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Legend had it that the winter of 2004 could have been the coldest for decades in both Ontario and Quebec. When we got ready, had the gas tank filled up, bought some water and food, and a box of chocolates for my friend’s son, it was already one o’clock in the afternoon. It was dry and cold but sunny in Toronto. As we proceeded east, however, grey clouds started to patch up. It gradually became dim and eventually dark. It spanned some 800 kilometers from Toronto to Montreal and usually takes over eight hours’ driving. The cloudy dusk, the tranquil landscape, the sparse traffic, and the uncertainty about the road that stretched beyond the horizon besieged and made me fear a bit, which I had to conceal. Otherwise my son and wife would be scared. But my driving divulged it. I sped up and started to pass whatever ahead of us. Except from some icy patches, the road looked perfectly dry and harbored no dangers. At the moment about half the distance was rolled up behind, I was trying to pass a long cargo truck. It did not keep in its lane as straight as usual but once awhile cut onto my lane. I followed and watched for any good chance it ran smooth and the road clean and clear. Finally I accelerated up and started to run side by side with it. No sooner had I nearly escaped from its shadow than suddenly it wiggled again and squeezed my car to the edge of the tar pavement. What more unexpected was I charged onto an ice patch that threw us astride the road and the gravel shoulder. Out of intuition, I eased the gas pedal and tried all my best to keep within the narrowed lane. Any further loss of control would shove my car to either grind the truck tires on the right or shoot out of the shoulder on the left. Thank God, I eventually maneuvered to lag out of the monster and kept as far as possible away from it. As I turned to look at my wife beside, I could see her face pale. For a transient, neither of us uttered any words, I simply felt a white blank in my mind. After recovered from the dumbness, I tried some jokes to cheer them up. But the more efforts I made, the more awkward I was and the clumsier the language.(to be continued) |
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