Back From Quebec
I am pleased to report that we safely re-entered the United States without incident following my Write On The Water assignment in Quebec.
"Are you returning with any goods you purchased in Canada?" asked the U.S. Border Patrol agent.
"Just two wool caps," I said.
Two wool caps, who is he kidding, he was no doubt saying to himself, not knowing of our thrifty ways.
"Oh, and a long sleeve t-shirt."
Right.
But this blog is about writing, not personal economics, and a primary mission of the trip was research for a future book. Mission accomplished. I am now ready to write chase scenes set in the winter north. I now have the specifics down if my protagonist flees on a sled pulled by a team of huskies. The same if I elect to work in some snowmobiling action. (For those of you down south, snowmobiling is essentially the act of riding a jet ski across the snow, the exception being the inverse relationship between the amount of clothing you wear.)
To gain this experience we headed to the the Quebec woods on Ile d'Orleans, a beautiful island in the St. Lawrence where we rented some Yamaha Four Strokes.
Loyal readers may recall an earlier post that referenced my ability to speak fluent French with perfect diction. These skills were in force when we met our guide.
"This is Pierre," we were told by the head man who processed our paperwork.
"Pierre's from France and he came to Quebec earlier this year to learn English."
Okay.
It turned out that Pierre's English was roughly equivalent with my French. So off we went, mutes on machines.
As far as snowmobiling, let me be succinct in capturing the basics: amazing acceleration, a lot less control than you'd imagine, and a real hoot of a ride. And I said amazing acceleration, right? Enough so that stories of back woods decapitation now make a lot more sense to me.
(Sally, ready to rev up the rpms on her machine)
And Pierre? Wouldn't you know that he showed off at one point and put his snowmobile into the air, coming down on the side of a ditch, thigh deep in snow.
We got him out, though. And Pierre was actually a great guy whose boss will never know why we were a half hour late returning to home base.
And what does this say as far as my writing research?
Well, I'm not sure, but I suspect a young Parisian with too many revs on his Yamaha snowmobile shows up somewhere in one of my stories. If he does, I might have to drive back up to Vermont to tell the border patrol that I forgot to declare some intangible valuables I brought back on our winter trip to Quebec.
(Reid, in the brown jacket, and Pierre, near Pierre's landing spot in the ditch)
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