A Caricature.

Spartanburg, SC – Weaving through hilly switchback cicatrices and past the French Broad River in the back country of North and South Carolina, we finally had our first deviation from the Interstate on this trip. 

Naturally, the day had begun to yawn.

A rock slide in Newport, Tennessee had caused us to detour an hour out of our way, which not only provided fun driving in the hills, but the most eye-opening experience of the journey thus far. It was a prime and timely opportunity to reflect on our good fortune, even in the face of current adversity in our lives.

Like a sad caricature, a young pregnant woman stood smoking on the rickety porch of a fallen-down trailer nestled in the trees. A half-dozen baby carriages in various states of disrepair sat perfectly aligned, much like the weathered, parted-out pick-up trucks to the side. 

I almost expected the moment to carry a New Yorker-type quip underneath.

Throughout the area, decrepit trailers and clapboard homes shrugged like depressed shoulders. Perching on the edge of the riverbank, they lacked doors and sported window frames that slouched into diamonds. A pauper’s garden of refuse dotted the lawn.

It really made us think, even as we careened through the fun-to-drive hills and curves – extreme poverty exists everywhere. Though unexpected, it was the day’s highlight.

From the time we entered Tennessee, however, we could tell from the spicy, humid aroma of the air and the red and white flowering trees that blossomed like small puffs of smoke that the onset of spring was already here. With budding trees comes a budding season and budding promise for the journey ahead.

And Carolina barbeque for dinner wasn't a bad way to end a day, either.

Vitals:

• Time: 14 hours
• Distance: 1,323.3 kms
• Weather: Predominantly grey, warming up in the afternoon; rain in major cities in the north
• Province/States: Ontario, Michigan, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina
• Wildlife: None
  

Mount, Douglas.

Victoria, BC – Brighter than some of the faded leaves folded onto the ground, orange pumpkins lined Mount Douglas Parkway, their carved faces drooping more grotesquely at various stages of decay.

As we rose away from the road and into the forest, though, silence descended upon Mt. Douglas this morning.

We were surrounded by green lichen – a frilly dressing that enrobed the spires of looming fir. The forest floor was covered by dew-covered ferns, exposed root systems as designed by a Spirograph and pine needles that sutured the mud. Microscopic mushrooms, like seashells, clung to mossy bark. Beading holly welcomed the festive season, a little early.

All the while, our footfalls popped damp pinecones as if they had been tossed into a fire.

But we summited on the first sunny day I have had here, opening a spectacular panorama of the city.

Trailing the Juan de Fuca.

Victoria, BC – Empty, shiny shells shattered under our shoes, bejewelled, as we wandered around and over massive logs washed ashore like matchsticks on Botanical Beach this afternoon. The lumber was smooth, like softened leather.

The percussion of thunderous waves vaulting over submerged rocks created dissonance with the silence of the forest as we hiked part of the Juan de Fuca Maritime Trail. Ball kelp bobbed for cover, like mini speed bags, as soaring wings of water curled forward onto the smoothened shore with might. A ribbon of jagged peaks tinted the backdrop.

The crescendo: droplets expelled from the greater family, like glass tossed into the sky, only to rejoin the crushing pools below.

Such peace in the violence of nature.

Submitting to the Summit.

Victoria, BC – Seagulls rested, poised, as dying salmon struggled upstream to spawn.

Each breath brought another push, or another bite at an offending fish, as Chinook, Coho and Chum made the final push through the shallow waters at Coldstream, their bellies scraping against stones. Occasionally, there would be a great splash as a silver dart would summon the strength to sprint several feet, its tail slapping several others in the head. With its declining thrust, the current would reduce the salmon’s efforts by at least half and it would be dragged back to slower-moving pools.

It was often tough to watch these large fish, already picked-at and missing chunks of flesh, struggle so mightily. But Mother Nature’s resilience was also evidently on display – with no energy to push another foot farther, a salmon would lash out with sharp teeth at one trying to take its resting place. Survival of the fittest, children.

We were at the beginning of the trail to the top of Mt. Finlayson for the day’s hike. It rained and was relatively cool as we wove through steep treed sections and bouldered over waterfalls as we approached the summit. Some of the narrower, wet footholds with steep drops below reminded me that heights are not always my favourite thing.

We had a great view of grey when we reached the top of the two-kilometre climb, but as is so often the case, the hike was more about the journey with good friends than the destination. The sun decided to shine through the trees as we took the safer way down the mountain – an eight-kilometre stretch weaving past waterfalls, homes and fog-filled valleys.

At times, though, I felt I was moving as slowly as some of the salmon we had seen earlier.

Victoria, Victorious.

Victoria, BC – Five days, 4,436.8 kilometres, nine American states and two Canadian provinces later, we have arrived in British Columbia’s capital.

With the journey, I found new pleasure in Combos snacks and the west coast’s microbreweries’ winter beers. We saw far too many deer left on the sides of roads, but plenty more scampering about, with antelope, bison and big-horned sheep. The topography changed too many times to count. Mountains and oceans are happy places for me and I am in awe, still, at the Badlands of South Dakota. I continue to love Seattle, though the gorgeous weather lasted only until Washington, and rain greets me here, now.

But we have arrived. And Montana is finally behind us.

Vitals:

• Time: 13 hours (including ferry, waiting)
• Distance: 552.9 kilometres
• Weather: Rain, Cloud, Moderate
• States/Provinces: Washington, British Columbia
  
• Wildlife: None

Go West, Young Man.

Juan de Fuca Strait, BC – Driving through Washington this morning, the Earth yawned – its cavernous maw threatening to swallow us in an unexpected instant. Its breath hung in the canyon that opened below us, the glistening Columbia River flowing down its throat.

The air was crisp and fresh, and I stood in awe – mouth similarly agape. The world is so often capable of infinite beauty.

Continuing through the state, white-capped incisors bit the sky, the napes of hills blanketed in fall trees that resembled rust-tinted, upturned paint brushes. Weaving through the range’s curves, we encountered our first rain of the trip. Welcome to western Washington.

Arriving at Pike Place Market in the state’s capital, however, the bland palette of Montana was comp- ensated for with near- sensory overload from the bright colours of fresh vegetables and dried chillies, the pungent smell of herbs, confections and fish. Artisans created beauty from copper and leather, while neon signs winked as we passed.

A great lunch included fish tacos and Dungeness crab cakes. We climbed some of the country’s steepest streets, visited the first Starbucks and briefly saw the Space Needle.

Despite the persistent rain, everything seemed so fresh, so alive. However briefly, I rekindled my love affair with Seattle.

Open Letter to State of Montana.

Moses Lake, WA - Dear State of Montana.

You are such a tease. For hours, you taunt me with snow- capped mountains and scatter large pockets of deer and antelope throughout your vast lands. You have curves for miles. And miles.

And yet, you are 'Big Sky Country' precisely because you have nothing different to see on the ground. Sure, the topography sheds its skin from flat to mountainous, the land scarred by seismic shifts. But I can only take the browns, olive greens, grey and pale yellows of dry scrub for so many hours - even with high speed limits. I will concede, you have incredibly pretty moments, but then you beat me over the head with them, like the popular girl at the dance in grade 12. You then proceed to offer me hours of sameness.

And you, my comp- licated friend, are enormous. I have never seen so many hunting jackets. Or so few people (Montana has fewer than a million) in such a large space (America's fourth-largest state). Cows hang from cliffs and horses graze, seemingly without homes. Apart from that, there is nothingness.

I chide you because I love you in your own special way. The low fences point me into the horizon, leaving me with the anticipation of climbing the next hill and seeing something - anything, really. And being disappointed.

You have your charm and your beauty, but it gets swallowed in your never-ending hills of similarity.

Vitals:

• Time: 10 hours
• Distance: 698.7 kms
• Weather: Sun, Moderate, Cloud
• States: Montana (and more Montana), Idaho, Washington
  
• Wildlife: Deer, Antelope