split open knuckles

May 8

Woke up at 5:51am. No more sleep. By 6:30 I was out the door, looking for coffee, eight things on my mind. Looking for a rec centre to use the gym, looking forward to the showering. Get back to the camper jacks, it's halfway and one or two of the jacks dont seem to wanna go any higher, have to take it back down, change another two, put higher prop under the rear. Bang the same two split open knuckles another twenty four times ratcheting it all back into place. No matter what I do, the front two legs are all akimbo, looking like a clumsy just born foal. One's sticking out to the side, the other one to the front, and I have about six inches yet to raise just the front, this slight hill is going to test me today. Slowly, slowly... My radiator is dripping out some fluid from the engine socket again, oh man, am I gonna have to do that too? Back the truck in soo carefully, jumping out eighteen times to see, is it gonna clear it? Is it straight enough? Check, check, recheck, then bump it up against the cab juuuuuust right, angling the truck this way then that, between the little space of the wonky jacks and the box. Its in, I breathe a little easier, the hands stop flapping, my chest releases its vise just slightly. 

Now to attach it with these weird stiff anchor bolts. My arm barely squeezes in between, my wrist and hand cramp but I get it after practicing the fastening a few times. Ready to lower it and it looks as though its about to bend the shit out of the box, raise it back up and let those anchors off, I'll have to go buy chains. Down down down, and my truck sags under the weight. Finally, my shower. All my bags, belongings, clothes were shot into the back while it was on the ground. Easier that way. What a crowded little mess, I hit every part of me. Pinch, bruise and knock all my corners on all of its corners. This birth is difficult. But then it is all finished but the tying down, and I can finally begin the next leg on the road. Drive it all undone across town to the Canadian Tire by the highway. Two more hours buying three things, returning two, buying one, returning one, buying four, returning one until I figure out just the right system and... that is IT! All of the rest can wait but the time, so I'm getting out before rush hour. T hooks me up with road snacks and family love before I step on the gas.

It isn't a challenge to go slow, my truck is lumbering under this new weight, complaining, and I hold my breath for the first forty minutes. Up the big hill, across the cut, and out to Squamish, then slowly, draggingly, up out from there too, no stops until supper, I'm on my wayyyy! Picturing a sunny trip in my mind, it's all misty and rain but oh so beautiful. SO much green and misty shroud clouds. I try to film some passing scenery but I'm too slow. Thom Yorke's Atoms for Peace from the Eraser remixes album fills my drive with epic heart swells.

I stop to rest the truck in Whistler, she's running pretty hot. I switch off the motor and listen to the radiator trying to suck up juice. Jump out and fill the overflow, then run for it. Every portion of this day has been plagued by a desperate urge to pee! Every time I stop or have something to attend to, my body demands me first. Dinner at the Old Spag, it's been years. The bathrooms still smell of drugs. The last time I was here it's likely I got high in there. The carpet is crazy paisley. Solo dinner accompanied by internet chats and check ins. Delicious, and with breakfast to take away. Nothing wrong with a fancy cocktail at the end of this epic day.

Then it's back on the gas pedal. It feels smoother now after my break. I am getting used to this new feeling, and drive much faster, relaxing through the squeaks and creaks of the camper on top and behind me. Switch it over to more Fourtet, This Unfolds, for the entire drive through to Pemberton and the springs. It's just right, matches the raindrops. The rain that has been following me all the way from town seems to be held back by this pass. The batten of the clouds is catching on the claws that are it's tallest peaks. They're tangled up and stay behind. It's all mist now. Pemberton gas station. More weird memories of this bathroom... The wind that tears through this valley, flipping the leaves all white side up, all smells the same as it did ten years ago. It's eight and I am going to make it to the hot springs tonight. The enchanted valley rolls past, green pastures and soft cattle, those poky mountains shooting out from the flats. A lone apple tree, hundreds of years old, stands in the open at the far end of a field and takes my breath away. I want to stop and stare at it, the light is magnificent, but I need to get to my sleeping place. Down my favorite road in the world through the rez, lined by cotton trees and a flat slow river, to the lake. Set off on the gravel. Was it mile 20?

Start out so fast, fly by the familiar campsites, past a big bear who cocks his head at me, giving me shit for speeding though his hood. Then on and on and the dark comes on and I take a wrong turn at a bridge, then turn around and keep on, then nearly stop at 42. What is this place? I'm lost. Im nowhere. I'm so tired. “Don't quit before the miracle happens”. That cheeseball old saying pops into my head, so I take it and continue, and then the sign appears. Its unreasonably busy, full of cars and trucks, the site is bigger now? I'm blinded by a big truck leaving, with its brights full on in my face, then everything is black black, and every site looks full. I take the chance and drive the circle, towards the spot I had imagined in my mind where I would sleep; on the fast river's banks, backed right up so all my windows showed me where I was was upon awakening to my first real day of solo road trip traveling in fifteen years. And what do you know but there it was- my spot waiting for me in the dark. I back the truck in and fumble around for my stuff. I have to pee like crazy again. Then I get in the back and start trying to make space, tripping on all the stuff on the floor, and stepping on a carton of apple juice that bursts open and sprays everything, emptying the whole litre onto the floor and piles of junk there. Awesome. Towel sacrificed, laundry again. Sit for a smoke on the steps outside in the dark, sipping on some moonshine mixed with the juice that didn't explode. I'm able to see the river which is moon blue under the cloud cover that appeared by the bottom of Lilloet Lake. It keeps raging past like white noise in the background as I lay in my bed; the noise pushes me into a hard slumber.