This dog. It kills me.

So this old pal of mine from my hometown, Spencer, bought an unreal camper van back in the late fall. I hadn't talked to the guy in a few years, probably, but I got glimpses of what he was up to now and then through Instagram. You know what I mean. The internet is somethin' else. I sent him a message telling him I was stoked off his van and I wanted one myself.

Spencer's freedom machine back in Ontario (@spencelliott)

Spencer's freedom machine back in Ontario (@spencelliott)

Flash forward a few months and I'm living on the left coast and ripping around in a big old van of my own. How 'bout it. So now it's July and Spencer ends up taking his rig across the country to come hang out in this part of the world for a while, and we decide we'd better have a little rendezvous. I wanted to see his van in the fle... in the... steel and rubber. He was heading out to join another old hometown pal who'd become a pro skier and was coaching wealthy kids up at Camp of Champions on the Horstman glacier. I'd never been to Whistler in the summer, and despite the the facts that first, I hadn't seen these folks in years and second, I was not particularly close with them back home anyways, I gassed up and headed north with this great dog I'd been dog-sitting for, Ollie.

Now I've never had a damn dog in my life, and I'll tell you right now, after spending a couple weeks with this dog, I've become believer baby. I like cats and all, but they're not dogs, if you want to know the truth. You know? Same as how tea is great, but it's just not coffee.  Anyways, Ollie and I had a great time cruising together up to Whistler, listening to some butt-rock station way too loud, and stoked to meet up with some old hometown pals and get to know them a bit better.

You've gotta reach out to people. It's so worth it. You just have to give people the damn chance to be nice to you. A friend told me the best advice her mom ever gave to her was, "follow people around until they're nice to you."  Its seems crazy, but when you think about it, it's true. Now I'm not saying that is what I did driving my way up to Whistler. I was more than welcome to join, but only because I reached out. Simple things can be the hardest to do, though, and I know that as well as the next guy.

Crü at the mouth of Fitzsimmons creek with bro-island in the background

Crü at the mouth of Fitzsimmons creek with bro-island in the background

The next couple days passed by too quickly— in that blink-your-eyes-and-it's-gone fashion with which everyone is familiar. And they were filled with more of those simple and difficult and rewarding things, like jumping into the (ice-fucking-cold) Fitzsimmons creek that feeds Green Lake. There were lots of easy and fun things too. You've gotta have those. 

There was frisbee golf and there was bike riding and skateboarding on the hottest day of year. There was our loyal dog running strong beside us with so much vigour. She really was a damn champion. There were Palm Bays that were warm and sweet and there was sticky weed that was a damp from falling in the water during the previous day's river-float. There was Euchre on the deck at night and there were citronella candles and the smelled grassy and floral. There was an outdoor concert from the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra and there was soft grass that we lay on listening and drinking beer. There were ski bums in jean cut-offs sitting beside businessmen in polos. There were babies sat next to geriatrics in wheelchairs. There were mountains that surrounded us as the orchestra played and the music floated upwards and away. There were many things.