Right Wing Noel looked happy. It wasn’t exactly like looking into a mirror but he had a hat, was probably in his early fifties and wore his gray beard well. Right Wing Noel wore a t-shirt listing what I assumed are his favorite attributes. Conservative. Meat Eater. Gun Owner. At the top of the list though was “Unvaccinated.” Really? This is what we have come down to. A good looking older man is proud, crazy proud (top of his list!), of his higher chance of catching not just COVID but also more traditional stuff like shingles and the flu. He was also Canadian. Shirt had a large Maple leaf on the side. Was surprised by that too.

While swimming at Lake Osoyoos a bald eagle flew low and heavy just a few feet over my head, its talons gripping a large trout. The day before we spied a moose and her calf standing by the side of the road. They waited until we made a full stop before quickly crossing in front of us. Meanwhile back at home the political system is quickly unraveling with the ex-president, a man who has frequently rallied his followers to violence (his behavior on January 6, his gleeful sharing of images featuring a bloody Joe Biden and his celebration of a pro-Biden campaign bus being forced off the road in Texas are the first three examples that come to mind) inches away from being assassinated. That is horrible. It should never happen anywhere let alone in America.

We are now at the southern end of the Okanagan Valley, just a few miles north of the US border. The valley is roughly one hundred twenty miles long and only twelve miles long with Highway 97 running up and down it’s border. Over a hundred degrees during the day. Nothing unusual about that either. It’s Canada’s desert but with what seems to be unlimited irrigation (even the lawns are green ) it produces an incredible amount of fruits and berries with the latter turned into delicious wine. So many wineries. Some fancy. Some less so. Expensive but, with the strong US dollar (or maybe it’s the weak Canadian dollar) it’s not too bad. And it’s a dry heat where the shade and the water make it all better.

It’s been a glorious month on the road with at least a couple more weeks to go. And while Canada is a very nice place to be, it isn’t quite home. Home is our siblings, parents and grandmother plus friends and neighbors whom we all miss dearly. It is also sometimes politics, arguments and tempers. We hate to admit it, but we miss that too.

Those darn seals kept us awake again last night. They make their appearance around twilight and then, as the sea darkens to a shadow, they begin snorting, flattening the water with their fins and otherwise horsing around. Practically no point in even trying to get to sleep. And does the campground care? Ha! They claim there is nothing they can do. They could though post a few signs, right? I know not every seal can read but it still might make a difference.

We enjoyed both islands but liked Mayne just a bit more. Mayne is just so islandy (tiny, few services, everyone knows everyone and if you spend more than a day there they will know you too). Unlike the mega metropolis of Spring Island (population 10,000 with at least two restaurants /bars that stay open past 8 PM), Mayne has just a thousand residents, two small grocery stores, two restaurants plus an incredibly good take out pizza place and a brewery that stays open to six but only during the “busy” summer season.

Even Gilligan eventually left the island. And sadly so will we. In a little bit. We are waiting now in a clean room with views of the bay, fresh water and a place to charge one’s phone. For one used to Chicago’s dysfunctional CTA it all seems so magical. So much so that one can excuse a few unruly seals.

Shirley Delicious is that and a lot more. And they are friendly too; nice people who will laugh at your jokes and talk a bit even while the line builds up behind you. And no one in that line even seems to care. This is the West Coast. People are just happy to be; at beaches where they watch the waves for whales while their kids jump in ice cold water. Or in the rain forest where serious backpackers walk past couples carrying folding chairs. It is expensive to live here but not to visit and even if some of the parking lots fill the beaches never do. There is everything and nothing to do all at once.

Locals call it The Rock. And like Alcatraz, Vancouver Island is surrounded by water. That’s why they call it an island. And just like Alcatraz, Vancouver Island is an amazingly gentle and beautiful place the locals call paradise. OK, Vancouver Island is nothing like Alcatraz. But locals do call it The Rock.

Once upon a time there were three brothers. Albert, Harry and Carl. Harry stayed in Sweden. Carl laid bricks in Chicago and Albert was a lumberjack who worked his way to Vancouver Island. And then decades later two of Albert and Carl’s grandchildren along with their special friends Carmen and Noel hiked a pretty route in Sooke. They saw some whales way off in the distance and then had pints at a local pub. Later they played Cribbage and Noel was disappointed with how that went. And they had a Canadian Mediterranean dinner (fries smothered in tabouli salad- it was good). One of the grandchildren, I won’t say which, came to the party with a massive freshly caught Salmon filet caught on a fishing trip paid for by a lucky Canadian lottery ticket. The other grandchild presented a used paper back book. So it was an even trade.

Yeah it was a pretty awesome day. And the next was good too. Butchart Garden in the morning then Beacon Hill Park in the afternoon. That plus a mug up at a local coffee shop and some wandering around downtown Victoria makes for a pretty fun day. Life on The Rock is good.

I’ll tell you one thing that’s big. It’s our laundry bag. Way bigger now than either one of our two duffle bags. Actually bigger than both duffle bags combined which doesn’t seem right. Last night I bought some underwear at Walmart just so we could make it to tonight’s Airbnb. It comes with a washer and dryer. Corey had to do the same last week a few days before Park City.

A tiny house is not for everyone. After a few days it was not really for me either although the ladder was not as difficult as I had imagined it to be. The toilet though was annoying; had two settings, one for going one and the other for doing a number two. That can be a lot to remember in the middle of the night.

The ultimate big thing of course is the ocean. Hard to top that one. Drive in any direction and eventually the ocean stops you. It’s that limit we search out; that moment when the earth says you can do no more. In a little bit we will drive onto a boat which will then ferry us to a new mysterious land called Canada. Few have ever gone this far north. Those that have returned have been driven mad with visions of hockey, a currency slightly less valuable than our own and a weird tendency to say “right on.” It’s “aboot” time we made it back.

Just a little bit outside of Mount Rainier National Park is Packwood. Spread neatly across Route 12, it has a few motels, a historic lodge (the recently restored Hotel Packwood), a brewery (this is Washington after all) and one amazing coffee shop.

We loved The Mountain Goat mostly for the covered outside area facing the Hotel Packwood and then behind that the low mountains building up to Mount Rainier. They also roast their own beans and serve delicious food. Nothing wrong with the inside area either; lots of dark wood and comfortable chairs.

The Mountain Goat also was our last stop in the Mount Rainier area, a pause before venturing deeper into the Pacific Northwest (home of my long time nemesis The Yeti). It was an amazing three nights camping with my best friend, girlfriend and wife who, lucky for me, are all the same person. But the road is calling and we must go (all apologies to John Muir).

The barn was painted over with a sign saying “Morton went woke, what a joke” and then a bunch of other things too difficult to read from a car doing about sixty on the windy road between Packwood and Morton. The handmade signage up in Yeti country is really something else. A lot of it was the usual MAGA stuff but some of it I honestly had no idea what they were referencing. But a short while later we came to the exit for Morton and, well, it seemed like a fun riddle to solve. What made Morton woke?

We started at the visitor center. Or at least we tried to. Lots of arrows pointing us somewhere led to a small building with an empty parking lot and a big open sign on the door. It was closed. Across the street was a small home with a Trump flag. So far it seemed Woke zero, MAGA one.

Made our way into town and saw our first Woke clue. It was a bench dressed up in Pride colors. Beside it was a mural starring a gay Yeti (he flew the Pride flag) and a defiant message stating “Those who broke our windows cannot break our spirit.” Now we were getting somewhere.

We started asking around at the local businesses.  Nothing to direct. Not, “Do you agree with the homophobes?” Just a little bit of open ended comments. No one wanted to comment. Not at the thrift store which was tended by a young woman with colorful tattoos. Or the coffee shop people who served incredibly delicious food along with their eclectic personalities. It was just a couple of MAGA signs in town, a few broken windows (a Google search found it happened on June 26, 2023 with several Pride related symbols attacked), and a whole bunch of townfolk not wanting to talk about it. Someone did say that they felt the town was split pretty much in half with some folk “conservative” and others not. I asked what was conservative about committing a hate crime. They had no answer. But in their silence was one definite truth. Morton is not nearly woke enough.

We stopped in Baker City for gas and then left a couple of hours later with a bottle of craft gin and a bottle of wine from the local vineyard. This was in addition to the tasty individualized lunch prepared for us by the local cheesemonger. The only question she asked was olives or almonds. From just that and, I don’t know, maybe our auras, she created a small personalized charcuterie board. Oh, and I can’t forget the chocolatier who also owns an incredible art gallery. It was, walk into the city just a bit to take a picture (the one above) and then have a casual conversation with a local which led us to one business which then led to more conversations and so on. The last business we passed was the reality office. Luckily (or maybe unluckily) they were closed for the day.

Today was such an awesome day, I am going to make like Quentin Tarantino and tell the day out of order. I’m edgy like that. So after we met the cheesemonger in Baker City (see The Most Magical Travel Day Part 1) but before hopping into a hopped up beer at 5th Line Brewing (Yakima, WA), Corey and I feasted on asparagus tamales. So much better than they sound. Don’t believe me? Well they don’t give out James Beard Awards to just anyone.

We actually got in kind of late. The chairs were up on the tables and the tamales were hours out of the oven. They were still stinking good. But I guess not as good as they are when they come right out of the oven. Still so good.

The only reason we knew about the magic tamale place was because of the owner of the antique store in Union Gap, WA. We were all set to eat somewhere else before he let it slip about the world famous eatery (and it is world famous, people come from all over to eat their tamales but tonight it was just Corey, myself and a tourist from Seattle).

Honestly was not expecting much out of Somewhere In Time but…well let’s just say we might be needing a bigger roof cab.

And then we stumbled upon this brewery a half block from our hotel. Come on! Right now a lunatic and an old man are debating on television. But Corey and I are just sitting outside. A couple of  kids are playing tether ball a bit too close to our table. If we look past the kids we see the mountains. A highway too. And there ain’t nowhere we would rather be.