The Retasket Motel and RV park turned out to be pretty good. Our site had power and water, and was a few sites away from anybody else. The bathroom – just one for everybody – was clean and weirdly communal. The one room held a single sink, two toilets, two showers, and no interior walls, curtains, stalls or dividers. I wouldn’t want to use it with anyone else but family. We looked the door whenever we went in.

Waking up in the mountains on the 27th, with the sere cliffs surrounding Lilloet offering spectacular vistas in every direction was invigorating. It was a gorgeous day. We laid out our belongings, wet from two days of rain in Golden Ears Provincial Park, in the morning sun. It was necessary, but I always feel so trashy with our things lying all around our trailer. I willed the sun to be hotter.

Those Johnston Kids found an apricot tree with lots of fruit next to our campsite. I offered to make a compote if they wanted to pick some and remove the pits. Excited, they picked a heaping bowlful and shortly thereafter presented me with the pitted mound of fresh fruit. I boiled them with brown sugar, honey and cinnamon until they were soft, and served them with pancakes and ripe plantains. We eat okay.

We wanted to go trail riding, but didn’t know of any ranches. Pulled into the Historic Hat Creek Ranch, north-east of Lilloet on the presumption that a ranch has horses. This one was a preservation of some original ranch buildings and a roadhouse, staffed with people in period dress. They usually had trail rides, we were told, but not this season. Rather than drive around looking for a trail ride and maybe not finding one, we decided to stay and check it out.

There was not so much interesting that I could see. We spent a long time searching for little polished stones in the ‘panning’ area and then took a stagecoach to the native village recreation. That wasn’t bad. Our young native guide was a bit too contemporary, but knowledgeable and I enjoyed our conversation with him. Afterwards, we toured the roadhouse. It reminded me of my grandfather Bill’s house. The scent of old wallpaper and the creaking of wooden floorboards were evocative for me. Back out in the sun, Those Johnston Kids went for ice cream with Alison while I looked for more coloured rocks. It’s mindless I know, but I could do that all day.

We headed south to Kamloops next. We needed to wash Those Johnston Kids’ sleeping bags which had become noticeably gamy smelling. Alison has a fancy new camera and insisted that we stop several times for photo ops. How will we remember if we don’t lsee with our digital eyes?

We found a laundromat in Kamloops, but the skeletal woman there wouldn’t let us wash because she was closing in 45 minutes. She gave us directions to another laundry across town, where the really scuzzy people go. There was a crazy looking homeless man, Carl I think, in the next laundry, doing people’s laundry for a fee. Apparently he washed clothes, just not his own, which were stiff and dirty. He had intimate knowledge of the machines and helped me start the finicky washer. He even knew which year’s coins would be rejected by the change machine. Carl’s long unbrushed hair and gone to dreadlocks, including one that looked like a paddle and seemed to weigh his head down on that side. He wore the tattered remains of sneakers, so ragged they were without soles. The scraps of cloth, black and shiny with street dirt, covered no more than his toes and he kicked them in front of himself like slippers. They couldn’t even be called slippers, though, because they simple didn’t cover any appreciable portion of his foot. Most of his bare foot was on the ground. It seemed like a lot of work to kick around the shoe tatters. I wanted to ask him why he didn’t wash his own clothes or get some kind of footwear, but didn’t. He was pleasant enough when chatting, but clearly listened to some internal voice. I noticed him writing something in pen on a notepad, and stole a peek when he was busy with his laundry contracts. The page was dense with the microscopic writing no more than a millimetre or two high, and he added notes according to some design I didn’t see, filling in random white space on the page with tiny scrawl. Again I wanted to ask, but refrained.

Leaving Kamloops with clean, sweet smelling sleeping bags, we stopped again, again,and  again, for gas, Tim Hortons, and groceries. ‘A few things’ at the Superstore turned into six bags and the scarce empty space in our car was filled with foodstuffs, not unlike how the white space on Carl’s page was filled with minute blue ink observations. Perhaps he was writing a manifesto against consumerism.

It had been a long day on the road, and Those Johnston Kids couldn’t hold on for the last 30 minute ride to the randomly chosen campground, Pinegrove Campground and RV Park. It was full dark when I roused the proprietor to secure a spot. Eschewing the typical campground map with our site circled, he personally lead us to our powered campsite in a golf cart. This was a full-service operation. I was impressed. I have decided that if I ever own a horse I will name it ‘Golf Cart’.

Those Johnston Kids roused just long enough to brush their teeth and fall into plush clean sleeping bags. They were asleep in moments and looked like angels.

The next morning, Sunday the 26th, we packed up in the rain. Everything got wet, including stuff that had something managed to stay merely damp after two days of rain. Ironically, campfires were still banned. I expect they’re waiting until the fire pits are literally puddles and we have to burn our logs down to the water line and no further.

We drove into town, from clouds and rain into sunshine and heat. We decided to check out the Telus World of Science. It was free, after all, with our Ontario Science Centre membership. The crowded parking lot was a frank impossibility with the trailer. There were Smart cars cruising the lanes jonesing for a few square metres of empty space. Instead, we parked a few blocks away on a side street. That was not advised, as we were to discover.

The World of Science on a weekend was Madness. Utter Chaos. Every horizontal surface was smeared with a thick layer of children. I have to confess that I don’t really like children, besides my own, all that much. Even they get on my nerves a lot of the time. I think I expect children to just be scaled down adults. Kid logic confuses me and the lack of social niceties in them drives me insane. I cannot explain why I thought it was a good idea to go to a science centre on a weekend.

Still, the World of Science had lots of good hands-on stuff for the kids. I spent a good 20 minutes talking shop with the gardener out in the demonstration garden, for example, and picked up some good ideas. We did pay a bit extra to see the IMAX dinosaur film. It turned out to be a badly-animated dinosaur movie narrated by Michael Douglas, of all people. I hearkened back to whatshisname, Harry Potter’s sidekick, narrating the astronomy flick at Science North in Sudbury. What’s with all the once-A-listers narrating science centre films? Is it the minimum wage equivalent for famous actors? Those Johnston Kids seemed engaged, but I fell asleep and woke with a start from a dream. I had imagined that I was driving and a large flesh-eating theropod had lumbered into the road. I had jerked the wheel to avoid it and woken myself up. I compared notes with Alison after the show to see what I had missed, but she had fallen asleep too. We stayed until all of our feet were numb and it was well past are planned departure time. That was okay though, because I don’t like to interrupt a good time, in much the same way that I don’t like to wake people that are sleeping.

Did I mention that entrance to the World of Science is free with your Ontario Science Centre Membership? You’re a member by now, aren’t you?

We shuffled back to the car. From a block away I could see that something was wrong. The hazard lights on the car were flashing, in the way they will when someone tries to open the doors when the alarm has been engaged. We rushed up with some trepidation, dreading finding a pool of glass beneath a broken window, our valuables stolen. Luckily, the car was intact and nothing appeared to be missing. Or so we thought. After carefully checking the inside of the car and finding everything undisturbed, I realized that our bikes were missing from the rear rack. Some reprobate had stolen Baby Girl’s and my bikes. Short Pants’ bike was still safe in the trailer. In our hurry to get to the World of Science, I had neglected to put a cable lock on the bikes, not that I think it would have made much difference.

It was annoying to have our bikes stolen, but not overmuch. They were just things, after all. I guess whoever took them needed them, or cash, more than we did. I don’t expect they’ll get much for my beat up mountain bike without a seat, or Baby Girl’s kid-size mountain bike from Canadian Tire. Stupid poor people. Always wanting to eat and stuff.

We got on the road, a bit lighter and wiser from our visit to Vancouver. It was way too late already and we wanted to stay in Lilloet that night.

Dinner was flaccid fish and chips from some roadside fish house with a rude counter person and a greatly overrated reputation for fish and chips. Big Daddy’s in Tofino was way better.

We did make Lilloet after dark (sigh) and crawled around town looking for a place to stay. We finally found a motel with RV parking up on the side of a hill overlooking town. It was probably a great view in daylight, but we just wanted some sleep.

We woke up in the rain on the 25th, but at least we didn’t have to pack up. Mama was leaving us, sadly, as her vacation was at an end, but we were staying on another night at Golden Ears Provincial Park.

We skipped breakfast in favour of a quick getaway. We did take time to shower though. At Golden Ears Provincial Park (GEPP), the showers are free, but free in the men’s shower equals 4 seconds. Short Pants and I had to push the shower button every 4 seconds to restart it. It was warm, but maddening. In the women’s shower, free equals no time at all. Mama and Baby Girl had to hold the button down to get water. They tag-teamed.

Driving out of the mountains and into the city was enough to shake the rain. From the highway on the way in, we could see the grey sodden clouds hanging low over the mountains, Golden Ears park, and our stuff.

We got Mama to the airport, just in time. She and I were dreading the inevitably tearful goodbyes, but she was in such a hurry to make her flight when we dropped her off that it was like tearing a bandage off quick. In the rush, Those Johnston Kids don’t seem to realize immediately that Mama was on her way home. I also quickly changed the subject to breakfast, which appealed to their starving sensibilities.

We found our way to an IHOP close to the airport. As soon as we walked in we were greeted in a strangely friendly way, bordering on the intimate. I would have written it off as just a hostess thing, but our waiter was similarly obsequious. And the manager when he stopped to ask how our IHOP ‘experience’ was going. It was … unsettling. I suspect IHOP may be a Scientology sub-franchise. Nobody explicitly asked me about my happiness level, but it was coming.

Our massive bag of laundry demanded attention, so that was our next stop, as long as we were in town. We found a laundromat in a not-too-terrible neighbourhood and spent 2 hours washing, drying, and folding. Clean socks are the bomb.

With food in our bellies and clean clothes on our back, we went next to the Vancouver Aquarium in Stanley Park. We parked the car in the Aquarium lot and were drawn by the musical sounds of some sort of festival or party going on in an adjacent grassy area. Those Johnston Kids wanted to check it out before going into the Aquarium – you always have to think in terms of bouncy castle potential – so went over to investigate. We were just about into the thick of it when I noticed all the rainbow flags and very tight t-shirts. “Oh well, not for us,” I dissembled, and steered the kids back up the hill. On our way, I had to explain ‘gay’, ‘pride’, and prejudice against someone’s orientation. Those Johnston Kids understood it all pretty well but didn’t get why someone would be prejudiced against gay people. Beats me.

The Vancouver Aquarium is pretty damn cool! It’s also much bigger than I remembered. Although it was a weekend, we weren’t bothered too much by crowds, perhaps because we went to the outdoor exhibits rather than the underground aquariums. We saw a false killer whale, a dolphin, many sea otters (holy cow, they’re big!), three belugas, and some porpoises. We spent so much time with the marine mammals that we didn’t even get to the eponymous aquariums before closing time, which was surprisingly early at 6 PM. Had I known it closed so early, I would have waited to bring us until the next day in order to do the whole place for reals. I should have checked the times.

With some time to kill before picking up, we wandered into Stanley Park. I find Vancouver unsavoury in parts, and crowded everywhere, but it nonetheless exists on the doorstep of beauty. Stanley Park is one of the beautiful places that Vancouver is blessed to enjoy. Not coincidentally, the area of Stanley Park was home to a several native villages that were eradicated by the coming of Europeans. There are signs about, unashamedly letting you know that you are walking on the places of the people that were here before you. There are also totem poles and a gift shop. Our use as native guides has waned, but we still serve proudly as tourist attractions. I may even try my hand at crafts.

We picked up our guest camper Alison at the airport around 8:30. She was joining us for a week long transit of the Rockies and was leaving from Calgary. We Johnstons were in the mood for dinner in a restaurant,  but Alison was beat. In deference to our guest we made the hour long drive back to GEPP instead. As we drove up into the wooded coastal mountains, the rain started again. So this is what they mean by rain forest. Yay.

Back at camp, I made pasta with tomato and artichoke sauce and we sacked out.

Our charter fishing adventure ran later than expected. After we got back to the dock, Matt cleaned our fish in full view of the public at a cleaning station on the pier. Every tourist that passed by had to take a picture of the Fish, while every salt had to pause and whistle, “Nice spring. Where’d you catch that?” For a brief while, we were celebrities of the Tofino fishing world and it was glorious. We had power, money, women at our beck and call. Well, all of that except the first three, but it felt good. We also arranged, I hope, to have our catch filleted and sent home, but we’ll see if it shows up.

Since we left town so late, we spent the night of the 23rd at the Wya Point Resort, mid way between Tofino and Ucluelet. Naturally we arrived in the dark. When we woke on the 24th we found ourselves in a small RV campground, with very large lots. There was a small cafe/store at the other end of vast parking lot. We stopped in and purchased excellent pastries. There was a playground but it was just two swings of questionable safety. Their organic garden was also sorely missing a gardener. It was not very busy on the RV side, but there was more to the resort on the other side of the road. They looked busy over there, where the lodgings and restaurant were situated. It was just a rest stop for us, but it was clean and had a good feel to it. Maybe because it was native run. I’d like to see more businesses like that, and fewer craft shops selling dream catchers.

As we drove east from Tofino, we passed through the Cathedral Grove, a stand of giant redwoods wound through with viewing trails. Until you’ve seen giant redwoods in the flesh wood, it’s difficult to appreciate the true size of the trees. Even walking among them, I found myself overwhelmed. I kept looking up to try and put them into a manageable context. They are the largest living things that have ever existed on this planet. Yes, even bigger than blue whales. And we cut them down to make planks. We walked among the sweet smelling trees on trails muffled by fallen pine needles.

It was chilly and overcast, so we did not swim in the freezing green glass water of the Beaver River on our way across the Island. We did visit the town of Coombs again though, with our first stop being the World Parrot Refuge. It is as it sounds, a refuge for previously owned parrots. Whether the birds were rescued or donated, the Refuge pledges to never sell or give away birds that come to them. The housing for the birds is warehouse space, divided into galleries based on some bird logic. Each gallery seems to hold birds of a similar type. The floors are concrete, for cleaning I imagine, and the walls are lined with cages, although they are all open. The birds can fly, walk or climb freely through their galleries. It’s no jungle, but there are lots of playthings for the birds everywhere.

They gave us earplugs for the noise when we entered, warning us that the birds in concert were cacaphonous. The earplugs were both useful and not, because the birds had a nasty habit of perching on our shoulders to pull out the colourful earplugs. We were also warned not to wear jewelry of any kind, as that would also draw unwanted attention from the feathery thieves. They also peck, nip, bite, and sometimes stalk guests. It’s a wonder, really, that they let anybody in without signing a waiver.

Parrots are amazingly social creatures. In the wild, they spend their days talking to each other non-stop. It’s not surprising then, that they are so easy to socialize with humans. When there are no other birds around, their human family becomes their flock, and they crave human attention and feedback. It was immediately obvious which birds had had good owners that interacted with their birds frequently and positively, and which birds had had bad owners.

The birds with good owners were calm and tractable, and wanted to be talked to and petted. They wanted to be near people. It was actually more than a little pitiful. The policy of the place notwithstanding, some of the birds would have been happier with full-time human companions again, rather than the transitory attention of tourists. There was one cockatoo that would walk up to anybody that cooed at it, sit on the person’s foot, and rub it’s head on the person’s leg. It was very endearing how it presented itself to be scratch. It would almost fall over as it tried to look cute.

In another gallery, a small cockatoo sat on my shoulder as soon as I entered and refused to leave. It enjoyed being petted and clung to my shirt front to nuzzle my chin. When it came time for us to go, it tried to burrow under my shirt collar, obviously reluctant to let go. I considered smuggling it out and had we been closer to home would have tried it too. I like birds.

They weren’t all sweeties though. In the cockatoo room there was a posse of Walkers that would slowly but inexorably surround you. They moved slowly and appeared completely non-threatening, but as soon as they got close enough, they would bite your ankles! Short Pants was fooled by the zombie horde, and took a good nip that left a mark. The rest of us took care after that not to get surrounded. Those would be some of those birds with bad owners. They’ve gone slightly bonkers.

Even worse, in yet another gallery, several cockatoos were behind frost fencing for the protection of the public apparently. They would hang on the fence and reach through plaintively with their black claws extended as if begging for alms. Once anything came in reach however, they would drag it right into their sharp beaks. One got a hold on my sweater cuff and bit a hole through the sleeve. One of the volunteers had to come pry the creature’s beak open to free me, else I would have had to cut off the sleeve or leave it behind. Buzzard.

They finally threw us out of the Refuge at closing time. We could have stayed for a lot longer though. Before leaving Coombs we stopped in at the Emporium again for fresh fruit and ice cream. I had fruit, Mama and Those Johnston Kids had ice cream. All the treats were exceptionally good though.

From there we drove to Nanaimo to catch the ferry to North Vancouver. We had to wait for the next boat because Friday evenings are busy as the islanders head to the mainland for the weekend. The ferry was followed a very long drive into and through Vancouver to Golden Ears Provincial Park. In the dark. In the rain.

Because that’s the way we roll.