Paul drives solo through the prairies, past dead highway-side wolves, foxes, prairie dogs, deer, vultures, swallows, grass. But he also sees long, Woody Guthrie freight trains tattooed with graffiti; wide wild yellow and green fields waving in the wind; lonely little farm houses barely visible off on the horizon.
Having departed from Calgary, Paul travels for several hours and then the engine overheats as he passes the “Welcome to Medicine Hat” sign. World’s biggest tee pee towers on a hill.
He sleeps that first night in an abandoned parking lot where once a Wal-Mart stood. The building is still there, but the parking lot is gnarled and the bright white corporation letters have been torn down and moved across town. The smell of cheap plastic and low wages lingers.
Paul wakes early and filters what little vegetable oil remains. Eats a pear and feeds dogs. Drives around Medicine Hat looking for grease. Nothing.
8:30 am: Washes face and brushes teeth across town in department store washroom. Attempts to prepare himself mentally for a long, sweltering, windy drive.
9:00 am: Installs new fuel filter in bus. Day is hot.
10:00 am: Leaves Medicine Hat, heading for Regina. On the radio, a plain voices talks of heat waves. Bus is hot, dogs are panting.
Around noon, bus begins to shake. Paul wonders: Bad fuel filter installation? Drive shaft faltering? What’s a drive shaft? Very hot. Drinks water. Begins to pull over frequently in order to stare at various possible shake culprits in engine compartment and beneath bus.
1:00: Swift Current. Bus shaking a lot. Paul finds grease behind a seafood restaurant. 6 buckets. Feels glorious!
1:28: 13 miles outside of Swift Current. Fatal shutter. Tire explodes, bus heaves.
1:29: Paul pulls bus safely onto shoulder of highway. Middle of nowhere. Not true. Sign says: “Waldeck, 1 km.” Below name: “No Services.”
Paul rests head on steering wheel. Long exhalation. Turns off engine and goes outside.
Tire is done for; tire took a walk down plank road and is now swimming in the asphalt deep. End of exhaust pipe has broken off. Sun beats down. Swish, swoosh. Car whips past, then a transport truck. Then road becomes devoid of cars. Wind rolls through grass, making sound like: shhhh.
Paul decides that he will try to remain calm and positive. Looks around. One direction: highway arching off into emptiness. Other direction: highway, arching, emptiness. Paul finds sun quite hot on back of neck. “Keep it together, kid,” he tells self.
Electing to change tire himself, Paul goes back into bus to get tire iron and jack. Checks cell phone from U.S.A. No signal, battery light flashing. Finds hatred of cell phones justified, again.
Paul pats dogs, both of whom are visibly shaken by explosion of tire and general highway chaos.
Paul pats self, too.
Looks behind bed.
“No! No! No!” Paul yells. “No, please no!”
Tire explosion and vehicle veering has caused sixteen litre bucket of vegetable oil to tip over. Bucket lies on side on floor. Lid has come loose. Oil glooping across floor toward infinity.
Paul rights pail, tries quickly to assess damage. Shudders. Oil all over floor and moving fast; one quarter of bus floor already covered in layer of oil.
Paul begins to spread newspaper over oil in attempt to stem flow. Finds newspaper severely lacking in absorption department. Curses newspaper. Moves on to paper towels. Eventually stems flow.
Time: unknown.
Feeling moderately put off, Paul goes outside and attempts to stare down sun. Sun wins. White dots everywhere. Swish, swoosh. Car, truck.
Under bus, Paul tries to haul spare tire from rack. Finds tire heavy, or arms weak. Decides on the latter. Finds self filthy. Calls self “puny weakling.” Despite best attempt, voice only vaguely reminiscent of Arnold Schwarzenegger; voice sounds more Irish than Austrian. Dreams of career as voice impersonator crumble into dust.
Paul notices oil dripping onto head. Vegetable oil has apparently found holes in bus floor.
Combination of jack and will power eventually allow Paul to get tire from rack beneath bus. Paul is covered in vegetable oil and black grease; hands and forearms look as though Paul has spent two days building a house from coal.
Everything Paul touches turns black. Wonders if, unbeknownst to him, on his family tree there exists a branch of Grim Reapers. Wonders: Family members perhaps agents of death? No. Yes? Hmm. Rolls over onto back and decides sun is either making him delusional or excessively and insightfully philosophical. Only moderately certain it’s the former. Decides this in itself is proof he’s delusional. Finds self confused by this strange revelation.
Time: unknown, plus half an hour or so.
Removes bike rack from back of bus and places on shoulder of road. Opens back door. Little stream of vegetable oil seeps out and begins to puddle in dirt.
Pulls 80 lb tub from bus. Then pulls 60 lb tub from bus. Side of road begins to look as though yard sale is imminent. Back of bus looks as though conversion to deep fryer is imminent.
Paul spreads more paper towels. Next, he uses tire iron to remove all but two of the nuts which attach tire rim of flat tire to whatever the thing is that tire rims are attached to.
Back under bus. Finds jack lacking in size department when compared to size of vehicle. Doubts jack. Nevertheless arranges jack beneath axle and begins to spin raising rod. Swoosh. Transport truck twists up cloud of dust into Paul’s mouth. Twist, twist, twist. Jack raises and makes contact with axle. Twist, twist, snap. Raising rod breaks in two. Operation Change Tire on Own officially a failure. Morale plummets.
Paul lies in dirt beneath bus for a while. Notices oil has been continually dripping in hair. Finds hair feels healthier, has more body and is infinitely more manageable. Thanks, Pantene Pro V. Realizes this is not a commercial and tells self to snap out of it. Morale plummets further, likelihood of heat stroke skyrockets proportionally.
Lying on greasy, dirty shoulder of highway, Paul goes over situation in head:
1. Flat tire
2. Broken jack
3. Vegetable oil everywhere
4. Middle of nowhere
5. Heat causing brain to malfunction
6. Useless cell phone
7. Dirty as coal miner just off a double shift
8. Dogs whining
9. Cars beginning to slow down to check out presumed highway yard sale
10. Needs to pee
Decision is made to attempt to flag down car in order to borrow cell phone. Plan: call CAA and have them bring a big jack.
One car, two cars, three, four, five, ten. Not even the slightest hesitation; each car speeds up, pulls to the furthest lane and keeps driving. Sun is very hot. Paul gives last of the water to the dogs.
Brain wave: use cuteness of dogs to lure drivers.
Paul hooks Muddy to his leash and takes him out to side of road. One car, two cars, five. Muddy is not cute enough. Morale has never been lower, nor has Muddy’s self esteem.
Paul decides to ride his bike back into Swift Current, 13 miles away, in order to use a pay phone. Struggles with bike lock for 15 minutes. Lock is broken and will not unlock.
Paul and dogs wander off down sun-scorched highway in search of farm house or pay phone. One mile, two. Nothing. Scouring the distance, there seems little hope. Paul and dogs turn around, walk back up alongside the highway through the scraggly grass, past the bus, and then a mile in the other direction. They find a little house built back in a clearing between a clump of trees, but wandering up to the fence they are quickly bombarded by a pair of snarling, barking dogs, mad of eye and claw, white fangs flashing. Paul and dogs turn around and go back to bus.
Another half an hour of waving at passing cars before one finally stops. A kind man with curly grey-blonde hair and a bashful smile lends Paul his cell phone and offers water.
An hour later, a tow truck arrives with a middle-aged man and a little boy in the cab. The man is kind and apologizes for all the people of Saskatchewan who refused to stop and help.
“Mean bastards,” says man.
Bus is jacked, wheel is on, and as the sun falls lower in the sky Paul and dogs limp away on a spare tire in the direction of Regina, though that night they will make it only as far as Moose Jaw before the effects of the day’s sun and dehydration make driving too difficult. They park in another empty lot, bed down, and sleep long into the next morning.
