I’ve found that my friends from small towns don’t consider a commute a commute. They’re used to being on the road, and many of them wouldn’t think twice about driving to Winnipeg from La Salle three separate times in one day. I’m not one of those people. I hate the commute.
Aside: When I was in high school I only had to drive for ten minutes down a gravel road to get to class and my work was a 30-second bike ride away. It was fabulous. When I started at the University of Winnipeg in 2009, this all changed. I was living with my parents in La Salle, and my commute to school involved a 20-minute drive, a five-minute walk, a 25-minute bus ride, and another 5-minute walk. I soon realized that I was taking my high school commutes for granted.
Back to the story here – my small town friends don’t know the meaning of a commute, or at least it doesn’t bother them much. They’ll drive two hours to play a hockey game, because the league has teams all over the Interlake. They knock off a four-hour drive (driving alone) like it’s nothing. I just can’t do it. A long drive is always an ordeal for me.
A few days a ago I was driving to a New Years Eve party. On the way, my friend Darcy was complaining because our friend who was having the party just bought a new house and it’s not anywhere close to our usual stomping grounds. Darcy is originally from St. Claude, Manitoba. He mentioned that in his St. Claude days, his crew wouldn’t think twice about driving two hours to go to a party, but now that he’s been living in Winnipeg for the past few years, driving to the other side of the city is an ordeal.
Driving two hours to go to hockey games, parties, or just about anything like it’s no big deal – just another one of those small town things!