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We woke up to another pretty, cool day. We haven't seen the heat get above 22C in weeks, and haven't heard of rain since the light mists in San Francisco, and not since North Dakota before that. I wandered about the campground and ran into the fella with the clams from last night. He said he had found some fossils so I asked him to show me. Turns out he's a geologist and he was very excited. He had two large rocks he had chipped out of the ground just a few hundred metres away and they clearly had ancient shells embedded in them. “The rock is sixty to sixty-five million years old!†he announced proudly.

Heck of a way to start the day if fossils are your thing.

Back at camp we had our coffees and packed up. The coast turned into a giant sand dune for a while, large Namib-like golden sand mountains where ATV's rule the roost and are for rent at every highway exit. We kept driving and stopped in a picturesque town called Florence for lunch. We found a nice spot on the main street and quenched our hunger, then spent an hour strolling the shops along the riverside.

We stopped at a giftshop/lookout later in the afternoon and saw whales surfacing in the distance. I bought a book on knot tying (I've been slow to practice the knots I learned in Chicago) and a postcard of a blimp flying past this very giftshop during WWII.

Back on the road I tuned into the Elvis station on satellite radio in honour of Elvis Day and enjoyed our last full day careening along this coast. We neared the top of Oregon and started looking for a nice campground. Fortunately, nice campgrounds were everywhere, each one more picturesque than the last. Unfortunately they were all full, and with our meandering travel style we don't have the luxury of doing much prebooking.

We finally found a spot that would rent us a trailer spot at trailer prices for our tent. It was already dark so we took it, pitching our tent on an impossible spot next to both the camp office and the bathrooms. The kids in the park had formed little gangs and the bathrooms were their hangout, so not only did I have to scowl like an angry old man just to use the pisser we had to endure their clubhouse banter for half the night right next door.

Whatever, this isn't a camping trip, it's a driving trip, and the week we just spent driving up the Californian and Oregon coast is a trip I will cherish.

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Camping right next to the office and the bathroom was a double whammy come morning. Not only did the bathroom door slam over and over with every shower, toilet and shave, but every trailer and motorhome (and there were many) stopped and idled outside as they checked out and asked directions at the office.

Made for an early day, and the first time we woke up to rain on this whole trip.

When I checked in the night before the overly chatty lady bragged heavily about their onsite cafe (she prefers Chai tea, but her husband, who plays the piano, prefers the latte. Their son; can you believe he didn't get that scholarship for his saxophone playing? He's also into lattes but she's sure he'll come around to Chai tea...) so we strolled over.

Turns out she was right, it was a pretty impressive cafe for a campground. Come to think of it, once you got past the office and bathrooms the whole place seemed pretty top-notch.

We sat in the tent with our coffees as the rain slowed to a stop outside. Still, we packed up wet which is never fun.

We soon finished with the gorgeous Oregon coast and crossed an impossibly long bridge to enter Washington. We drove along a peninsula past a curiously named town called Tokeland and found a restaurant up the road that had just reopened today under new management. We stopped for a nice, underpriced lunch and further explored the peninsula under mostly gray skies.

I don't know if it's because of the recent legalisation of marijuana in Washingston state, but I noticed a series of oddly named businesses along the way, like Pot Lovers, a nursery, and The Stoned Gardener, which I actually turned around for. They sold insects painted onto rocks that one would presumably place in their garden as decorations.

Again we were finding the state parks booked “plum full†to quote the ranger as I pointed at this park and that park on his map. “That one is full, so you might try it, but the others are all plum full.â€

We tried That One, which was actually called Twin Harbours, and upon checking in we found out there was an artfest going on at the docks. We quickly set up camp and drove to check it out.

We found a long row of booth offering their wares along the old wooden docks. We window shopped and stopped for ice cream. On our way back to the campground we noticed a band setting up outside a building nearby.

We walked over to the beach and sat on logs watching a pair of surfers ply the waves. The sun was getting to me so we went back to camp, had a beer and walked out of the park and a short way up the road to where we saw the band setting up earlier. Turns out it's a winery and a microbrewery with a small bar and a large deck and it hosts live music every Saturday.

We sat inside and mulled over a taster tray. Settling on a couple of beers we walked outside only to hear the band announce, “thank-you, good night†at 8pm. There was a local hot dog vendor there and he was just packing up too. That turned to my advantage as I got the last of his food for just two dollars. Two big sausages turned out being dinner.

We finished our beer and booked it, with no band playing we might as well be back at the tent drinking our own beers so that's what we did. There seemed to be lots of parties going on around us in the busy park but we kept to ourselves and had a nice evening together watching the moon rise through the trees.

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It rained last night and when we woke up we noticed the sky remained unshining so we knew we'd be packing up wet. No hurry, we didn't have much of a drive to do today. We took our time getting started, lots of Coleman coffees, breakfast and showers and we pulled out of the park without revisiting the beach.

We initially wanted to circumnavigate Olympic National Park but we figured there would be too much rushing involved. We had decided days ago to travel at whatever pace felt natural and if it meant we had to save some plans for next time, so be it. So, we'll see you next time Olympic National Park.

Cutting inland we marked the end of our six-day coastal adventure and aimed for Seattle. A good friend had just moved there from Ottawa in the spring and I was anxious to visit.

Richard met us outside his building. He had arranged a parking pass for us and before you knew it we were relaxing on his balcony just three blocks from the Space Needle, cool drinks in hand.

We went for dinner at a classic local spot that sported a flashing neon sign in the window that read “Ripping off tourists and drunks since 1929â€. The burger was great and the ambiance is unmissable, it's called the Five Points and it's right next to the statue of Chief Seattle.

It's well known that Washington legalised recreational marijuana use last year, though there is still no detailed legislation on the books. Many people are waiting with bated breath to see what rules will be set forth. The deadline for the state to introduce a taxation and distribution system is this December, until then things are sort of up in the air.

Interested in the issue, I stopped into a local marijuana dispensary. Until the new rules are set forth they are maintaining the status quo: selling only to card-carrying medical marijuana patients. The staff was happy to talk to me though, and eagerly expressed their excitement over the coming changes to their world.

“I got arrested on this very street for possession ten years ago,†the clerk tells me. “And now I'm standing here openly selling medical marijuana. I can't believe what is happening now in the US, it's amazing!â€

“And Hempfest happening here in Seattle this weekend, it's crazy how many people are down there.

Excuse me?

Back on the street it was a quick saunter to the waterfront where 100,000 people mingled amongst booth after booth of marijuana-related items, grooving to band son several stages and openly smoking pot merely for recreation. I saw a kid selling buds out of an ice cream tub in his backpack. No scales, no baggies, “Just hold out your hand and I'll eye it out at ten bucks or so per gram or so.â€

The police were present in significant number but they weren't bothering with any pot smokers. I saw them taking a statement from a guy who said he'd been assaulted, the other guy was in cuffs, and from a distance I saw an officer turn on a dime to confront someone who had clearly said or done something inappropriate when the cop walked by him. In the end the officer scrutinised the man's ID and the two men went their separate ways.

Seeing so many people out for Hempfest solidified one thought in my mind: just how much money is going to be made when the leagalisation and taxation begins to come into play around the US and the world. There is just so much money in this, from manufacture to packaging to wholesale to retail, not to mention paraphernalia and a thousand other offshoot products. This is huge and it's happening right now. Imagine being around when alcohol prohibition was repealed.

Marijuana legalisation is a cash cow and the milking is set to begin.

We were feeling a little sleepy after such a long day so we booked it back to Richard's apartment and enjoyed an early evening of drinks and Laverne & Shirley reruns. Richard offered up his bed for our stay and kept us from protesting his kindness by promptly falling asleep on the couch.

Logging onto the internet we found that Neil Young has canceled his appearance at the harvest Picnic in Christie Lake, what was to be the final show in this tour we are on. Neil was the main draw for us so sad as we are to be missing him at least we are now free to spend a little extra time getting home, or consequently we can get home a little early.

Too bad, Neil Young & Crazy Horse would have been a great tour closer.

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I woke up when I heard Richard getting ready for work at around 8am. He said we could stay as long as we liked, handed me his keys and his phone number at work and wished us a good day.

As is our habit we lazed much of the morning away. There was way too much we wanted to see just a stone's throw away from Richard's place, and we had such a good time visiting with him last night we decided to stay another night. We had breakfast at Five Points to celebrate and found it didn't stand up to their burger, but then not much would.

Seattle offers a myriad of great options for tourists and we settled on three that sit together just a few blocks from where we were staying, the Chihuly Garden, the Space Needle, and Experience Music Project (EMP).

The Chihuly Gardens and the Space Needle offer a combo ticket, we bought some and started with the Garden.

Dale Chihuly is the world's foremost glass artist. He has installations in some of the planet's great cities, including a monstrous piece in the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas though gardens are Chihuly's medium of choice and his work has been displayed in many famous gardens around the world. M'lady and I had visited the Chihuly Gallery in Tampa last year and loved it, so we were excited for the chance to see his vibrant plant-like installations alongside and amongst actual flora as planned out by the artist himself.

The first room we entered had a large table containing bowl clusters; smaller bowls artistically matched and carefully placed inside a much larger bowl, and a shelf containing smaller pieces. At the gallery in Florida we had seen some of Chihuly's bowls for sale. Small bowls start at about $7,000 with the large lotus-like pieces going for $30,000+. The arrangements are quite stunning, and as they sit out in the open they can be viewed from so many angles, each offering a fresh perspective on the master's use of colour and light.

Behind us a lady entered the room with her little girl, perhaps six. To our horror the girl ran right up to the first piece, reached in, and picked up one of the small bowls set inside. M'lady and I froze, jaws slack as the lady barely reacted at all.

“Now honey, be careful,†she said with a voice that sounded like a shrug. The mother casually reached for the five-figure glass orb and the girl squealed a bratty squeal, turning away clinging tightly to her new treasure like it was a new doll in a toy store. She wanted this thing and she was going to have it.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. How could this lady not realise what was happening? She just paid $20 a ticket to get into a glass museum, how was it possible she could be so cavalier about this? Almost dizzy with awe I scanned the room, will someone come stop this before the girl throws this piece of art on the floor?

“Come on now, put it back,†says the mom, who continues perusing the room like she's in a clothing store. “No!†screamed the little monster.

Silently stammering I was about to approach the mom when out of the corner of my eye came the security guard that was standing in the doorway flanking the two rooms. “There's no touching,†he said, and miraculously the woman convinced the girl to put the glass bowl back herself before the brat ran towards the adjoining shelf and started picking up something else. “Really honey, you shouldn't do that,†said the mom clearly just not getting it.

Once they moved on to the next room I went up to the guard. “Does that sort of thing happen often?â€

“No,†he answered, a bit dazed. “I've never even seen anyone touch anything, let alone pick something up.â€

I told him I almost had a heart attack just watching it go down. He looked at me for a second. “Yeah, I think I should call this in,†he said, walking towards the piece and pulling out his walkie-talkie.

It actually took another room or two of work before I calmed down, my heart was racing. Much of the indoor rooms were filled with pieces very similar to what we saw in Tampa, intricate glass chandeliers that look like frozen balloons, an alien forest of spires and massive petals, massive glass orbs balancing on pedestals, just not the place for kids, though they were everywhere.

While the largest piece is an impressive conglomeration that hangs in it's own glass sunhouse the main attraction is the outdoor garden. Nestled among a who's who of flora are Chihuly's colourful plant-like creations, blending together in an almost seamless collaboration between man and nature. The glass augments the trees while the lily pads add context to floating, glinting orbs. The hues were matched like a somnelier matches wine to dinner, combining the two mediums into a singular experience.

I wondered at what point in the museum visit the reality of what almost happened sunk in to that mother's skull.

After the garden we got in line for the elevator ride up Seattle's Space Needle. We never quite figured out why you have to pick an ascension time when you book you tickets, we missed ours and still got up one of the tywo lifts just fine.

About a third the height of the CN Tower, the Space Needle still offers impressive views of the low-laying city. We slowly walked the circumference of the viewing platform and retired inside for a drink. M'lady enjoyed a tall Pike's Place and while I was tempted to order a Starbucks in Starbucksland I hit the bar for a beer instead.

Back on terra firma it was just a few steps to EMP, the house that Hendrix built. Al Hendrix that is, the late father of the late guitarist, Al Hendrix spent years in a legal battle over his son's legacy, and the EMP museum was his dream made real by architect Frank Gehry.

The building itself is a metalwork monstrosity of impossible bends and curves. The monorail runs right into the place, disappearing into the steel folds and dropping tourists at the front door. While interesting in it's sheer uniqeness the building didn't suggest any sort of obvious meaning, which ultimately seemed appropriate.

We walked in, purchased tickets and asked were we should start. “Just go anywhere you want,†he said, unhelpfully.

What we found inside was a fragmented collection of collections, a series of mini-museums that had little in common and no obvious flow, the collections themselves often had little or no clear progression within themselves, and overall the place came off like a much lesser version of Cleveland's Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame in dire need of a curator.

Don't get me wrong, there was some cool items. In the Science Fiction Gallery there was Data's suit, Yoda's cane and Captain Kirk's chair from the deck of the Enterprise. The Horror Museum had some ghoulish masks and props including the Slaughtered Lamb sign from American Werewolf In London, the only thriller I've watched all the way through. I was fascinated by the handwritten corrections in JRR Tolkien's manuscripts and the original draft of Bram Stoker's Dracula in the Fantasy Gallery.

Though the place boasts some interesting artifacts the presentations seemed to be trivially thrown together without any cohesive narrative. Indeed, m'lady and I walked through several areas backwards, such was the lack of clear signage and logistical momentum in the building.

There wass a wonderful sculpture of guitars that stretched to the high ceiling and played an eerie arrangement of If 6 Was 9 at the push of a button alongside a room celebrating Jimi's early years in London that featured a couple of guitar fragments and lots of drymounted blowups of newspaper articles. These were the only homages to Seattle's first rock superstar.

EMP was hosting a temporary exhibit honouring Seattle's next big rock star with a hallway lined with old Polaroids of Kurt Cobain and Nirvana. I l;earned something at this exhibit: Kurt's name was initially spelled “Kurdtâ€.

Upstairs I found the two best features of EMP, first a temporary exhibit on Women In Rock, a series of display cases that was chronological and informative, and the interactive area full of soundrproof rooms and electric instruments. Me and m'lady had a blast rockin' out on the electronic drums and distorted guitars on top of blaring backing tracks.

In short, it was like walking through a huge Hard Rock cafe without a beer in your hand. Lots of nifty, unconnected memorabilia arranged randomly with very little interest in educating the clientele.

All in all though it was a pretty great day being a tourist in Seattle. We got back to Richard's apartment just as he was getting off work. He treated us to an excellent meal at a Thai restaurant and this time we retired to his place with drinks and WKRP In Cincinnati reruns, the one featuring Bobby Boogie and the classic Thanksgiving episode.

The extra day in Seattle was a great idea.

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I slept too soundly to hear Richard get up for work today, instead me and m'lady just slept right on through most of the morning, slowly yawning and stretching to life around 11am. I somehow managed to get some java out of the confusing coffee machine and we packed our bags. My friend was busy in a meeting so we left his keys with the receptionist at work and pointed the car north.

In a few hours our American adventure was done, almost five weeks and well over 10,000 kilometres of good times behind us, and the open road through the mountains ahead.

We cruised the border and set our sites on Squamish. I let m'lady drive and we sped along the much-faster-since-the-Olympics Sea To Sky highway to one of the rock climbing capitals of the world.

We were going from one friend's hospitality to another, pulling into my old Ottawa pal's place around 5pm. Corey showed us around his great house complete with a hot tub and a torture chamber he convinced me is actually a rock-climbing room, his wife and kids got home and we settled in for a family night.

Corey bbq'ed up some absolutely delicious steaks and Karina made the best corn I've had while m'lady and I took turns playing with the kids. At some point during dinner the kids started playing with us but we all managed to walk away from the table with all fingers and toes intact and still attached.

The rest of the evening was split between catching up and getting trounced by creative, maniacal play. M'lady got her nails furiously done while I eloped to the peace of the back porch, pulling on a cold beer in the shadow of the surrounding mountains with an old friend.

The kids stayed up late playing with us and their new Lego sets, Corey and I moved the kid's bed to the spare room for us and we all went to bed ready to sleep.

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While we are on vacation the rest of the world still has to get stuff done, and this is no more evident than when waking up in a family household. M'lady and I did our best to stay out of the way as two working parents shuffled the kids between daycare and dental appointments

Corey shuffled some things of his own at work and freed himself up so he could have lunch with us. He suggested a friend's bbq joint so we loaded up the car and followed him into town.

The restaurant had good food and stunning views, contained by mountains on all four sides. After lunch we shared dessert with the owner/chef and with hugs and handshakes we left for Vancouver with loose plans to meet for lunch again in a few more days.

M'lady is a Vancouver girl. Well, a not-far-from-Vancouver girl anyway, and she still has family there. We had arranged to stay a night or two with her uncle so into the city we went, battling bridge traffic all the way through one of North America's least pleasant skylines, our soggy tent destined to remain packed up for another few days.

We dropped off our suitcases and visited briefly with Grant before heading out once again. The main goal of our Vancouver visit was to spend time with m'lady's grandmother, who turned 101 year old this summer.

We were visiting her a few years ago when she first entered the retirement complex that she now calls home. She wasn't impressed with it at first but we were glad to see she's quite content there now. She's quite an amazing lady; articulate, intelligent, well-spoken and with all of her faculties still in place, she sees like a hawk and can hear everything around her, her only discomfort is some memory loss, but even that doesn't seem to bother the centurion one bit.

We visited for a couple of hours and when we said goodnight the woman walked us to the car, keeping up just fine with just a cane to help her along. I honestly hope I'm in such good shape when I'm seventy.

Back at Grant's place M'lady's uncle made us a wonderful pasta dinner and we sat up until midnight comparing the content of a couple of bottles of wine. By midnight it was time to turn in so m'lady and I retires to the master bedroom where king-sized comfort was the order of the evening. Even the old cuckoo clock couldn't keep me from the Fairmont-like heavenly slumber.

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I started the day crafting a letter to the promoter of Harvest Picnic who has incredulously offered a mere $40 rebate to ticketholders despite his advertised headliner, canceling his performance. Frankly I don't care who he gets as a replacement, I paid $311 for two tickets to see Neil Young and now that Neil Young won't be there I want my money back. Rebook the show and if I think it's going to be worth my time and money I'll buy another ticket. To do anything else is to hold Neil Young fans hostage.


When we got to the table we found two bowls of fruit salad waiting for us. Soon Grant returned home from an errand and made a fresh pot of coffee with one of his brass collector pots. Heading out for another visit with m'lady's grandmother (despite how healthy she is you want to get your visits in when someone is 101 years old) we stopped into a plaza that had both a Japanese restaurant and a barber shop. I got ten years of aging shaved off while m'lady enjoyed maki sushi. I hit a McDrivethru to keep the growlies at bay and we enjoyed another two-hour visit at the seniors residence.

Heading into Vancouver we were fortunate to qualify for the carpool lane and beat the traffic into the tunnel. In the city we parked on the corner of Robson & Burrard, and strolled arounnd. In West Hastings we passed a shop called The Amsterdam Cafe, so we stopped in to see what it was about.

Half coffee shop and half head shop, the Amsterdam Cafe openly allows pot smoking, supplying bongs and vapourisers for customers use. No illicit drugs are sold there, though I noticed a group of young entrepreneurs lurking on the corner with their hands stuffed into their pockets. All of this openly flaunts the current legislation, however I found pamphlets drumming up support to get a decriminalisation referendum on the ballot, visit sensiblebc.ca to see if you can help.

I bought a coffee and watched as people flagrantly broke the law with an attitude of impunity, perhaps pushed on by the successful initiative that passed just a few miles south in Washington.

Back on the sidewalk we wandered back towards our car and found a place for dinner. We had a show to get to and were starting to get a bit rushed. I was happy to see our food came quickly, we stuck to one drink and were on target to get to the Rogers Centre in plenty of time for Black Sabbath.

I saw our waitress Tina and motioned for the bill. She pretended not to see me and promptly disappeared. For how long I don't know, but after twenty minutes or so I flagged down the head server and paid the tab. We got out of there and hit the ground running, making it to our seats for the third song. Damn you to hell Tina, you made me miss War Pigs.

We had the best of the cheap seats, front row dead centre of the 300 level. Beside me a woman proudly boasted that she had brought her fifteen year-old son along for his first concert. Onstage three-quarters of the original lineup powered through their greatest hits and a smattering of new material to an ecstatic crowd.

Tony Iommi was both stoic and solid in his role as riffmaster while Geezer Butler held the bottom with his guitar-esque bass work. Ozzy is a living parody of himself filling every moment between vocals with a “show me your fucking hands,†“I can't fucking hear you,†or “let's se your fucking lighters.†he scrolled through this trio of commands constantly, and all the while you could hear a distinct frog in his throat (bat in his throat?) so pronounced that I heard him clear his throat INTO HIS MICROPHONR four times throughout the show.

The show was mediocre at best, and where it really missed the mark was the exclusion of their original drummer, who absolutely fused with lyricist/bassist Butler on those plodding dark hits from our childhood. The role was filled for the tour by Ozzy's drummer, a tattooed Jesus-lookalike who's drum solo was one of the most asinine examples of showmanship I've endured. And the crowd loved it.

To the lady next to me nothing got old. She played along with Ozzy Says the whole show, swaying with every sway and digging out her lighter with each command while her kid sat slumped in the seat beside her. Indeed, much of the crowd was eating it up large, the applause was consistent and deafening.

Overall I'm sort of glad I went and I won't go again. This is the same place we saw the Gold Medal hockey game in 2010 so whenever I got bored I re-imagined watching the winning goal go in the net. Those were moments when I might have looked like the biggest sabbath fan in the room, jumping up and screaming with tears of joy rolling down my face.

After the show we walked with the dispersing crowd. We saw three guys wearing matching shirts, each with a different word on the back. As they walked ahead of us the we could see their collective message: “Geezer†on the first shirt, “Fuckingâ€: on the next, and of course “Butler†was on the third shirt. Sabbath has fans alright.

With Neil Young and by extension us out of the Harvest Picnic this was the last show in our concert tour. It was a rocker all right but one of the weaker shows of these last five weeks. So weak in fact I only had one beer back at m'lady's uncles place after the show. And I had to force it down.

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We don't excel at early starts so it's no surprise we couldn't possibly get away until well after noon today, and despite that we still opted to take the scenic route.

The 99 ended up being a great idea, even after the splendour of California's highway 1 the winding mountain road through Pemberton and Lilloet was a feast for the senses. The lush greenery beside the highway, the road almost completely devoid of traffic, and oh those wonderfully majestic mountains!

While the regular highway through the BC interior is stunning enough this road-less-travelled pushed my eyeballs to the limit. It was a drive so interesting I was kicking myself for agreeing to let m'lady do the steering.

It was several hours before we met up with the regular road and at that point we decided to push it to get at least to Kamloops. M'lady is pretty fast at the wheel, certainly faster than I am, and if she wasn't at the helm we wouldn't have even gotten close.

As it happens there is a plethora of campgrounds leading up to Kamloops and a dearth of them after Kamloops. As night dragged on we searched every exit for a place to pitch the tent. Finally we saw a sign and we lurched off the highway.

We booked in and set up in the dark. Just as we were lamenting the traffic noise from the trucks barreling down the highway only about 200 metres away we heard the first train. It was gonna be a rough sleep.

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Thank you, Velvet and yr'lady for such a great reading adventure! The 'select all> speak' option on my phone brought on a first for me: cutting my lawn and listening to your travel log... And not just that; shedding tears as I mowed away, listening to the tale of your experience at the Phil Leah Jerry day experience. So moving. The grass has been growing since then. It's getting shaggy around here.

I have a few more entries to catch up on and I look forward to travelling home from work tmrw being taken along for the ride!

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I have a few more entries to catch up on and I look forward to travelling home from work tmrw being taken along for the ride!

Yeah, I have a few entries to catch up on too, but it's hard to write about Banff when I gaze at hippos crossing the crocodile-infested Zambezi River!

Thanks for the kind words. I have a few entries left in the trip home across Canada and I intend to finish them when I get some time.

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