The Kettle Valley Rail Trail isn’t all remote mountain views and trestles; we rode beside grapevines and past winery doors on a section from Penticton to cute little Naramata. I liked Naramata, lovely by the lake, but also because it reminded me of Australian names, many of which end with …ata, sometimes …atta. Homesick for Australian wine country again. 
We didn’t buy a lot of British Columbia wines, partly because we would have to pay for any in excess of two each, and because of the premium prices. In general the wines we tasted were not as complex as in other areas we’ve visited, but the good ones are really quite good. It’s a little disturbing to see that boutique wineries are turning to various gimmicks to get tasters in, and then sometimes charging exorbitant tasting fees.I fear the focus is more on theater than winemaking. So it’s best to pass on the flash and go to the wineries who show a focus on the grapes and the wines. We’re looking forward to getting back to the Willamette Valley in Oregon.
|
|||
LifestyleAfter a good hard bike ride up East End Road out of Homer, we decided to celebrate the rare sunshine with ice cream for a late lunch. We bought a carton at Fred Meyer’s and took it outside to their picnic tables. A woman sat at a nearby table smoking. She had that rode-hard-put-away-wet look off women of a certain age who have experienced an interesting life. Shari introduced herself to us, and in the same sentence told us a long story about how she was in the original cast of Up With People in 1968. I vaguely remembered such a quasi-religious hippy vocal group and their brief fame. Her participation seems to have defined her life for the last 42 years. She measures the value of a year by whether or not there will be an Up With People reunion. There is one in Tucson later this summer and she is very excited. Note the new tie died t-shirt, made special for the occasion. She’s wearing it early to get in the mood, or more likely to stimulate conversation.
Seeing us on bicycles made here vociferously apologize for her smoking. She went to great lengths to tell us of past failures, and her next attempt – just as soon as she gets back from the reunion – Up With People, don’t forget – and she gets a few other things in order. She gave no timeline. Lighting another cigarette, she rambled on for a long while, telling us very personal things about her life, just happy to be hearing the sound of her own voice, and having us listen. This happens to us often. I guess we look like we need to be entertained. She was entertaining. Maybe that’s why she was an Up With People cast member so long ago. Just then John arrived, smoking and semi-controlling a large but young and hyper black lab mix, jerking repeatedly on the short leash. Shari told us John lives in a tent, by choice she added — no doubt. She began to tell us his life story in great detail while he tried to shut her up so he could tell us the story of him being sick the previous night. He paused, stalking and cursing, to his dog tussling with a less enthusiastic dog and owner nearby. John awoke sick to his gut at 2am, ran for the toilets, nearest bush, whatever and, “I swear to god I shit my pants.” He threw up repeatedly and then began to cough violently. This went on for hours. Could have been alcohol involved, or worse, who knows? He told this story with great relish, taking particular pleasure in the most savage details. Shari broke in and suggested, “Maybe these folks don’t want to hear all this while they’re eating.” Did I mention the ice cream was delicious? “We don’t mind. We’ve heard and seen worse.” We didn’t mention that our experiences were always in overcrowded poor countries where privacy is not a priority or even an option. He finished with a good-natured curse, slapped the picnic table, jerked on the dog’s leash and walked away, apparently satisfied that his adventure had been adequately shared with the wider world. It doesn’t take much to make some people happy. There was a third visitor. He was also of middle years, forty something, and had obviously had a stroke of some sort, signaled by his cane, halting walk and slurred speech. Shari said he was probably, “on something,” since his speech was worse than usual. He wasn’t in a sharing mood, just wanted to borrow Shari’s phone to call for a pick-up. Young stroke victims are not all that uncommon, among populations of substance abusers. The substances abused include cheap fat sugary food. Of course we were eating ice cream at the time, lots of ice cream. Shari hated to see us go, but we had a few hours of sunshine left, and wanted to spend it on Homer Spit with the kittiwakes, sea otters, the lone bald eagle and a few tourist campers. Sunset is before 11pm now, so we have to make use of a rapidly diminishing resource, and it looks like rain again for the next few days. Just a quick touch of the salmon crazed Alaskans (legal residents) fishing with nets at the mouth of the Kenai River. It’s how they fill their freezers for the year and have a lot of fun it seems. The gulls are happy too! We were shopping later that evening and I overheard this conversation from one woman to another, “Ha! I can’t buy anything for the freezer, there’s room for nothing in there but fish” I should have such a problem. Salmon is $11/lb here, more expensive than the lower 48. Can’t figure that one out. Beautiful British Columbia is big, really big, and beautiful, really beautiful. It’s so big you could drop three or four Washington States into it, and have room left over for a few Eastern states. And it is rich, rich in natural resources, all the usual: oil, natural gas and metal ores, but perhaps more importantly, water, lots of water. Someday when all the other resources have been sold to the consuming nations, water will be British Columbia’s wealth. It is now much of its beauty. The roaring Frazier descends from the jagged peaks and glaciers of the Canadian Rockies, first in a north-westerly direction. It makes a hard turn south near Prince George for a long run to Vancouver and the sea. We followed the Frazier to Prince George, located on the Yellowhead Highway in the middle of BC. In 1997 we rode Zippy through Prince George as part of a 5000 kilometer tour of BC and Alberta from our home in Dungeness, Washington. It was nice to be able to return, and remember. Beyond Prince George, the land becomes almost like a gentle sea, huge long waves of white spruce and aspen, rolling off to a far horizon. Here the sky becomes the thing, billowing white and blue-gray clouds against a cobalt northern sky, turning color with a later and later sunset. It becomes almost difficult to sleep as we near the Yukon, the days are so long, the nights so short. We close all the blinds in Turtle, and it still is late before we can sleep. Light usually wakes me at 3:30am, but I’m a good sleeper, and Claire’s warmth makes it easy to wait for full sun to warm us through the windshield sometime around 6:30. At that 3:30 awakening, I open the blinds and curtain between our living area and the cab to welcome the sun. A warm house makes it easier to get out of bed at a reasonable hour. Here in the cool north, when we chose a boondock spot, we look first for level (the refrigerator is fussy if we aren’t) and secondly, a north-east exposure for morning warmth. Two of our most important camping tools are, a short carpenters level, and a compass. For trickier leveling situations, we can now use our Android to give us the exact number of degrees we are off –level; very cool.
It is quiet beside a lazy boreal stream. Earlier, we watched a beaver patrol the near shore, five meters away, as we enjoyed dinner and a glass of fine Oregon wine, courtesy of John and Sharon Hoyle. The beaver found nothing to her liking and returned downstream. Maybe she didn’t like the neighbors, or that we didn’t offer our wine? The next morning, it was Claire’s turn to open the blinds, put the pot to boil for my morning coffee, and climbed back in bed for a wake up snuggle. Later, I sit with the warm sun on my shoulder, watching a shorebird forage the far shore, head bobbing, its legs a-blur, mind on food, preparing for the breeding to come. My coffee steams in the sun’s rays, and slowly begins to bring my brain into a semi-active mode. Our passenger chair rotates to take full advantage of the sun, and the view. It is another million dollar view, free. I love that sentence. I wonder if the people tied to the RV Resort umbilical are enjoying their morning, packed together as they are, with a claustrophobic view of the toilets and other motorhomes. These mornings and evenings, all alone with our river, lake or mountain view, make us feel rich, even if we do have to make our own coffee. |
|||
|
Copyright © 2004-2010 NewBohemians.net - All Rights Reserved WordPress · WordPress Themes · Premium WordPress Themes |
