Like Pai, in Thailand, I’d heard about Tofino for years before I visited. Every time I told people I was visiting Vancouver island, they’d tell me I’d have to visit Tofino. This summer’s visit to Canada provided an opportunity to see if the entreaties were true.

I’d also heard that the winding narrow road over the spine of Vancouver island was particularly unpleasant for cyclists with small, if non-existent, shoulders. Given the distance, I anticipated it would take me four days to ride back and forth, and that did not include time to visit. Through my usual good fortune, my Warmshowers host was willing to drive me over the mountain to see it.

This turned out to be even more fortuitous as it poured rain half of our trip over the mountain, The landscape was awesome with thick old growth forests, mountain lakes, and sheer cliffs. The latter made for a good reminder of my choice not to ride my bike along this precipitous scenic highway.

The rain began to let up as we reached town, a tiny hamlet with a mix of old and new architecture, marking the mix of the new and old cultures. The village was originally created by surfers looking to enjoy the ideal curls along this remote coast. They’d live in anything from an abandoned boat to a beach side shelter built of driftwood.

Today, it has been discovered, and the town is equally dominated my high end inns and restaurants. The housing situation has become so difficult for the less affluent, that they’ve had to move on, and restaurants have closed due to lack of available staff. There are a few local holdouts, and the town has banned AirBnB in an attempt to manage housing costs.

I stayed at a hostel which must have been there before the hordes arrived as it commanded one of the best pieces of landscape on the peninsula. The communal lounge downstairs had a fireplace and a view onto the bay. It was empty when I arrived but filled with young travelers at the end of the surf day. While the tourists come for shopping, I imagine the young are only here to surf as there’s not much else to do besides stroll down the beach if you’re not surfing onto it.

My walk down the beach started out well, but the rain began to return as the afternoon passed on. The beach was similar to the Oregon coast with an occasional sandy shoreline hidden within rocky coves of Douglas fir and Cedar trees. The main difference is that wherever you looked, there were islands in the distance. Occasionally, I’d catch a glimpse of a pitched roof peeking out from the trees. This is definitely the kind of place people come to get away from people.

While I did enjoy my solitude, I began to get hungry and returned to town for some food. It occured to me that this was the kind of town where all the restaurants probably closed by seven, and it being a Sunday, I was even more concerned about missing out on a meal.

As I walked through town, I had to constantly dodge piles of dog feces on the sidewalk. It surprised me that people in this town would be so negligent until I remembered what my host had told me of this place. It was a big destination for drifters from the French part of Canada, and we know the reputation of the French for cleaning up after their pets.

I shouldn’t have been surprised at the prices at the restaurants given that I’d paid a premium for a bunk bed in a dorm. Still it was almost two hundred dollars less than the next cheapest accommodation. While I had saved up to splurge on this meal having biked most of the way from Seattle to get here, I wasn’t keen on spending a fortune at one of the upscale places with entrees so unique, it seemed to be a risk that I might not even enjoy it.

In the end I found a good old steak house that had been a town staple for years. I know some of you might question why I’d go to a steak house when I was at the ocean. To assuage your concerns, I did order the surf and turf, which was a filet topped with crab meat, scallops and shrimp. This was accompanied by my traditional manhattan cocktail.

Having filled my stomach, I headed back to the hostel under the incessant drizzle that characterizes fall in the Pacific northwest. The rain provided a consistent rhythm throughout the night as it pelted the roof, and I drifted off to sleep after reading for a little bit. Just before my eyes closed, I chuckled to myself as this is exactly how I describe, to my tourists, a weekend is typically spent at the Oregon coast.

Morning brought drier skies, and I headed further south to explore the beach. The waves were big, and the surfers were already out. Something that I’ve always found ironic about surfers is that they can’t get to a job on time, but it’s never a problem getting out early to catch the breaks.

The tide was low, and I was able to walk onto what, at high tide, would have been an island. There were several tide pools ringed with slippery kelp and the cliffs above the shore provided the logs that would eventually become driftwood that rolled onto the beach.

I turned and walked back to the shore as it was time to head home. My host reminded me to take one last look at Japan beyond the offshore islands. While I really enjoyed the dramatic scenery of Tofino, I doubt that I will someday be returning to take up life in a driftwood shack upon the beach.