A year before exiting Britain and immigrating to Canada in 1967, my wife and I set out on a sort of poor man’s and woman’s motoring ‘Grand Tour of Europe’. (We visited eight countries.) Eyeing a large sign on the outskirts thereof giving directions to a Paris by-pass, with only about a month available for our ’ Grand Tour’, rather impulsively I took the by-pass. Never to this day having yet visited Paris, I have regretted taking it for the fifty six years since.
The following year as planned we arrived in Canada by sea disembarking mid-May in Montreal bound for Vancouver by car. To expat Brits this represented a staggeringly long auto journey of 5,000 kms give or take. We did of course take in Montreal’s spectacular Expo 67 before heading out. Whilst traversing Manitoba on the Trans-Canada highway, I saw a sign indicating a route to a Winnipeg by-pass. Very reluctantly as with Paris, I took it. To that point we had covered only about half the distance from Montreal to Vancouver.
5,000 kms was indeed a very long haul in the small albeit new British car we had brought with us, an appropriately Canada specified left hand drive Austin (RIP)** 1100 or Austin America should you have erred and purchased one in Canada. For reasons known only to the manufacturers British Motor Holdings*** the car was known, saints preserve us, as the MG! 1100 in the US. Until researching for this all too true story, I had no idea I had once owned an ‘MG’. Presumably my Austin 1100 became one whenever I crossed the US border. I should have carried interchangeable badges.
Fast forward, I don’t know let’s say roughly twenty years, still ensconced in Vancouver indeed as am I to this latter day, I had cause to visit Winnipeg on business in my capacity then as now as the sole proprietor of B.H. Devonald & Associates. I was then and still am a self employed manufacturers’ representative in electronics high technology manufacturing. (If you can find a self employment opportunity that works for you grab it). At the time we were deep into a particularly harsh winter all across Canada. It would be my first visit to if you will ‘Winterpeg’.
The Canadian prairies have their share of bitterly cold winter weather with temperatures often below minus twenty degrees Celsius even on occasion below thirty. A week before my flight, I noted the city was experiencing overnight lows below minus twenty five degrees C. I once downhill skied in the BC interior at minus twenty two the associated wind chill, especially at downhill skiing speeds, resulting in a mild case of frostbite, the tell tale white facial skin being noted by my companion. “We have to go to the lodge right now he said.” “No ifs buts or maybes”. With this in mind, I continued to monitor Winnipeg’s lows.
The day before my flight a ‘warming trend’ was forecast for Winnipeg. None the less my wardrobe such as it was, would have done any deep cold acclimated and goose down parka equipped skier proud. I flew in and picked up my rental car which was in a multi-story open sided parkade under a wind driven mountain of ‘dry’ powder snow. I didn’t need a shovel or even a brush. The snow was so light I just removed it with gloved hands no problem. The roads were very well plowed and forecasted further snow was holding off.
I turned the radio on just in time to hear an excited announcer proclaim that a warming trend had set in and that Winnipeg could expect temperature highs to rise to the mid minus teens, perhaps as high as a ‘balmy’ (his very words) minus fifteen from the overnight low just experienced of minus twenty something.
Map in hand (this was before quintessential GPS) I determined and memorized the route to my hotel arriving soon afterwards. I checked in and then headed out to visit existing and potential new customers. All my meetings went well. I headed back to the hotel and in doing so discovered from the front desk staff that there was a very funny play running in a nearby downtown theatre. Being thespian inclined myself, I love live theatre. I booked a seat in the stalls close to the stage and had dinner at the hotel.
The theatre was located in what was for me unexplored Winterpeg territory. Once more I read the map, memorized the route and headed out. Needless to say the rental car had snow tires. All the roads were thick with compacted snow. A fifteen minute drive and I was at the theatre. Not seeing any sign of a public indoor parking garage I parked on the street and hurried my chilly and by then windy way a couple of blocks to the theatre.
The show was well produced and the script very funny. I can’t remember much detail about it except for one lengthy scene wherein a couple in a downtown setting could not remember where they parked their car. (Been there done that. I even reported the car stolen to the police!). Needless to say in the play it was the guy who couldn’t remember, had it all wrong and of course wouldn’t listen to his wife who could remember and got it all right. They played it to the hilt. The audience including myself was in stitches.
All too soon the play was over and the almost full house audience headed for the exits. While we were rolling in the aisles, nature had been preparing a surprise for us. A full on blizzard had ensued however that was not the surprise. With all the new snow, the sidewalks had completely disappeared as had the previously copious footprints therein, the wind was busy building drifts and the parked cars were hard to distinguish one from another.
Fortunately I had no real problem quickly finding my rental car. That it turned out was the easy part. Removing ten centimetres or so again of light and dry powder snow with gloved hands was a no brainer. The surprise then revealed itself. No I did not stumble and lose the keys in the snow. No it was not that the car would not start. It was another trick nature had played. Before the snow had started an ice storm i.e. freezing rain**** had ensued. Under the snow the car was entirely encapsulated in ice this the better for ‘glueing’ the doors tightly shut and icing up all the windows, especially the windshield.
I set to work and quickly. I was dressed for the street but not for very long on the street. The temperature was of course falling and it was getting late. I figured to be in a close race with hypothermia. In the quiet and by then deserted streets save for me, I was in a race I had to win and toot suite. Notwithstanding an element of brute force, I had no significant problem opening the frozen up driver side door. I jumped in, started the engine to quickly create some heat and reached for the ubiquitous Canadian winter accessory the long handled scraper/brush combination. Ubiquitous it turned out, had taken the day off.
A search of every nook and cranny of the car’s interior along with those of the trunk revealed no sign of a scraper/brush. The rental company had forgotten to supply one. Or, in fairness, perhaps the previous renter had taken off with it. What to do? I could live without the brush thanks to the ‘dry’ powder snow but not the scraper. Finger nails were not going to do it. What to use? Of course, a credit card. I pulled out my VISA.
The combination of heat from the running engine, my credit card scraper and the heated rear window along with my trusty waterproof gloves did the trick. It took a while to scrape the windshield but finally I was under way albeit slowly. Just as well. I turned on the radio and very soon heard a weather warning. The local forecasters were recommending everyone get off the roads as soon as possible. This in a city well used to winter driving. Apparently, more freezing rain was imminent. The announcer added that it was strongly recommended that anyone currently driving exercise extreme caution. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I pussy footed my way on the throttle riding a fresh and extremely slippery surface kindly supplied by the arriving ice storm barely a few minutes after the warning broadcast. I made it to the hotel with no issues heading straight for the bar, a beer and a time-out huddled over a log burning fireplace.
Making it to the airport in one piece the next morning on newly plowed roads, I flew out back to Vancouver and to our typical incessant winter rain. No shovel, scraper or brush required.
Incidentally then as now Manitoba’s auto license plates carry the words ‘Friendly Manitoba’. As in the other prairie provinces, the particular friendliness of the people is very much the case. As ‘innocents abroad’ so to speak, we very much noticed it on our initial cross county foray as newly minted immigrants. The local people we met particularly on the prairies could not have been more friendly and welcoming and for sure still are whether at home on the prairie or having migrated to BC or to other parts of Canada.
* Winterpeg is a well-meaning affectionate nickname for Winnipeg, Manitoba the city being the coldest one in Canada in the winter season. It made the list of the five coldest cities on planet earth, along with Yellowknife (North West Territories, Canada) Duninka and Yakutsk Russia, and Harbin, China.
** Austin – the marque became defunct in 1982 having started in 1905. See my story Austin 1100 April 2019. I recommend also the on line video of Basil Fawlty beating up an 1100 with a tree branch! Hilarious.
*** British Motor Holdings. The manufacturers of the ‘Austin 1100’ – only in Britain. ‘Austin America’ – only in Canada. ‘MG 1100’ – only in the USA.
**** Ice storm/freezing rain. I.E. rain freezing on contact with a sub zero Celsius surface in this case the car.
The eight countries we visited on our ‘Grand Tour’ were France. Spain. Andorra. Italy. Switzerland. Germany. The Netherlands and Monaco. We particularly fell in love with the tiny principality of Andorra.