Packing, Racing, and the First Good-bye.


It seems we haven’t gotten any better at moving since the last time. For whatever various reasons, we never got around to sleeping the night before we were to be out of our place in Edmonton. The last few days were a blur, the place looked like a disaster area, but the end result was that we got most things sold, everything more or less packed, and ourselves relocated to Myra’s parents for our last two nights in Alberta.

The last day had the Cox’s heading out to the racetrack to do some real go-karting. Well, they weren’t real go-karts, but they were fast enough to be real fun. About eight of us descended upon the track, only two of us knowing what the next short while would hold, having done this before. As I love racing, but have done precious little of it, I absolutely couldn’t wait to get out there.

There are always faster and slower machines, and sometimes it doesn’t matter how good you are if you get a dud. We had three rounds of 11 laps, and for the first round the fast karts was still unidentified, of course, so I chalked my win up to my skills – which I might say aren’t too shabby in a go-kart. I was atop the leader board again for the second round, and was now looking upon the track as a king surveys a newly conquered kingdom.

Leading up to race-day, Stuart (Myra’s brother) and I had been attempting to intimidate each other by offering up glimpses into our magnificence, perhaps planting the seed of fear and doubt in the mind of the rival, perhaps simply setting up a gritty battle to the death on the racetrack. After two consecutive wins I was feeling pretty smug about everything, what with the vast catalogue of racing theory in my brain and the blood of a true champion flowing through my veins. I mean, I for the second round I gave the field a good fifteen/twenty second head start and still pulled out a commanding win. Invincible.

And so, for the third round I offered to switch karts with Stuart, confident that my skills would be the only ingredient necessary for victory, and thereby magnanimously making defeat that much easier to bear for the boorish masses.

Some devilry was certainly at work when the green flag dropped. Sitting behind Stewart and Rich (Myra’s brother in law) on the starting grid and dead last, I was looking forward to setting them up for a couple of well executed passes. I never got that chance. With every lap I slid a few more feet behind both of them, watching helplessly and jealously as they had an epic battle that lasted right to the end as I coasted to a third place finish in my little kart dripping with degradation like a ratty dog emerging from a body of water. Scandalous.

While the essential facts of the above account are accurate, I may have to say that I had a blast (for those of you who don’t know me well enough, and because computers are poor transmitters of sarcasm) and that Myra had a blast. Codi (her sister) was a force to be reckoned with, having driven almost all of us off the track at least once. Kept things interesting. All in all, a perfect farewell to the Cox’s, and to Alberta. We were off.