The Long Read: A horrific journey of epic proportions

Living off-grid comes with challenges: our lane is one

Jim (left) and Cleo contemplate the road.

The Road is an apocalyptic novel American author Cormac McCarthy wrote in 2006. In it, a man and his son must journey through a post-nuclear U.S. full of bandits, vandals, and cannibals. In the end, father and son hope to arrive at a promised land.

With apologies to McCarthy, our road is no less horrific. Steph and I often leave the house, setting out on a long, often unsettling journey, hoping to arrive at a promised land as well: the secondary road that connects to our 2.25 kilometre “lane.”

Our lane is an illustration, an object lesson, that life off the grid is often bucolic, offering plenty of personal space, and all manner of peaceful joys - such as the abundant wildlife - but is not without its own singular challenges.

The road is one of ours.

When we bought our off-grid home in May, 2020 we inherited the lane, which in fact was an old logging road. We knew what we had signed up for; the first time we visited the house to check out the possibility of buying it, we got about a quarter of a kilometre in, and then pulled up short.

It was March, with an icy breeze tearing through the trees, and driving in, so far, hadn’t seemed so bad. The first section, a long straight with some gentle rolls, led us to a small downhill, and an off-camber corner completely coated in ice.

“Whoa,” I said. “We’re going to slide off the road if we attempt that.”

In the narrow lane, Steph managed to back her SUV around, and we drove back out to the secondary road, where we parked and started to walk in. We really wanted to see this place.

Our realtor in her four-wheel drive vehicle found us about a quarter-kilometre in, and picked us up and drove us the rest of the way to the house. It was rough, bumpy, at points hilly, and rugged. We weren’t really thinking of it that much once we finally viewed the property. Instantly we fell in love with the house and its surrounding land.

The since improved lane. While it presents its fair share of problems it’s beautiful in every season.

Two years after our first viewing (if you want to know why this place sat on the market for two years, please see my opinion piece on the difficulties of obtaining a mortgage for an off-grid property), we took possession of the house. It was late spring, and we didn’t have too much trouble driving our vehicles in, although at points to get over certain “features” in the lane I had to slow down to practically nothing or else risk having something ripped off the under-carriage of my car.

I bought my car three years before we ever even dreamed of leaving the grid. A sporty hatchback quite low to the ground, it was just about the most unsuitable vehicle ever that you could hope to take back and forth over an unimproved, pot-holed, lumpy, bumpy logging road.

First though, let me tell you about the movers.

I had concerns about them trying to navigate a large truck with all our stuff back to the house. Some of the corners were tight, and a couple of the hills steep. I figured they’d actually end up parking the truck on the secondary road, and then shuttling our stuff in. As it was, they were able to squeeze our belongings into a mid-sized vehicle.

About three-quarters of the way to our place another road branches off toward a large section of clear-cut land and continues on. It’s a popular route with ATVs as it leads to a network of double-tracks and old logging roads.

The movers called us, wanting to know which road to take. Accordingly, I instructed them. And then waited. And waited. And, yes, waited some more. Finally, the truck appeared around the final wooded bend toward our house. It was backing in. To our astonishment, and for whatever incomprehensible reason, it transpired that the movers had backed the truck the entire 2.25 kilometre length of the lane.

It was an impressive feat of unnecessary driving. We had more than a wide enough turning spot at the house.

As you’re beginning to gather, the road is a problem.

As the summer progressed the road hammered my car. After each rainfall more potholes appeared. The ones that were there became deeper. I jounced and bounced over every single one of them. I feared for my car and wondered if I’d end up leaving it, junked, on our drive.

Near the start of the lane back to the house, Steph nailed up a sign. It read: “Two kilometres to go. Feels more like 20.”

In fairness, the road has offered its fair share of surprises: deer alongside; last summer a snapping turtle likely laying its eggs; the porcupine that spent much of last fall lodged in various trees; and the day I crested one of the hills and saw something that looked like a dead pheasant in the middle of the lane.

A turtle on the lane.

I slowed my vehicle, wondering if I’d have to get out and move the bird off the road when it suddenly swivelled its head 180 degrees, fixing me with a stare, before lifting off with wings that easily spanned four feet. It was a barred owl that likely had caught some small prey on the lane.

At no small expense we hired a local road outfit to come and grade the lane, and then deliver six floats (those are large trailers) of gravel along most of its length. We had them leave another dump truck load of gravel near the house. We learned to take buckets of gravel and a rake with us whenever we went anywhere so we could patch potholes on the way out.

Following the work, the road nearly met Class B standards. It was smoothed out, had a nice spread of gravel, and we could travel its length with a minimum of problems.

Winter brought new twists to the road. We expected the snow, but it’s still been a learning experience. The first substantial dump took Steph six hours on the tractor to clear. When we got 30 centimetres more recently, we called in the commercial plowing agency. They’d been here once before.

The author standing on the road in January.

Now at one point about half-a-kilometre from the house, as I previously mentioned, the road branches off and runs three metres to a massive clear-cut before rejoining a network of double-track trails and roads. After the guys plowed us out we were astonished to discover they’d plowed all the way to the clearcut before realizing their mistake and turning around. Yes, we do have directional signage.

On the day after it poured rain in early February the water combined with the snow melt and low spots where brooks ran nearby to create such flooding we couldn’t get our vehicles out for a few days. Fortunately, we’d stocked up in preparation for such eventualities.

Many of you likely live in equally remote spots, and understand the challenges associated with dealing with less than ideal conditions. It’s all part of living off the grid. We choose to be back here, and despite those challenges the beauty and peace are more than worth it.