July 6

Captain’s Log. Star date 070619. After our late interception with Enterprise Firebird and a lovely supper at a Greek Restaurant we prepare for our return flight. Load the car and head west - in search of privately owned liquor stores, smooth highways and mountains. 

Again a side note: not only are Manitoba and Ontario not radar detector friendly provinces they also have provincially owned liquor stores. I didn’t even know that they still existed. I was transported back to pre-Ralph days when we still had the ALCB, when your choice of liquor was seriously reduced after 6:00. That is some sort  of medieval control. Both bumped down in the list. I think I am currently rating them: Alberta, B.C.(love the province hate the politics), Saskatchewan (I love this crazy province- like Alberta’s tough brother that will beat up other provinces that pick on Alberta- BC take note, Saskatchewan can kick your ass), Newfoundland (any province that gave is Richard gets a free pass), Nova Scotia (Dennis Grandy came from this gem so it has to be a pretty spectacular province), Yukon, Northwest Territories, Nunavut (I recently read Prisoners of the North and I’m a fan), PEI, New Brunswick, Manitoba and Ontario. That’s it. 

Anyway back to our adventure. Darren and Jen have travelled for 3 days and still haven’t left Ontario. So we’re leaving Ontario laughing about their crazy moose signs  and then Jen yelled, “Moose, moose!!” Standing on the very edge of the road was a moose that was considering being a hood ornament for the F350. I thought it would be pretty cool of we drive into Rocky with the car on the trailer and a moose strapped over the hood of the car but I got a hard no from Fuzz. As we carry on the moose on the side of the road are incredible. We saw 6 moose in 100 kilometres. 

The boys are switching driving duties every tank of fuel. Us girls are trying to hold off pee breaks until every refill but it is near impossible. Stopped drinking beer and switch to white wine thinking it would help - it doesn’t. 

Making great time and enjoying the company and then Jen and I decided we should call ahead to Regina to book rooms.....Regina is having some crazy shit going on and is not interested in our patronage. Moose Jaw? No. Okay shit is getting real. I know how Mary and Joesph felt! There was no room at the inn. Desperately changing travel plans to accommodate our absolute need to get the fuck out of the truck and find a comfortable bed. Yorktown? Yes!! Slight northern detour and away we going to Yorktown. Yorktown - the town that is so friendly they have no password for hotel wifi. That’s not the official town slogan but it is a great option. 

Had supper at Brown’s and cheers to breakfast in Ontario, lunch in Manitoba and supper in Saskatchewan. We try really hard to honour Eric Church by celebrating every July Saturday night but we couldn’t. We were exhausted. It was a slight consolidation that if we were still on Ontario time it was midnight when we shut it down. 

July 5

Captain’s Log. Star date 070519. Saskatchewan appears to be far more hospitable than originally anticipated. Unfortunately I forgot it is summer (honest mistake considering Alberta has seen 5,000 mm of rain and 7 minutes of sunshine in June) and I packed no shorts! So I’m sitting in my jeans and a long sleeved shirt in the Enterprise Apollo sweating my ass off (please refer to earlier log about the temperature in the cab). There is actually a/c but Captain is attempting to limit fuel refills to maximize driving time. He was bold enough to declare that, “a good wife would climb out the back window and refill the truck from the slip tank while we are driving” So I am officially admitting I am NOT a good wife. I do see through his thinly veiled attempt to knock me off and get a newer Navigator circa 1980 - 1985. 

While departing Regina during a particularly rough exit we did lose a clearance light from the Ent. Apollo- I can only hope it is not essential for our landing in Thunder Bay. Actually, I also hope it’s the only piece we lose off our chariot. Note to self: purchase duct tape at next fuelling station.

So as the navigator I am attempting solve an equation: If a Firebird leaves Sudbury doing 90 kms/hr and has a headwind of 13 kms/hr and an F350 leaves Regina doing 117 kms/hr with a 20 km/hr tailwind - where will they meet? My Grade 9 thru 12 math is going to pay off! Now I just need to find a triangle and figure out some angles and then trigonometry paid for itself. 

We also had a three legged coyote pass in front of us. WTF?! Saskatchewan has tough coyotes! I have my own coyote story I’ll share in a future blog but suffice it to say I would never chase a coyote in Sorels, in up the bum underwear and a fire poker in February in Saskatchewan . ‘Nuff said. 

So Ryan and I lost our Manitoba virginity together. No Alex. 😒. But I hear that we later may be joined by his cousin Mr. Miller.... One of the first things that confronted us was a large sign stating Radar Detectors Are Illegal In Manitoba. Manitoba is quite bossy. 

We also passed a JimBob truck hauling bridges. I rolled down the window

and gave him a big wave and he read the Apollo sign on the door and gave us a honk. Fuck Rocky is friendly. If anyone knows who he is could you ask him to keep a watch on the highway for clearance lights. (Sorry - a complete side note: I’m typing while we are racing down the highway avoiding semi’s and various farm equipment and I typed “clearance” wrong and my iPad auto corrected to “clearly ailing tsunamis “ so now I need to google tsunami illnesses) 

Nearing hour 12..... still going without calling a divorce lawyer. 

Manitoba roads are atrocious. They are a patchwork of pavement, concrete and NDP dreams. I had to google it - Manitoba has an NDP government *eye roll* that is so March. Didn’t they get the memo? Another reason Manitoba has been shuffled towards the bottom of my provincial hierarchy. They are even behind Ontario (Doug Ford, you crazy bastard, you made the difference for me). Anyway we entered Ontario and suddenly we are inundated with rules:

1. Still illegal to have radar detector so now we are only using our adara etectorda ( for those of you who unfamiliar with pig Latin that’s radar detector) anyway but we are only using it for GPS. But when the “GPS” flashes we do slow down. Unfortunately we are in the Enterprise Apollo not the Millennium Falcon and we are unable to reach 0.5 faster than light speed. 
2. Immediately the speed limit goes from 110 km/hr to 90 km/hr. Okay, I think we are maybe overreacting. You deny the radar detector AND THEN CHALLENGE US TO DRIVE 90?! I think not Ontario- Sammy Hagar and Ryan Ingham don’t drive 55. The only speeders on the road are from Alberta. We pull up beside them and we both look at each other like the brothers Doug and Steve Butabi from Night at the Roxbury - “Are you speeding? No, you want me to? Okay follow me”.
3. And now you take us from 4 lanes to 2 lanes?! Oh, Ontario you saucy bitch. If Manitoba voted further right you’d be shuffled lower in the pile.
4. AND THEN I SEE THIS!!

They have a angry fucking moose called “ Night Danger” Fucking rights we are speeding! I thought the coyote was tough!

OMG, hour 13.5 and we saw Night Danger!! (I did call him Night Ranger but Ryan corrected me.....and then we listened to Sister Christian). So if we get stopped I feel vindicated and I can tell Officer Ontario that our decision to speed in order to not be killed by Night Danger/Night Ranger is completely justified. Should work. 

We made it! We drove 1,306 kilometres in 13.5 hours....through road construction, 90 kilometre speed limits, farm equipment and bloody Manitoba highways. We liked it so much we are going back tomorrow. 

July 4

Captain’s Log. Star date 070419. Deep Space Station Williams has issued a priority one call. More than an emergency, it signals near or total disaster (or potential disaster). We can only assume the Williams have departed Toronto in the Enterprise Firebird as we plan to intercept them in the Enterprise Apollo F350. 

In the Enterprise Apollo for 1 hour and 13 minutes and the Captain and the Navigator are fighting about the music. And the flight path. And the temperature in the cab. So pretty fucking standard. I lost the music fight - no more Reba now it’s Led Zeppelin, won the route - Kindersley not Medicine Hat and the heat in the cab is a draw - it is either +30 or +6 in here! 

Also, in all my worldly travels I have never driven further east, in Canada, than Stettler. Yep, I’m a Saskatchewan virgin. 

East of Olds we picked up our first passenger. Alexander Keith. I like him. 

Saskatchewan virginity lost. Alex and I like Saskatchewan. Unfortunately the combination of Alexander Keith’s and Saskatchewan’s rough translation of paved roads means I need to pee! Captain is not impressed with his navigator’s over active bladder and A.K. and I have been split up. Captain appears to be an asshole. 

150 kms out of Regina and suddenly the Captain’s attitude has changed. Navigator has been promoted to Co-Captain. First Mate? Not sure of the new title but the Captain switched seats with me and immediately started snoring. Rude. But being the new Captain, navigator and Entertainment Director means that Led Zepplin can sit the fuck down. Reba! You’re up! 

Arrived safely in Regina at 11:20. 918 kilometres under our belt. ALSO - the rain stopped at Kindersley! Exotic, tropical Kindersley! Albertans pack your bags! Saskatchewan is hogging summer. 

June 20

So today – June 20 – the day before summer in the rest of the world – this is what I am dealing with at Strachan – A BLZZARD! Now I take full responsibility for this because I did two things that I know was akin to giving Mother Nature the middle finger ; I took my winter tires off and I put away the snow shovel. I am sorry. I know better.

But this led me to think of other things I never want to hear:

1.       I recently went to the gynecologist for an oil change and a tire rotation (really it sounds better than what I actually went there for) but the doctor asked me some questions that flustered me. Of course the obligatory, “How many drinks do you have in a week?” I, of course, said one a night. Now I will take some liberty with this question – one glass? One bottle? And really, if you average out EVERYDAY of my life I think that I am being generous when I say one drink a day. So I think I have that one covered. She also asked me, “Has anyone in your family died of cancer?” I said – with confidence – no. Nope. No one. When I was leaving the clinic I remembered – oh ya – MY DAD!!! MY DAD  DIED OF CANCER!!!! How can I overlook this one little detail? Also (and finally) the gynecologist would not say the word “vagina”. She is a vagina doctor and is obviously not comfortable with the word. I think that more people should be comfortable with the word – I am going to use it 10 times today in a sentence. If I was a gynecologist I would call myself a Vagina Doctor because it is MUCH easier to spell than gynecologist (that counts as 1 of my 10).

2.       I never want to hear Ryan turn to me when we are sitting in the side by side and say, “Do you think we can make it?” Now this question is always before we have to climb some God-awful hill or cross a nasty looking muskeg. NO I DON’T THINK WE CAN MAKE IT! TAKE ME HOME. I find as I am getting older I have a greater level of fear and a growing adversity for being cold, wet and/or muddy.

3.       I never want to hear, “Justin Trudeau has been reelected as Canada’s Prime Minister”. I think there is a few hundred thousand that will agree with me on this one.

4.       I never want to hear Dekker say, “I’m buying a street bike” . I actually have heard this and then I heard it when he drove it home and I hear it when he leaves. I actually hear it until he gets to Cow Lake which is about 15 kms away!!!

5.       Lastly (but not leastly) I never want to hear, “Huntsman Spider Devours Possum”. Again, I did hear this!! And just like that I am enjoying our late June snowfall. I am going to get out my snow shovel and shovel with glee. I will make a snow man, actually she will be a snow woman because she will have a vagina (2 down 8 to go).

 

  

June 18

I have to share a dream that I had the other night – it is blog worthy.

So in this dream I am standing in a formal waiting area. It has a very plush soft yellow carpet, round walls that are painted a light yellow. It is sparsely furnished – only a highly polished side table that has a huge bouquet of flowers on it. Also in the room is Brian Walisser. We are standing a few feet apart and waiting silently. (I have to do a quick side note to introduce my friend  Brian to anyone who does not know him -  he is hilarious, and witty and, unfortunately, currently sporting a beard that would make any sasquatch insanely jealous.  Although he is all of the above he is also one of the most neurotic people I know – but that too just endears him to me…..and his eventual therapist)

Anyway, Brian are waiting in this waiting room in complete silence. There is a formal, ceremonious atmosphere in the room. Two large oak doors open and who walks in? Queen Elizabeth the Second, Prince William and Kate and….. the Pope! Yes the Pope – The Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church and there he is in full regalia with the Queen sporting her tiara but BRIAN AND I ARE NOT SURPRISED!  Nope just chillin’ with our homies – the QE2 and her eventual successor and his wife and the man that has God’s ear.

And what does Brian do? He starts chasing the Pope around the room trying to tickle him. And the Pope is running around giggling.  I mentioned that the room is sparsely furnished and circular? They are running around the room dodging the 93 year old monarch. I AM SO MAD AT HIM!! I am trying to catch his eye to give him the, “Are you fucking serious!!” look but he is too busy playing tag with the pontiff to pay any attention to my stink eye. Kate, bless her soul, gives me the “What Can you Do?” look…..

I am so mad but I find myself unable to walk or talk. Why you ask? Because my dress is so fucking tight and my heels are too high and I AM SUCKING IN MY BELLY!!! Of course I am sucking in my belly! I am standing beside the 106 pound Duchess of Cambridge who is wearing size double bloody zero and 4” heels!! You know that dream when you are standing on the tracks and there is an oncoming train and you can’t move? Well that was me – standing in a circular room pissed off at Brian and unable to walk or talk!

So this had lead me to some investigating because there has to be 100 untold messages in this dream:

1.       Was there going to be some announcement about the Church of England and the Catholic Church reuniting? And why, in the name of God would I be there if that was the case? Would I get to voice my opinion on religion? Maybe offer an alternative? Maybe cough during the announcement and mumble “Bullshit” while the process was happening?

2.       Why do Brian and the Pope have such a close relationship? Does Brian have something on him? Can we crack the Catholic code?

3.       If I was going in public beside Kate why would I not invest in the World’s Greatest Spanx? I have seen the magical girdle that they show on Facebook (okay, maybe not on your Facebook ads but definitely on mine!)Why would I not have a quick lipo surgery before the big day? Maybe forgo wings and beer for a couple weeks? Do I lack that much self-control? Spoiler alert: Yes. Yes I do.

4.       I did research dreams about the Pope on a highly regarded website  – only “highly regarded” because it was the first website on my search engine…..Any way dreams about the Pope may indicate, “To see a pope in your dream represents your spiritual guidance, beliefs, and spiritual self. The dream serves to be an inspiration. Alternatively, it may indicate your own self-righteousness, narrow-mindedness, and holier-than-thou attitudes.” Now, in all seriousness, if I had to describe myself in 10 words or less it would be: Self-righteous, narrow-minded and holier than thou. So I think we nailed that one on the head. However, ironically those are the same words I would use to describe the Catholic Church as well......

5.Maybe a giggling Pope means something else?  Not a lot to offer on the internet about a giggling Pope.

Anyway, suffice it to say that my inner mind remains a mystery. And I learned my lesson – when I meet the Queen I will not take Walisser with me.

                                                  

May 5

So we are out camping (as the pictures can attest to) at the dam. Beautiful weekend. Snow - yes, others campers - no, mosquitoes - no, black bear - yes. So truly an amazing weekend. Brian and Kim and Ryan and and I had a great weekend out in the snowy, wet West Country. 

And after a wonderful couple days we are enjoying the last night of winter (on fucking May 4th!!) when Brian quietly sneaks away to bed, then a few minutes later Ryan cleans up from supper and silently disappears and then there is just Kim and I savouring the last glass of wine from a newly, undiscovered gem. We are out in the crisp, late night evening warding off the chill evening air when we are startled by a sudden, unexpected bang from my trailer. We look at one another to confirm we both heard the same noise. Then again - bang, bang. We are unsure of the explanation behind the - bang, bang - noise. Again bang. We know there is something seriously wrong a mere 20 feet away from us. We move with cautious speed to the trailer. What do we see? Ryan in his underwear. All of the furniture in the trailer askew.  Ryan on his hands and knees with a shoe banging at the trailer in a frenzied panic. Kim and I look at one another, silently acknowledging that Ryan has finally lost his last grip on sanity. I opened the door to talk him off the mental cliff he has backed himself onto....I quietly say, “Ryan?” He turns and barely makes eye contact with me and in a near hysteric state he says, “THERE IS A FUCKING MOUSE!” I barely have time to register that there is a 3 ounce terrorist in my trailer before I look at my wall and see a mother-fucking-mouse 2 feet up my wall trying to dodge my psychotic husband slamming his size 11 hiking books at the wall in a half-hazard-idly way.

 I am suddenly heavily invested in the outcome of this battle. I yell at Ryan, “Kill it! Kill it!” (Of course now that I am aware of the situation I am going to direct Ryan’s actions and attempt to control the entire process) Both Riggs are Turk are eager to vacate the premises and as soon as I open the door they see the opportunity to get the fuck away from their certifiable care giver (having said that I have to acknowledge that Riggs is possibly the best mouser I have ever encountered. He is a machine. So for him to be so willing to abandon this kill is a testament to the crazed state Ryan was in) Anyway the mouse drops from the wall and scurries behind the dog food dish and immediately the dog food is struck by the hiking boots and scattered across the room. After 10 more violent boot slams - success. Ryan grabbed a paper towel and held his trophy by the tail. The varmint was dead.

H So Westeros might need Arya Stark to kill the Night King but I need a crazed, middle aged man in his underwear with a hiking boot to save my world. Thank babe. ❤️

April 3

Well....we jet ski like we do everything else.....badly. We lost 3 pairs of sunglasses, Brian’s jet ski was broken (fouled spark plug), Jen got a fat lip and I was bucked off - on shore - and got a mild concussion. That didn’t stop me at the end of the day, declaring to Ryan “I WAS BORN TO JET SKI!” I think that declaration was provoked by the Mimosas, beer, sangria and margaritas because yesterday when I woke up I couldn’t walk, literally. Jen and I were both very handicapped for the day, Jen had a hard time cutting bacon and walking down the 5 stairs to go to the bathroom was equivalent to walking to Base Camp on Everest. We rode the jet skis down the beach to have breakfast (ceviche and margaritas) and it was pretty much downhill from there. We rode about 3.5 kms and Brian and Kim had wiped out twice. When we stopped Kim was putting on a brave face but she truly hated us all. Brian brought her back to our beach (and her book and a bottle of sangria) and we headed down the beach, until we decided that Brian’s jet ski had a fouled plug, we beached the jet skis to do a mechanical overhaul and that’s when my jet ski violently threw me off. So we were only about 8 kms from home but it took us 4 hours to get home. Fuzz rode the broken jet ski back so we tried different combinations - Jen and Brian, me and Brian, Ryan and Brian, me and Jen, me and Jen AND Ryan. I wish someone could have flown a drone beside us to see the train wreck we were. Yet I still felt confident enough when I reached the shore to declare, in a Leo DeCaprio like way, “I WAS BORN TO JET SKI”. 

We went out for supper and after a cocktail, us girls decided a nice bottle of red would be necessary. We called our waiter, Gorge, over and asked about vino tinto (red wine to you English speaking people) and he happily brought us the wine menu. We perused the menu and talked about the merits of merlot, cab sauv and blends, but we all decided that Pinot was a hard no. Cab sauv it was going to be. We again called our smiling waiter over to the table and using our best Spanish we pointed at our choice. Gorge, still smiling shook his head - “Don’t have” - okay, no problem, like true wine connoisseurs we have a second choice - we point to the blend. Still grinning Gorge shakes his head, “No”. Hmmmm. Okay a merlot? Oh Gorge, you happy little bastard, “No, no” so we change tactics - we ask him to pick. The entire menu is available to hm and he points to the Pinot - “That’s all we have”. I love that he brought us the menu, let us go through the motions of choosing and then gave us the only bottle in the restaurant. We drank it and loved it.

So yesterday was a blur of sunburns and sore muscles. We avoided the sun and chose option B - a movie in an air conditioned theatre in Merida. Today is our last day and it’s early enough to not know which was it will go.....could be a runaway.....