chapter 68: the Canada chronicles

I've done it. In just three weeks, I've redefined my existence (again). I've gleefully gotten rid of almost everything I own. I've irresponsibly left a good job. I've willfully disappointed some family, friends and colleagues. But in so doing, I've overthrown that fascist dictator we call “life”. And It's easier than you might think to spontaneously throw it all away. New slogan: Impatience – it's worth the wait.

Thursday, I threw my now-meagre possessions into my 1989 Volvo, my Swedish traveling companion, hereafter referred to as Silken. Silken is a boxy throwback with some mileage on her, but she's a chanp. And she's never been accused of cheating. First stop: Tofino.

This will be a truly epic journey. Canada is a hugely gifted, diverse, and of course, immense expanse of land. The distances are mind boggling. I've always thought of it as a travel buzzkill. Canadians have to go further than almost anyone else on the planet to reach exotic climes, especially Westerners.

But distance can be your friend. It's 2400 kilometres to Dawson City alone. That will be just a prelude of what's to come.

Silken and I will take our chances on bumpy logging roads through towering rainforests. We'll try to avoid gravel road showers under eerie constant daylight in the far north. We'll follow the ribbon of the Trans-Canada Highway on the backs of immigrant slaves, through wild mountains, and blood-red prairie sunsets We'll cruise gaudy, riotous cities in eight lane comfort. And we'll trace the rocky coastline that welcomed the first visitors to Canada.

I'm making playlists for the road as we speak.