Published April 13th, 2023

My 1955 Chevrolet 210 two-door sedan, dubbed ‘The Reverend’

In July 1969, I set out on a cross-Canada journey from Ottawa ON to Victoria BC in my first car, a 1955 Chevrolet 210 two-door sedan. Accompanying me was my good friend, Ross McDuffee, who acted as my co-driver. Our drive coincided with the launch of Apollo 11’s moon mission, which kept most of the world glued to their TVs and radios for more than a week.

July 13, 1969, Ottawa, Ontario to Sault Ste Marie, Ontario – Preparations are well underway for the launch of Apollo 11 space capsule. Meanwhile, Ross and I, both of us barely out of our teens, embark on a cross-country camping excursion in my bone-stock 1955 Chevrolet 210 two-door sedan, nicknamed ‘The Reverend’ (for its austere black paint job). I have no doubt that the Apollo astronauts will make it to their final destination, but I feel less confident the Chevy will even make it to the outskirts of our Ottawa, Ontario hometown. With great trepidation, I baby the Chevy westbound along Highway 17 (part of the Trans-Canada highway). By the end of a 450-mile day, my confidence in the Reverend has been mostly restored.

Port Arthur, Thunder Bay. Image via thunderbay.ca

July 14, Sault Ste Marie to Thunder Bay, Ontario – It rained all night, but the morning clears up nicely before we strike the tent. But by early afternoon severe fog envelops the north shore of Lake Superior. The soup is so bad that we’re forced to hold up in the town of Ignace for a few hours. The weather eventually clears somewhat, and we press on until reaching the Thunder Bay area, where we locate a campsite and call it a night.

July 15, Thunder Bay to Portage La Prairie – Gas costs more than 50¢ a gallon in Northern Ontario! But that’s likely way cheaper than the fuel that will be consumed by the Apollo 11 astronauts’ Saturn V rocket a day from now. Today’s haul takes us through the balance of Northern Ontario and into Manitoba. We put up for the night at a seedy motel just outside the town of Portage La Prairie. The barrel-chested proprietor rents us his last unit, which we soon realize is missing towels and facecloths. However, since Mr. Burly Guy has packed it in for the evening after renting his last unit, we decide not to bother him about the lack of laundry. Besides, we’ve brought our own clean-up gear so no big deal.

July 16, Portage La Prairie Manitoba to Brooks, Alberta – The Saturn’s fuse is lit and the Apollo team of Neil Armstrong, Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin and Michael Collins clear the tower and are thrust into the heavens. Ross and I alight from our lumpy beds and clear the town of Portage in search of fuel and food. Following a couple of uneventful hours, a Royal Canadian Mounted Police Chevrolet Biscayne, its cherry-domed light flaming furiously, chases us down and I pull onto the shoulder a few miles west of Virden, Manitoba. Sgt. Preston asks for my papers and inquires as to how fast do I think I’ve been going. With the Reverend’s speedometer inoperative, I simply shrug in reply. He writes me up for doing 80 mph in a 60-mph zone. He then informs me that Burly Guy back in Portage had informed the police that the towels in one of his units have been stolen. I ride with the Mountie back to the RCMP detachment in Virden with Ross, who had been asleep in The Reverend’s back seat, following close behind. Smokey’s 1968 Chevrolet Biscayne prowler sports a 427 cubic-inch V-8 badge on its fender, the designation for the ultra-quick Police Interceptor package that could give the Saturn V rocket a run for its money. The speeding fine is $19.00, which doesn’t sound too steep, but in 1969 it represents the equivalent of about four tanks of gas. Following a protracted towel-related explanation and subsequent vehicle search, we’re promptly dismissed. Our journey ends that evening in Brooks, Alberta (near Calgary) and yet another fleabag auto court. Just prior to our nighttime arrival an owl in full flight bounces butt-first along the top of the windshield. Fortunately, both the bird and The Reverend suffer no apparent damage. Also fortunately, the Brooks motel is equipped with towels, but we’re sharing the premises with about a million disgusting houseflies and contemplate making camp in the parking lot.

July 17, Brooks to Calgary – the Apollo astronauts departed earth orbit the previous day and their capsule, lunar lander and service module head for that desolate sphere a scant 240,000 miles from earth. Meanwhile our earthbound capsule carries us to an overnight Calgary rest stop. Friends in that city who put us up for the night recommend camping at Johnson Canyon located just off the Trans Canada highway in beautiful Banff National Park.

July 18, Calgary to Banff – The highway to the park from Calgary is one of the most spectacular in Canada. We park in Banff and join the hordes of tourists and hitchhiking hippies milling about the town where my grandparents once lived at the turn of the 20th century. We eventually make it to nearby Johnson Canyon and check out the walking path that leads up one side of it. Spectacular doesn’t begin to describe this portion of paradise. Back at our campsite, we spot a couple of girls around our age and manage to engage them in conversation and minor flirtations. Houston, the Eagle has landed! The rest of the afternoon is spent hanging out with our new friends before their overly protective parents break up the party. Mission aborted.

July 19, Banff to Lake Louise, Alberta – Ross and I pack up The Reverend and head to our Lake Louise landing zone an hour away. While preparing a scrumptious feast of hot dogs, beans and potato chips, Ross spots a bear cub being chased through the campground by some kids. Talk about your dumb moves! Ross hustles over to where these unsupervised delinquents have managed to tree the crying cub and in blunt terms tells them to scram. Later, we attempt to light a fire at our site, but the soaking-wet wood won’t catch. In a brilliantly conceived move, we saturate the fire pit with several squirts of naphtha gas, the volatility of which is about equal to the Saturn’s rocket fuel. I flick a lit match from about six feet away and nearly lose my hair and eyebrows when the wood ignites in goes one big “WHOOMP”. Oh yeah, we got fire all right.

July 20, Lake Louise to Jasper, Alberta – The Banff-to-Jasper highway is flat-out spectacular. I know our driving adventure is no moon shot, but from my perspective it’s the next best thing. We set up camp near Jasper, cook some hideous canned stew that evening and ponder our youth and our freedom. Suddenly I remember that the moon landing is scheduled for about this time. I head to the car and power up the aftermarket radio. Just in time I hear Neil Armstrong’s voice as he lurches off the LEM and utters: “That’s one small step for man”, …etc. I listen transfixed, wishing I could watch the event on live TV, but grateful that in the midst of nature’s most beautiful mountain range located in the best country on earth, I can also bear witness to this incredible and positively uplifting human drama. Before turning in, I search for a glimpse of the moon, but it’s masked by cloud cover as if attempting to keep secret man’s intrusion onto the lunar surface for the first time.

Epilogue

The further adventures of Malcolm and Ross continued after leaving Jasper Park. We camped at a site near Vernon, B.C. where an angry homeowner threatened to shoot us for trespassing on his land while heading for a swim in a nearby lake. The following night was spent in Manning Provincial Park, where nature-loving Ross slipped and fell about 15 feet out of a nearby tree while looking for God-knows-what. Luckily a sprained ankle was the only injury.

On July 24th, 1969, we rolled into Vancouver where we spent a few days with Ross’s relations before I headed alone to Victoria for a couple of weeks of being spoiled by my grandmother at her home in the Oak Bay area. After leaving Victoria a few weeks later, I would spend one last night with Ross in Vancouver, where he had found work. Ross also had a successful tryout with the Meraloma junior football team, which won the B.C. provincial championship that year.

My six-day solo return to Ottawa in the Chevy was uneventful, but it provided the opportunity for me to ponder what I wanted to do with my life, and other deep thoughts that undoubtedly course through the minds of those contemplating their future adulthoods. Although no concrete solutions were mystically revealed, the process left me wide open to whatever possibilities might present themselves, or that I might uncover. “Watch for the signs” became my mantra, although like most adolescents I didn’t always heed the messages. Such is life.

Moon Memories – My Cross-Canada Journey in 1969

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