I watched the setting sun fall behind the Pacific, sitting outside the Shed Coffee Bar with a pint in my hands, musing how things have changed since my first trip to this spot. As a boy of eight, I sat on the back of my Uncle Clemente's motorcycle, shivering in a jean jacket that was nowhere near warm enough for the spring chill.
Back then, I’d wanted to be cool, just like the men I saw riding their bikes. The jean jacket was part of the look. Uncle Clemente tried to warn me. "You sure you want to wear that? It's going to be cold," he'd said. But, with the invincibility of youth, I’d brushed off his warning. So we'd ridden, the cold air biting at me, the thrill of speed swallowed by the freezing wind.
Up the winding roads to Cypress Mountain we rode. I huddled close to Uncle Clemente's back, clutching onto him, my small body shaking against the cold wind. He'd ask if I was okay and I would nod, refusing to admit my mistake. It was a point of pride, a silent duel with nature, a test of my mettle against the chill wind and the roaring motorcycle.
We’d reached the top and Uncle Clemente bought hot chocolate from a stand that had since been replaced by this Shed Coffee Bar. I remember how I cupped the warm mug in my hands, feeling the heat seep into my skin, making me shiver less. We sat there, huddled up against the cold, watching the sun sink down behind the endless Pacific. It was a sight of immense beauty, a sight that, in that moment, felt like a reward for the endured cold.
Now, years later, sitting on the same mountain, I’m wrapped in a warm summer firepit, a beer in my hands instead of hot chocolate. The old motorcycle stand has been replaced by this coffee bar, and the setting sun still paints the sky in hues of gold and red, casting a beautiful silhouette over the western horizon.
It’s different, but it’s also the same. The same mountains, the same ocean, the same feeling of awe as the sun sets, lighting up the sky. There’s a peaceful familiarity in the rhythm of it, a testament to the passage of time.
Every trip to Cypress Mountain, every sunset I witness, reminds me of that first ride, of my young self wrapped in a too-thin jacket, shivering on the back of a motorcycle. It reminds me of the pride I felt in enduring the cold, of the lessons learned. It reminds me that beauty often lies at the end of a difficult journey, and it’s worth every hardship to witness it. And so, as the sun sets and the twilight begins to paint the sky, I drink my beer and smile, silently toasting to those enduring memories and the ever-changing, ever-constant beauty of this place.
Canadian Adventure Journey
Embarking on a new series of travel adventures, I invite you to join me as I share personal anecdotes and captivating moments from my journey back to my beloved home, Vancouver, Canada. Prepare to be captivated by the awe-inspiring natural beauty this region has to offer. I sincerely hope you find joy in this narrative.
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