Sunday 28 June, Nanaimo

We say goodbye to Harold, the man we met in Japan and with whom we stayed overnight in Vancouver. First, we cycle to the MEC (Mountain Equipment Company), where we get advice on bears and cougars, which are common in Canada. We buy bear spray, which is also effective against cougars, a bear bell and two 15-metre lengths of rope so we can hang our bags 2 to 4 metres up in a tree. They’ve run out of the large plastic seal bags needed to store our food and toiletries in an odour-proof manner. In Nanaimo, on Vancouver Island – where we’re heading by ferry – they do still have them in stock. The friendly young man helping us rings the MEC in Nanaimo to sort it out for us. We cycle to Horseshoe Bay, where the ferry to Vancouver Island departs. We buy two tickets and arrive well in time. There’s a waiting room which we go into. Inside are a number of people who work on the ferry. They’re there to relieve the crew who are about to arrive on the ferry from Nanaimo. We strike up a conversation with a lady whose mother is Dutch and the chief steward, a tall, gentle man. I express my admiration for how they manage to dock such a large ship so precisely in the right spot. The man says, ‘I’ve got something nice in store for you – what’s your name?’ The ferry from Nanaimo arrives and the new batch of staff come on board. It’s impressive how many cars are coming off the ferry. Pedestrians and cyclists are allowed on board first. We take seats right at the front with a panoramic view. The crossing takes two hours and, after an hour, the intercom announces that the ‘lovely Dutch couple, Johan and his wife’, are invited to see the chief steward. The man we spoke to in the waiting area takes us upstairs to the wheelhouse where the captains are at work. The ship is 42 years old. In three years’ time, it will be replaced by a new one. The men are sitting behind a large array of screens and switches. ‘Look, a whale,’ says the captain. They don’t show up on the radar but are dangerous due to the risk of collisions. We head back down to the passenger deck and eventually cycle into Nanaimo, looking for Peter, a friend of Harold’s, who’s keen to meet us. When we arrive at his house, Peter welcomes us. A 78-year-old man, but still sprightly. We can park the bikes in the basement. He prunes a few branches from the cherry tree, which is laden with cherries. We tuck in. We’re given a tour of the garden, where no fewer than 10 different varieties of berries grow.We go into his house, up a staircase in the basement, where we find ourselves in a sort of open-plan kitchen-diner. The décor is striking. There’s nothing in the kitchen, just a small rug on the floor. ‘I don’t need any furniture,’ says Peter. He starts peeling potatoes, ‘You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?’ He cooks some green leaves, a sort of spinach. ‘I hope you like it; after years of living on my own, I’ve developed my own style of cooking.’ Well, he’s certainly developed it well. When Peter was 44, he and his wife had a sailing boat. But on reflection, his wife didn’t actually like sailing; they’d grown apart and got divorced. Peter sold his business and his wife bought the house. From then on, he went to live on his boat. ‘The winters here are boring, so I took up cycling.’ And boy, the number of countries he’s been to! The stories just keep coming, and Peter talks non-stop. Ten years later, the housing market had crashed and he bought this house for a song. ‘I’m glad you’re here; it’s too late now to look for a campsite, but you’re welcome to sleep here.’ In another empty bedroom, we lay our mattresses on the wooden floor.