The boys, Karen had explained back in Terrace, would amuse themselves on the family cycle expedition along Vancouver Island by seeing what they could spot discarded on the shoulder or in the ditches beside the highway. Lots of nails. I wondered if they’d also noticed the shredded tyres, sharp wire strands that had cost me two punctures back in Australia.
I’d my own games to play. Waving to trucks my favourite. The tooting game. First wave, arm outstretched, as the lorry approaches, a good few hundred yards behind. Let him know I’ve seen him in my mirror. Then, as he passes, another flourish of the hand, proportionate to the space I’m given. A thank-you. Waiting to see if an uplifting honk or two on the horn will follow.
Others are observational. Couples in recreational vehicles. Often striking differences in body language between driver and passenger. Left thinking Not tonight Josephine…
