Jodie Ponto Photography

St. What’s Basilica?  Leaning Tower of Where?  Anne Who’s House?   Spending 4 weeks getting intimate & interactive with the rest stops, service stations, driving conditions, and road rules of Europe was not exactly what my 18 year old self had in mind when she first set out across the Atlantic all those years ago with her Mountain Equipment Co-op backpack, Eurorail pass, and quick-dry travel pants.

This is what the Autobahn, Autosnelweg, Autoroute, and Autostrada look like through the windshield of Miss Quincy & The Showdown‘s English rental van:

Calais, France

Autosnelweg Windmills, the Netherlands

Autobahn Ausfahrt, Germany

Autostrada Porn, Italy

Country Road, the Netherlands

Rainy Autostrada, Italy

Autostrada Tunnel, Italy

Autostrada Alps, Italy

Autoroute Canola Fields, France

Autoroute Sunset, France

Like a kidlet on Christmas morning, I awoke today clasping my hands in anticipatory glee. That’s because the night before I had checked the status of a Purolator package I had been patiently awaiting and discovered it would be delivered the very next day. Inside the package were two brand spankin’ new lenses that are absolute low-light warriors and I was planning on putting them to the test at a big concert tonight.

Unable to concentrate through my mounting excitement I entered my tracking number into the Purolator website once again:

08:33 – On vehicle for delivery via CASTLEGAR, BC depot.

Hooray!

09:29 – Scheduled delivery appointment required via CASTLEGAR, BC depot.

What the hell were the new objects of my affection doing back in Castlegar only one hour after setting sail for me?

Calling Purolator’s helpline I was informed the package had gone back to Castlegar because the driver said the road was closed.

“Oh no, was there an accident on the highway?” I asked.

“No, the driver said the road to your house was closed”.

Puzzled, I thought for a moment before speaking. “The road to my house? Oh! They’re doing construction right in front of my house, but I wouldn’t exactly say the road is closed. I’m confused why the driver didn’t just park further down the road?”

“Well, if the driver can’t park at the delivery address he can’t make the delivery now can he?”

“Uhhhh … But … Why…”

And that’s about where I was cut off with a curt “Goodbye”.

Hey you haughty helpline hag, my house is within sight of the nearest intersection and my street isn’t exactly what I’d call Hollywood Boulevard length! If you and that dunderheaded driver seriously think that it’s quicker, easier, and more reasonable to drive the package all the way back to Castlegar (and consequently have to drive it right back to Nelson the next day), instead of parking further down the street and walking to my door, dropping the package off at Nelson’s Purolator location, or even just calling my phone number written right on the package … well then I only have one thing to say to you. And that one thing is contained in this picture:

Taking out my frustration by strangling a Purolator driver dummy. Coincidentally, I’m pretty sure the Purolator driver is an actual dummy and probably also wears a moustache and hippy hat.