Okay, it’s been a while. I guess you could say we’re in a R&R phase here in Lake Tahoe, the place where we got married 8 years ago, and just really getting into not doing much. I’m down with a hip injury so some of it may be forced rest time. Right now could be a great opportunity to write about how I injured my hip with some heroic, adrenaline-filled, gnarly mountain bike crash or something. Yeah, like I was trying to jump the American River Canyon (sans cape and stretchy pants), came up short, cased the other side, did like 14 flips before sliding face first to a stop, limped out 22 miles to a dusty, desolate highway.
Or how about a rock climbing fall? Yeah, remember that scene from Cliffhanger, the opening scene where Sly is hanging by one hand from an overhang like a thousand feet off the ground, well how does that sound? There I am no rope, and it starts to rain. Above I hear a mountain lion taking a leak on a sage bush….
Okay. It was a yoga injury. There, I said it. While trying to protect my body from injury because of all the physical activity we’ve been doing, I went and injured myself. Irony is a female dog. A not very well trained one I might add.
So from the North Cascades we drifted north to Rossland BC, home of Red Mountain. But not before crossing the border at the smallest, least conspicuous border crossing I’ve ever seen. Picture a little shack, stop sign, and a guy inside dozing, listening to Bryan Adams. He waves us forward tells us to shut off the van. Uh oh. Not like the Peace Arch crossing eh? There you’ve got like 4 lanes of cars pouring through the border, no time to chat much less turn off your car. I guess we weren’t in Kansas anymore.
“Where ya from?”
Think here, we’re not really from anywhere at the moment. I mean, we’re from the last place we left technically. We don’t live in Seattle anymore. We don’t live in San Fran yet. Where ARE we from? Good, philosophical question there. Could ponder that for eons. Maybe toss in, ‘Why are we here? What’s the meaning of life?’
“We’re from Seattle.”
“Why are you here?”
Damn it! Where do you start with this one? Descarte? Lao Tzu? Or how about the Navajo origin myth?
“Little bit of mountain biking, climbing up in ROSSland.” That’s how you have to say it when you don’t know how it’s pronounced by the locals. Lots of stress on the Ross part.
“Rozzlin eh?”
Should've known. Not only did I screw up the Ross part but I pronounced the land as, well, land. Now everybody knows that if there's a place that ends in land you never pronouce it that way. I'm from Maryland. Pretty common knowledge that it's pronounced like the woman's name Marilyn, not Mary-Land. Know of any place that ends in land that says it like land? Only one I know is Disneyland. No one ever says, "Hey Earl, what say you, me, and the boys load up the truck full a beer and weiners and head on down to Disneylin." Other than that, if it ends in land you should say lin. I know this. And yet.
“Got rabies shots for yer dog?"
Yeah, and we’ve got the paperwork to prove it, you tree tapper. Di digs around in the back for the paperwork and the guy looks at me, asks me what I do for a living. I tell him I’m a teacher. The next question seemed a little off topic, but I think these guys really know what they’re doing.
“Ever been convicted of a felony?”
“No.” Here he pauses for a moment, looks at me harder, his eyes squinting a bit.
“Ever?”
“No. Never.” I look in the rear view mirror, not a car in sight. This guy’s got no motivation to speed things up.
“Know anyone in Rozzlin, any friends or family up there?”
“Nope.” I’m starting to get a little bothered by now. I’m just trying to go into this guy’s country and spend my weak, dying American dollar and he wants to grill me? I mean the dollar and the loonie are about one to one. No more deals for us gringos in mapleland. It won’t take much for me to swing the van back around and head south pal.
Di produces the paperwork, I hand it to him. He takes it and tells me, while sliding the window shut on me, “I need to look something up.”
How much time passed? I don’t know. All I know is that the sun was starting to set and we still had a ways to go before we found a camp somewhere. And look something up? What’s that supposed to mean? Like he had to google something? Check the weather?
The window slid back open and he handed the paperwork back to me.
“Okay,” he said, “Do you know where you are?”
“Well we know where we are on the map,” I said back.
“Okay, because tourists don’t normally go through this crossing. The only reason I’m here is because of that beer store right there,” he points back into America and a little store with neon “Bud Light” signs in the window. “The only reason people go through here is to go and get cheap American beer.”
A six pack of Kokanee, the Canadian version of Budweiser, costs over $12 dollars. You read that right. Twelve friggin’ greenbacks.
It occurred to me that we didn’t know where we were and ended up at the wrong border crossing. He tells us how to get where we’re going, gives us a map to help us out, describes a little the good places to visit.
“Have a nice trip,” he says as I fire up the van. The sun now below the horizon. Have a nice trip. From his point of view we could have been drug runners, or beer runners for that matter. No wonder his obvious suspicion in our crossing there. There were a whole lot more questions than what I wrote, like, “How long will you be in Canada? Ever live anywhere else in Washington besides Seattle? Anywhere? What’s your wife do for a living?” When given this answer (biostatistician) he looked back blankly, lips open like a fish, then moved merrily along to the next question forgetting he ever heard that word. To the Kootenays we went. And as everybody knows, BC is a beautiful place. No need for elaboration eh?
From Rossland down to Leavenworth for a few days and then straight to Bend Oregon, that gem in the desert, to visit Esther, Adam, and Amanda. Another awesome time together with friends. Esther was housesitting so we got to get out of the van for a few days. And like Bedouins coming off the Silk Road, we plunked down into a real, bonafide bed. Used real flushing toilets. Never bumped our head on the ceiling once. It’s the little things folks. For darned sure.
From Bend to Lake Tahoe. And here we are. Right back in the present moment. Gonna start making our way south through Yosemite, then down to Mammoth Lakes, and then Bishop. Plan is to end it with some time on the coast, Big Sur, a must see they say. Looks amazing. Off we go!
Or how about a rock climbing fall? Yeah, remember that scene from Cliffhanger, the opening scene where Sly is hanging by one hand from an overhang like a thousand feet off the ground, well how does that sound? There I am no rope, and it starts to rain. Above I hear a mountain lion taking a leak on a sage bush….
Okay. It was a yoga injury. There, I said it. While trying to protect my body from injury because of all the physical activity we’ve been doing, I went and injured myself. Irony is a female dog. A not very well trained one I might add.
So from the North Cascades we drifted north to Rossland BC, home of Red Mountain. But not before crossing the border at the smallest, least conspicuous border crossing I’ve ever seen. Picture a little shack, stop sign, and a guy inside dozing, listening to Bryan Adams. He waves us forward tells us to shut off the van. Uh oh. Not like the Peace Arch crossing eh? There you’ve got like 4 lanes of cars pouring through the border, no time to chat much less turn off your car. I guess we weren’t in Kansas anymore.
“Where ya from?”
Think here, we’re not really from anywhere at the moment. I mean, we’re from the last place we left technically. We don’t live in Seattle anymore. We don’t live in San Fran yet. Where ARE we from? Good, philosophical question there. Could ponder that for eons. Maybe toss in, ‘Why are we here? What’s the meaning of life?’
“We’re from Seattle.”
“Why are you here?”
Damn it! Where do you start with this one? Descarte? Lao Tzu? Or how about the Navajo origin myth?
“Little bit of mountain biking, climbing up in ROSSland.” That’s how you have to say it when you don’t know how it’s pronounced by the locals. Lots of stress on the Ross part.
“Rozzlin eh?”
Should've known. Not only did I screw up the Ross part but I pronounced the land as, well, land. Now everybody knows that if there's a place that ends in land you never pronouce it that way. I'm from Maryland. Pretty common knowledge that it's pronounced like the woman's name Marilyn, not Mary-Land. Know of any place that ends in land that says it like land? Only one I know is Disneyland. No one ever says, "Hey Earl, what say you, me, and the boys load up the truck full a beer and weiners and head on down to Disneylin." Other than that, if it ends in land you should say lin. I know this. And yet.
“Got rabies shots for yer dog?"
Yeah, and we’ve got the paperwork to prove it, you tree tapper. Di digs around in the back for the paperwork and the guy looks at me, asks me what I do for a living. I tell him I’m a teacher. The next question seemed a little off topic, but I think these guys really know what they’re doing.
“Ever been convicted of a felony?”
“No.” Here he pauses for a moment, looks at me harder, his eyes squinting a bit.
“Ever?”
“No. Never.” I look in the rear view mirror, not a car in sight. This guy’s got no motivation to speed things up.
“Know anyone in Rozzlin, any friends or family up there?”
“Nope.” I’m starting to get a little bothered by now. I’m just trying to go into this guy’s country and spend my weak, dying American dollar and he wants to grill me? I mean the dollar and the loonie are about one to one. No more deals for us gringos in mapleland. It won’t take much for me to swing the van back around and head south pal.
Di produces the paperwork, I hand it to him. He takes it and tells me, while sliding the window shut on me, “I need to look something up.”
How much time passed? I don’t know. All I know is that the sun was starting to set and we still had a ways to go before we found a camp somewhere. And look something up? What’s that supposed to mean? Like he had to google something? Check the weather?
The window slid back open and he handed the paperwork back to me.
“Okay,” he said, “Do you know where you are?”
“Well we know where we are on the map,” I said back.
“Okay, because tourists don’t normally go through this crossing. The only reason I’m here is because of that beer store right there,” he points back into America and a little store with neon “Bud Light” signs in the window. “The only reason people go through here is to go and get cheap American beer.”
A six pack of Kokanee, the Canadian version of Budweiser, costs over $12 dollars. You read that right. Twelve friggin’ greenbacks.
It occurred to me that we didn’t know where we were and ended up at the wrong border crossing. He tells us how to get where we’re going, gives us a map to help us out, describes a little the good places to visit.
“Have a nice trip,” he says as I fire up the van. The sun now below the horizon. Have a nice trip. From his point of view we could have been drug runners, or beer runners for that matter. No wonder his obvious suspicion in our crossing there. There were a whole lot more questions than what I wrote, like, “How long will you be in Canada? Ever live anywhere else in Washington besides Seattle? Anywhere? What’s your wife do for a living?” When given this answer (biostatistician) he looked back blankly, lips open like a fish, then moved merrily along to the next question forgetting he ever heard that word. To the Kootenays we went. And as everybody knows, BC is a beautiful place. No need for elaboration eh?
From Rossland down to Leavenworth for a few days and then straight to Bend Oregon, that gem in the desert, to visit Esther, Adam, and Amanda. Another awesome time together with friends. Esther was housesitting so we got to get out of the van for a few days. And like Bedouins coming off the Silk Road, we plunked down into a real, bonafide bed. Used real flushing toilets. Never bumped our head on the ceiling once. It’s the little things folks. For darned sure.
From Bend to Lake Tahoe. And here we are. Right back in the present moment. Gonna start making our way south through Yosemite, then down to Mammoth Lakes, and then Bishop. Plan is to end it with some time on the coast, Big Sur, a must see they say. Looks amazing. Off we go!
5 comments:
Probably the funniest thing I've read in a long time. Glad you two are having so much fun. Wish we were there.
That there be sum funny writin'! Seriously, you should tweak that a bit and send it in to the CBC's Vinyl Cafe. I thoroughly enjoyed reading that little bit. Can't wait for the next installment. Vaya con dios amigos.
Oh, in case you were wondering, the illustrious writer of the previous piece of prose was Dave.
I love the pics, especially the multiple shots of Di climbing. You look at the first one and it's totally epic, she's all spider-legged out, WORKING for that summit. And then you see the safety mat, like 3 feet below her in the next frame. WTF, mate? It's like seeing an on-the-set photo from Star Wars. NO, I don't want to see/believe that the Imperial Walkers are only 2ft tall, dammit!!! I wanna believe that they are from a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
Sorry Chuck. When we got the shots back from Pixar they included a note that said, "Due to the Pixarator's temporary service malfunction we could not 'correct' the photos as requested. Please consider us in the future for your simulacra transfiguration needs."
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