Everything was smooth until Moose Jaw, after my turn there I realized I’d never be a navigator.
The trip from Lloydminster to Estevan is long, but for me, it was about to become longer and more stressful than it should’ve been.
“Keep right at Moose Jaw to merge onto Highway 1,” said my notes.
I was following the directions, keeping right, looking for the sign that’d put me on Highway 1.
Soon after I saw a Highway 1 sign, but the path was less merger than straight up right hand turn. I took it anyway; unbeknownst to me the trip was about to go awry.
I was late, wanting to get to Estevan to meet my landlord for the keys to my new apartment. I checked the time, did the math and figured I’d have to speed up to make it on time.
The right turn, clearly not a merger, was the first red flag. The second? I was on Highway 1, but the signs said Highway 1 West.
I should be going east, I thought. Maybe once I get to the Weyburn turn off I’ll start heading east.
A stranger to the area, it seemed possible. I looked at the time again and sped up more. I’m by no means a speed demon; contrarily, my friends chastise me often for driving too slow.
I was also staying in a motel that night, but still, I wanted those keys.
The more I drove, though, the more Highway 1 West signs bugged me. I pulled over, ate half a sandwich and checked Google Maps again. I swear Google told me I was going the right way, and I just lost more time checking to make sure.
I’d have to go faster for the lost time.
Driving irresponsibly is something I’d never condone. Despite this, I had the needle at 150 km/h.
That’s when those menacing reds and blues flashed up behind me.
Busted.
I pulled over; an exasperated burly officer with a Scottish accent came up to my window.
“Where you going in such a hurry?” he asked, a look on his face like I had three heads.
“I have to meet my landlord to get the keys for my new apartment and I’m super late.”
“Where though?”
“Estevan.”
His expression became more severe, like I’d sprouted yet another head.
“Estevan is that way,” he said, pointing behind us. “You have to go east, you’re going west.”
“My GPS said I was going the right way, but I was wondering why the signs said west,” I said, my hands starting to shake.
I couldn’t afford a ticket. I hadn’t even started my new job at the Mercury—I was still withdrawing money from the Bank of Mom and Dad.
“You were going 150 kilometers an hour in the wrong direction! Good thing I pulled you over!”
He was somehow serious, mocking and sympathetic at the same time.
“I know,” I said, embarrassed. “Thank you.”
“Licence and registration.”
I reached into my wallet and glove box, the shaking turning into full on trembling. This wasn’t lost on the officer.
“Have you been drinking today?”
“Not at all.”
“Smoking marijuana?”
“Never.”
“Pills? Medication? Son, are you diabetic?”
“No, I’m just not used to being pulled over.”
“I’m scared,” he said. “You’re flying down the highway and your hands are so shaky you can barely reach your wallet.”
I assured him they were steady before I saw his lights, but he ran my information anyway. At length he returned, surprised my record was so pristine, not a mark on it.
“Because you seem like a good fella I reduced it as much as I could. It’s still going to be $200,” he said. “I could have fined you $390.”
I thanked him repeatedly for the break—he told me to turn around and gave me the proper directions. Luckily the fine isn’t due until June so my hands steadied a bit.
“There, now maybe your GPS will work,” he said. “And slow down, you just can’t be going that fast.”
I promised I would and made it to Estevan two hours late, didn’t get my keys and was $200 poorer.
I guess the lesson is to take it easy. Not only is impatience potentially costly, but also dangerous…and counterproductive if you’re going the wrong way.
