Although I wouldn’t say that the best was saved until last, driving through the Cascades was certainly a fitting end to a pretty amazing week away.

Having booked in to another small motel in Omak, Washington, it was time to leave Bonners Ferry. Our new best friend YELP wasn’t to enamoured by our prospective inn for the night, but it was the only place available and had a “you get what you pay for” ring to it. Turns out that we wouldn’t be paying anything as a drive around the outside was enough to make the decision that this was indeed a place to pass over.

So, next stop, Winthrop. We left the somewhat desert like Okanogan County and stared to get back to more forest like terrain. Winthrop is know for being a ‘wild west’ town, a kind of cowboy equivalent to Bavarian Leavenworth. This provided a neat second bookend to our introduction to strange town USA. Not strange weird, just strange, in an out of place sort of way. As it turned out, Winthrop was full and although we’ll certainly head back there to investigate, the homing instinct led us to carry on westwards.

The revised plan was to drive through the Cascades and grab a room around Burlington overnight. Naturally the last minute room didn’t happen, but the Cascades did. Although I wouldn’t say that the best was saved until last, driving through the Cascades was certainly a fitting end to a pretty amazing week away.

Utterly stunning would probably be an understatement. Where Glacier National Park and the Logan Pass was majestic in it’s scale, the Cascades felt close up and personal.

Maybe that closeness made for a more memorable experience, maybe it was making the journey near sundown, whatever it was, it was superb.

Note to self. Revisit on a bike!

Feeling suitably overawed for the umpteenth time in a week, it was back to civilization. The overnight stop around Burlington was essentially to visit the outlets. A out of place end to a week of splendid scenery and wilderness was to be immersed back in to consumerism. However, as with a number of things on this road trip, plan ‘b’ had to be adopted as once again we couldn’t find a vacant room. Another night in the car was not on the agenda, particularly being back in a built up area, so despite it being late, BC it was to be.

A sprint up I5, across the border and back home for around 1.30am.

The roadtrip was over. Some 2600 Km had been covered and more memories were filed and locked away, ready for recall and replaying on the personal Super 8 screen of the mind.

For those without a good imagination, take a peek at the Picasa pics. It’s a snapshot of the trip.

Comment of the trip, made to a guy whilst sailing on Flathead Lake in Montana. “This is the furthest east we’ve driven since arriving in North America”  The proposition of Montana somehow being mentioned in the same sentence as ‘east’ was met with a confused look. Montana is real cowboy country. Montana is west.

The wonderlust will continue and 2012 will hopefully add a new twist to the roadtrip; scootouring, or 2 go mad on Vespa’s. I can’t wait.

After a few short summaries on how the Addicks season has progressed, the “another great result” format is wearing thin. More league and cup wins followed by a couple of draws haven’t dampened my enthusiasm from afar, but finding new superlatives and praise is certainly getting harder as the weeks and games go by.

Pic from the CAFC website

Despite being restricted to glimpses of games on the BBC, through sites like not606, I can still feel fully involved in this seasons promotion bid, and that’s a good thing. And it’s just as well not606 exists as coverage of teams outside of the premier league is, well, somewhat lacking to say the least. Having said that, what I do find is an absence of gossip and other premiership drivel. It’s actually rather refreshing not to have to endure reading about the mindless antics of the well remunerated elite in the so called best league in the world.

Life in the 3rd division is all about the game, it’s all that matters and I’m thankful for that. But would I want to remain taking n 3rd tier footie? The Brit in me responds with a resounding no. From what I’ve seen, League 1 brings at times slapstick defending, neck aching inducing long balls and parklife finishing. So, I’m left with the tension that exists between the desire for a higher standard of footie and the knowledge that when the coveted land of the prem comes once again, CAFC news will be crowded out once more by the tabloid exploits of “enter big name of the day here” rather than being non-existent. Seems like a no win thing really. But that’s all part of supporting a club rather than being sucked in to the world of the trophy hunter. Maybe, that’s something to explore another day.

In the meantime I’ll look for new angles on what I hope to be Charlton’s promotion season,

Oh, and if I really want to take in League 1 level footie I can head for the nearest MLS game.

The Kootenai Falls were an amazing find, an unexpected highlight of the road trip.

Another night under canvas. We’d managed to avoid caterpillar infestation, which given the amount of caterpillars dropping on to my head and shoulders from the trees was a minor miracle. Ah, the delights of nature.

Day 6 saw us leave the little island paradise and start the journey home. The route back was once again through Montana, Idaho and Washington, but a more northerly road was to be travelled. With day 1 still firmly etched in to my memory, the first task was to find somewhere to stay for the night. Highway 2 would take us through Bonners Ferry, Idaho and our new best friend, yelp delivered the goods. A room at the independent Log Inn was duly reserved.

A real serendipitous moment was in store along the highway. Lesley spotted a sign for the Koonenai Falls and the parking area wasn’t crowded. Time to pull over and explore. The Kootenai Falls were an amazing find, an unexpected highlight of the road trip. With temperatures in the mid thirties, Lesley and I set off for the bridge, not knowing what ‘the bridge’ would be. Turns out it was a single track, wooden swing bridge strung across the Kootenai River. Now I’m not a great one for heights, but this was something not to be missed. I did have second thoughts though. A couple with dogs were crossing before us. The dogs, Rottweilers, reached the stage where terror cut in, backsides went down and front legs were stiffened. So, if I was to cross this bridge I had to be harder than your average Rottweiler. Something I’d not considered myself to be, I have to admit. Lesley in the meantime had decided that she’d take refuge in the shade whilst I risked life and limb for that one great pic. With the deepest of deep breaths I set out. Boy, was it worth while.

The river was flowing fast, the bridge anything but stable and the views, well, I simply wouldn’t have missed the experience. What made it even better was that it didn’t cost a penny. Plus, no safety guy around. It was at my risk.

The crossing back was a little more fraught as I met another family half way across. Making out way past each other on a 3 board wide bridge was interesting, but personal space was not compromised and without a whiff of fear emanating from my nether regions, I was back with Lesley. We continued to explore the area and I found that it was possible to get down to the waters’s edge, close to the actual falls. What an experience, no safety precautions included,  just me deciding how close I wanted to go.

The Kootenai Falls were an amazing find, an unexpected highlight of the road trip.

After the exhilaration of the falls, it was back on the road to Bonners Ferry, Idaho. Another glimpse of small town USA, a very homely room for the night, and an enormous meal at a local restaurant. Probably more calories in one meal than I’d had in the previous two days combined. And a very well deserved beer.

After 6 days on the road, this foray in to the USA had provided some absolute gems of experiences. There was more to come as day seven beckoned.

I’d never really appreciated just how much the Stars and Stripes meant to Americans. After the retirement ceremony I was left in no doubt of its importance.

I’d spent an afternoon sailing around Melita Island on Flathead Lake. Lesley and I were passengers, the skipper a US Navy veteran. The temperature was in the mid 30′s, the lake a mill pond, beautiful weather and jaw dropping scenery. This was quite a road trip. One of the aims for the trip was to relax and I think I was probably an 8 or 9 out of 10 on the relaxed scale. Virtually horizontal.

Ward was spot on with his description of Camp Melita, it was certainly somewhere close to paradise. However, Ward was also spot on with his description of the cuisine. Scout food in portions for small people. But, for a short visit, that really didn’t matter. I can certainly sympathize with Ward and his need to escape for a meal every weekend.

I was informed by Ward that there would be a flag retirement ceremony in the evening. I was intrigued. In a former life I spent 8 years in the Royal Air Force and had never come across a retirement ceremony for the Union Flag or the RAF standard.  What was a retirement ceremony? There was more. Forces veterans would also be honoured during the ceremony. Now, I’d never thought of myself as a forces veteran. Does one have to serve a certain number of years to qualify? I’d no idea, but today having served in the RAF,  I was also a ‘vet’.

So, evening arrived and the camp gathered together. Scouts marched in with a large Stars and Stripes, which was to be retirement due to a flaw in the fabric. One of the preferred methods of retirement is burning. My mind understandably started to play images from news channels of the US flag burning in very different circumstances. Curiosity grew, what was I about to witness.

I’d never really appreciated just how much the Stars and Stripes meant to Americans. After the retirement ceremony I was left in no doubt of its importance. The evening will live long in my memory.

The reason for the stars and stripes was explained, confederation and states. Stories of honour and sacrifice. Pride in the country, pride in the flag and what the flag represented. When outsiders peer in to the US and see what appears to be over the top patriotism, this has to be where some of that emotion comes from.

The flag was gradually cut up, first stripes, then the stars. Each piece consigned to the brazier. A length of flag was retained, cut in to smaller pieces with those pieces handed to all in attendance. We were asked to acknowledge and remember the contribution of fallen service men and women, consider their sacrifice to secure our freedom. Very powerful. And there was more to come. Forces ‘vets were invited to line up and despite my reticence, Ward beckoned me forward to join the others. What a humbling moment. In those few moments I was given more recognition for the 8 years I gave to HM Forces than I’d ever received before.

The ceremony closed with everyone filing past the brazier to add their piece of flag to the fire and finally saluting the flag. Now this is where respect for others and remaining English had to be addressed. The line was drawn for me and there was no saluting the Stars and Stripes. Despite the relocation, I’m still English. Even if I get Canadian citizenship, I’m still English. I’m certainly not American.

The US Navy ‘vet that had skippered the sailboat earlier in the day approached me. With tears in his eyes he thanked me for participating. He was absolutely sincere. I’d respected his country’s tradition and the guy was very, very grateful.

The following morning, Lesley and I would bid Ward farewell and leave Camp Melita. But what a final evening. Maidstone and the UK seemed a very distant memory. Relocation had brought with it unexpected and poignant moments.

Can the smile get any wider? Another week, another win as the reborn Addicks claim another 3 points at Brentford.

Pic from TeamTalk

When I left the UK the final London derby I saw was against Spurs. It was the game that consigned Charlton to the Championship. It was a miserable game.

This London derby, 2 leagues lower than the Premiership, seems far from a classic, but winning when playing below par at places where previous results had been poor is a sign that the this is team that wants Championship football next season.

Next week it’s Huddersfield who are undefeated in the league for 46 games (they’ve lost the important play-off games though!). This will be another big test of the Addicks promotion credentials.  I can’t wait.

My breath was held. Games like this against lower or non-league opposition have time after time proven Charlton’s downfall. To the more seasoned Addick, this game was 1-0 Halifax certainty.

Danny Hollands slots in CAFC's third. Pic from the Guardian website

But this season is different and the Addicks continue to score for fun. Another 4 goals, that’s 19 in the last 5 games, put paid to any giant killing hopes and Charlton are a game away from a possible money spinning third round tie against one of the current ‘big boys’. Check out the match report.

I’m supposed to be becoming Canadian, but I’m afraid that I still don’t get the idea of an 80 game season that doesn’t have a winner. So, sorry Canucks, you’ll have to wait a little longer to gain my affection. Oh, and as for the Whitecaps, I seriously hope the second MLS season is an improvement on this one. The fanbase is certainly there, the enthusiasm is too, Unfortunately the defence has been absent on far too many occasions and the ability to find the back of the regularly has also been a feature of the season. Amazingly Whitecaps end their MLS debut year with 2 of the 4 goals of the season. If only these flew in every week,

There are times that I have to pinch myself. This is now part of my life and accessible more than once in a lifetime. This is what the relocation was about, quality of life and adventure.

It was time to head to the meeting point and meet up with Ward. I’d met Ward during my ETNO sustainability working group days back in the late 90′s and early 00′s. The slightly surreal thing here was that I was meeting a guy from Belgium at a Scout camp on a lake in north west Montana, USA.

A quick couple of quotes from the old Camp Melita Island site. Firstly Flathead Lake

Tucked in the Flathead Valley of Northwest Montana, Flathead Lake sits next to the rugged grandeur of Glacier National Park and the western edge of several million acres of designated wilderness.

And Melita Island itself

Uninhabited, undeveloped, and completely surrounded by water, Melita Island is just as it was in the late 1940’s when the Scouts first began participating in summer camps there.

These snippets tell it as it is. A tiny paradise in the sun with stunning views, Melita Island.

Although only on the island for a couple days, it was simply a wonderful wind down and chill time (once we’d ejected the plague of caterpillars from our tent). Treated to a sail boat and speed boat ride, walking around the island, sitting down and just gazing at the lake. Wonderful, this was truly what the relocation was about.

It would soon be time to hit the road again, but there was one surprise to come, a Flag Retirement Ceremony.

For the first time since leaving the UK for Canada I can smile at Charlton’s progress. I’ve been reluctant to put finger to keyboard too early in the season, but hey, it’s time to celebrate fireworks at the Valley as CAFC demolish Preston 5-2. Next stop the Championship. This is a team that actually wants to win and wants to play at a higher level. The match report says it all.

BWP on target again. (Pic from the official CAFC website)

I’ve been challenged to add CAFC snippets to BC Brit on a more regular basis by the folks at West Coast Digress. Challenge accepted.

It was the sheer scale of the pass that was so impressive. This was the start of the Rockies.

A good nights sleep in a real bed and it was time to explore the area. Today the Logan pass beckoned. Logan Pass cuts through the Glacier National Park in north west Montana. Straddling the continental divide, Logan Pass is at the start the mountain range that heads north in to Canada, the range we call the Rockies.

Having lived in BC for around 4 years, what would I make of our destination?  After all, BC is a beautiful place, the mountains here in (almost) daily view, the provincial and national parks stunning. Would Glacier National Park measure up?

After an hour’s drive we arrived at the park entrance and headed towards the pass. A glimpse of what was to come came around every curve, the park gradually opening up before us. The ascent to some 7000 feet began. The climb was steady, never steep and the higher we got the greater the view. It was the sheer scale of the pass that was so impressive. This was indeed the start of the Rockies. To be honest, it’s really not worth trying to describe was unfolded, this place has to be seen to be appreciated. Even the camera cannot truly capture the vastness. Let’s just say that it was a snapshot of this awesome natural environment.

The unfortunate thing was that as the pass was do busy with visitors we didn’t get a chance to stop at the summit to explore more. It was still worth the trip though, just to experience the vastness and beauty of the pass.

Changing subjects, one app became a must use on this trip – Yelp. When WiFi was available, Yelp and the iPad helped find somewhere to eat and somewhere to sleep. Invaluable.

Pics from the whole roadtrip are on Picasa.

Day 3 came to a close. Day 4 would see us going under canvas for a couple of nights on an Island on Flathead Lake.

I’d never been so close to a Bison and to be honest, I’d happily not be so close to a bison ever again.

Day 2 began a lot earlier than I’d hoped for. Having parked up in a rest area facing south, around 5.30am the sun announced that the new day was definitely open for business. Even though it was somewhat of a rude awakening, it was also a wonderful sight. Sunrise was the kind of thing last experienced as teen returning home after a night out. I think age has mellowed me and allowed me to accept the experience as a thing of beauty rather than a sorry reminder of the time of day.

Breakfast was sorely needed, but where? The nearest city was Spokane and at 8am on a Sunday morning, not much is happening. Having failed to locate anything open I tried the ‘burbs and found a coffee shop ready to accept weary visitors in need of caffeine and cake. Not only was the food and coffee excellent, there was WiFi available and I’d soon booked a room for 2 nights in Polson, our staging post before venturing on to Melita Island.

Refreshed, rinsed and caffeinated it was back on to the road, travelling in to Idaho, heading for Montana. Stops for fuel provided welcome breaks and running across places like the small, historic mining town Wallace added to the sense of adventure and discovery.  Here’s how the Wallace tourist site describes the town’s origins

A true, old west, mining town that still prospers today; the town of Wallace traces its roots back to 1884 when Colonel Wallace (not a real Colonel) purchased 80 acres of land and built his cabin in the area that became the site of the present city.

The  idea of ‘Colonel, but not a real Colonel’ is interesting and maybe adds to a sense of false importance that places like Wallace seem to exude. Often statements such as ‘world famous’ or ‘in the world’ would pop up and there’s a real ownership of those statements too. Maybe I’m not well enough travelled, but I’d never heard of Wallace before. I know it now, and the tourist info office folks were very friendly, so I’m happy to accept that Wallace is indeed one of the most important silver mining town’s in the world.

Idaho became Montana and as the day’s destination neared, I came across a Bison reserve. Having time to spare and a room waiting in Polson, a trip to the reserve was another great diversion. And it was quite a diversion. These beasts are huge, and despite their lumbering appearance, once up to speed can apparently gallop at horse speeds. Driving the reserve was a fascinating experience. It was a mini ‘safari’ with some pretty steep climbs that were not expected. I’m not driving an SUV or 4 wheeled drive car, it’s a Mazda 5. But it coped admirably. In fact, the only concern was when we managed to get between a mother and calf. Mrs Bison was visibly disgruntled and started to head my way. Fortunately the track was clear and when the calf was back in sight, Mrs Bison’s movement became munching. I’d never been so close to a Bison and to be honest, I’d happily not be so close to a bison ever again.

What a sight, appearing from nowhere at the other end of the road, the Rockies. Glacier National Park would be a ‘must do’ visit, but that would be on day 3.

Polson, at the south end of Flathead Lake was the end point for day 2. A lakeside view from the room, showers and a good meal closed off a far better day.

We hadn’t set out to sleep in the car on our first night on the road trip, but that’s what happened. Lesson learned.

The plan was simple, drive 1000 Km to meet up with Ward from Belgium who was volunteering at a Scout Camp on an island in Flathead Lake Montana. Being in Canada has led to some interesting adventure situations, and last years Oregon solo road trip by bike was to be followed by a car journey, this time with Lesley.

A tentative route was agreed. Day one, south of the border and across Highway 2 to Leavenworth, Washington. Unfortunately we left home late and had decided not to book a room anywhere, just to be flexible. We reached Leavenworth and were frankly struck by the bizarre nature of coming across a Bavarian town in the middle of Washington State, USA.

We walked the streets with jaws dragging along the paving trying to figure out what the point was . The town website has the answer. The place was in decline and it was actually in the 1960′s that a decision was made to make Leavenworth in the Bavarian image hoping to make the place a tourist destination. They’ve succeeded, that’s for sure. Leavenworth was booked out solid. So were all the other local places including the far larger Wenatchee. The plan had to change and as night fell, 9pm became midnight and we still hadn’t found a motel with space.

We hadn’t set out to sleep in the car on our first night on the road trip, but that’s what happened. So it was that somewhere along I90 we pulled over in to a rest area and along with a few other cars, trucks and big rigs, parked up for what was left of the night. Not the most auspicious of starts to this year’s road trip.

On August 28th 2007 BC Brit and family set sail for shores anew. A new life beckoned in Canada. That was four years ago. We’re still here. We’re working, socializing, exploring and enjoying our new home. The adventure continues.

The only way I can sum up the experience is “familiar but no longer home”. Back in mid April I made my first journey back to the UK since relocating to Canada. The trip was built around a family wedding and offered a chance to catch up with both family and friends. It was over three and a half years since Maidstone was swapped for Metro Vancouver. Many challenges had been faced and overcome in Canada, stability had arrived and the BC way of life was becoming the norm. Was I ready for a return to the old country? I really wasn’t sure.

The actual journey from Canada to the UK was as smooth as could ever be expected and the afternoon after leaving YVR the BC Brit family were heading to Devon for a few days R&R where my family live.

It didn’t take long to get back in to the swing of sitting right, driving on the left. Oh, and how good to see real car design again, not the garbage that isften found this side of the Atlantic.

The weather in Devon and throughout the 2 weeks was wonderful. Summer in April. Beach BBQ, and shorts all the way. We’d left Vancouver amid torrential rain and low temperatures. Having packed for poor weather an emergency summer wear shop was required to make sure I was appropriately kitted out. I certainly wasn’t expecting that to be the case.

It was great to see family again. As was to be expected, 3.5 years made a visible difference to everyone we saw.

Phase 2 of the trip involved travelling from the South West to the South East. Essex awaited. The reason for our trip in the first place was to attend a family wedding, which we duly did. And it was an Essex wedding.

Next stop was back to our former home, Maidstone. That’s where “familiar but no longer home” popped in to my mind.

The town was looking a bit frayed around the edges in places. The global recession has hit the UK harder than BC., Canada, and it shows. What really struck me was the difference in people’s attitudes. Maybe not family and friends, but folks you met in shops or on the street. The only way I can describe it is somewhat down. The hangdog feeling was more evident in the South East. Woolacombe (Devon) as a tourist resort is probably more of an unnatural environment and as such didn’t appear as gloomy.

Although the family enjoyed the visit, we were pleased to come home. And home is BC. The last 3.5+ years have gradually opened out to bring a better quality of life than we were experiencing in the UK. Of course this isn’t utopia, life has its up’s and down’s. The difference here is that mountains, space and on the whole a more positive attitude exist.

Despite the urban myth, white men can dance.

Okay, I have an confession. My name is Mark and I’m learning to dance. There, I’ve said it, I’ve come out and laid my secret bare. A great weight has been lifted from my shoulders and I’m now able to face life knowing that everyone reading this blog will be able to pose me the question ‘Strictly Ballroom?’

So, how on earth did someone leading a relatively quiet life in BC get involved in this shameless act of exhibitionism? This journey was certainly more of a slow, slow than a quick quick. From time to time I was reminded by my wife that before moving to Canada I’d for some reason promised that if we relocated I’d learn to dance with her (something my wife had mentioned she’d like to do on a not too infrequent basis). Well a couple of years in to this adventure with a settled job and finally some disposable income to hand my conscience couldn’t handle the pressure any longer. I had to do it, I had to cross the threshold from two left feet to meaningful movement.

And so it was that at the end of 2009 I booked a free (note the level of commitment here) introductory lesson at a local Arthur Murray dance school in Port Coquitlam. It was a life changing experience as I discovered the despite the urban myth, white men can actually dance. It only took 45 minutes to be hooked and there I was signing up to a basic course. Suddenly there was an outlet for me to express my lack of ability to play a musical instrument. I could move to music instead.

At the sockhop. Pic courtesy of Arthur Murray Studio, Port Coquitlam

The last 10 months have seen Lesley and I progress from absolute beginners to actually learning a routine and we’re now able to move ourselves around to Cha Cha, Rumba, Salsa, Swing, Foxtrot, Tango and Waltz. Okay, we may not be the most elegant folks on the dance floor (which is a bit of an understatement I suppose), however, the feet know what to do, the brain is willing and to a certain extent the body is able. No more two left feet.

I see so many different age groups at the studio we go to, some couples learning a routine for their wedding day, singles out for fun that doesn’t involve drinking and falling over and older couples which I guess includes the wife and I doing something together that involves co-operation, timing and lots of laughs. Dancing is certainly a mental challenge and for me at least a bit of gentle exercise, which obviously means I’m not putting the physical effort in.

Right, what advice would a new convert to the cause give those out there wondering and wavering? There’s a book entitled ‘Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway‘ that I’ve yet to read, however, it says all that’s needed. Check out some local studios, get a feel for the people there, try an introductory session, just do it – you might just shock yourself and enjoy the experience. Rhythm is gonna get you – 80′s nostalgia anyone?

After 3 years in my new home, a momentous decision has been made. I’m applying for Canadian Citizenship (as are the rest of the family, which is actually rather comforting).

It all began in 2004 with a second redundancy looming within 18 months of the first. A nagging feeling that the UK wasn’t going to be the place to be was once again prodding me and after several discussions with Lesley we sat down with our kids to discuss what next. The short version is that after deciding to make some sort of move to an English speaking country, Canada came out tops as the place to try for. I checked out the process for moving and after several weeks of gathering information, and boy was there a lot to gather, I delivered our application for Permanent Residence visas at the Canadian High Commission n London.

Fast forward 14 months and our wait was over, but only partially. The Commission wrote to me advising that the process was running late and that I’d another year to wait. Another fast forward and in April 07 the family were asked to attend medicals. It was at this point that it became clear that we’d cleared the points bar and were close to achieving our goal.

After a visit to Vancouver in June 07 the relocation completed in late August and it turned out to be the end of the preface, the real adventure was only just beginning. Why Vancouver? When asked my somewhat flippant replies are “I don’t do -30, +30 temperature ranges”, or “I you’re going to have a mid life crises, do it in style.” The truth is probably stranger.

Back in 2005 I was busy listening to podcasts and via a somewhat strange route of Wired Jesus, the Evil Genius Chronicles, Ted Riecken’s Island Podcasting had arrived at John Bollwit’s Radiozoom. His outsiders take on life in Vancouver hooked me and having researched the area concluded that the west coast it would be.

So, many stories and challenges later here I am, at the start of the next stage of becoming Canadian. After 3 years in my new home, a momentous decision has been made. I’m applying for Canadian Citizenship (as are the rest of the family, which is actually rather comforting).

The process isn’t quick – some 14 months to wait, but the thought of choosing the shortest line up at airports can’t be under-valued as the family will end up with dual citizenship and able to move within North America and the EU without much hassle. There do appear to be more advantages to dual citizenship that airport line-ups, not having to re-apply for permanent residency would be one so at the start of October, the applications were posted.

Becoming Canadian edges closer however I can’t see me losing my Englishness (whatever that may be). Hmmm, I may just have to dip back in to Billy Bragg’s the Progressive Patriot to remind myself of what being English can be. Another day.

It’s the morning of the flight to Canada and everyone’s up early. A new life beckons.

Running out of space. A dash to Maidstone for another case.

The taxi is late, the M25 is stationary, there’s a fire alarm at Gatwick, but we’re on our way.

Forms stamped by immigration, “Welcome to Canada”. A new beginning.

Week 1. Hotels, motels, apartments, bank accounts, Social Insurance Numbers, cell phones, schools and a house sale that fails.

Months go by. Kids in school, a move from Vancouver to Burnaby, networking, letters, doorstepping, discovering that being an Apple Tech is not for me.

3 weeks money left and the UK house sale finally completes. Sigh of relief.

Five former Essex schoolkids share a beach on the Shuswap. Surreal.

Invest in a house. Burnaby to PoCo. No income, but once again mortgaged.

Full time work so close yet passed over for a local despite the verbal assurance. Frustration.

Level 1 insurance agent. Relentless pace, long days. Short lived.

The big break, back in to the green world, someone’s taken a gamble on me.

And suddenly it’s 3 years.

Time to contemplate citizenship.

The scooter commute has changed from Kymco to Vespa GTS 250 and the smiles have increased with the additional cc’s.

Having sold the second car back in May, the plan was always to commute to Richmond during the summer on a scooter. The only thing preventing this from happening was the fact that I didn’t own a scooter. But why on earth go all ‘hairdryer mod’ when already the owner of a cafe cruising/mile munching Ducati? Well, I’d ridden the Ducati to work a couple of times and as enjoyable as it was, the route through New West being really start stop just leads to clutch hand cramps. Not a pleasant experience at the best of times. The obvious answer was to ‘twist ‘n go’ on a scooter. No clutch, no cramps, no decision to make. Just do it.

Anyway, I’d checked out the price of new scooters and as much as I like my Italian motorised transport, I simply couldn’t justify the price of new Vespa. I remembered that I’d looked at Kymco scooters at the Vancouver bike show earlier in the year and thought they’d be worth a look. The price was right, but a trawl of the local craigslist turned up a year old Kymco Frost 200 at a very good price. So, at the start of June the scoot commute began. As reliable and as fun as the Kymco was, the seating position turned out to be a touch uncomfortable and so I hot craigslist again. Why I hadn’t looked for a used Vespa previously I don’t know. The timing was perfect and a couple of GTS 250′s were available. I was hooked on a well kitted out, 4 year old scoot with low mileage. I was now a 2 scooter, 1 motorcycle owner. The 2 wheeled Italian fleet was growing.

A couple of weeks in to my Vespa GTS 250 commute and I’m more than loving it. There were plenty of smiles on the Kymco, but there’s something special about riding the Vespa. The seating position is higher than the Kymco and to be honest it feels a touch unstable because of that, but I’m getting used to it. The big difference is the engine. The extra cc’s really make a difference and the water cooled 4 stroke is silky smooth and silent compared to the Kymco (which is actually a 175cc). Acceleration is effortless and I’m getting the last laugh on the stereotypical mulleted mustachioed  truck drivers as I leave them standing at lights. Let’s face it, a scooter is only supposed to be 50cc and I can almost feel the ridicule pouring over me when a RAM 2500 pulls up beside me. Until it’s green on. Then it’s grin on for me.

So, my scoot commute is proving to be even more high smilage and low stress. I’d previously written about the changing the commute and the ride along the Fraser and I’ve continued to use this route as it’s just such a chill out ride. But now the ride is a Vespa, it’s totally cool and yes, I was forced to sit down and watch Quadrophenia again. Oh, and naturally enough Blur’s Park Life is replaying in the mind far too often.

Now, how many mirrors could I fit on a GTS 250?

Steveston is a quaint village in the south west corner of Richmond that has some great cycling along the sea front; and cycling was the order of the day.

What to do on a searingly hot Sunday morning? Air conditioned mall? Nope. Relax by one of the numerous lakes around here? Nope. A 3 hour round trip on the dykes to the west and south of Steveston? Check!

Steveston as a settlement has been around since the late 1870′s and became renowned in the area for its Salmon canning. There’s still an historic cannery in the village, but it seems that today the big earner is tourism and, in particular, whale watching tours from the likes of Seabreeze Adventures.

However, this trip was more about 2 wheels and sight seeing rather than getting in to the local history. Steveston is around a 45 minute drive from PoCo, so bikes were thrown in to the back of the car as I certainly wouldn’t be riding there, as much as I love cycling. Rather than head downtown Lesley and I decided to park a few Km away near the west dyke recreational route. Which reminds me, these British Columbians adore getting outside whenever the sun shines.  Walk, cycle, skate, board, whatever it takes to get mobile, BC’ers will do it. It makes it virtually impossible to live a couch potato existence here as one is just shamed in to activity.

Our route took us along the west dyke and in to the village proper. The views are, just like most views here, pretty spectacular,.With the mountainous northern vista’s to the beautiful blues of the Gulf of Georgia to the west and south, the scenery is the complete stress buster. Arriving in the village, the relaxed pace changed to serious speed as we’d happened across the inaugural Steveston Sockeye Spin.   A multi-lap 900m circuit around the downtown area provided some additional entertainment before the ice cream stop beckoned – it was after all, very hot work watching the real cyclists.

Our ride continued along the south dyke until we decided to loop back and take a quick wander around the street market. The market is very much a farmers and artisans affair and I’ve never seen so many local organic coffees on offer in one place.

I can thoroughly recommend the ride, it can be as vigorous or as relaxed as one wants to make it as the route is flat, very flat and even though we didn’t tackle the complete dyke circuit, it was smashing morning out. I’m certain that we’ll be back to finish of the missing sections of dyke another day.

All the pics are on my Picasa site. Sorry iPhone/iPad users, the slideshow is Flash based.

A chance to get out on the Ducati in the brilliant sunshine led us to Stave Lake near Mission.

Lesley hasn’t been on the back of the Ducati since last summer when we took a couple of trip to Fort Langley on the old Albion Ferry. As the sun was shining we decided to head out to Stave Lake, just to check it out.

The journey was well worthwhile as we ended up at yet another stunning lake location within 40 minutes of home.

The site is part of the Stave River hydro-electric project and is essentially a reservoir that has a dam for generation, leading in to Hayward Lake reservoir and Ruskin Dam.  The whole area seems littered with these hydro created recreation areas and people take full advantage of easy access to the water towing mainly speedboats to launches and simply chilling out on the lake. With the mountain backdrop it’s easy to see why messing about on boats is so popular here.

Bike wise, the Ducati performed flawlessly and there’s power to spare even with 2 up. The only downer about these rides is ending up at the destination in jeans rather than shorts. Having said that, it never ceases to amaze me to see so many bikers out in T-shirts and shorts. Maybe I’m just too risk averse (wimpy) to do it, or maybe I just know my limits.

Having chilled whilst others launched and landed their boats we headed back for a delicious Gelato at Matteo’s. The Dine Here reviews say it all. Great Gelato, great people.

Life in BC – brilliant.

Sorry iPhone and iPad users, the slide show is Flash, but you can view the full set of pics on Picasa

Decision mad. After 5 days on the road on day 6 I’d make the home run.

I could still do the final loop through the forests on my road trip or I could  hit the freeway home. The weather appeared better than the previous day but was still windy. When the guy on the front desk at the motel mentioned that the wind had caused  fires to double in size in the Wenatchee National Forest (my original route home) it was decision made.  After 5 days on the road, on day 6 I’d make the home run. My route back would be freeway all the way to the US-Canada border. First stop Seattle, then straight up I5 to BC.

I’d spoken to another biker the previous evening who’d travelled from Seattle over the Snoqualmie Pass. He’d mentioned that it was chilly, so it was definitely inners in the riding gear before setting off. Although not as bad as the previous day, the winds were still high and gusting so I braced myself for another endurance ride. Within the first few miles I made my first big call of the day. I was not going to be overtaken by a house.

Glancing in my mirrors I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A large tractor trailer was gaining on me doing around 65-70 mph (110-120kph), not so unusual as these rigs really travel over here. What made me take a second look was that it wasn’t a 53′ container being lugged along, it was half a mobile home. Even though the wind was blowing hard and I was riding cautiously, I was not about to be overtaken by a house. I eased the Ducati away from the gaining residence and it would not get near me again.

The ride to Seattle wasn’t as challenging as the previous day’s experience but did add very chilly temperatures over the pass. Another biker hassle that had to be negotiated was grooved paving. The road surface was just concrete finished in what I can only describe as raked line along the length of the carriageway. In a car you’d probably not notice any change in driving conditions. On a large cruiser bike with fat tyres there may be minimal impact, but on my bike that has relatively thin tyres I was running along tram lines that varied in width. Throw in the gusts of wind and the experience interesting to say the least as the bike would suddenly wobble as tram lines were changed. Another learning for me.

After a final pit stop I was on the I5 heading north and by late afternoon had arrived home.

Final reflections from a road trip noob.

I’d covered around 1350 miles (2130 Km) over the 6 days. My previous longest ride over a day was a total of 120 miles (200Km). I’d ridden about twice that distance for each of 6 days on the road. Physically and mentally I felt fine. No saddle sores or bandy legs and most importantly, no back ache. In fact the only stiffness was in the shoulders and that subsided fairly quickly after taking a break. The day after the ride I feel totally okay. I’ve impressed myself. Maybe as not as couch potato as I thought I was.

Did I enjoy the experience?  Absolutely. An 8 out of 10 that given better weather would have been a higher score.

Would I do it again? Absolutely. Riding is such an all senses experience and is probably the best way to do a road trip for that reason alone (I’m sure the guy I met at Crater Lake that was on his his back from Alaska would agree).

What could be better? More planing, more defined places to visit would have added some structure, having said that, the freedom to just replan and do whatever I wanted really has it’s attractions. I’d also like to share the experience with someone. There comes a point when having someone to talk through the day with would be the best end of day.

So, am I a changed person? Probably not. No tattoos, piercings or other questionable mid-life ‘choices’ made or indeed desired. There is a sense of satisfaction, of rising to a challenge. Okay, motels are not a challenge, but the bits in between were.

Now, about that cruiser……