Gerry’s adventure

Gerald was unlike the other High School kids around him. While many looked for local work like stocking supplies at a grocery store, helping in farmers' fields, or punching the clock at a factory in order to have spending money, Gerald, or Gerry to his friends, was more interested in opportunities that existed on the other side of the skyline, beyond the vast, golden prairie that surrounded him. He often saw cars drive over the horizon and wondered where they were going, what they were doing. Curiosity was in his nature.

School didn’t suit him well and he was always getting into trouble. It wasn’t fighting, misbehaving, or talking back to teachers, Gerry got into trouble for day dreaming. When he daydreamed, his mind lifted him from class and took him on journeys to lands far away or times in the past. It drove his teachers mad because they felt like he wasn’t trying or didn’t value the subjects being taught. Truth be told, Gerry didn’t. History, Math, English, none of those things interested him. Adventure, exploring, and trying new things, that was his speed, and had been as long as his parents could remember.

When the internet arrived in the prairie town he called home, Gerry was over the moon. The small, local library had a computer terminal that he constantly used. With a population in the low thousands, there was very little competition for computer time. Through the screen before his eyes, he could see what was out in the world, explore various places, and even peer into outer space. He was hooked on adventure and his parents had the utmost trouble keeping Gerry at home and focussed on school and the things that needed get done around the house.

“Did you cut the grass?”

“Yes mom.”

“Did you fold your laundry?”

“Yes dad.”

“Did you do your homework?”

Silence. Shoot!

“Not yet.”

In Gerry’s hometown in Saskatchewan, everyone was a Roughriders fan. The town turned into a sea of green on the day of any home game, no matter the temperature, and it could get quite cold on the Canadian prairie in the fall. It was during one of those games when Gerry saw his first military fighter jet. At the end of the National Anthem, as a 16 year-old attending his first football game, he saw the pair of CF-18 Hornets from the Royal Canadian Air Force scream overhead. The sound of the afterburners was deafening, as was the approving roar from the fans. Gerry loved it, and envisioned himself piloting one of those jets and taking it anywhere he could. His dad reminded him about the actual sporting match.

“Gonna be a great game, eh son?”

“For certain.”

In reality, Gerry’s mind was elsewhere. Even after the Roughriders lost, Gerry was still thinking about those fighter jets, and the shaking he felt in his bones as they conducted the flypast. He never forgot that feeling. Gerald H. Samson wanted to pilot a military fighter jet.

A few years later, after managing to complete all his chores, Gerry went to the basement to get on the home computer. In only a few minutes, he was flying a fighter jet in the skies over some fictional country. Until he could join the military, this video game would give him the sense of adventure he craved. After some twists and turns, Gerry managed to shoot down two enemy aircraft before he was hit by a missile. The game was over. While looking at the screen to see his scores, Gerry saw an advertisement for the Canadian Armed Forces.

“Want to be a pilot and take your skills around the world? Then the Canadian Armed Forces are your key to adventure. Click here for more information.”

His parents didn’t need to know. Besides, what were his chances? Gerry has just been shot down in a video game, but real life was not that forgiving. He submitted his application and walked away.

As he boarded his airplane, Gerry's parents waved to him one last time. He had never been outside of his home town, let alone Saskatchewan, but yet here he was on his way to a French-speaking Canadian province to hopefully learn how to fly fighter jets. His first obstacle was basic recruit training.

An injury stopped his progress only four weeks into the training. Gerry stepped awkwardly during a nighttime patrol, twisting his right ankle just before falling and hitting his head on a rock. A quick visit to the field hospital and Gerry was back into training with the rest of his cohort. During the follow-on visit to the medical clinic, the doctors noticed a change in Gerry’s vision.

“Do I have to wear glasses now?”

“No, but we’ll need to watch it and look for any changes next year.”

Gerry graduated basic training and went off to continue on his journey to becoming a fighter pilot, until a sports injury stopped it all. A broken collarbone sliding into second base and his dreams were shattered. His training stopped, Gerry sat on the training sidelines, recovering while thinking about his options. With his vision affected by hitting his head on that rock and his collarbone fractured, he was off the fighter pilot trail, The military gave him some options and he elected to join the Royal Canadian Navy, an organization he did not even know existed until he started basic training, when he learned more about the military. Instead of flying fighter jets, his future was to be driving warships; big, sleek, fast, and heavily armed warships. His next destination was Esquimalt, British Columbia, and the Naval Officers Training Centre. When he arrived in the city, he was awestruck seeing, for the first time, area where land met sea. Regretfully, he didn’t see much of the province, just the local area around base. The naval training workload did not provide a lot of spare time. For the final phase, his training cohort flew to Halifax, Nova Scotia, where Gerry hoped to see more of that province than he saw of B.C.. His hunger for exploring and travelling was being satisfied, so he was content.

A year after putting on a Navy uniform, Gerry graduated with his 24 classmates, a class which was three times as large when training started. As it turns out, training to drive a warship is demanding and not for everyone. Sitting around the Navy Mess during the evenings, people spoke of dreams and hopes, careers and futures. Gerry hoped his future landed him on any warship that took him to a new destination. When he got his posting message the next day, Gerry thought about the Pacific Coast of Canada once more. He and 13 of his new best friends were on their way West, back to Esquimalt, but this time as part of a ship’s crew. Gerry’s hunger grew as he saw the opportunities: Vancouver, Seattle, San Diego, and Hawaii, places that awaited him once he joined his first ship. He could barely contain himself.

Fourteen sailors and yet all had different travel plans. Gerry was the only one who decided to drive out West, having purchased his first car, a blue Honda Civic, within weeks of settling into Halifax. The car allowed him the freedom of adventure and the ability to see new things. It was now going to transport him across the country, with stops along the way, each one satisfying his exploration desires.

A rainy Monday morning greeted Gerry as he packed up his car and drove away. Fredericton, New Brunswick awaited, and he was excited. Passing over rolling hills, through small towns, and beside various landmarks, eyes taking it all in, he pulled into Fredericton some five hours later. Day one of driving complete and now it was time to explore.

By the time Quebec City, Ottawa, and Sudbury were conquered in his quest to reach the West Coast, Gerry found himself tiring. It must be all these small adventures. He gave thought to picking up a travel companion. By using an on-line forum for travellers he was told about during a pleasant conversation with a younger couple at a coffee shop in Fredericton, he could fairly easily find a companion to share the journey.

“We find it to be a pretty great tool to get around the country since we don't own a car.”

“Thanks! I’ll have a look.”

Four names showed up in his search, two men and two women. He eliminated the two women right away. He would feel uncomfortable with them for the duration of the drive. The opposite sex were a challenge for Gerry. That left two names: James Bishop and Leopold Addington. History and adventure seemed to exude from the name of second travel seeker, so Leopold was sent a text. The immediate response was a good sign. When he showed up, however, Gerry nearly changed his mind.

Standing outside the hotel the next morning was a pale, unshaven, man who seemed a bit shaky on his feet, ailing to move along in life. Gerry’s heart rate and anxiety increased as he thought of letting this person into is car, and his life

“Gerald Samson I presume?”

“Gerry, please. Only my parents and former school teachers call me Gerald. Leopold?”

“Likewise, Leo it is. Or Addy. It is really your choice. Pleased to meet you and may I say how thrilled I am to joining this adventure. So many small towns await us.”

Who talks like that?

Leopold sported an old, tweed coat that looked as if it had been pulled from the cover of a classic novel. A white, high-collared shirt appeared to hold up the man’s head and his pants were dark and worn, matching his oxford shoes. Is that a cane leaning against his leg? A leather suitcase completed the persona. It all looked out of place, especially considering Leopold’s youthful facial features.

“You okay? You look a bit tired…or worn out.”

“A few long evenings at the theatre, that’s all. I’ll be fine with some rest. Shall we commence our journey?”

Trunk in the back seat and Leo in the front, Gerry pulled away. As it turns out, the garb Leo sported was part of his acting outfit. He had a long, sleepless night and just didn’t have energy to clean up. He was happy that Gerry hadn’t judged him outright.

A huge Canada Goose statue greeted them as they rolled into Wawa, Ontario some five hours later. The conversation had been enjoyable and Leo seemed a limitless fountain of knowledge, particularly in history, which made the journey more interesting. As they checked into a hotel, he explained how Wawa began as a fur trading town and developed thorough the years that followed. Leo still looked a bit tired and unsteady, and apparently lacking blood flow through his veins as earlier in the day, giving him the pale complexion. Setting aside Gerry’s worries, Leo said a good, rare steak was all he needed. They drove around town, found a quaint local eatery, and stopped in for supper.

“So how do you know so much history?”

“One of my better subjects I guess." He redirected the conversation. "I can’t help you with math though. We all have our weaknesses.”

Tired after a day driving and full meal followed by sweet homemade ice cream, Leo and Gerry turned in early. Gerry was asleep within minutes, but his travel partner lay awake, his mind occupied by thoughts of his home in Forks, Washington, and the health of his travel companion. Sleep finally arrived some time later.

“How did that happen?” Gerry asked in bewilderment the next morning, looking at the scrape on his forearm.

“I am really not sure. Maybe you grazed the night stand? I am afraid you were restless in your sleep.”

“Maybe. Oh well. Onward!”

Gerry was tiring by the time the duo arrived in Thunder Bay, a shipping hub on the northwestern edges of Lake Superior. While stories flowing from Leo kept him entertained, the drive seemed to be taking its toll, or perhaps he was going down with something. That wound on his arm was now infected. He decided to take a nap in the late afternoon after they settled into the room of their latest hotel. Leo, on the other hand, seemed to be growing into his role as the entertainer of the drive. He was lively, engaging, and colour had come back to his face. He had the air of a young man again and had put away the older, theatre clothes in favour of more modern items. While Gerry napped, Leo went out, exploring the streets.

He returned to the room with supper in hand; nothing much, just some sandwiches and treats from a bakery he found in town. His driver had not stirred, but Leo was not concerned. He let his partner rest.

“I slept all night?”

“Not a peep out of you. I even brought dinner but there was no life to you. I thought a good sleep would do you well.”

“Thanks. I may be coming down with something. We’ll see how the drive goes today. I think we’ll push to Winnipeg. I’d like to get halfway across the country and I don’t see much between here and there.”

“Splendid. I’ll fill you on how the region’s history. Rupert’s Land, the Hudson Bay Company, and all that fur trading. Oh, and Louis Riel. So much to tell!”

The push to Winnipeg seemed to drain Gerry of all his energy, and, like in Thunder Bay, he crawled right into bed soon after they arrived at a hotel Leo suggested, the Fort Garry Hotel. It was rustic, with its century-old architecture, but modern at the same time, providing all the amenities needed. Notably for Leo, it was close to an area known as The Forks, but he would not be able to show Gerry around. He was fast asleep, looking pale and a bit haggard. The wound was still there and was definitely not healing, so Leo brought his face in close to have a look. Some fresh blood lay on the surface of Gerry’s skin. Leo lapped it up. Refreshing. He departed for The Forks, returning again well after midnight, this time empty handed.

“You don’t look well Gerry. Shall we go to the hospital?”

“No. No way. I need to get to the Base on time and the hospital will slow me down. I do feel completely run down though. How are you at driving?”

“The best. I can drive all night if need be!”

“No need for that, but I’d appreciate it if you could drive the next leg. I think I just need break. Besides, Regina is next and I am sure I’ll feel better seeing some familiar territory. My parents are planning on driving in to meet us for dinner. That'll be nice. You'll like them.”

He tossed Leo the car keys and they drove west. It wasn’t long before Gerry was sound asleep. Leo smirked, keeping his hands gripped on the steering wheel and the car pointed west.

Lush, green forests greeted Gerry when he managed a squint from his eyes. He felt disoriented, dizzy, and was certain he had come down with something serious. His blood-stained wrist caught his attention. It continued to get worse. Leo looked chipper, happily driving as though he didn’t have a care in the world. He peered over to Gerry, energy exuding from his body.

“The master arises! How do you feel? You had quite the sleep.”

“Where are we? How long have I been sleeping? What happened to my wrist?”

“So many questions young man. I have taken care of everything. We will arrive in Forks in a few hours. From there, it is a short drive and ferry ride for you to reach your destination. I, unfortunately, will have departed by then, having arrived at my home town.”

Confused and sickly, Gerry tried to comprehend how they had driven so far, but unable to fully open is eyes and completely exhausted, he again fell into a deep sleep. When he did, Leo cackled, his smile showing off his blindingly white teeth and pointed incisors. He had picked a fine host indeed. The car ventured south, crossing the border into the United States of America.

The Canadian Military Police were notified right away. Gerald H. Samson had not arrived for duty as his other classmates had. Police scoured territory westward from Winnipeg, searching for any clue that would help them find the missing sailor. Pleas for information were made to the public. Military teams were called in, with aircraft and people joining in the search. It was all fruitless. The only clue was the car seen departing the U.S. border crossing at Sumas, Washington, driven by a man in a tweed coat. A young man slept in the passenger side seat as the border agent waved them past. That was shortly after midnight the day after Gerry was expected in Regina.

A few months later, a powerful storm washed a rusted blue Honda Civic onto Rialto beach, near La Push, Washington. State Police found no trace of either Gerald H. Samson or Leopold Addington. As the car was towed away, Leo peered from his high-up perch in a nearby centuries-old Douglas fir tree, hanging upside down from one of its many branches. He had watched this tree grow from the time it was a young sapling, pushing tall out of the dirt. Now it was home, at least until his next adventure.