Ten times, over a period of several days, Harley Rustad’s neighbor discovered discarded bags of half-eaten A&W french fries on her porch in Ontario. Each bag was labelled “Rodolphe” in back sharpie; most had a few fries left behind. Together, Rustad and his neighbor set out to solve the why behind frygate.
The next day: a warm Sunday. Before settling into my early morning routine of reading the news with a cup of coffee, I stepped outside. I had to check. Through the dim blue-hour light, I scanned my neighbour’s porch. All clear. But then I noticed something sticking out of her metal mailbox, on the wall next to her door. I did a double take. It didn’t look like mail. I scurried down our steps and up my neighbour’s. There it was: another A&W bag, containing a dozen or so french fries and, this time, two packets of ketchup. This was the fifth night, the fifth bag of fries, the fifth “Rodolphe.” Two was a potential coincidence, three an oddity, four a puzzle. But five? I was obsessed.
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How I Solved the Century-Old Mystery of a Miraculous Shipwreck Survivor
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