Welcome to Tofino.  I spend days scouring beach, feeling cool sand underfoot, breathing in churned air, wonderful.  But have you been there lately? To the parking lots in Pacific Rim Park?  Throaty foreign words drift from beach to Rent-a-Car, and parking meters demand Visa, MasterCard, or cold cash.  Tofino must be the only place on earth where parking meters and outhouses appear within pissing distance of each other.  Ready for my first hike, I look at these machines and admit to a resentment building inside.  Computers here?  Credit cards here?  Paying to go to a beach?  (I had not yet been to California and this idea seemed incredulous.)  I decide in a huff that I will not pay, I am Canadian, I pay taxes, why should I?  Two minutes down the trail I realize why I should – visions of shock of returning to a lot and not seeing my van.  I pay my dues, feed my card into the slot and enjoy a worry free stroll.  Oh the glory of sea smell, sand stretch, dripping battered bent trees, and the rush of wind in my body. 

I head for McKenzie beach and park beside an orange van with surfboards laced to its top.  I cook myself some lunch, avoid the parking meters and enjoy the sunshine.  Another van pulls up, this one forest green and with the same over height top as mine.  A young couple and their dog bound out.  Babe growls to protect her stake in my lunch and they amble off.  I look back and what a picture it is – orange, yellow, green:  driftwood piled in front – a club meeting.  I feel downright gleeful!

The owners of the green van return and we talk about the dogs, the club, and organizing a VW rally in Tofino.  Interior design comparison ensues, engine talk…camaraderie.  I look forward to more trips with Meg and Babe and my continuing membership in this illustrious club.