the second time I locked myself out of my car

I learned that when I’m at the end of a dead-end, dirt road in the middle of a forest with nothing but my camera and my pajamas, and I think: “This’d be a really cruddy time to lock myself out of my car, [insert confident, self-assured laughter here]” it means that I just did.

a misty morning in nowhere in particular

It was my first 3-day weekend in ages, so I packed my car and off I went. Naturally, I found the most terrible, unused road I could find before buggering into the depths of the woods to finally park, explore, and spend the night. It was fantastic. I was up before sunrise and began heading out to find my next destination but as the sun started to peek over the trees across the stream and marshes I followed beside, I had to get out for a photo op…

… and, well, I then managed to lock myself out.

Like a true professional for the campaign of How Can I Make Things Even Worse?, I left the radio and lights on. Had it been a civilized hour of day, I might have had hope of intercepting someone on their way in or out of Nowhere In Particular, but it was 6 am.

My thought process was as follows:

Call broski! He’ll know how to get in. Crap. My phone’s in the car. If I had my phone, I could just call CAA, dummy. [brief thought of smashing a window] Maybe I can pick the lock – it’s a ’97, not exactly high tech; the guy in Stewiacke did it in 60 seconds… [rub head thoughtfully, discover hair pin] Sweet! I could totally MacGyver the lock with my bobbypin. [attempts= failed] Shit. [brief thought of smashing a window] What if I use the dipstick and the bobbypin to work the lock?….. How the hell do you pop the hood from outside the car? Broski would know.. [look longingly at phone in cupholder] … Maybe, just maybe, there’s someone at that cottage I passed a while ago…

[insert brief interlude of jogging back along the road before realizing that it was likely a good 15km back and there was little guarantee of anyone being there let alone willing to help someone who, at the crack of dawn, appeared in their pajamas and smelled as though they’d rummaged through a forest then slept in their car and went for a run… Return to Ursula.]

Crap. [brief thought of smashing a window] I could saw through the floor! The rust should give way with a good punch and I could saw through the carpet with my pocket knife! [realize that pocket knife is in the cupholder with the phone] Dammit. [brief thought of smashing a window, then reflect to the time when Ursula arm-wrestled a bush with her driverside mirror and lost. Struggle to remember if there was an opening beneath the attachment big enough for my arm. Observe that driverside mirror is very thoroughly bolted on anew, so goes to passenger side, steadies self with a hand on the roofrack and kicks off sideview mirror. Observes that there is a metal plate there.] F**k. Sorry Ursula. [haphazardly reattaches the jagged plastic edges together and rejoice when it stays, even though it’s a little saggy. Consider smashing a window. Resigns and finds a large rock].

I began with a few reluctant strikes on the small, triangular window behind the roll-down window of the rear, driver side passenger door, apologizing to my car for what I had to do but also with the understanding that she’d be dead by winter anyway. But each strike barely scuffed the glass, so I increased the force of every hit, fuelled by a hastening impatience, until the sound of the rock pounding on the window echoed back through the forest like gunshots. Feverishly, I hammered the glass, harder and harder, growling and cursing. In an angry uproar, I hurled the rock into the long grass.

I briefly considered my options again; then found another rock.

I wailed on that window with all the fiery rage I could muster. Chunks of glass chipped off and actually hit me in the face, but still that window would not break. With a howl, I hurled the rock into the grass.

Then found another rock.

I didn’t want to have to do it, but that damn little window wouldn’t break. I had no other choice. I accepted the fate and struck the roll-down window behind the driver’s seat. One, two, three, explode.

Cubes of glass were everywhere. In my sleeping bag, my spare clothes, the driver’s seat, even the front passenger seat. I was glad I’d had the presence of mind to close my cooler of food…

But alas, thus began the ordeal of brushing the glass out. I’d managed only minimal wounds before finally rolling onwards with my adventure…

In hindsight, the most distinguishing experience was wandering into a department store off the highway in Huntsville, dishevelled, with bloodstained hands and arms asking where I could find plastic bags and packing tape…

Nothing to look at, folks… Just the tape, then… I only really needed one bag anyway…

You can see more fun on the road right here,
or learn 8 reasons why roadtripping is awesome.

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