Tiny Hills, Big Feelings, and a River Reset

My goal this year is to be as present as possible. Some days, it comes easy—others, it takes a quiet walk by a river to remember how. This is one of those stories.

Élyssa asked me to take her picture with the bear at the aquatic center in Revelstoke—just moments after a tough start to the day. Kids really do bounce back fast.

We spent Wednesday in Revelstoke—and let me just say, waking up in the parking lot of a tire center is... a unique experience. With the blinds still down, we had kind of forgotten where we were. It wasn’t until we pulled them up that we had a little chuckle. Not exactly a lakeside sunrise, but memorable in its own way.

But before the chuckles, the day started with a heaviness. I’d received a message from my mom first thing that morning—my dad had been hospitalized with an infection. That sinking feeling in your chest, when you're far away and can’t do anything about it… I carried it quietly, doing my best to stay grounded. We had our own mess to manage: a flat tire, two sleepy kids, and a bike ride ahead. I wanted to be there for Simon, for the girls, and still somehow process my emotions.

The girls had slept in after a late night, and we were slow-moving that morning. We had scoped out the opening hours of the aquatic center and were excited that it opened early… but, in true Pink Sloth fashion, we only made it there after 10.

We decided to bike there, but as soon as we left the parking lot, something felt off. On the tiniest hill, Élyssa realized her brake wasn’t working. Panic kicked in fast. She managed to stop safely, but it definitely shook her. Luckily, Simon—our Mr. Fix Everything—knew exactly what to do and got her brake rehooked in no time.

Even with her bike fixed, the fear lingered. For the rest of the ride, she kept yelling, “I want to take a taxi!”—part frustration, part fear. Normally, she loves biking, but this little scare really rattled her.

In a moment of desperation, I told her, “Taxis don’t work during the day,” hoping it would help her push through. Not my finest parenting moment, but I think we’ve all been there—those tired mama fibs that come from a place of wanting to keep things moving.

When we got to the aquatic center, Élyssa spotted a life-sized bear statue in the lobby and asked me to take her picture with it. After the shaky start to her morning, it felt like a spark of confidence peeking back through. Just like that, she was smiling again—standing tall beside a bear.

Meanwhile, Simon was handling the tire situation. We had installed two brand-new tires on the front of the bus before we left, but the four in the back were older—and we knew the road ahead wouldn’t always be smooth. The tire next to the flat wasn’t looking great either, and we wanted to avoid the stress (and delay) of another blowout. The shop in Revelstoke only had a used tire to keep us moving temporarily, so Simon started calling around—Revelstoke, Sicamous, Kamloops, even Whistler. Our plan was to head toward Whistler next and be in Vancouver by Saturday evening to see my best friend, but it was starting to look like we’d have to wait until then to replace the tires. Then, just as we were settling into that reality, a shop in Salmon Arm called back—they’d had a cancellation and could fit us in the next day. A tiny stroke of luck, just when we needed it.

The girls and I declared Revelstoke’s aquatic center a hands-down favorite. A climbing wall, a spiral slide that goes outside, a steam room, sauna, jacuzzi, lazy river, diving board, and two full pools. There were other kids there, just around the same age as Arielle and Élyssa, and they played together like they’d known each other forever. We could’ve stayed all day.

I didn’t even wash the girls’ hair when we left—I figured we’d be heading back after lunch for round two. But instead, all three of us curled up in the bus and ended up taking a long nap while Simon wrapped up the final details of the tire situation.

While we slept, Simon also took the time to reinforce a few things in the bus—like the drawer locks, which only pop open when we forget to lock them properly, and he even installed our new paper towel holder. Small fixes, done quietly, that somehow made the space feel even more like home.

Our trusty drawer locks—keeping things from flying during turns (well, most of the time).

Later that afternoon, Simon and I made a spaghetti sauce together. Nothing fancy—just us in our tiny kitchen, chopping and stirring, catching our breath in each other’s company. It felt good to do something simple and familiar side by side.

While the sauce was simmering, Simon took the girls for a walk along the Columbia River, near Centennial Park. When they came back, he was quiet. What should have been a peaceful stroll had left him feeling disappointed—they’d come across old car parts, scraps of metal, and debris scattered along the shoreline. He was surprised, even a bit disheartened, that such a beautiful spot hadn’t inspired a local movement to clean it up. We didn’t take any pictures—some moments you just sit with. We talked about it over dinner, both feeling the tension between the wild beauty we seek on this trip, and the traces of carelessness that sometimes scar it.

Framed in Revelstoke—proof we were here and loving every minute.

Before finding our spot for the night, we made a quick stop at the city's RV dumping station to empty the black and grey water and top up our fresh tank. Not glamorous, but definitely part of the adventure.

We spent the night at a bustling rest area at the entrance of Revelstoke, surrounded by transport trucks and a handful of other RVs doing the same as us—grabbing a few hours of rest before getting back on the road. It wasn’t exactly peaceful, but we were grateful to have a safe place to park and regroup before the next leg of the journey.

This is the little(in fact huge in size) rest area west of Revelstoke where we parked for the night. Nothing fancy, but it gave us a moment to catch our breath.

Before bed, Simon took a shower in the bus—one of those small luxuries that feels so grounding on a day full of ups and downs.

Thursday morning

Before we hit the road, I was kicking myself for not having washed the girls’ hair at the pool. But luckily, we were well-prepared. With a full water tank and freshly emptied grey tank, we managed a mini hair-washing session right in the bus. It was a little messy, a little splashy, and honestly kind of sweet. One of those small parenting wins that feels good in your bones.

Our bathroom setup in the Pink Sloth—tight quarters, but filled with love (and lots of splashes).

After that, we took Kuna for a walk near the bridge by the rest area. The highway was too busy to cross, so we wandered under it instead—and that led us to the sweetest surprise: a peaceful stretch of river with a soft, sandy path winding alongside the water.

That morning, joy returned quietly—with the sound of water, the girls running ahead, and nothing to do but breathe it in.

The girls ran ahead, Kuna trotted behind them, and something in me softened. Being out there, surrounded by raw, quiet nature—the water, the trees, the calmness of the morning—helped me feel grounded again. My joy, which had felt a little distant the day before, quietly returned. So did my desire to capture the moment—not out of duty, but because it felt real and worth remembering. I snapped a photo of the girls by the river, and just like that, I felt like myself again.

It was a gentle, grounded start to the day—and a quiet reminder that joy doesn’t always need grand gestures. Sometimes, it finds us in the little things: a walk by the river, freshly washed hair, and the feeling of being right where we need to be.

Every day on the road brings something unexpected. Sometimes it’s a breakdown. Sometimes it’s a bear statue. And sometimes, it’s a quiet river that reminds you who you are.

We’re rolling toward Salmon Arm next—and who knows what’s waiting for us there?

➤ If you’ve ever had a moment where joy found you when you weren’t expecting it, I’d love to hear it in the comments.💬