... sol ...: On the Pursuit of Boats and Happiness

The theme of this week has centered around chasing large boats and as always, climbing the heights of mountains. I'll begin with my first yoga class in three months at the newly renovated studio, One Yoga for the People in Gastown. That day eight of us found each other unexpectedly reunited along with our teacher Ryan. We had all taken the same yoga teacher training the previous summer, and for the first time in almost a year were under the same roof again, but now at the foothills of the coastal mountains, near the bed of the sea, and far from the prairies where we had first become acquainted.

Playing one afternoon during our teacher training.


Our teacher Ryan giving a lesson outside, wearing his signature hat that reads 'Sat Nam'

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At the end of our class we stood around visiting in the newly finished studio. It was 8:15pm when Ryan mentioned that he was bound for Tsawwassen to give Dina a ride to the ferries.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Can I ride with you? I'm headed that way too, and it would save me a trip on the bus."

"Sure," they agreed, bustling around the studio, still chatting with the others and rummaging for their things.

"So... you're catching the nine o'clock ferry in Tsawwassen?" I asked, looking at the time. The drive would take at least forty minutes, with the cut-off for ticket sales in thirty-five, and we were still in downtown Vancouver.

"We need to go right now!" I said urgently. But is it any surprise that urgency is lost on yogis? Let's just say it took a while to round them up.

Britt sat next to me in the back while Dina sat in the passenger seat, yelling at Ryan to slow down as he weaved in and out of traffic at high speed, fidgeting with the music on his stereo and laughing good-naturedly on the phone with a friend.

"No! We have to hurry!" I implored Ryan, "or we'll never make it!"

"I would rather miss my ferry and live to see another day!" Dina insisted, not so calm now as she had been in the studio.

Ryan was tearing down Knight street, at one point screaming "FUCK YOU, GPS!" while ripping the automated voice out of its socket. It was dawning on everyone that we would likely miss the ferry, and for the first time I was experiencing a stressful situation among yogis, but I for one was loving it.

The rush was glorious and I relished the frenzy in the vehicle. Who cares about large boats and being on time?! We always had the option of throwing Dina into the sea and making her swim to the boat. Or we could have careened our vehicle right off the platform, flying through time and space to land on the stern and then all four of us could have gone to Victoria together! Say they had sailed away before we were able to propel Dina's body or Ryan's car at the ferry, we could have had such fun cursing them from the dock and shaking our fists in their direction, hurling insults at the ferry workers for not having loitered, protesting forever and ever the tardiness of just a few minutes until we got hauled off kicking and screaming, never allowed to return to BC Ferries again. Fuck the island! We'd be legends! Our story would immortalize us and be told to myriads of island-goers on how not to behave.

We felt alive, and almost died many times. Poor Dina sat white-faced holding onto the side of the door, Ryan was in his prime, brimming with excitement. Surely he must have been a taxi driver from India in a past life. Britt sat perched with a little smile on her face, quietly enjoying every minute of our wild race against the clock.

"This is our exit!" I shouted, "Right lane, right lane!!" and Ryan executed a California lane change perfectly.

We were on the last stretch approaching Tsawwassen with ten minutes to go. We were making miraculous time. Ryan was bouncing around in the driver's seat like a five year old, vibrating to the beat of the music, zig-zagging in his own lane just for the hell of it, and maybe to get a rise out of Dina.

"We're so close!" I exclaimed gleefully. "We're going to make it!"

And then horror of horrors, the obnoxiously slow driver in the fast lane. We were trapped and losing precious minutes that we didn't have to spare.

"Flash the stupid bastard with your high beams!" I screamed. Ryan flashed. But the driver wouldn't change lanes despite our tailing his slow-as-molasses ass. Expletives resounded. Obscene gestures were made eloquent.

"Honk your horn!" I cried. Ryan didn't just honk, he blared his horn for twenty straight seconds. No response from the ferry-blocker in front of us.

"Old, privileged, good-for-nothing -- " one of us yelled out the window.

"Oh my god!" Dina said, putting her head in her hands. "This is so embarrassing."

With Ryan and I nigh road-rage, Dina beside herself at the both of us (though I'm convinced she was secretly delighted), and Britt enjoying herself thoroughly, the car next to us noticed the calamity and wisely let us into the right lane before we caused an accident. We went tearing past the oblivious driver to our left (I glared at him meanly), hastening once more towards ferry terminal.

I can't even say if we were all speaking English, the four of us were shouting at each other as we drove into the terminal and parked the car in the drop-off section. Dina had two minutes to buy her ticket.

"No time for hugs!" one of us made obvious, as Dina haphazardly jumped from the car, waving a hurried farewell, looking for her wallet, grinning wildly and running to catch her ferry all at the same time.

Britt and I waited in the car nervously, while Ryan ran inside with Dina. They looked like two pinballs toting bags, laughing, scolding each other happily for their part in our most recent debacle.

"THEY'RE NOT LETTING DINA ON BECAUSE THEY THINK SHE'S STONED!" Britt read to me from a text Ryan had just sent to her phone.

"But this is BC!" I lamented in disbelief. "Everyone here is stoned."

Ryan came back to the car a minute later. Alone. Yet another of his many pranks. Dina had made her ferry, signs and wonders.

From the terminal we set off, blaring music, and recounting our adventure to each other joyously, laughing and savouring the last bit of our adrenaline rush. Ryan opened his glove compartment and took out what looked like one enormous doobie. Oh boy, I thought. As if this night could get any crazier. But it was some sort of fragrant grass a friend of his had brought back from Africa. He lit it while driving at exorbitant speeds, and put it to our noses to smell until we gave him some nod of affirmation to indicate that indeed the thing smoked and lived among us, and he waved it around the car like a mad-man, our friend and teacher.

Practicing in the Garden

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On a more serious note, I spent two days in Victoria framing a garage.

My friend Ben (brawn, beard, bad language, views our friendship as community service -- that Ben) invited me to tag along to help him with the renovations he's doing on his house there. I have always wanted to build something, but never had the skills, though I agreed to go more because I had absolutely no idea what would happen if I spent two days alone with this man. I didn't really believe he would have the patience to let me help him with anything.

My guess was that I would get thrown out of his house after a long and enthusiastic screaming match for sawing off a finger or swinging a 2X4 into his head, as I have never used a saw or carried lumber before, and that I would end up having to find my own way back to the mainland after a visit to the hospital. For the most part I liked this idea, because I have an appreciation for situations that involve unpredictability and putting to good use my independent nature, that and I think I'm intrigued by his frank disdain of me.

We had planned to meet at the McDonald's in Tsawwassen at 8pm, at which time I called to see how far away he was; Ben was still in Vancouver and running late. The ferry was scheduled to depart at 9pm. For some reason this situation felt all too familiar.

"I'll walk on," I said to Ben, "but not before hearing from you first that you were able to buy a ticket."

My mother who was in the car listening to all of this, and already suspicious of the situation as I have also never used a hammer for anything in my life, began arguing with me before I'd even ended the call, attempting to make it clear that I absolutely would not be getting on that ferry.

I eventually convinced her that all would be well, lying through my teeth the whole time, and we made our way to the ferry terminal. We were parked at the drop-off section and I had five minutes to buy a ticket, but I still hadn't heard from Ben, nor was he answering his phone. Suddenly my mother and I could see a great lumbering man running in our direction from the other side of the fence where driving passengers were waiting to board, and Ben could be heard not just by us, but everyone else bound for Victoria, swearing at me to "go buy a fucking ticket or they won't let you on!" So on, and so forth.

Realizing his phone had likely died, hence the reason for not hearing from him, I purposely avoided the look on my mother's face as I am her only daughter and it would appear that a large bear of a man, whom she now refers to as Grizzly Adams, was yelling and gesturing at me to board a vessel that might very likely take me away from her for all time.

"Love you, mom!" I yelled, running towards the terminal.

Grizzly and I both made the ferry. We sat outside on one of the boat's blocks as it sailed away, the sky softly glowing orange and pink.

"This would be romantic if it was with anyone else," Ben snapped at me. I smiled contentedly and said nothing.

The story of constructing a garage is one I'll have to finish another time, as it includes a night of heavy drinking followed by weeping myself to sleep. Don't worry -- no limbs were lost, and I even got a ride back to the ferry. Framing a garage is the most hard work I've ever done for a man without any sort of recompense. I've been accused many times for having trouble with commitment, also for never pursuing anyone, but I have to say if putting up my own money to be voluntarily ordered around for two long-labouring days to build a garage in a garden full of brambles, complete with what we agreed must be a dead body liquefying in its very own garbage bin -- well if that isn't pursuit, I swear on my honour I'll never know what it is, and don't care to either.

Here are some photos from the latest trek I made into the mountains. I summitted Zupjok, Llama, Alpaca and Ottomite in the Coquihalla region; four peaks in one day, 20 kilometers, 1600 meters elevation gain, and it certainly made for one tired, happy gal.