Today I saw an angel. No wings, no halo, no trumpets; just a vaguely familiar looking, diminutive middle aged woman and her partner, pulling their cross country skis out of the back of their vehicle at the trail head of Copeland Forest.
I was just finishing a very enjoyable jaunt through the forest on fresh, snowy trails running through the sunny low lying woods just north of Horseshoe Valley. As I snapped my boots out of their bindings and picked my skis off of the packed trail at the edge of the road, an SUV pulled up, parked at the side of the road and a couple climbed out, looking eager to hit the trails in the mid afternoon sunshine.
A brief second glimpse of the woman’s face triggered an immediate and very strong memory; distant but distinct, from many years ago. As she turned her back to me to retrieve her equipment from the vehicle, I found myself needing to see her face again as the nagging familiarity continued to puzzle me. “Great day for a ski!” I exclaimed, cheerfully. The man and woman turned around and looked at me. “Yes, it should be nice.” she said. The young looking, middle aged eyes peered at me through her prescription glasses. Then it hit me.
In the summer of 1983, I was working with a traveling crew with four others, labouring on farms all across Simcoe County. One of those days ended for me in a frightening and nearly fatal trip to Barrie’s Royal Victoria Hospital. At the wheel of a speeding station wagon, was the angel who saved me. She delivered my grotesquely swollen, listless and barely conscious body to the ER. Fifteen minutes earlier, Bev had looked at me and insisted, “I am taking you to the hospital, right now.” After three successive stings from some large bumble bees, disturbed in the old haymow we were cleaning out, I had stubbornly insisted I was fine and kept working. A few minutes of my denial were long enough for Bev to see the signs of anaphylaxis on my face. The fifteen minutes it took to motor from Midhurst to Barrie, seemed like an eternity to me as my eyes and airway began to swell shut. My blood pressure plummeted as my blood pooled throughout my body. I can only imagine the nervous eternity that drive was for my young angel driver; honking her horn through red lights and speeding her way to my salvation.
“Is your name Bev?”, I said after a bit of an awkward pause while watching the skis and poles make their way out of the vehicle. “Yes, it is!” she said, looking at me, utterly perplexed at the recognition by a complete stranger. “You saved my life many years ago”, I explained, nonchalantly. An even bigger question mark appeared on her face. “I’m Eric van Wesenbeeck. We worked together on Agricrew.” Her confused look transformed into a spontaneous smile as the connection to her distant memory was made. That smile brought me back to the happier memories of the summer of 1983. A warm hug and a few exchanges of what our lives had become followed our serendipitous meeting. It was no surprise to me that this angel of mercy was now a health care worker at RVH; no doubt having improved (and maybe even saved?) the lives of many other individuals in the thirty years since delivering me to life-saving care.
As I drove away from the trail head, I smiled, reflecting on the profound impact that Bev had on my life. More than ever, I appreciated her cool-headed, quick thinking that day back in 1983.
Two Wheels To Nowhere 
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