In "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" Robert Pirsig reminds us "When you want to hurry something, that means you no longer care about it and want to get on to other things." The second half of our first week on the road has had more than its share of hurrying and wanting to "get on to other things."
As we packed to leave Pedder Bay, it became apparent we still had far too much to practically travel very far. The back seat left precious little space for the dog and Isis was condemned to travelling on Chris' lap without so much as a crack or crevice to call her own. So, when Chris suggested we buy a roof rack, it didn't take much to convince me this was a good idea.
But first, we needed to locate a place to stay for the next few days. Lake Cowichan, our goal for the next leg of our journey, was about two hours drive from Pedder Bay. There were at least three BC Forest Service campsites on the map, and after listening to Zeus complain over my shoulder for the better part of the trip about the few square feet he had been allocated between the cooler, the cat carrier, and the door any campsite was welcome.
Unfortunately, none of the BC Forest Service sites were open for the season yet. However, we located a small campground within an island of trees in a sea of clearcuts along the dirt road running down the south shore of the lake. Operated by TimberWest and going by the name Caycuse, it was practically vacant. The campground host, his wife, five children, two dogs, and two cats made up well over 50% of the camp's population. The host went by the name of Vinnie and could best be described as Canada's version of a survivalist. While more liberal than your typical American survivalist, he was none the less preoccupied with the coming end of the world projected by the Mayan calendar to take place sometime in the next year or two.
It started raining the morning after our arrival, and it hardly stopped for two days. Isis did her disappearing act again. As she had done at Pedder Bay before, she took a day to explore the new surroundings. This time, though, the forest was right outside the tent providing a thick carpet of fern and fallen trees with endless cavities and natural tunnels through which to explore without being seen or heard from. The tiny masked shrews running about in camp would have made an easy catch for her as well, since I was able to touch them without getting much of a reaction other than a quick sniff to determine whether or not I was an edible grub.
We figured the rain provided an opportunity to drive into Duncan about 55 kilometres away to find that roof rack we had talked about, and pick up a couple of other things we needed. And it was here that I found myself beginning to become impatient with our journey so far. Not a good sign when less than a week out. Upon our return to the campsite I initially resolved to wait for the rain to break before attempting to install anything, but out of boredom I took to it shortly after we got back. I studied the instructions carefully, all too aware of my track record with do-it-yourself projects. It seemed straight forward enough, but from the start nothing went right. What the instructions said only needed to be loosened to attach I couldn't fit on without removing, and once on it couldn't be reattached. In fact, one bracket wouldn't fit over the intended post whether attached or not. After more than a few four letter words, rereading the instructions several more times, and throwing a few things, the project was abandoned until Chris and I worked on it together the next day confirming the rack must have been designed for some other 2000 Jetta model we were not aware of, as it clearly couldn't possibly fit on ours.
A similar story could be told of the logs we purchased from Vinnie in hopes of having a campfire. The constant rain and accompanying high humidity meant even wood kept dry beneath a tarp took an unusual amount of work to turn into a self sustained fire. Using the hand pump normally reserved for blowing up our air mattress as a bellows, for four hours on the morning of day two I produced an incredible amount of smoke, but little fire. The pump would fan the coals into an intense flame, only to quickly die within seconds if I stopped pumping. It wasn't until our final night, with some help from a break in the weather, I was able to carefully and slowly construct a campfire over the course of an hour or two. Once it finally reached sufficient intensity to keep burning on its own with just an occasional log thrown on to keep things going, I grew it as quickly as I could within the confines of the metal fire ring, making sure not one of the hemlock logs we had purchased from Vinnie went to waste.
All that rain, driving back and forth between Duncan and our campsite to pick up a roof rack, then return a roof rack and ultimately order another roof rack, had me not only physically going in circles, but mentally going in circles as well. It took my wife Chris, with her incredible ability to listen and reflect, to bring me back to what this trip was about. In addition to travelling while we work on and wait for our work permits, we are trying to live differently. Every time I start to rush things, I stop caring about them and miss the beauty that is all around us. To quote Robert Pirsig again "That is what caring really is, a feeling of identification with what one's doing. When one has this feeling then he also sees the inverse side of caring, Quality itself." What better time to be reminded of this than the beginning of the journey?
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