I Almost Got Murdered Twice Today.
Letemdangle
Published
06/30/2012
In a previous blog I mentioned I will be taking my son to camp were he will work as a camp counsellor today.
The camp is located in the mountainous regions of Quebec, where most of our French speaking brothers and sisters live. The roads are erratic, narrow, winding and bumpy. There is a well refrained saying in Canada, "If you want to stay alive, stay off the 105." The very highway I would be traversing three hours on.
A few years ago some local residents were tried and convicted for running people off the road, while their buddies in crime would show up with a tow truck a few minutes later. A lucrative arrangement in a well travelled but sparsely populated area full of natural pitfalls and obstacles. For example, if a rock face has a tendency to drop boulders on the road, instead of securing the stones, a sign is erected warning you of the potential hazard.
My invitation to death, after I dropped off my son, started as I crested a hill with a curve to the left. I saw a dark blue tractor nestled in front of some trees across from a farm house. It was barely visible but the glare from the glass and the sun, for a split second gave it my attention. Not sure if the farmer saw me, I applied medium brake pressure. Just as I did the tractor leaps forwards and suddenly stops just short of the road with a pair of forklifts on the front. Carefully, I pass the situation.
A oncoming car with out of province plates was quickly approaching me. Quebec only has plates in the rear of the vehicle, so it's easy to recognize an out of province vehicle. I felt uneasy by what occurred behind me so I slowed down and observed the car approaching the area with the tractor now hidden behind the trees for the cars going in my opposite direction.
To my horror, my instincts were correct as the forks of the tractor entered the road the car swerved and plunged to the valley below. My thought was to turn around and help, but It just didn't feel right. With my previous knowledge of such shenanigans taking place and the disdain some French have for English, I instead pulled over and called 911.
The reception was horrible, and between that and my broken French, proper communication was impossible. I recalled seeing a speed trap some twenty miles ahead. The officer had pulled over a small compact car that was overloaded with too many heavy women. I saw six obese women puffing away, wearing terry towel halter tops and polyester shorts two sizes too small with a look of disgust for the inconvenience the officer posed for them. Good call on the part of the cop as far as I'm concerned.
In my rear view mirror I see the farmer get into his 1970's era Cadillac with what looked like a rifle. Then instead of heading in the direction of the accident he burns out towards me. I'm getting real scared at this point and drive as fast as I can towards the speed trap. That fucking farmer was on my ass with a big shiny grill adorned with bull horns in no time. He knew the road, but I was driving a nimble Volvo 850, and managed to avoid getting run off the road.
As I approached the speed trap, after what seemed like an hour of terror, the farmer backed off, stopped and turned back. Trying my best to explain what had happened to the officer, who couldn't speak English, in my broken French, more amplified by my fear, he requested I stay where I was until he got back.
It was probably after twenty minutes, but seemed like hours, that I thought to myself, what if that farmer is waiting in the woods for that cruiser to pass him and then come after me. Fuck it! I jumped into my car and drove straight home.
Shaking with my wife asking too many questions I called 911 and explained my experience. They asked that I calm down and call the RCMP as this was a jurisdictional problem. Thinking to myself, I'm pretty upset and scared here, WTF don't you call them, but I held my tongue and asked for the number. The agent informs me that 911 is for emergencies only and to call 411 for the number or refer to your phone book.
I called the RCMP, they told me they would investigate and get back to me as soon as possible. When the fuck is that? I have to pick my son up tomorrow at noon. I'm going to have to go all Mad Max to gain any sense of security.
The camp is located in the mountainous regions of Quebec, where most of our French speaking brothers and sisters live. The roads are erratic, narrow, winding and bumpy. There is a well refrained saying in Canada, "If you want to stay alive, stay off the 105." The very highway I would be traversing three hours on.
A few years ago some local residents were tried and convicted for running people off the road, while their buddies in crime would show up with a tow truck a few minutes later. A lucrative arrangement in a well travelled but sparsely populated area full of natural pitfalls and obstacles. For example, if a rock face has a tendency to drop boulders on the road, instead of securing the stones, a sign is erected warning you of the potential hazard.
My invitation to death, after I dropped off my son, started as I crested a hill with a curve to the left. I saw a dark blue tractor nestled in front of some trees across from a farm house. It was barely visible but the glare from the glass and the sun, for a split second gave it my attention. Not sure if the farmer saw me, I applied medium brake pressure. Just as I did the tractor leaps forwards and suddenly stops just short of the road with a pair of forklifts on the front. Carefully, I pass the situation.
A oncoming car with out of province plates was quickly approaching me. Quebec only has plates in the rear of the vehicle, so it's easy to recognize an out of province vehicle. I felt uneasy by what occurred behind me so I slowed down and observed the car approaching the area with the tractor now hidden behind the trees for the cars going in my opposite direction.
To my horror, my instincts were correct as the forks of the tractor entered the road the car swerved and plunged to the valley below. My thought was to turn around and help, but It just didn't feel right. With my previous knowledge of such shenanigans taking place and the disdain some French have for English, I instead pulled over and called 911.
The reception was horrible, and between that and my broken French, proper communication was impossible. I recalled seeing a speed trap some twenty miles ahead. The officer had pulled over a small compact car that was overloaded with too many heavy women. I saw six obese women puffing away, wearing terry towel halter tops and polyester shorts two sizes too small with a look of disgust for the inconvenience the officer posed for them. Good call on the part of the cop as far as I'm concerned.
In my rear view mirror I see the farmer get into his 1970's era Cadillac with what looked like a rifle. Then instead of heading in the direction of the accident he burns out towards me. I'm getting real scared at this point and drive as fast as I can towards the speed trap. That fucking farmer was on my ass with a big shiny grill adorned with bull horns in no time. He knew the road, but I was driving a nimble Volvo 850, and managed to avoid getting run off the road.
As I approached the speed trap, after what seemed like an hour of terror, the farmer backed off, stopped and turned back. Trying my best to explain what had happened to the officer, who couldn't speak English, in my broken French, more amplified by my fear, he requested I stay where I was until he got back.
It was probably after twenty minutes, but seemed like hours, that I thought to myself, what if that farmer is waiting in the woods for that cruiser to pass him and then come after me. Fuck it! I jumped into my car and drove straight home.
Shaking with my wife asking too many questions I called 911 and explained my experience. They asked that I calm down and call the RCMP as this was a jurisdictional problem. Thinking to myself, I'm pretty upset and scared here, WTF don't you call them, but I held my tongue and asked for the number. The agent informs me that 911 is for emergencies only and to call 411 for the number or refer to your phone book.
I called the RCMP, they told me they would investigate and get back to me as soon as possible. When the fuck is that? I have to pick my son up tomorrow at noon. I'm going to have to go all Mad Max to gain any sense of security.
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