A Hitchhiker Bee, A Caged Bird, and Kamloops

Travel days are never my favorite part of any trip, especially when they begin with rising at 3 a.m. But needs must to fly from our tiny airport, where the TSA folks are friendly and courteous as well as conscientious.

By 4:45 a.m. we are on the plane. Hubby and I are in the rear-most seats, row 10. Everyone is buckled in, the cabin lights are dimmed, and the attendant is standing at the forward door, waiting for the final paperwork.

Hubby starts to twitch. “What?” I grump.

“I’ve got a bug in my shirt,” he rasps, pulling the front of his long-sleeved t-shirt out his jeans and flapping it. I gape. He settles back in the seat, then starts slapping at his arm.

“Take it off and turn it inside out,” I hiss. He flips the shirt off over his head, and shakes it vigorously. “There it is,” I sputter. “It’s on your leg!”

So here we are, on an aircraft, sitting in the back row, hubby shirtless, both of us pointing and hissing and slapping. I keep glancing  forward, waiting for the attendant to turn around, spot us, and call for security to escort us off the plane.

Somehow we manage to find the insect, swat it, get Hubby’s shirt back on, and compose ourselves before the door closes and the attendant strolls to the back of the plane. Thank goodness the fellow seated in front of us was oblivious between his ear buds. 

The insect in question, some kind of small bee, had a wasp-like body and slender wings. It must not have had a stinger, or surely one of us would have a welt or two.

We fly a scenic route to LA, first turning inland, then across the Simi Valley to the coast, and taking a final loop up the coast to check out the Pepperdine campus. As the sun rises, we land on a runway far, far from the terminal.  Never mind -- we have plenty of time before our flight to Vancouver.

We spend the interval before our flight people-watching and following the flight of a small bird that has become trapped somehow in the 80’s wing of the United terminal. The poor fellow swoops from perch to perch -- the railing at the outside window, the top of the flat-screen TV suspended from the ceiling, down to the TV at the adjoining gate, back to the railing. As more and more people throng our gate, waiting for their flight to Seattle, the bird finds refuge elsewhere. Just up the hallway, where the little aircraft land, there is a way out, although it does involve a stairwell. I hope he’s found it.

Our flight to Vancouver is smooth and comfortable. One of the flight attendants is having a great day, obviously enjoying her job. Her friendly demeanor and jokes are so unexpected that we almost don’t know how to react. In the end we just smile a lot and accept the extra glass of juice.

In Vancouver, immigration and customs behind us, we claim our Nissan Versa from Alamo and set out for Kamloops, our way-station on the way to Banff. We drive through the agricultural region to the east of the city, through Chilliwack “Where Everything Grows”, and on toward the snowy peaks. The traffic diminishes as we turn north on the Coquihalla Highway and up to the 1244 meter pass. The mountains are steep and rocky, and waterfalls cascade down the near-vertical faces with regularity. It rains off and on.

On the other side of the pass, the terrain is greener and gentler, reminding me, as we ride the wide highway along the ridge, of West Virginia -- ridge upon ridge in the distance,  blue upon blue.

It is late afternoon when we reach Kamloops, our home for the night. We explore the downtown area, which backs up onto the railroad tracks and, beyond that, the river. This is a six-block by three-block area with everything you need -- a tea shop, a library, two liquor stores, a grocery store, a deli, beaucoup restaurants, gift shops, sports bars.

We walk the length and breadth of the downtown, stopping to read menus and to admire the interesting pedestrian bridge over the railway. It looms into the sky at the foot of the street. As usual we dither about restaurant choices, ending up in an Italian bistro with pretensions. The food is good, if a trifle overpriced.

Tomorrow we have 500 K to cover to Banff. I am wishing that we had turned back to the Alamo counter to renegotiate our contract -- this car has no cruise control, and Hubby can be  pretty grumpy after hours of driving.