Maverick Truck Camper Journal

With the new to us  white Palomino Maverick Truck camper on the white Ford F-350 Lariat edition truck feeling like angels, we headed out on the highway for the Canadian wilderness. In the city streets Trump haters and Trudeau lovers ran about in frenzied packs only to stop at intersections to bare ass and leave hot steamy dumps of human waste in protest.  Clashes occurred between cyclists and auto drivers every block.  Every Vancouver gas station had groups of protestors carrying signs   saying “I can’t drive my BMW because of the price of gas..” Along the highway rows of middle class families slouched away from the most expensive city in the world pushing their designer baby buggies carrying their bags of Jimmy Chou shoes, their children forced to walk carrying game boys and hauling behind them diamond studded Pomeranian pets.

We shut off our iPhones and turned off the Pravda CBC and listened to cacophony of auto horns in the bottleneck of Langley.  

“Darling, “ the blond haired  vixen beside me said,” You’re so courageous to drive this big truck with this big load.”

I smiled sweetly back at her, thinking of my hero, Chevy Chase. 

Gilbert, the blind old cockapoo, sat between farting.

The first challenge was filling up with gas, wide load and high. Whenever I drove under anything, no matter how high, I saw images of the camper being torn off the truck. Pulling into the crowded gas station I made such a wide turn I could hardly reach the truck with the pump hose.  The propane tanks were outdated and needed to be replaced.

At the O’Connor RV Parts store, where the people were finest, a gorgeous young woman named Tracy helped me man handle the old mattress out of the truck and put the new mattress in.  When did I change I wondered from admiring a beautiful woman for her obvious sex appeal to liking her strong back and strong legs as she helped the old guy get the new mattress into the camper. 

At Hope we bought groceries. July Long Weekend runs were happening in the potato chip and wiener lanes and fights broke out over the last pop corn packages.  I felt blessed to get a bag of BC Ambrosia apples, steaks, and BC potatoes.

We drove on listening to inspirational IDAA tapes on the radio.  Local radio refused to carry irrelevant political maulings and instead announced pig prices and played praise music.  

Traffic thinned as we passed lovely green pine and spruce, a large golden doe nibbling by the side of road, bald headed eagles circling above in the grey skies threatening rain.   Princeton, finally, Home Hardware still open.  I bought a tiny RV barbecue with a ‘little assembly required’.  A pocket lathe for making metal bits came in the package.  I realized I’d forgotten the charger for the electric bicycle which was a nuisance to load and unload in the camper.  Electric bike chargers are not a common item outside of the city.

We headed north on a winding secondary road, fearing we’d fall over on every tight turn.  I stopped a half dozen times to check the turnbuckles tie downs.  I was vaguely headed up to a logging road Luke, Sunny, Tom and I had hunted one year. I had my Winchester 300 win mag with the thought I might shoot a suicidal bear to share with Naomi nursing the new baby Faith. Her bear hunting husband had been unable to hunt this spring distracted by the birth of his child and instant repurposing as nappy changer.  I even had a fly rod for fishing.

Chain Lakes Wilderness Recreational site appeared.  A terrific site host informed us there really was a site available though all the lake sites were taken. I love these sites with hosts living there.  Guarantees  the rowdies with loud music not wanting to be there.  Dogs and kids and families. RV’s and tents.  

I backed into a place beside a picnic table.  Gilbert and Laura had bailed.  They stood by looking terrified.  No  property damage ensued. . Only later would we learn that when the camper is on the box the jacks can accommodate a tilt to the back but not a tilt forward. I was tilted forward.  To sleep we had extra pillows . Being a sailor I’m used to walking on a tilt. 

The process of getting systems going began. The slide worked.  I disconnected the power cable to the truck so the house battery wouldn’t drain the car battery.  Laura walked Gilbert about so he could sniff and mark his new territory.  I got the propane working. The stove works. The water pumps work.  The refrigerator works on electricity but doesn’t appear to work on propane.  

The lovely wife of the host came by and brought wood so I could made a huge fire.  Laura made the bed up.  Apparently I had brought a duvet cover thinking it was a fitted sheet.  Otherwise we had a bed worthy of a king and queen.  Gilbert loves his little bed but demanded we let him join us at 6 am.  He can only get on the bed being lifted up. To shut off his begging grunts I lifted the little squirmy alarm clock up.  He promptly lay down on Laura’s face to show his love.  Now we were all awake he cuddled and went back to sleep. 

Before bed I’d barbecued half the hotdogs.  

‘Laura these silly hot dogs are individually wrapped.”

“ Yes, we had those as a kid. They must be coming back. Did you take the wrapping off before you put them on the barbecue.?”

“No,” I replied. Following up with, “Could you give me the rest of the hotdogs.”

The plastic adulterated hotdogs went into the fire and the individually unwrapped dogs went on the barbecue.

Laura had brought Cobs buns but we’d not got mustard but had remembered butter.  We ate at the sweet little table on the slide.

I was so tired after that I climbed into bed and slept most of the night waking chilled as I’d forgotten the duvet. I snuggled against Laura missing her earlier menopausal hot flashes but getting enough warmth to go back to sleep.

In the morning I got the heater working to take the chill off. The old house battery was dying faster, dim lights paling more. I couldn’t run the water pump and the heater at the same time.  But later when I heard others running generators,   I started up Honda 2000 generator and got more systems going.   Amazing what can be done with pliers, screw driver and duck tape. 

 Later I got the  hot water heater working.  I made a cup of espresso coffee with cream and honey and was in heaven.  It had rained in the morning.  I walked Gilbert in the fresh air.  The lake was serene.    I still can’t get the strut down because I don’t have a ratchet.  

I’m on my second cup off coffee. There’s no wifi or cell service. The world could have burned up with global warning and I would have missed the talking head discussion of it and the Facebook arguments about it. A nuclear bomb could have exploded in Guam or Israel and I’d not know.  I can feel myself twitching with withdrawal.  I don’t know if Justin Trudeau has given another terrorist 10 million dollars or removed any more Canadian freedoms.  Trump could have finally given in to the constant barrage of hate and shaved his head.  I am reduced to watching one silly dog and will have to survive without funny animal videos.  

We really are roughing it.  I am keeping a record of our terrible deprivation as people in Vancouver will never believe we survived this.  I can see movie producers calling me up next week if we survive and the world still exists. We really are thinking of a run back to Princeton for a new battery and a duvet and possible the ratchet to get the strut to come down.  I’m considering a book deal,  

Laura has dared to shower. I’m hoping a sudden change in water temperature will have her running naked out of the camper.  I can’t decide what’s causing the disorientation more, the lack of wifi or lack of visit to a mall in umpteen hours.  We could get a fix in Princeton. Then head out again to try another dose of supreme roughing it.  We are stowed and could be ready to go in minutes if we just have the courage.  

I’m going to have a shower after Laura.  I’m sure I touched some dirt when I was making the fire last night..  I feel grungy depending on the natural oils of my body.  A little corrosive soap will no doubt help with my decision making. I’ve no cologne with me.  I smell of  Musk Oil ,the very best solution to keeping the tiny flying vampires outside off.   

          

    

  

Canada Day, July 1, Psalm 52

Psalm 52

Why do you boast of evil, you mighty hero?

Why do you boast all day long, you who are a disgrace in the eyes of God?

You who practice deceit, your tongue plots destruction; it is like a sharpened razor.

You love evil rather than good, falsehood rather speaking the truth.

You love every harmful word, you deceitful tongue!

Surely God will bring you down to everlasting ruin:

He will snatch you up and pluck you from your tent;

He will uproot you from the land of the living.

The righteous will see and fear; they will laugh at you saying.

Here now is the man who did not make God his stronghold,

But trusted in his great wealth and grew strong by destroying others!

But I am a like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God;

I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever.

For what you have done I will always praise you in the presence of your faithful people.

And I will hope in your name for your name is good.

Laura told me it was Canada Day and I opened my bible seeking Psalm 51 the recovery psalm, “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.” Instead I read Psalm 52.

Naturally thinking of Canada I thought the psalm was about Justin Trudeau and surely it is but when one reads spiritual texts the words are always about oneself.  For in the world of the spirit object and subject are one.  I am that which I love and that which fear. 

Dr. Carl Jung called this the’shadow’.  The energy we have comes from our connection with the dark side within us, that which we project onto others.  I see all that is negative in me in Justin Trudeau. I was like him I believe when I met his father.  I was so full of pride when I was young and experience has humbled me.  I have known humiliation and shame but it is the humbling instead which is like the polishing of a diamond.  My experience has exposed me to my soul that which is interconnected with all other life, ‘all my relations’ in the fullest sense of the aboriginal or the soul in simpler terms. I am encouraged to see others who appear harmful and discordant as childlike or sick, so that I can love rather than fear and hate. 

I feel like a Russian who loved his country and heritage and watched as Lenin, the murderous lawyer fanatic took over the country with his gang of Molotov’s and Stalin, bank robbers and killers, destroying the old and bringing in the new.  Now that has gone and we here in Canada seem to be buying old planes and old ideas. I feel our capital is mired in the colonial and socialist.  Yet we are a country of renewal, a northern realm of celestial northern lights and the promises of spring. We are young and creative in the freshness of potential.  We have no need of the old except in religion and spirituality where the soul remains hidden to be found like the perfect book in the dusty old book shop.

I call out to you Holy Spirit. I seek the other world that winks at me as a mother to a baby. I would follow you this day and put my faith and trust in God. For God is good.  I am thankful for this day and pray that the God of Love and lovers of God dance this day in hope and faith. Another year of a nation that like Israel strays and returns. Like Russia, no longer communist, the aetheism and death cult of Stalin, Molotov’s and Lenin, left for the Orthodox Religion of Jesus.  I loved to stand in the church’s of Moscow and St. Petersburg. I loved being with the orthodox monks in Capadocia.  I would sit in prayer more with those who know the Hound of Heaven is chasing them as he chases me.  I have but to surrender and let the holy waters flow over me. Let me know thy peace.Thy will be done.  Still my fear and business and let me rest in you.  I would rest in you, Lord.  

Thank you Jesus this Sunday, Canada Day.

Maverick Truck Camper Chronicles - Canada Day Afternoon

It’s been a whirlwind of activity today.  Canada Day.  I walked Gilbert this morning. I recall I wrote something.  I shaved.  Gilbert and I did the expedition to the outhouse 5 minutes walk up the hill.

Sometime in the morning I fried onion and mixed eggs and cream to create a scrambled egg sandwich that was so delicious.  I even did the dishes, though mostly we used paper plates.  I burnt the garbage in the pit too.  

I read a lot. The Nial Ferguson book on networks and Cry of the Fish Eagle, the novel about Rhodesia.  I put out the mat carpet, nylon water proof and moved the reclining chairs to it.  The pace picked up.  The sun came out. 

I napped and read and napped and read.  Laura did much the same.  The river was beautiful.  Great view.  

I tried to get the propane refrigerator lit but failed. It ran fine on the generator. I charged the Mac and the Ipad and IPhone and I watch.  I love my Honda 2000 generator. I went back to napping and reading after that. 

 I made bacon sandwiches around 2.  The lady came by to collect the $6 a night to stay.  Laura was undressing inside at the time.  Lovely person, talked  of fishing and her husband’s hunting, last year’s floods and fires effects on the game patterns.  

Laura walked Gilbert. I read and napped.  A bald eagle chase by crows circled above the river.

It was a whirlwind of a day.  

I tried fishing from the shore. After casting a dozen or more times,  I got bored and stopped when I lost a hook.  

Now I’m reading in the camper. The wind had become cold. 

Laura and Gilbert are up in the loft bed. I”m drinking tea.  Life is just too pressured.  

I thought to bicycle today but there wasn’t any time. I was way too busy. Now I don’t know whether to have salads and roast beef sandwiches later or barbecue pork chops. I think I’ll build a fire and have pork chops tomorrow night. There’s just too many decisions.  

This record keeping it way too much. I’m going back to reading and finish my tea.  It’s Canada Day.  I’m experiencing Canada way more here than at some generic fireworks.  

This here is Canada.  Real Canada. Unique outdoor Canada.  

Wilderness in a camper van.  With a dog. And a girl.

Maverick Truck Camper Journal

With the new to us  white Palomino Maverick Truck camper on the white Ford F-350 Lariat edition truck feeling like angels, we headed out on the highway for the Canadian wilderness. In the city streets Trump haters and Trudeau lovers ran about in frenzied packs only to stop at intersections to bare ass and leave hot steamy dumps of human waste in protest.  Clashes occurred between cyclists and auto drivers every block.  Every Vancouver gas station had groups of protestors carrying signs   saying “I can’t drive my BMW because of the price of gas..” Along the highway rows of middle class families slouched away from the most expensive city in the world pushing their designer baby buggies carrying their bags of Jimmy Chou shoes, their children forced to walk carrying game boys and hauling behind them diamond studded Pomeranian pets.

We shut off our iPhones and turned off the Pravda CBC and listened to cacophony of auto horns in the bottleneck of Langley.  

“Darling, “ the blond haired  vixen beside me said,” You’re so courageous to drive this big truck with this big load.”

I smiled sweetly back at her, thinking of my hero, Chevy Chase. 

Gilbert, the blind old cockapoo, sat between farting.

The first challenge was filling up with gas, wide load and high. Whenever I drove under anything, no matter how high, I saw images of the camper being torn off the truck. Pulling into the crowded gas station I made such a wide turn I could hardly reach the truck with the pump hose.  The propane tanks were outdated and needed to be replaced.

At the O’Connor RV Parts store, where the people were finest, a gorgeous young woman named Tracy helped me man handle the old mattress out of the truck and put the new mattress in.  When did I change I wondered from admiring a beautiful woman for her obvious sex appeal to liking her strong back and strong legs as she helped the old guy get the new mattress into the camper. 

At Hope we bought groceries. July Long Weekend runs were happening in the potato chip and wiener lanes and fights broke out over the last pop corn packages.  I felt blessed to get a bag of BC Ambrosia apples, steaks, and BC potatoes.

We drove on listening to inspirational IDAA tapes on the radio.  Local radio refused to carry irrelevant political maulings and instead announced pig prices and played praise music.  

Traffic thinned as we passed lovely green pine and spruce, a large golden doe nibbling by the side of road, bald headed eagles circling above in the grey skies threatening rain.   Princeton, finally, Home Hardware still open.  I bought a tiny RV barbecue with a ‘little assembly required’.  A pocket lathe for making metal bits came in the package.  I realized I’d forgotten the charger for the electric bicycle which was a nuisance to load and unload in the camper.  Electric bike chargers are not a common item outside of the city.

We headed north on a winding secondary road, fearing we’d fall over on every tight turn.  I stopped a half dozen times to check the turnbuckles tie downs.  I was vaguely headed up to a logging road Luke, Sunny, Tom and I had hunted one year. I had my Winchester 300 win mag with the thought I might shoot a suicidal bear to share with Naomi nursing the new baby Faith. Her bear hunting husband had been unable to hunt this spring distracted by the birth of his child and instant repurposing as nappy changer.  I even had a fly rod for fishing.

Chain Lakes Wilderness Recreational site appeared.  A terrific site host informed us there really was a site available though all the lake sites were taken. I love these sites with hosts living there.  Guarantees  the rowdies with loud music not wanting to be there.  Dogs and kids and families. RV’s and tents.  

I backed into a place beside a picnic table.  Gilbert and Laura had bailed.  They stood by looking terrified.  No  property damage ensued. . Only later would we learn that when the camper is on the box the jacks can accommodate a tilt to the back but not a tilt forward. I was tilted forward.  To sleep we had extra pillows . Being a sailor I’m used to walking on a tilt. 

The process of getting systems going began. The slide worked.  I disconnected the power cable to the truck so the house battery wouldn’t drain the car battery.  Laura walked Gilbert about so he could sniff and mark his new territory.  I got the propane working. The stove works. The water pumps work.  The refrigerator works on electricity but doesn’t appear to work on propane.  

The lovely wife of the host came by and brought wood so I could made a huge fire.  Laura made the bed up.  Apparently I had brought a duvet cover thinking it was a fitted sheet.  Otherwise we had a bed worthy of a king and queen.  Gilbert loves his little bed but demanded we let him join us at 6 am.  He can only get on the bed being lifted up. To shut off his begging grunts I lifted the little squirmy alarm clock up.  He promptly lay down on Laura’s face to show his love.  Now we were all awake he cuddled and went back to sleep. 

Before bed I’d barbecued half the hotdogs.  

‘Laura these silly hot dogs are individually wrapped.”

“ Yes, we had those as a kid. They must be coming back. Did you take the wrapping off before you put them on the barbecue.?”

“No,” I replied. Following up with, “Could you give me the rest of the hotdogs.”

The plastic adulterated hotdogs went into the fire and the individually unwrapped dogs went on the barbecue.

Laura had brought Cobs buns but we’d not got mustard but had remembered butter.  We ate at the sweet little table on the slide.

I was so tired after that I climbed into bed and slept most of the night waking chilled as I’d forgotten the duvet. I snuggled against Laura missing her earlier menopausal hot flashes but getting enough warmth to go back to sleep.

In the morning I got the heater working to take the chill off. The old house battery was dying faster, dim lights paling more. I couldn’t run the water pump and the heater at the same time.  But later when I heard others running generators,   I started up Honda 2000 generator and got more systems going.   Amazing what can be done with pliers, screw driver and duck tape. 

 Later I got the  hot water heater working.  I made a cup of espresso coffee with cream and honey and was in heaven.  It had rained in the morning.  I walked Gilbert in the fresh air.  The lake was serene.    I still can’t get the strut down because I don’t have a ratchet.  

I’m on my second cup off coffee. There’s no wifi or cell service. The world could have burned up with global warning and I would have missed the talking head discussion of it and the Facebook arguments about it. A nuclear bomb could have exploded in Guam or Israel and I’d not know.  I can feel myself twitching with withdrawal.  I don’t know if Justin Trudeau has given another terrorist 10 million dollars or removed any more Canadian freedoms.  Trump could have finally given in to the constant barrage of hate and shaved his head.  I am reduced to watching one silly dog and will have to survive without funny animal videos.  

We really are roughing it.  I am keeping a record of our terrible deprivation as people in Vancouver will never believe we survived this.  I can see movie producers calling me up next week if we survive and the world still exists. We really are thinking of a run back to Princeton for a new battery and a duvet and possible the ratchet to get the strut to come down.  I’m considering a book deal,  

Laura has dared to shower. I’m hoping a sudden change in water temperature will have her running naked out of the camper.  I can’t decide what’s causing the disorientation more, the lack of wifi or lack of visit to a mall in umpteen hours.  We could get a fix in Princeton. Then head out again to try another dose of supreme roughing it.  We are stowed and could be ready to go in minutes if we just have the courage.  

I’m going to have a shower after Laura.  I’m sure I touched some dirt when I was making the fire last night..  I feel grungy depending on the natural oils of my body.  A little corrosive soap will no doubt help with my decision making. I’ve no cologne with me.  I smell of  Musk Oil ,the very best solution to keeping the tiny flying vampires outside off.   

          

    

  

The Scottish Play, Bard on the Beach

MacBeth became known as the ‘scottish play’ because of a superstition saying it’s name would bring supernatural disruptions to the play.  Seeing  the performance by the three witches in tonight’s show, I’m not taking any chances in the title.

 Laura and I loved the play thoroughly. With the royal Bard on the Beach tents  in Vanier Park on Granville Island and sailboats going by in the False Creek back ground beyond the stage  I felt I was seeing Shakespeare as it would have been first seen hundreds of years ago.

Director Chris Abraham did a marvellous job of directing with great timing as  cast flowed in from aisles and tunnels, and voices rang out from around the theatre.  So much action with sword fights and kettle drums, I felt a child again, simply enthralled in the amazing drama.  

I really must repeat I loved the witches, Emma Slipp, Kate Besworth, and Harveen Sandhu. ‘ Eye of neut and toe of frog’ the famous incantation of the witches brew.  Ah to  hear again the  words, ‘Double, double, toil and trouble.’  I was in England. I was reading MacBeth by pen light in a tent as a boy.

With other Shakespeare plays I’m sometimes struggling with the language. Not with MacBeath.  So many lines are apart of our history.  It was good to see my church friend Rod in the antitheatre with his teacher friend. Rod had played in MacBeath as a boy and his friend had taught MacBeth many times. The two were finishing each other’s refrains thoroughly enjoying themselves.  

 Lady MacBeth, played so powerfully by Moya O Connell, sent shivers up my spine when she cried, ‘Out Out Damn Spot!’  I really did enjoy the discussion of psychiatry by the doctor, played by Scott Bellis,  and MacBeth.  

 I loved best Andrew Wheeler as MacDuff.  Of Course Ben Carlson as MacBeth was incredible. What a voice. What delivery. What a play. All the actors and actresses are to be congratulated and were with a standing ovation and lingering applause.  

The sword fights were best too, after the witches.  They really did a fine job. It’s not often one sees a great staged sword fight today but this was it.  I was thankful to have been there.  

Bard on the Beach delivers. Shakespeare performances continue June to September , 2018. 

21 years

I remember looking forward to drinking legally. 21 years of age was being an adult. Celebrating being an adult was going into a pub and ordering a beer without fear.  Drinking legally was being a man.

Then the provinces of Canada between 1968 to 1970  dropped the legal age of drinking from 21 to 18 or 19.  I felt short changed. I had sneaked into bars mostly to hear bands and be with older friends in bands but somehow when the age changed it meant that the ‘rite of passage’ somehow changed with it.  I developed a resentment.  One day I was drinking illegally, next legally, but what I’d missed is that great 21 year old party bash.  Life wasn’t fair. 

Now I’m 21 again.  Old enough to drink in my own era of thought. Ironically 21 now is the number of years I’ve not drunk. I could drink today too but I choose not to. Today like most days I pray I won’t. 

It’s a long fast.  It’s a sacrifice of the first born most desired pleasure for greater joy here and in heaven. It’s not drinking really I feel this way about but smoking. I miss smoking.  I felt a man when I had a pipe or cigar in my mouth more than when I had a pint. Indeed I quit drinking as much to quit smoking as for any reason. I was addicted to smoking and had quit three times each time starting again while I was drinking.  In retrospect I saw that most of the really rotten things I had in my life were somehow related to the drinking and the way it effected my judgment at the time or for days after. 

The last time I quit both. Smoking was bad and even evil in my mind by then, drinking not so bad.  Man was never meant to inhale smoke of any kind. We were not born with chimneys. I kidded myself the menthol was good for me. I even thought pot was good, because it was a ‘herb’ but while I could have eaten cookies or made tea I instead smoked that too. I even hot knifed hash in the east.  Hash was an east coast thing. Marijuana was a west coast thing.  Crystal meth used to be a European thing while Cocaine and crack dominated the west. Now it’s all fentanyl. I consider myself lucky I got out before cocaine and crack and crystal meth and heroin and fentanyl became prevalent. 

I think with some humility and gratitude that if I’d not quit smoking I might well have smoked crack.  Today I’d smoke fentanyl.  So many dead There but for the grace of God go I. 

I don’t miss the feeling of swimming vision, spinning rooms, the ‘not caring’ how people perceived me as I was a happy fool drinking. I don’t miss brushing people off.  Smoking I was interested in the inhaling and exhaling like a pranayama guru would be with air. But I didn’t appreciate the air and I didn’t appreciate the water. I liked them corrupted then.  Today I’m thankful for breathing. I breathe some days like it’s the best thing in the world. I’ll catch myself not breathing or shallow breathing and take a great big breath smelling the scents and fragrances and thanking my lucky stars to be alive. I love clear spring water alone, love feeling the coolness in my throat, enlivened rather than depressed.  Alcohol is a depressant. 

We say luck is God acting anonymously. I really feel lucky or rather loved by God, just to be alive when I consider where it could have gone.  We’re to celebrate God with ‘praise and thanksgiving’.  We become closer to God with fasting.  Sacrifices were not of the throw away kind but of the best. Hence the story of the man who was going to give up his child and was told not to. By contrast to the Biblical tradition other religions of a more barbaric age were sacrificing their children for prosperity.  There’s a difference between giving old used socks or new socks as a gift to someone. I get that.  

A pastoral friend commented on my life and wondered if giving up alcohol would be good for him. I had to tell him that for him he’d have to give up money. I could tell he didn’t like smoking or drinking but he really got excited around money.  Getting sober didn’t mean I gained a whole lot of subtlety or sensitivity.  I felt for a moment after my reply my friend was going to hit me.  

There’s an idea of ‘attachment’.   What attaches us to the physical or lower plane versus the world of thought, love and soul. Fasting reminds me that I’m a ‘spiritual being living in a material body’ rather than a ‘material being in a spiritual body’.

It was also clear to me that while smoking was physically unhealthy alcohol and those I drank alcohol with were no longer  people who helped me be the best person I could be. That’s what true friends are. Increasingly my drinking buddies were just that.  It had begun as fun.  We were living a great life when we were teenagers and couldn’t drink.  I didn’t smoke as a teen either.  I loved the athletics and scholarship, the music, and fellowship. The coffeehouses really were a blast. I still love coffee. But alcohol creeped into the scene.  At first it was a little something that was added to the already great event, the champagne with the celebration. Then I remember not wanting to stay at a dance because there was no booze. I loved to dance but finally dancing without alcohol didn’t seem as much fun.  Then everything I was doing socially and recreationally was associated with alcohol.  I even stopped to get a pack of cigarettes for after sex.  

I wasn’t alone.  It was the society I lived in.  Teaching at the university I was just one of the gang. I didn’t drink more or less than the next guy yet I had this whole moral thing going on. I was meditating and praying. I’d been attending church since I was a kid. I really believed in this idea of choosing between walking upright or slithering on the ground.  Sometimes drinking I really was legless.  Smoking is simply a death cult thing. It’s not life giving or life enhancing but self destructive, slow suicide. 

It seemed to that so many of my friends who had children changed. I didn’t drink more than a couple of drinks on call. I was on call 24/7 for a decade in a row. So I was what was called the ‘binge drinker’.  I’d get drunk on holidays. Studying I’d hardly drink until after the exams when I’d get thoroughly gassed.  People would comment on my dancing on tables but I danced on tables more sober than I ever did drunk. I was a dancer.  I had drunken friends who never danced, academic Ichabod Cranes, who’d try to dance on tables when we were drinking, monkey see, monkey do but they’d fall and I wouldn’t. 

 Often I thought that I was giving other people a ‘handicap’ by being a little drunk and stoned.  Not blatto but definitely one kite to the wind.  I’d think then that you probably shouldn’t drink, being stupid, or whatever, but you should thank me for drinking and giving you a chance to appear intelligent or athletic.  Only when I was drinking would I perceive myself in ‘competition’ without others. Sober I saw myself in competition with myself and my last achievement but drinking I’d compare.  There’s a special kind of egotism with drinking. I identified. I really was an egomaniac with an inferiority complex when I drank.  Sober, no.  When I smoked dope I just sat in the corner and stared a lot.  I liked music more stoned.  I was a slow lover and even fell asleep and had a partner fall asleep. Not quite like the movies. 

I took up knotting to have something to do with my hands. Smoking a pipe had to be a whole lot about the rituals and stopped me from biting my fingernails. I bite my fingernails again now.  But smoking caused me to wheeze. I also lost some of my sense of smell and taste. It’s always amuses me to hear smokers and drinkers going on about palate and taste, like blind men talking about the movie. Drinking does a lot of tissue damage, of the liver for sure, but also the heart and eventually is a serious cause of dementia. 

Quitting smoking the first thing I noticed was all the smells. I coughed up a bunch of lung for weeks then I breathed like a child again. St. Francis called his body, Brother Ass or Brother Donkey. Well when you give up smoking your body is happy.  I remember the first time I booked a motel room and didn’t ask for not smoking and was literally assailed by the stink and reek of old tobacco.  I smelt like that.  I smell the old men and women who are homeless but have enough money to smoke. They smell like ash trays. But just like me, they don’t know it. And I was wearing a Brook Brothers suit and fine cotton shirt, reeking.

Drinking I was losing a lot of time.  One or two glasses of wine are fine but when I got to three or four I wasn’t really at the top of my game. It’s why we don’t want pilots to be drunk and why Frank Zappa didn’t want people drunk or stoned in the studio. It’s non productive time.  I found when I stopped drinking I suddenly had a whole bunch more creative and useful time on my hands. I also found that I really didn’t like hanging around the conversations that went on when people got to drinking. I hate to use the word boring but that pretty much sums up what I thought pretty soon after.  Suddenly I was taking courses at the university after work, working out and writing seriously again.  I was reading a whole level higher of books. I always read but once again I was reading scientific texts, ancient tombs and studying other languages to appreciate translations.  

It all could have gone the other way.  There but for the grace of God go I.  These years have been good, exciting, interesting, useful, good friendship, wonderful dogs and memorable. I don’t forget like I used to.  My memories have a crispness and colour where as I remember them diluted and blurry.  No wonder we joke if you remember the 60’s and 70’s you probably weren’t there.

I’m here today. 21 years later. I love the learning and the friends.  It’s been a journey. I don’t think I’ll drink or smoke today. It’s hard not to some days with the government pushers working overtime.  I liked when a guy asked what is the difference between the government and any other gang. The answer was they’re not into selling children for sex, yet. Small mercies. They’re head over heels into pushing cigarettes, alcohol, gambling and now drugs.  

I was vulnerable as a young man.  My family was good, really good. Hard working,  law abiding, church going. They didn’t drink or smoke. Nothing they taught me was anything but good when I look back. Wise and fun.  I just had this anti authority thing going.  I didn’t know it then but I was afraid.  Everyone said the world was going to end.  Nuclear war, Silent Spring, Ozone Layer, Millenial Computer Crash.  It was just constant and if the world was going to end then ‘shananananana live for today.’  Be happy.  Get drunk. Party.  Carpe Diem. That bar at the end of the universe. 

But the world didn’t end.  And all around people were making families and building lives and those that drank and did drugs weren’t. I was fortunate. I got off the downhill spiral real early.  I remember being called a ‘high bottom’ and thinking these guy inviting me to join them were gay.  But by then I’d figured out that the elevator only went up or down , live or die, and I had to get off the down elevator. My partner had got hooked on coke and wouldn’t get help.  I thought I just loved the wild ones and bad ones but later learned that I had come to prefer ‘lower companions’ because it was a cheap way of making myself look good.  I’d moved away from the stirling friends, those I admired most. I’d been blessed to have the finest associations but one day I looked up and was surrounded by people who might be academics but they were drinking academics, they might be sailors, but they were the drinking sailors.  Suddenly the commonality of association was no longer the ‘best’, a true ‘meritocracy’ but rather a ‘tribal’ association.  Today I like to think my associations are the best and some even smoke or drink but no more than moderately or occasionally.  

I stil have some friends from that era too.  I like the ones who got off the merry go round.  I regained friends from before and I’ve made such very good friends since.  I’ll forever miss George and his poetry and stories.  We often laughed going to churches, dinners and meetings together, how we’d never have met if we’d not gone to the ‘bad boys’ club.  

I really am blessed.  So much is perception.  I’ve been able to study the mind and help people whose lives were in knots and who were on the verge of killing themselves. I think of ‘straightening paths’.  I’ve been able to reduce suffering and comfort people and restore people to work and family with the help of my training, my teachers and God.  It’s been a wonderful journey. I’m situated where I’ve been able to to help hundreds of people get out of the hole they dug from themselves and go off to find a new direction.  I think a lot about my parents and family and feel that in their eyes and the eyes of friends and even my dog and the cat I’m okay today.  I didn’t feel good about myself back then even though to the external world I was riding high, outwardly a true success story. Inwardly it was a different story.  

I never imagined I’d be here this long. I didn’t think I’d live this long. I’m thankful I am.  Now I could have a drink especially at my age, but really I don’t think I will. It’s like the apple in the garden. I’ve tasted it.  But I don’t want any more.  I can have anything else in the garden, even the apple but not both.  I could have a smoke too but why.  It does no good.   Truthfully, now,  I just want to walk with my Father.    

Palomino Maverick 1000SL Truck Camper 2005

Laura doesn’t like bears.  Last year I assured her there were no bears near Pemberton where I’d hunted for years.  Unfortunately a large billboard size sign announced that we were entering the Grizzly Bear Mating Area.
“You said there’d be no bears,” she said.
“Not in the camp. There will be lots of hunters around and you’ll be safe."
Well, given the forest fires that year and the problems with media reporting the Grizzly attacks, there was only one other hunting party in the camp which normally would be full. I was glad for the fire and the Winchester 300 win mag rifle I’d brought as I set up the camp.  We were safe in the grand tent in the box of the truck. I slept with the rifle. I had the axe and knife handy but despite that I didn’t sleep all that well.   Laura didn’t sleep a wink.  Even Gilbert was restless.
At dawn I’d made coffee, bacon and eggs then  I’d left Laura at the camp. She told me she’d made a lot of noise until she gave up and sat waiting for me in the truck. I’d left Gilbert with her and she was glad for his company and her 22 rifle when she went to the nearby outhouse in the day.  Apparently he patrolled the front of the outhouse and ran around it several times to ensure she was safe. .
I was up on the mountain in my Honda Pioneer 500 side by side ATV not seeing anything. There simply was no deer and no deer sign in this area that was normally full of game. The fires had obviously caused a shift in the herds. I felt a little concerned for Laura and came back early finding her sitting in the truck.  I also saw  the one camp heading out when I was coming in.  Laura was more than elated when I suggested we leave early.
Now this year I wanted to go camping in the summer. Just to get some fresh water swimming and a little fishing in. I really like being out in the wilderness and love camping myself but don’t want bears around except in hunting season when I’m open for guests. Laura wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about camping.  She’d loved when I had the little RV trailer and we’d gone up to Boston Bar weekends.  Even when a bear circled the trailer one day while we were out in the woods north of Merrit she’d not been concerned. The illusion of walls made her feel safe.
She’s been along on cold wet motorcycle camping trips. She’s been at sea when the SV GIRI has faced a bit of a blow. She’s had a tent cave in from snow when I was out hunting leaving her shivering in her sleeping bag in the little bit of tent left standing till I got back.  By most descriptions she’s been a real trooper. By urban feminine comparison she’s Gal Gadot,  Wonder Woman.
So I thought about getting a truck camper with her in mind.  Not that I personally don’t increasingly like luxury and comfort though I’d never admit to it.  We’ve stayed in a lot of motels and resorts but frankly I prefer being in the woods.  When I’d hunted with old Bill Mewhort we’d had his truck camper and hauled back moose in the trailer he pulled behind.  I’d loved having the shower and heat north of Prince George when 4 of us guys hunted moose one fall, shooting countless grouse though no moose. I’d seen the lynx that trip.  The forest in British Columbia is serene.  I love the little lakes and ducks and loons.  Mostly I like that Gilbert doesn’t need to be on leash like he does in Provincial camps.
Also It's not like I've not paid my dues. I've stayed in arctic igloos and quince I've made myself, camped in the Sierras without a tent, back packing tenting, canoe tennis, motorcycle camping, pup tents in all weather, snow camping and enough rain and mosquitoes to transfuse a small village. We camped as a family and I watched my father and mother move out of tenting into RV's loving their Slumber Queen motorhome before falling in love with Ocean Cruise Ships.
I have a 39 foot 5th wheel but the fact is it’s meant for being lived in and I’ve not even got the endorsement yet to pull it legally. It’s beyond my capabilities as yet and I’ve arranged driver’s training so I can move it from RV park to RV park on well paved highways.
I didn’t need a new camper just something second hand and cheap enough I could justify getting  it for the limited use for it I’d have. I also needed a place to live in for a couple of weeks while I was facing home repairs later. With a dog and a cat it seemed the solution. When I’d had my boat here I’d often stayed on it.
I’d begun researching the ads a month ago learning what was available.   Laura and I’d driven around to the major dealers in the valley to see what was offered. Frazerview in Abbotsford had the very best selection.  They make their own there.  The salesman had a couple of second hand units 2015 and 2016 that were just perfect and half the price of the new ones. Jordan Buchan had showed us a really skookum second hand one at Traveland RV where I’d bought my second RV and loved the sales and service. Jordan shared a whole lot of good information about buying a camper. All the salesman really were great but I just didn’t want to spend the amount of money.  The lowest priced second hand campers the dealers had was $17,000 while new unites went as high as $80,000.
 When I was younger I might well have purchased something $5-10 thousand dollars more than I thought I could afford. My brother always a wise and cautious buyer often criticized me in a fun way but I don’t like shopping and time off from work is time I want to be using to recoup.  Learning to live more in the day I actually can like the exploration and waiting. Laura’s a good bud for these trips, happy to come along with Gilbert and good for advice.
I’m glad I waited.  Chilliwack has a lot of RV’s so this weekend we drove out with an eye to just looking about and if I didn’t see something better I’d buy one from Frazerview in Abbotsford.
We hardly saw Leica Auto Sales Ltd. 44735 Yale Road 604-537 5804.A small lot. We’d been going to look at O’Connor.  And there it was. We passed the collection of RV’s and had to turn around and go back.
 A 2005 Palimino Marverick 1000Sl. It was the only camper on the lot.   It had had one owner and no leaks the seller insisted and everything worked. There was obvious wear and tear which occurs with second hand but the price was affordable. I’d just not put more money into RRSP’s until fall and winter and maybe my accountant who encourages such responsible behaviour wouldn’t notice. I love Anil’s advice but shiny things are shiny things.
Having looked at dozens and compared them, this was exactly what I was looking for. I loved the light coloured wood, the shower and toilet in a separate room, the heater, insulation. Propane 5 cu Refrigerator, 3 burner stove, and 6 gal hot water , 31 gallons fresh water, 7 gallons grey water and 7 gallons black water. .  1600 BTU furnace.  When hooked up to electricity it has air conditioning. It doesn’t have a generator but there’s always the truck and I do have a 2000 Honda generator which will do the trick.  The bed is queen sized and the table folds down to a bed too. I really like the table and see it with the big window as a lovely place to sit write, and drink coffee, Travels with Gilbert style.  The electric jacks will make life a lot easier.
I learned that I needed brackets  for the trailer to hook onto under the truck. The 2643 lb weight goes a long way to keeping it from flying off but the tie downs do the rest.  John Hassan very personable and matter of fact,  Leica Auto Sales Ltd owner sent us down to Trademaster a short ways down Yale Road.  Good guys, they looked over my truck and booked in the installation giving John time to get the RV ready to haul.  Bank of Nova Scotia in Sardis was open and I got a money draft from savings.  Unlike a trailer you tow, it didn’t need any more licensing from ICBC, the truck being licensed and the Camper just cargo.  I called Thaun Vo at Rand and McNally. He’s an amazing guy for following up on insurance.  He’s going to insure it for theft and fire etc.
I called Eric at Star Fleet who is the very best guy for maintenance and repairs for RV’s, someone I’ve known and called for rescue over the last 8 years. Despite it being the long weekend he’s going to drop by and check it out to make sure there’s no surprises for Laura and I when we get away for 5 days next week.  Eric has been a lifesaver since I got my first RV.  I put my coffee pot in the grey sink it wasn’t a metal sink and the pot melted right through.   I remember standing there dumbfounded, finding Eric’s calling, and telling him the news.  “You’re not the first one,” he said. “I can come around tomorrow.’.  I appreciate his calm.
Laura and I driving home dropped by at Chilliwack RV Storage on Lumsden Road. The owner is a great man whose guarded my RV’s over the years, his locked fenced compound having dogs in addition to people living there.  When I first brought my first trailer to store I knew nothing and he was so kind to the  green horn.  Now he welcomed me back with a big smile.
So Laura is really excited about camping again. I’m so glad. I really want to just drive along a logging road main in the interior till I see a little lake and pull off and park. If there’s a picnic table and it’s a wilderness site so much the better. But now it’s like the  old days when I had the Vanagon.  I can just pull over and if need be take a nap. If I want wifi and cable I can pull into an RV camp. Admittedly it’s a bit of luxury for camping, fishing and hunting but really, I don’t enjoy lying on the cold ground. My back and knees don’t like it. But I’ll still be out in the wilderness enjoying my queen size 60 x 80 bed and getting up to make coffee in the warm out of the rain without mosquitoes.  Laura’s going to like the bathroom, no doubt about that.  I think that last night walking in the dark in grizzly bear territory with the little flash light despite brave little Gilbert guarding the outhouse door almost did her in.