Reasons Why I Am Not Paid to Promote The City of Kamloops, British Columbia

I’m going to give you the good news first: We went on a gorgeous hike a while back in Kamloops, British Columbia. The weather was warm that day, the skies were a crisp shade of blue, and the views from atop the bluffs and in between the hoodoos were amazing!

On the way up!

Next: the bad news.

Said hike began from the sketchiest, non-legitimate “trailhead” I’ve ever encountered. Ever. Marty and I have done some questionable hikes in the past (several unmarked trails in Abandoned Fields, Alaska come to mind), but the so-called “starting point” of the Kamloops Hoodoo Trail takes the cake. By far. I’m surprised I even made it to the trailhead alive, let alone got out of our vehicle and proceeded to walk up the cliffs, unarmed, with nothing more than a simple hiking pole to use in self-defense.

What follows is a reverse photographic journey through our hiking experience. Sure– it seems like a totally cool and worthwhile hike when viewed from the top of the hoodoos, but just you wait until we venture back down to the bottom and back onto the highway. Are you a thrill-seeker? Somebody who laughs in the face of danger and/or death? Then I’d highly recommend hiking the hoodoo trail in Kamloops, B.C.! (Bonus points for attempting it alone!) On the other hand, are you afraid of serial killers? Is there a remote possibility that your vehicle could break down and leave you stranded at the world’s spookiest trailhead? Then proceed with caution, dear friend. Proceed. With. Caution.

Breathtaking Vistas of Kamloops, B.C.!

Kamloops is an okay city. I wouldn’t want to live there, but it’s a nice place to hike and/or fill up on fuel while otherwise speeding past the downtown core. When we attempted the Hoodoo Trail this past autumn, it didn’t take very long for us to scale fairly high up on the sandstone hills. We were rewarded immediately with the intoxicating scent of sage leaves baking in the October sun, not to mention spectacular panoramas of twisted hoodoos and other rock formations.

Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn You!

Kamloops is our mental halfway point between Victoria and Calgary, and for once– rather than filling up at an adjacent gas station and booting it right out of Dodge, we decided to stop within the city limits and indulge in a hike or two. We picked the Hoodoo Trail on the recommendation of one of the staff members at the Visitor Information Centre. She talked about how it’s not “really” a trail and how it’s not marked on any of the official maps, but she vouched that the mildly challenging climb up the hills was well worth the effort. We were sold on the mere possibility of seeing hoodoos, even when the woman at the Centre had a difficult time explaining how to get to the trailhead. Something was mentioned about it being illegal to cross some railroad tracks. Something else was spoken about how the hike was “off the beaten path”. We weren’t concerned. (Mostly.) We just wanted to see hoodoos!

Why Did We Leave the Safety of Our Vehicle, Anyway?

When we finally pulled up to the trailhead, I was adamant that I would not unlock our doors or set foot outside. The sun was beating down that autumn afternoon, but I also refused to open the windows or let fresh air circulate inside, much to Marty’s sweaty dismay.

I didn’t believe the site was a real trailhead or a real hike whatsoever. Sure, the land seemed mostly abandoned and neglected, but something about the surroundings gave me goosebumps and convinced me that somebody very dangerous was lurking in the distance, waiting for the exact moment when I was finally lulled into a false sense of security to pounce!

Death! Destruction! Maiming! Peril!

Alas. At that moment, Marty happened to spot somebody walking high up on the hills and jubilantly proclaimed, “Hark! We’re not the only people hiking here! See? This trail is for real!” It was just the evidence he needed to bound out of the van and lace up his hiking boots.

Fearless in the face of danger (must be because of the DEADLY LASER VISION hidden behind his sunglasses)

I wanted to point out that the person he saw could very well be the Dangerous Lurker I feared, but poor Marty already has to deal with enough of my drama and my (slight) (occasional) tendency to exaggerate. Poor fellow. Hence, I begrudgingly slid out of the passenger seat and laced up my hiking boots, too.

But See? What Did I Tell You About Sketchy Trailheads in Kamloops, B.C.?

Sure. Most of you are probably thinking, “It can’t be that bad!”, or “What a drama queen!”. But I ask you this: would you want to hike a trail after passing any, let alone all, of the following things en route to the trailhead?

- Abandoned vehicles with smashed-in windshields?

- Abandoned boats, also with smashed-in windows, lying randomly in the middle of a bone-dry city?

- Questionable piles of lumber, scrap metal, chicken wire, and bricks?

- Remnants of an industrial wasteland?

Welcome to scenic Kamloops, B.C.!

- Giant, white barrels that could collect rainwater but more likely function as suffocating cages for unfortunate wanderers?

Evil white trap of death

- Menacing ponies?

I can’t be the only person who’s completely creeped out by this, right? (Right?) (By the way: I don’t believe any of you who aren’t at least a little sketched out by this scene. Unless, of course, you live in Kamloops, B.C.)

We found out after we finished the hike (and scrambled back into the van, and sped back out onto the highway like we were stock car racing) that there’s actually another trailhead. Apparently it’s across the railroad tracks that the Visitor Information Centre lady told us we could not legally cross. Figures. Overall, the hike itself was lovely, but the path to the starting point was not. At all.

And this is why the Kamloops Chamber of Commerce hasn’t returned my calls.

Surviving the Non-Perishable Food Item Apocalypse

Here’s a tip: If you ever happen to meet me in person, and if– during this meeting– you’re inexplicably called upon to form a team of people to play an impromptu game of “Guess Somebody’s Age/Weight/Height” or “Guess the Amount of [Blanks] in the Jar”, do not pick me to be on your team! I am downright abysmal when it comes to estimating height, weight, age, distance, length, volume, or the passage of time, and the only thing I truly understand in terms of numbers is money. (Thank goodness for that last part, because I spent several years working in the Accounting Department of a local non-profit and am now in charge of anything finance-related in our art business. Phew!)  

What does my complete and utter lack of approximation skills have to do with surviving an apocalypse, you might ask?

Well.

It seems that my pitiful understanding of weight values– coupled with my sincere love for bulk discounts– has left me with a lifetime supply of quinoa (pronounced KEEN-wa, for those of you who are unfamiliar with this wonder grain). Have no fear, dear readers: should the ancient grain industry suddenly run dry, leaving grocery store shelves across the continent conspicuously bereft of quinoa, I’ve got us covered. Chez Machacek is hereby dubbed The Land of Plenty, at least when it comes to non-perishable food items that require cooking before they are actually edible.

Decked out in my Haz Mat suit, which sort of looks like a whale watching outfit, but is really quite dangerous and serious. I'm only smiling because it's an Apocalypse Drill, NOT because I'm going to see a Super Pod of whales in this pic.

Here’s what happened to render my quinoa cup overflowing:

1. I perused an organic grains catalogue, scanning the list for quinoa. (Yep– just an ordinary day of being hip and otherwise fabulous!)

2. I saw that quinoa was available in two different sizes through this particular bulk distributor– 2kg or 25lbs.

3. (No, the catalogue did not list one bag of quinoa in kilograms and the other in pounds. My mind just neatly summarized the chart by remembering whole numbers, as it is wont to do. 2kg stuck in my head more readily than 4.4lbs would have, and 25lbs was much more convenient a mnemonic device than 11.34kg. Oh, the benefits of being Canadian and (sort of) understanding both systems of measurement! Clearly, I use the word “understand” very loosely.)

4. I ran through my handy mental inventory of How To Understand Weight Values:

4a. 2lb weights are the tiniest, wimpiest options available to use at my Turbo Kick fitness class. (Note fatal lack of converting pounds to kilograms here.) Obvious (Flawed) Conclusion  No. 1: 2kg will not be enough quinoa to last us for any significant amount of time.

4b. Somebody who brags they can bench press 25lbs is not a very strong person and has no right to be bragging at all. Obvious (Also Flawed) Conclusion No. 2: 25lbs is a pretty insubstantial amount to bench press; therefore, 25lbs of quinoa is a perfectly rational amount to purchase.

4c. (Further proof of the relative ‘smallness’ of 25lbs) A 25-pound dog is less than 1/3 the size of our 80-pound canine, who really wasn’t that big. (RIP, beloved pup.)  Ergo, 25lbs of quinoa in the kitchen is totally doable.

"Dog?" takes on "DOG!"

4d. (Final proof) Despite having gained close to 20lbs last year, I can still (for the most part) fit into my same clothes. Hence, 25lbs of quinoa will hardly take up any space in our kitchen pantry.

Oh, youth! So misguided. So lacking in brain cells.

When our gigantic sack of quinoa was delivered, I encountered this:

I struggled to lift the sack upstairs without Marty’s manly assistance, and yet my mind still did not compute. I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but the full implications of my purchase didn’t really sink in until I started transferring the quinoa from the sack into my precious Mason jars.

I required a lot of jars.

Those jars took up a lot of room in my cupboards.

About halfway through the sack, I realized that I would need to start stashing jars of quinoa throughout the house, in order to leave a tiny fraction of cupboard space for our other, non-quinoa food items. I kept one jar in the kitchen cupboard to have at the ready:

Shameless product placement, but at no financial gain to myself

Then I tucked a jar or two safely into the recesses of my medicine cabinet:

Several jars were lined up on our window sills (to keep the plants company, of course):

And some even found their way into my sock drawer and under my pillow for safe keeping:

There's quinoa amidst the unmentionables...

What a blanket hog!

Finally, to remind myself of the dangers of not understanding numeric values as they relate to weight and volume, I hid a jar of quinoa in our bankers box of tax paperwork. Money (and taxes), I get, so every time I file a spreadsheet or complete a government remittance form now, I’ll remember not to be so hasty with my purchases of dry goods:

********************************************************

It’s been about six months since I purchased that quinoa. Early on, I offloaded generously offered jars of quinoa to several of my friends, and I have since been finding creative ways to add quinoa to practically everything we eat. Yes, I totally love eating quinoa, but 25lbs is still a whole lotta quinoa!

In case you’re like me and still have a hard time picturing just how much quinoa we have to chisel through, one cup of quinoa weighs this much: 

7.6 oz or 214 g

Yeah. Just under a half pound or about 1/5th of a kilogram. We cook it up 1 cup at a time, and each cup lasts us for about a week. We don’t exactly want to eat quinoa with every single meal, so getting through our stash will be A Task… perhaps even A Task And A Half. All of this is a roundabout way of saying: Don’t be surprised if I bring you all some Quinoa Surprise the next time you invite me anywhere. (Hey! [Sudden dawning of understanding] Maybe this is why we haven’t been invited anywhere in the last 6 months or so! [Searching for a snappy comeback] … [Still searching] … You’ll all come crawling back when the dry goods apocalypse hits! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

Zing!

Sell Out

In my ongoing quest to stop sleeping (and also to overcome bronchitis), Marty and I watched a Morgan Spurlock documentary, The Greatest Movie Ever Sold.  For those of you who haven’t had the privilege of watching the most random movies that Netflix has to offer, this film followed Spurlock on a quest to obtain corporate sponsors for his latest movie, which just so happened to be a film about product placement and securing sponsorship for a movie. Go figure!

Many companies signed on as sponsors for the film, but each company served Spurlock with a lengthy list of specific conditions that had to be met before they would agree to back the movie. For example, only the title sponsor’s beverage could be consumed on film. A scene with Spurlock enjoying another sponsor’s frozen pizza had to be included in the movie. He had to conduct on-camera interviews while being seated in the premises of other sponsors, etc., etc.. What started as an awesome-sounding way to have his movie paid for became a logistically challenging nightmare. Was it possible for Spurlock to please every signed-on corporation but still maintain a shred of creative direction in the film, not to mention his personal integrity and dignity overall?

As if I’d ever tell.

Since I often excel at Missing the Point, when we started watching this movie, I immediately compiled a mental list of all the companies I wouldn’t mind shilling for in exchange for a tiny piece of my soul. Fluevog Shoes was an obvious first choice, followed closely by Zenka eyewear and then a handful of local stores here in Victoria (Smoking Lily for killer women’s clothes and Cafe Bliss for the best restaurant salad known to humankind.) Finding myself on a roll, I figured I could also be the unexpected spokeswoman for WordPress (Me and my underdog blog!), and I’d happily be the face of a thrift store in exchange for new-to-me outfits. Heck, I’d even pour my heart into promoting Mason Jars (which I love!) or organic lemons, although I’m not sure a jar contract would be the hippest or most lucrative sponsorship opportunity available in the world. (That said, the Mason Jar contract might be the coolest and most lucrative sponsorship opportunity available to me. Wayne Gretzky, I am not. But while we’re on a Wayne Tangent, I happened to spot him on a package of green tea at the grocery store recently. Schlepping for Mason Jars would be on par with posing for a box of green tea, methinks. But would I be offered as much money as Wayne? Highly doubtful.)

Image of the Great One via www.bigelowtea.com. Seriously, Wayne?

(I suppose I should clarify at this point that I do not receive anything from any of these companies, unless an enzymatic pick-me-up from a lemon every morning counts as sponsorship. Last time I checked, it didn’t. I do not receive monetary or in-kind payment from any of the above-mentioned companies, but if they were interested in owning a little piece of my soul moving forward, I just might oblige! )

*Note to companies that might be interested in sponsoring me in the future– please do not continue reading this post. Your time on this post is officially done. Thanks! For non-corporate readers, feel free to continue reading below.

The fact is, for most companies and products, I would probably make a terrible spokesperson. (Yes, I’m one of those people who prefers potential sponsorship contracts to line up with my pesky set of core values.) If I were a professional athlete– I know it’s a stretch but stay with me on this one– I wouldn’t feel right being the face of a fast food restaurant or a sugary breakfast cereal. If I were a high-powered celebrity– again, bear with me– I certainly wouldn’t be the one with a milk mustache in the magazine ads. (Squeezing a lemon, though? Sure thing! Call me, organic citrus industry!) I know that junk food is where most/all of the sponsorship money is, but who’s to say that an obscure French eyeglasses company wouldn’t want a little schlepping? And maybe the Mason Jar industry could use a little boosting with the under-75 crowd?

I’m really good at saying nice things about the people, products, and companies I believe in, but maybe it’s just because it’s way easier to be passionate about something when you’re telling the truth. (Case in point: during our crazy summers at the Harbour, people tell me every day that I’m a great spokesperson for our art business. Um, you think? Not to take away from the actual artwork, but saying nice things about my husband is a real no-brainer, people.) Would accepting money or gifts from companies to say those same nice things about them compromise my values or dilute my personal integrity? I wouldn’t know from personal experience, but it seems like the line between making a go at life via legitimate sponsors and plain old selling out is a very fine one.

What say you, readers?

Is there a product or company you’d gladly slap your face, signature, or tiny piece of your soul on?

Is sponsorship ever a good thing?

Do you think the Mason Jar people will call me?

Holy Shiitake Stew!

My mom came out to the lake last weekend– just before I succumbed to terrible illness. It. Was. Awesome! (Her visit, not the malaise, obviously.) True to form, she brought a boatload of things along with her. A lot of it was crap that we had conveniently left behind at her place during our week in Vancouver (dirty laundry, beautiful new boots, etc.) The rest of it was food– delicious and organic whole foods and produce!

What's that? You'd like to see a photo of my non-vegan red boots propped up on my mom's guest bed? OK! (Pictured here without the kick ass biker-style stud accessory.)

My mom is serious about whole foods (the concept, not the store), and she doesn’t waste her time with single-serve portions. Ever. Even when she cooks just for herself, she prepares weeks of meals in advance. Bushels of gorgeous garlic bulbs fill every nook and cranny of her kitchen, and her fridge is always packed to overflowing with juicing carrots and leafy greens. (In fact, the first time Marty ever witnessed the splendour of her kitchen– with bags of organic grains peeking out from random cupboards and jars of decadent ingredients dotting every shelf (even local bay leaves!) – I suddenly made a lot more sense to him. The apple did not fall very far from the tree in this particular case, and it probably reassured Marty to realize that I am not the only person in the world who caresses bunches of kale in hushed reverence and admiration. Not that there’s anything wrong with that…)

Garlic worthy of adoration

I had requested specific items in advance of my mom’s visit: lemons, ginger root, turmeric root, a bit of garlic, and rolled oats. (We drink the best tea every morning, with fresh lemon juice, ginger, turmeric, and cayenne pepper in it, so we go through those ingredients like nobody’s business.) My mom did not disappoint. She brought us LEMONS! and GINGER! and TURMERIC! and 25 POUNDS OF ROLLED OATS!, along with enough garlic to keep the whole cast of Twilight far, far away forever and ever amen. Alleluia!

Gee, I hope you didn't say 'A' lemon, because I brought LEMONS!!

What I wasn’t expecting was the mushrooms. Specifically, my mom showed up with what she termed a “dealer’s weight” of shiitakes. She wasn’t kidding. As I watched– breath held with cautious expectation– my mom unveiled a hefty-sized paper bag stuffed to the brim with mushrooms. Upon seeing these elaborate flowers of the forest ground, both of us emitted our signature, clan-patented squeals of delight! (Thankfully, Marty was on a bike ride at the time and didn’t have to deal with two nut cases culinary aficionados. We were free to be as enamoured with the fungi as we liked.)

Soft-core shiitake porn

Shiitake close-up. You're welcome.

Not wanting to let even one of these beauties go to waste, Marty and I have enjoyed mushroom soup and shiitake-studded omelets for the past week. This evening, I also made us a variation of our regular mushroom soup and dubbed it Holy Shiitake Stew. Have some mushrooms lying around, shiitake or not? Here’s a beautiful, soul-warming, and vegan way to enjoy them. (Non-vegan boot-wearing is optional.) Bon appetit!

Holy Shiitake Stew

You Will Need:

- 1 Tbsp coconut or other cooking oil

- 1 large onion, coarsely chopped

- 3-4 carrots, sliced

- 3-4 celery stalks, sliced

- Fresh garlic to taste (I used 2 large cloves), thinly sliced

- 2 pounds of shiitake mushrooms, or mixed mushrooms to taste. Take 1.5 lbs of mushrooms and wash and coarsely chop them. The other half pound should be washed and cut into bite-sized chunks.

- 6-8 cups of water or vegetable broth

- Salt and pepper to taste

- 1 tsp each of thyme and curry powder

- dash of caraway seeds, if you’re feeling adventurous

How To Make It:

1. In a stock pot, saute onions in coconut oil over low heat. Cover pot and check on onions occasionally, stirring until they are soft and translucent (approx 5-7 minutes).

2. Add carrots and garlic to the pot, along with 1/2 cup of water or stock. Cover and let cook on low to medium heat for around 5 minutes, until carrots start to soften.

3. Add celery and another 1/2 cup of water or stock to pot. Cover and let cook on medium heat for around 5 minutes.

Just in case you need to see what the soup looks like at this point

4. Add 1.5 lbs of chopped mushrooms to pot, along with 4 cups of water or stock. Water will not cover the mushrooms at this point, but they will soften and reduce in size very quickly. Cover pot.

Mushrooms!

5. Cook mushrooms with the rest of the vegetables until everything is tender, stirring as needed. Add rest of water or stock, salt, pepper, curry powder, and thyme. Bring to a boil, cover, and then simmer on low heat for 30 minutes.

Soup after 30 minutes of simmering, pre-blending

6. Meanwhile, saute remaining 1/2 pound of mushrooms in a pan with a small amount of water (and caraway seeds if you so desire) until tender. Remove from heat and set aside.

7. After soup has simmered for 30 minutes, remove from heat and blend in the stock pot until smooth using a hand blender.

8. Add sauteed mushrooms to smooth soup mixture to give it some texture. Adjust seasoning if needed. Serve hot over a whole grain or with fresh garlic toast. Holy shiitake, it’s delicious!