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I'D LIKE TO EXCITE YOU with tales of dappled pastures and of milkmaids who skip and giggle as they walk to work. But none of that happened.

Instead, we spent all day on busy and often highly busy roads, escaping Vancouver to the east. We helped a cyclist knocked off his bike and later became almost knocked off ourselves as well. Happily, we were all right and, even more happily, the driver became trapped in traffic just a few hundred metres on. For a well-educated, well-raised young woman, Steph can generate an exciting torrent of words in these circumstances. Having marvelled at that, I thought to get out my camera and start taking pictures of the truck and then, through the windscreen, of the man behind the wheel.

The satisfaction of scaring the wits out of bully drivers - we did it before in Romania and the key word to keep shouting is 'police', accompanied by castration gestures - cannot be overstated. It worked in this case. The man began making begging gestures and then, trapped in the stopped traffic, began tooting his horn in the hope of getting us to his truck to talk. To negotiate? To plead? Who knows?

We didn't take a step towards him, of course. Tonight, at the campsite, I deleted all the pictures. He doesn't know that. He will worry for the next few days that the police will catch up with him or that I have sent photographs to his employers.

There's not a lot more to be said of the day. We got off the main highway when we could but with little satisfaction. It was 10 per cent less busy but 20 per cent hillier. We got where we wanted to get and there's nothing more to add, except to say that we are camping in a place that can't decide if it is a trout farm or a campsite. Both aspects seem equally run down. It is a symbol of the day.