Kenora to Ottawa (I’ve stopped counting km)

Felt better on the morning of the 18th. In fact, when darkness fell, I just kept driving. I drove through the night, only stopping in the early morning for a quick nap before arriving in Ottawa.

On my way out of Kenora, I finally got the speeding ticket I’d been expecting the entire way across Canada. Highway #1 passes through lots of little towns, and the speed limit drops quickly from 90 km/h to 60 km/h. I have my cruise control set for 100 km/h, and when I see the “60 km/h ahead” signs, I turn off the cruise and usually I’ve slowed down to a safe 70 km/h by the time the “60 km/h begins” sign appears. Not this time. I was travelling downhill, around a bend in the road, and hadn’t slowed down at all. By the time I thought to apply the brakes, I saw the cop car pull over on the opposite side of the road, and turn around behind me, cherries flashing. Busted. Entirely my fault.

The experience only strengthened my belief that cops are basically good guys. I didn’t get upset, just explained about the hill-cruise control thing. He had me at 90 in a 60. Ouch. Asked me where I was going. Told him about Ottawa and teacher’s college. He knocked it down to 80 in a 60 ($100 for those interested), and told me to keep my speed down because of the number of moose on the road. You don’t see them because they walk down the middle of the road until you get close, then turn broadside and step into your lane, crashing through your windshield and cracking your head open like an egg. Sneaky moose. The officer informed me that he had recently hit a bear as well. I wondered if this officer got a chance to talk to many people during the day. In the end, he apologized for giving me the ticket (literally: “Sorry to have to do that, but it’s my job, eh.”), and wished me luck in school.

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