The West Coast Story

I have a story: I ran. I escaped! And home is now a place 300,000 miles away. But I'm not going to bash it or pretend I didn't find comfort there; I simply fell for the mountain view.

I had heard of it: the atmosphere, the atmosphere. Apparently, BC was a little weird. I decided to leave home just after I turned 19 to check out this Strange Place. I loaded up a vintage leather backpack with three pairs of socks, an extra pair of cotton pants, several T-shirts, and a Mexican wool sweater for warmth - but that didn't fit into my backpack. Picking one pair of shoes I would have to walk in all day, and possibly sleep in, was hassling: Dr. Martins. I paid $3.99 for those when I first started high school. Their fame-day had arrived.

A Greyhound across the country is over three days. At the time, I didn't understand what that meant. THREE DAYS. ON A BUS. When it's too crowded at night for passengers to have their own set of seats one must learn to sleep upright. Or not sleep at all. Since July, I have Greyhounded back and forth from Toronto to Vancouver/Vancouver to Toronto five times.

Ontario is brutal to drive through. The entire chunk of Canada leftover - Manitoba to British Columbia - is also a 30-hour drive. People had told me to watch out! for the prairies, but since I have kindled quite the liking to them: they're done in one afternoon.

The trip is worth it for the 16 hour mountain drive. On my first trip over, I was in love before I had even stepped in Vancouver.