True to shifts in form, the account of being in Edmonton will be presented differently. Whereas all days in this 2 week journey had been previously given the treatment of their own post, a single post will be given in consideration of the time between here and my departure from Edmonton, then another post to detail the drive back to Hay River ending the vacation.
I had thought a while about how to describe the time in Alberta's capital city, and decided to reflect the journey as it was felt in the separate halves of Canmore and Edmonton. Both places offered so much, but so differently. Where Canmore gave a day by day package of surprising and captivating moments, Edmonton offered something of an "overall" experience. I find it hard to wax poetic over a city sometimes, with nature making it impossible not to get wordy.
And now, in a nutshell of generous size and capacity, I give you Edmonton.
***
Arriving in the supper hour of April 24, the evening was somewhat low key. We made time for relaxation and supper, opting to go out for an evening of drinking across the river on Whyte Avenue. Already tired, the evening felt more like a lucid dream than any sort of ambitious undertaking. We drifted aimlessly, settling on a pub with an open mic, a rather lucky find in a publication we picked up earlier in the evening.
Just edging my way into the closing slot, I felt on for those three songs. I cranked out a few hits from my repertoire and did well to gain some applause. Another performer approached me after with a full list of open mics in the city, offering the opportunity to basically do an impromptu city wide tour to be paid in alcohol and the like. Our evenings had a direction, and we made it to an open mic every night save for our final evening there, even making it to two in one night midweek.
The consumption of alcohol was of a staggering quantity in Edmonton. In Canmore it was always present but definitely less pressing. With Brad, I uttered a phrase that first morning in the hotel room that would set the tone for our week together in relation to the creature. As I lifted my head around 9:30am, I poured a stiff drink over ice. Brad, though not surprised by my determination, suggested it may be a little early to have a drink. I replied through dry lips that "I wasn't having a drink, I had begun drinking". An immense difference, the explanation was satisfactory enough to bring Brad around to my logic and he himself settled in to a cold beer.
Upon waking every morning we worked almost ritualistically to bring ourselves to beginning the day. We would rotate showers, coffee duty, and we would spend easily an hour just throwing the covers back from our respective slumbers in order to proceed with any plans. After breakfast or brunch, we would venture in to the daylight hours of Edmonton.
Each day started with a music shop, a bounty of which existed on Whyte Avenue and the area. Some were average, run of the mill shops with a lacking selection, these ones appearing more on the way out of business. Other shops were top of the line, great selections, eager salespeople, and a stronger hold in the local market. Two particular shops I recalled were the big chain store that looked so unappealing that I was surprised when inside that the selection was huge and very current. Another store was brilliantly baffling and so crammed with instruments that I could hardly gather it all in. This store would have a $300 no name guitar next to a $4500 Gibson next to a $15,000 Martin.
Lunch or supper was always met with a pairing of life's finer liquids, my appetite for rye, scotch, and coffee liqueurs always alive. We found ourselves in pizza or pub mode a few nights, one night opting to barbecue at Brad's friend's place, another we had spent the day apart, dining alone, the last evening together going on all out a steak dinner. We truly ate and drank like kings that week, and I felt we made the most of what the city gave us. We often marked the beginning of evening back at the hotel wasting off the meal hangovers, drinks in hand with blank stares, TV on. I knew when it was time when Brad or I would remark that the city is not the greatest, but we are truly having a great time. With that, we were off.
As mentioned, we were hounding every open mic in the city that week. Brad, a hell of a guitar player, played only once, while I do believe I played each of the 8 or so we visited. We saw all manner of music in that week from rock to country, punk to blues, and mixes of many more. For the record I would have to say that was the most live music I have ever taken in over such a span of time, a wonderful experience.
We did spend one day apart, Brad going to a museum, myself stupidly opting out to spend the day with a girl I had met at the previous evening's open mic. She was a nice and beautiful girl, but I was merely testing my waters. A few days before I had made some sort of resolution to try and put my past to rest, and figured a one-off hangout with a total stranger was as good way as any to see if I could proceed, however cautious. I found that I could be at ease, but I was a long shot from even wanting to venture in to any realm of connection.
Early evening at the hotel I enjoyed some scotch and waited a short time to see if Brad would call for supper. After a couple of hours I headed out for pizza, and as if fate itself wanted to reinforce my decision that I was not yet ready to enter the land of the loving again, my phone rang upon ordering my first beer. It was Wendy. She had called for some familiar support in a time of mourning, and I had to do my best to be the shoulder she needed. I wanted desperately to unleash my feelings but it was hardly the time for it. We talked for a bit and I bid her good evening, meeting up with Brad a short time after finishing supper.
On our final evening in Edmonton, Brad and I treated ourselves to a steak dinner that still stands as the best cut of meat I have ever eaten. When we arrived at the steak house, we were under the impression that it was of the modern family chain variety and we dressed accordingly, electing for a casual attire just above pajamas. Walking through the front door we were met with opulence, grand decor, suits and ties, immediately feeling quite out of place. The hostess asked if we had intended to be here or had come by mistake, in unison we replied "both". She looked us over, went against her judgement and allowed us to sit in the pub side, in the back, nearest the largest shadows.
Truthfully, we took a booth just inside the door, and we were treated fantastically. All details of each dish we ordered were explained to their furthest extent, and we enjoyed scallops, amazing mushroom platters, potatoes and steak. The steak was obviously their signature item, and they made good on their assertions. Searing each side to close the flavor in, it was flash cooked at nearly 1500 degrees for about 45 seconds, served on its own plate with a generous chunk of butter melting through as it is set on the table. We were filled to say the least, each of us enjoying two coffees with several ounces of alcohol in each while we waited out our lethargy.
A last trip on the town brought us full circle to the bar we had visited the first evening we were in Edmonton. Later in the evening I recognized the bartender from high school, each of us somewhat shocked we had not seen each other since graduating and would run in to each other here, some 5000 kilometers from home. Our exit from the bar was swift and hilarious, all tributes going to Brad. He had gone for a dance move near the stage, slipping in a spilled drink and grabbing the stage monitor for balance. The monitor, decades from sturdy, came over with Brad, the 100 pound speaker just missing his head as he rolled out of the way. Back on his feet, Brad replaced the monitor, grabbed me and we headed for the door, laughing the whole cab ride to the hotel.
Friday morning, we woke up earlier for breakfast as Brad had to get to the airport for his flight back to New Brunswick. Unceremoniously, we said our goodbyes as his shuttle pulled up, both of us worse for wear from a rather action packed week. I had just started the truck when Brad called me from the airport, a message of conviction that the week had taken its toll, a sign of victory. We had surely had a good time.
Edmonton, though attractive enough, did not do it for me. I secretly wished I had met Brad in Calgary and then headed right back to Canmore for another week. The city was extremely accessible: bicycles abound, an honor system train service, and reasonable cab fares. All of these factors making every reach of the city possible to see, we did so, and still I felt a blandness. The people were great, but whatever it was, something was lacking. I would surely visit again, but only for a night or two. I believe any distaste I felt would be attributed to having overstayed my own welcome, and I had simply missed my queue to leave earlier. Nonetheless, amazing people and a hell of a time.
I made haste for Grande Prairie for the final evening away, a fitting last stop on the circuit I had picked as it was the same place, same hotel, same room where I had spent the first evening of the two week journey. The next day, I would drive 7 hours back to Hay River, picking up Carter along the way, a reunion I desperately awaited. I thought of him all that day's drive, making little note of a few vistas and one amazing train bridge, stopping only for gas, and once in the pouring rain to fix a wiper.
In to Grande Prairie, I stopped for supper and picked up a couple beer, retreated to my room and promptly fell asleep after a few bottles. I had intended to go out and celebrate the trip, but this seemed appropriate, and a few drinks at the real end the next day would be just as appreciated.
I slept heavily, but not before a deep regret of not booking a longer vacation. I hated the fact that it was ending, but I would soon see my dog, later see the North begin to thaw out, and later yet, finally see the merits of my hard work addressed.
Vacation, unbeknown to me, had changed everything I thought I knew about my current place in life. Tomorrow I was saying goodbye to the open road, but not for long.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Trip - Day 7 - Saturday, April 24, 2010
If you've ever tried to pry two bricks apart from their mortar, you will have some idea of the degree of difficulty I encountered whilst trying to open my eyes the morning of my departure from Canmore. Apparently many world record attempts were made on my part in regard to alcohol, and waking with a surprising lack of medals or rewards, I deduced it was all for naught.
But, I was told it was a hell of a time.
A quick goodbye to Jaclyn, a stop at Tim Hortons with Noel, a hug and a handshake, and I was off to Edmonton to meet up with Brad. Some months earlier, I had posted an open letter to my friends begging, pleading that one or more of them meet me somewhere on my vacation. Brad, a friend and band mate, accepted the mission and we decided on Edmonton as a meeting place, neither of us having actually been there. I had been to the airport and a nearby hotel on my way North, but we enjoyed the idea of a city that had never seen either of us trying to handle our powers combined.
Weather, time, and energy were a few factors that dictated my rerouting of course to Edmonton. Having planned to actually drive away from my destination and swoop under Calgary, then up to YEG on the backroads to the East of the highway, disappointment was rampant when the weather stated heavy snow at times for both my initial and backup routes. The backup plan was a more direct track halfway back through the Jasper Highway, across to Rocky Mountain House and through to Red Deer, then a quick skip to Edmonton. Feeling the effects of the night before, the time and weather running short on my side, I chose to negate my intended route and get there faster.
Mild delays popped up with the construction leaving Canmore, and having driven straight through the highway coming in, I decided to use the imposed relaxed pace as an excuse to see a few of those famed places you always hear about.
Banff was a mere 20 minutes from Canmore and I thought I'd have a look from Norkay on the East side of the valley. I had always gotten the impression that Banff was like Lake Louise, which I would see later in the day. I thought it was a resort, not a resort town. From the switchbacks on Norkay I saw that there was a sizable little town below me, and having been mistaken my entire life as to what Banff was I needed to investigate further. Back across the highway, I drove into town and quickly got lost. I think I was busy being unimpressed by the difference in what I expected and what I ended up with. I do believe it is a place I would need more than 25 minutes in to make an informed judgement, and I mean no ill intent, but it just didn't do it for me.
Back on the road another half hour, the snow and construction were in force. I followed a transport truck for the entire span between Banff and Lake Louise, and was happy to pull off to see this famed hotel. I parked and made the walk up to the lake itself, sitting on a bench and looking for the first time at a view I've seen a thousand times in pictures, commercials, and otherwise. A thick haze had settled in with the snow and covered the top quarter of the surrounding mountains, a stiff breeze accompanying an already grey viewing. I headed inside to have a brief walk through the Chateau Lake Louise.
Entering into the lobby, a nouveau regal hue swept across every edge of the place. It was definitely impressive, but again, due to the lore and previous accounts I had been subjected to, I had expected more. I toured the small cafeteria and shops, looking for a trinket to mark the occasion, finding nothing but a few pictures to take myself. I walked back to the truck and made my way to a restaurant near the highway for breakfast.
A truly unremarkable experience, lacking taste and moments worth mention, the meal did nothing for my appetite. I picked up some snacks for the road and made for Edmonton, sights set on Rocky Mountain House, halfway into the 6 hours I had remaining on the road. I started out of the mountains proper at Saskatchewan River Crossing, route 11 turning East through a wondrous drive of peaks, lakes, foothills, and a road surely intended for a motorcycle.
At any point in this trip where I had been driving for over 2 hours, the music would fade, the windows would go up and I would find myself unintentionally driving in silence. What part of my transom took over my immediate environment in those moments is a mystery to me, but the folds awoken in that phase were unmistakable. A blank stare through the windshield, my thoughts would drift in from each approaching turn. Again, the pains of the empty passenger seat made me ache for Carter, and one last time for a long time, Wendy.
The remission I found myself in at times was only natural; the acid flashback style hangovers of old love mixed with the parental tides of emotion in missing my dog. I wished my plans for a "no plans" vacation merited bringing Carter, but it would be too difficult and compromising for both of us. Missing Wendy would never truly come to an end, but this final traipse through that whole mess felt final. I would hear from her again, we would exchange pleasantries, but I had to let it go. I had to accept the finality of it all, and I put it to sleep along a beautiful pass lined by a lake and motionless woodlands. It was a fitting place that mirrored the beauty in the release, the stunning awe of the love we had, yet it could not hold a candle to her image. It was seldom that something ever could, and I would attest that nothing ever will.
It hurt to say that goodbye, and I did not look back to regard where I left my heart on that deserted road. I would pick it up someday if needed.
Along one expanse near the Douglas Fir Natural Area I stopped to snap some pictures and have a stretch, then passed through cozy little spots like Nordegg and Alexo, again spying plots of land where I could waste away my years. Near the next hamlet of Hoburg, I again paused, consulting my maps and notes to pick up a dirt road I had read about on a local forum. I would shadow route 11 for a bit then hop back on, electing to see beyond the treeline. With what can only be my luck, the road was single track and impossible to turn around on, so therefore it was only fitting that the snow would pile down and make for zero visibility.
My reliable truck is only rear-wheel, 2 wheel drive, and I had feared getting stuck. Somehow, that concern was never met, but I ended up a few times well out of control on a slope, or meeting up with another truck driven by someone all to comfortable with the conditions. Honestly, white-knuckled and wide-eyed, I truly believed I might die on that road. Half an hour in and having covered no ground, I made for the highway, stopping at a small cove to let the weather pass.
I got back on the highway, making for and passing by Red Deer. Now, had I done any proper digging, I would have enjoyed the immense pleasure of seeing a former roommate from college, my dear friend Loretta. I should have married that girl I think, she was absolutely one of my favorite people ever, and to this day still is. Being none the wiser that she was even in the same province I carried on the Edmonton being somewhat threatened by the weather and transport trucks with no regard for the conditions. I am never shaken by the road, but this day was playing havoc on my nerves.
Coming in to Edmonton from the south west, traffic started to get more confined. One would expect the speed to settle with such cramped quarters, but one cannot do such a thing himself because it would be a greater impairment to the flow of vehicles. I was not impressed with the caution-to-the-wind approach of the other motorists so I kept to the cruising lane. At the point I began to see the city itself and relax with the notion of this all being over in a few minutes, it almost came to the point of being all over for good.
Doing the speed limit in the right hand lane, in a flash I had a car beside me in the shoulder. I held steady, the car passing me then cutting in front of the car ahead, that driver not even having had the chance to register the fact the passing car was there. The driver ahead of me reacted by cutting into the middle of three lanes going North in to the city's South side. Next to me was a transport that was cut off by the swerving of the car ahead of me, sending the truck in to a full break stand and slide into my lane. The biggest threat to me was the trailer which was now steaming toward my truck, surely bound to clean me right out and shovel me over all in one swipe. Though a cost effective end, I figured I would try to alter the situation in my favor. I punched the gas and made for the shoulder myself, narrowly being missed by the front end of the truck itself, and speeding forward and back into the lane. The truck, I saw in my rearview, came out of the slide fine, a experienced driver no doubt, crawling back to speed on the shoulder before joining traffic. At the first stop light I encountered I ended up next to the offending vehicle, a young girl at the wheel. I honked, she stupidly rolled her window down, and I let her have it, ending with a suggestion as to the removal of her head from her backside.
All of the road rage I've ever truly felt was over with at that point, and several seconds later I was at the Holiday Inn getting to my room to meet Brad. I had barely got the key in the door when I heard the familiar sounds of beer bottles opening and Brad's tittering chuckles.
We sipped and dined, catching up and sharing stories of our respective trips thus far, Brad having flown out from home in New Brunswick. With his jet leg and my weariness from the trip, we relaxed for a portion of the evening and then began another assault on the body.
A week in Edmonton awaited, our livers already cringing.
But, I was told it was a hell of a time.
A quick goodbye to Jaclyn, a stop at Tim Hortons with Noel, a hug and a handshake, and I was off to Edmonton to meet up with Brad. Some months earlier, I had posted an open letter to my friends begging, pleading that one or more of them meet me somewhere on my vacation. Brad, a friend and band mate, accepted the mission and we decided on Edmonton as a meeting place, neither of us having actually been there. I had been to the airport and a nearby hotel on my way North, but we enjoyed the idea of a city that had never seen either of us trying to handle our powers combined.
Weather, time, and energy were a few factors that dictated my rerouting of course to Edmonton. Having planned to actually drive away from my destination and swoop under Calgary, then up to YEG on the backroads to the East of the highway, disappointment was rampant when the weather stated heavy snow at times for both my initial and backup routes. The backup plan was a more direct track halfway back through the Jasper Highway, across to Rocky Mountain House and through to Red Deer, then a quick skip to Edmonton. Feeling the effects of the night before, the time and weather running short on my side, I chose to negate my intended route and get there faster.
Mild delays popped up with the construction leaving Canmore, and having driven straight through the highway coming in, I decided to use the imposed relaxed pace as an excuse to see a few of those famed places you always hear about.
Banff was a mere 20 minutes from Canmore and I thought I'd have a look from Norkay on the East side of the valley. I had always gotten the impression that Banff was like Lake Louise, which I would see later in the day. I thought it was a resort, not a resort town. From the switchbacks on Norkay I saw that there was a sizable little town below me, and having been mistaken my entire life as to what Banff was I needed to investigate further. Back across the highway, I drove into town and quickly got lost. I think I was busy being unimpressed by the difference in what I expected and what I ended up with. I do believe it is a place I would need more than 25 minutes in to make an informed judgement, and I mean no ill intent, but it just didn't do it for me.
Back on the road another half hour, the snow and construction were in force. I followed a transport truck for the entire span between Banff and Lake Louise, and was happy to pull off to see this famed hotel. I parked and made the walk up to the lake itself, sitting on a bench and looking for the first time at a view I've seen a thousand times in pictures, commercials, and otherwise. A thick haze had settled in with the snow and covered the top quarter of the surrounding mountains, a stiff breeze accompanying an already grey viewing. I headed inside to have a brief walk through the Chateau Lake Louise.
Entering into the lobby, a nouveau regal hue swept across every edge of the place. It was definitely impressive, but again, due to the lore and previous accounts I had been subjected to, I had expected more. I toured the small cafeteria and shops, looking for a trinket to mark the occasion, finding nothing but a few pictures to take myself. I walked back to the truck and made my way to a restaurant near the highway for breakfast.
A truly unremarkable experience, lacking taste and moments worth mention, the meal did nothing for my appetite. I picked up some snacks for the road and made for Edmonton, sights set on Rocky Mountain House, halfway into the 6 hours I had remaining on the road. I started out of the mountains proper at Saskatchewan River Crossing, route 11 turning East through a wondrous drive of peaks, lakes, foothills, and a road surely intended for a motorcycle.
At any point in this trip where I had been driving for over 2 hours, the music would fade, the windows would go up and I would find myself unintentionally driving in silence. What part of my transom took over my immediate environment in those moments is a mystery to me, but the folds awoken in that phase were unmistakable. A blank stare through the windshield, my thoughts would drift in from each approaching turn. Again, the pains of the empty passenger seat made me ache for Carter, and one last time for a long time, Wendy.
The remission I found myself in at times was only natural; the acid flashback style hangovers of old love mixed with the parental tides of emotion in missing my dog. I wished my plans for a "no plans" vacation merited bringing Carter, but it would be too difficult and compromising for both of us. Missing Wendy would never truly come to an end, but this final traipse through that whole mess felt final. I would hear from her again, we would exchange pleasantries, but I had to let it go. I had to accept the finality of it all, and I put it to sleep along a beautiful pass lined by a lake and motionless woodlands. It was a fitting place that mirrored the beauty in the release, the stunning awe of the love we had, yet it could not hold a candle to her image. It was seldom that something ever could, and I would attest that nothing ever will.
It hurt to say that goodbye, and I did not look back to regard where I left my heart on that deserted road. I would pick it up someday if needed.
Along one expanse near the Douglas Fir Natural Area I stopped to snap some pictures and have a stretch, then passed through cozy little spots like Nordegg and Alexo, again spying plots of land where I could waste away my years. Near the next hamlet of Hoburg, I again paused, consulting my maps and notes to pick up a dirt road I had read about on a local forum. I would shadow route 11 for a bit then hop back on, electing to see beyond the treeline. With what can only be my luck, the road was single track and impossible to turn around on, so therefore it was only fitting that the snow would pile down and make for zero visibility.
My reliable truck is only rear-wheel, 2 wheel drive, and I had feared getting stuck. Somehow, that concern was never met, but I ended up a few times well out of control on a slope, or meeting up with another truck driven by someone all to comfortable with the conditions. Honestly, white-knuckled and wide-eyed, I truly believed I might die on that road. Half an hour in and having covered no ground, I made for the highway, stopping at a small cove to let the weather pass.
I got back on the highway, making for and passing by Red Deer. Now, had I done any proper digging, I would have enjoyed the immense pleasure of seeing a former roommate from college, my dear friend Loretta. I should have married that girl I think, she was absolutely one of my favorite people ever, and to this day still is. Being none the wiser that she was even in the same province I carried on the Edmonton being somewhat threatened by the weather and transport trucks with no regard for the conditions. I am never shaken by the road, but this day was playing havoc on my nerves.
Coming in to Edmonton from the south west, traffic started to get more confined. One would expect the speed to settle with such cramped quarters, but one cannot do such a thing himself because it would be a greater impairment to the flow of vehicles. I was not impressed with the caution-to-the-wind approach of the other motorists so I kept to the cruising lane. At the point I began to see the city itself and relax with the notion of this all being over in a few minutes, it almost came to the point of being all over for good.
Doing the speed limit in the right hand lane, in a flash I had a car beside me in the shoulder. I held steady, the car passing me then cutting in front of the car ahead, that driver not even having had the chance to register the fact the passing car was there. The driver ahead of me reacted by cutting into the middle of three lanes going North in to the city's South side. Next to me was a transport that was cut off by the swerving of the car ahead of me, sending the truck in to a full break stand and slide into my lane. The biggest threat to me was the trailer which was now steaming toward my truck, surely bound to clean me right out and shovel me over all in one swipe. Though a cost effective end, I figured I would try to alter the situation in my favor. I punched the gas and made for the shoulder myself, narrowly being missed by the front end of the truck itself, and speeding forward and back into the lane. The truck, I saw in my rearview, came out of the slide fine, a experienced driver no doubt, crawling back to speed on the shoulder before joining traffic. At the first stop light I encountered I ended up next to the offending vehicle, a young girl at the wheel. I honked, she stupidly rolled her window down, and I let her have it, ending with a suggestion as to the removal of her head from her backside.
All of the road rage I've ever truly felt was over with at that point, and several seconds later I was at the Holiday Inn getting to my room to meet Brad. I had barely got the key in the door when I heard the familiar sounds of beer bottles opening and Brad's tittering chuckles.
We sipped and dined, catching up and sharing stories of our respective trips thus far, Brad having flown out from home in New Brunswick. With his jet leg and my weariness from the trip, we relaxed for a portion of the evening and then began another assault on the body.
A week in Edmonton awaited, our livers already cringing.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Trip - Day 6 - Friday, April 23, 2010
Sleep should have come easier after an evening of drinking and fun, but I was awake at 8:30 the following morning, the snow covered Bow Valley impossibly bright in the sun's first light.
With my host still sound asleep, I peeled myself from the couch and made my way downtown for some coffee or breakfast, settling for neither. Having not been able to recharge my body with suitable rest, I felt weak and mildly hungover. Much like the second day I was in Canmore, I looked forward to perhaps a day of relaxing and poking around in the shops, and exactly like that day, I was hooked into more than I had expected.
I got a call around 10:00 from Jaclyn who apologized for her hasty retreat to bed and promptly offered to buy me breakfast. I declined the gesture, but we gathered Noel from his place and went for some nourishment. As per usual, I order eggs benedict, washed down by more coffee and water than one bladder should have to suffer. Over the course of breakfast, a plan for my last day and night in Canmore was being fabricated, and I was feeling rather faint at the thought of pulling a 16 hour day, whereas I had a drive to Edmonton the next day.
Noel was recommending one more drive through Spray Lakes and Kananaskis Country, and it sounded like a laid back approach to seeing everything one last time. Jaclyn opted to pass, or at least attempted too, citing a much needed and important yoga class. Immediately, Noel and I pounced on her, explaining that the choice or option was simply not there to be taken, and that she would be joining us for the afternoon, regardless of whether she cared to or not.
She sighed, sipped her water, and accepted her fate with the announcement that she would need to add a stop to our route into the mountains: the liquor store, of course.
We stocked up and made ourselves as comfortable as three people in a two-seater truck can manage to be, then headed past Ha Ling and on to the loose surface highway. Not wanting to simply repeat any previous days, we kept the directive very much open and picked our way around. We stopped at Spray Lakes for a beer and took in the air, played a rousing game of "hit the water with a rock" (Canada's first national sport, no doubt), and posed for some photos. Having already been here I begged of Noel to show me a new spot on my last day, and he came through with flying colors.
As we left the lakes behind, we headed toward Peter Lougheed Park where we had been previously, and Noel pointed me down a dirt road. We entered into a deserted parking lot beneath Mount Black Prince, a cluster of trees in the center making a large turn-around of the rest area. I parked the truck and took a look around at numerous peaks, lush woods, and a bright sun playing on the crags on the ranges around me.
With the direct sunlight on several mountain faces, Noel said it was prime conditions for avalanches, so we set up shop for about 2 hours. We had a few beer, snacked on the few morsels we thought to bring, kicked a soccer ball around, and then just relaxed in the box of the truck, waiting for snowslides that never came.
For years, I had dreamed of a moment in the mountains that would be forever with me, and here it was. I had never felt happier, more alive, more in touch with myself, and certainly had never pictured this setting and feeling being shared with Noel and Jaclyn.
As I sipped on scotch and we all fell relatively silent, I began to think about my little life. In that moment I knew something had given inside me, and the grim realization of my current state was all too apparent: I had messed up.
I had moved to Hay River with the ambition of starting anew in a strange and challenging place. The overall goal was to use the work experience there to go elsewhere after a year or so, clear up my debt, see the North extensively, and learn more about Canada's forgotten peoples. What was actually occurring up to the point of my vacation was quite the opposite. I was being taken advantage of at work along with being pitted between a manager and staff that were all close friends, my debt barely moved due to the high cost of living, I could not travel due to 60-70 hour work weeks, and I learned more about the ignorance of some white people in the North than the ways and stories of the indigenous people who have called it home for years.
Somehow, this coming to light did not sadden me. I was more relieved, happily sitting with two distant friends in a distant place with those worries just as distant. I snapped out of my daydream and silently made a decision that Hay River would not see me beyond the agreement in my 12 month contract. I knew I was worth more than the experience I was being handed, and the feeling I had that afternoon told me I was right. Sooner or later, I would be gone for good.
We drove back to Canmore and I dropped both Noel and Jaclyn off at their respective requests. Jaclyn vowed to meet me later and Noel was off to work, so I would not see him until my departure the next morning. With an empty cab, I cranked some RUSH and took a spin around town, trying to spy a place for supper.
Santa Lucia Tratorria was located on 8th Street, and the name caught my eye right away, a perfect example of a place I would never choose unless on a date or with a group. I parked a couple of blocks away on purpose to give myself the chance to wander the streets for a half hour before dining, window shopping for a girlfriend I did not have. She was rather happy with my selections.
The restaurant was modest but extremely inviting, and was by far the best dining experience I have ever had flying solo (the alternative being a date in Boston at Excelsior; amazing experience). The decor merely hinted at the surrounding landscape of mountains and forest, feeling somewhat between a classic Italian restaurant and a more modern fine dining room. My gratitude continues with the service from the best waitress I have ever encountered, a young woman who was either fantastically interested in everything she was talking about or an undiscovered star actress. She offered wine pairings for both courses that were wonderful even for someone who does not drink wine, and was prompt and courteous throughout.
Starting with Prince Edward Island scallops in a very bold, zesty sauce, I knew from the first taste that this meal would never be topped. I had never had food that nearly caused me to create a scene in public, that of an orgasmic, grasping shriek and sigh of relief. The panzerotti that followed was nearly as long as my forearm and bowed to a point of nearly half that length. Sarah, as we will call her, brought this behemoth along with a glass of wine and promised to return with scotch and water for my afterburner. Well-timed in a fairly full house, she was astonished to find upon returning that I had finished the entire plate and side salad, and gave me the scotch free of charge. The manager also stopped by the table to offer his congratulations, stating that most people share this meal and that my scotch was well deserved.
I left the restaurant in that familiar "food drunk" state we all must know by now. If you do not know this feeling, stuff yourself with delicious food and carry a pillow, it is wondrous. In order to save myself from the effects of this bodily hijacking, I returned to Noel's for a shower and shave, then met Jaclyn downtown.
We walked to a glorious microbrewery and pub called the Grizzly Paw, a place so welcoming of its environment that it could pass as a natural part of the land. Beautifully used wood and stone created a very warm, lodge feel and they boasted over 20 different draughts on tap. A list nearby noted only those that were not available, the taps bearing the names, and the glasses were proportioned in favor of the patron. Several selections later we made for the Drake for live music and further imbibing of various sorts of alcohol, having a fairly good time until close.
What was supposed to be a day on the grass with some beer, the mountains looming in the sun, a freshly strung guitar, and cigarettes, became a monster of a day that I will never forget and am truly grateful for. I slept on Jaclyn's couch again that night, submitting easily to slumber as the drinking ceased. The next morning I would bid Jaclyn, Noel, and Canmore in general, farewell for the time being.
There was no question in my mind I would be back someday, but that was not my worry. I had picked a 9 hour circuit to Edmonton, sweeping under Calgary, touching small towns and using only back roads. While looking forward to seeing towns like Black Diamond (a favorite KISS song), I was also regarding the weather forecast that threatened every possible route to Edmonton, direct or wandering.
I would make that choice in the morning, for better or worse, and live with it as it happened. At the moment, there was sleep to be had in preparation for what would be a drive both harrowing and beautiful.
With my host still sound asleep, I peeled myself from the couch and made my way downtown for some coffee or breakfast, settling for neither. Having not been able to recharge my body with suitable rest, I felt weak and mildly hungover. Much like the second day I was in Canmore, I looked forward to perhaps a day of relaxing and poking around in the shops, and exactly like that day, I was hooked into more than I had expected.
I got a call around 10:00 from Jaclyn who apologized for her hasty retreat to bed and promptly offered to buy me breakfast. I declined the gesture, but we gathered Noel from his place and went for some nourishment. As per usual, I order eggs benedict, washed down by more coffee and water than one bladder should have to suffer. Over the course of breakfast, a plan for my last day and night in Canmore was being fabricated, and I was feeling rather faint at the thought of pulling a 16 hour day, whereas I had a drive to Edmonton the next day.
Noel was recommending one more drive through Spray Lakes and Kananaskis Country, and it sounded like a laid back approach to seeing everything one last time. Jaclyn opted to pass, or at least attempted too, citing a much needed and important yoga class. Immediately, Noel and I pounced on her, explaining that the choice or option was simply not there to be taken, and that she would be joining us for the afternoon, regardless of whether she cared to or not.
She sighed, sipped her water, and accepted her fate with the announcement that she would need to add a stop to our route into the mountains: the liquor store, of course.
We stocked up and made ourselves as comfortable as three people in a two-seater truck can manage to be, then headed past Ha Ling and on to the loose surface highway. Not wanting to simply repeat any previous days, we kept the directive very much open and picked our way around. We stopped at Spray Lakes for a beer and took in the air, played a rousing game of "hit the water with a rock" (Canada's first national sport, no doubt), and posed for some photos. Having already been here I begged of Noel to show me a new spot on my last day, and he came through with flying colors.
As we left the lakes behind, we headed toward Peter Lougheed Park where we had been previously, and Noel pointed me down a dirt road. We entered into a deserted parking lot beneath Mount Black Prince, a cluster of trees in the center making a large turn-around of the rest area. I parked the truck and took a look around at numerous peaks, lush woods, and a bright sun playing on the crags on the ranges around me.
With the direct sunlight on several mountain faces, Noel said it was prime conditions for avalanches, so we set up shop for about 2 hours. We had a few beer, snacked on the few morsels we thought to bring, kicked a soccer ball around, and then just relaxed in the box of the truck, waiting for snowslides that never came.
For years, I had dreamed of a moment in the mountains that would be forever with me, and here it was. I had never felt happier, more alive, more in touch with myself, and certainly had never pictured this setting and feeling being shared with Noel and Jaclyn.
As I sipped on scotch and we all fell relatively silent, I began to think about my little life. In that moment I knew something had given inside me, and the grim realization of my current state was all too apparent: I had messed up.
I had moved to Hay River with the ambition of starting anew in a strange and challenging place. The overall goal was to use the work experience there to go elsewhere after a year or so, clear up my debt, see the North extensively, and learn more about Canada's forgotten peoples. What was actually occurring up to the point of my vacation was quite the opposite. I was being taken advantage of at work along with being pitted between a manager and staff that were all close friends, my debt barely moved due to the high cost of living, I could not travel due to 60-70 hour work weeks, and I learned more about the ignorance of some white people in the North than the ways and stories of the indigenous people who have called it home for years.
Somehow, this coming to light did not sadden me. I was more relieved, happily sitting with two distant friends in a distant place with those worries just as distant. I snapped out of my daydream and silently made a decision that Hay River would not see me beyond the agreement in my 12 month contract. I knew I was worth more than the experience I was being handed, and the feeling I had that afternoon told me I was right. Sooner or later, I would be gone for good.
We drove back to Canmore and I dropped both Noel and Jaclyn off at their respective requests. Jaclyn vowed to meet me later and Noel was off to work, so I would not see him until my departure the next morning. With an empty cab, I cranked some RUSH and took a spin around town, trying to spy a place for supper.
Santa Lucia Tratorria was located on 8th Street, and the name caught my eye right away, a perfect example of a place I would never choose unless on a date or with a group. I parked a couple of blocks away on purpose to give myself the chance to wander the streets for a half hour before dining, window shopping for a girlfriend I did not have. She was rather happy with my selections.
The restaurant was modest but extremely inviting, and was by far the best dining experience I have ever had flying solo (the alternative being a date in Boston at Excelsior; amazing experience). The decor merely hinted at the surrounding landscape of mountains and forest, feeling somewhat between a classic Italian restaurant and a more modern fine dining room. My gratitude continues with the service from the best waitress I have ever encountered, a young woman who was either fantastically interested in everything she was talking about or an undiscovered star actress. She offered wine pairings for both courses that were wonderful even for someone who does not drink wine, and was prompt and courteous throughout.
Starting with Prince Edward Island scallops in a very bold, zesty sauce, I knew from the first taste that this meal would never be topped. I had never had food that nearly caused me to create a scene in public, that of an orgasmic, grasping shriek and sigh of relief. The panzerotti that followed was nearly as long as my forearm and bowed to a point of nearly half that length. Sarah, as we will call her, brought this behemoth along with a glass of wine and promised to return with scotch and water for my afterburner. Well-timed in a fairly full house, she was astonished to find upon returning that I had finished the entire plate and side salad, and gave me the scotch free of charge. The manager also stopped by the table to offer his congratulations, stating that most people share this meal and that my scotch was well deserved.
I left the restaurant in that familiar "food drunk" state we all must know by now. If you do not know this feeling, stuff yourself with delicious food and carry a pillow, it is wondrous. In order to save myself from the effects of this bodily hijacking, I returned to Noel's for a shower and shave, then met Jaclyn downtown.
We walked to a glorious microbrewery and pub called the Grizzly Paw, a place so welcoming of its environment that it could pass as a natural part of the land. Beautifully used wood and stone created a very warm, lodge feel and they boasted over 20 different draughts on tap. A list nearby noted only those that were not available, the taps bearing the names, and the glasses were proportioned in favor of the patron. Several selections later we made for the Drake for live music and further imbibing of various sorts of alcohol, having a fairly good time until close.
What was supposed to be a day on the grass with some beer, the mountains looming in the sun, a freshly strung guitar, and cigarettes, became a monster of a day that I will never forget and am truly grateful for. I slept on Jaclyn's couch again that night, submitting easily to slumber as the drinking ceased. The next morning I would bid Jaclyn, Noel, and Canmore in general, farewell for the time being.
There was no question in my mind I would be back someday, but that was not my worry. I had picked a 9 hour circuit to Edmonton, sweeping under Calgary, touching small towns and using only back roads. While looking forward to seeing towns like Black Diamond (a favorite KISS song), I was also regarding the weather forecast that threatened every possible route to Edmonton, direct or wandering.
I would make that choice in the morning, for better or worse, and live with it as it happened. At the moment, there was sleep to be had in preparation for what would be a drive both harrowing and beautiful.
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