L.A. Bound

Once I was back in Vancouver, I got tacos with Nigel and went backpack shopping at MEC. I needed something to use as a carryon so that I wouldn’t be charged for an overweight suitcase again, and Nigel helped me find the perfect one :) Though I mostly picked it because it was a pretty turquoise colour, if I’m being honest.

So after repacking my suitcase and enjoying a cup of tea on Nigels balcony, it was time to hit the road again. This little nomad was L.A. bound. Being that I was still feeling a bit nasal-y, the landing was less than enjoyable. It felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head, and it took about 2-3 hours after landing before my ears adjusted.

After collecting my luggage though, I headed to the shuttle area to get my rental car. I ended up going with Sixt for whatever reason but I lied about a couple things. According to the policies, you have to have your license for at lease a year before you can rent a car, also, if you’re under 25, which I am, you have to pay an additional daily fee. Well I guess they didn’t cross check my application and the info on my driver’s license because none of that stuff came up! A quick call to my mom in Toronto for insurance info, at what would have been like 1am her time, and I was in business. The keys to a black Toyota Camry were all mine!

Now it was time to figure out where I was sleeping that night :/ this is where “flying by the seat of my pants” comes to bite me in the ass. Thankfully I know a lot of people in L.A. (lies) so I messaged my dear friend Cory to see if I could crash on his couch, turns out that was not an option, so I called an old friend that I’d met at TIFF a couple years previously and luckily he was awake an had a couch for me to crash on. I seriously debated booking a hotel, but I was too scared to stay at a sketchy motel alone as a female, and the hotels I recognized were HELLA expensive. The whole being a girl, alone, in a strange city, at night, also produced enough fear for me to rule out sleeping in my car.

Thetis Island

The baggage weight capacity for the float plane to Thetis Island was 39lbs; knowing that my bag had weighed in at 59lbs made me eternally grateful for Nigel’s generosity in letting me borrow a small backpack, then again I may have told him I was borrowing a backpack, either way, THANKS NIGEL :D

I made my way to the float planes and hopped into the passenger seat to play co-pilot for the next 20 minutes.

As we took off from the ocean water and glided gracefully over a number of the tiny Vancouver islands I said to the pilot, “You have the best job in the world!” “I stopped working 60 years ago,” he replied. This was clearly his passion; I knew I was in good hands.

We reached the bay at Thetis Island and landed gracefully despite the rough waters below. I went into the marina to wait for my Uncle Dave to pick me up, and enjoyed a hot toddy made with Jameson in the meantime. 

Meeting Uncle Dave and Auntie Doreen was by far one of the most incredible experiences. It was meaningful on a level that I can’t quite explain, though as I attempt to do so, my eyes well up with tears the same way they did as I said goodbye 24 hours later.

I think it’s time I tell you a little story. 

Many moons ago, I received a mysterious Facebook message from a kind stranger. Her name was Heather Tremblay. From what I remember, she said something along the lines of, “If your dad’s name is Barry Chambers, and his mother’s name is Evelyn Trueman, than you’re the Keegan I think you are, and we’re related!” And sure enough, we were. This moment changed my life forever. Soon after, there was an event in the Niagara region honouring Joseph Trueman (My granny's uncle), along with many other individuals who had died in the line of duty while working as a police officer in the Niagara region over the years. It was there that I finally got to meet Heather and her three kids, who were about my age, as well as another relative, Joy Fera. (That’s the Joy I stayed with a few days ago) Without getting into the whole family tree (which dates back to the 1700’s) I’ll explain by telling you that Joy & Uncle Dave’s grandmother (Matilda Trueman) was the sister of my Great Grandfather (Hugh Trueman). Uncle Dave is also Heather’s Dad, so when she saw that I was frolicking about the Vancouver region, she suggested I reach out to him and see if a visit would be feasible, so I did, and it was. 

When I met him, I suddenly understood where Heather had inherited her warm heart and friendly nature, and where my cousins had inherited their height and good looks. His current passion is cycling though at one time he did weigh in at 275lbs when he was crushing it in shot put.

When we got back to the house, I had the pleasure of meeting the love of his life, Auntie Doreen. This woman lights up the room, let me tell ya. Her smile is contagious, and her memory is sharper than that of an elephant. They told me stories of their trips across the U.S. on a tandem bike, and when they looked into each others eyes, I swear the house filled with a warmth that could have burst through the cracks of the wooden cabin they’d built with their own two hands. As Doreen instructed, step by step, Dave began carrying out the recipe for dinner. As he got all the ingredients together, he asked, “Do you like potatoes?”, to which I replied, “I’m Irish! I love potatoes!” So we had salmon, salad, and mashed potatoes. I have to say between this salmon and Steve’s salmon, BC salmon is the shit. Simply put: nothing compares.

As we enjoyed a meal together, Dave mentioned that his romance with Doreen started 60 years ago, and with the utmost confidence he said, “if anyone ever tells you there’s no such thing as true love,” and he looked at Doreen, “you just give them my phone number.” My heart melted. I could have wept right there at the dinner table. Truthfully, it took quite a bit to hold back the waterworks. It was just the most beautiful and honest moment. It gave me hope, and it truly convinced me, in that moment, that true love does exist. That two people can be meant to spend their lives together, and that they can be happy together until death do them part.

I had another moment of clarity and introspection when Dave and I went for a short hike. Walking through the trees as the midday light danced upon the vegetation below, we had almost reached the peak of the hike when we came across a sign and a barrier stating that logging could occur at any time. It was devastating, especially having just spoken about the community’s initiative to buy 44 acres of land to be preserved on the Island. There are only 350 residents on Thetis Island. It’s a pretty small community but they’re tight and connected the way the staff at a restaurant are connected. They support and take care of each other; they celebrate their milestones and achievements, and come together to support those who need it in moments of despair.

On the way back down from the hike I learned that Uncle Dave was an editor at the Toronto Star for 25 years. When I told him that I also enjoy writing, he said, “what are you trying to say?” I was taken aback at first as I realized how important the answer to that question was, and how I’d never thought to ask myself or answer it before. My response was that I want to tell stories. Mostly because I think it’ll be super cool to read about my adventures many years later, but also because I think we can learn a lot from telling stories. Think about it, I mean, we watch stories on TV, in movies and in plays, we read stories in books, we listen to stories in music, we read people’s body language as it tells us a story, and we learn from everything. Whether conscious or subconscious. We take it in and internalize it. We draw meaning from it. We apply it to our own lives and it then affects how we live and act and love. And it’s just as important to tell our story as it is to listen to the stories of others. What is a life lived if not a story to share with the rest of the world. There is wisdom to be gained from everyone’s story, no matter how young or how old. Though I will say, there is some texture and truth that comes from stories told later in life.

Close Only Counts In Snowshoes & Car Upgrades

I hopped on the bus Friday morning and headed to the ferry, completely oblivious that it was Good Friday. Usually they stop selling tickets 15min prior to departure, but I guess because of the massive line up, they kept it going until the last minute so I still managed to make it on the 9am ferry. 

On our way back into Vancouver, Steve, Joy & I stopped by to visit with Don Steen, another relative of ours who happens to also be quite the athlete.  I’m realizing that we have a lot of athletes in the family. 

He was an excellent rugby player, a killer basketball player, got Steve onto salmon fishing, and has taught plenty of other sports… I’m 100% positive I’m forgetting at least 6 other things he’s great at lol 

Then it was off to the city to have a meeting with an acting agency - which shall remain nameless - though I will say that I got a lot out of our meeting. I also made a casual commitment to move out here in November. We’ll see how that goes, but it’s not totally crazy for me to see my self doing just that. 

(after typing that sentence I literally just stared out the window and thought about what it would be like to move to Vancouver)

I genuinely think my game plan is take some acting classes in Toronto with this guy who’s book I just read, hopefully get some more work under my belt and then move out here to take on the world. Ambitious? I think not. 

After my meeting I met up with an old friend from the days when I used to go door to door convincing people to let me aerate their lawns and seal their driveways. He told me he was going back to Ontario to help his mom recover from a stroke. I was sympathetic but truly unaware of what that actually entailed, or what it even meant to have a stroke. (picking up foreshadowing in real life is weird)

We passed by a protest (Mexicans against Trump - legit) on our way to drop off Alex’s umbrella and then I headed back to Nigel’s place. I was feeling a bit under the weather but opted to enjoy a glass of wine nonetheless. His friends Iulia & D’arcy came by so that we could plan, albeit loosely, our hiking trip up to Squamish. We intended on waking up at 7am, out the door by 8am, on the trail by 12pm and then we’d hit the hot springs the following day. 

WELL, it didn’t quite turn out that way - to say the least. 

I guess when D’arcy went to pick up the rental car, they casually mentioned that for a $5 upgrade, he could rent a Mercedes. No brainer, right? Right. Keep that in mind.

Saturday morning comes along, and naturally we don’t make it out of the house until well past 8am. It’s cool though, we’re a bunch of 25 year olds, it’s to be expected. We gas up, get our caffeine fix and hit the road. We gawk at the scenery while making our way over the bridge and out of the city, taking in the breathtaking layers of majestic mountains along the winding road.

As we approach a straight stretch, D’arcy’s excitement overcomes him and suddenly we’re flying past car after car, 120, 130, 160, 180km/hr. As he begins decelerating, we notice a police car on the opposite side of the street, it is Easter Saturday after all. The officer rushes out of his car to flag us down. As D’arcy pulls over, we contemplate how fast he caught us going, how much the fine will be, and we watch as a police car ahead backs up along the highway to reach us. 

The officer calmly approached the window and informed us that driving 77km/hr over the speed limit would result in having the car impounded. We briefly, yet naively, hoped that the police officers in the rear view mirror were discussing letting us sweat for a bit, slapping us with a hefty fine, and sending us on our way. That was until a tow truck pulled up in front of us.

At that point, Nigel called a good friend of his who happened to live in the area to see if we could get a ride back into Vancouver. Instead of leaving us stranded on the side of the road, the police officers were kind enough to give us a ride to the nearest pull over stop, which happened to be Porto Cove. As Nigel and I sat in the back of the cop car, his hero of a friend called back and offered to save the day (a drastic understatement)  by lending us his Xtera for the weekend. Unreal. 

TAKE TWO: On the road again.

It wasn’t long until we got to Squamish, picked up some groceries and continued on up to Joffry Lakes. We did make one more stop along the way for booze which I very much needed after a phone call with my cousin, Harrison. He had actually called me early that morning, but I honestly couldn’t wrap my head around the news. My Uncle Trevor, my dad’s brother, had had a stroke, subsequent brain surgery to remove a blood clot, and placed into an induced coma to rest his brain. The doctors tried unsuccessfully to wake him up a couple days later, and most recently, the MRI wasn't showing the severity of the damage, so all we could do was wait. After I got off the phone with Harrison for the second time that day, I couldn’t compartmentalize the news any longer. As we pulled into the liquor store parking lot, Nigel pulled over, I hurled myself out of the vehicle and fell to the ground in tears - accepting the news for the first time. I must have been there for a while because some guy came over to me, handed me a brownie and said, “I just saw you crying and thought this might cheer you up, hope you’re okay”. Thanks man, but no baked good can ease the pain induced by a hospitalized loved one, I’m also gluten-free, and you may have poisoned it, because: stranger danger. But I mean, kind gesture, it’s cool. 

Though I had a heavy heart, I compartmentalized the news once again and by the time we got to our destination I was ready to take my frustrations out on the mountains. Those fuckers can take a beating. And from my experience, they give generously and love unconditionally. 

When we got to our destination, the first lake was only a few minutes down the path and it was frozen, despite a few slushy bits, so we strapped on our snow shoes and cut across it. The views were breathtaking… no really, snowshoeing uphill is a serious workout.

Once we got to the second lake, it was so quiet that I could hear the wings of a bird flapping in the air as it flew overhead and up to a treetop. We had the view to ourselves; the silence was refreshing. I made a snow angel, we shared some drinks, captured the moment on camera, and headed back down the mountain.

Back at our AirBnb we were feeling pretty adult-like, having cocktails and a cheese plate while we took turns prepping and cooking… sharing stories and a bottle of wine over a home-cooked meal… playing euchre, listening to music, and drinking until we passed out one by one… 

On Sunday morning, I was up bright and early; cleaning up beer bottles and starting breakfast, much to the dismay of a groggy Nigel asleep in the living room. Again, like adults, we enjoyed a hearty breakfast of banana’s, oats and OJ. Taking into consideration our late start to the day, we decided that the hot springs we’d originally intended on visiting that day were a bit too far, so the crew hopped on the WiFi and searched up some alternative options to satisfy our craving for adventure.

We settled on the Brandywine Meadows. On our way there, we fell deeper into the Vancouverite stereotype as we pulled a quick road side stop to take a gander at the Brandywine Falls, Starbucks in hand, naturally.

The drive up to the parking lot at the base of the hike was treacherous to say the least. Up until this point we hadn’t seen a trace of snow on the ground, but once we got closer to our destination and started climbing in altitude, the land beneath us was once again covered in snow. At this point we were pretty stoked we weren’t in the Mercedes - it’d never made it up that road. It was also a single lane road and naturally we encountered a truck full of Auzzies with snowmobiles strapped into the bed of it. There was no way we were both getting through so they kindly offered to back up until they got to the parking lot - which was probably about a 1/2 mile away. Needless to say, we were all impressed by the young man’s driving skills. As we were about to embark on our hike, I suggested we strap on the snow shoes. I also casually suggested we double check that we’re going in the right direction, and sure enough, when we bent the sign back into shape, there was an arrow pointing in the other direction. #followyourinstincts

The trek up was gradual but steep, and we concluded that we were actually just hiking up the road that would have taken us to the upper parking lot being that we parked in the lower parking lot. We encountered a few snowmobilers on the way up, some of which would have definitely seen my vagina had they sped by only moments sooner being that I was crouched peeing right on the trail. It was a steep drop on one side, and a river on the other. I had no choice. #nojudgement

We got a decent way up and without actually speaking the words I think we all knew that’s as far as we were gonna go. It was a stunning view of the mountains, we were hot and sweating from the heat of the sun pounding down on us, and most definitely out of breath, so, we sat down and had a brew. Actually I was drinking straight from the bottle of rum that I’d added coke to, cheers Uncle T. We played some games, shared some stories, and took in the 360 degree views of the snow peaked mountains that surrounded us.

As the clouds rolled in and our sunshine faded, we trekked back down to the Xtera, just in time for it to start hailing. Talk about timing! Nigel navigated the steep, treacherous road as gracefully as possible and we were back to Van City in no time.