MY CAR COASTED into the darkened gas station and came to a stop just shy of the antiquated pumps. They were old steel monoliths, painted in flaking red and white, and they still had analog readouts for the fuel. I wasn’t sure if they were even real pumps, or just some whimsical artifacts of nostalgia. Like garden gnomes, or lawn jockeys, or pay phones.
About an hour earlier I’d passed Cochrane on Highway 11, and there’s this spot where the highway makes a right turn and heads south. If you’re ever there, make a left instead and get gas. It’s a long trip without it.
I was on my way home after being in Longlac for a couple of weeks. Long story. Let’s just say I had to deal with some people. People with guns.
Long drive too. The most direct route from Longlac to Kitchener is about twelve and a half hours. Assuming you don’t stop for gas, which is impossible.
For those living in the U.S., imagine taking the most direct route, the I-75, from Detroit to Macon, Georgia. It’s even farther than that. And you’ll only see maybe a half dozen towns before you get to North Bay, where you still have four hours to go. Hearst, Kapuskasing, Cochrane, Timmins, Sudbury. Those aren’t big towns. Timmins and Sudbury are the only cities, at 41,000 and 160,000 people, respectively.
And I took Highway 11. It doesn’t even go through Sudbury. Or Timmins.
So, what’s so special about Highway 11, and why did I take it? As I looked around the empty, darkened gas station, I asked the same question. It’s a more direct route home, for starters. And honestly, I like it. Highway 11 is a beautiful road. It’s the main route to all the best camping in Ontario; it’s where you head on the summer weekend if you want to get your feet wet in Lake Opeongo, or donate blood to a billion mosquitos. There’s even this quaint misconception that it’s part of Yonge Street, Toronto. Up until the 1990s, the Guinness Book of World Records had a listing for Yonge Street as the longest street in the world, because it became Highway 11 as you left the city. There’s some trivia for you.
The fuel warning light had been on for the past thirty minutes, and I was nowhere near anywhere. As far as I could tell, I was close to what the map says is Unorganized West Timiskaming District.
The only other gas stations I’d seen were a Petro-Pass (one of those card-key stops), and an industrial fuel depot which boasted “Clean Fuels,” but nothing I could use to fill my tank. Otherwise, it was all closed tourist traps, closed chip trucks, and abandoned motels.
And I’d only seen one moose on the highway this trip.
I was just about to call this place abandoned too, if not for the solitary light above the station’s door. In the window of the door was a “Sorry we’re Closed” sign.
I sighed and looked around. This was it. I didn’t have any roadside service, or even cellular service. So, either I got gas here, or I slept in my car. Again. I stepped out into the damp darkness, smelling the fresh pine of northern Ontario. I kicked idly at the sparse chipped gravel and walked to the door.
After looking inside, seeing nothing, I knocked on the door. Hearing no response, I knocked again, harder this time. The glass rattled in the pane, and I eased up a little, not wanting to wreck anything.
A sliver of light appeared deep inside the station store. An old man came wandering in from an apartment in back. He peered at me through the door window.
“Hi there,” I called through the door. “I’m out of gas.”
He gave me a dubious look, but I gestured at my car to show him that I didn’t just walk here.
“Wadda ya want? An award?”
I smiled a little. “No thanks necessary. I just want to buy some gas.”
“We’re closed,” he said. Looked like he was holding an old ceramic-coated coffee pot. He held it up. “I was just making dinner.”
“Okay, yeah, sorry to bother you. It’s an emergency. Could you help me out?”
After a long, uncomfortable minute, he said, “I guess. Hang on.”
The rest of the lights came on in the store, and the pumps lit up. There was a sound I hadn’t heard in a long while: the ding-ding sound of a pneumatic bell. The ghost of gas stations past.
The old guy came out, tucking his faded shirt into his pants. He went to the pump closest to my car’s gas tank, pulled out the nozzle, and flipped a metal lever down to activate the pump.
“You get whatever’s in this one,” he said.
“Sure. Whatever is just fine. As long as it’s not diesel.”
He turned back to the pump for a second and scanned it.
“And as long as it’s unleaded,” I added.
“Funny guy, ain’t ya?”
I shrugged. “I try.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t gas up at one of the chains … PetroCan or the Texaco.”
I cocked my head at him. “Yours is the only one around for miles. Also, is Texaco still a thing?”
“Har har,” he said as he worked the machine.
I waved my hands around as I was attacked by a half dozen fat, lazy mosquitos the size of crane flies. “Lots of bugs out tonight.”
“Things will eat you alive.”
He flipped a nozzle clip on the handle, locking it and letting it go by itself, something I also hadn’t seen in a while. He then ambled back to the store and returned with a couple of cups of coffee. One in a ceramic mug, one in a paper travel cup. The old man looked me up and down, then offered the paper cup to me.
“Thanks a lot. I could use the boost.”
He didn’t say anything. Just sipped at his cup and looked out at the highway. The sun had just set on this summer’s evening, and the sky started to take on a purple hue. The station and highway lay at the bottom of an artificial valley, with a curtain of black spruce, jack pine, and various assorted other pine trees above us. Behind the station was a fifty-foot cliff of Canadian Shield where the highway burrowed through. To the northwest, everything leveled out into a marshy lake. The red sky burst up from the trees like an eruption, blending into the dark blue and violet above.
“Hey, you get some great sunsets here,” I said.
The old man sipped his coffee placidly, then said, “You’re lucky I was still around. I was going to eat dinner then drive out to the lake.”
“Well, thanks for being here. Not too many folks out on the road today.”
“You heading up north?”
“No, just coming back from Longlac.”
“No wonder you’re out of gas.”
“Honestly, I should have made the turn in Cochrane. Wasn’t paying any attention.”
“Well, you gotta keep your wits about you up here. Who knows what evil lurks in the bush.”
I turned to him. “Evil?”
“Yep. Lots of folk looking take advantage of a lone traveler.”
“Oh, well. I’ve seen a lot of things. I often get in over my head. I’m kind of used to it by now.”
“Yep. You never know who you might meet on a dark country road all the way up here, in the middle of nowhere.” He kept staring off at the lake. His eyes looked troubled in the dying light. “People just waiting to do unspeakable things to those who get lost at night.”
“Yeah. I guess. Hey, how’s the gas situation?”
The old man wandered over to the car. I heard a loud click from the pump. “Looks done.”
“Thanks,” I said, putting the coffee cup on the hood of the rental car, and getting out my wallet. “How much do I owe?”
“Good question,” said the man.
“Yeah … that’s pretty deep. I mean how much does it cost?”
The old man nodded. “That’s an even better question. How much did it cost you to stop here?”
“Look, I’ve really got to get going …”
“Never know who you’re going to meet, or what it will cost you.”
I gave him a hard look. “Uh, huh.”
“And you never know who’s going to put something in your coffee and stall while it takes effect.”
Oh, boy. One of these guys. You always hear about the weirdos from up-country. Never expect to meet them.
I wobbled a little, for effect, and pinched the bridge of my nose. Then I smiled at the old guy. I fished some money out of the wallet.
“Good thing I didn’t drink any of the coffee.”
The old man looked surprised, then smiled back.
“Ah, I didn’t poison your coffee. Just wanted to see what you’d do. It gets boring out here, you know?”
I laughed. “Is sixty okay?”
“More than enough. Thanks.”
We completed the transaction and I patted him on the shoulder. As I opened the door to my car, I handed him back the cup.
“You can keep the coffee if you like,” he said.
“No, you’d better take it back. I’m wide awake now. I’ll grab a Timmies when I get to North Bay.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Thanks for the little thrill, by the way.”
“You ain’t mad, I hope.”
“It’s not the first time someone’s tried to scare me. As I said, I’m used to it.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Just—” I chose my words deliberately. “Just be careful. Assuming you are having a joke, and the coffee isn’t poisoned, there are some folks out here who don’t appreciate that kind of humor.”
“Yeah, fair enough.”
“And one more thing,” I said, grabbing his sleeve. “Don’t assume that because we’re city people … that we aren’t also here to murder a random person in the middle of nowhere.” To illustrate the point, I pulled a gun out from the center console and slapped it on the dashboard. It wasn’t my gun, and it wasn’t loaded, but I thought it might be a useful prop.
The old man’s smile faded and his skin took on a more ashen appearance. He carefully lifted his hand from my car and took a sip from the cup I gave him.
I started my car and pulled away from the dark station giving him a little wave and an unsettling smile.