As we descended out of the Alberta foothills, I finally took a breath. The majesty of the Rockies never ceases to amaze me. What a beautiful country we live in.
Last year, during our 150th Anniversary, I was asked to make a submission for a commemorative anthology titled What Canada Means to Me. I was honoured to have my short story – The Soldier and the Scarf – accepted.
But I digress. We managed to deliver the Cessna 180 cylinders to Penhold Airport by noon and be back on the undulating Trans Canada Highway by early afternoon.
I must say, the frost heaves made me very glad to have heavy duty suspension up front. It saved me from a whack on the chin that could have chipped a tooth! The camper handled them like a Mexican tope—towels jumped off their hooks, the clothes leapt off their hangars like ghosts, and the shampoo pump bottle hit the roof- repeatedly it looks like. Hmm. Must wind down next time – check.
But then the Big Sky of Alberta and the forever fields of green, that Louis Armstrong sang about, took over and lasted until the prairie sunset glowed in the rear view mirror.
Around ten we pulled in amongst a scattered assembly of Walmart shoppers sleeping in an assortment of campers, trailers, trucks and motorhomes. Walmart isn’t stupid.