open at the border and the line was long, Took more time than it should have but then, Oh Canada . . . across the line and up the road I realize my GPS doesn’t know anything. The text message I got yesterday telling me I would have uninterrupted text and phone service at no extra cost was bogus as well. Verizon smart phone is dumb as my Garmin GPS. 

Driving into Thunder Bay, after noon, it’s either find a wi-fi signal and do some computer research or do what I’m told that men never do: stop and ask. I debunked that myth a long time ago, I stop and ask. I saw the Harley Davidson logo and a pulled in. The guy with the most tattoos and the biggest office there helped me analyze the GPS. I replaced an old Garmin I took to Nova Scotia in 2012, from Amazon, figured it was equipped like the old one but it wasn’t. No Canada. What to do! He suggested Best Buy, drew a map and I drive, squinting at street signs, guessing at a high percentage. The Geek at Best Buy throws up his hands and says, “We don’t touch GPS’s.” He starts giving directions, waving his arms: I say, “No, I need a map.” He draws a map and I copy it in my own large font. He said a sporting store across town sold Garmin stuff. D & S Sports: the boss there tells me they don’t sell Garmin any more either; calls a young sales guy over to draw another map: turn right out of the lot, 1st light turn right, go 4 lights and turn right, go 3 Km to the Greyhound bus station, turn left on the small side street before the buss station. Drive to the end of Dead End street, store on the right sells Garmin GPS.

Both guys at the GPS store laugh a lot. Seems Canadians buy from Amazon for the low price and get the USA program but no Canada. I ask if they can download the program and all they can do is laugh more. They need a chip and they don’t stock them, frequent updates make old stuff unsellable. I didn’t need a guru to draw a new map or make a prognosis. I can buy a new GPS that is fully loaded with both programs. I hate to admit it but sometimes, throwing money at the problem actually works. We get the thing installed and tested. It works great. 

I need help finding a truck stop with showers. Josh, the guy who did so well helping me spend money, got on their computer and we got an address for the Husky truck stop, with showers, on Hwy 11. New GPS snaked me through Thunder Bay, onto Hwy 11, east a few miles and announced, 400 yards on the right. It was like InterState, nothing but landscaping and chain link fence. Two miles later I take the exit and head back toward town, see several familiar streets and places I’ve already been. Then, on a corner, a Husky gas station; not a truck stop but at least the name’s right. I stop there and ask a young, cool, middle eastern dude, “Husky Truck Stop, with showers." He gets on his smart phone. Several minutes later, after sales to other customers, he comes up with an address, on Alloy St. This goose chase was like something from Hog Warts. Finally, passing a junk yards, loading docks and a dilapidated ware house, Husky Trucks with semis parked and a full service restaurant. 

Inside I find out, if I buy a meal the shower comes free. So I eat a chicken salad, get my towel and spend the next 20 minutes in hot spray. Now I’m clean, shaved, full, connected to the internet on their complimentary wi-fi signal. I didn’t have time to get money exchanged but the lady said, “We accept USA dollars.” The exchange rate favors American dollars. The lady doesn’t calculate the difference, I just pay the inflated price with stronger dollars than Canadian. But I got a free shower and I’ll take it. I really think, they think one of the big rigs out back is mine. After dark, when I find a place for my F-150 and crank up my generator, someone may squawk. If they do, I’ll play the bad hop.