Vol.9,
No.51, 2006 On
The Auction Trail By
Anne J. Fotheringham
Evelyn
had just stated the obvious
for the fourth time during
our magical mystery tour
of Temiscaming.
I had arrived in Rouyn-Noranda
shortly before, after an
eight-hour bus trip. Forewarned,
I had whiled away my time
with music on my Walkman
and reading a tear-jerker
novel - hey, on a bus no-one
knows you and you can sob
to your heart’s content.
Fortified by a mixture of
granola bars and pudding
on top of two turkey sandwiches
and a fruit cup, I had relaxed,
sipping my designer water,
enjoying the luxury of having
two whole seats to myself.
At the time, I was unaware
I was destined for a surprise
tour of several farms and
a couple of logging trails
in a fruitless search for
the location of a furniture
auction.
“I’ve got some
fun planned for this evening,” my
friend assured me when she
met me at the bus station.
We hugged and then fought to
rescue my suitcase from the
pile being built by the bus
driver who was unloading the
bus bays as if his vehicle
was on fire.
As we headed for her car,
she asked me if I was still
up for going to the auction
she had mentioned on the
telephone two nights before.
I have to explain that my
friend recently acquired
an old rectory dating from
the 1930s. It was located
in a village about 40 minutes
south of Rouyn-Noranda. She
had renovated and restored
it and was constantly on
the lookout for furniture
and other items that matched
the original decor.
“Sure,” I replied,
game for anything. A whole
day of no domestic crises
and no-one yelling “Mom” had
loosened my inhibitions.
I was footloose and fancy
free and, since attending
country auctions was something
I had never done, it had
a high degree of attraction
for me. We headed off for
the car.
Evelyn and I go way back
to the days before I became
a mother and had to take
life a bit more seriously.
We had been away on vacation
twice back in the ‘70s.
Once we had spent an entire
week in a predominantly gay
community on Cape Cod. At
the time we were sick of
guys hitting on us whenever
we went out for a drink in
Montreal so had headed where
the guys wouldn’t bother
us. We naively hadn’t
counted on the women, who
thought we were a cute couple.
The following year, we had
run away from civilization
by joining a week-long schooner
trip around uncharted islands
off the coast of Maine. These
experiences are stories in
their own right, but believe
me, after sharing them, our
friendship had become one
that could stand the test
of time - as well as looking
for an elusive auction.
So here I was, 20 odd years
later jaunting off to see
her in Rémigny - yes,
I know I’d never heard
of it either, but I can now
find it on the map if you
like. See me later. Back
to the auction hunt. We loaded
my suitcase into the back
of her stationwagon, then
stopped off for the essentials
- money and food.
“We’ll drop
by the auction and if there’s
nothing interesting going
on, we’ll just head
home,” she said. As
we travelled out of Rouyn-Noranda
she handed me a map.
“I’ve been to
this place before, but usually
from my home village. I’ve
never come from this direction
but I was told by a friend
I can take side roads after
we hit Nédélec.
They are all paved so we’ll
be fine.” She pointed
to some thin grey lines on
the map as she drove.
I stared at the roads marked
on the map. “Should
be easy to find,” I
said.
“Look upon it as a
car rally,” said my
inner self. “Remember
those in university?”
I did. I also remembered
getting lost during an Engineering
faculty rally one winter
and coming in second to last,
frozen and out of gas. Another
high point was the time a
rally routed us onto a road
that the municipality had
just decided to resurface.
The result had been $300
worth of damage to the car.
I pushed these thoughts away.
Ev knows this area. She’ll
get us there, I assured myself.
If not, time to live dangerously.
We chatted over old times
and our families as she drove.
She filled me in on the joys
of renovating a 70-year-old
building and I complained
about my kids. It was very
satisfying. Then we hit Nédélec.
Not one of your great metropolises,
however, it was larger than
a blink and offered us two
possible side roads, neither
of which had any signage
to guide us. We tried the
first but it appeared to
lead to someone’s farm.
We turned around, drove back
through the village and took
the second road. We began
to wend our way through a
maze.
This road led us through
farmland featuring cows and
too much hay for my allergies.
Then we came to a T intersection.
Evelyn assured me we had
to head west into Ontario.
We went left, then turned
again at another intersection
and then again.
“The road is supposed
to be paved,” said
Evelyn, slowing the car. “This
road isn’t paved.”
“No, it’s not,” I
agreed. So she turned the
car around in a side track
that seemed to lead straight
into a wall of trees and
we went back the way we had
come, looking for that elusive
paved road. We came to an
intersection and found the
other branch was paved so
off we set again, this time
through a number of very
quiet farms.
There were no signs of any
humans or even cows this
time. My grass allergies
were kicking in and my nose
was now stuffed. I was badly
in need of my antihistamines
which were, of course, back
in my suitcase. The sun was
beginning to dip towards
the horizon and I suddenly
noticed the lack of streetlights.
The cut hay in the fields
had been rolled into bundles
and stuffed into long white
plastic tubes that looked
like alien slugs creeping
across the landscape. That
sight, coupled with a high
number of beehives along
the way and corn fields that
seemed to be moving closer
and closer to the road, soon
had my overactive imagination
humming the theme from the
X-Files. My earlier bravado
was beginning to recede.
We ran out of pavement again
just as we came to another
intersection. Which way to
go?
“The sun is setting
in the west and we need to
go west so we’ll turn
that way,” said Evelyn
confidently. Within five
minutes we ran out of paved
road once more and found
ourselves at a deserted farmhouse.
There was no help available
there - only some curious
chickens who stared rudely
at us. They were definitely
not to be relied upon for
directions.
Returning the way we had
come we took the other turn
- it too was paved - and
breezed along. This time
no farms, no friendly cows,
no houses and soon no paving
either. There were just piles
of logs here and there along
the way and trails leading
off into the tightly packed
trees. At another intersection
we tried taking the turnoff
that seemed to lead west.
Now the trees were even closer
to the road. The light was
fading and Evelyn coasted
to a halt.
There was no sign any humans
had ever been here except
for the road. We felt completely
alone until we realized there
was probably a lot of wildlife
hidden in those trees wondering
who the idiots in the stationwagon
were.
That’s when Evelyn
said it again. “This
is not a paved road.” We
looked at each other and
the decision was instantaneous.
Evelyn executed a three-point
turn on the narrow road and
we headed back towards civilization.
As the sun began to get
even lower in the sky we
threaded our way back through
the maze of country roads,
navigating by remembered
landmarks, making a few mistakes
and hoping the light would
hold.
Finally we found ourselves
back at our starting point
in Nédélec
just as the sun dipped below
the horizon. My friend turned
the car south and we headed
for the next town, our stomachs
grumbling. Neither of us
had any inclination to dig
out the food in the back
and make sandwiches, we wanted
a friendly waitress and hot
coffee.
“Well, I give up on
that auction,” said
Evelyn.
“Me too,” I
echoed. “Say, where
are we? This village is all
lit up.”
“Oh, this is Notre
Dame du Nord. It is all decorated
for the annual truck rodeo.”
My interest was piqued.
I have never been to a truck
rodeo. My youngest has often
tried to get me to take him
to a Monster Truck Rally.
The auction might be a wash
out but a truck rally sounded
promising.
“Cool,” I said.
“Sorry,” she
replied. “It finished
yesterday.”
“Just my luck,” I
joked. “We can’t
find the auction and I just
missed the rodeo. What’s
next?”
We both looked at each other
and suddenly began to laugh
uncontrollably as only two
old friends sharing total
absurdity can. We forced
ourselves into a somewhat
more sober mood as we pulled
into a diner and parked.
The sobriety was only temporary,
however, and by the time
we found a table and asked
for a menu, we were fighting
down the giggles. We felt
we might be attracting attention
so tried to focus on ordering
a meal. We started talking
about how good a club sandwich
would be, but one look at
the menu sent us off into
hilarity again. The menu
read:
A club sandwich
Half a club sandwich
A club sandwich with fries
Half a club sandwich with
fries
A club house sandwich
Half a club house sandwich
A club house sandwich with
fries
Half a club house sandwich
with fries.
A club special sandwich
Half a club special sandwich
A club special sandwich with
fries
Half a club special sandwich
with fries.
We ordered a toasted western
and a BLT instead, while
trying not to start laughing
again. But I have to say
it was hard. Evelyn and
I tend to switch from French
to English without any
notice and often have been
known to do so in mid-sentence.
So here I was talking 1/2
French, 1/2 English to
Evelyn, while she spoke only
French to the waitress, who
was speaking English to me,
while I was ordering in French.
By the time we finally
got through ordering, even
the waitress was beginning
to have trouble controlling
her face.
After we finished eating,
we climbed wearily into the
car, headed back down the
road - this time the road
was paved all the way - and
we found Rémigny.
It was just as charming as
she had described it - what
I could see of it in the
dark, that is, and the bed
waiting for me was comfortable
and welcoming. But for the
rest of my stay the words “This
is not a paved road” -
and believe me there are
a lot of unpaved roads up
there - was guaranteed to
send these two old friends
off into fits of laughter.
They will forever remind
me of the night we went hunting
for an auction that we never
found.