Bad coffee

There is good coffee, indifferent coffee, and then there is the stuff with which we began the day in Revelstoke: execrable stuff; genuinely undrinkable. But the food was decent, and we didn’t let the coffee spoil our start. (A friend whose judgment I trust, and who has been through Revelstoke many times, tells me that the coffee is a good yardstick by which to measure the town, but we weren’t there long enough to confirm or refute her claim.) 

I started at the wheel this morning, handed the controls over to Sophia in Golden, then slept through much of the most scenic part of the drive. (Timing is everything.) I then followed Nathalie’s lead, and took a few pictures from the moving car… 

We did eventually stop, just long enough to stretch our legs, snap a few pics, and switch drivers.

Pierre, just hours away from his eighteenth birthday, took over for a very long stretch this afternoon, piloting our car and its trailer with aplomb all the way through the maze of the Calgary freeways. (By the way — why, Calgarians, does the right lane keep appearing and disappearing?)

We finished with a decent Indian takeout in Lethbridge late this evening.

Tomorrow, we cross the border.