With Thanks to 12207 Kevin McCarthy 

For the pilot trainees in the ROTP program, the summer after III year was an easy time. The previous summer had been the rigorous pilot selection (some say de-selection) course in Portage La Prairie. That course had been incredibly intense. A lot of information was crammed into 27 hours of flight experience to see what and how fast we could learn. This was supposedly to screen out candidates on a fairly inexpensive aircraft before going on to Moose Jaw and the world of faster and more expensive jets. 

For us still in the program, the next summer was two relatively short and fun adventures outside doing bush and sea survival training.  They were basically “attend” courses and as long as you had a pulse at the end of the training you passed.  As they were relatively short courses the system added another course on the end to take up some more of the summer. This course was the Air Operation Base Orientation course.  It consisted of going to four or five air bases across the country via Service Air and getting some flying exposure on the different types of aircraft the CF was operating at the time.  This would make selecting a career path easier once we were done Moose Jaw. By end of July, we were finished for the summer and looking forward to having all of August off before heading back for IV year at our colleges. 

Our training had concluded in Comox on Vancouver Island. Jim Sullivan earlier had bought a used MGB Roadster from somewhere out there and was going to drive it all the way home to Ontario. This was a spiffy little British sports car with a rag top and a manual transmission with electric overdrive. He asked me if I wanted to be his co-pilot for the trip. I was going to be married in about two weeks, so this seemed like a great jaunt before I moved on to that new phase of my life. 

Being that we were never very wealthy as officer cadets, we were going to try to do this lengthy trip on the cheap; we looked at the map of the country and planned our trip so as to hit the maximum number of places where we could get free accommodations. We set out on the first day from Comox heading to Chilliwack where the MILE guys were on course blowing up bridges and building revetments.  Since we arrived on Saturday, we used the bunks (and perhaps even the meal cards) of two guys who were away for the weekend, and had a good visit with Terry Wood and his comrades.  Our next stop was CFB Calgary where we got rooms from a rather bored duty officer and ate in the Mess.  Regina was next, as Jim had a buddy there doing RCMP boot camp. He had an apartment, for some reason that escapes me now, so we were set for another night. 

Now there remained a good chunk of the country ahead of us to North Bay where Jim lived, and we were out of places to touch down for free. We estimated it would be about a 30-hour run but it would mean driving through the night. No problem; off we went. 

It seemed to be shorter through the States so we headed diagonally across Saskatchewan and entered North Dakota. Later that day we noticed that as evening approached, Minnesota is pretty remote, backwoodsy and dark. After a few hours, with me driving and Jim snoozing, a pickup truck came roaring up behind us, with the driver rudely and aggressively flashing his lights, honking his horn and then passing. With his headlights blazing into my eyes, I couldn’t see a thing once he was gone, so I woke up Jim, saying I had lost my night vision.  Jim bolted upright and immediately assessed the situation: we actually had no headlights.  I carefully pulled off the road with Jim guiding me to the shoulder.  The engine immediately died.  He hit the four way flashers but they slowly blinked twice and then nothing. The battery was dead as the increased load on the alternator had caused it to fail.  This was the first time we had driven at night and with the heavy electrical demand of the headlights, fan and radio the electrics slowly quit.  The pickup guy was rightly annoyed when he came upon us without tail lights and had let us know that we were a danger on the road. 

We managed to push the car into a turnout so at least were out of harm’s way.  We hunkered down to a chilly night trying to sleep in seats that were not meant for it.  At dawn, we push-started the car and headed out. A couple of miles down the road, and still a little groggy from that fitful slumber, a black bear suddenly scampered across the road just in front of the car, startling both us and him.  We were definitely wide awake after that! 

The first town we came to was Floodwood, Minnesota.  It was a very typical example of small-town America with a diner, a post office and a gas station.  The local mechanic had no knowledge of or experience with British cars and he certainly had no parts. He said it would be at least a week to get a new alternator.  The best he could do was charge up the battery and send us on our way with a warning not to use any unnecessary electrics and certainly not to drive in the dark. 

Therefore, instead of the drive-or-die campaign to get to home in one go we bit the bullet and paid for a small cabin at a campsite south of Lake Superior that night. We eventually got home and on with the rest of our summer: me to my wedding and Jim in search of parts for his little roadster.