Guess What Happened Today?: I Said No, No, No...Part 2: Survival in the Wilderness

Following my last post, I learned that you can in fact go to the woods of Quebec for 84 hours, but that you can only survive if you manage to find intermittent cell phone coverage. Over the last few weeks I was totally freaking out over the thought of a trip to the bush that would leave me completely cut off from my life. And when I say freaking out, I mean a serious cold sweat and crazy night terrors.

It's obvious that I have a security-blanket type attachment to my blackberry. I feel comfort when I have it nearby. I even feel that comfort when it’s not connected to any service. If I can see it and feel it, it's way better than not being able to reach out and touch it at all. But it’s sure not the same as the calming effect of the flashing red light.

I drove to our wooded retreat with a couple of colleagues. A Blackberrian who thinks he knows how and when to shut it off (On weekends? Vacations? Cummon!!! What an amateur) and an IPhone-ite who loves his apps. Apparently, if I had an IPhone, I could vibrate every time the Toronto Maple Leafs get scored on. Interesting. But not interesting enough to move to a virtual keyboard, that’s for sure. And who could vibrate that much, anyway?

On the ride up, I just knew the second we left the coverage zone. There wasn’t a sign, and there was no clue. It was just obvious. I’m connected to that thing like it’s my twin. When it’s in pain…when it’s lost…I just know. I can feel it. Or maybe it was the big trees, the mountains and the dirt road that gave it away.

Coverage Map for Quebec. I don't need a map, I can just feel it when I leave the zone.

When we arrived at the beautiful Auberge Lac à l’Eau Claire, I stepped out of the vehicle and my greatest fears were realized. My friend, my twin, my Torch was nothing but a brick in my hand. Exactly what I had expected. 3G had not yet invaded the Quebec wilderness. I took two steps to the right, and suddenly, and without warning, the red light started to blink. My heart started to beat in time with the twinkling light. The world was out there. And it was talking to me.

To my dismay, I took another two steps to the right, and the connection dropped. Then four steps forward and it was back. Inside my room it was a brick. Outside my room it was a lifeline to my world. For the following 83 and a half hours, the red light would mock me. I would retire to my room at the end of the night with no service. Somehow, during the night, and I have no idea how, the blackberry would connect, and I would wake to a flashing light, but again with no service.

It (or I) became the running joke of the meeting. I was like a gunfighter at a poker game. I would sit down, and put my weapon on the table. Over the three meeting days, each of my colleagues took great joy in inquiring as to the current status of cell phone availability. (Hardly mocking me at all) One of them even sent me a message, telling me that he hoped that the flashing red light resulting from his message would stave off the impending depression for just one more day…

We went on an expedition to look at bears (who unfortunately didn’t show up to look back at us). We went to look at beavers doing their beaver thing. We took a beautiful boat ride on a gorgeous lake at sunset. It was me, the rest of our leadership team, and of course, my constant companion (sometimes a brick, and sometimes so much more) on a fantastic pontoon boat. I don’t want to say that I was fixated on what I was missing, but when I was occasionally graced with connectivity, I made the most of it. I drank in the red glow of the tiny flashing light, and as fast as it came, it was gone.

The gorgeous lake at sunset...picture taken with what else? Blackberry Torch. Never leave home without it.

The final day arrived, and I jumped out of bed with the knowledge that in a few short hours, I would be back into the land of secure, reliable cellular service. We met for a couple of hours in the morning, and when my colleagues suggested that we forgo lunch in favour of an earlier departure, I quickly agreed. If you know me, you know that I haven't forgone many lunches. Imagine that...getting back to a coverage zone is more important to me than food. The little red light sustains me.

I sat in the car, almost trance-like, waiting for the flashing light to re-enter my life, and when it did, a feeling of utter relief washed over me. It’s back. Life is good. Whether the news at the other end of the flashing red light is good or bad or neutral, or even junk, it calms me down when I know that I'm in the virtual loop.

Since my last blog I’ve heard from a lot of people, some who think I’m completely nuts, others who completely get where I’m coming from, and even others who think they’re ten times more addicted then me. And maybe they are. I’ve thought a lot about it , and just when I thought that maybe I should be taking some action on my addiction, I was playing golf today with a group of colleagues, and at more than one time during the day I looked up from my own private blackberry prayer to find the rest of my foursome, their heads all down, connected to their worlds.

I heard on the news this week that feared activist investor Carl Ichan may be making a play to get involved with RIM...he's the guy that's done such stellar work with Motorolla, Blockbuster, Yahoo, and more. I'm sure he's pumping up for a brawl with Jim and Mike over in Waterloo. I really have no idea whether Carl's attention is good for RIM or not. All I can say is that guy better not do something that extinguishes my flashing red light forever.