I walked to work today getting battered by snow and tightly hugging my jacket to myself. 

I’m cold, and yes, complaining that it’s fall again. I love the colours and think the mountains give off an even warmer glow this time of year, but still, I think it’s time to run away from the impending winter for warmer climates, say, Phoenix, Arizona?

That’s right Jasper, I’m defecting – for four days at least. As you read this I am sitting pool-side in the 40 C air, sipping fruity drinks brought to me by my nicely tanned pool boy. At least that’s the vision I’ve created of my American vacation – just don’t tell my pool boy... I mean boyfriend Josh. 

What’s really going to happen is likely to be a repeat of my vacation with Josh earlier this summer. He tried to get me to go hiking, I suffered from six blisters to mark each pair of shoes I brought, and had to be coaxed out of the air conditioned car with water and cheese.

I was really trying to be an outdoorsy-type, and getting good at it by the time we stopped at a campsite on the Missouri River in Oacoma, S.D. 

I was cooking up elk steaks my dad had gifted us. U.S. Customs had thankfully neglected them in their thorough search for illegal drugs they had subjected us to as we crossed into Idaho.

The black flies were the worst I have ever experienced. Josh and I had gone swimming, and without electricity I was forced to leave my hair curly. I was cooking when I heard a loud buzzing noise, and suddenly something was snagged in my hair. It became so tangled, I could feel whatever it was beating against my neck as I squealed and batted at my head. Josh, who was setting up the tent, rushed over to help, but didn’t really know what to do with his insane girlfriend who was beating herself up. 

It took a while to get it out of my hair, and once the dust settled we found it – an inch long black beetle. Josh squished it, and I ditched the cooking efforts and hid in the tent. We ate in there, and Josh tried to convince me beetles couldn’t get in – unsuccessfully. 

In Colorado we went to the National Monument, beautiful cliffs of sandstone eroded by wind. After climbing up a few of the bluffs, we headed to our campsite. The site was really rocky and a bit tricky to walk on, but I navigated it like a champ – Josh was proud. He ran up to the car to grab something, and I started cooking. As I was reaching for a pot, I tripped over the table – not the jagged rocks protruding from the ground, not the small juniper trees or tiny flowering cacti; I didn’t freak out over a lizard crawling into my path – I tripped on a table, and down I went. Josh heard my squeal again and came to the rescue to find me bleeding and pathetic looking. I stopped pretending I was outdoorsy after that. Canadians just don’t belong in the desert.

In Arizona I will have much bigger foes – gigantic cacti twice my height in the middle of urban sprawl. It’s my mission to get a photo beside one, hopefully without finding out how sharp and pointy they are. Wish me luck.

DISCLAIMER: The Last Word is an opinion column, it is meant to provoke thought and debate. As such, any opinions written here are the writers own and do not reflect the viewpoint of any other Fitzhugh staff member or the directors of the Jasper Media Group Inc.