July 12 and 13: Home Stretch

While I appreciated having a shower in a real bathroom and being able to charge all my electrical devices, I found that I much preferred sleeping in a tent to the motel. I woke partway through the night and, after lying in bed for an hour, got up and went for a walk along the dark, empty highway. Even though I was with my mom, tonight I felt lonely. I sat in the Jeep and meditated. As I finally returned to the motel room for a couple more hours of sleep, other guests were outside getting ready for an early departure.

When I did get up, I was committed to swimming in Lake Superior and doing some yoga before beginning our drive. I hadn't done any exercise the day before, and consequently found the time in the car more uncomfortable. An abandoned service station and a few cottages were across the highway from the motel. I trespassed through one unoccupied lot to find a big, beautiful stretch of sandy beach and the clean, clear waters of Lake Superior.

The sand under the water was rippled like the ocean shore. While the tidal action on Lake Superior and Lake Winnipeg is minute -- only a few centimetres -- seiches create larger ebbs and flows. Paddling deeper into the enormous lake, I had to keep reminding myself that the water was fresh, not salty. The swim felt glorious.

I returned to shore and began yoga practice. Ouch. Ouch. Little flies bit my legs. I tried batting them away, but it interfered too much with the yoga. I tried ignoring them, thinking that the little bites only hurt for a nanosecond. I tried moving into the shallow water to escape them. Aaaagh! Finally, I gave up and retreated to collect my things. Insect repellent is apparently a pre-requisite for enjoying Ontario's great outdoors. Days later, my legs still itch and look like I have a mild case of measles.

Mom and I breakfasted at the Voyageur Cookhouse and continued our drive. When we were at Lake Winnipeg, I was surprised to see American white pelicans flying to their nests in the evening. Mom saw a small black bear disappearing into the bush soon after we entered Ontario. Since then, we've seen other wildlife, too: Racoon, deer, skunk, porcupine, beaver -- all lying in a dilapidated state on the highway. This may explain the abundance of turkey vultures.

We stopped for a picnic lunch in a village by Lake Huron, where I swam again, then pushed on towards North Bay. Again, rain descended through the late afternoon and evening. When we reached North Bay, I hoped to grab a quick drive-through meal and then find a campsite. Surprisingly, we could see very few fast food options from the highway. We followed the signs to downtown, but could only find one restaurant and a couple pizza delivery store fronts. It was dark, I was tired and got lost trying to find the highway again. We stopped and asked directions at a senior's home.

Back at the highway, we decided to get a room at the Travelodge and ask there about eating options. They directed us to Don Cherry's Sportsbar in a small stripmall next door. Many tiny towns on the prairies and in Ontario had signs proudly proclaiming them to be the home of some young professional hockey player, and the cafés often had news stories about these local heroes. How fittingly Canadian that our last supper on the road was eaten surrounded by photos of hockey stars of the past. Gordie Howe beamed down at us.

Again, I slept poorly indoors. I got up very early and finally did yoga practice in the hot, humid pool room. Mom and I showered, then went downstairs to eat. When we checked in we were told there was a hot breakfast. Hmm. This apparently referred to the the toaster for the bagels. Not what I envisioned. I am feeling grumpy and tired.

I'm sure that we did not see the best side of North Bay in our very short sojourn there. The next stop was Ottawa, and like horses nearing the barn we were eager to go. More rain drenched the roads, sometimes so heavily that I couldn't see the vehicles ahead. Traffic became denser, then slower. We were entering the first city we had driven through since Calgary! (Sorry, Regina. Your traffic just doesn't compare.) At 1:35, we turned off the highway (yippee!) into a residential neighborhood (phew!) and up to Karen and Salah's front door (sigh.)

I wish that I could say I was overjoyed to finally be here. What I was was exhausted. It felt good to get out of the Jeep. I devoured some left-over crepes for lunch, then lay down for a nap and a cry. I was overcome with nostalgia for the False Creek apartment I'd left in February, the last place that truly felt like home.

Somewhat rested, I recruited Mom and Karen into moving the contents of the U-Haul into the backyard shed. Initially we planned to just move some of it and leave the rest until Salah and Zachary (my nephew) were home to help, but when Karen realized how little there actually was, we plowed through and had everything unloaded by the time Salah arrived.

Salah guided me to the nearby U-Haul depot were the manager unhooked the empty trailer. For the first time in twelve days, the Jeep was free! The sixteen year old vehicle had clocked 304,477 kilometres pulling everything I owned across Canada, and never missed a beat. What a trooper.

Now the next chapter of this adventure begins. I don't know whether this will be my permanent home. It seems premature to commit that deeply. Really, the city and I have just started dating, so I'm thinking of Ottawa as my winter retreat.

Yesterday I had tea with a friend of a former client's who moved here from Vancouver three years ago, and had moved to Vancouver from Nova Scotia. Then I had dinner with a second cousin who moved to Vancouver for a job with the Olympic Committee, and moved back to Ottawa less than a year later. Both empathized with the challenges of making such a big move, both had great advice, and both said that they still think of Vancouver as another home, one to which they might return.

The downtown here is so completely different from any other city I've been in. There's an extensive area where an enormous stone building dominates each block -- government, hotels, consulates; all rather severe and intimidating. Then suddenly the streets break into lively stretches of restaurants, bars, cafés, and small shops in a hodgepodge of old and new. The Ottawa River marks the north edge of the city, backing the parliament buildings and marking the border with Quebec. The Rideau River and Canal cut up through the middle of the city, perpendicular to their larger cousin.

After a couple days' rest, I am enjoying being here and so appreciating being with my family. The weather is hot and humid, cicadas whine through the day and evening, there's a pool in the backyard -- it really feels like summer. A friend sent me the link to a graphic designer's rants that has had me in stitches (http://www.27bslash6.com/ -- warning: some rudity), and last night we watched a campy Canadian film called Invasion (it's original title was Top of the Food Chain) that was equally strange and hilarious. Laughter is good medicine. I feel ready for the adventure of getting to know my new home.

Next week: New York City!


Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

July 11: Lake Superior

Sunday morning dawned with the smells of baconny breakfasts and sounds of a few hungover or still-drunk young ‘uns. I postponed my planned morning yoga practice so that we could leave earlyish. Our goal today was Katherine Cove in Lake Superior National Park, at the opposite end of the lake from Thunder Bay. It was recommended as a lovely place to stop. Typically we hadn’t been arriving at campsites until 9:00 p.m. or later. Today I wanted to arrive early enough that we could enjoy the destination before bed.

Our drive took us around the top of Lake Superior and through a relatively mountainous (hilly?) area. The mountains here are much older than those on the west coast, and completely covered with, you guessed it, trees. In some places the highway cuts through banks of red rock, and there were many lovely views of Lake Superior, its islands and peninsulas.

As Lake Superior is the largest freshwater lake in the world at 12,100 km³ (2,900 cu mi), the drive took a long time. At 7:00 we finally saw the sign for Katherine Cove – and there was no campsite icon on it. Drat. We pulled over anyhow, and it’s true, the cove was lovely, the beach sandy. I went for a wade, we stretched our legs, and then it was back on the road to search for places to camp and eat. Rain was threatening.

Guided by a young woman at the visitor information centre a few kilometres down the road, we found the Voyageur Cookhouse at Bachawana Bay. It was such a treat. Log tables and chairs, old snowshoes and other outdoor paraphernalia, Hudson Bay blankets, maple syrup for sale. The menu featured traditional local fare: tortière, baked beans, bannock, pickerel, bison. Yes, it was touristy, and maybe we had just seen too many rundown cafés in tiny towns by this point, but I appreciated the bright, clean, entertaining atmosphere.

By now, the rain had more than threatened: It had poured down dramatically and persistently with both light and sound effects. We surrendered to Mother Nature, and checked into Smith’s Motel just ahead of a young couple from Vancouver Island cycling across Canada who had been on the road for a month.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

July 10: First Day in My New Province

Before we departed Falcon Lake, I did a morning run through the campsites, along the lake and waterway. One the way back, I took a break from running for a quick and refreshing swim. (Lake swim #2!) Then we packed up and headed into Ontario.

Many people had warned me that the roads in Ontario were windy and slow. Now that I was driving those roads, I realized that the people telling me that were all from the prairies. There were many curves here, but very few for which one had to slow down, and for the first time on the trip I was able to maintain the very reasonable speed limit of 90 km/hr. I was still the slowest vehicle on the road, but proud to be finally doing the maximum. The Jeep has been fabulous – strong, reliable and comfortable, everything I could ask for in a vehicle.

We stopped in Kenora for breakfast and my Internet fix, then in Dryden to get groceries for a picnic supper and a scoop of ice cream. Along the way, we saw signs for Red Lake, Balmertown, and Sioux Lookout, towns where my ex-husband and ex-in-laws once lived and often spoke of.

The Lake of the Woods area is classic Canadian scenery: small lakes surrounded by trees and rock, everywhere but the lakes thickly wooded or swampy -- the land of Farley Mowat, Margaret Atwood, and Timothy Findley. Unlike B.C., the trees are short and often spindly, but grow as thick as grass. The woods look impenetrable. Human habitations are almost completely restricted to the few towns along the highway. This is moose country. Turkey vultures now replaced the hawks of the prairies and the eagles of the west coast.

After Dryden, we drove through to Thunder Bay. It was a long day, and late by the time we started to look for a campsite. I was tired, happy to settle for the first site outside town, attractively named Thunder Falls Campsite. As we settled in and ate a very late picnic supper, loud music began playing at a neighboring site. I went over and asked them to turn it off, which they did, but it soon became apparent that other sites were also in party mode. Poor judgement on my part: I should have guessed that a campsite near town on a Saturday might be a haven for drunken teenagers. We put in earplugs and made the best of it.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

July 9: Manitoba

The morning was already hot by the time I woke. I began the day with some yoga, reflecting as I practiced on the yogic principle of ahimsa, or refraining from causing harm to others. I thoughtfully smacked a few mosquitoes.

Before getting on the road, Mom and I swam in Lake Winnipeg – our first lake swim of the trip. Lake Winnipeg is the eleventh largest fresh water lake in the world at 24,514 square kilometres (9,465 square miles), and although generally shallow was definitely refreshing.

There are just over one million people in all of Saskatchewan, and about 1.2 million in Manitoba. Despite the sparse populations, there is evidence of people everywhere in the form of cultivated fields, farm houses, and tiny towns. We stopped at a café in Warren, Manitoba for caffeine and directions. A sign on the wall proudly proclaimed “Finest Coffee Served Here”. Locals at the adjacent tables generously gave detailed instructions on how to get to Lower Fort Garry, as well as tips on campsites and traveling western Ontario.

Lower Fort Garry, a trade post in the 1800s, is now a national historical site with costumed university students representing the original inhabitants and hosting tours. We took a “behind the scenes” tour in which we were invited to explore closed buildings, cellars, the back of the storehouse, and the costume area, then watched an Iron Skillet Chef bread making competition (the cornbread won). The actor playing the governor took his role particularly seriously, prattling on about the qualities of each bread and generally having some fun with his role. When we finally left the Fort, he was lowering the flag and we joined in singing “God Save the Queen” as it lowered. It was good medicine for me to have a day off from the long drives, and to have such a fun and educational afternoon.

After leaving the Fort, we drove about four hours to Manitoba’s eastern border. We didn’t once get on the TransCanada, sticking to secondary highways and country roads – such a refreshing change. The prairies were made for cruise control – everything straight and flat. Red winged blackbirds flit across the roads from one ditch to another. Hawks wheel above the fields looking for gophers. As we neared the border, trees and rocks began to appear – the edge of the Canadian Shield, and the beginning of lake and cottage country. It was also the beginning of the weekend, and campsites were packed. We were turned away twice before landing at Falcon Lake.

Tomorrow, Ontario!

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

July 7 and 8: Things Fall Apart

Tuesday night Mom and I camped at Cavan Lake, a very small rural campsite a few kilometers from the highway. In the morning I went for a run down the gravel road past fields of curious cows, small ponds and wetlands, and many colourful ducks, savouring the smells of the swamps, farms, and grasslands. Even rain smells different on the prairies. The one farmer who passed in his tractor waved back at me. The day was off to a great start.

The lake was too mucky to swim in, so after the post-run stretch I just splashed my face and hair. Mom and I packed up and got back on the road. 

After a few kilometres, we crossed the border from Alberta to Saskatchewan. Through the previous night and this morning, we were traveling through many small, small towns: Taber, the corn capital of Canada; Burnett, the location of the first irrigation spigot in our country; and a tiny hamlet that, from the many signs, seemed to be called Premier Sausages (maybe a good place to find a man?)

We stopped in Swift Current so that I could check email and update the blog. Mom was very patient with the break. Our next stop was Moose Jaw where we toured two sets of tunnels and hidden passages, the first used by a local businessmen to hide indentured Chinese immigrant workers, and the second used by Al Capone and his gang to smuggle booze in the prohibition. Who knew Moose Jaw had such a rich and lurid history? If you are ever there, they are tours worth taking.

Then came the most exciting part of the day for me: seeing Rafael and his wife Sarah in Regina! Raf moved there from North Vancouver in February to take a job with SaskPower. Sarah joined him only four weeks ago. I was so thrilled to see Raf and meet Sarah in the midst of this journey. Our evening together felt much, much too short.

It was late when we all parted, so Mom and I got motel rooms for the night. Feelings of fear and loneliness had been encroaching on me through the afternoon, and I had been poor company for her. In the hotel room, grief and fear overwhelmed me. What the f* had I done? What was I doing out in the middle of nowhere feeling so deeply disconnected? I cried hard for an hour or more. I thought of going back (where?) If I had somewhere to go back to, maybe I would have.

This is the time of letting go of one trapeze and not yet having a hand on the other. Being here makes me appreciate much more deeply the challenges of other people’s lives. I think of friends dealing with trauma, prejudice, life-threatening diseases, death and other painful endings; of the Chinese immigrant workers described on the tour who lived under dangerous, lonely, and oppressive conditions. Life demands such courage. I have so much support and so many privileges, am doing this of my own choice, and still this move sometimes feels difficult. It’s a good exercise in me developing more backbone. “Everything is connected, nothing lasts, and you are not alone.” Somehow that quote from a Tricycle article comforted me in the end.

In terms of sleep, I didn’t get much for my money that night. My sister called in the morning, and we had a good talk. I got an email from my brother. Then I met Rafael for breakfast at the Hotel Saskatchewan. Connecting with them all helped me feel more stable and capable again.

Mom met me at the hotel, and we got ready to leave Regina. A creaking sound had been coming from the trailer or hitch. Before we left Calgary, my step-dad suggested that the hitch might not be strong enough for the load we were towing. Now I had visions of it breaking on the highway, and the trailer being stranded. I wanted to get it checked before we left town.

In order to turn around and head east again, I needed to drive around a few blocks. I turned down one street to find it was a dead-end. Rather than back the trailer up, I decided to pull through the entrance of a multilevel parking lot. As I swung the Jeep around, we heard a load scraping noise from the back. The parking attendant called to us, “I think your bikes just hit the roof.” I stopped the Jeep to check. Yes, it was true. If we didn’t take the bikes down, they would hit the roof again as we exited.

I got up on the trailer’s wheel wells to check the bikes. If I hadn’t had such a thorough cry the night before, I would have started now. The front fork of my Kona was ripped apart and some of the spokes on the front wheel torn out. One of the winch straps my step-dad had loaned me had been torn in two.

A man appeared and started to help us. At first I thought he worked for the parking lot, but eventually realized that he was from the Legion across the street (and from the smell of his breath had been getting an early start on the day). He helped me get the bikes off the top of the trailer. I moved the Jeep onto the street, and then he helped me strap the bikes back on. Throughout, he was calm and encouraging. When he heard where we were travelling, he gave us tips about driving through Ontario. Such an angel. I am repeatedly touched by how kind people are.

The good news: the trailer hitch got a clean bill of health. The creaking sound has diminished.

Back on the road, I plugged in my iPod to find that I had inadvertently erased all the music on it when I last synched it. There was one CD in the car, so I played Marty Robbins to saturation. (Somehow he seems appropriate for the prairies). The rest of the day went well. Later in the afternoon, we crossed the border into Manitoba. Tonight we are camped on the shore of Lake Winnipeg (in photo above) at St. Ambroise Provincial Park. I felt so happy to get off the highway and drive some country roads to get here. The lake is vast, the sunset was beautiful, the bugs are abundant. I hope to get a good night’s sleep.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Tuesday, July 6: Back on the Road

I was slow to start Tuesday morning, not up until 7:30 and then taking time to exercise, shower, and eat breakfast before helping to attach the storage pod to the roof rack and load the Jeep. Then I couldn't find my camera. Thorough searches of the house and the bags in the Jeep were fruitless. Finally, I looked on the roof -- yup, there it was. Good thing I waited.

Lyle helped me get the trailer back on the hitch, and Mom and I were finally on the road. Our main objective for the day was a tour of the Japanese garden in Lethbridge, advertised as the most authentic in North America. As we headed south on Highway 2, we started seeing signs for Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. I once read a short newspaper story about this UNESCO heritage site, and have wanted to see it ever since. As we got closer, though, we realized that it would be a 32km detour from our already extended route. We decided not to delay ourselves further.

After some challenges with the GPS device, we found our way to the Nikko Yuko Garden in Lethbridge. Our walk began with a tour of a large teahouse. A very sweet young tour guide showed us through the rooms, talked to us about the architecture and learning to tie her kimono, and told us that she loved the way the untreated wooden beams aged. Then we wandered into and through the garden. It was very typical of an Alberta park: flat, lots of grass, a few trees. The main feature was a waterway with two short wooden walking bridges and some areas of flat rocks along the sides. To the side was an enormous beautiful brass bell with a log striker (which I struck, of course). We left feeling disappointed. The Japanese garden we had seen in Seattle a couple weeks before was much more complex and beautiful

After my experience in Lake Louise, I was reluctant to go through another day of the trip feeling dissatisfied. Even though it would now be a much longer detour, I decided to back track to Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. We arrived as the visitor's centre was closing, but there were still trails to hike beneath the bluffs. Mom took a break while I explored. I felt so happy to be somewhere wild -- prairie grasses, wild flowers, gophers, hawks, a Western tanager. The bluffs over which the buffalo were driven were so distinctive compared to the surrounding prairie. My soul felt soothed.

That evening we ate dinner at a Thai restaurant in Medicine Hat. The Thai couple running it had moved there from Winnipeg a couple years before, wanting their children to grow up in a smaller, friendlier community. The husband gave us tips about driving from Winnipeg to Toronto. We set up camp late at Cavan Lake, nearing the Saskatchewan border.


Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Pit Stop in Alberta

I am so lucky to have such a supportive family! The first thing I did after pulling into my folks' in Calgary was HAVE A SHOWER. I didn't even take anything out of the Jeep first. After a short rest, we piled into Mom and Lyle's truck and drove up to Red Deer through a rainstorm to see my Grandma (92), Auntie Pat, Uncle André, cousin Jan and her husband Ron. It was particularly sweet to spend time with Grandma.

On Monday, Lyle and Dave got to work on my Jeep, replacing the steering box, the power steering pump (whoops, a casualty of the other repair), and checking everything else over. Dave gave me a roof rack storage pod that he had lying around. I got to sleep in a real bed and had three showers in two days. And I got a visit with my seven-year-old neice, Makayla.

Tuesday morning, I was recharged and ready for the next leg of the journey. My Mom was ready to join me! It's going to be so rich to travel for a week together.

In case you wondered, "Stay on the Ride" is the name of a Patty Griffin song.

You can now see more road trip photos at http://picasaweb.google.com/thorsell.lm

More later...

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Saturday, July 3: Day Two

I love waking up in the middle of nowhere. After freshening up, the Jeep and I got back on the road. Wilf Carter on the iPod sang the praises of the Calgary Stampede. He makes me feel so happy.

The first stop of the day was at the Swan Lake Recreation Centre to visit my Aunt Shirley and Uncle Jim. They had just sold their house, and I was visiting them on their first full day living in their RV. Like me, they've been paring down their belongings. I was impressed to see how neatly they had fit everything they needed plus a few treasures and mementos into such a compact space.

Their RV is an amazing vehicle. For example, the cabinetry is Amish-built, all solid wood with some lovely decorative carvings. Electrical awnings, a sophisticated HVAC system, four armchairs and a couch -- they look like they will be very comfortable in their residential mobility.

After a tour of the RV and a great lunch, I got on the road again. My goal was to get to Lake Louise, Alberta as early in the day as possible, but this section of the trip was probably the most challenging of the drive: curvy and mountainous. I had to take it easy going uphill so as not to overtax the engine, and easy on the downhills, gearing down and staying within the range of the brakes. I came to appreciate having the trailer in my rear view mirror. I could drive down the highway relaxed, as if I was the only vehicle on the road, oblivious to the two-mile line of traffic building behind me.

At the top of Rogers Pass, I stopped to get gas (just in time) and to celebrate the Jeep's odometer rolling over to 300,000 km.

I finally reached Lake Louise at 7:00 p.m. Throughout my childhood, my family made annual pilgrimages through this area and across B.C. to visit my grandparents on Vancouver Island. Having been through so many times I thought that it should be familiar, but we had never done more than stop once to briefly look at the lake and then drive on. Really, it was all new to me.

I hiked up to a lookout point, against the flow of other tourists making their way back down. Except for a family of whiskeyjacks, I had the lookout to myself. It was beautiful. I stopped for a while to savour the view, and for the first time on my trip felt lonely. I hiked down and walked the promenade to the other side of the lake. There was a hike to Lake Agnes and a teahouse that I would have liked to have visited, but it was getting too late. The teahouse wouldn't open until 10:00 the next morning, and by then I needed to be on my way to Calgary. Why didn't I have more time?

The dining rooms at the Fairmont Chateau on the end of the lake had all closed when I returned, so I had a bowl of soup in the saloon downstairs, peering through the tables of families and couples at a peak-a-boo view of the lake. My short visit to Lake Louise left me wanting much more.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Friday, July 2: Day One on the Road

This morning was the moment of truth: Would all my stuff actually fit into that tiny U-Haul trailer? I met the two movers, Farrell and John, at the storage facility in North Delta at 9:30. We didn’t seem to be off to a great start. Farrell pulled me aside to tell me that if John seemed grumpy and unhelpful, it was because he hadn’t wanted to work today, but someone else had called in sick. Hmm. I was paying for two movers, wasn’t I? Then we opened the storage locker and John said, “Are you taking half of that?” “No,” I replied, “I’m hoping we can fit it all in.”

Just in case, I started by pulling to the side the things I would sacrifice if I had to. This was the third time I’d pared down, and it was getting tough. I strapped my second bicycle on the roof of the Jeep with the first one, resigned that neither would make it into the trailer.

Farrell took the lead at strategizing how to pack everything in as tightly as possible. John at least seemed to be willing, and more friendly than Farrell had suggested. I pitched in here and there, but after a while there was little I could do but get out of the way and watch. They were doing a great job. We started including some of the boxes I’d put on the side. Little by little, it was all squishing in. 

Success! There was just one box left, and I put it in the back of the Jeep. By 11:00, I was all packed.

Before getting on the highway, I took a detour to Gary’s Auto Wrecking in Maple Ridge to pick up a steering box for the Jeep. The mechanic shop had quoted me $725 to replace it. Gary’s got me a used part for $100 cash, no tax. (Maybe it helped that I was wearing their t-shirt). My brother Dave will swap it in, and I’ll save $600. Phew! Thanks, Dave.

At last I was on the road. Waiting to do something is so often harder than doing it. I left Vancouver happy that everything had gone so well, with no tears. (Okay, I had a cry in the shower in the morning, but I’m talking about after that.) The day was sunny and warm, and the Jeep was running beautifully. “Happy Trails” was playing in my head. (Thank you!) The mountains along the Coquihalla Highway were green and beautiful.

What to say about the drive? The iPod kept me entertained and awake. I listened to Reggie Ray’s dharma talks, then to Hank Williams III. There are always things to think about along the road, like how do you pronounce Pinaus Lake?

In Kamloops, I stopped to visit one of my classmates, Michelle McMaster. After so many sessions at the Doubletree Inn, it’s good to see people in their home environments; so interesting to see another side of them. Michelle made me tea and we each decompressed after our very different but busy days. We dined at a restaurant by the river, sitting on the patio and watching a couple kayakers launch from the dock. Then it was time to get back on the road. Michelle ensured that I got safely onto the right highway.

I decided to camp for the night closer to Vernon, where I would see my aunt and uncle the next morning. It was dark by the time I reached Falkland. I saw a promising side road and turned off in search of a quiet place to pull over and sleep. The road turned to gravel, which I took as a good sign that there would be little traffic here. A few miles up, I saw what I thought could be a promising treed area to pull up into. I started up a short hill only to find a locked gate. Drat. I would have to back up, something I avoid as much as possible with this pesky trailer. As I reversed down the short hill, I realized that my brakes were not as strong as the momentum of the loaded trailer. Park brake! Thank goodness the mechanic fixed that. Then came the task of trying to get the trailer on the right angle to get back onto the road instead of in the ditch, where it was headed. That meant the Jeep had to dip into the other ditch a bit. Thank goodness for 4x4! With adrenaline and some positive self talk, I managed to pull it off: A crash course in what not to do with a loaded trailer. Phew! I'm wondering how much of my stuff will be in one piece by the time I get to Ottawa.

I returned to a flat area on the side of the road 500 meters back and pulled over for the night, adventures for the day at an end.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.