In 2006 I made a motorcycle trip that I had been dreaming of for many years. I drove 14,300 km from Calgary to the east coast via the USA and back to Calgary via Canada. It was a fantastic adventure.
I have many stories from that trip and this is one of them. It as about a serendipitous day in Ontario when a terrible storm led me to meet an exceptional man.
On that day, I was travelling west on Highway 2, a scenic secondary highway that hugs the shore of the St. Lawrence. The day began with overcast skies and a moderate summer temperature. About 20 km east of Kingston, the skies darkened and it was clear I needed to find shelter and soon.
As a prairie boy, I had a difficult time interpreting the skies in Quebec and Ontario. On many days the skies were cloud covered and grey with short, light rain showers about every half-hour. The bad storms appeared first as a darkening section of an already dark sky, but with no clear definition. On the prairies you can seen the ominous cumulus clouds arching into the sky with their black underside looking like it broke and the cloud is falling out of it. If you ride into that you can expect difficult riding conditions including strong winds, cold rain, and often hail. The only indication I got on this occasion was the appearance of lightning directly ahead of me and a slight increase in wind. Nevertheless, I was convinced I was riding into something nasty and I had no interest in testing to see if I could make it through. They get hail there as well and that can be an awful experience on a motorcycle, let alone the damage it can do to the motorcycle body.
In a panic, I rode into a new housing development hoping I could find a partially finished house with a garage that was open, but no luck. As I turned back onto the highway the rain started. Not with a sprinkle of a rain shower, but with those fat raindrops that hit like little bombs and explode in a spray of water - the kind of rain that was a sign that there was a powerful storm approaching. I knew I only had minutes to find some shelter.
Alongside the highway I saw a house with a double car garage and both doors were opened. There was my answer. I wheeled into the gravel driveway and rushed up to the house, parking in front of the garage wondering how I was going to pull off this brazen approach. I had to be humble and hope for some sympathy from the home owner. I jumped off the bike and ran up to the front door. There was no doorbell, so I knocked and listened, but there was no sound inside. As I looked about I noticed the growth around the front sidewalk and realised this entry was never used. I rushed around to the back and tried the same thing. Nothing. I concluded there was nobody there, so I decided to take my chance and run the bike into the garage. As I came around to the front of the garage, one of the doors started to close.
“Hello, is anybody there,” I shouted. The door stopped.
“Hello? Who is there?” came a voice from inside the garage, a little hesitant.
By this time I had my helmet off, showing my grey hair and trying to look as unintimidating as possible. As I rounded the corner a man, who looked a bit older than me, came out of the garage.
I didn’t wait for his obvious question.
“Hi. I’m travelling on my motorcycle and I’ve been caught without any cover from this storm. I hope you don’t think this is too forward, but could I please put my bike up alongside your garage or inside? I am worried about being hit by hail as it will damage my bike.” I could see the wheels turning as he thought about my appearance at his house. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
It was a long five seconds as he thought about the situation. The storm was closing in and the wind was now at a gale force pushing some saplings in his yard right over to the horizontal. I have a feeling that all helped him make a decision.
“Look, get your bike into the garage. This thing will be on us in a moment.”
There was only space on one side of the garage and his car was still outside. It seemed unfair to leave his car out in a bad storm, so I asked “What about your car? Do you want me to pull the bike up to the front so you can get it in.”
“Oh that car sits out all the time. My wife has the good car so just get your bike in here.”
I started the bike up and rode it in just as the heavy rain started. We stood in the open doorway and watched the storm hit in full force. It was a bad one and I would have been blown off the road or knocked down by the wind. The ensuing hail would have definitely done some damage, if not to the bike then to me.
I wanted to start up some sort of conversation, so I introduced myself.
“My name is Jack. I’m from Calgary and on a cross-country motorcycle trip. I’ve been out to Cape Breton and now I’m on my way back. I guess I’ve been lucky so far, because I’ve never run into a storm like this.”
We shook hands and he introduced himself.
“Oh, I’m Layne. Glad to meet you. I didn’t think this was going to be so bad. Don’t worry, they’re usually pretty short.” Just than lightning struck very close and was immediately followed by a thunder crash that made me jump. This storm was really a nasty piece of work. I guessed that it was going to take a bit of time to pass, so I started telling him about my trip and why I was doing it.
He started telling me a bit about himself. “I retired when I was 54 in order to paint. I was in the military, but had always wanted to have time to paint.”
“That’s interesting, I too have wanted to get the other side of my brain working. I am doing some fine art, black and white photography, and some writing. I’m am not very accomplished yet, but I have some goals that I am working to and given myself about five years to do something significant. I just don’t know what it will be.” It was at this moment that I noticed his engineering ring.
“I see you’re an engineer,” I added, “I am too, but I don’t wear my ring anymore. I did my engineering in the electrical power industry but moved into project management and then into IT with TransCanada Pipelines.” Now we had a basis for discussion and the conversation flowed. “Look, this storm will take some time to pass, how about some tea?” he offered.
“Wonderful. That will be nice break for me.”
As we went into his house I couldn’t help wondering about his painting. We’ve all heard the plans people have to learn to paint when they retire. We have also seen the results: slightly disproportionate views of mountain streams with Technicolor skies covered in wispy clouds that look like they’ve been applied with cotton wool. I asked if he had any of his work that I could see. He hesitated, “Well, I have a few pieces that are not complete that we can look at. I sell almost everything I paint as soon as it is finished, but I have a couple of commissioned pieces you can see.”
My goodness, I thought, what does this mean? He definitely is not a paint by numbers painter if he is in that sort of demand. He took me back to his painting studio, which was a converted bedroom. What I saw there completely took me aback.
His full name is Layne Larsen. He paints in watercolour and, as I found out later, is very well known in Ontario. I saw his paintings of wildlife that had the quality of some of Bateman’s work. He specialises in painting military scenes, especially of aircraft and action scenes from World War II. I was particularly drawn to a large painting of a Lancaster bomber being serviced on the ground. It was very realistic. I told him the story of my Uncle Jack who was killed when on a bombing mission in a Lancaster.
I was in the presence of a very accomplished artist. What an incredible coincidence it was that I should turn into his driveway. I asked Layne if he had always painted.
“Oh yes, I used to win contests when I was ten years old, but I knew I had to have a job that would pay so I took engineering and went to work in the military. I moved up the ladder over time and just before I retired I was an interim commander on a base. However, I always wanted to have the time to paint and I knew there was no other way than to retire. I got an opportunity at 54 so I took it. I’ve never regretted that decision.”
The storm finally passed and I took my leave, thankful that I had the luck to meet Layne. It will be another moment of my trip that I will remember forever.
"The function of man is to live, not to exist." Jack London
Esoterica
Layne Larson's work has hung in galleries in Canada, the USA, and Europe, and is to be found in private collections in many countries including: Austria, Australia, Belgium,, Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Spain, Switzerland, the UK, and the USA.
Interesting road story. What a great chance meeting Jack. You never know who you’ll meet unless you take a chance. Thanks Jack
Wonderful story Jack. As our memories (at least in my case) start to dim or almost disappear in some cases as we age, this is the kind of memory that will always remain vivid. Loved it.
Great story