Math Lessons

Before I get any complaints that the following has nothing to do with canoeing, I must explain that, in fact, it does; it has everything to do with canoeing. It is a valid canoeing story because it happened on a canoe trip. And the main reason for canoeing is, of course, to add meaning to our lives by providing pleasant (or fun, or exciting, or scary, or otherwise notable) times and memories. And this is one of them. Just because I wasn't in the canoe at the time of this incident does not nullify its legitimacy as a canoe story.

I was on my way to a canoe trip, my first built cedar strip boat on the roof of my pickup. The back of the truck was loaded with camping gear. I was motoring through Wisconsin on Interstate 94 a short way out of Madison and headed for the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. If I recall, I could have bypassed Madison rather than stop, but I wanted to try out a strategy I have used several times since that day. Since I don't generally plan things out in precise detail, I had spent the previous night sleeping in the back of my truck even though the rough version of my plan was to get a motel room. I must have stopped at twenty places in Western Pennsylvania to find only "no vacancy" signs on all the motels. Around 2:00 A.M., I came to a rest stop just over the Ohio border and climbed into the back of my truck and into my sleeping bag.

While I tried to sleep, trucks were coming in and pulling out, car doors were slamming, engines starting, etc. I wanted a motel this night, so I headed toward Madison, stopped at an exit that had lots of motels and went into a Best Western. This strategy worked very well, they provided instant travel service. I explained that I was headed North and I wanted to drive another four or five hours. The clerk told me I could probably make Eau Claire by around nine or ten O'clock and there was a Best Western there. She made the reservations for me, I got a hamburger across the street, gassed up, and hit the road for Eau Claire.

So that is how I got to be travelling on Interstate 94 North of Madison in July 1992.

You know how it is when you're driving in heavy traffic on a six-lane highway. There is a car in front of you, one behind you, one to the left, and one to the right. Though you are all traveling at 65 mph, you hardly know it because you're all going the same speed and there is little relative motion. It is like sitting in a little room. This little room syndrome is intensified when it is raining, but this day it wasn't; the sun was still shining.

I was driving in the middle lane when some anomaly occurred in the traffic flow and a white Infinity cruised up beside me replacing the car that had been beside me in the left-hand lane. He took his position there while I reminded myself that I could not walk out to the back of the truck and get a soda, I was still driving at 65 mph. I looked over to check out my new neighbor.

The woman next to the man driving had a deadpan look on her face and was clearly disgusted with something. She was holding something in her hand between the two seats. It looked like a flash card. I looked at the man. He seemed well-to-do, not the sort you would expect would need to start learning arithmetic in his late forties. I looked at the card again. It was a flash card, one of a pack with probably 100 of them: "6+9." Amazed, I looked at the man again. He didn't seem to be concentrating on his arithmetic.

Then I noticed the boy in the back seat. He was slouched way down which is why I hadn't seen him earlier, and he was clearly even more disgusted than his mother. "What a way to spend summer vacation," he must have thought.

The kid looked out his window at my canoe, and I could see him thinking, "I'd rather be canoeing. Instead I stuck in this stupid car doing flash cards." Then he looked at me. The boy obviously needed some help or at least some encouragement. I held up ten fingers, then five and I mouthed the word, "Fifteen." The kid smiled and spoke. I saw his mother's head go up and down in approval. She flipped the pack to the next card.

I had lost a little ground, so I stepped on the gas and nudged up. She was holding it awfully low this time. Then I saw it: "4+2." Rats - I had to use two hands again. I wondered if the kid could add 5 fingers and 1 finger any easier than 4+2. Well, he was waiting for me. Letting go of the wheel, I held up 6 fingers.

He spoke and his mother was pleased - her head went up and down in approval. She now had a smile. (See how canoeing can make one feel better!)

The next card came up: "7+3." I showed him 10 fingers. He was now happy and beaming with a big smile as he answered quickly. His mother got even happier, gave her head many great big nods, and turned around to compliment him.

I'm sure she realized immediately that his smile was unnatural. He probably never thought this was so much fun before. She suddenly turned around the other way and looked directly at me! I was caught, so I smiled and held up one finger. No, not that one, I gave her the thumbs up sign. Then she held one finger up at me. No, not that one, the index finger shaking shame at me up and down.

I'm not usually so lucky, but the river gods must have been watching. For at that very moment, a hole in the traffic opened up in the right-hand lane and I was able to slide over into it and cruise on ahead.