Bears, Ninjas, and Sigur Ros.

Joel sold his truck. Yeah, that’s how this story ends. He sold it and he drove it to Calgary to deliver it to the new owner, but I’ll always remember his truck as the host of the perfect ending to an evening adventure.
Here’s how my last memory of his truck came to be. (I applogize for the length of this post. Just consider it a short story.)
It all starts with a lazy sunny Wednesday evening. Andrea F. came over to hang out, but we had no idea what we were going to do. We only knew that it would be outside since the weather was beautiful. Finally we decided to walk up to the top of McKee Peak to gaze over Abbotsford. After stopping for a cold drink at EA, we parked the car at the base of the trail on Highlands and started up the trail. Seriously, it wasn’t even 5 minutes later that we met a man and his dogs coming down the trail. He told us that a black bear had been spotted in the area and was likely to eat us... or something like that. So, in the interest of keeping all my meat on my body, I suggested that we find something else to do.
We did.
I told her I’d show her the crazy dip in the road past Western Penn… you all know the one. If you drive 100 kph you get a surprisingly long period of zero gravity. Andrea was driving however, so we had a slightly less exciting experience as the road dropped away beneath us. But Sumas Mountain was pretty. We ended up near the river on Page Rd. Good times. Then I asked if she had ever seen the freaky abandoned army base. She said no, and so I took her there.
Freaky… and abandoned. But maybe not abandoned afterall…
She wanted to drive in to the main building area, since one of the gates seemed to be left open, but I was too scared. Then as we kinda were sitting there in front of the gate, I noticed that there was a new black pick-up. You know the type… the government official big black pick-up type. You see them on the movies all the time. Anyways, I thought it suspicious that there be a new-ish black pick-up parked behind the security building at the gate, and upon further investigation I realized that there was a Canadian Military Ninja-Agent looking back at us from the shadows in the gate building. I tried as nonchalantly as possible to tell Andrea to drive away, but as she had no Ninja-Agent sensing abilities, she just kept on gesturing and pointing and so on. Shoot. Finally I convinced her that we need be leaving now, and we drove past all the freaky weird communications antennas and probably nuclear devices and alien ships down to the end of the street, which happened to be a dead one. Once there we noticed an overgrown section of gate. The ‘No Trespassing’ and ‘Danger High Voltage’ signs were still legible, as was the government warning that we would be prosecuted and probably eaten alive if we managed to cross the razor wire. Well, we didn’t try, but I got eaten alive anyways; mosquito style. Then just before we left -- to risk driving back past the freaky gate with the freakier Canadian Military Ninja-Agent in order to extricate her car from the danger of proximity to freaky not-so abandoned military communications bases – I noticed something in the bushes just ahead behind the big checkered Dead End sign. Yup, I noticed a home-made sign that said end. And as I was admiring its cut-out plywood and spray-paint construction, I noticed something to the left of it. Another letter. An H. I was enthralled. I looked, desperately hoping to see a Y on the right side of it, but I found none. That will have to be rectified one of these days.
We drove on back to the main road. But upon reaching the other side of the base, the side without the ninja, our courage began to grow again and we attempted another circumnavigation of the base. We didn’t make it. We got about as far as the “Danger: Entering Live Ammo Range” sign, (which may have actually said “Stay on roadway, Rod and Gun Club Range” or something to that effect). It was at this point that we decided to head off to Joel’s house, since he was home by this time and awaiting our arrival.
However, on the way, we looked ahead at the car in front of us, and decided most definitely that it was a government vehicle. It had numbers on the trunk and back window, and one-too-many antennas, and therefore it was relatively simple to deduce that the ninja was following us. That’s right… following us. We were surprised that the ninja was in front of us when he meant to be following us, but this too had a rather simple explanation –he’s a really talented ninja. A short time before we got to Joel’s house, the ninja turned off and drove away. I guess he figured out that we were on to him.
We entered Joel’s pleasant domicile and we sat on the couch and began relating to him the story of our evening. The conversation shifted to a continuation of an earlier conversation that Andrea and I had had in the car regarding freaky cult buildings and zones and fields that probably were related to freaky cults and whatever else. Andrea had told me this one amazing scary story about a tres-sketchy place she found in Langley, and we Google Earth-ed it on Joel’s computon. After drinking some water and sitting around for a bit longer, we decided that we should go out and sit on the roof rack of Joel’s very cool (and right-hand drive at that) Land Cruiser and look at the stars. It was the last night that the truck would reside here in BC, and so we may as well get one last session with it before it was too late. Some tea was made, a thermos retrieved to retain the chaud-liquid, and we set off with cushions and blankets to find a dark place up on a hill where we could watch the stars.
We drove around quite a bit that evening. No luck. Not anywhere. It does quite seem like every access to cool mountain spots is blocked, either by large rocks or gates or machinery or the like. At one point up on McKee peak, we were watched with great scrutiny as we pulled up and Joel sought out the path. It was gated, but there was a way around. However, Mr. Birdwatcher was standing right there staring right at us, and there was no way to get to our desired location without attracting some unwanted attention. So we gave up and went to try Auguston. No luck there either, though we did manage to find a nice field of bark mulch.
Finally after a few more stops we decided to give up and head back to Joel’s house. At least he lives a bit out of the city so it might be kinda dark-ish. Well, his house is at the base of a cleared out section that is undergoing new development, so we attempted to find a way up the hill. We drove on to the street above his, (a street with no houses, only empty lots and lots and lots of construction equipment) and were intrigued to find a shiny white suburban parked on the side of the road, and two thirty-something year old gentlemen with sketchy beards and cigarettes standing beside it playing with remote control cars.
Now, let’s consider the full weight of this scene. You’re 32. You are successful enough to drive a big shiny white suburban. It is 11:00pm at night, and you are parked on an empty street a fair ways out of town, and you are playing with a remote control car. Awesome.
We drove by them on our quest for access to the hill beside us, and received some awkward and concerned looking glances from said gentlemen as we did. The cul-de-sac provided us with no route up the hill, and so we turned around and started driving back towards them. Then just before we reached their location, we saw some dodgy caterpillar tracks heading up the hill. We turned off the street and started our uneven ascent. Toy-car guys just watched with nervous glances. Eventually after an arduous journey in a fairly tough 4-wheel drive truck, we came to a turn in the dirt path. Now, I better try to explain this too you. We were basically driving up the side of a cliff. I mean, the cliff was on our left and the ‘road’ if you dare call it that was fairly level from the left to right, but was at a very steep angle. To our right was a sheer drop off, at the angle of repose. The cliff turned inwards a bit ahead, and it was only upon finally rounding the corner that we realized that that was where the road ended. There was definitely no path ahead of us, and none to the side, so we parked and opened the sunroof to climb up to the roof-rack.
This is where the night got beautiful. The hardcore-hobbie guys were somewhat disconcerting as they frequently glanced up into the darkness towards where our lights had last been seen, but shortly thereafter they got back in their big shiny white suburban and drove away to go work on their model train. It was then that we were alone, and the stars grew close. Sigur Ros made the perfect soundtrack for the occasion, and we were lulled into the endlessness that is our universe and conversations about nearly everything. In looking down to the subdivision we could see the reflection of moths dancing beneath the streetlights, and the occasional car would drive by.
All in all, it was a spectacular and serene ending to a wonderful evening of adventures. I will miss Joel’s truck, but I guess all good things need come to an end sometimes.
Just like this story.
Peace be with you.