(Toilet paper hoarding and social distancing have quite a bit to do with the timing of this story.)

The “old” Montney General Store didn’t have running water, and when the “new” store opened in 1962 the residence at the back didn’t either. Mom, Dad and four-year old me lived within the stud walls and walked on the plywood subfloor for a few months. The bathroom was the last room to be finished. I bathed in a galvanized tub (I can’t remember what Mom and Dad did?). We had a portable toilet that was vented but, it still had what Dad referred to as a “honey-bucket” which needed to be carried out and emptied. To limit the number of times he had to make the trip, Dad urged us to use the outhouse when the weather was good. It stood just 30 or 40 meters south of the back door. In fact, long after our new-fangled flush toilet was installed, Mom kept the outhouse clean, painted and usable. I think it was because it was such a great little building with curtains on the windows, two seats, and a cute little veranda on the front. Mom bragged about the compliments it received.

That outhouse was still sitting in the same spot the last time I visited the Montney corner.*

During the summer of 1978 after coming home from college I lived in my grandparent’s house on the farm just two miles south of the store. The little house had been empty for a while so it needed some TLC. We were able to make it quite cozy and comfortable but had to do without running water. Again, I was forced to bathe in a galvanized tub and visit the outhouse. Thankfully it was warm summer.

I know it sounds like an “old man” story, but visiting an outhouse was still a pretty common thing to do in the rural Peace Country during the seventies.  The fibreglass and polyethylene portable restrooms that we all know and love from our visits to music festivals and rodeos didn’t even hit the market until the seventies.**

So… it was an interesting coincidence that the same summer saw me participate as part of a 4-man team in Fort St. John’s “4^th Annual Outhouse Race”. I’m not sure of its full history but I know that the first race took place in 1975 and the last in 1993. Over the years the race transformed. Early years saw groups of guys wearing work-boots pushing actual outhouses fastened to a set of casters. Many of the racers had beer in hand. The petrified (and sometimes half cut) “driver” sat inside looking out an open door. In a 2011 Alaska Highway News article, Fort St. John’s resident historian, Larry Evans remembered that, “at first, some of the outhouses were really heavy but they evolved over the years to light plastic with bicycle wheels. It pretty much disintegrated into running races and, boy could they ever go.”

By 1978 many of the “outhouses” were that in name only. Although there were still some old fashioned heavy ones, there was at least one that looked quite a bit like a guy on a 10-speed bike wearing a cardboard outhouse costume. Even our outhouse was just a lightweight wooden box mounted on a 2-wheeled cart. It reminded me a bit of the pony chariots my Uncle Jim and cousin Gary used to drive. The contraption was nice and light but using it as a bathroom would have been messy.

Our “outhouse” was sponsored by Moe Martin of Moe Martin Chevrolet Olds. Moe was on the executive of the Golden Hawks hockey club so I guess that’s why myself and three other Golden Hawks were asked to pull his outhouse. Moe’s young son, Peter, rode inside the thing. We couldn’t really call him our “driver” because he had absolutely no control of where, how fast, or how slow we went.

I’m pretty sure there were a few different routes used over the years, but in 1978 we ran an approximately 650-meter circuit in downtown Fort St. John.  We started in front of the Bank of Commerce at 100^th Street and 100^th Avenue. We ran west to the Lido Theatre where we made a right turn. From there it was up to the Post Office (the halfway mark) and then back towards 100^th Street where the finish line was beside the same bank.

Our team consisted of my good buddies Kim Henry, Del Parker, Brent Esau and myself. We met downtown that afternoon dressed in our bright yellow (gold?) Golden Hawks t-shirts and Moe Martin ball caps. It was a chilly afternoon and there had been a significant Peace River downpour just before the race was to start, so none of us bothered to take our sweat pants off. That proved to be a mistake. Our two-wheeled out-house had a t-shaped bar that was originally designed for us to stand behind and push. However, at the last minute, someone had what they thought was a better idea. Instead of pushing, we decided to use short lengths of rope to tie ourselves to the bar so that we would be pulling it instead. This idea would leave our arms free and it seemed to make sense.

We lined up shortest to tallest with the shortest guy being on the right-hand side. I was the shortest and didn’t mind the order because it meant I’d be on the inside for all three corners and, by my calculations, wouldn’t actually have to run as far as the other guys. That was another strategy that seemed to make sense at the time. Brent was next to me, then Del, and then Kim, who was tallest.

Only two outhouses raced at one time. This was a good thing because there wasn’t much room for more than that. The streets are quite wide, but as Larry Evans recalled, “they would have three or four thousand people come downtown and we had a hell of a time keeping the paths clear so the outhouses could get through.” The crowd was huge despite the rain and I remember being really nervous as we took our turn at the starting line.

I don’t remember us talking about a “pacing strategy” at all and I’m fairly certain that we all took off expecting to sprint the entire distance. Obviously, we were all in much better shape then but there were still some things we hadn’t considered. Kim was fit and had really long legs. Del was a great runner with a “we-must-win” attitude, Brent and I, on the other hand, were two short legged guys who were just in it for the cold beer waiting at the finish line.

The first few meters flew by… MacLeod’s, Marshall Wells, and the Condill Hotel were just a blur. Then reality and mother nature kicked in. The rain that had poured down shortly before the race had now become foaming rivers running along the curbs. A small lake had formed at the Lido corner and, as I was on the inside, I was plunging through water up to my knees as we made the sharp right turn. If you’ve ever owned a pair of Russell sweat pants you will know that they become noticeably heavier when they are wet.

As we headed up towards the Post Office (and a I do mean “up”!) I began to realize that my lungs were on fire, my legs were seizing and my sweatpants were falling down. I didn’t have any breath left to ask my teammates for mercy and I don’t think my pride would have let me anyway.

The last half of the race is a blur. I don’t remember seeing the Dairy Queen, the IGA or any of the people who later said they’d been on the sidewalk cheering us on. I tugged at my pants when I could and doggedly put one foot in front of the other. Although I was in agony, I knew full well that Del and Kim would drag Brent and me across the finish line if either of us fell. Being tied to our load left us no choice but to keep moving. At some point my life actually flashed before my eyes.

I don’t remember crossing the finish line, or even caring. I just remember the taste of blood at the back of my throat and the fact that, for what might have been the first time, I didn’t enjoy the cold beer that was handed to me. If memory serves, I think we placed 3rd.

Thankfully in a few hours I’d fully recovered. My thighs were a bit sore but all else was good. If that had been today I would have to be admitted to the Intensive Care Unit.

In 2011, there was an attempt to get the race going again after an 18-year hiatus. It didn’t happen. Too bad. I think everyone should run in an outhouse race. It makes you appreciate your health.

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*I couldn’t find a picture of the outhouse at the Montney corner. If someone from up there takes one and sends it to me I will add it to this post!       espelarry@gmail.com

**Click here to read the interesting story of the Porta Potty

PS. After reading this story, Tim Galbreath e-mailed me this picture of a Coca-Cola bottle cap liner (remember those??) from back in the day. Apparently, Coke was impressed by Fort St. John’s Outhouse Races! Very cool. (Thanks to Tim for sharing).