Day 12 – Thursday, July 12, 2018
FVRDA campsite, Hope, New Westminster

We awoke to it already being about 30c. Summer has truly arrived now that our vacation is over and we can begin the annual Lower Mainland tradition of complaining that it’s too hot.

After breakfast we packed up the trailer, not just doing the usual pack up, but also battening down the proverbial hatches in preparation for parking the trailer at the quaint hobby farm where it lives when it’s not out camping. The hobby farm is in a place called Dogwood Valley, which is even more quaint.

With the trailer secured, we began the hairy 5 km descent from the FVDRA campsite, hairy because much of it is an 18% grade. At the 3.5 km mark we were delayed while a convoy of construction trucks trundled up past us. The alternative would have been them smushing our truck and trailer off the road, which would have been a bummer way to end the vacation.

I also learned the difference between a rock truck and a dump truck and it’s not that one carries rocks, smarty pants. Rock trucks apparently have twice the load capacity, which is handy when carrying rocks or rock-like things. The trucks were very big, like the ones you see in monster truck shows, except without the belching fire and ramps to jump over.

We finally got off the mountain, unhitched the trailer at the farm (I forgot to get the contents from the fridge—I knew I’d forget something. But at least I remembered my pants, even though I wasn’t even wearing them at the time), then went to Home in Hope to have a late lunch before what would turn out to be a 159 hour commute into Vancouver. I am exaggerating, but only by a little.

Here is a picture of our lunch. Jeff had Champignon Schnitzel, which is the most foreign-sounding thing on the menu. It came covered in gravy and mushrooms, so much so that you could not see what was underneath. It could have been called Mystery in the Gravy. I ordered a club sandwich on rye bread and every time I have a club sandwich I am reminded of how silly they are. You do not need three slices of bread (or toast) for a sandwich. That’s like 1200 calories alone. Also, you almost need a reticulated jaw to actually bite into a club house.

It was still delicious. I could not finish the nicely crisp French fries, though. The order size is based on your weight, judging from how many I got. I was originally going to order pie for dessert (I’m trying to make dessert after lunch a thing) but we were too stuffed and passed.

After lunch, we gassed up (Jeff eerily predicted the exact dollar amount the tank would take), then began the last leg of our journey, leaving Hope behind (again, never tiring of Hope jokes). Things went smoothly until we reached Abbotsford, which is the unofficial entryway into the Lower Mainland. Suddenly the left lane, which is only supposed to be used for passing, became the other lane to use in order to clog up the whole system. Which it did. We went from 110 km/h to 80 km/h to 30 km/h to sometimes just plain stopping. It turns out there was an accident—on the other side of the highway, which is separated by a large median strip, thus having zero impact on traffic on our side of the highway.

People are weird.

Things finally improved when the two lanes changed to three and we finally got into New West around 5 p.m., in time to agree on a quickie pizza dinner—a few hours later. This would give Jeff a chance to recover from the driving in a nice hot bath and me a chance to clean the dirty clothes in a nice hot washer.

After that I unpacked everything, tidied up a few things around the condo (our veggies sadly expired in our absence. Good thing we don’t have pets) and now I’m wrapping up the whole thing here at my familiar computer desk, but I’m being kooky and consistent by typing this final day’s update on the same iPad with its Smart Cover keyboard, after which I will use the magic of home internet to hopefully upload this all to my blog.

And with that, the official travel part of Summer Vacation 2018 comes to an end. There may be more, but it will involve walking around the neighborhood or possibly riding the SkyTrain, which is less exotic than driving a thousand km to a remote northern mining town.

Day 11 – Wednesday, July 11, 2018
FVDRA campsite

It was not 28ºC today.

It was actually 29ºC. zomg, as the kids would say. The summer weather has arrived just in time for the last few days of vacation.

It was already 28 when we got up, like someone threw the Summer Switch from OFF to ON.

I actually wore my sunglasses. It was amazing.

Today was hiking day. We started by doing the Beaver Tail Loop, a 5 km or so set of connected trails designed for kids to ride on. It wends through the forest, so most of it was fairly comfortable. Less comfortable was the giant unavoidable puddle that forced me to put my waterproof shoes to the test. They passed.

There were also several downed trees, likely due to construction crews trying to keep the culverts clear. And also maybe they secretly hate dirt bikers. “Haha, ride over THAT, buddy!”

We also forded a real life babbling brook (it was a small fording) and crossed a new bridge that replaces an old rickety one that was in the path of a beaver dam. We saw the dam, but I did not see any beavers, alas.

The next hike was to the famed Hobbit House. We descended deep into the woods and down a tricksy hill. At one point the path curved and became very narrow and I experienced a few moments of vertigo. It was weird, and as you would expect with vertigo, disorienting. It passed quickly, though, and we made our way down to a giant, yet sadly dead cedar that has been hollowed out, with a charming wooden door added to it. Officially it’s known as the Trickle Creek Tree House to avoid lawsuits from the Tolkien estate. Inside it is dark and scary, which is not like a hobbit house at all. It’s nothing a hobbit couldn’t fix, though.

There is also a spectacular waterfall farther down the hill. Here is a less than spectacular shot of it. This is as close as I got because the rest of the trail down is so steep and narrow there is a steel cable provided for you to hold onto. Or in my case, to hold onto briefly before slipping and sliding the rest of the way down to my doom.

The third hike was up an unused secondary road leading up the mountainside. It promised nice views and badly burned skin, as it is completely out in the open. In a rare case of foresight, I slathered sun block all over my arms, my face and my neck—including the back of the neck. I did not put any on my legs as they seem impervious to burning, for some reason. The result: a 75 minute hike later and I am as lily-white as when I started. This is nothing short of a miracle, believe me.

The hike itself was as you would expect—more work going up than going down, but not exactly a cakewalk (mmm, cake) going down, either, as the rocks and general lumpiness keep you from descending drag strip racer style.

The views were very nice, despite abundant evidence of logging in days gone by. Jeff opted to commune with nature by walking in a clothing-optional configuration. While sunblock might prevent one’s doodle from being scorched by the sun, I’d still be afraid of a great big horsefly biting mine if I hiked au naturel. It’s too bad, too, because I have incredibly sexy buns.

Jeff’s are pretty decent, too.

We ultimately hit a dead end, took in the view (both with and without buns of steel on display) and made our way back. It was quiet warm, but a breeze helped and the sunglasses worked a treat, as the Brits say. Or maybe it’s the Irish. Or all of them. I don’t have any internet as I type this, so I can’t check.

Jeff is continuing to work on his tan while I continue to work on remaining very white. Tonight we are having pasta for dinner, another fire and may decide whether we stay another full day or head homeward tomorrow. Jeff has a highly developed “lounge around, relaxing and enjoying the quiet of nature” sense, where I’m more I MUST BE IN CONSTANT MOTION LIKE A SHARK OR ELSE. So we’ll see how it goes.

UPDATE

For dinner we had pasta with a manly beef sauce and it was very good. Everything tastes slightly amazing when you’re out camping.

Jeff cut some fresh wood for the fire tonight and it’s weird how incredibly light some of the logs are. I could pick one up with one hand and balance it on the tip of my nose.

I took on the task of building the fire tonight and it was a raging, magnificent inferno. We didn’t even require any of Jeff’s magic elixir* to give it a boost.

We are turning in earlier tonight and mercifully it’s cooled down quite a bit from the day (ironic, I know, that we have so quickly come to complaining about how hot it is). After some discussion we have decided to head home tomorrow after a pit stop in Hope for food and gas (but not lodging).

The FVDRA campsite is quite nice. We got in good hikes, there were a few pesky flies, but very few mosquitoes, and, of course, it was blissfully quiet.

*motor oil

Day 10 – Tuesday, July 10, 2018
Fraser Canyon, FVDRA campsite

When we got up at Arrowhead the lake was placid, as all good lakes are in the morning. It wasn’t too long after that the wind started whipping things up again.

The family with all the girls packed up their tents and left before we were even up, and we didn’t even sleep in—honest! But really, camping with a baby is probably not something you want to push the envelope on, time-wise. They don’t understand mosquitoes like adults do. Or hate them like I do.

We decided to head off because while Green Lake is theoretically a nice place, there isn’t much to do if you don’t have a boat or aren’t there to swim, and my swimming skills are only slightly better than my flying skills. I tucked a thank you note (ed.–autocorrect originally had this as “I tucked a thank you horse”) into the locked suggestion box at the campground entrance along with a $20 bill, as we did not see any friendly park rangers to give our money to. The camping fee is $18, so I suggested the extra two dollars was for leaving us alone.

We didn’t have a specific destination in mind, other than south and hopefully somewhere warm—it was about 14ºC when we left camp at 11 a.m.

Our journey took us to Cache Creek again, but instead of getting gas, we just drove though—with one dramatic change. We fought an army of zombie Vikings. No, we didn’t. We diverted to Highway 1 to continue to our next major stopping point outside Hope, taking the old Fraser Canyon route. The Coquihalla Highway is more direct, wider, safer and more modern, while the Fraser Canyon route is narrow, winding, has occasional potholes that have swallowed up entire subcompacts never to be seen again, has numerous steep grades, BUT none of the grades are as long and steep as some on the Coquihalla, making it preferable for driving in Jeff’s mind. In my mind I was white-knuckling the wheel most of the way and I wasn’t even driving.

Jeff began getting tired, because driving through the Fraser Canyon requires the same level of concentration as brain surgery, so we started looking for a rest area to, well, rest. But for some reason nearly every pull-off on this stretch of Highway 1 is unmarked, so you don’t see them until it’s too late to pull over. One official rest area did have a sign posted 100 m in advance, which is the equivalent of a two nanosecond warning when in a motor vehicle.

We eventually parked in front of a motel in Boston Bar that offered breakfast all day. We did not have breakfast, all day or otherwise. Instead we had good old camping staples: hot dogs and my favorite soup of all time, Bean with Bacon. I can’t even explain why I like it so much, but I do. Even as I type this I regret we have already used the one can we had.

Onward we went, past Hell’s Gate, which I’ve been to as a child, but I was too young and don’t really remember more than what you see on a post card. I would probably pee my pants taking the tram across the canyon to the other side. I don’t do well with heights in certain situations. Such as when I am very high above the ground.

Jeff normally stows the trailer at the home of a dirt-biking cohort and it turns out he lives just on the other side of Hope, so Jeff suggested we go to the FVDRA site where he rides dirt bikes with other people who like to get dirty on bikes. It’s about 5 km away from his friend’s place. The trick is to get to the site you have to drive up a 5 km mountain road that requires four wheel drive. With a trailer. Not that the four wheel drive requires a trailer, but it’s what we had to pull with the truck, as all our stuff is in it.

We made the slow, winding trek up the mountain to camp after a convoy of construction vehicles went by first. They’re cleaning up a nearby railings a pond. Jeff used the radio to confirm they had all passed, just like they did in Smokey and the Bandit. I could almost hear Jerry Reed singing in the background.

We set up camp, fired up the generator—here the generator hours are “Until you run out of gas.” I walked around to look at the site and Jeff immediately gouged his hand setting up his radio antenna. Take note, kids—radio is dangerous!

We aired out the bedding, strolled a few trails, walked to the magic spot where you can get one bar of cell coverage—I suggested a sign for the spot with ALL YOUR WORRIES BEGIN HERE.

Later, Jeff chopped some of the local wood for our fire. Local wood is easy peasy to chop compared to the alpine wood up north. The northern wood is 60% concrete. But lo, he cut into a piece and found signs of pine beetle shenanigans. These little pests can fell entire forests because it no longer gets cold enough in the winter to kill them off. When global warming leads to the next ice age, that’ll show ‘em.

Here’s a pic showing how the beetle burrowed into the wood and then made cozy little burrows for all of its eggs, so they could grown up and continue devastating the countryside. Why can’t these things just breed in the nice warm dirt?

We are having chicken for dinner tonight and I am curious to see how a fire will burn when it doesn’t have 130 km/h winds to help it.

UPDATE AT 9:52 P.M.

This is the darkest it’s been since we’ve been traveling. I know that sounds a bit lame to people who stay up till 1 a.m. and chart half of the entire night sky, but for us it’s impressive.

It’s also cloudy, so we can’t actually chart any stars.

Dinner was yummy and for dessert we again had S’mores. Jeff used both of his marshmallows to do an impression of Burning Man. I made mine toasty golden brown in a way that would have done Martha Stewart proud. Not prison-era Martha, the one before (or after).

The fire burned very nicely.

The forecast for tomorrow is mainly sunny with a high of 28ºC. I will believe this when I experience it. And maybe not even then.