Yesterday, I drove into Naniamo (also known as Ninemose) to pick up a few things that I knew would be cheaper than in Qualicum. I came out here with only a couple changes of clothes, so I was getting sick of seeing the same drool spots on my shirts. Was also in desperate need of a fresh pair of whites.
Nanaimo sucks. A wise man (Mr. Ugly) once said, don't move to Nanaimo. It's a giant strip mall, where all the dudes walk around wearing wife beaters and beach shorts, sporting tribal tatoos. Harsh judgments aside, I'm sure they have some bright spots.
A few days ago, I noticed Bill's odometer was approaching an ominous milestone. Mark of the beast.
I was on my way back to Qualicum Bay on the Island Highway when the time was near.
The sun beat down and there was an amber glow to the sky ahead. Even the smallest loose rocks on the side of the road cast a long shadow.
I pulled off the highway onto a deserted logging road, though it was paved. On the left side of the road I passed a weather beaten pen of domesticated alpacas with grass like a patchy beard to match their coats of stringy hair. On the other was an abandoned open walled shelter, long passed it's purpose.
Watching the odometer, I rounded the corner, reaching the milestone. The bike came to a rest.
Just ten yards from what used to be a jackrabbit.
Glad I'm not superstitious.