From Coquitlam back to Whistler: Water, Wonder, and a Whispered Secret
- Roselyn Ruben
- May 8
- 3 min read
We left Coquitlam with full hearts and an empty water tank.
A quick stop at Canadian Tire in Squamish gave us a chance to dump and reset, but finding fresh water wasn’t as straightforward. After a bit of searching, we parked near a quiet park for dinner—just the four of us, sharing a simple meal in the Pink Sloth. While the girls played, we spotted someone outside their home beside the park. I walked over and kindly asked if we could fill our water tank from their tap. Without hesitation, they smiled and said yes.
That small act of generosity meant more than they probably realized. Travel has a way of reminding you how good people can be—and how deeply those small kindnesses matter. It even gave us a bit of time to connect and get to know a little about each other. I love hearing people’s stories—it’s one of the most rewarding parts of this journey.
That night, we tucked ourselves in near Cat Lake Road. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was quiet, still, and just what we needed. In this season of our lives, peace like that feels like gold.
The next morning, we rolled into Whistler and settled into Riverside Campground for four nights. It felt like a gentle exhale. We biked forest trails, wandered all the way to Green Lake, and found pockets of stillness tucked between movement and play. We visited the mountain a few times to make use of our Epic Passes—Simon even biked there with his snowboard in hand. While he carved down the slopes, the girls and I had our own adventures, including a visit to Meadow Park Aquatic Centre for an afternoon swim.
We played mini putt, had our first BBQ of the trip—outside, under the open sky—and sprawled on the grass at Rainbow Park. Ever since our first big grass moment in Salmon Arm, we’ve been on the lookout for more—stretching out under the sun, snacks in hand, taking in whatever little patch of peace the day offers. This time, we had a handful of C Granola, still from our original haul at the Abercorn Bakery back home. It felt like a small taste of where we came from, grounding us even as we keep rolling forward.
On one of our rides to Lost Lake, the girls weren’t too sure at first. The path looked long, and when we hit a hill, one of them stopped and said,“I don’t want to go up that hill. Why did you bring us here?” There were complaints, a bit of whining, and plenty of “Are we there yet?” energy.
But we kept going—I kept encouraging them—and when we finally arrived, I saw it in their faces: pride. They had done something that felt big, and they knew it.
I’ve learned over the years of being a parent that when the kids are whining or facing something that feels scary or hard, the best thing I can do is just keep telling them they’re doing great. Not to push them, but to help them believe in themselves. It usually works wonders—and this ride was no exception.
Later that evening, back in the bus, Simon was outside tending the BBQ while the girls and I were curled up inside. Out of the blue, they looked at me with wide eyes and asked,“Mom… are you the Easter Bunny?”(For the record, I neither confirmed nor denied.)
Moments like that remind me how magical the ordinary can be. We didn’t plan anything extravagant, but the laughter, the bike rides, the fresh air, the little whispers—they all added up to something that felt quietly unforgettable. And of course, it doesn’t hurt that Whistler is stunning. The mountain views, the forest trails, the stillness of the lakes—it all feels like an invitation to slow down and really see what’s in front of you.
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