Seven hours I'll never get back

Yesterday, I spent almost seven hours in my car – correction, TLATO’s car, driving.

That evening, Sheryl was returning from her most recent trip to Florida. And no, she continues to assure me it was not all sun, sand and fabulous food. She was also working while there for 13 days and 12 nights.

I had to be in Toronto earlier that day regardless. Her flight was scheduled to land at 5.00pm that evening. Lots of time to get done what was required and then head out to brave the masses at Terminal 1.

Backing her car out of the garage at around 7.45am, fortified by two double espressos, the day’s journey began. There had been snow and freezing conditions overnight and that morning, some roads were continuing to offer some surprises.

Heading south on 115, conditions were less than perfect. Blowing snow, partial whiteouts and icy surfaces. South of the 35 cut-off, instant 4th of July display from vehicle tail lights as things slid to a halt. Not good. Within minutes, tow truck vultures made the scene before local law enforcement. Traffic was beginning to back up and some vehicles although stopped on the icy downhill road, were slowly edging forward. Or sideways. So, the vultures began directing traffic off the highway. Not pretty. Some folks reversed. Others executed multiple three point turns, but from the scene, it was obvious this was not an accident(s) that would be cleared quickly. And so, we were all diverted.

Sheryl’s car does not have a compass or GPS. No big deal since I knew where I was and where the detour would lead. Of course, all this maneuvering was adding time to a journey that ordinarily might take a tad over 90 minutes.

Now, instead of heading south, I was now driving west, heading over to Simcoe Road as my eventual link to civilization. Not so fast, big boy. Seems nature had additional plans to thwart my efforts. About 6 kilometres from my intended cut off, there was another accident. And again, traffic was being diverted.

This time, al though I pretty much knew where I was, due to blowing snow and lack of electronic guidance, I was not 100% certain of my heading. Several other drivers appeared to be in the same boat. So, like navigators of old, I followed a strong, blinking white light. A snow plow.

Eventually made it to Simcoe Road and then the 401. Should be smooth sailing from here. Not even close. Once on the DVP heading downtown a lane was closed due to another accident. This was now almost 11.00am. And traffic was still freakishly heavy.

So, three hours and forty two minutes after backing out of our garage, with bladder screaming, I made it to my office.

All was well until 4.00pm when I had to leave to head out to the airport. Fortunately allowing an hour was fine. Naturally, the day being what it was, Sheryl’s plane was delayed – while in Toronto. Do not get me started on baggage handlers at Pearson International.

So, shortly after 6.00pm, the final part of our journey commenced. All was well, until we came off the highway and started into rural territory. Swirling snow began to fall and some road surfaces were, to put it mildly, dangerous. The two plus hour drive home was pretty much a white knuckle affair. No accidents. No diversions.

So there you have it. My driving marathon.

Was it worth it? Well, TLATO is home again – and I’m going on strike. For the next two weeks she can look after the beasties, the household – everything. While I sit back and relax.

Fat chance…