As we drive on, I understand why everything is carpeted in our bus. Since the engine is sitting between the driver's and passenger's seat in what is called the dog house in Bluebird lingo. The engine noise is louder than our old '77 Westy, in which puttting on music was like trying to have an adult conversation surrounded by toddlers: pointless.

So we crossed Canada without talking much, our huge stinky St-Bernard sitting between us, just where the bus' dog house sits...

And now, since we cannot talk without screaming, we simply look at each other and smile our giddy smiles. Happy as clams.