This is fun to read. Can't imagine how much fun it was to participate in.
This is fun to read. Can't imagine how much fun it was to participate in.
Wednesday
A lot of people will tell you that, based on cartoons, roosters greet the dawn and then shut the berkeley up.
I'm not sure how that theory got started, because I am awoken at five in the morning by a rooster that won't stop crowing. I get ready for the day, slowly growing to accept the concept of spending more precious minutes of my life in the pseudorural armpit of Pemberton BC.
In the light of day, the murder hostel isn't that bad. It's got friendly goats, beautiful weather, a little dog, and a bunch of cats, which really liked Cool Ranch for some reason:
I start to wonder if maybe staying here forever isn't quite so bad. Then I stop standing in the exhaust cloud left behind by Cool Ranch's cold idle and my thoughts become clearer.
Overnight it has developed that Kyle's dad has picked up Kyle's F150, taken it to Slung Blade's dad's place, grabbed up a flatbed car trailer and began cannonballing the entire assembly all the way to BC. I am impressed at how handily the old-guy contingent has outmaneuvered us young bucks.
After a hearty pancake breakfast in the murder hostel's rec cabin, we reverse the previous day's shuffle activities.
In order to thank the people at the Pemberton NAPA for their hospitality we decide to take a look and see if there's any junk we can buy. I am sorely tempted to pick up this Man-Sized jug of brake cleaner:
Before I get a chance to get too accustomed to the twisties of rural BC while listening to Eurobeat blaring over the 10-speaker Celica surround sound system, my role as taxi driver comes to an end.
Both Kyle and Kelly greatly enjoyed their time in the Celica, from its brutal torque to its opulent comfort to its copious storage to its general lack of 120dB piercing rotor noise allowing you to have a conversation without the aid of a cabin-mounted radio system.
Now that the entire party is back together at the NAPA, a new problem arises: how do we get Sweet Chili Heat out to the street so it can be picked up by McTinkerdad?
Pushing doesn't move it, the toe is too extreme to overcome the tire scrub.
Sweet Chili Heat doesn't have enough torque to overcome the tire scrub either.
I volunteer the Celica. Kyle says "I don't think the Celica has enough torque to tow the RX7."
The Celica has enough torque to tow the RX7.
With McTinkerdad approaching, we decide to leave Kyle and Kelly behind with Sweet Chili Heat's shattered form in Pemberton to spend an entire day. The last we see of them is their lonely forms crossing the railroad tracks, preparing themselves for an exciting 24 hours in BC's most aspirational town.
As for Cool Ranch and us, we are on the way to Whistler.
The drive to Whistler is largely uneventful. I use my right foot judiciously, and let the 5SFE eat. If we can't make Tofino, we can at least make the coast.
Hours later, we roll into the ferry terminal in Vancouver.
Tidewater!!!!
In honour of our fallen friend, we dedicate one of Sweet Chili Heat's shattered fender mirrors to Poseidon.
After a quick scrum it is decided that we must get out of Vancouver immediately.
It is Wednesday. It is two PM. How bad can Vancouver traffic possibly be at two PM on a Wednesday?
The next few hours of going down the TCH are a blur. I probably came close to heatstroke a few times, consuming our entire quantity of water as I worked the temperature dial to make sure that the engine would stop overheating on the heat-soaked pavement in this rush-hour furnace.
At last, we make it to clear traffic, and Chilliwack, where we stop for sushi.
I will never take Chilliwack for granted ever again. As far as I'm concerned, that town is Christ Jesus, and not just because there was some kind of weird muscle-car/ricer-car event going on at the moment which gave birth to this Z-car:
After driving for a few more hours, I decide to spring for a hotel in Kamloops, because I want a hot tub.
We receive word of the successful pickup of Sweet Chili Heat around this time. In fact, not only did they pick it up successfully, but they already passed through Kamloops on the way back to Alberta. We missed them by about a half hour.
Obviously, tomorrow we would have to drive much faster.
Thursday
Our in-suite butler was pretty nice, and buoyed by the concept that at one point in time we may return to civilization, the two remaining crews are in high spirits.
Looting the hotel breakfast proves fruitful: did you know that if you empty the entire mini-fridge of juices single-handedly, someone will appear to refill them without even questioning why you have a backpack full of free juice?
We punch it and head towards Alberta on Hwy-1. By this point, the Trans-Canada highway has calmed down, no longer being dominated by mountains but instead the relentless sameness of provincial parks. First Yoho, then Banff will fall at our feet.
One of the things that isn't illegal in provincial parks is slow-moving RVs, and during my driving shifts I frequently find myself going for the heater dial to control the Celica's chronic overheating at grade.
As the morning progresses Slung and I find the concept of stopping at Husky House completely irresistable. We do so, and it is probably the most satisfying roast beef sandwich of my long and storied career. I want one again right now.
Across the border and back in God's Own Country, Alberta, we make a quick detour onto 1A to visit the Bow Valley Parkway. This is probably a mistake, as even when it's not clogged with photo-snapping Germans, the speed limit is only in the low 40s. I can sense the Celica's grumbling irritation at being led from rental-crushing highway speeds to being forced to admire trees and the occasional bear.
We hop on 22 and play with the locals for a bit. It's near the turnoff into Airdrie that disaster strikes.
In stop-and-go rush hour traffic the Celica is not only overheating but loudly pinging, so when the road opens up we cut bait and go slowly with the heater cranked. We crawl into Airdrie, and the final leg of the event, wondering if maybe this is how the brave 5SFE will finally gasp its last.
At last we are in Airdrie, and to our surprise the Celica has returned completely to normal, with no trace of the brutal low-rpm pinging and hesitation it was previously manifesting. Toyota builds a helluva motor, I guess.
We did it.
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