Tag Archives: road trip

Tunnel Mountain and the Lonely Road to Jasper

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It’s a relief to get into Tunnel Mountain campsite at Banff, another vast site, but properly in the mountains, in a beautiful setting. It’s popular and we need to queue to check in and pay our national park fees. Then we’re off around to our pitch, this time with electric hook-up. There are also clean, warm shower blocks and there’s a free shuttle bus to the town. It’s all good- except that I’m feeling worse than ever, with cold symptoms joing the fever and cough I’ve picked up, even if I’ve stopped feeling like I’ve swallowed a razor blade. A nasty, niggling suspicion creeps in; could this be the rampant new Covid variant that’s running riot across Canada? Then I remember; someone in a seat near us on the Rocky Mountaineer train was sneezing and spluttering for the two days. Hmmm…

If I have the Covid variant there’s nothing much to be done. We’re not able to access tests and we’re pretty isolated as it is. So far, Husband has shown no signs of succumbing, so he’ll be ok to enter shops etc. Retiring to bed isn’t an option, either. I decide to adopt the action we were advised to use in Iceland and stay outside away from others during the day.

But there are beautiful views from our pitch and the wildlife is lovely, with nonchalant deer roaming and tiny, cheeky red squirrels scampering in the pines. It’s also warm and sunny enough to sit outside, which is what I do.

We’ve done much better with the bookings now and will be returning here after our road trip. The next morning we’re up and dealing with the housekeeping- emptying and filling- like pros, now we know how to do it all.

We’re driving on up to Jasper, where again we have a pitch on a site. At the start of the drive, while we’re on the dual carriageway the weather looks threatening and there’s some rain, but then we find our turning without much trouble and the sun reappears. As we wend our way towards Jasper National Park the terrain becomes wilder and it feels remote. There are stretches where signs warn us there’s no phone signal and between Banff and Jasper there’s only one gas station, so it’s advisable to be stocked up on everything. In this direction there are few places to pull in and stop, although the other side seems better served and it takes some time to find a lunch stop.

It feels a long drive, however the notion of distance is different for us, coming from the UK, where we’re no more than a day’s drive from most places and in reality, the loop we’ve opted to do is not vast. But the campervan is wayward, as I’ve described and I’m glad we didn’t attempt anything more lengthy.

We arrive at Saskatchewan Crossing, the one and only place for fuel and for a limited selection of foodstuffs between Banff and Jasper. It’s almost exactly halfway and busy but we get a space, overlooking the snowy mountains. It’s all bathed in sunshine and warm enough for poeple to be sitting outside with picnic lunches, one family feeding a small baby in the seats around a map pointing out the sights. A little further along is the stunning Athabasca Glacier, a frozen river splayed out against the mountainside and glistening in the sun. Opposite is a visitor centre where a purpose-built, red snow bus does tours, but we need to get to our destination so we press on. From here the road climbs and winds but it’s without incident and at last we’re nearing Jasper.

There are several sites here, outside the town but it’s easy to locate ours, just off the road and easy to check in. We find our pitch. There’s little here except for a wood pile, a fire pit, a table and bench and a cleared area to park. We’ve had to forego electricity to get the pitch.

There’s still some sun filtering through the windscreen. Husband goes off to explore the site, meanwhile I grab a pillow, slide down in my seat where the sun is warm and close my eyes…

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Two Sites and a Funeral

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With all avenues having been explored at the Tortoli site on the Sardinian east coast, in other words a short, hot walk along the road as far as it goes and back again- we up sticks once more and ready the van for another hop north, this time towards Siniscola. There’s a site at Santa Lucia, a small seaside village. I look at the map. The road is ominously wiggly, heralding more mountain road terrors.

You’d have thought I’d be getting used to staring dizzy drops and horrific hairpins by this time, but rather than finding it all thrilling [as, admittedly. does Husband] I continue to perspire and grimace. But I’ve perfected the art of taking long, slow breaths as we approach bends or vehicles career towards us. This time, the journey is not aided by the scores of motor bikers who roar up behind us and swerve away at breakneck speed, sometimes enhancing the thrill by zig-zagging across the road. It’s clearly a favourite for motor cycles, also the one and only road where we spot three- yes, three British vehicles- all in one day; and having not spotted a single Brit during the entire trip to this date.

On this route, though there are some short stretches of respite, semi-tunnels where the outside edge is guarded by columns, and by the time we’re dropping down towards Santa Lucia it’s all become much more sensible. A search for a suitable place to stop for lunch gets tied in with supermarket shopping then we’re good to go to the site.

While we’ve been in Sardinia, our own, home, UK news has been full of the Queen’s death- a momentous event for many in our home country. And while any death is sad for those involved and close family of course I can’t help feeling relieved not to be saturated in the details and outpourings all day every day.

We pull up at the gates to our site. The woman in reception is pleasant and welcoming. ‘But you don’t want to watch the funeral?’ she asks me. For a moment I’m not sure what she means. ‘We’re showing it in the bar’ she tells me. I thank her, but say no, thanks, we didn’t know the Queen. [We still haven’t watched any of the ceremony/pomp/footage in spite of it’s remaining on YouTube], which the woman appears to find amusing.

The site is large and wooded with beach access via a woodland path. Getting into pitches is a little tricky, the first we choose being hampered by a gargantuan, Italian motorhome protruding into the access lane. The occupant makes a sudden appearance as Husband begins to manoeuvre into the space, gesticulating and waving like a banshee on speed. As I’m the other side of our van undertaking my own, usual, time-honoured signals, I find this frantic takeover annoying, as does Husband, so we roll across to the next space, away from the hyperactive, oversized-motorhome-owning Italian and his panicky signals.

Again, the site is ideal for beach lovers. This time, we can walk along the road into Santa Lucia, although it is tiny and while it’s attractive and has a relaxing, seaside holiday feel it has nothing of particular interest.

It’s on again, then- this time only a shortish hop north and to the Costa Smeralda, Sardinia’s famous millionaire playboy playground which was developed in the 60s by the Aga Khan, who poured milions into the area. Lucky for us it still has campsites!…

Grace is also known as the novelist, Jane Deans. Her new novel, The Conways at Earthsend is available from Amazon, Waterstones, Goodreads, W H Smith, Pegasus Publishing and many more sites. Visit my website: janedeans.com or my author page on Facebook: (1) Jane Deans, Novelist, Short Fiction and Blog | Facebook.

Lower Your Expectations!

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A wonderful lady I worked with years ago sometimes used to say ‘Lower your expectations’. She would use this phrase whenever we felt jaded or that events were taking a downward turn. It was intended to be droll-and it was, because it always brought a smile to our faces.

But the idea of lowering expectations is not without advantage. If I consider a worst case scenario in life then the outcome will either be a] as I expected or b] not as bad as I expected, both of which are better than a disappointment.

I can apply this approach to all aspects of life. We have just embarked on a new expedition into Europe, intending to travel in directions hitherto unexplored [by us]. The preparations for this odyssey seem endless and difficult, partly due to it’s being the first major road trip of the year and partly because my brain is losing its propensity to be sharp. I appear to spend a great deal of time writing lists and forgetting to add items, or writing lists that prompt further lists. I begin a task and become distracted by another. I forget what I do, forget how to prepare.

Eventually, however we seem to be ready. We get away on time. We arrive at the ferry port on time. The crossing is uneventful-pleasant, even. We breakfast, we slump, we snooze in the recliner seats of the quiet lounge [both of us having had a fitful and short night’s sleep]. The weather is warm and sunny. This is a bonus, since cold, wet weather was expected for a few days at least. See what I mean? Expect the worst, lower your expectations.

It is easy to see why many prefer the simple process of buying ready-made holidays. Everything is done; everything laid on. You are transported somewhere, you are ferried to sights and brought back [as on cruise ships]. You follow an itinerary someone else has prepared. You look, perhaps take snaps, perhaps buy a souvenir. You are taken home.

The road trip requires planning and preparation. We [mostly Husband] plot each day’s route, we search out possible destinations, we fuel up, shop, service the van [water, waste]. We make decisions, try to agree. We problem-solve. Sometimes we are successful. In the two days since we began we’ve had to overcome irritants like lights that will not switch off, devices that bleep in the middle of the night, van alarm going off [also in the night] and no internet access. Above all we have to adjust back into camper-van life, remembering where we store stuff, routine when we park up, routine when we leave each day.

But we know we must make our brains and bodies work for us if we want to get into healthy old age and I imagine that it’s one of the reasons there are so many ancient motor-homers out here in Europe, just like us. Oh-and there’s the freedom of course. Who wants to be told what to do and where to go? Now what on earth has happened to all my ‘Word’ documents???