Yonder

Don’t let it be forgot

That once there was a spot

For one brief shining moment that was known

As Camelot.

But not to the place in the picture. I went camping with a friend at some hotsprings near Nakusp that were hidden on crown land off a rough logging road. A bumpy drive, a short hike and you were there: middle of the forest, no infrastructure just some impromptu hippy-build retaining walls around the pools and a few naked folks enjoying a soak. I didn’t know places like that still existed.

Mind you that was a few years ago. Maybe it is the place in the picture.

We did it! Our little Honda Civic made the trip brilliantly. Used probably 1/8 the gas that all those RV people used too.

Returning south to all the city and zoom and racket I experienced a culture shock as profound as any I’ve had on return from parts foreign. So many people. All these ricocheting urbanites going about life in a self-important, narrow way.

I don’t wan’t to be here. I’m in love. I want to go back.

I’m on the road today, crawling my way north in a tiny, low-slung Honda Civic completely unsuitable for the trip.

First goal, reach the Stewart-Cassiar Highway in northern BC, rugged and wild. Step off the highway and you’re in one of North America’s last true wildernesses. On the map, there is a red line snaking north. And nothing else. No towns, no other roads.

Second goal, reach the end of the highway, the border, and cross into the Yukon, head north for Whitehorse.

It’s far. Our car is small. There are forest fires burning all across the north, smoke obscures the highways and closures are frequent. We could be turned back at kilometer 100 or kilometer 2500. There’s a distinct possibility we won’t make it.

And there are bears. I’m a bit worried about the bears.

February 2004

From my rooftop I watched a round moon rise over a minaret in the desert. In the courtyard below a Griot was playing guitar. He sang in a dusty voice, like a man from the desert should.

It was perfect. But for one thing… I was alone. Nobody would remember but me.

Not really for the backpacker crowd, downtown Panama is more of a shopper’s paradise.