When I Couldn't Sleep

It was going to be sunrise in about an hour and I hadn't slept all night.

I had been writing fiction, working on a story that would become part of a trilogy. My head was full of ideas and I was trying to figure out some broken ties. Though I had stopped typing—yes, I used a typewriter in 1989—my brain was still working away.

I also missed my girlfriend. We had only started dating a few months earlier but we had known each other for about a year before then. Shortly after we started our relationship, she had told me that she had a summer job, up in Northern Ontario, planting trees, and she would be away for two months.

Little did either of us know that she would later become DW.

With the story tumbling around my head and thoughts of my absent girlfriend, it was no wonder I couldn't fall asleep. And, finally noticing the time and realizing that the sun would be up soon, I decided to grab my camera, jump in my car, and drive.

I had no set destination. It wasn't uncommon for me to go for long drives in my '85 Pontiac Sunbird. I'd just get behind the wheel and go, letting each intersection randomly take me left, right, or straight on through.

In 1989, Barrhaven was considered way out in the boonies. So when I passed it and continued along Fallowfield Drive, toward vast farm fields, I was far from home. But it wasn't the furthest a random drive had taken me.

One time, I drove until I found myself along the St. Lawrence River, at the Ogdensburg bridge, and I decided to cross into the U.S.. Back then, a passport wasn't required; just a valid driver's license.

"Where are you headed?" the American border agent asked me.

"Just going for a drive."

"Just a drive?"

"Yes. I might stop and take some photos." I always had my camera bag in the back seat, just in case I saw something and wanted to capture it.

"You aren't looking to sell any camera gear, are you?" the border agent asked, looking suspiciously into the back of my car.

"Not at all. I just thought I'd drive along the south shore of the St. Lawrence, stop and take any photos along the way."

"How long do you plan to be driving?"

"Not long." It was already about 8:00 in the evening. I didn't want to be out all night.

The border agent waved me through. I got to Highway 37 and headed eastward, stopping in Waddington, New York, where I stopped to photograph an old church that was lit up in an eerie orange glow. I continued through Massena, which, at that hour, seemed closed up for the night, and crossed back into Canada at Cornwall.

Those were the easy days, when there was no questions for a 20-something out for a ride, crossing international borders. But I had an innocent face, to boot.

But on the day where I stayed up and went for a pre-dawn drive, I knew that no matter how much my Sunbird wanted to take me far away—maybe, as far as to see my girlfriend—I was going to stay relatively close to home.

I had to be at work for 9:00.

As I drove past Barrhaven, some fog was rolling in, sometimes thick enough to obscure the road ahead. Absolutely, I wasn't going to wander far in these conditions.

I made it as far as the village of Fallowfield and stopped near the united church, which, unlike the similar church in Waddington, was shrouded in darkness. Only it's outline was visible against the coming blue-hour light.

I took a few photos but felt the chill of the fog in the air, which was getting thicker as dawn drew nearer. Across the road, I captured the grain silos of Valleyview Farm. I even took some photos of my car, at the side of the road, in front of this scene.

The sun was going to be up at any moment and I had an idea for a shot I wanted to take. I climbed back into my Sunbird and raced back to Barrhaven.

In 1989, Barrhaven was relatively small. Farm fields occupied a lot of the land between Greenbank and Woodroffe, along Fallowfield Road. There was a small shopping mall near the railway crossing but not much else, once you crossed that spot. And Fallowfield Road was only a narrow, two-lane street.

I pulled to the side of the road, hopeful that my flashing taillights would alert anyone coming from behind. The fog was extremely dense, which made my photo plans perfect.

The sun had risen above the horizon and had lifted only a bit, but it was at a perfect height. I moved so that it was immediately behind the railway-crossing barrier and took my shot.

Within a minute or two, the first car of the morning made its way toward the crossing, coming from the east. Also, in the late 80s, this part of Fallowfield Road didn't see much traffic. The car had a burned-out headlight, giving it some character, so I took a wider-angled shot.

Satisfied with my work (but not knowing exactly how any shots turned out because this was before the digital age), I returned to my car and made my way homeward, stopping only once to capture another foggy-sunrise-silhouette shot. I was home before 6:30.

Plenty of time for a short nap before my alarm would sound, reminding me it was time to get ready for work.

Happy Thursday!