Algonquin Odyssey - Ontario, Canada

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It was about to happen. We were going to do what our mothers had warned us not to do. We were going to hitchhike. The idea was never planned but having lobster in Halifax and nights on the town in Montreal, ate away at our wallets.

Two silly backpackers were hitchhiking from Huntsville to Algonquin Provincial Park for a canoe trip. I heard a car coming so I extended my arm in a 90-degree angle to indicate that I wanted a ride. The area we were in was touristy. We were told we didn’t have a prayer. The travel gods were good to us that day, though, and we were picked up by a cute girl after 30 minutes. Good thing I didn’t wear my usual back and white striped jump suit with the complimenting ball and chain.

We talked as much as we could to fill the silence and to avoid awkward moments. We didn't mention murders, obviously. We were dropped off at the entrance of the 765,345-hectare park. We didn't realize it was another 20 kilometers to the next campground. It was already 9:00 p.m. When we finally arrived at the campground, it was late.

The upside is that I'll always remember the star-filled sky. It was the first time we city boys had been out so far in the bush The next morning we got up only to hike another six kilometers to the shack where we could rent a canoe. After getting the canoe and some food, we took off for a three-day portage trip.

We were full of optimism the first day. We cruised through the lakes, rivers and creeks. When we reached our campsite, we soon realized how unprepared we were - one pack of pasta and a bag of trail mix and beef jerky weren't going to keep us happy. Besides, the night was chilly and crisp. We got a fire going with only flint. I burnt my Lonely Planet guide for warmth.

The second day was hell (or as I now say, “It was Algonquin Park”), 12 hours of straight canoeing on an empty stomach. If that wasn't enough, I saw the last thing I wanted to see - dark, heavy, distant clouds, becoming darker, heavier and not so distant, with startling lightning.

Something told me that being in the middle of a lake in an approaching thunderstorm wasn’t a wise idea.

It didn't just rain, it poured. Our heavy backpacks got heavier. Had I known my backpack was a sponge, I would have reconsidered the purchase. When we reached our next campsite, we couldn't start a fire in the pool of water once considered a fireplace. We slept in our somewhat leak-proof and dirt-cheap tent.

Waking up in the middle of the night feeling soaked and not being able to see my hand in front of my face, just about did it for me. That's all right I said to myself, how much longer could it possible rain?

After the second night, I decided we had gone too far off the beaten path - the beaten path I was beginning to like. Maybe that's why that path is beaten. Do the people who beat the path know something we don't?

We arrived at the rental place and thankfully, there was a store and a restaurant. The best burger in the world is at the Portage Restaurant in Algonquin Park. If you want the experience, you’ll have to eat only trail mix and beef jerky for 48 hours first.

Back on the road with the arm extended 90 degrees, I smelled like a stinky foot, looked like garbage and scared the cars away. Finally a man in a UPS truck felt sorry for us enough to drive us back into town.

People ask us, “How did your trip go?” We answer, “Good.”


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