Patagonia Pete

Now, I know never to trust the Internet doctor, but I appear to have every knee related injury ever invented! But it does appear to be a cycle related injury rather than a bite. So I’ve had today off just mooching around Terrace.

Whilst walking around Terrace, along their covered pavements, I could hear Rush being piped from overhead. And this seemed fairly typical of Canada. Like many new countries they have an almost zealous national pride and will promote anything Canadian over other nationalities even if that happens to be a dated, prog-rock trio. And whilst waiting for the train at the rather cute station I was spoken at by an elderly couple who wanted to know how much I loved Canada. They also wanted me to know how disgusting it was that Canadian tax payers were paying for the sponging Queen and her family to keep coming over to Canada. Charming couple.

Apart from that, Terrace was quite nice. A nice little Saturday ‘farmer’s’ market selling the usual tat – I saw dream-catchers and there was a face-painting stall, a nice public library and a nice cafe. There, see, nice. I even had a haircut. That wasn’t quite so much ‘nice’ as ‘Sir, Yes, Sir!’ Still, it should last me for the rest of the year.

Rather than exacerbate the knee I got the train to Prince Rupert. Spectacular scenery from Terrace to Prince Rupert all accompanied by the occasional train horn/whistle. Very evocative. I arrived at Prince Rupert at about 2030 and since the ferry from there to the top of Vancouver Island is leaving at 0730 I stayed at the closest motel to the ferry terminal. This being small town Canada it was still quiet and surrounded by woods despite being only a few minutes from the ferry. I even saw a couple of deer en route.

The motel had a bar attached to it so I popped in for a bite to eat and a quick beer. No food, but some nuts. They were playing a guitar and a tea-chest base and mashing up some good ‘ol music, yeehaa! Actually that’s a bit unfair. They were two fisherman who seemed to be playing for the hell of it and in the process entertaining the eight of us in the bar. That they pulled off an acceptable version of Johnny Cash’s Own Personal Jesus was, I think, more down to the simplicity of the song, lack of the enthusiastic tea-chest base player and the guitarist having quite a good voice. I made my excuses and left.

Love
Pete