The day will come when I will die. So the only matter of consequence before me is what I will do with my allotted time. I can remain on shore, paralyzed with fear, or I can raise my sails and dip and soar in the breeze.--Richard Bode

Monday, June 18, 2012

Somewhere close to Fort Nelson, British Columbia

I was tired and cold Saturday night. The wind was murderous. I needed a rest. I happened to see a tiny sign for camping, and so I stopped. What a delightful place; a little farm owned by a friendly couple, Tweazle and Robert. Tweazle is from Sussix, England, where until ten years ago, she owned and ran a British pub. Robert was on holiday there. He met her, wooed her, and brought her to British Columbia. She says she loves it dearly here. It seems like paradise to her.

Durng the night the heavens turned on a terrifying pyrotechnique display. The lightning flashed, the thunder rumbled, and the echos bouced off the mountains, going on and on for the longest time after each flash. The wind took hold of my tent and shook it back and forth, and then suddenly stopped. All was quiet for a long moment, and then the rain came down in torrents. What a night.

I woke up to foggy drizzle and, after a fast cup of coffee, Odysseus and I set off.

There was not much to see along the road, I can tell you. This area has little to recommend it. British Columbia is huge, on the map it looks like it is as big as six of Western States, and the road goes on an on. Except for the occasional black bear or two, and here and there a moose, there was little to occupy the mind. There were mountains, I could tell, hulking just behind the fog; and the sun would try to peek-a-boo through the clouds from time to time, but very soon gave up on wasting energy on that sort of thing.

The highway itself is beautiful, however, perfectly manicured with not a hint of trash and never a billboard to spoil the beauty. The speed limits are very low (60 miles per hour), but people drive carefully and within safe speeds despite the fact that there never seems to be any troopers. They certainly seem to do things up right here.

I camped last night next to a lake. A sign warned that there was a bear and her two cubs in the area, but they didn't show up. It rained again during the night, and has been raining off and on all day. The forecast calls for more of the same for the next several days. I hope I am north of it all soon.

I am in a little restaurant in a tiny town somewhere close to Fort Nelson--just 150 miles to go. The TV is playing, and everyone is glued to the Croatia vs Spain soccer match. This is a Russian community, and I am having trouble understanding their accented English.

There are no pictures to show you: there is nothing really to see even if it were not raining. So--

More later,

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