I often don't know what I'm getting myself into. I wouldn't say I'm overly naive, or careless when it comes to decision making. I just like to please others, and please myself, so I'll say "yes" to just about anything. This certitude doesn't always take me quite as far as the air of confidence appears - trust me, I got really good at saying "oui" in French before I understood French, choosing the le positif over le negatif and getting really quite convincing. Next time, don't let me fool you.

So when my friend Charles from Vancouver asked me if I wanted to bike the Sunshine Coast with him during my month stay out in British Columbia, I responded with a whole-hearted, unambiguous, I-bike-around-Montreal-everyday-so-clearly-I-can-handle-this "yes". Charles proceeded, in his excitable manner, to plan our trip, sending me contour maps and ferry schedules and camp grounds and whatever else. I looked at these documents, his routes and charts, and I really didn't understand any of it. Actually - I didn't even know where this coast of sunshine was. So I kept saying to him, "yes - any changes you want to make is fine", "yes - this detour will work out just great", "yes - if it rains, we'll just deal with it".

When I arrived in Vancouver, we spent our second day lounging out on Bowan Island, his childhood haven. As he excitedly went over all the points of discovery, his mom kindly interrupted him to note that I hadn't cycled Europe last summer. I was at a bit of a loss for words. "Well..... no. But I'm pretty fit. And - I went to the gym three times in Alaska for bike cardio.

In fact, I hadn't cycled more than 55km in one day..... ever. That was in flat Toronto, two years ago.

There are people who envision exactly what they're going to do with their vacation, with their weekends, with their food. They follow through with something - they take all the steps in a recipe, they shoot a picture from the designated area.... they conquer, then they leave satisfied.

I didn't even envision the panniers on the back of the bicycle. I never thought about how we'd carry food, how we would sleep, how we'd change clothes. I didn't think of the weight, the shape of the bike, the gear system, the fact that British Columbia=mountains=hilly bike riding.

I just said yes.

If you want to know how the first couple of days went, maybe Charles can leave a comment at the bottom of this post.

By the fourth day, I was no longer (at least, for the duration of this voyage), a "yes, yes, yes" girl. So when Charles asked me if we could fillet a salmon for our last night's camp dinner, I responded with an unequivocal "no". Something I would normally be game for, something that would be my forte even with my crappy knives back in Montreal was an absolute and incontestable "no". I used the knife excuse - "we really just can't expect the knife to make steaks out of a full fish, Charles. That knife sucks". In my tired mind, I reasoned. The knife can't. My legs can't.

Charles rebutted. "We can totally cut up a fish." In his head, "the knife can. Her legs can..... or must, because there's really no alternative".

I went into the Food Basic's in Parksville, and return with a clean-cut Atlantic salmon, farm-raised, deboned, lovely and prudent (vocabulary and philosophy employed by Charles). Charles took the receipt out of the bag, walked back in the store with his vitamin water in tow (a scam, I'm sure), and returned with a fresh, Pacific salmon.

It was huge. At least it was gutted.... and.... beheaded. I was too tired to come up with any logical argument.

Amongst the wasps, whom we let feast on the bony carcass, Charles went to work for about 45 minutes and extracted a pan full of deliciousness. He was like a kid in a candy store - "we can save some for breakfast! Eggs and salmon! Butter and garlic!" Something happened that has never happened before - we switched places. I was waiting patiently for my meal, hungry and mildly curious about what flavours and aromas would appear, and Charles was hoppin' around. It was like looking at myself in the glory of my own St. Henri kitchen.

We devoured the salmon with a yogurt curry sauce, quinoa, lentils and artichokes. We had the best damn dinner in the Parksville provincial campsite. We cleaned up, watched the sunset, spent some unknown amount of time watching the stars from inside the tent, and went to sleep. "Yes" returned to my vocabulary, and I put forth my best effort on the two last legs of our journey.