Mossy's Backpackers #9

“Greg.”

“Hey Max! Isn’t this club grand? Not too shabby for such a small town!”

“Greg, stop that.” Max placed his hand on the top of Greg’s head to stop him from nodding his head in time with the incessant beat. “Listen, I don’t think I should’ve had that last shot.”

“Nonsense mate!” He tugged ineffectively at Max’s hand then gave up with a small shrug and began tapping his foot instead.

“What time is it anyway?” Max asked while staring at Greg’s foot. He was trying to decide if he should just give up or stomp on it.

“Just about one, which means it’s about time for the foam!” Greg laughed madly and started back towards the dance floor. Max followed, his hand still firmly on the Englishman’s head.

“Brilliant. And everyone is still here?”

“I think so. Though now that you mention it, I haven’t seen Tobias for a while now.”

“Last time I saw him he was trying to get that waitress to dance with him.”

“Bloody hell,” Greg exclaimed and stopped abruptly. Max, his reflexes utterly shot as of two drinks ago, slammed into his back at full speed. “Ow, you dumb wanker! Anyway, it looks like our Swedish friend has succeeded.”

Max followed Greg’s gaze and soon spotted Tobias dancing energetically with the red haired waitress he had last seen him with. She was still wearing her uniform.

“How the…” Max began but then got sidetracked by something Greg had said earlier. “Hold on, what do you mean it’s about time for the foam?”

“What?” Greg stared at him blankly for a moment before he was able to remember his own comment. “Oh, that. Have you never been to a club that does foam?”

“I don’t really go to clubs much.”

“What?”

Max raised his voice to be heard over the music and repeated himself. He studiously ignored the glances this earned him from the clubbers around them.

“Oh mate, you’re gonna love it, come on!” Greg assured him, then led the way out into the middle of the dance floor. “And take your bloody hand off me head already!”

Max did so with as much grace as he could. Just as he began to repeat his question about the foam, the music was interrupted by the DJ. He was on the mic shouting something completely indecipherable to Max, but when he was finished everyone else on the floor began cheering wildly.

“Greg, what the –" Max began but stopped short again. The three blue contraptions which had been hanging ominously over the dance floor all night had just sprung into action. As the music began blaring again, the machines started spewing forth foam. Lots and lots of it.

“You have got to be joking mate,” Max told Greg, who was already half covered in suds.

“Just dance, it’s brilliant fun!” Greg responded as he began to whirl his arms furiously. Max shrugged and joined in. Just as he was starting to enjoy himself he slipped on the wet floor and went down hard.

He lay there for a moment, his clothes getting thoroughly soaked, contemplating the value of a quick nap. Before he could reach a decision, Greg hauled him back to his feet.

“Watch yourself there! You’ll get yourself trampled if you keep that up!” Greg yelled, then went back to doing his impression of a windmill.

“Max!”

“What now?” Max squinted at the foam covered face before him for a moment. “Oh, Kisho! What’s up my good old Japanese buddy old pal?”

“I think washing machine overflow!” Kisho yelled, looking a little panicked and a lot drunk. Max briefly considered setting him straight. But then he remembered he was in a club too far from home, covered in too much foam and full of too much booze to ignore this sort of opportunity.

“Yes! Yes, Kisho. I’m glad you found me, there isn’t much time! Here’s what you need to do: get outside as fast as you can, don’t even stop to clean up. Just get out there and tell the first cop you find what’s happening in here. Go!”

Kisho nodded, turned and stormed through the crowd. He somehow managed to not fall down, despite two very close calls. Max was wondering if he should go after him when he was distracted again.

“Greg!” He yelled, just as there was a break between songs, “I think someone just grabbed my arse!”

The dancers surrounding them erupted in cheers and cat calls. Max looked around for a moment, then thrust both arms above his head.

“Thank you!” He yelled. “And a quick follow up: to the five or six people who just grabbed it again – how would you rate it, on a scale of one to ten? One being Rosie O’Donnel, ten being Brad Pitt.”

The general consensus seemed to be an eight or nine before the next song began. Suddenly Greg grabbed him by the arm and started leading him away from the dance floor.

“I think I heard a guy give me a ten!” He told him as they reached their table.

“Yeah, you did,” Greg informed him. “He also winked at you. So maybe it’s time to get back to the hostel.”

“He what? No. No way. Really? No. You’re joking. No. Really?”

“Yes, really. Now shut up, we need to get everyone outside and call a cab.”

“Well, Kisho should be out there already,” Max laughed. “Well, unless he’s been arrested.”

Greg’s eyes widened slightly.

“Why would he be arrested?”

Max told him.

“I guess you were right after all,” Greg told him seriously. “You shouldn’t have had that last shot. Come on, maybe it’s not too late.”

They emerged from the club to find Kisho passed out on the sidewalk. Passer-bys were giving his foam-covered body a wide berth.

“I knew I should have brought my camera,” Max said mournfully.

They each grabbed him under an arm, dragged him over to the wall and sat him against it. Max lowered himself to the ground next to him.

“Go back in and get the others,” he told Greg. “I’ll keep him company.”

Greg stared at him for a moment, trying to come up with a better alternative.

“Alright, just… don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be right back out.”

“We’re just gonna sit here and chat!” Max responded as Kisho began to snore loudly. Max looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “I agree mate, the lumber industry has gotten out of hand, clear cutting has got to be stopped.” He then promptly passed out.

Mossy's Backpackers #8

“This was a brilliant idea Mossy,” Greg called from the other end of the table.

Sitting to Max’s left, Mossy leaned forward to catch Greg’s eye, gave him a wink and a nod, then settled back into his chair. As he did so, Nigel’s perplexed face came back into view.

“Aw’right Max,” he began. “Wot the bloody ‘ell is going on?”

“Guys night out, girls night in,” Mossy boomed with a touch of pride. The big man was obviously pleased with how well his idea had gone over.

“I don’t know if I can add much to Mossy’s wonderful explanation,” Max told him dryly, “but I’ll try. Basically, we’ve rounded up all of the guys staying at the hostel for a night on the town – this dinner being the first stage.”

Max paused for the waiter to clear off his dirty dishes, declining his offer of another beer. The explanation was necessary because the poor Brit had arrived just as the guys were walking out the door. Nigel barely had time to unload his pack before getting stuffed in the back of the hostel’s van.

“We’ve left the hostel to the girls tonight,” he continued, “and next Friday night we’ll do the opposite.”

“Girls night out, guys night in!” Mossy chipped in helpfully.

“Yeah, thanks for that Mossy.” Max rolled his eyes at his boss before returning to Nigel. “So while we’re out dining, shooting pool and whatever else we get up to, the girls have rented a hideous collection of chick-flicks and are doing up a potluck dinner.”

“I gotcha now mate, tanks.” Nigel grinned and went back to stabbing and hacking at his rare hunk of steak. Max looked away before the sight made him ill – as the only vegetarian at the table he had been keeping his eyes on his veggie stir-fry ever since the food had arrived. He did not object to others eating meat, he just preferred not to have to watch it.

“So what happens if a guest shows up right now?” Tim the Texan (as Max had recently dubbed him) asked Mossy from across the table.

“If it’s a guy?” Tobias shot back. “He would think he had just walked into the best hostel on Earth!”

All twelve of the guys wedged around the table burst out laughing, nodding happily and winking at each other.

“And if it’s a girl?” Tim followed up once the table had returned to some semblance of quiet. His question was greeted with sideways glances and silence. Eventually Max broke the quiet.

“She would think, I reckon, that she had just walked into the best hostel on Earth.”

His theory was met with less vigorous nods and rueful agreement.

“We are so bloody unnecessary,” Greg sighed.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Tobias replied, gazing thoughtfully at his empty beer mug. “But I will say that we need them a lot more than they need us.”

“Sperm banks will be the end of us,” Tim announced only half-jokingly. “Once they have enough saved up that’s when they’ll off the whole lot of us!”

“Yeah, I thought I saw a can of Man Be Gone in Cindy’s pants drawer back home,” Greg quipped. “I reckon there’s some secret website they all go to that’ll announce when it’s time for men to go.”

“Alright, that’s enough of that you nitwits,” Mossy laughed. “Settle up your bills and I’ll shuttle you over to the pool hall. I’ve reserved four tables from nine to eleven tonight - after that you lot are on your own. Just remember that the girls have the hostel until one a.m.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a reverse curfew before,” Max responded. “I think I might try that with my kids one day – ‘Alright, go have fun with your friends at the playground and I better not see your cute little face until at least midnight!’ Parent of the year award written all over me I reckon.”

“Oh shut it,” Mossy told him with a wink. The big man finished off his glass of water and fished a few bills out of the front pocket of his blue jeans. “Caitlin has my number and I told her to ring me up if she sees any of your ugly mugs before the ‘reverse curfew’ is up. You do not want that to happen gentlemen – I do not appreciate having my sleep disturbed.”

“Sir! Yes sir!” Greg stood up and gave Mossy a crisp salute – the effect of which he promptly ruined by belching grandly.

“Let’s get out of here before they kick us out,” Mossy muttered to Max. Max gave him a quick nod, dumped some cash on the table to cover his portion of the bill and began herding the guys towards the door. Once everyone was outside he noticed Mossy relax his shoulders and take a deep breath.

“Alright mate?” he asked as they fell into step behind the group.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mossy replied. “Danny did me a big favor giving us the best table in the house and a nice discount to boot. I just didn’t want to repay him with a scene.”

“Gotcha,” Max told him quietly as they rounded the corner and the hostel’s van came into view. The old blue beast was a bit beat up but still ran like it was brand new. “Don’t worry, we have a good group here. I’ll keep an eye on them after you leave, so don’t give us a second thought.”

“Aw Max, I want you to have a good time too! Don’t spend the whole night babysitting them.”

“Oh I won’t big man. Besides there’s only one of me and ten of them! The best I can promise you is that if anything happens, I’ll do my best to keep your name out of the morning papers.”

Mossy unlocked the side door for the guys and shooed them in. Once everyone was squeezed in, he turned and gave Max a hard look.

“I wish I could say that I know you’re only joking.”

“Me too mate,” Max winked at him and climbed into the passenger seat. “Me too.”

Mossy's Backpackers #7

Max sighed and rubbed his temples again. Why was math so much harder on Monday mornings?

Maybe it’s just all those beers you had with Mossy last night, a little voice suggested helpfully.

No, he replied, it’s just always this bad on Mondays. Even when you’re traveling Monday mornings are best when slept through.

He flipped back a couple of pages in the hostel’s reservation book and started over one more time.

“Hey Max, whatcha up to?” Caitlin asked as she poked her head around the corner.

And why, oh why, are decisions made after too many beers so hard to follow through with once you’re sober?

Max gave the voice a little kick as he looked up to reply.

“Heya Caitlin, I’m just…”

“You can call me Cate, ya know,” she said with the slightest hint of a smile playing across her lips.

Well. Cate. That’s an encouraging sign, ain’t it?

Max was too busy fumbling for a reply to deal with the voice this time.

“Oh, sure. I can do that.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

“So whatcha doing behind the desk? I never see you there unless you’re checking someone in.”

“Oh, right.” Max had briefly forgotten he was doing anything at all before Caitl – Cate had appeared. This was going fantastically. “I’m just going through the book to check who’s leaving this week to see how many beds we’ll need to fill. And to figure out if and how much they still owe. Plus, with the way things go here, I like to double check with people…”

“To see if they’re still leaving when they said they would?” Cate broke in.

“Right. Yeah, exactly.” Max realized he had been rambling. He never rambled.

Just go on and tell her already, you stupid fool!

Well, either now or never, he decided.

“Speaking of which,” she began slowly, “remember how I booked in ‘till this Saturday when I rucked up?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He had totally forgotten.

Now what the hell are you gonna do? She’s gone at the end of the week!

“Well, I could only stay the two weeks because I had to be back home for the first week of December. And, you know, there is still heaps I want to see here.”

“Yeah, me too. I just kinda got stuck here.”

Nice! Plant the seed, well done. Now you just need an excuse to go with her.

That wasn’t what I was doing, Max thought. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, actually.

“So what’s happening back home that requires your presence? The only thing that could cut my trip short is a funeral.”

“Close. My little bro was getting married.”

“Oh, sweet as! Is he… wait. Was?”

“Was.” Cate suddenly looked as though she might start crying at any moment.

Oh sh-

“What happened?”

“Well,” she took a deep, steadying breath. “The bride to be, just yesterday in fact, called it off. Apparently she’s run off with one of the groomsmen.”

“Bloody hell. I’m sorry.” Max slid a box of tissues over to her – he didn’t know what else to do. “Are you okay? How is he holding up?”

“He’s my little brother, ya know?” Cate sniffed a little and grabbed a tissue. “And I’m way the hell over here. I called him last night, he’s pretty torn up. Didn’t see it coming at all, he was so happy with her. Not much ya can do over the phone, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s hard,” Max told her wisely. He was not giving her much comfort and he was painfully aware of it. He stood up, needing to do something, anything. The movement must have rattled something loose.

“God, where are my manners? Here, sit down. Can I get you anything? Tea? Tequila?”

“The tequila is tempting,” she said, slumping gratefully into his chair. “But I reckon some tea would be best. This morning anyway. Ask me again tonight.”

“Will do. I’ve got some chamomile in my box, that alright?”

Cate nodded while dabbing at her eyes and Max hustled over to the kitchen to put some water on. While it heated up he grabbed his food box off the bottom shelf of the wooden stand at the far end of the kitchen. After a few moments of rustling around he found the tea box and tossed it on the counter behind him. Just before putting his bin back he decided to take the honey out as well.

Good call. Honey cures all.

He grabbed the hostel’s two biggest mugs and placed a tea bag in each, trying to collect his thoughts.

Now doesn’t seem like the best possible time to tell her how you feel about her.

“Thanks, Sherlock,” Max muttered under his breath. As soon as the water was hot enough he filled the two mugs and brought them back to the check-in desk.

“Thanks very much Max.” Cate had managed to collect herself a bit and no longer looked to be on the verge of breaking down. “I’m sorry to dump on you, I hadn’t meant to. I just wanted to adjust my booking.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s no problem. Let me know if I can do anything else,” he reassured her. “So I… I guess you’ll be leaving us a bit sooner now?”

“No,” she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Stu, my brother, insisted that I don’t cut my trip short. Says he’d feel even worse. And seeing as the reason I had to be home early has suddenly vanished, he rather strongly suggested I extend my whole trip. Wants some good to come of it I guess.”

“So, ah… what are you going to do?” Max had to fight to keep his tone neutral.

“I love Stu and I want to be there for him. But he meant it and deep down I know he’s right.” Cate took a sip of her tea and looked up at him. “So is it okay if I stay on a bit longer? Is there room for me?”

“Of course.” Max tried to keep his smile small but he could feel his face ignoring him. He took a sip from his own mug to try to hide it. “How long are you thinking?”

“Right now? Indefinitely, I guess. This place just… feels like a second home. Weird how quickly that happens, isn’t it?”

“Welcome to Mossy’s Backpackers,” he told her, letting loose his smile this time. He leaned down and clinked his mug against hers. “Stay as long as you like.”

Mossy's Backpackers #6

“… so that’s about it,” Max finished. “What do you think I should do?”

He leaned back in his chair and watched Mossy closely as the big man mulled it over. They were seated at a relatively quiet table far from the entrance of the pub, the remains of their fish and chips littering the table top between them.

The juke box switched from one God-awful 80’s song to another as Mossy took a long swallow of beer and placed his mug back on the table without rattling a fork.

“Well,” he began at last, “what’s the worst that could happen if you tell Caitlin how you feel about her?”

“Let me see,” Max said slowly. “She says no thanks. We endure working together with awkward silences and even more awkward small talk. Eventually, one of us can’t take it any more and leaves the hostel.”

“Yes, but…” Mossy tilted his head back and studied the ceiling fan for a few moments, then returned his gaze to Max. “Alright, yeah, that would suck. A lot.”

“Thanks mate.”

“Have I ever told you how I met my wife?” Mossy asked suddenly.

Max stared at him, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

“Mossy… mate… you never even told me you were married.”

“Oh,” Mossy shifted a bit in his seat and glanced away. “Sorry Max, I like to keep my private and business life separate. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Think nothing of it,” Max told him with a smile, trying to hide his surprise at seeing this side of his boss. Almost as an afterthought, he glanced down. “Oh good, I’m not a completely ignorant fool, you’re not wearing a ring.”

“I wear it on a necklace,” Mossy replied, patting his chest. “It doesn’t ah… fit on any of my fingers.”

“I knew you were Bigfoot in disguise, I just knew it. So how come she never comes by the hostel?”

“The hostel is my passion, not hers. She leaves me to it and I,” Mossy shivered dramatically, “I leave her to her law firm.”

“A lawyer? I can’t picture you being married to a lawyer, mate. Well, go on; tell me all about how you met Mrs. Mossy.”

“Mrs. Mossy?” he snorted quite indelicately. “Her name is Ana.” He shifted in his chair again. If Max had not known better he would have thought Mossy was blushing. “We met at the University of Southern California in ’79. It was my last year of studying Environmental Sciences and she was doing a year long exchange from Switzerland.”

“A Swiss Miss? Very nice!”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Yes, sir. Shutting up, sir.”

“A mutual friend threw a Halloween party where we met and sparked almost instantly.” Max drowned the urge to ask what they were dressed as with a swig of beer. “But nothing came of it at first – we were both very much interested but at the end of the year she would be going home and I’d be coming back here.”

“Another round boys?” asked the waitress who had once again appeared at Max’s side from out of nowhere. He guessed she was in her early forties, although it was impossible to know for sure with the five layers of makeup she was wearing.

“Yes please Eve,” Mossy told her.

“Be back in a flash!” she announced with a big smile and whirled away, once again leaving the dinner plates untouched. Max shook his head, then motioned for Mossy to continue.

“Well, Ana went home to spend Christmas break with her family so I got a little taste of not having her around.” Mossy cleared his throat noisily. “It bloody well sucked.”

“So you went for it.”

“Damn rights I did! I met her at the airport with the biggest bouquet of tulips I could get my hands on and told her I wanted to give us a shot. After a twelve hour flight she didn’t stand a chance.”

Max laughed, clinked his mug against Mossy’s and emptied the last of his beer just in time for the next round to arrive.

“This one’s on the house boys!” Eve told them before dashing off again.

“You reckon she expects us to eat those?” Max asked, indicating their neglected empty plates. Mossy let loose a booming burp in response. “Fair enough. So four months was enough time for your obvious charms to take hold and she came back here with you?”

“When you find something precious in this life Max,” he answered, beginning to slur his esses slightly, “you don’t let it go without a fight.”

Max rolled this around in his head for a few minutes, periodically sipping from his newly arrived beer. He was pretty sure it tasted better than the ones he would be paying for. But wasn’t that always the way?

“Well, I’d hate for this to be something I regret not doing. And what fun is life if you never take any chances?”

“Exactly! Exactly. Life is too short for regrets!” Mossy finished off his free beer and thumped it back onto the table, sending a fork skittering to the floor. Oblivious to the clatter, he carried on. “Besides, if yer single much longer Eve just might up and club ya over the noggin’ and drag yer arse to Father Timothy!”

Max barely managed to avoid choking on his drink.

“What? Yeah right mate!” he spluttered. “It’s you she’s got eyes for!”

“Nah Max, she’s met Ana.” Mossy winked grandly at him. “She knows better than to stick her nose in that hornet nest!” The big man roared with laughter and came dangerously close to falling out of his chair. No one in the pub seemed to notice.

“Alright, alright. One more round of darts and then we go?”

“I’m not sure either of us should be tossing arrows at this point – we might make a bull’s-eye out of someone’s bottom!”

“God, you sound like a teenager. It’ll be fine, come on.” Max stood up with as much dignity as he could muster, which was not much. At least he wasn’t swaying too much, as best he could tell anyway.

“You just want to impress Eve, I understand.”

“Go to hell Mossy.”

“No, it’s ok, it’s ok. I’m sure that if ya dig through two or three inches of makeup you’d find a very attractive woman!”

“Let’s get out of here,” Max said as he tossed some cash onto the table. Then he turned and, without looking to see if Mossy followed, weaved his way through the crowd and into the fresh night air.

Mossy's Backpackers #5

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Max could barely make out the road in front of him but he could see enough to avoid the potholes without breaking stride. The only sounds disturbing the pre-dawn quiet were his steady, deep breaths and the rhythmic thumping of his runners meeting the asphalt.

He had set his alarm for 5 am so that he could make it to the beach in time for sunrise. The three other guys in his dorm did not seem to appreciate the early morning buzzer – in fact if he had been facing a touch more to the right the shoe Tobias threw at him would have ended this run before it even began. As it turned out, his right hip was a bit sore but here he was.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

We are not happy with you, his body told him for the tenth time in the last two minutes.

“Don’t care,” he said aloud. “I need this today.”

But it’s Sunday, his body replied. You never run on Sunday.

“Shut. Up.”

Sunday is the day of rest.

“Don’t you dare bring religion into this.”

We should be in bed right now.

“We’re done here. No more. Be quiet, I need to think.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Normally Max ran with his iPod blaring to keep himself distracted from the aches and pains and the desire to stop. This morning, however, he had left iT behind at the hostel. He needed the peace to bring some order to his chaotic thoughts.

“Ok,” he said to the morning. “What the hell is going on?”

The morning, wisely, remained quiet while awaiting further clarification.

“I’ve known this girl for a whole eight days. Eight!”

Max jogged on for a few moments in silence, passing a farm house to his right. When he came by during the day the front yard was always alive with dogs and children but they had enough sense to still be abed at this hour; thus he remained the only intrusion to the tranquility of the morning.

“What do I know about her after eight days? She’s smart. Pretty. Fit. Funny as all hell. I have met women like this before. So why the hell am I arse over tea kettle for this one?”

The morning, quite unhelpfully, remained mute.

“This makes no sense. I don’t get it at all.”

The morning stubbornly held firm to its silence, tempted as it was to respond. It was not about to ruin a few thousand years worth of work just because some dumb arsed Canadian was getting all worked up about a girl.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sky was beginning to brighten noticeably as he navigated the final S-curve and began the last straightaway to the beach. He picked up the pace slightly to ensure he got there in time. His legs groaned. He ignored them.

He could feel a fine trickle of sweat travel down his spine so he unzipped his pale grey hoodie a bit further. He was wearing a ragged old once-white t-shirt underneath it with his favorite chocolate brown, knee length cargo shorts – they weren’t ideal for running but they were ridiculously comfortable so he made do.

Max gradually slowed his pace so that he hit the fine sand of the beach at a brisk walk. He sat himself down on his thinking log with a few minutes to spare before daybreak, gazing out to sea with his brow furrowed as his breathing leisurely returned to normal. He rested his forearms on his thighs and listened to the gentle cacophony of the waves as he attempted one more time to marshal his thoughts.

“Alright. Romance and travel. So tempting but rarely a good idea. I’ve seen far too many couples break up while backpacking. But what if it works out? That would be pretty incredible. But I don’t even know if she likes me! What if I go for it and she says ‘no thanks’? What then?”

The sky was rapidly transforming from plain black night into a raucous blend of reds, oranges and yellows. Max’s head finally went silent as he lost himself in the glorious display of nature.

“Nothing like a touch of spectacular natural beauty to make you feel like an insignificant git,” he muttered.

The first rays of sunshine finally peaked over the horizon, painting the water with a golden hue. Max remained seated on the driftwood, treasuring the few moments of peace he had regained.

“Living on the west coast back home is great,” he murmured. “But there’s definitely something to be said for this.”

As the sun climbed higher, the colors overhead faded to a soft blue. The shade of blue reminded Max of the exterior of his parents’ home back in Vancouver – he could vividly recall the last time he saw it. It was his big sister’s 30^th birthday and everyone was gathered in the backyard watching Vicky open her presents and eating the black forest cake Mom had made. That cake, like every other she made, was so mind-blowingly good that…

“Stop it! Stop avoiding the bloody subject!” he yelled suddenly. “I came out here to figure this out, not day dream about cake! Stupid, worthless brain cells!”

This was not working, he grudgingly admitted. He needed to talk this over with someone. But who? Cindy? Maybe. She and Greg had decided last night to extend their stay for another week, so he had a bit more time to speak with her.

Max stood up, stretched himself out and strolled back towards the road, his mind still buzzing with ideas. What about Mossy, he thought suddenly. The big man had a good head on him and he had been like a second father to him these last few months. Max had yet to see him steer a single backpacker he had encountered wrong, he was just always full of good advice.

His mind began to settle down, as it always did once he had reached a decision after a long struggle. He liked this notion a lot. This could work. He stepped onto the asphalt and began the run back to the hostel with a small smile creasing his face.

We thought we were done with this nonsense, his body sighed. We liked it on the beach.

“Shove a dirty sock in it,” Max said contentedly.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Mossy's Backpackers #4

Fascinating, Max thought to himself as he absent-mindedly dripped his paddle into the water. You could actually see the difference in her muscles when he wasn’t helping. Not that you could tell by her breathing or pace – she just kept driving her paddle through the crystal clear water. Up, down, up, down, like clockwork. There was just something deeply, deeply attractive about a fit woman, he reflected.

Caitlin was in the front seat of the two person kayak, wearing a white tank top that complimented her dark tan. That it also allowed her to display her nicely defined shoulders and arms currently had Max praising whoever invented the design. At that moment he had settled on referring to him as “Sir Tanka Topopoulos.”

Max, ensconced in the back seat, had removed his t-shirt shortly after they had pushed off. He knew he was in good shape, he simply did not see much point in showing it off. He was just hoping that the late morning sun would even out the remains of his farmer tan.

Also, Max mused as he decided to help for a couple of strokes, while he didn’t mind the dark curly hair occupying the top of his head, he was less thrilled with the ones residing on his chest. As for the ones that had recently begun appearing on his back, he was pretty sure there was a special place set aside for them in hell.

“It is absolutely brilliant out here,” Greg announced from the kayak he was sharing with Cindy. They were a few feet ahead of Caitlin and Max because Cindy tended to remember the way to their picnic destination best. There really were not very many branches to worry about, but both guys were hopeless with directions and this was Caitlin’s first time on the river.

“It really, really is,” Caitlin said happily. She stopped paddling for the first time since they had set out and drank in the scenery as Max hurried to pick up the slack. On their left was a tree lined bank fronting a huge expanse of farm land. In the distance to their right the hills rose rapidly to become dramatic, jagged mountain peaks. The sky overhead remained cloudless and a peerless shade of blue.

“I just love that Mossy has these around for anyone to use,” Cindy sighed as she stretched her arms above her head to loosen the knots in her shoulders. “It’s just a bit further Caitlin, once we settle in for lunch you’ll never want to leave!”

A few minutes later they rounded a bend in the slow moving river and Max spotted the small tree lined beach that he had told his friends back home was “the best picnic spot on Earth.”

As they neared the bank everyone jumped into the knee-deep water and those in front (Caitlin and Greg) pulled and those in back pushed the kayaks up onto the beach. Once they were secure Cindy began pulling the food out of their boat and Max bent to deal with the water bottles and wine in theirs.

“Can you give me a hand with these?” he called to Caitlin, who had her back to him as she soaked in the location.

“Oh, sorry of course I – oh!” She had turned and started towards him before stopping abruptly. Max looked up to see her gaze flick to his bare chest, then back to his face. He saw something briefly in her eyes but it vanished before he could tell what it was. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

“Yeah I don’t know how he does it either,” Greg lamented while running his hand over his beer gut. “If I had known carrying around a feather duster could get me a body like that, I might ‘ave pitched in ‘round the house a lot more before we went gallivantin’ ‘round the world.”

“No,” Cindy told him straight-faced, “you wouldn’t have.”

“Hey!” Max said defensively as he struggled to regain his mental balance. “I go for a run twice a week and we’ve kayaked every weekend since you two jokers rucked up. And to be fair, apple picking has slimmed you down quite a bit.”

“Yeah, Apple Picking: The Weight Loss Cure They Don’t Want You to Know About, I can see it on the best sellers list now,” Greg laughed, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Max. “You never told me you were running.”

“Didn’t see a need to announce it. I just go to the beach and back after lunch.”

“Can we discuss fitness regimes while we eat?” Cindy asked as she tossed Max his dark red lunch bag. “I’m a bit pear shaped over here.”

Everyone found her suggestion agreeable and before long they were sitting in the sand eating their packed lunches and sipping wine from plastic cups. Max had managed to resist the urge to put his shirt back on, but not by much.

“Alright, I have to ask,” Caitlin said after the food had disappeared. “What the hell does ‘pear shaped’ mean?”

“The quasi-Brit doesn’t know?” Greg gasped, faking shock as well as he faked everything else. Which was not very well at all. “It means starved. I’ll have your honorary Brit passports back now.”

“I knew what it meant,” Max told him with a small smile. “I met so many Brits, Aussies and Kiwis during the six months I was in Europe, I almost came home sounding like I had never left the Commonwealth.”

“Aye and you guys have all the good slang,” Caitlin chipped in. “What do Canadians have? Oot and aboot? Hoser? Blah! Give me dodgy and brilliant any day.”

“So you picked it up from fellow nomads as well then?” Cindy asked.

“Some, but mostly I got it back home before I even left since my boyfriend…” and she paused to finish off her cup of wine.

Max froze with his cup halfway to his lips. His heart took the express elevator to his stomach while his head filled with confusion, sorrow, hurt and a touch of anger. The whole world seemed to be closing in around him. An eternity after she had stopped, Caitlin finished her drink and continued.

“… was Australian. Lord was it a struggle to understand him when we first met!”

Relief flooded Max’s every nerve ending. Time resumed its normal pace and his heart regained its natural position, albeit beating much faster than seemed necessary. He glanced at the others to see if they had noticed his reaction, but no one seemed to.

Jesus Christ, he thought, dull with shock at the strength of his response. What the hell was that?

Mossy's Backpackers #3

“So how did you find the three days of vineyard work? I haven’t seen too much of you since Sunday night.”

“Yeah, I’ve been crashing early this week,” Caitlin replied. “Those early starts combined with all that fresh air just knocks me right out. But it was alright. Thinning grapes isn’t exactly my idea of a good time though, so I’m glad to be done with it.”

“Just be glad you weren’t working with the young plants,” Max told her. “A couple weeks back I pitched in for two days because one of the growers Mossy is friends with had a bit of an emergency. My knees and lower back have never been so sore.”

“Oh bloody hell!” Caitlin exclaimed. “There were a couple rows of those at the lot we were at yesterday. They barely came up to my shins!”

“Yup. Crouched down in front of your first plant at seven a.m. Spend a minute or two saving it from itself. Up you get, over to the next one and back down you go. Repeat for nine hours. I felt like a ninety year old man by the end of the second day.”

“No wonder it’s so easy to find work around here. Only backpackers are dumb and desperate enough to do this crap. I guess you and I have got the posh jobs ‘round these parts!”

“Yeah, other than the toilets this job is pretty sweet.”

“Well from what I’ve heard,” Caitlin said with a little laugh, “I won’t have to worry too much about that.”

Max stuck his tongue out at her. He always figured if you can’t beat ‘em, stick your tongue out at ‘em.

“So have you stayed at a Wo’ Ho’ before?” he asked, steering the conversation away from his lacking card skills.

“A woe hoe?” she asked, an utterly confused look on her face.

“Yeah, a Working Hostel.”

“You’re joking. People don’t actually call them that!”

“Sure they do. Ask anybody.”

“Please,” Mossy called out from the other end of the hostel, “For the love of all that is good and holy, do not believe a word that comes out of Max’s mouth!”

“Hey Mossy?” Max yelled back. “Hurry up and grow old and lose your bloody hearing already!”

“Do you reckon he actually heard us? Or,” Caitlin straightened up and looked at him shrewdly, “Do you think that was just a bit of well-timed general advice?”

“I reckon he was just being a cheeky bastard,” Max muttered.

“General advice it is then,” Caitlin said with a smile and returned to watering the plants.

“Oh, speaking of which,” Max called over his shoulder as he got back to dusting the bookshelf, “You know Tim, the American…”

“The Texan, right.”

“Whatever. Can you imagine if we did that? ‘Hi, I’m Max and I’m a British Columbian!”

“It would be even worse for people from P.E.I.” she replied with a big smile.

“True enough. But we digress. So, the Yank that checked in yesterday? I may have been telling him… um, less than factual things about our home and native land.”

“You haven’t!”

“It’s just something I do every now and again to keep things interesting. Just play along if you want a good laugh, I’ll set him straight in a couple days. He seems like a good guy, I think he’ll take it pretty well.”

“I’m not so sure about this Max…”

“Trust me. Just wait ‘till you try it. Ignorance truly can be bliss.”

* * * * *

Max raised his eyes from the latest edition of National Geographic to see Tim stroll through the front door. He looked at Caitlin sprawled on the couch opposite him with a grin, which she returned with a concerned expression. He gave her a reassuring wink and turned to greet his target.

“Howdy Texas, how’d apple picking go today?”

“Howdy Canada,” Tim drawled back, exaggerating his southern twang for Max’s benefit (he knew Max thought it was just the greatest accent ever). “Nice hot day for it and Anton treated us to ice cream at lunch.”

“Sweet as, he’s a really good guy, eh?” Max returned, tacking on the Canadianism for Tim’s amusement (he may not know much about Canada or her residents, but he sure knew how they were supposed to talk – he was still getting over the fact that neither Max nor Caitlin had a French accent). “Come have a seat, we’ve got fresh, cold lemonade over here.”

“Thanks mate!” Tim said as he dropped into the bean bag chair situated at the end of the two couches. Max was reasonably certain that Tim had picked up “mate” from himself and was a little worried the lanky Texan thought it was another Canadianism.

“So Caitlin,” Tim began while pouring himself a second glass. “Does your family have a winter igloo too?”

Then again, “mate” wouldn’t be the worst of his cultural crimes at this point.

“I’m sorry?” Caitlin replied, obviously struggling to keep a straight face already.

“You know,” Max intervened, “It’s like the opposite of a summer cabin. I was telling Tim last night about my family’s winter igloo – great spot, right on the Artic Ocean. We keep a couple polar bears in the backyard.”

Caitlin looked at Max with a mixture of horror and disbelief, slowing shaking her head from side to side. Uh oh, he thought, if she doesn’t like that one she will definitely not approve of…

“No?” Tim continued, completely misinterpreting her head shake. “Well have you at least taken part in the Annual Baby Seal Hunt?”

“THE WHAT?!?”

Ah, hell.