Princeton and Beyond Part 3: Penticton and back again.

I woke up with the light of the sun rising over the hills and streaming through my hotel window. It was early but I almost jumped out of bed eager to start the day. The city of Penticton was out there waiting for me to explore and I wanted to make the most of the time I had left. I had approximately 10 hours before two colleagues would be landing in town, marking the end of my solo exploring time and forcing a return to Princeton, the old gold rush town where my adventure had started five days ago.

I had stopped in to see a friend who worked in town and had an open invitation to a backyard beer and barbecue day but with co-workers coming, I had to stick to their schedule and couldn't make it work so I was planning on staying on my own for the day. I sent a early morning message to him thanking him for the invite and then went down to the chain restaurant attached to the hotel and had a massive breakfast, took a few minutes to pack up and then checked out of the hotel.

The sun was absolutely beaming down and even although it wasn't even 9am the temperature was already in the high 90's. Seeing that I was steps for one of the two beaches in town I decided to start the day there. I grabbed a coffee at the Starbucks and wandered down to the beach where I could still catch a Wi-Fi signal from the coffee shop and check out what there was to do in town.

My first stop after the beach was a driving tour of the city and especially the eastern edge of town that was home to dozens of vineyards and wineries. I had no interest in touring the famous Okanagan vineyards but wanted to get a sense of the country that they existed in. Winding roads into the hills that surround Penticton led me to an interesting mix of residential areas that were spattered with world class wine producing estates, the grape vines ran between, in front and behind the homes and signs along the streets invited passersby in for tasting and, of course, buying.

 The road eventually would lead me to Munson Mountain where there was a short hike to a lookout point that gave a great view of the two lakes that border the city as well as its downtown, vineyards, and surrounding mountains. Standing at the top of the ridges that surround the Okanagan I thought this must be what areas of California must be like as the Great Northern Basin Desert that runs through the northern USand into southern British Columbia brings the same dry, moderate temperatures to both wine producing areas. I spent some time taking in the scenery and snapping pictures before I headed back to the car and back into the city.

Penticton is a small but pretty cool city, with pubs and patios and shops and I had a blast wandering around exploring the streets. A constant hope as I explore strange cities is that I come across a local record store and I was lucky enough to find one in town. I had a great chat with the friendly and welcoming woman that owned the shop and as I browsed thorough the vinyl I shared some of the stories of places and things that I had seen over the last week in the area. With a few classic records under arm I was on my way out when she suggested a great local restaurant for lunch and, famished, I headed right over. The Walla Artisan Bakery and Cafe was a quaint little hole in the wall that was perfect. An amazingly good lentil soup and mushroom sandwich satisfied the vegetarian grumbling of my stomach and I ate contentedly as I watched and listened as regular locals came and went buying fresh baked artisan breads and chatted with the friendly staff.

My belly attended to, I wanted to relax for the last few hours before my co workers arrived and decided to check out the other, larger beach in town. I love beaches. Baking in the sun with a book and a couple of cold (hidden under knapsack) beers, feeling the hot sand between my toes as both sun and beer lubricate my head is a Top 10 moment for me and seemed like a perfect way to quietly spend my last couple of hours alone.

Except.. when I got to Skaha beach on the other side of town I found the parking lot and surrounding streets jammed with cars and after a half kilometer walk from where I had to park I found the beach area just as busy with people. Edging closer to the lake I dodged through a small city of tents and people I gradually became aware (the piles of paddles and assorted gear were solid clues) that I had stumbled into a national dragon boat racing event. Dozens of teams had gathered in Penticton and a large crowd of paddlers and their supporters were occupying the entire area. I found at spot in the sand not far from the water where I could watch the races and then generally soaked up the almost 40 degree sun for the rest of the afternoon.

My two co-workers were just touching down as I pulled into the small regional airport and I met them in shorts, flip-flops, shades and a half-unbuttoned shirt at the baggage claim (I wasn't on shift until 8am the next morning and was staying in beach bum mode as long as possible!)  I suggested dinner before we headed to Princeton, as the food options would be limited later and we headed to a local pub where the food was marginal, the service slow but the views were excellent from the second floor patio.

We sped around town picking up a few necessities for my  A. who's luggage would not arrive until the next evening and we headed out onto the mountain highway for the 90 minute drive to Princeton. My two passengers oohed and aahed as we plunged in and out of the valleys and up and around the steep mountainsides, snapping pictures of mountains and avalanche and mountain goat crossing warning signs. In between the oohs and aahs I related some of my adventures from over the last week and gave the rundown on the dodgy hotel and small western town I was taking them to for the next few days.

My old friend the desk clerk had dressed up (for my two female companions I presume) electing for a full T-shirt with his cutoff jean shorts instead of a tank top and proudly assigned us our rooms. A. was the lucky one that got 'the new bed' room while I had the same room I was in a few days ago. The clerk was interested to hear about where I had spent the last few days and I stayed downstairs and related a few stories about the strange town of Coalmont and Otter Lake and the dragon boats at Skaha Beach before heading up to my room.

 (The dead flies that I had waged war against 6 nights ago still lay in their final resting place on the washroom floor, a testament to the high cleaning standards at this old neglected hotel.. I continued to use my sleeping bag and pack pillow instead of the provided bed clothes for the rest of the week.)

The rest of the week was mostly uneventful. The three of us worked during the day and ate at the Brown Bridge Pub each nigh and generally enjoyed the slow pace of live in small town BC. We marvelled at scenery and the deer as they wandered around town and watched the old prospectors, miners and cowboys wander with about the same urgency.

Arriving at the front desk of the 'hotel' early ready to check out on the last morning in town the three of us found ourselves staring across a dark unmanned counter. We rang the bell and called and waited impatiently Eventually a guy in a suit (the first tie I saw the entire week that wasn't cowboy-bolero style). It turned out the entire staff had  been relieved overnight. The woman who took three day to find me an ironing board gone, the tank top and jean short sporting desk clerk gone, even the cleaning ladies that had been congregating in the room next to mine for morning coffee and cigarettes each morning were gone.  And no-one at the hotel had any idea how to check the three of us out. We were late already and left our room keys and email addresses and credit card information and hit the Crowsnest Highway one last time.

Flying back across the country I thought about what a blast I had had touring around that slow dry western part of the country. I thought about passing through the old prospecting towns and exploring lakes and valleys and mountain passes and most of all the chance meetings with strangers and conversations with people who have nothing to do but talk. People like Marge Gunderson, the nutty provincial park officer, and attractive girls and their grandmothers that sell fruit at the side of the road in the Okanagan Valley, and especially Art (.. or Bart or Bert) who appeared out of nowhere on a cold morning and treated me to a lift and a story.