On the Road Again

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Left Calgary last Friday, headed for Vancouver Island, land of my childhood dreams and retirement hopes.   

In Canada, there is one major road from East to West, officially called the Trans-Canada, and more often simply the No. 1.  It might even be the longest highway in the world but it certainly isn’t the smoothest, or widest.  On day one of our trip, after stopping for lunch at Field, BC (above) we ran into a traffic jam (below) about 40km east of Golden, BC.  Such imaginative names, along with Radium, Kicking Horse and the aptly named Bountiful, infamous home of a polygamous breakaway branch of the LDS.  

Obviously an accident of some sort had blocked the two-lane road and we had no idea how long the wait would be.  My favourite Belgian, accustomed to the spiderweb network of European roads, wondered if we couldn’t just turn around and take a detour.  In theory, this was possible, but since there are only three ways to get from Alberta to BC through the Rocky Mountains, getting to the next pass would add at least 800km to our trip.  We elected to wait it out, and it only took an hour for things to get moving again. 

It’s been a sentimental journey, and MFB has risen to the occasion.  First stop was an overnight stay in Kelowna (above) with a cousin who I first met at a family reunion when I was seven, and to whom I promptly proposed.  An aunt was scandalized when she heard of my plan but she obviously had no idea that the Royal Family had already been there, done that.     

Next stop was tea and sticky buns with an uncle at his hilltop home overlooking the Okanagan Valley, and more family news and gossip.  MFB still able to keep up.  Pressing on, we wander through south western BC and MFB comments on the lack of wildlife.  Two minutes later a young black bear runs across the road ahead of us.  I’m tempted to stop but have grown up with stories of stupid tourists who stop to take picture of beers and elk in Banff National Park and end up with concussions or badly scratched cars. 

Two nights with a different cousin, one of my special ones.  Our mothers married brothers, and that should make us look almost like twins, but the only physical trait we share is our height.  His wife is my good friend Kath, of YOU ARE HERE, and it’s all her fault that I started to blog.  Wonderfully generous hospitality, hours of talk, a few games of billiards, and outdoor fish and chips followed by a stroll along the beach at White Rock, just east of Vancouver.  MFB mildly confused by the number of family members and friends named Jim.

Two ferries later, we landed on Saturna Island, one of the southern Gulf Islands between the mainland and Vancouver Island.   Explored by piloto Jose Maria Narvaez of the Santa Saturnina in 1791, it is home to about 400 winter residents and about three times as many summer visitors.  It’s a quiet, wet life much of the time, suitable for seals, slugs and people who really don’t mind being away from everything, including reliable internet service. 

Although, if I had a view like the one my uncle and aunt have from their kitchen window (below), I could learn to live almost anything.    

More family, now on Vancouver Island.  My brother and SIL live in Sidney, just a few minutes from the ferry slip.  One night in their huge guest room with its king size bed and stupendous view, and I’m ready to move in.  My sister-in-law had thoughtfully laid out what was left of my mother’s things after her death last November, and packed up what I wanted to keep.  Her jewellery set off flash floods of memories – the turquoise glass beads that went with a tulle-skirted party dress she had made for herself in the late 50s, the opal ring she bought in Australia, a little silver ring fashioned into a lovers knot that I recognized but couldn’t remember the provenance of…it all made me a bit weepy.   MFB still putting on an attentive face at the umpteenth re-telling of family stories. 

Then on to Tofino, on the wild west coast of Vancouver Island, a Mecca for surfers with dreadlocks.  Our hotel is right on the beach, but nobody’s catching any rays here.  The temperature might have got up to fifteen degrees Celsius and even though every surfer wears a wetsuit, I still don’t understand how they can stay in that water for hours.

To compensate for our budgetary excesses at dinner last night we buy stuff for a picnic lunch today and go to Long Beach.  Sitting on a big driftwood log, we watch crows filch a bag of chips from a picnic basket left on the beach.  After they’re done I fold the empty bag neatly and return it to the basket, hoping to drive somebody crazy trying to figure out what happened to their chips. 

I take a photo of a couple on the wharf at Tofino and ask them to return the favour.  We don’t have a lot of pictures of the two of us, and most of the ones we have are way better of MFB than me.  For once, we’re both looking not bad.  

 

Tomorrow we head to Bainbridge Island, WA, (visiting a dear aunt on the way) and hope there’ll be no explaining to do to US Customs about all that stuff of my mom’s. I can’t believe they’d hassle two senior-looking people but every Canadian has a horror story to tell of trans-border car travel. 

Seattle is for Sunday, and then a leisurely drive back to Calgary through northern Washington, Idaho and Montana.  The high point, in both senses of the word, will be the Logan Pass, also known as Going-To-The-Sun road.  See you sometime next week!