I’ve decided to write down the tale of cabin feever 3.5, so it can be remembered for posterity and shared.
On Saturday, after very little sleep the four of us departed only 6 minutes behind schedule – at 10:06AM, from my parents house in Surrey. When we took off the aftermarket outside temperature gage my dad installed was reading 4.5 degrees above zero, and it was raining. My first thought – snow on the Coquihalla, came true after the first snowshed. Strangely, other vehicles seemed happy to drive a safe speed and there was very little unsafe passing. During safe passing, however, inexperienced drivers tended to pull back into the slow lane too quickly, resulting in a shower of rocks making nicks in the truck’s windshield. This year it seems the new contractor hired to clear the snow is doing a proper job – clearing all three lanes rather than one and a half. The downside of this is that the plow convoy will not let vehicles pass, which slowed us up considerably, being forged to drive at 20km/h for 45 minutes. The view out the window looked like this:
When we got to the toll booth we were able to pass the snowplow, but we stopped to use the toilet and to take pictures like this:
The road cleared up and we made good time to Merrit, where we stopped to buy too many vegetables and also some blackberries. Luckily, Merrit has a Starbucks now so we caffeined-up there and set off to blow by Kamloops.
We tried to make good time, we really did, but fate punished our hubris and by the time we got to the only difficult piece of driving – the last 20km before the cabin, it was pitch black. Luckily there was only a few cm of fresh snow and getting stuck was out of the question. We all agreed later that we were perversely excited about the possibility of getting stuck – we had prepared for that eventuality with shovels and chains. Our rational selves were very happy to pull into the cabin without any event, but our desire to be proper adventurers was left unsatisfied.
Not everything that happened in the cabin can, or should, leave the privacy of our minds. Highlights included cross country skiing and a snowball fight that was wildly disproportionate in its allotment of potential energy.
Of course, most time was spent not doing much of anything. Cooking, drinking,
One thing that stood out was a discussion on the meaning of “straight edge”, which I now know has nothing to do with not drinking or doing drugs or smoking, and a lot to do with beating other people up if they do those things. In general, it’s meaningful attribute seems to be its militant-ness, rather than its anti-poison stance.
We also seemed to play quite a bit of jenga, or as we call it “Jumbling Towers”
Also we made an anatomically correct snowman which I ordered PG-13 ified before we could leave.
On the way home, Emily and Hilary were in no mood to be photographed.
The drive home was all in the dark, but it was on a monday night with very little traffic and I kept the speed down, so it was very relaxing. At least the driving was. The red and green signs at the toll booth, combined with the snow, gave a christmissy feel.