Fort McMurray evacuees double-double their caffeine fix after wildfire

Some say Fort McMurray runs on bitumen, but Fabian Gerard knows the city is fuelled by something else that's thick, black and possibly synthetic.

Coffee.

Gerard and his best pals, Gerald Maynard, Glen Oickle and Lawrence Gagnon, watched early Friday as throngs of people searched in vain for their morning caffeine fix at the downtown Tim Hortons.

By 8 a.m., there was a lineup around the building.

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The store is on reduced hours. Staff and supplies have struggled to make their way back into the wildfire ravaged city, causing faithful customers to despair in the absence of their morning double-doubles.

Some pressed their faces against the glass, others banged frantically on the door. The more hot-headed customers cursed and revved their engines in frustration.

"It's interesting to see people around this morning, because Tim Hortons is closed, and you can see how hard it is for people to take it," said Gerard.

He notes the city's three Tim's locations are always filled to the brim — causing traffic snarl-ups, and keeping local bylaw officers busy.

"They even had to change the traffic laws, they had to stop drivers from turning left so no accidents would happen. It was pretty dangerous, actually."

Morning coffee ritual

For years, the four self-proclaimed "old timers" have gathered every morning over hot cups of brew at the downtown coffee shop. 

With 110 years of living in Fort McMurray among them, the conversation over coffee often centres on the good old days. They talk about long days spent working, long nights dancing with their wives at long-ago demolished dive bars.

"We love talking," Maynard said. "We had a lot of great times."

Long before the fire happened, I would have banged on the window for a coffee.- Shawn Gale

Their morning coffee ritual is so ingrained, during the weeks-long evacuation Gerard and Oickle even met up at the Tim's in Leduc, whenever they could.

They didn't want to lose touch.

"For McMurray, it's a good place to be. Even if I decide to move away, I would be missing it because of this friendship," said Fabian. "This friendship, I missed it while I was away." 

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After getting back to the city, they faithfully returned to their regular spot on the edge of the parking lot, laughing as they watched the sad stream of would-be customers.

The people in the lineup are dedicated to Tim Hortons. 

"They're not open? Fine! Fine!" said John McGowan, crestfallen as he reefed on the locked doors. "If I had an emoticon to explain what I'm feeling, it would be duck lip." 

Shawn Gale was equally crushed.

"I would being lying if I were to tell you I'm over it," said Gale. "I've got a bottle of instant in the room. And we're pouring boiling water out of the big jug into the kettle, and a little bit of creamer. So we'll make do. But having actual stores and restaurants and stuff that you can go to is just a dream to us right now." 

By 9 a.m., the doors to Tim's finally opened. And with a few black pots of coffee, the equilibrium of the city was restored.