Fort Providence to Yellowknife Part 3
It was 7pm when Cindy and I got dropped off at the Big River Service Centre, outside of Fort Providence. We were hitchhiking to Yellowknife and were almost there – only 300 km to go! The bar was open until midnight and the restaurant was open 24 hours so we decided that we would stay there all night and ask everyone that comes in for a lift. We sat there for over three hours, when a trucker finally pulled up. Perfect! As soon as he came in, he bought the bar a round to celebrate his wife giving birth that day. Since Cindy and I were the only ones in there, it was a cheap round but got him talking to us and he agreed to give us a ride. He had a few more drinks and bought a bottle for the road. We were thrilled to finally get a ride, but, as the truck driver told us later, we were stupid to get in his truck with him because real truck drivers wouldn’t drink and drive. He wasn’t a real trucker. He was just doing his dad, who ran a trucking company, a favour by driving a load of new cars up to Yellowknife.
We discovered all this at 1am, in the pouring rain, in the middle of the Northwest Territories with a rifle pointed at our heads! It had all started when the trucker heard, on his CB radio, that there was an accident up ahead. The other trucker said the police were there but apparently the driver had disappeared. Our trucker told us he was psychic and could find the driver who must have wandered into the bush, so he was going to stop and help. We tried to talk him out of it because he had been (and still was) drinking. I guess he didn’t like us telling him what to do because he suddenly stopped the truck, pulled his rifle out from behind the seat and told us to get out! We were tempted to comply, but our backpacks were in one of the cars he was hauling, and we were scared he’d ditch us without them. We didn’t like the idea of being stranded in the middle of nowhere, in the rain, without a tent, so we did our best to talk him down. Somehow, we calmed him down, he put his rifle back under his seat and headed back up the Mackenzie Highway.
We came upon the accident soon after and even though the RCMP were waving him on, he pulled over. “Stay in the truck!” he growled at us, as he got out. We scrambled out the passenger side before he could stop us. The officers tried to tell us to get back in the truck but finally listened to our story. “Sorry,” they said. “We can’t help you. We’re stationed in Rae-Edzo [what Behchokǫ̀ was called in 1985] and there is nowhere there for you to stay so we can’t take you there.” We were shocked, but didn’t give up, and talked them into helping us get our packs and taking us with them. That is how we found ourselves, at 2:30am, wandering the streets of Behchokǫ̀ in the rain. We first thought of pitching our tent in a construction site, where we could find cover from the rain, but didn’t like the idea of being woken up by a bunch of construction workers. Then I saw the beautiful, old, log church next door and remembered hearing that churches always keep their doors open to provide sanctuary to anyone that needs it. We tried the church door, and it was open! The pews were hard, but it was a dry, warm, safe place to sleep after such a harrowing experience. Thank God!
