A Few of the National Parks

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Enjoy some photos we took while on the road.

Route 66. The Road for Milkshakes in a Diner.

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Enjoy some photos we took while on the road.

The Road Goes Ever On…

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

We drive out of Mexico, it is a hot day. No rain. Four hours waiting in the immigration line... and Loredo is busy. Cars filled the main road, and we decide to beat it straight out of town, and as far away as we can get. Find a place somewhere. No expensive hotels for the evening.

We turn off the interstate an hour later. Down on a side road, crossing a railway line, and heading west. A small bird stands on the hot tarmac, at the sight of the car it runs into the shrubs on the roadside. A road-runner. It didn't make a "beeping" noise, and no rock crushed our car as it disappeared.

We call our car Road Runner.

The camp ground was just 10 minutes down the road. After a hot day in the car, it was good to get out and stretch our legs.

Texas is huge. We could get lost for a lifetime in this country.

Austin Texas

Austin Texas. The interstate rolls down through the tall buildings, winding out into a vast intersection. Navigating laneways we roll out the north side, over tall roads. A ribbon of interstate.

Finding a place to pitch a tent is hard work, in a country of Recreational vehicles. No tents allowed. No tents allowed. The travelling dogs, common companions on the road, when life exists within the walls of an R.V. have taken the small patches of grass where we could stay.

The U.S. Army Corps have some excellent camping grounds, dotted outside city limits. Wonderful views, and excellent facilities in huge campgrounds. We are glad that it is not peak season - it is busy enough right now.

The older boys opt to spend the night in hammocks. They string their "eno hammocks" up below the roof of the cooking area; stretched in different directions they sleep above the table. In the morning there is a story, what follows is the account of the boys...

The Monkey

"Dad. A monkey poked me last night."

"What?"

"I woke up in the night and something was poking me from the bottom. It made a noise when I moved, and when I looked over there was a monkey running away."

"A monkey?" I asked. Confused. "Are you sure?"

The three boys nodded. Absolute certainty that it was a monkey.

"I think it was a monkey. It was small, and ran away with it's hands waving above it's head." The boy put his hands up and waved them around.

I laugh. They don't think I believe them. "Are you sure?"

"It was a monkey. Or a small human..."

We laughed. Jacqui did say, "Well, we are close to Austin. If there is any place in Mexico where someone owns a monkey, that could escape, it would be here." I think she was being serious.

Not in Kansas

The clouds pulled together in a tight formation. Dark and menacing. They swirled, slow and steady, as we drove between the wind turbines. The road twisted, back and forward, winding between posts and turbines. The clouds pulled tighter, and darkened.

"Maybe it will be a tornado." One of the boys postulated.

We watch the dark eddies of clouds as we drive towards our next stop. Amarillo Texas, where our road meets the interstate, and we find a place to pitch the tents. The clouds have followed us, and over the fence we see the clouds moving over cities we cannot see. Our tents go up, slow and steady, with more than one eye over the horizon, the ominous clouds a cause for concern.

Inside, making dinner, the television is on. The news stations are all talking about a tornado. We watch the newscasters speak calm warnings to the residence of Claude and Groom.

"What happens if it comes here?"

"Well," I tell the boys, "First we look at what the TV says - the tornado is moving away from where we are. Second, we have to expect that they have gotten a tornado past here before - because of that we would expect everyone here to know what to do. Third, the campground owners will know what to do, and if we get worried, we can find someone to talk to."

It was a dark night. Over the fence the tornado moved away, a path of destruction following it's wake. It was an difficult night to find sleep, but waking in the morning was a joyous feeling.

Route 66

America's road.

The interstate doesn't tell all the stories of history. The interstate bypasses history, taking the fastest way around and away from the stories grown in small towns. To experience America's Road we needed to get off the interstate and drive a little slower. To see the places that made Route 66 the legend it is.

A wide boulevard stretches along side abandoned buildings, and deteriorated signs. If nostalgia had a look, and the romance of travel needed a town, we were there. Broken neon tubes, old signs for long-dead mechanics, buildings that could do with some love, and baking tarmac below the sun. It was picturesque, and a little depressing - Splendour and Wonder faded; time moved past the this small town, and onto more attractive areas.

We stop, fall out of the car, and into a small diner. Baking hot sun pushing us towards a small café. The air conditioning is refreshing. The milkshakes are even better.

New Mexico

I expected Texas to be give me the "feel" of Route 66, but I was wrong. New Mexico is the state that feels most like Route 66. The grey sand, the long road that stretches far beyond the horizon - rolling over the land like a gentle breeze. Low mountains, stretch alongside our dark road. Long trains, somehow going faster than our car, snaking alongside of us.

The campground is a picture of New Mexico. From our tents we look down upon a large lake, edged with large stones. Wild horses walk free, allowed anywhere as it is their land. This native American land is edged with steep hills, surrounded by the light blue evening sky.

Mexico

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Even now when I look at maps of Mexico the panic rises within me - and I am miles-upon-miles away from there. The roads. The visa checks. Driving the car through the small streets, unsure of where we are heading. The speed bumps, shaking the car. The time to trunk popped open and spilled our gear onto the road.

Relaxing

But the place where we stayed was awesome. Hammocks over the pool. A wonder view of a mountain often used for rock climbers. The dirt and rocks that showed the dryness of the land.

A few more weeks of time and I would have taken a long stride into the country side. Maybe.

"No hablo espanio" I say in my awful Spanish. A friend told me, "If you say it like that, they will know you don't speak Mexican." I wasn't sure if it was an insult, or a compliment.

Escape. Get Out of There...

After the panic attack I felt as if I couldn't accept the job offer with the travel company. Unsure if it was result of my worry, or the cause of it, I didn't want to head further into a country with no experience, and no certainty of work to come.

We stayed the three nights at the camp ground, and returned to the US once again. A trip into Mexico on one tank of gasoline, one panic attack and one long border crossing.

Entry into the United State was super easy this time. No hard-line interview about entering the country, no lengthy discussions with border guards. Just four hours in the car, baking in the hot sun, sitting in a long line of cars, waiting to find out way into Laredo.

Panic. Mexico.

The last save date for this post was 21st May 2016. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

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Dear Adventurous Reader,

I panicked. I never knew I had it in me. I always thought that I took situations with a grain of salt, with a dab of butter. But it seems that going to Mexico, with not much of a plan was too much.

Crossing Over

We crossed into Mexico with no hassles. Passed the man at the booth, were stopped by a border guard, who looked in the trunk and didn’t want to check if we had things to declare. Then we were in the country, right into the streets of Nuevo Laredo, without a clue where to go.

The rain was falling in torrents. Huge swathes of water fell on the windshield, and were pushed away by the wipers in was could have been bucket-fulls (at least the wipers were working). I pulled over on the side of the road, struck that the border-controls were so light. It did not feel like we crossed a border, we just changed cities, but there was something different.

There were no signs. No directions. So, in my first instinct I started getting frustrated with Jacqui. After some gentle coaching she suggested we drive forward. Large blue signs directed us down some side streets, and around a long u-turn that felt as if we were being taken back to the US.

The rain kept streaming down. One boy commented that “This is the most rain I have ever seen.”

The building was long, and white. Pulling up in the car, we ran inside to avoid as much of the rain that we could.

Visas. Car Import. Insurance.

Getting our visas sorted, and the car imported, was easy. It could have been difficult, considering the very limited (read none) Spanish that we speak. Within an hour we were out the other side, in a car line-up to exit Mexico. It was the wrong line. The guard waved us through, with a smile (or a laugh), and into the streets of Nuevo Laredo.

Driving Rain, or Driving Sane?

Busy. Cars sliding from lane to lane without indicating. The rain had poured huge pools of water onto the road, and driving through caused it to splash onto the windscreen.

We pull up at a light. A man and his friend look into the window and started yelling. I talk back, “No hablo espanol.” To which he say the number 300, raising 3 fingers. Then he draws a line across his throat, points to the back of the car, and repeats the 300. I tell him again “No hablo espanol”, and look out the front window, waiting for the light to change.

Not sure if it was a threat, or just someone having a bit of fun, I celebrate that the light changed colour, only to wonder if he started to follow me.

Lane merge.

Three toots from the car behind.

I drive half across a lane. A truck passes.

“We need to find an ATM.” I say.

“There’s a Walmart.” But I am stuck in traffic. No way to merge. No way to get to the lane. These roads no longer lead to Walmart.

Merge.

Road works. A man waving a red flag with gusto.

A am repeating myself from the last few days. “Where are we going?” and then reply, “Nowhere, just yet. But it will probably be okay.” I’d wave my hands. “Probably.”

My head aches. My eyes are darting around making sure no one will merge into our car. I find it difficult to talk, and my two lower fingers are tingling.

I stop indicating, no one else is. I don’t want to appear too much of a foreigner. In my white Suburban, with foreign plates, and import sticker.

I slip off my wedding ring. Take down the GPS grip that we have not used. Pity the air condition is broken so I cannot do up my windows. I want to hide. Not cause any problems.

What followed was me loosing my mind. Pressure, stress, confusion. The past weeks of discussions, the past weeks of trying to understand our position on which way to go. They all flood out of me.

The remaining fingers start to tingle, it feels like pins are being pressed into my skin. Shaking my hands didn’t do anything. Signs flashed past us, in a language I cannot understand. Words that look like “caution”, and something about “accident”. Attractive faces with smiles, and long names that I cannot pronounce.

A while down the highway my foot feels numb. My chest feels heavy, and I am reminded of people breathing into paper bags; we have no paper bags. I think that the driving keeps me sane - it is not like there are any places to pull over on the side of the road.

I was talking to myself for a long time. Trying to speak reason to a situation that I could find no reason. I knew I was panicking. I knew that there was something wrong in my brain, but the pieces weren’t correcting themselves. It was falling apart, my brain slowly becoming undone.

Toll booth. Slow and pay. Check booth, “No hablo espanol” - it is my mantra, the first thing I say when speaking gets difficult. A second man comes to the car. He asks some questions, checks our papers and waves us on.

Eventually. After 100kms of driving on the highway, I found peace. Numbness. A washing of confusion in a place of steady unease. Highway driving is something we have become accustomed to over the past few years, so I can handle that. Forward motion. Moving forward.

Nothing

There was a time when I had thought that I could handle anything. Life’s little problems were not a worry to me. Care free. A shrug of a shoulder, and we would move on to the next thing. Take it step by step. Problems would arise, and I would smile, and we would move on to the next thing.

The time when I thought I could handle anything has passed. Yesterday morning I was reluctant to leave, and yesterday afternoon I spent more than an hour driving Mexican roads with the brain of a crazy person. Maybe, just maybe, I am capable of a mental breakdown.

Pressure. Stress. Confusion. The cracks are starting to show.

I try and think how it will be okay. I know in the back of my mind it will be okay. But I cannot get rid of this deep sense of unease. Unease for the future, for what we have done and what we will do.

I cannot find it in myself to find peace with these scars.

Jacqui talks of moving on, or going home. I am worried to get behind the wheel of the car. The road into the town scares me. I don’t know what will happen.

Some of this email was written in the car after we arrived at a place in Mexico, choosing not to get out of the car (I sent it to a friend who was very comforting in reply).

Decisions and Borders

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

We are in Laredo. It is morning, overcast with grey clouds in the sky. It speaks very much to how I am feeling.

The past few weeks of talking have been difficult and confusing - I hear that can be common among families that travel. It has shown me how different Jacqui and I are. Not just in how we communicate, but also in how we asses risks.

I like to think. To understand. To plan. The plan doesn’t have to be fully formed, but it has to have ups and downs considered. Backup plans, or alternate plans are helpful. Weigh the bad thoughts with care, keeping in mind that “things normally work out”, and see how I could push the bad toward the good. Just because something sounds like a good idea, doesn’t mean it is - it just means that we haven't considered how to make the bad things work in our favour.

Jacqui is happy to take some risks to see her desires met. Jacqui is happy to ignore risks, or accept bad consequences, as long as they are acceptable to her. It is not so much about the bad thoughts, it is more about making things work. If there is a glimmer of hope, then it is worth the risk. And, if their is good food along the way, the risk seems like one to take - she is always thinking about good food.

Jacqui wants to go to Mexico.

Since December our future on the road has been uncertain. Work stopped coming in, and there was no idea for when the next project would come. We were left with no other choice but to look for work elsewhere. 60 job applications and no-one was interested in considering me as a work associate. Except one company - a travel company was willing to "take a risk" (words that were used) with me.

Since we departed North Carolina we have been weighing this lone job offer. Considering the pros and cons, trying to see how long it will keep us travelling. It was a very good wage in Eastern Europe - I was never sure how we would make it work in Mexico, where we had never been before.

Uncertainty is the hardest thing to predict.

We both want this to work out, we want to keep on travelling. We want this risk to turn into something fresh and new. I am holding all of the possibilities within my mind, every new place we would go, and how this job opportunity would just work out for us. I want to go to Mexico, because it means we keep going into the future. It is a step to what lay beyond.

So I have been entertaining the acceptance of this new risk, that does not equate in my mind. I have been trying to push away the doubt of taking a big leap into Mexico, and hoping that we can keep moving onwards.

Good stories that we recall in tough times, are about taking risks. "When I came to the cross-roads, I chose the road-less-travelled". They are the stories that are told, the romance of long-term travel is less about the hard-work and more about the one pivot point - for that gives us a better story.

What is a better story than "We gambled, and we won?" The story of the Hobbit would have been far-less entertaining, if Bilbo had remained in his comfortable hobbit-hole.

It is not the fear of Mexico that has me second-guessing our move. I wrote a piece about the hope of travel in the aftermath of a world-changing event - but this has to do with our uncertainty of work.

So, in pressing onwards, are we making a safe decision, or the right one?

The Deep South

The last save date for this post was 18th September 2018. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

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Dear Adventurous Reader,

One thing I notice as we drive around is that places in the United States don’t feel like the same country. There are similarities, for sure, but as you move around the states it feels like changing countries. The place feels different.

We drove through New York State, with the rolling hills. Into West Virginia with the small towns feeling like they are growing old. Into Greensboro, with life and youthful energy. A relaxing drive into the South and through the other side - into the Deep South. Where the cajun flavours run free, and the tamales are in small shacks on the roadside.

Here, in the deep south, the crawdads are everywhere. The bodies of Armadillos line the interstate. Roads turn into long bridges, driving over the bayous. Everyone keeps their eyes open, because at 60 miles an hour, there is a small chance we could see a Gator. The temperature is hot, sticky and it feels very close.

Island Night Life

We stayed out on Dauphin Island, Alabama. We crossed over a long, ribbon of road, stretched with a high arch in the middle - as if the road was built with too many pieces of road; concrete slabs jammed from the end until the road climbed in a steep curve.

We camped beside the Gulf of Mexico. An evening walk in the hot sun, to the hotter sand, to look upon the oil rigs lining the horizon. Driving down backroads to search out the interstate once again. From Alabama, through Mississippi, to Louisiana.

We didn't see any gators.

New Orleans

In the distance, New Orleans sits uneasy on the horizon. I was waiting for skyscrapers to pierce the skyline - a common "welcome" for every major city we have driven into. Not so with Louisiana; down here it is the tall-reaching industrial cranes of the port, that cast ominous figures along the horizon.

We drive around the north of the city, skirting the east roads and to a small state park, close to the banks of the Mississippi. Green grass, surrounded by beautiful trees; it felt hot and sticky, like the dampness of a swamp. We learned that the camp ground where we are staying was 6 feet underwater when Hurricane Katrina came through.

One day we head Downtown and spend the day along the banks of the Mississippi: Watching an old steamboat depart from the pier; Sitting on the grass by the St. Louis Cathedral; Walking the colourful streets of entertainers and horse-drawn cart rides. We ate gumbo, and a Gator Po'boy. Walked Bourbon Street - during daylight hours it was only-slightly manic.

Meeting People is Easy

One thing that has become expected when journeying along our un-ending road. People are easy to meet. With no daily commute, and after a long morning coffee, wandering the camp-ground will surely help with meeting interesting people. Our children find meeting new people easy, they are relaxed, and enjoy meeting anyone up for a chat - so conversations are easy to begin.

In the short space of an afternoon, our young girl starting chatting to a couple, who has two dogs. We invite them to join us for dinner, and by dusk were watching Finding Nemo outside their caravan.

They are from Minnesota and Canada, and they are heading back to Alabama for a summer of working, and planning, until they decide where to head next. Life on the road, with dogs, was something they loved.

Camping at another campsite was a family from "not-too-far-away", enjoying the State Forest for the long weekend. When we mentioned our southerly travel plans, they offered to re-gas our air-conditioner.

Onward

The road stretches over more bayous as we begun our westward, and southerly journey. We talk, between naps, about what could be. Discussing Mexico - an idea I am not altogether sure about - and how we will make things work. What work will we have to make money? Where would we live within our meager budget?

We hear time and time again from travelling families that making decisions is hard; that figuring out travel plans is difficult. With our next plans, I am having a hard time balancing my unease of such a new place, alongside the normal cautiousness I feel with our plans.

Over time I have learned to trust my gut-instinct. With a set of parameters, I can find a peace in the pluses and minuses of making a decision. With the decision to go to Mexico, I do not have that peace. I want to find safety.

Jacquelyn points of that every family says this is normal before a "jump". That the nerves, the unease, that is the wonderful thing about "learning to fly" (read: travelling with a family). We have a solid plan, and enough money to make things work in Mexico. Plus, the food down below the border is amazing.

Signs of being close to the border start appearing, and it isn't the arid-desert that is the major clue. We stop at border patrol sheds to be inspected by armed guards. Watch as large signs pass by the car, warning about crossing borders illegally. An increased law-enforcement presence is everywhere.

Then we roll in Laredo. Again, there are no sky-scrapers; only busy streets, and buildings that overlook the Rio Grande. Dust blows on the busy streets, and we find a McDonalds for the air-conditions, cold drinks, wifi, and a place to make decisions about what we do next.

Driving Southwards

The last save date for this post was 20th November 2017. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Thomas, Sarah and Stella have come camping with us. A few days, in the mountains, the sun is warm and the Appalachians are magnificent. Adventure, or relaxing, or something in between.

We leave the Faust’s with photos and tears. They have become family to us, which is something we love about how we get around in North America. We have moved from one family to another.

The roads out of North Carolina become familiar, a reminder that we are on another road trip. Car packed tight with all our things. The first day is hot, somewhere in the high 80’s, and it is slow going. First days are always slow. 100 miles is an eternity.

I always remember that a mile is almost 2 kilometres. And then I get sad about all the driving ahead. I have a Love/Hate relationship with road trips - it is a lot of effort for a few stories.

Camping...

Two days with Thomas, Sarah and Stella are great. We sit and chat. We figure out how to work Mr Faust’s gas stove. Talk about the future and possibilities. We enjoy a lunch, hidden in the back of Thomas’ truck to avoid park rangers. The boys and Jacqui enjoy a swim down in the freezing ice melt at some rock-falls.

They always find some rock slides to enjoy.

I use the internet in the state park to converse with a potential employer. The weather is pleasant and the company is finer.

Saying goodbye was hard. We had come to them through such difficulties. In the past six weeks we had made a home in North Carolina. Home was living with the Faust’s, and enjoying being so close to Thomas, Sarah and Stella. It has been a long time since the community we lived in included these family members.

It was a great joy that we got to enjoy camping. Both Jacqui and I feel like leaving would have been much more difficult if we had of said goodbye to everyone at the same time.

Song of the Southward

The hills and mountains are so beautiful. Tall trees, long and winding roads take us through small towns. New supermarket chains appear as we change states.

We leave the Appalachians and head southward. Maybe we’ll move to Mexico for a while?

Inter-State of Mind

The white, paved roads of the interstate no longer climb and fall over huge mountains; they rise gently, and fall with easy rolls. Green trees line the road. Buzzards circle in the sky. The slip lane is dotted with dead armadillos.

We have driven southwards. The border to Mexico is calling. And just as the Interstate keeps on going, we keep on following. North Carolina. South Carolina. Georgia. Alabama. The weather is nice, warming up. The car is rolling. The kids are varying degrees of bored.

I am in awe of the interstate system. It is a beautiful simile of the US. It is fast, and brash; cars rocket past taking the speed signs as guidelines. It gets us to places quickly; bypassing the small and large towns that once dotted the old highways. It embraces the beauty of the country; lined by trees, or over long bridges of the bayou. The rest stops are treated as somewhere you would go on a Sunday picnic - magnificent.

When the Interstate backs up into a long traffic jam, it does not happen half-heartedly. The artery is either on or off. Very fast, or at a dead crawl for an hour (or more).

These ribbons of tarmac and concrete are the lay-lines that keep the gods of the country together. Power lines that connect satellite towns. Arteries that let the lifeblood flow. Stop the Interstate, and you stop America.

In the South, the Interstate is lined with billboards, raised in worship to those who pay homage to another god of America: Money. For a sacrifice you can have your product raised above the natural beauty of the countryside. Cracker Barrel. McDonalds. Guns. Even, Jesus - he has plenty billboards raised in worship.

We head south on the interstate. Running state to state. Move slow through the big cities. Drive and merge with care. Long distances covered in long days of driving. Stop. Camp. Pack the car, and back to the road.

Road Runner. Our Car is called Road Runner

Our car is a marvel to me. Day by day it goes by, and keeps working. After our last drive south I am cautious of our car being up to the task. The Unease takes me every time I turn the engine over; I wait for the "click" of the starter motor, or the crushing of gears as we speed down the highways. I wait for the car wheels to fall off, or the 4wd to engage eternally. I am grateful when any of these don't happen, happy beyond measure, but I am still concerned next time the car starts, and we drive down the highway.

The first day on the road we had a rodeo of noise coming from the back of the car. Yelling of fighting and playing, pushing, shoving and tickling. Adeline screaming as Zeke scares her; Elijah and Adeline yelling, without tune; the words to YMCA, they had heard at the baseball in Greensboro.

Like sardines in a tin can.

About an hour from our destination, after a day of driving, with the temperature getting above 90 degrees, they fall silent and play Lego with each other. Silence, except for the wind pounding in through the windows of the car. Our air conditioner is the outside air.

The next spot to stop for a few nights in beyond the south. Louisiana.

Leaving the Ones You Love

The last save date for this post was 20th November 2017. It is an historical recollection at the time it was written. For more about looking backwards, read the introduction.

Enjoy what was...

Dear Adventurous Reader,

I am sitting in the car. It is hot outside, and heating up, going on to about 80 degrees today. I have the windows down. Outside the birds sing, twittering a lovely tune. The wind blows through the trees, pollen dancing upon the ever-changing breeze. And the air-conditioners of the church grind away, creating the cool room for the masses inside.

This afternoon we are leaving Greensboro. Six weeks of time with family, and friends.

Family and friends

Family and friends have a way of tying themselves around our souls. The little stories we tell weave our lives together. Like vines around a tree, we grow, and our stories interweave, and we can never be the same again.

Each time we have lived in community we have always left different than the people we started as. Stories are told. Our lives are shared. We listen, and change, and grow. And we are never the same as we once were.

Leaving Greensboro this time, it struck me so deeply. Living in community is a place where we can exist, but it truly changes us on the inside. I am grateful for community, and all the places we find ourselves in.

“You Gotta See The Baby…”

Thomas and Sarah had a baby girl. She is a cute little one. Six weeks ago she ate and slept, as one would expect from a month-old baby. Within six weeks she has changed; she looks around and smiles when spoken to, she has snuck in some growing, too. Small changes, but so noticeable inside six weeks. We have had the privilege of sharing a good part of her first few months.

We had a visit from the Mama and Papa Rickard, and Granny Smith. They planned a visit to meet baby Stella, to hang out with Thomas and Sarah, and to spend some time with us. Picking them up from the airport was no easy feat, Pa was a surprise visitor, and thus had no seat accounted for him for the drive home.

For two weeks they shared a house with us. Wonderful discussions, mingled with great meals and great company. We went to the park, and visited places in Greensboro. Went to an air-show at a US Marine base in North Carolina. Laughs were had, and a good time for all.

The Patience and kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Faust

We arrived on a Thursday. The car stunk like a road trip had taken place inside it - as if a skunk had peppered the car with stench.

We arrived at the Faust house, because it was the only place we knew how to get to in Greensboro. Mr. Faust came and shook our hands (I couldn’t give him a hug, because of the stinky-ness). Mrs Faust came outside, and almost immediately was taken aside by Adeline, who wanted to pick flowers in the front garden.

By the afternoon they had departed to go and see The Twins and we had moved into their spacious house.

After the weekend, when they got back, we had to learn how to dance around each-others movements in the shared house. Listen to each other, and understand how things were done. Before long, the house started to work. We could dance without standing on each others toes.

We had planned on staying two weeks and moving on to the next place - we had not planned that far ahead. But inside those weeks Ma and Granny had decided to come and visit. Make the trip over, and see us and Baby Stella - she gets to meet the newest grand-child, and also see us after our winter in Canada. The Faust’s had a chat and we were allowed to stay and await their arrival.

In the end it totalled around 6 weeks we stayed with them. Six long weeks sharing a house, and the Faust’s were happy to dance to the music that was playing around them.

During that time we had discussions. We shared stories. We listened to each other. We grew into a small community. When Ma, Granny and Surprise Pa arrived, we changed how the dance was, learned over again, and it continued.

Community. And Departures.

It is difficult to leave after spending time with people you love. After learning to dance you have to walk away, leave behind the life that you have made together, and head off on new adventures.

This part always pull me apart on the inside.

Stop. If only we could freeze time.

That afternoon you spent in the sun, at the park, talking with baby Stella.

The evening, as the sun sunk below the horizon, orange subset shining off the clouds, and we sit talking as dusk turns to night.

Being a guest at a new friends house, trying whisky, talking board games. The children scootering off home, in the dark, as the neighbourhood sleeps.

An afternoon run, along the parkway, in the warm sky.

Stopping by the park, and being shown the myriad of new treasures found in the creek.

Talking with new friends, over a morning coffee, about work, or adoption, or any of the new topics that new friends bring up.

Freeze. In that moment, when we are connecting. That feeling of being close. Those stories that bind families together.

This is what makes a community. This is how friendships grow, as we weave our lives into each others. Our stories become more than that, they bind us together.

We never leave a community the same way we started.

Now Greensboro gives me the same feeling as Wolfe Island. We stopped and we became part of a community that will forever be in our hearts.

Revisiting the Ghosts of the Past

pre-script

Dear Adventurous Reader,

The last save date for this post was 17th March 2017. Two years has passed since I wrote this post, and much has happened. I feel it would be wrong of me to re-edit the following series of posts, revisiting our last tour of the United States; so I post it here for you to read.

It is an historical recollection at the time it was written, so you may have to mentally keep up with the words.

Enjoy what was...

Going Back

It has almost been a year since I stopped writing. The ghosts of previous articles started to haunt me. The sounds of an untold tales, wanting to be told, were gathering their voices.

We kept a travel-log when were in Canada. We wrote entries on our blog between work and the things we were doing. When it started to feel that we would have to head home, I stopped writing. I started to second guess my adventurous spirit. I started to allow the ghosts into my words.

Regret. Failure. Depression.

I had thought that we’d be able to spend some time living abroad. Life in foreign lands, finding work where we needed. Extend our stay. Adapt to what life would throw at us. But the longer it went on, the more I understood our lack of options.

As hope of a different life started to fade, the ghosts started to appear in my words.

I stopped writing.

Things Change

We have been home since June 2016. Returning on the smell of an oily rag. A little too close for comfort. Our savings depleted. No job prospects. And into the third winter in a row.

But we have some stories to tell. Our experiences in North America will live on is the stories we tell, and the memories we will recall. I don’t regret going, only coming home so soon - especially when the options were so vast at one point.

Since then we have settled in to the rhythm of life in Australia. We are close to welcoming the ninth member of our family (child number seven), and have been enjoying the summer weather and surfing at the beach. Life is going along fine.

Stories to Tell

I feel like there are some stories yet to tell. I have so many drafts that need polishing, words that I tried to craft while we were travelling, and never got finished. Haunted words that I still remember.

Crawdads in Louisiana. Sitting in New Mexico, watching the wild horses down near the lake. Overlooking the Grand Canyon, words forming of the magnificence. The panic attack in Mexico.

All these thoughts haunt me. Written while we were travelling. Attempted stories about an experience I will not have again. And they sit here, not for you to read. I feel like I should change that.

For, if these words haunt me, maybe they will help you understand that sometimes travel is about keeping things together long enough to get home.

You will have to excuse my writing, for I do not write with the sunniest of dispositions. This is not a happy travel blog, though there will be things that may make you happy. There is no ebook at the end, no guidance for travelling.

I do not profess to have answers about travelling with six children. We just started, made a bunch of mistakes, and got home.

I am grateful for the experience. I am grateful for the chance we took to spend 9 months with our family overseas. What follows are some stories from almost a year ago. Some photos we took, experiences we shared.

Life is for living. I am glad we chose to adventure for a while.

Purchasing a Car in Canada While On a Tourist Visa

A road trip in North America, sounds fantastic. The tall trees and the wide roads carved through the Canadian Rockies. The trees turning from green, through orange to red, as Fall passes into Winter. The white fields of stretching snow. Viewed from the vantage point of your very own vehicle.

There are other options, of course. Hire a camper, borrow a car, ride a bike - Trans-Canada on a bicycle, anyone? For our family, with the eight of us and all our gear, the best option was to buy a car, and drive across one of the longest countries in the world.

A car is big enough to fit us all in. It gives us options so we can see more places. It has 4WD for driving through mud and snow. It allows us to get to the ferry on Wolfe Island to go shopping.

But there are a few things to be wary of, despite car salesmen, when getting a Car in Canada.

Provinces of Mind

Every car in Canada requires insurance. In British Columbia you purchase insurance and pay for car registration through the one place. In Ontario, you must provide an insurance receipt when registering the car.

Laws vary between the Provinces in Canada. They can vary a lot, in British Columbia I showed my Australian Drivers Licence and registered the car. In Ontario they required me to cancel my Australia licence, be to granted an Ontario licence, to be able to register the car.

It is difficult to find the requirements for registering a vehicle. We didn’t know what they were, or would be. Stumbling through loop-holes taught us about it. So either try and research it, or stumble through the regulations - either way, if you understand that different provinces have different regulations you will be better off than we were.

British Columbia

Our car was obtained in BC. Our Aunty had organised a perfect vehicle for our travels, and despite the looks it is a magnificent steed.

We had winter tires fitted. A service and some important joints fixed and it was ready to be registered.

In British Columbia, the insurance company issues the licence plates, so it is a one stop shop.

No international license. No test. A drivers license, a passport, and address to register the car, and the important papers: payment receipt for the car’s purchase and the transfer papers. Make sure the transfer papers are in order, with the seller’s signature.

You are able to choose how much time to register and insure the car for. 3, 6 or 12 months. It is best to try and register it for the duration of your travels. If you are staying around British Columbia, and not planning to drive across the country, you can choose any period of time and simply renew it when needed.

To renew/extend the registration/insurance, you are required to:

1. Be physically in British Columbia;
2. For the car to be in British Columbia;
3. Have a British Columbia drivers license.

With your car registered, you could take a family trip to Alberta, and see Banff in the Fall. You could explore the mountains and pass back into British Columbia if needed to extend registration and insurance.

We found problems because: we were in another province; Our car was with us; We were not heading back to BC; We didn’t have a British Columbia driver license. It was the perfect storm, and we were unaware.

The insurance company would not renew or extend our insurance. In a panic, we had to find out how to navigate the Ontario car licence system.

Ontario ate my Australian License

Thinking it would be fine to change provinces, and just extend the insurance was my first mistake.

We drove across Canada. It is a long way. We had organised a rental property on Wolfe Island. It was marvellous. While over their our three months of registration ran out. So I called the company, and requested an extension. I didn't have a British Columbia license, and I was not in British Columbia and so we could not renew the insurance, or extend the registration.

The phone operators were matter-of-fact. Not in BC. No BC license. No insurance. No registration.

In a panic I called our [mechanic][http://www.randysislandmechanical.com/]. It was two days before Christmas and the registration payment was just-past due. Randy was too busy and suggested another place on the mainland.

The mechanics took the car between Christmas and New Years, organised the E-Test (Environment Test) and a Safety Test. Both the E-Test and the Safety Test are required before a car can be registered in Ontario.

They did both, between Christmas and New Years. Cost us CAN$800 for a new windshield, fixed rear brakes, a service, and the two tests.

With both of these pieces of paper, and a smile I walked into Service Ontario to register the car. That is when I first found out that I cannot register a car without an Ontario Drivers Licence. What is okay in one provence, is not okay in another.

Drive across town to visit the licensing place - yes, they on other sides of town.

At the licensing place I was told that I could not get an Ontario license without paperwork from Australia explaining my driving history. So I went home distraught, in our roadworthy, but soon-to-be-expired car, and sent off for the licensing information about my Australian driving history.

With three days to spare - the E-Test and Safety test have a motivational date placed on them - the paper arrived. Express posted from home. I took the paper into the licensing place, where they told me “If you want to get the Ontario license, we must take your Australian license, and we’ll send home to cancel it.”

I forfeited my Australian drivers license to get in Ontario drivers license. Considering we were planning on crossing borders, we thought it would be better to go through the hoops, rather than registering the car in a friend’s name, or selling it to use trains to get about.

Bears are Scary, but the Government can take your License

Registering a car in British Columbia is simple. The process is less straight forward in Ontario. Both were worth it for owning a car, and being able to get us all around.

Owning a vehicle comes with all kinds of costs. For me, most of them are unexpected - a breakdown, or replacing bits and pieces. I had never imagined that a cost would involve me cancelling my home license, that I had been tending to since I was 18. I lost a piece of me that day. But I took another step, as I became an international citizen.

Have you had any experience with registering cars in different countries? Were they like this?

Washington DC: How We Saw What We Saw

Getting in and around cities is expensive. I didn’t notice how expensive Washington DC was, because we stayed in a camp site in Virginia, caught a train into the city, and spent $3.00 on a hot dog. Other food, we brought in and we walked everywhere.

As homeschoolers one of our favourite ways to learn is to be engaged in the a real activity. Walking through museums, and being around places that have historical significance is great ways to absorb and to remember.

Washington DC is the capital of the United States. Full of buildings to see, and places to visit. Being in North Carolina for a few weeks, we feel it is a great time to plan a trip, and walk in the city.

We felt like we toured the city cheaply, which was important for our bank account. There are plenty of free things to do, and many places to walk. This is how we saw Washington DC and saved ourselves some money.

Walking. Walking…

Walking is hard work with children of any age. Unless you hike regularly, then everyone will be in for a surprise.

The sun was bright in the clear sky. Warm, the kind of sit-under-the-trees-and-fall-asleep type warm. We exited our train at an early stop, and walked over the bridge to the Lincoln Memorial. The steps were lined with a band, playing marching songs loud and clear, all of them facing towards the Washington Monument.

Washington Monument is the landmark you cannot miss. Tall and central to all the things to see. It makes an excellent beacon from which all walking directions can be made.

After a while those Segways seem like a good idea

Metro. Getting into the City…

We wanted to be cheap and easy. We thought that using the Metro to get into and out of the city would be the best option. Maybe we miscalculated that one…

We camped in Virginia, and parked at the Metro station. Free parking on weekends, $4 a day during the week - and you can pay with the rail pass upon exiting.

$2 for a card. $4.60 for a one way trip. Zeke found a spare card in the trash - cost saving $2. Nathanael had my card from last time I visited with my brother. Saving $2. All up our trip into and out of the city for day one was $70.

Turns out that it would be cheaper for us to pay for parking in the city. $20 a day, and very little cost in gas. We’d just have to drive through a lot of traffic, but we could have time shifted around the rush hours.

Depending on the station you start at, and how many family members you have, using the train could be expensive. It was certainly a relaxing way of getting in and out of Washington DC - so maybe the cost was worth it.

Getting around Washington.

Prioritise

There are so may things to see in Washington DC, but with little legs and long distances we are going to miss many things. We have planned for this. We found the things we wanted to do before and made a list. It has helped us to plan a walking tour, but also rest stops.

A good break for us, was entering a Smithsonian. After our morning walk, we’d enter the museum and take a seat in a cafeteria, eat our snacks and recharge.

Time. And Time Again

The Smithsonian Museums are huge. Fantastically huge. With large displays, that lead on and through stories. Start at the beginning, and it would take more than a day to see everything; to engage in the displays as you make your way around.

We didn’t have that time. Being that we had visited the Monuments, and wandered past the White House in the morning. Arriving after lunch meant that we had to choose what to look at, and select from a short-list things to see.

Natural History Museum things to see: Hope Diamond and the geological display caught our attention. The dinosaurs display was okay, but only because the fossil section was closed (last time that one was fantastic). The mummies and the bugs.

Museum of American History things to see: The original flag of the United States. Joash loved the wars bits: Independence and Civil war areas.

Museum of Air and Space: Wright Brothers display, from bicycles to first flight. Amelia Airhart display was great. Looking at the fighter jets.

Time Management

Managing the time is the most difficult thing. We were keeping in mind the walk to the train, the trip back to the campsite, finding time to cook dinner. And, the fact we were going to do it again the next day.

I found myself saying “come on.” and “hurry up” more than I wanted. We needed to keep on moving, past displays that held our interest, because I was thinking of how much time we had, and what we wanted to go and see.

Little Legs Can’t Get Very Far

I love walking, but little legs don’t think the same. Washington is big, the National Mall is long and with great effort little legs can walk it. The museums are huge, two or three floors of exploration. The first day we walked 13km, and the second was much the same.

Food. Keeping things going

We all need to eat, especially when doing so much walking. There are vendors lining the streets, selling soft pretzels, hot dogs or other assorted foods we don’t eat at home. The prices ranged from $2.50 up to $4.00 for a basic hotdog. Other prices vary depending on what you’d like to buy.

We stocked up on snacks before we started the day. Apples, nuts, granola bars, packets of chips and some hard candies for those times when little legs need some encouragement. We still enjoyed a hotdog, despite our best efforts, super-liminal advertising is still hard to beat. And Joash can get really demanding when he sees food he wants to eat.

All up we spend $20 a day on snacks. Plus the $20 for hotdogs and pretzels.

Dinner was a meagre affair. Pasta and stroganoff - we were glad it was dark, so we didn’t have to see the yellow puddles of oozing fat. Noodles and peanut butter, which was accepted by hungry stomachs, but not much more. Pasta and red sauce, not the fancy kind with mincemeat and onions and bacon and sauce, just pasta and red sauce.

Dinner cost a total of $50. Not too bad for feeding all of us. It wasn’t great food.

Gas

Gas is cheep in the United States. Fantastically cheap. It turns out it would have been cheaper to drive into the city than use public transport. All up we spent $60 in gas to fill the truck to drive from North Carolina to Virginia. Tip, be selective in which states to fill up, because of gas tax.

Cheap.

We saw parts of Washington DC. We read and learned some of the history of America, and looked at the White House, and visited some monuments. We didn’t see everything, and we didn’t touch everything, but we got our worth from what we did see.

Even with a family of eight, a city like Washington DC was fun to explore with not much money to spend.

Road Trip: Deeper Into America (Part 2)

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Maybe “Misadventure” is a misnomer. Unplanned or Unexpected Adventure. Maybe Misunderstood Adventure. I think a different name would be more fitting. Because while adventure can be an unpleasant experience, we certainly had an adventure on our journey from Canada to North Carolina.

Catch up... You can read the first part of our adventure.

The Car Was Fixed

Broken down in Jane Lew, a slow crawl back to Clarksberg and a small time at the dealership had our car fixed - or so we thought.

The car was fixed enough to pass a test and a allow us to drive away. Which was great, because we travelled an hour before the car plummeted into Limp Mode and would not shift above second gear. Again.

Had we paid, we would have been far enough down the road to feel ripped off.

This time, the third time, I was beyond caring. I rolled the window down, and listened to the cars buzz past, honking horns as we enjoyed an afternoon of crawling down the Interstate.

Limp Mode

Limp mode is a terrible mode to drive the Interstate. Back when I was young I drove an 1982 Carola. It was a terrible car, but when I look back on it, there was nothing better for a first car. Small, good on gas, and easy to fix. There were no computers, nothing that could fail, except the car itself.

Driving a hulking Suburban, although it makes us feel as if we are members of the secret police, is not exactly a stress-free experience. If something breaks, or something fails, I cannot fix it (not that I can fix any car). It would seem, that even with tools made from the manufacturer, that mechanics cannot fix it.

So far, the mechanics have all been fantastic. The mechanic in Jane Lew didn’t charge for a morning of inspecting the car and feeling sorry for us. The dealership mechanic simply smiled when he looked into the car - six children crammed in amongst all of our luggage, with the sun shining and heating up. “Don’t worry about it.” He said about the fee, with a slow Southern drawl. “You’re the one in the car.” And he smiled.

Slow and Steady: Frustrated Dad

The mountains in Virginia stretch into the sky. Lined by trees, a brilliant green colour of foliage, against the deep grey rocks behind. The trees are tall, only to be matched by the billboards. The majesty of nature fighting against the might of advertising.

Never far from nature and never far from civilisation.

We are in the middle of two large towns, a long stretch of road winds before us, and the advertising for the next town has already begun. McDonald’s in 13 miles. Chik Fil’a is in 12 miles. New tires in 10 miles. Our choice of gas, 5 miles.

The turnpike pulls off after a long climb, our truck creeps up the long hill, struggling to keep up with the trucks. We roll around a wide bend and onto the next interstate; a change of numbers. Even numbers now as we head eastward for a while.

We pull into a Walmart parking lot. So many spaces for cars, the store is in the middle of the mountains, somewhere along an Interstate in Virginia. Obviously, everyone passing through needs to stop at a Walmart.

The night falls around us. The sun is shining a deep orange, cast behind small clouds, with a yellow glow that stretches across the sky. The trees shine vibrant green; there is a fullness that only spring can bring back to the woods. It feels so alive.

The seasons seem to feel “more” in North America. It could be the colours, or the way that everyone seems to embrace the seasons and change, but there is something tangible about the way the seasons change. Where we are from, the seasons seem “flat” compared to here.

Night falls. The truck continues to crawl. Dusk had a wonderful sunset, among the Appalachians and now bright lights rocket past our slow moving vehicle. The glow of truck lights fill the rear-view mirror before weaving past us. We watch the trucks struggling under their load as they climb the gradients faster than us.

How much longer?

“How much longer?” Such an indeterminable question to answer.

“We’ll probably get there tomorrow.”

Down, and down, a long descent that leaves the Appalachians behind us. It is still dark. My eyes are burning tired, and my shoulders are knotted and tight. The next stop will be for us. Rest.

The next stop was another rest stop. The boys moan, “Not another rest stop…”. Exhausted we pull in, upset about the fact that we will be spending another night in the car.

Somewhere uncomfortable we find some rest. Some of us try and sleep outside, but the cold and damp bring us back into the car. Tired eyes falling under the spell of a fitful and difficult sleep.

Onward and Promises

The next day dawns. Yellow glow stretching over the sky, golden streams pressing in long shafts through the trees. Not a cloud in the sky. There is a coldness in the air that will quickly fade into warm and comforting. A beautiful day outside the car.

Inside the car I stretch. My neck is sore, my eyes sting when they are open. I smell. I smell like my clothes are three days old, and I slept in a car two nights in a row. A camp of teenage boys, who refuse to shower, would not smell this bad.

Rest stops along the Interstate are wonderful. Large buildings, with toilets undercover. Rooms and air-conditioning. Outside a grove of trees create a canopy of shade. There are so many car parks that it could be seven times as busy and it would feel just right.

The car was not as happy inside as the day was outside. Exhausted from long days of driving, and tired of not being somewhere fun, everyone woke with a groan.

Elijah bounced out of the car and asked for cake. Zeke grumbled out of the car and refused the nutritious breakfast (note: pound-cake is not nutritious). We are a few hours away from our destination, and the excitement of being so close make a battle-weary feel a little happier.

We shared pound-cake for breakfast as we looked over the maps to find our way.

Greensboro

We arrive into Greensboro before lunch. We roll out of the car, yellow lines of stink pouring out of the car like an old cartoon. The small and quite neighbourhood doesn’t know what has come upon them. Quiet streets filled, with yelling and noise, as our children make themselves at home.

Little did I know that our car would make it. Travel is often filled with mis-adventure, but that creates the stories that we will later tell. Maybe “Misadventure” is a misnomer, unplanned or unexpected adventure, maybe misunderstood adventure -a different name is more fitting. Because while it was an unpleasant experience, we certainly had an adventure.

Driving at 40 miles and hour, travelling from West Viginia to North Carolina, is one adventure I’d rather not repeat. It is an adventure that we couldn’t avoid - after all being told that a car is “mechanically sound” while it cannot move out of second gear, is a confusing problem to have.

Spring time is upon us. The birds are singing, the trees are green, and the days are getting longer. And, for a while we don’t have to be on the road. All this, mixed with spending time with family, is making up for a difficult drive. Maybe, misadventure is worth it…

Road Trip: Into America (Part 1)

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Today we crossed a border by a car and it still blows my mind. We changed countries inside a vehicle; one country to another. First Canada, and with the engine burbling away from the Customs building, we were in the United States. We have never been able to change countries in a car, so this was a new experience.

One of the difficulties of crossing borders is getting internet access that isn't expensive. We have been using Bell as a phone carrier in Canada (and paying a over CAD$200 a month for it), and there was no way we wanted to use that account in a different country.

To save organising new mobile phone numbers so soon, we have made plans to travel like it is 1990 and use maps. Paper maps. Glorious, and wonderful Paper Maps.

Those Paper Maps

Not Google maps. Not Apple maps. We are talking about those classic, paper maps. The kind that you have to pull over on the side of the road and open up on the hood of the car to be able to read.

We received a stack of maps as a gift from Gramps. A wonderful gift to help us on the road. They show us all the potential adventures we could take on our journey from Canada down southward. The gift that keeps on giving: the roads endless in this big wide world and there are so many places that we want to go.

Oh, and they are used, too. Lovingly used. With bent corners and tiny holes where the folds didn’t crease the same way.

Thanks Gramps, they are magnificent.

Break Down

We drive through Buffalo, with the run down streets and the greasy feeling on the city walls. The outskirts of Buffalo feel different to Canada, more “lived in”, more run down, not as polite. Not so much “the mean streets”, but there was some ineffable feeling of changing countries.

We drive through Pennsylvania. The miles passing below the wheels of our truck. Children looking out the window, or yelling at each other - space is at a minimum in a vehicle. The hills roll away from the interstate, lush and green, and free from snow.

Cars pass us by as we drive on a toll road, and we have to pay coins at a toll booth - the old way. No need to remember a web address to pay $15, or being sent a fine for forgetting to make a payment. We pull in at the toll booth, say “Hello” to the cashier, pay our $3 toll, and move onward.

We drive into West Virginia. Nothing had changed on the Interstate, the same three lanes on our concrete runway. The scenery stops rolling, and starts moving in long drags. Up, through trees that were now closer to the road, and down again. The road is a thin ribbon, weaving through a majestic landscape.

Our car stutters. It temporarily gives out, and engages again. I curse. The speedometer drops, and rises, and drops. A problem. Maybe it is just electrical, we could keep moving, but this car hasn’t given me much comfort in the past few months. Jacqui wakes from a small nap.

“I’d like to find a mechanic…”

Backwater West Virginia

It was 4:45pm when we pull up to the first mechanic we could find. Closing time.

A second mechanic, further down the road, is just about to close. He greets us with a bent eyebrow, a truckers cap, and a strong accent. Having being in our truck as we drove through states without stopping, I had forgotten where we were. We were in the South, and the South caught me by surprise.

After a test drive, and a quick inspection, he says “It looks fine. Mechanically she is fine. If I was you, I’d keep goin’ to North Carolina.”

“But, it is jolting, and not accelerating.” I say. Pleading for some better answers.

“Yeah, but if you stop here it’ll take me three days to find your problem.”

I tell him how much I appreciate his time, and advice, and we head back down the Interstate. The car struggling a little, but driving alright. The sky darkens, night surrounds us, and the trucks speed past.

We decide to stay the night in our car.

Everything Will be Better in the Morning

The day dawns. A lazy, haze of yellow light warms the sky. There are no clouds, only a bright blue canvas that stretches over us, hindered by the trees and the mountains. My neck hurts, and my eyes are heavy.

Outside, the air is fresh. Cold, but not freezing. It is the kind of morning that sings, with a light lilt, “It is going to be a beautiful day.” It is hard to be mad at a broken car, when the morning is like this.

Life awakens within the car. Without much fuss we shuffle about and get back onto the Interstate. The car accelerates, we merge, and start down the wide road until there is a jolt. Like a switch has been hit, the revs shoot up as the transmission selects second gear. I curse. The car starts to roll, it won’t move above 40 miles an hour.

“We’re going to need to stop.” The next exit is right where we need it, at the crest of a short hill. Jane Lew, West Virginia. We have done 10 miles this morning. It is 7am. The sun is still shining, the sky is still blue, and our truck doesn’t want to continue.

The day is ending and the battle has not even started. There is a mechanic, but they won’t open for another hour, so we sit in the cold breeze of a new day dawning, and wait.

Due to fortuitous events we have broken down in a small town with an excellent play area. The children play at the park, for the entire morning, while the mechanic tells us there was nothing wrong with the car. Again.

A broken car with nothing mechanically wrong. “There is a dealership down the road.” He says. “‘Bout 20 miles back north.”

The Blue Roads

The winding, old highways of America are a wonder. Beautiful trees, delighting in the sunlight as they forget the cold chill of winter. Narrow roads, that wind through groves, across rivers, or trickling creeks. Not a single car or truck pass us by, as we crawl past farm houses that sit upon green hills.

We come into Clarksberg, and find a gas station so we can get directions to the dealership. With no internet we have to engage with an actual person to find our destination. And, with some creative interpretation of the directions, scrawled upon a scrap of paper, we find the dealership.

The mechanic looks at me with a crooked eye. “What do you mean the ‘Check Engine’ light is always on?” He asks, drawling words through a cigarette wedged in the corner of his mouth.

“Well.” I say. “We drive the car and it comes on. Always.

One thing fixed and another surfaces. It is a loosing battle with this car, American Engineering is renowned around the world. If it doesn’t kill or destroy, then it will be killed or destroyed. As it is, the Check Engine light was always on.

He shrugs and plugs in the monitoring device. Lights flash, and it beeps. A few clicks on the black box and he vanishes into the shop to find a part. Under the car. Two minutes and pops out. “Drive back out to the road, and up the hill. Follow it around till you get to the first right. Come back here. I’ll have a dart while I wait.”

The car shifted out of second gear, and up the hill. It was working. The children in the back all cheered. We report back to the mechanic who shakes my hand, wishes us well, and sent us on our way.

The car was fixed and we were back on the road. 20 miles behind where we started, but with car that was working.

Sort of.

As the Soggy Bottom Boys sing, I am a Man of Constant Sorrow.

Navigation, but not Adventure Planning

Navigation is so involved in a journey, and yet apart from it. While we can look at a map, and see the roads we will drive, it cannot predict what shall befall us while following those lines.

When I looked at the maps this morning, I was not to know that Jane Lew would become a part of our trip. I was not to know that we would follow the blue road north, doubling back from where we started. I was not to know that Clarksberg McDonalds didn’t have WiFi, or that we would see different places in the South than we had planned.

That misadventure is the wonderful thing about a map. It can show us where to go, but cannot tell us what will happen.

---

You can read part 2 of our Road Trip into America.

Travel, and Rumours of Travel

Dear Adventurous Reader,

Today I talk abut Fear, Travel and Wars. I got an email that pointed out our future travel plans sound dangerous. I am not sure about that, but I appreciate how our plans could illicit those feelings, it is not stopping us from making plans. How can we travel when the world is in such turmoil?

The world is full of wars, and rumours of wars. The world is full of bad people doing bad things, looking to destroy all of civilisation with one foul swoop. The removal people from the face of the planet.

Except it is not “Full” of them.

The world has fights and skirmishes. We vilify regions because of what we hear on the news, amplifying our bad thoughts in the process. We get our opinions and make generalisations from small snippets of press, because when we look at a region in 5 minutes, we want to see the good and bad in a flash.

Travel forces us to look at a country differently. Rather than “Is it safe?” we ask, “Where can we safely visit?” In doing so, we can see places we want to go, and then see if it is safe to visit or a place we should avoid.

“It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.” - J.R.R. Tolkien

We were in Canada and we were not attacked by bears. We are in America now, and I have not been shot, despite the massive gun violence issue in this country.

Fear is what we are sold when we watch the news. Our research tells us different things about different countries. While the News says “It is dangerous”, our research often says “It is dangerous, but you can avoid the danger these ways…” A healthy dose of fear is a great motivation for better research into our future travel plans.

We wouldn’t enter a country if we thought that our lives were at risk.

Where To Next?

People often ask us where we are going next, we have a vibe that we aren’t finished travelling just yet. If you’d like to know, we are thinking either Central America or Europe - either place seems to be calling our name, but we are not decided on either way just yet.

“They both sound dangerous.” A quote from my email this morning.

Danger, though, is a matter of research. It is easy to qualify a nation’s safety based on what we hear in the news, but it helps to zoom in, and find out more information. Lots of reading, and discussion helps us to make decisions on where to go.

Where Other People Have Walked Before…

In Canada, Gramps was a wonderful source of information on Mexico. We went over maps, laid out on the bench, and pointed at places of interest. Ways to get around. Things to be careful of. We discussed border crossings, local militia and how to travel the roads of Mexico.

We talked to our good friends about their experiences in Central America. They had travelled there with younger children and said “As long as you get far away from the border as quickly as possible, you’ll be fine.” There are problems with drugs close to the borders. We talked specifics of travelling the roads in our car, and we talked about great places to visit, and food to try.

Talks like this are helpful. They give us confidence to make decisions, but more than the confidence, they are where we find out small tips and tricks for travelling into a new country. By talking to people who have experienced the area, we can explore the country in words before by sight.

We hear the news, and watch the explosions, and write off travel to a country or region because of an attack in one place. Most countries are big places, and not representative of an area under attack.

Reading and Reading

Information, the more you have, the more informed the choices you make. Reading about an area give us confidence to travel. Where to visit, places to stay, how to camp. What to look out for. Where families stay. Regions that are good or bad.

The Australian government has Smartraveller as a source of information about the world. It is helpful in finding out about regions they recommend travelling to, health information about those regions and information that isn’t current affairs.

The Path Walked Before

We are a member of a families travel group on Facebook that has been an awesome resource. Reading news about families that are like us, asking questions, and reading over discussions, is a great way to become familiar with places to see and how safe it is in a country without being there.

We aren’t the first to travel to a country. We won’t be the last. We are just looking at how we should travel to have the best experience we can.

It is a Matter of Where You Place Risk

“On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.” Chuck Palahniuk

We wouldn’t travel if we lived in fear. We are doing the best we can, with the information we have, to make travel plans into the future. Part of it is courage, but courage without a solid foundation is not courage.

If we made all out travel plans from the News and the media, we’d stay at home. Part of travelling is accepting that danger is always around us, and that by by accepting that, we can make decisions to keep us as safe as possible.

As Australians we understand that a small insect can harm, or kill someone. We know better than to run into long grass, on a hot day, just in case of finding snakes - and it is the same as travel. We don’t change into a new country unprepared and blindly hoping our safety will follow behind. Research and investigation - from many sources - before crossing a border make us feel a little safer in our decisions.

But, if the food is good enough, we’ll go just about anywhere.

Border Crossing into the United States

Dear Adventurous Reader,

We crossed the border, from Canada into the USA. It wasn’t easy, and we had thought by completing a visa waiver would have made it easier. It didn’t.

Interrogation

The interrogation started when we pulled up in our car. He welcomed us, with a stern voice asking questions as fast as a machine gun. "Where are you going tonight?" "Where are you going on this trip?" "Is this your vehicle?" "What are you doing in North Carolina?" "What is your brother's visa status?"

Questions that came so fast, it seemed like I would be wrong if I answered slowly. Every question had an urgency that was not necessary, it was dusk, there were no cars behind us, waiting to enter the U.S.A. Even if there was cars waiting, surely to find out our intentions didn't require the rapid fire approach. He kept asking questions, comparing faces in the car while inspecting our passports.

"You're going to pull up, next to that blue car. Walk on the crossing, into the building and up to the second floor. They will call your name. Your passports will meet you there."

In discussions of our future travels, we have been told not to let our passports out of sight. If they disappear at the border, they will request money to let them go. In this situation, under the watchful and controlling eye, it felt like we couldn't say "no". I felt in no position to request the ability to carry our passports to the second floor, it was not up for discussion.

We took the children from the car, crossed at the crossing, through the building with security guards (with the same stern faces), up the elevator and into a waiting room. There was a man in the waiting room; small glasses, a long beard, flowing clothes, with skin that had seen lots of sun. He sat turning through papers that had scans of finger prints, and photos, waiting to be processed.

Processed. That is the word they used, too. Processed. Like baloney, or cheese slices, we were waiting to be processed, before being accepted.

Our name was called. We were ushered into a room, and another stern-faced man waited for us. He fired questions, just as quickly, but probing further. "Do you have a house back at Australia?" "What about education?" "Is Home school what you did back in Australia?" "Why were you in Canada?" "What were you doing in Canada?" "Was Canada aware that you were staying six months?"

For these he looked directly at Jacquelyn, not acknowledging me at all. Until I needed to go to the car to get more travel documents, "Oh, I'm going to need to see those." Is what he said about seeing our future travel plans. I returned with the documents, and he ignored me for five minutes, while discussing things with his colleagues. He took the papers with no eye contact, and leafed through them.

We Jumped Through Their Hoops

We had applied for a visa waiver. Filling out their forms and paying online, for the eight of us. Surely they can find the answers to questions from there? They know our names, and the location we were going to because filed an application, and paid the fee. We followed the process, and they still felt the need to ask questions. Jacquelyn felt sick to the stomach, and I was confused as to what was happening.

I understand the "need" for strong borders.

Borders define countries. even crossing at Niagara Falls, I could see the difference between Canada and the United States. One was clean, crisp and well looked after, and the other felt like Las Vegas, with neon signs and people walking the streets in hoodies. That small span changed the way it felt to be there, that small span defined the difference.

While borders define counties, they also define ideals. There was an inherent trust coming into Canada. We landed in Vancouver, and we didn't feel uneasy or maligned, and we didn’t feel like were being interrogated. I felt like a human father, crossing into Canada, with his wife and children.

There was no trust and respect when coming into these United States. What were they going to turn us away for, anyway? Because we home school? Because we were in Canada for 6 months? I cannot fathom why they acted like this.

A country needs strong borders if it doesn’t trust visitors. To that end, I have to suppose, that USA has had issues with families of eight visiting relatives - either that, or they were putting on a show, just so they would make it onto our world-famous weblog.

Fine or Fee?

Oh. And before how I said we had been warned about letting our passports go, lest we be charged money? After being grilled, they chap behind the counter charges us US$6 per passport - for some reason he did not explain, and I am still unaware of.

But, when the school bully comes looking for lunch money, you pay the fee instead of being pounded.

A Snapshot in Time

Over time emotions, thoughts, and history seem to blend together. When I think back to places I feel the major emotions first, followed by what I remember from those emotions.

From now on I will be able to remember Our Time on Wolfe Island. The winter we spent with family and friends, waiting for the snow, walking on ice, and hearing tales of winters gone by. That snapshot, those memories, forever etched into our family's history. That time we spent a winter on Wolfe Island.

Gone So Quickly

Five months have gone by so quickly. Some days have been so difficult I have wondered what we were even thinking, travelling around with our family. I wanted to curl up into a tiny ball, and be whisked away back Home. Some days were the opposite, where I wished they would continue for ever.

Leaving Wolfe Island has been a whirlwind of packing, catching up with friends for the last time, and juggling everything else in between. It has been busy, and that is good, because taking a pause to think about what we are leaving would make us all feel sad. We have made a home, surrounded by people we love, in a beautiful part of the world. It is what we were looking for. How many homes can we make around the world?

What Can We Fit into Five Months?

Hearing stories of the deep, dark days of winter as told by Jenn and Tony, David and Carol, Sharon and Elwin, Teilhard and Corane. Each one of them remembering experiences, with a story to tell, and each one of them saying how “strange this winter is”. They gave us a notice of what we could expect.

Spending days looking out of the window, waiting for the snow to fall. Winter came late on Wolfe Island, the first big storm to hit was in February, and the bay didn’t freeze over until late January. A good part of December was waiting for snow, and January we spent listening to stories about snow in other parts of Canada.

Movie nights. A selection of movies from Netflix, or a selection of movies that we haven’t seen and Friends recommend. Either way, it is a great way to spend a winter evening. Popcorn, and somewhere warm inside, good friends and a movie.

Skiing. Late notice, and the Friday before we left (we departed Wolfe Island on a Sunday), we headed for the hills and skied - most of us did, but that is another story. Jenn and Tony took our kids under their wings and taught them to ski, something we could never have done.

Our American family came and visited for a week before Christmas. We had such a great time with Uncle Thomas and Aunt Sarah.

Square dancing, in an Island Community. With the threat of mutiny, the boys started to dance, and then loved every bit of it. Community and dancing in small halls on the Island. Complicated contra-dancing, fun little square dances. Fiddles sawing, and someone calling the dances. Fun was had by all.

Snow. It snowed hard after our trip up to Quebec City. Over a foot in one day, all of February’s snow in one 24 hour period. Then Jacqui and the boys built a ramp that was used to jump the fence. Tunnels were excavated in the snow, though no-one ventured too far inside. The road was used as a sledding hill.

Spending time with Grammy and Gramps was most excellent. They always made us feel welcome, and always had stories to share, or maps to show us. Stopping in for a short visit meant we didn't leave for three hours, at least.

Time Flies

It passed so quickly. Six months didn't seem to be nearly enough time, in a great spot with great people around us. With friends like these, we never felt too far from home; it felt like we made a home, and that is the difficult part about moving on. We are leaving behind Our Wolfe Island home, and Our Wolfe Island Family.

We utter words like, "When we come back.", or "Next time we're here." to console ourselves. A comfort in the sadness of moving on to the next thing. We are seeking comfort, as the home we have created, with neighbours we love so dear, will be a memory. Good memories, but not daily any more.

We have two things to do before we move on from Canada. The second is seeing Niagara Falls, but the first is spending a night on a farm, with some Wolfe Island friends. A small step away from the Island, and a perfect way to move on.

As as the wind turbines on Wolfe island drift behind us, and we return to mainland Canada, it starts to sink in that we are leaving. The last ferry ride, we are talking about how goodbyes are difficult, funny things that happened, and what we need to pickup on the Mainland when the ferry gets in (some things always never change).

We take a photo as the island slides away. That snapshot not capturing the emotions we feel, and not capturing the memories we created over a winter on Wolfe Island. Those important memories, we’ll hold close to our hearts

"The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with weary feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say."

-- J R R Tolkien

Empty, Trudging and Unthinking

It has been snowing, lots. Since 7am this morning we have had more than a foot of snow. The sky is a flat grey and white flakes fall from the sky, I have lost my depth perception because everything seems so flat and yet alive. It is a strange land.

I feel stuck - stuck in my mind and stuck inside the house, like a dog at the window whining to go outside. It is time for a walk. I enjoy walking, it is how I think and unthink: a form of meditation. Walking and talking, and leaving behind those things that have blanketed over my mind, and there has been a lot on my mind lately.

Ezra, the boys' friend is over for the afternoon, and they have chosen to shovel the drive way - entertainment in Canada is cheap with boys in their first winter. I had made a kind request this morning, “After school, can you boys please shovel the driveway?”

Levi smiled, “Sure. If our neighbour doesn’t come and blow it out first.”

There is always hope, when you have been asked to shovel a driveway, that a man with a snow-blower will come past. But today, hope was delayed long enough for them to clean out our driveway. You should ask the boys about shovelling sometime, we have a long drive way. They have been out here for over an hour.

I appreciate the hard work they have put in, moving the snow from the driveway, as getting to the road was easy, didn’t even slip over (which has happened on more than one occasion). The road is covered in snow, a foot deep and the snow plow had been at our end of the island this morning. Light and fluffy snow, a foot deep. Step and sink. Step and sink. Step and sink.

I am halfway down our road, heading for the main road, before I start wondering if this was a good idea. A walk, under grey skies, with snow falling - hard. My legs ache, my back is feeling the past few days of cross-country skiing.

Step and sink. “Was this a good idea? I feel stupid.”

Step and sink. “I need a walk. I am not giving up right now. Just to the main road.”

The road goes up a slight hill. I am breathing hard, legs ache from my short and difficult steps. Deer look up at me, and flee from the brambles, dancing across the road and over a fallen fence. Snow is drifting into pretty, white piles on the bare branches.

It feels like so much work that at the top of the hill I stop to catch my breath. I am not turning back. I need this walk. Step and sink. Step and sink.

A little thought drifts into my mind, and I grab hold of it. Explore the thought, understand the weight. “This feels a lot like how life has been for the past three months. Our voyage started under clear skies, but now it feels to be in danger of sinking. Step and sink. No matter which pathway seems open, it is covered with foot-deep, soft snow.”

Upon the Open Road

We started travelling as a way to expand our horizons. To see different countries. To show our children that the world is larger than watching things on television. People live differently, and we are unique and individual, but also part of a greater race of humans. Life is different and the same.

We started by planning a trip to Canada, because of family and friends. We thought the best way to start seeing the world was to begin where family lives. To see where our Aunty lives. To try a winter where it snows. To live on an island, where a ferry is the only way to the mainland. We did, and it is different to living at home.

Work. Not that kind of Work

We left with work things falling apart. A six month contract that was “in the bag” was cancelled. I signed a new contract, and due to things outside our control the work has been slow. Everything is slow, and when things are slow I get worried, without work there is no money coming in.

What was expected is not what is happening. Of course. Who would have thought?

To the best extent possible I have been trying to change the work situation. Looking for something to come up, pushing and knocking on the doors of possibilities. Calling out and yelling. Waiting for some kind of repsonse to the question of “What the hell am I meant to do, now?”

I didn’t expect this to be easy. But I didn’t expect it to be this hard.

Job applications have been rejected with no explanation. Job applications that have been considered have been rejected because someone else has been found, either better, with more skills or closer proximity. I am looking for a life-line and getting rejected. Somewhere inside, it is hurting. Somewhere.

Step and sink. Get up in the morning and do it again. Step and sink.

Work has never been predictable. I have enjoyed the ability to select some great jobs, to work alongside some great clients, and to build some great things. It feels like the ship is sinking, and I am grabbing at anything that could make the situation better - and everything is sinking too.

We left on our voyage under clear skies, not a cloud in the sky. We met friends and family along the way, and enjoyed every part of our journey. In three weeks we move on to the United States, and see my brother - that makes my heart feel lighter. As the road opened up before us, we enjoyed fellowship and good travel.

Time has gone on and our voyage has changed. The blue skies have clouded over, replaced by the dark-grey of an impending storm. I do not need the skies to be clear, but our ship must not sink from below us.

And So, I Walk

My walk is usually around 5kms, a long enough time to think and unthink. The long-stretch is along the highway, about half-way around the block. Today, after trudging through the snow, and finding the main road I enjoy an easy walk until the long-stretch. The wind gets stronger, pushing freezing rain into my face. Ice grows on my beard, and rain stings my eyes when I try and look up the road. I am not stepping into foot-deep snow, but I cannot walk forward.

I turn around.

Is this giving up? Is turning around because of freezing rain counted as giving up?

Another thought drifts through my mind. “This walk has turned into a metaphor. How ironic.” Can a walk be a metaphor? Or is it ironic?

I Hold Out Hope

I have a feeling that making a change this big, to become a nomadic family for a time, means that there is a risk - maybe a guarantee - that the boat will feel like it is sinking for a time. How we negotiate these waters, and if we can do enough to keep the ship afloat, will determine if we can keep going.

We took a gamble, made a big change, and so far I have been bailing water. Looking for something to grab onto. Three months. Step and sink. I am feeling tired.

But, I have hope. We have a bit of time before the money runs out to figure something out. I feel like all this work is not for naught, and someday it could be a story for the grandchildren. Someday, we could look back on the dark skies, and bailing water, and think “It was all worth it.”

Our choice to make a big change could also fail and fall. Collapse and sink. We spend a winter with friends and family. During which, I spend three months worrying about the future all for nothing. Then we head back to our little corner of the world.

And if that is the worst that could happen, it would not be terrible. Heading back to friends and family, to comfort and normality is not a bad thing. My heart has drifted back home many times in the past few months.

I am Determined, but Becoming Less Inclined to be Determined

I am determined to make this work. Something has to happen. We made a change, and now it is time for the change to become a reality. Hope springs eternal, but reality feels more crushing.

By the time I make it back to our road - the road with a foot of snow - the ice rain has turned back into flakes, and the road has been plowed. My walk was not like I had planned, it was different, and that is okay.

There is always hope. Even if that hope is embracing something I do not want to happen.

Up, Up and Away

Dear Adventurous Reader,

I am new to the mountains. They have been in my dreams, set upon the horizon which I have not been able to chase. The thought of being within the peaks of a tall mountain range has been calling to me for years, and this journey through Canada will take us through some of the most memorable mountains we have seen.

We have been through the Australian mountains at Kosiosko, and it was fantastic, and we flew over the mountains in New Zealand, and I wish we could have spent more time there. But, the Canadian Rockies, and a few days with our drive heading east, this should be fantastic.

Camping

Banff. A skiing village in the mountains. With Germanic facades, one way streets and deer that feed in nice, clean garden beds along the street. An unexpected village, filled with unexpected things.

We came into the town, after finding the Lake Louise camping ground had closed for the winter. Dusk has passed into night, stomachs are growling, and no motel has any rooms in our price range. "Try Tunnel Mountain." A concierge suggests as we are leaving a run-down motel. I dislike the idea of camping when there could be a room somewhere, so I ask Jacqui to check out one last motel, just to see the prices... $240 per room (plus tax).

We went to Tunnel Mountain Campground.

Setting up tents in the dark is difficult. Setting up tents in the dark, while discussing bears visiting during the night, well... that scares half of the workforce. With Elijah helping out, suggesting to "biff-up" all the bears, and Joash finding his way between tasks and hiding in the car, we do manage to set up our tent.

The older boys have a good go at whinging about the "hard ground, to which my motivational suggestions include: "If the ground has you defeated you'll have a flat tent for the night...”, or "Maybe if you keep complaining the ground will get weaker...”

Once our tent was up, and I hold onto the superior ground of beating, three whinging boys to set up a tent, in the dark, I went to help them out. The ground was more difficult where they were, and Nathanael returns from finding a rock to beat the pegs into the ground. “See, you can solve your own problems.” I prompt, he smiles and knocks the pegs into the hard ground. They got the job done.

We retreat into our thin tents, with thoughts of bears exploring our camp ground. We had done everything to stop them coming into our tents, didn’t we?

The Morning

Waking up in the morning, the air is freezing cold, the tent has ice lining the inner walls, and when I breath out I see breath-vapor rising. We slept in a bag, with clothes and a (toque)[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toque#Canadian] (that is a Canada Beanie) and it was still cold.

Outside everything is still, quiet. I love stepping outside to survey the land, after arriving when it is dark. Everything is new, and unexpected, compared to my guesses in the dark. In the pale, morning light I can see the many camping areas, with people waking. A couple of dogs are close by and Ezekiel mistakes the growl in the night for a bear, which starts the “bear finding” discussion again. A couple slept in their car, because the cheap tent they had purchased broke when they were setting it up, in the dark.

The stove comes out, time for a coffee to warm up. Slowly, everyone crawls from the tents to join me at the picnic table, and before I know it hot chocolates are on order. Then my milk is all gone - I had become excited by the idea of milk in my coffee, last night when buying milk - before I get to coffee. At least I had coffee, but my hopes of milk were shattered.

Lake Louise and Hot Springs

Lake Louise stretches, with her flat blue surface between high peaks. Not a wave is blown across the water, only canoes make their way from rocky shore to rocky shore. The aqua-blue is magnificent, the ripples the only thing stopping the reflection of the mountains in the water. Snow covered mountain tops jut against the blue sky, with barely a cloud in it.

Just behind a gap, where it looks like a mountain would flow into another in a small glimpse of the receding Mount Temple glacier. The solid block of snow hadn’t moved during the summer months. The cold of the morning has vanished, and the sun is bright and warm. The kids grab what stones they can find and throw them into the glass-like lake, and we sit on the rocks, allowing the many tourists behind us take photos.

For the afternoon we bypass sightseeing to find the hot springs, back in Banff. We drive up out of the village, Cold mountain air, juxtaposed with the hot, hot water. An afternoon of sitting in hot water, while the steam inches from the surface, and drifts into the air. An afternoon of comfort, while looking at the mountains and the snow.

The children, disregarding the relaxing setting, begin to climb out of the pool, and leap into it, much to the frowns and scowls of the adults in the pool. Adeline finds it delightful, a cunning grin as she looks down, and in she goes; jumping a little, but mostly falling into the water. A splutter as she surfaces, and right back to the ladder.

Trying to stop her only causes her to move to another location. Then, a cunning grin and another jump.

The day grows longer, the light starts to fail, and the mountains become more blue, with alternating streaks of orange of the setting sun. Getting out of the pool is difficult, the cold air wraps around us, and encourages us to go back, into the warmth. So, like a carrot to a donkey, we suggest hamburgers at Eddie’s Burger Bar. We were ready to go super fast.

Sulfur Mountain

Up. Way up. The view is spectacular. We are surrounded by tall, snow covered peaks. Surrounded by more mountains. Trees climb up and up, until the white begins, a line of snow starting where the trees stop, and then it is white until the start of the sky, a beautiful, blue backdrop.

We have taken a gondola ride up to (Sulfur Mountain)[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sulphur_Mountain_%28Alberta%29]. The gondola is smooth, rocking gently as we are taken to the top, Elijah is excited, peering from the glass and wondering how far up we are.

We walk around the improvements going on at the restaurant, and find the pathway that takes us up to the Meteorological Observatory over on Sanson Peak. The pathway has been raised and is on boards, or metal grates, which keep us from the snow.

Snow. Real, soft snow. Our children are all excited, running from pile to pile, of white patches of snow that had recently fallen, taking handfuls to either throw or eat. Once we get to Sanson Peak they are not looking at the view, instead they reach through the fence to find more snow. Zeke builds a snow-man. Adeline grabs hands of snow and stuffs it into her mouth. Elijah gets a clever shot at Nathanael who didn’t expect to get hit by a snow ball.

Me? I look around at the view. Up here everything looks marvellous: the distances are vast; the peaks seem to be at your eye level; the town of Banff is small and the cars are insignificant.

It is a different perspective. The town of Banff is not a confusing layout of streets, filled with tourists, it is an insignificant town, nestled in between the mountains crafted by a skilled architect, with an eye for beauty and hands that crafted time itself. Majesty is in the mountains, beheld at every peak, and stretched between the shapely horizon. What lays behind, in the distance, has been obscured by the beauty and fantasy of what lays before our eyes.

They stopped our progress, with their cruel and unpredictable ways. They hindered our exploration of lands beyond our own. They stand, immovable, and yet they mock our frail bodies with they glory.

Time to go. Along the pathway, coaxing Adeline to keep moving, rather than sampling the snow. Back to the gondola, where Levi asks what would happen if the cable breaks, and I try to explain as slow as possible to allow us chance to get back onto the ground. It feels a little too real explaining what would happen, while the gondola rocks in the wind.

It is time to move onward. The east is calling our name. Friends and family, time to head towards home for the winter. Time to leave the mountains.

I look back toward the summit, which I can no longer see - the mountain is too tall. From the bottom looking up, now I know I am missing out on something - the special view, that the gondola took us to, has vanished. I know the secret that the summit has, I remember that view that stretches for miles in every direction. I look around and feel flat, as if adventure had grown grand, and then become normal again.

Driving, Vomit and Lies

Dear Adventerous Reader,

Hells Gate is a 150 metre descent from the top house to the bottom. A gondola ride that would be hell on a windy day. The cliffs are steep, sharp angles of stone separating the large clusters of tall trees. And it goes up and up, until the clouds obscure the view, twirling against the craggy peaks.

The water down below is murky and brown. Twisting and turning in huge circles, a vortex where the rocks force the water against itself. There are Fish Gates along the side of the river, built into the rock walls, where a landslide had made it difficult for salmon to move upstream.

The river is rushing fast past the rocks and there is no snow melt. After winter the river is much deeper, and runs faster. The sound, from the bridge above the water, is deafening.

The boys have gone off to pan for gold, and Adeline follows (of course), to return wet. She runs back to meet her boys, only to slip on the wooden pathway - all is fine, and she stands and runs over to the water to play with her boys.

I have never taste-tested bad fudge, ever. The companies making fudge and selling it know how much of a percentage game they play. At the bottom of Hells Gate there is a fudge-store, I do not know the percentage of tourists that ascend the gondolas with a red bag holding fudge, but we were certainly one of them. “Been to the fudge shop?” The attendant asked. We nodded, we couldn’t deny it, we had a red bag. “I love it.” He said.

It was great fudge. But, I have never had bad fudge.

Vomit

A tent is such a nice place to be, after a long day, crawling into a sleeping bag, zipping the side up and settling into a warm ball for a nice sleep. Until you hear one of the little ones stir, and give a whimper and ask for a bucket.

Zeke was feeling ill the day we left Chilliwack, something-like gastro had twisted his stomach into knots. We didn’t make it to Hope when he threw up.

That night, in the chill night air of a small camp ground, Joash found himself ill. He threw up seven times through the night, each time making the bucket and I had to make a trip to the bathrooms to ensure we were set for the following time. After Joash had finished Elijah woke with an ill tummy and missed the bucket.

A disgusting sleeping bag was the result. Tent Vomit is my least favourite kind of vomit, although all are bad, that is the worst.

Sneaky, Sneaky

The next day we drove onwards through to Kamloops. This small town will be remembered as The Town We Snuck Children Into Our Hotel Room. Long days drive over tedious hills and into small towns, as we wound around the back roads from Hope to Kamloops. Everyone was tired, and no motels had enough room for us to fit in.

Allow me this place to speak for a little while about why we felt like we had to play sneaky games with a motel.

I am fine with businesses making money. I understand that with a large family, we have to accommodate ourselves to the way they have chosen to make money. A Family Ticket being two adults and two children doesn’t work for us. The word Family is flexible in the real world, but not in ways that most businesses structure payments.

Most motels allows a set number of people in one room. The more people you want, to more you have to pay. I understand this would apply to University students, or a bus load of people arriving late one night. But, surely, a family travelling through a town, for a single night, could sleep a few extra bodies on the floor? You would think…

Instead, they say “We don’t allow this.” Which translates to “The Rules do not allow for it.” or “We are not willing to make changes to accommodate your family.”, or some other variation that makes sense when you live and die by the rules. Or there is some kind of legal rules that the motel has to follow - I would be sure there are government regulations that “rate” a room to a set number of tenants.

The landslide of huge families coming to one motel to sleep all their children must way heavily on their minds.

So, we adjusted the room count by ourselves, filing our baffling number of children into our room. Choosing not to tell the hotel that the $130 a night would sleep our whole family, not the three children we were paying for. The only people who had a problem with it were our children, who couldn’t fathom the lie we were living.

Driving isn’t fun with vomit and lies. We have ventured into the mountains with difficulty. Hopefully we can get to Banff with less problems.