Rodo

For me, the Beyond adventure didn't really begin until this moment -

the Dragon and Unicorn Farm on the way to Egmont

I can't remember who said we should stop. It wasn't me. Or maybe it was. Like I said, I can't remember. But the next thing I know, the van I'm driving is doing a U-turn and we're heading back to the Dragon and Unicorn Farm. We pull in this tiny gravel driveway and immediately start getting the what-the-heck-are-we-thinkings going up and down our spines; but there's nothing we can do about it, the driveway's tiny.

We arrive at a house. There's no farm to speak of. Two tiny cottages that look big enough to host a family of dwarves or hobbits maybe. No mythical creatures anywhere in sight. Not even dragon or unicorn yard art. Not even a garden gnome! The guys are yelling at me to turn around. I'm trying. But I'm in a van and the driveway is...tiny. It takes twelve points to get me sideways when a lady steps out of the house.

"Can I help you?" she may have added "eh" at the end, I can't remember. We were in Canadia.

I roll down the window. "Uh, well, we saw your sign and we've never seen dragons or unicorns before so we thought we'd stop by."

"Oh, we don't do rodos no more."

Rodos? What's a rodo? I decide to pretend I know what she's talking about. "Aw man, no rodos. Well, I guess we'll go then."

And we get the heck out of dodge.

After we took a picture.

Rodos became the running joke of the week. Whenever we saw something we didn't know what it was, we called it a rodo. Or we would do a rodo. Or eat a rodo. Or we would rodo our kayaks to camp. You get the idea.

So anyway, all you dragon, unicorn, Canadia lovers out there - if you know what a rodo is, tell me...on second thought, don't. I kind of like leaving its definition to my imagination.