Our patience was rewarded in Southern Washington, when we finally came again to winery country. The new tires purred over the lovely american roads. We headed ever southward, hitting a few wineries on the way. We had now come about 1600km so far. The RV was running fairly well, with the Auto Park issue that had troubled us on the way home from Burn in the Forest not reappearing. There was a parking feature that locked the driveshaft when the vehicle was in park. Very handy for keeping the beast from rolling away. The idea was that it unlocked when you shifted into drive. We had found that in the chilly morning near Mount Robson we had stayed the night at, the auto park did not want to disengage. A little bit of fussing between reverse and neutral, and the auto park had released. It was on the list of stuff to do, but so were tires! One thing at a time. I was more worried about the old coolant system overheating on the steep hills that we were criss crossing. So far, so good. There was a decent amount of passing lanes, and no one had to be stuck behind us for too long.

One issue we did have to face with the RV was sometimes very small parking lots at the wineries. They were usually on fairly steep hillsides, and the owners were understandably reluctant to carve out some of their grape growing hillside to accommodate larger vehicles. Here, the tour buses had paved the way, and most wineries had sufficient space to park our RV, if not always the ideal amount of space. We drove and sampled, purchasing bottles that tickled our fancy. We had a wine case tucked into our shower in the RV, and we slowly filled it with bottles. Then we had to get another case box! We took turns sampling more and driving, and our pace was sedate enough to allow this. The wineries were reasonably spaced out here, not nearly as dense as south Osooyos. It was a lovely time, and eased the knots of preparation from my shoulders.

Finally we ended up in our last camp site of the trip, Scarce 100km away from the event, we had reserved a site weeks ago, and parked there for one last night. A few of us had been planning on meeting there, and sure enough, we found familiar faces! That night, we took on a friend who had driven straight down, giving her a couch to sleep on, instead of having to unpack her tent and sleeping bag. The next morning, we met another friend we hadn’t seen since Burn in the Forest. She had been hoping to do early entry on the Wednesday, but her ride share hadn’t been keen, or hadn’t been able. Since the early entry pass had cost an extra $70 CAD on top of the festival ticket price of about $400, it was sad to miss out. We mentioned we had extra carrying room, and she eagerly hopped aboard. The early entry gates were set to open at noon on Wednesday, with dire threats for anyone who came earlier than that. We filled the massive gas tank one more time, and rolled out for Eclipse Festival at about 11am. Soon!

The northern end of Washington turned out to be barren of wineries. I was shocked, as the southern BC wineries had run right up to the border. On this side however, the land was given over to fruit trees. We drove past them, searching in vain for a tasting room. Ah well, maybe in the next state. As we had been fussing the RV that morning, I had chanced to look at the drivers front tire. We had been mucking about with the airbags that assist the front suspension, and that had given me a good chance to see the tire. I had known there was some inside shoulder wear on that tire, and had taken pains to check for a loose ball joint when inspecting it before purchase. I hadn’t found one, the RV drove straight, so I wasn’t much worried. However, it appeared the wear had accelerated rapidly during our last BC trip. The inside shoulder was now dangerously worn down. Well, RV tires may be expensive, but towing an RV is even more expensive. We stopped in the town of Omak, and set about finding two RV tires. Two hours and a little over a thousand US dollars, and we were on our way again. The cost stung, but we congratulated ourselves on avoiding the tow bill… well, avoiding it this time for this reason. I won’t tempt the car gods by claiming to have avoided a tow bill altogether! The future is uncertain, especially where older RVs are concerned.

The sky was clear, and no smoke was in the air. From a province so recently consumed by forest fires, it was surprisingly idyllic. The waterfront at Kelowna was a bustling hive of relaxing people, despite a brisk wind whipping the waves up. Adults lounged on the grass, and children swarmed an inflatable adventure park set up just offshore. I spied some serious looking young adult staff, and figured a spontaneous boarding party of semi clothed adults would be pretty strongly discouraged. We passed up the tempting adventure park and strolled around downtown Kelowna. The statues in the area were lovely, and the water fountains were whipped into interesting new patterns by the wind. We had managed to hit a few wineries on the way into town, wandering thru the hills just north of Kelowna. There is some serious money up that way! I have never seen so many luxury cars on such narrow roads. We took turns navigating the RV along these twisting roads. Justin displayed an excellent perception of exactly how much space we needed, and balls of steel. I eventually gave up looking at the road too much, as it was more relaxing not to!

Justin had arranged to purchase another telescope and tripod from a person living in the area, and we stopped to pick it up. He added it to the herd of telescopes and tripods already in RV residence, and we carried on. Don’t ask me why this one was better, it had something to do with the tripod. As it was Sunday late afternoon by this point, we didn’t linger too long. A quick snack of some of the items likely not welcome at the border, and we pressed on south. The whimsically named towns of Summerland, Peachland, Freestone Peaches (really? was that a town?) slipped by in the gathering dark. There were many signs advertising wine tastings, wine tours, and any wine related activity you could care to name. I was hoping to cross over the border that night, and then hit some wineries on the other side, while still in the Osoyoos Valley. We drove on, tho we were both tired from the night drive the previous night. Passports at the ready, all citrus eaten, wine neatly counted and boxed, we reached the border. A disinterested guard asked where we were from as he scanned our passports, then where we were going that night. We had plans to park at an RV park in Oroville, just over the border, and told him as much. Handing back our passports, he waved us on, telling us to have a good trip. I blinked at Justin. He hadn’t even asked how long we were staying, which was surely in the bare minimum of questions! I swear, Justin has miraculous abilities to appear harmless. Oroville was not much further, and we parked without incident. As the night was quite clear, nothing would do for Justin but to set up his new telescope and view some stars. I left him to it and retired for some well earned sleep.

The tail end of summer 2017, and it hasn’t been a great summer so far for me. Too much personal stress, likely a pretty good sign I needed to work on my own self a bit. Ah well, self improvement can wait until the long nights of winter, when there is nothing to distract, and only the endless hours of darkness ahead. For now, enjoy the last month of warmth and sunshine. The back to school flyers are circulating already, reaching out to drag summer bronzed young people back to the stuffy classrooms. I emphasis with their distress, and deal with my own problems in my time tested way.

I ran away. Funny how when the problem is in your head, it tends to follow.

The new (to us) RV had already been tested on a voyage to BC, out to a festival near Hope. I had been holding the RV in a state of mild distrust, fearing the RV gods would demand a mechanical sacrifice. They so often turn their eyes to the festival crowd, cutting down vehicles on the path to an event. Of course, most festival RVs have only a passing encounter with anything resembling regular maintenance, so the rate of attrition was hardly surprising. By the time an RV ends up at a festival, it has usually seen a few years. Our RV (yet to be named to mutual satisfaction) had made it up and over the Coquehalla, and even back again! This mountain pass sees quite a few break downs, and an overheating leading to vehicle fire is not an unusual event. When our RV trundled over the summit and happily down the other side, I had breathed a sigh of relief. A quick visual inspection of the brakes on the other side showed no serious signs of overheating either. I felt my heart open a bit, to allow this new vehicle in. I had accepted it, and was now prepared to shoulder the upkeep. Not uncomplainingly mind you, I reserve the right to bitch at the mechanical trials I endure.

We left Edmonton comically and unsurprisingly much later than anticipated. I find this does actually help me now, as I have lots of time to let my mind wander as I wait. I usually remember the last few things I ought to pack, and my rate of forgotten items is much less than it used to be. A last minute visit with Justin’s family, and we were off into the growing darkness. Eager to put some kms behind us, I had purchased an energy drink, and had a compelling audio book all ready to go. On the highway, I set the cruise control, and sunk into the world that was being described to me. I eagerly set aside my own problems to listen to the struggles and triumphs of the characters in the audio book. All they needed was a magic sword to find their way thru. Ah, escapism.

Rain pattered down on the wide windshield, with the wipers making comically staggered swipes to clear. Ye olde mechanical linkage with leverage points. Less than a smooth effect for wipers, but long lasting and effective. The rain was no doubt dragging the smoke that hung over most of BC down, and I had hopes for a glorious morning. Perhaps I would see it from behind the steering wheel, perhaps just the next day when I woke up. There is a certain freedom to travelling with your bed already set up. Justin dozed on the couch behind the passenger seat. I tried to drive gently, and did a much better job this trip of not hitting the rumble strips. That was never a fun way to wake up. The hours passed, and eventually the stimulants lost the battle. We had made good progress in the night hours, the road mostly empty and nothing to stop me from taking the corners as fast as I dared, other than consideration for my sleeping partner and a healthy dash of fear for top heavy vehicles and their relation to gravity. I pulled the RV into a vacant lot in Blue River in the hours before dawn. Several other RVs had stopped here, all facing the same direction and quiet. A herd of lumbering beasts bedded down for the night, grouped together for protection from predators. In this case, an over zealous park warden was our most likely harasser.

Justin wanted to sleep without moving much more than he felt like driving. I couldn’t blame him, the BC roads had been less than restful. We curled up in the bed, grasping an hour or two before the sun would rise over the mountains we knew surrounded us.

How often does a solar eclipse come along?!? Turns out, rather more frequently than I had thought. But there was a cool festival around it this time, In Oregon, We decided to go for it!

The plan was simple. Well, kinda. Load the motorbikes into the bed of the truck. Hitch the camper trailer to the truck. Drive 12 hours to Vancouver. Visit with family Saturday night, catch a ferry to Vancouver Island. Drive to the southeast end of the Juan de Fuca Marine Trail on the coast. Drop off the trailer. Drive the truck loaded with bikes to the northwest end of the Juan de Fuca trail. Unload the bikes, leaving the truck at the end. Ride the bikes back to the trailer at the beginning of the trail. Hike 47km along the Juan de Fuca trail, taking in the gorgeous coastal scenery. And probably get rained on. Then arrive at the end of the trail and jump in the truck to go back and collect the bikes and trailer. Then off to a wedding!

The beginning of this was not promising. Justin had tackled the task of putting in some ducts in the basement, and hooking up a new furnace. It had been an ongoing project for some time, but with the chilly mornings, he was feeling compelled to get the furnace hooked up before we left. Before it got really chilly, perhaps in the ten days we were gone. Winter can come surprisingly quickly some years. The furnace ducting was a big job, and it was nearing completion. So Justin split his time, packing for the trip and finishing the ducting work. I helped as I could. Justin ended up finishing on Friday night, which meant we had to leave stupid early on Saturday morning. We were already averaging five hours of sleep each night that week, so mistakes were inevitable. We were both haggard, doggedly and joylessly preparing to leave for a vacation we would surely enjoy once we got there. Surely.

We loaded the bikes into the back of the truck on Thursday night. It was dusk when we finally tackled that task. The mosquitoes were fierce and the night was warm and humid. We loaded the bikes quickly, and hurriedly strapped them down, slapping at mosqitoes. Later. Tighten the straps later. back inside to finish a few more tasks, and collapse into bed to grab a fe whours before the alarm rang the next morning. Too early, always too early. Hook up the trailer on Friday evening, load the last few things, pack the hiking bags. What had been forgotten? I finally reached a point where I didn’t care anymore. Whatever it was, I would do without or buy it in Victoria. After we got some sleep in Vancouver.

Justin put the last few touches on his work, and a quiet hissing filled the house. I blearily peered around. Was that rain on the roof? No, must be wind in the trees. Wait, was it getting warmer? The furnace! Justin had finished it, and the new furnace was quietly heating the house. It was much quieter than the old one. We celebrated with an exhausted hug, and dropped into bed at midnight.

5Am is usually too early, and especially so on a Saturday morning. Justin was not very cheerful when I roused him, and I could hardly blame him. I was frantically upbeat, half due to a desperate attempt to remain awake, partially to convince myself this vacation was worth it, and partially just to annoy Justin. It’s the little things that keep this long term relationship going, I think.

I gulped down some leftovers, cleaned the spoilables out of the fridge, emptied the trash, and the compost. Put the bins near the road, and hopefully our nice neighbours will put them out on the road for garbage day. Justin did some last minute packing of course. I don’t think we spoke. Well, I talked at him a bit, but mutual communication was a bit too much apparently.

Justin strode in and out of the house a few times. His body language was getting agitated, moreso than the early hour and my offensive good cheer would usually account for. I met his eyes.

“Have you seen my bike key?” he asked me. Now, I have teased him a bit for leaving his keys all over the place, as I routinely hang mine up on a peg so that I can find them again.

I furrowed my brow. “No, I haven’t. I think I left mine in the ignition when we loaded, we were in such a hurry. Did you?”

Justin met my eyes and nodded. “But it’s not there now.”

“My key isn’t there either?” I was feeling a little unease now. I had thought about bringing it in, as I fell asleep the other night, as I was worried rain would get into the ignition cylinder. Maybe I had?

I checked the key hanging spot. No key. I checked the bike ignition. No key. I peered around the back of the truck, in case it had somehow fallen out. No key.

Justin couldn’t find his either. And his tank bag had been jerked to the side.

After some fruitless calls to “24 hour” locksmiths at 6:30am, and a little more searching, we finally admitted that it wasn’t going to work. The bikes were just so much fancy extra weight now. As their security had been compromised, neither of us wanted to leave them in the garage, protected by a flimsy wooden door. So we drove out to a secure storage space just outside of town where we keep them for the winter usually. It had the benefit of being far from where the keys were stolen, and y’know, secure. We dropped them off, and glumly drove back to the house. Getting them mobile again would be a task for another day.

All told, that key theft had taken three hours out of our schedule. So we were not gonna make it for dinner in Vancouver. And now we would have to hitchhike or bus back to the truck, after hiking the Juan de Fuca trail. There goes the fun winding road riding I was looking forward to. All for a stupid key theft. Really, did the thief think we would just leave the bikes at home after that? Or that we wouldn’t notice the keys, and it was just to inconvenience us? Very frustrating.

Loaded up, hooked up, still running on too little sleep and caffeine, we pulled out of Edmonton and headed west. Twelve and a half hours of driving before us, then a parking lot sleep to look forward to before a ferry ride to the island in the morning. We would not be early enough for dinner with family, and we would arrive 4 min too late to catch the last ferry to the island that night. So it was find a parking lot that hopefully isn’t too loud, and set off in the morning.

I’m sure we’ll enjoy it when we get there. Surely.

Athens dropped behind us. I can’t say I feel much remorse. The time there had been mixed; there have been good days, and a good dive, an interesting hotel, and a busy dangerous beautiful city. The plane took off, I was glad to have wheels up.

The Aegean airlines served a hot meal, even though the flight was only two hours. Hot pasta with cheese, a white roll, a fig bar. And! Free wine! Surprising, but welcome. A counterpoint to the baggage charges. Aegean isn’t a budget airline, but does charge 35 Euro for every checked bag. My bag is strictly one cm longer than allowable carryon, but drew no second glances. Justin had only a small backpack now, with his few newly purchased clothes. So I suppose we saved money there. I discarded the cheap knife I had picked up in Croatia, and the last bit of delicious fig and lemon jam I had got there as well. With my small bag of toiletries each under 100mL, in a clear bag, I was ready to carry on.

The plane flew over the coast of Croatia. We looked down,, recognizing the shape of the bays we had visited on the sailboat. The island of Vis passed below us, sandy and rocky shores crisp against the blue of the ocean. The clouds had cleared in the immediate area, allowing us the nostalgic view. That had ben a very good trip, a very nice time. We had been fresh and eager, and the ocean provided the road to travel. I saw some impossibly tiny white specks on the water, sails catching the wind. Very few boats out now, the last few weeks of the good sailing season.

The ocean spread below us, a deep blue. The sky could be seen even further above our flight, the same impossible blue, deep as eternity. The two colors bracketed our viewpoint, the clouds scudding in wisps below us. Between the two blues, both deeper in their own way than my mere mind can comprehend, we fly. On to Venice.

Justin went back to the embassy in the afternoon after the day we arrived back in Athens. His temporary passport was approved and made, and we can fly the hell out of this country! Yay!

So we were back in Athens. After a late night ferry ride, in which we splurged for a cabin and slept very well indeed, we arrived in Athens port at about 7:30am. We had to be across the city at the embassy for 9:15. Justin was mournfully unencumbered by much stuff. I had taken the daypack off my bag, and all his current possessions could fit inside. It is a constant barrage of loss. Let’s just change socks… oh wait, he has no socks at all, just sandals. Check your email? No phone, no tablet, gonna have to wait until we find a computer. I am amazed at his resilience. At least we are travelling together, so I can give my phone, my ipad, which as a pc person, he turns his nose up at, so things aren’t that bad, I suppose.

Complete luggage loss is one of the more vexing things that can happen to a traveller. It does look like we should be able to get a temporary passport in time for our next flight, however. Fun fact! The embassy can apply for an emergency document, which will get a Canadian home to get a new passport. If you are flying directly home. It is much more expensive to get a temp passport, and you pay for the new permanent one to meet you at home when you get there as well. So passport loss is expensive and highly inconvenient. Luggage loss is expensive and heart-rending. Picture loss cannot be healed. Those pictures of the bulk of our journey are gone, save for a few silly ones I plucked out for facebook. That, more than anything, makes me wish to rend the thief limb from limb.

We got on the metro, changing lines at the appropriate station. The time dragged on, as we rode the train across the city. I stood with my hand on my belt-pouch, more aware than ever how easy it is to become a victim. Every person around me was a potential enemy. That is the other facet of luggage loss. Trust in basic goodness, no matter how much you should know better, is shattered. I know most of the people are good people. So many people were dismayed to hear of our plight, and so many people in Santorini tried to help. But there is a wounded animal part of me that wishes to flash out with claws and snarls at anyone who approaches unexpectedly.

We get off at the station that is supposed to be near a surface tram. Emerging from the underground, there is a busy intersection, but no tram, and no wires above the street to power one. The general map we were peering at has mislead us. The tram may be close, but it is not here. And we are running out of time. Here it is. Time to reach out again. Time to make the fundamental connections a traveller must make, reaching out, going on the information provided by strangers. I saw a clean cut man in a peaked hat with some sort of official looking decoration on his lapel. No doubt this is a signal most recognize around here, imparting occifialdom, but it is not one I recognize. I more see his posture, his body language asking to help, prepared to answer. That, and the lapel decoration sway me over, and I asked him how best to get to our destination, the embassy. “The American embassy?!?” he asks, eyes wide. I think we are pretty far from the American embassy, and the Canadian embassy just moved way out here. I can understand his concern. “No, the Canadian one. Here is the address. I can also show you on this map where it is.” I point, Justin points, we show our carefully copied out words. He shakes his head, he does not think the embassy is there, but we are so sure it has just moved. “Best to take a taxi. There is no bus that goes from here.” he finally decides. He points us to the best corner for catching a taxi, and we take off.

The embassy looms into view after a tense cab ride. We managed to make our destination understood, thanks to writing it down. The taxi driver spoke no english.

When I saw the Canadian flag, all the stress, all the fear, all the uncertainly… I cannot quite describe what it is like to see the flag of your home country when you are far away and scared. Tears pressed my lids.

Lock your devices in a locker outside the embassy. Go thru a scanner. Can we keep your backpack here? Oh yes, you might as well. If it isn’t safe with security in the embassy, it isn’t safe anywhere. See the consultant, go get some pictures taken…. wait and wait. Hopefully we can get the temporary passport tomorrow. If not, we will have to change flights. Which will mess up the next flight.

Keep your passport close while travelling, folks.