Canada. America's Friendly Hat.

By now, most of you know that Bri and I have escaped to the Great White North for a week. As of now, we are in Vancouver and are just beginning our exploration of the city this morning. We have a very ambitious day planned out so far, and will be cramming about 4 days worth of activities into one. We are having a wonderful time so far, and have just arrived from Victoria, which is a beautiful place.

For some unknown reason I woke up at 6:30 this morning with the inspiration to chronicle a bit of what has been going on. We arrived into Victoria by way of Anacortes, WA on Sunday, and stayed at Goldstream Provincial Park for the first two nights. It was a lovely campsite that was remarkably secluded for being only 10 minutes from downtown Victoria. We were spoiled by this. When we arrived in Vancouver last night, I had done some research on camping near the city, and came across a wonderful looking spot that was under one of the main bridges in a "park." I think a more accurate description of this place would be "tree-less asphalted redneck corral: featuring some jackass revving his motorcycle and driving around with no shirt and a gut he could have balanced his beer can on." Actually the motorcycle noise was not so bad considering that it covered up some of the honking from the stand-still traffic on the other side of the chain link fence in which the park was contained. Needless to say, we got the hell out of there as fast as possible.

We found a little motor inn for the night, and aside from the fact that it smells a lot like the ashtray can at the bar, it is not too bad. At least it has electricity and continental breakfast. I have never understood why it is called "continental," Shouldn't it be called "Breakfast that you could find at a truck stop at 3 A.M.?" I shouldn't make fun, I am already getting excited about cheese danishes from the wrapped in plastic, the large plastic dispenser of Raisin Bran, and above all orange juice that comes from a machine. Yum yum.

Well as they say in the "tree-less asphalted redneck corral: featuring some jackass revving his motorcycle and driving around with no shirt and a gut he could have balanced his beer can on," "continental breakfast is good, eating fresh possum hit in traffic right by your campsite is more good."