They’re also renowned for urine bottles, beer cans, pizza boxes, trash, junk and other miscellaneous articles that people discard while traveling on the highway to nowhere–otherwise known as Highway 17. Those turnouts are nicely paved though, aren’t they?

The ubiquitous snowplow turnout in Northwestern Ontario, home to urine bottles discarded by truckers, beer cans, pizza boxes and dirty diapers. How attractive.

I could be wrong, but wouldn’t a couple of trash receptacles solve some of the problems surrounding these places? I know it’s a bit much to ask, but how about a porta-potty or two also? Of course, that would require that someone come around occasionally to empty the things, but, hey, welcome to the 21st Century, Ontario.

I know, I know, it’s an added expense for the taxpayers, but given that for decades the provincial government has taken all of the money from Ontario’s resource-rich north to fund Southern Ontario’s flagging economy, it’s only fair that the government should put a little back into the region in the form of garbage cans and shitters.

All the pretty trash. That's the diaper in the middle of the turnout surrounded by the miscellaneous trash from the turnout ditch. Nice.

It would appear as though I’m not the only one left wondering about quality control at Christie/Kraft/Nabisco, but I could be wrong.

An Ontario travel information station at the border with Manitoba. Try using the washroom in January. You can't.

Updated July 2010: Sudbury to Thunder Bay – a distance of 626 miles/1,000 kilometers – has a dearth of rest areas. In fact, that little stretch of two-lane blacktop is renowned for its absence of rest areas.

Oh, sure, it has the very occasional Tourist Centre by the side of the road where supervised evacuation of your bowel is allowed from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., mid-May to the end of August, when those buildings are shut down for the winter. After that, boys and girls, it’s entirely up to you to find your own personal tree at a snowplow turnout that hasn’t been shat upon before you got there.

Good luck with that.

Many of the smaller areas that are indicated by a tiny brown and white picnic table sign have wooden toilets, but access to these too is closed off in winter. No matter though. The signs are so small and questionable that even a long-time Ministry of Transportation (MTO) employee (are there any of those left?) would be hard-pressed to pull off into one before passing it by.

A tourist new to the area would have absolutely no idea that a toilet persists in between the trees covering up any sight of the offending wooden outhouse. And before you climb into one of these at night, be aware that there’s no lighting that will allow you to see what you’re stepping in. You might as well use a tree – if you can find one uncontaminated by human waste.

Now then, I know that the excuse for all of the stupidity on the part of Ontario is that it provides local business with a guaranteed supply of customers full of human waste that needs to be cleaned up at the end of every day. Believe me. I know how some of those local businesses clean their latrines, and it’s not pretty. It doesn’t smell good either.

Perhaps Ontario-the-good might want to consider providing some training to these businesses in how to clean a shitter. Such training might provide not only a steady stream of return business (if you’ll pardon the pun) but also gains in the number of people employed.

Updated October 2009: Little did I know when I wrote this post that Ontario, in its infinite wisdom, had closed 20 out of 23 service centres along Highway 400 and 401 in southern Ontario. That’s right, folks, they closed 20. All at once. Re-opening will not occur until 2012. What a fucking joke.

<< uncontrollable laughter >>

Drivers aren’t even allowed to stop on the side of the road on those highways, and in fact, there are no paved shoulders to pull off onto. Imagine that, users of the Interstate system down south.

Consequently, there’s nowhere to piss. Or shit.

The stupidity of Ontario never ceases to amaze me.

Link to article here.

*     *     *

There’s a nice little rest area just west of Thunder Bay. It’s the time zone map, complete with trees, tables and toilets. It’s remarkable for the size of the tribute it pays to time zone change. Now, granted, it does delineate the Eastern Time Zone (from whence all things Toronto must by edict emanate), and the Central Time Zone, where nothing ever happens. That in itself makes it remarkable and distinct.

The Arctic watershed boundary

I do know that some years ago, the time zone marker was moved to its present position from a somewhat more easterly location. I’m not sure if Queen’s Park in Toronto, the centre of the known universe, took it upon itself to actually move a time zone, but it wouldn’t surprise me. The display is now on a prominent hill looking southeast to its mecca.

The Arctic watershed plaque

Almost unnoticed is the Arctic Watershed marker. It’s located somewhat east of the time zone map on one of those snowplow turnouts renowned for trash disposal, urine deposits and No Parking signs.

Some distance back in the bush from the Arctic Watershed sign and almost invisible is a plaque detailing the history and area involvement in delineating the territory which eventually became known as Canada.

For decades, the unspoiled nature of the province, from the Manitoba border to Sault Ste. Marie, has sat around just waiting to be noticed. Unfortunately, no one has had the foresight to promote the area as the largest unspoiled and accessible-by-road nature preserve in the world.

Are you driving through the area? Where are the washrooms and toilets? Why, just pull off the road anywhere you like, but preferably at a snowplow turnout, and deposit your trash and urine in the pit bordering the turnout.

Are you looking for a scenic spot to have lunch? Well then, why not look for a small brown sign with an arrow and hope for the best? If you’re fortunate, and you don’t speed on by because the signage is small and indeterminate, you’ll miss it all.

Might there be tables? A toilet? A scenic view? You’ll never know until you pull in and have a look for yourself. But then, you’ve sped on by, and, too late now, you drive on to your destination, having missed out on spectacular views, lakes, streams, rapids and picnic tables.

And only the occasional outdoor toilet.

Hell, I haven’t even gone for a ride yet, busy as I have been with other events in my life. Now that’s done, and I’m ready for a little adventure, a little dirt of my very own, that special odor that adheres to me from the road dust and grime that accumulates after hundreds of miles.

Asphalt perfume, I call it.

Wind. Sun. Pavement. Dust. Dirt. Gas. Oil.

It has its own special smell, hard to describe if someone asks.

All I know is, you can’t get it in a car or a truck with the windows open; you can’t get it in a convertible with the top down; and, desperate now, you can’t get it by rolling around on the ground on your favorite stretch of highway.

You’ve got to get out there and ride it.