Yeehah! part II: Miles to go before we sleep

Aug 06, 2008 22:01













The Rockies, oh, the Rockies. (Permit me a nostalgic paragraph. Skip this one if you're not feeling it.) I've mentioned that I lived in them, yes? I turned 8 up in the Rockies of Idaho. I remember driving out of them when we moved back east, and seeing the moon so much further away and being sad, as if I'd left a friend behind. That's the line I always say when I mention that spate in the mountains, but there is so much more that could be said. Things about lakes and fields and houses in Washington State, horses and saddle shoes and herds of deer peeling across the side of a mountain like a cloud shadow. My first touchstone was there, in a tiny church in a sleepy town, kneeling solo in the back near the open doors at sunset, 7 years old, smelling incense, singing "quae caeli pandis ostium, bella premunt hostilia" and realizing I knew all the words, as the Monstrance was raised. I think that was the first time I connected God with the wind in my mind, because I felt both washing over me and filling me, and I saved that moment outside of time. It is so unfaded in memory that it glows in the strange foggy soup of all the others from that era. That one still has sunset mountain light through stained glass, and sweeping green hills behind me through the open doors.

So it was special to see them again, even if the experience this time was far less sacred and far more fatigued. They are even more craggy and wild and alarmingly large than I remembered. Liz and I kept leaning over to peer up at them around us as we snaked through, and often the only comment I could make was a little laugh at the sight.

We pulled off the road after false dawn, following signs for Lake Louise, winding deeper into the mountains and watching the pine thickets for elk or caribou. When we finally parked next to a huge chalet and opened the doors, the smell of cold, fresh pine was overwhelming. I used to be impressed with how our house smelled after the Christmas tree was set up; this has taken the evergreen smell to a whole new level. It almost did more to wake us from our road stupor than the unexpectedly frigid temperature. Though that helped too.

A short walk from the tarmac, through some woods, and the scene yawned out into what I know now is the classic Lake Louise view. At the time, I had to prod my brain into registering that what I was seeing was real. The water was cloudy green-turquoise, which Liz told me is glacier water, and the mountains had so much blue and purple, with a glacier- and cloud-topped brown peak between them, that it felt like wandering into a painting. If it weren't so cold and we weren't so tired, we probably would have stayed longer than the 10 minutes we spared. As it was, though, we gaped and whispered and walked a few yards this way or that taking pictures, and then piled back into the car and backtracked to the highway.

The next several hours were spent struggling to stay awake, taking photos and chatting and playing music, anything to keep us awake. Liz had driven through the night, and we both agreed that it was much harder for the driver to stay awake if the passenger were sleeping. We also agreed that I'm driving the #$%^ back. The Rockies gave way to smaller, smoother ranges, which ended abruptly in the vast plains around Calgary, causing us both to shout incredulously at the landscape, pop our ears, and take even more pictures.

We made it into downtown Calgary at something like 7 or 8am on Saturday, and perhaps we would have been more patient if we'd slept, but we were pissed. No one was around! No cafes of any kind were open! There was nowhere for us to sit, get food, coffee, use the bathroom, since when is an entire city dead to the world like that, even on a Saturday? Ok, so we didn't see the entire city. But still, we were in the middle of it, and saw a grand total of 5 humans. We drove around, getting more and more annoyed, until finally we parked somewhere that looked legal and wandered in search of something, anything, with life. By then, we'd spent so much time circling and fuming, that a Tim Horton's and a Starbucks had started putting down chairs. Tim Horton's, in case you don't know, is pretty much Canada's Dunkin Donuts, except with shit coffee and a better effort at sandwiches. I held out for Starbucks, where we sat and shopped hotels via dying phones, found one nearby that cost us only $200/night (ow), and went to check in.

It's a good thing Liz and I are as aligned as we are, because when we're as tired and annoyed and gross as we were then (and as we usually are after 12+ hours of driving) we are no pleasure to be around. We managed not to snap at each other or the minimally clued in front desk person, went up to our rooms, tried to liven up and unpack a bit, and then passed the hell out for at least 3 hours.

It's also lucky that we run so well on a single REM cycle, because when we woke, we were in rare form. We showered, dressed, primped, traded shoes and earrings and hyped each other up on the excitement of what the Stampede held for us. We flew out of that hotel in our hats and best ass-kicking outfits, swung by the Safeway for sandwiches and coffee, and walked the four blocks to the highspeed train that dropped us off at the Stampede gates.

I've never seen so many cowboy hats in my life. Specifically, I've never seen so many tall, attractive, manly men in cowboy hats in my life. We gave each other a knowing smirk, and dove right in.


travelogue

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