We got up when the construction started right outside our tents – 6:00 a.m. sharp. K said it was only right. We’ve been awakened by angry squirrels, loud ravens, and now, caterpillars. We consoled ourselves with a Tim Horton’s breakfast. Man, are we gonna miss that place.
We had noted early on in the trip that we could go broke buying bottles of water at every gas/meal stop. I am not picky about my water and am cheap in the oddest places, so I decided to refill my water bottle from sinks in restrooms. L needed more water and asked if I would go to the counter and ask to have it refilled while she headed to the washroom. S pointed out that this was ridiculous. The water behind the counter would be the same water that flowed in the bathroom sink. L said there was a big difference. She was not drinking washroom water.
There was no way I was going to stand in line at a busy establishment and ask them to refill a water bottle when they sell bottled water. S looked at me. Now’s your chance! Go refill it in the washroom yourself before L gets back! I scrambled to.
Moments later, I walked back to the table, an empty bottle in my hand. L was back at the table with S and K. “Couldn’t fit the bottle under the tap?” she asked.
“That’s the way it went down,” I affirmed.
A splendid day for a ride, although the afternoon brought unaccustomed heat. We crossed from British Columbia back into Alberta. L and I were trying the intercoms again, and when we saw the “Welcome to Alberta” sign, we both broke into song together, “She lives in Vancouver, Her name is Alberta, She’s my girlfriend, my wonderful girlfriend, my girlfriend who lives in Can-a-da!!” This is the ending to a song from our favorite musical, “Avenue Q.” I think we lost our Harley Owner’s cards right there. It is bad enough that we even know the lyrics to any musical theater, but singing them? At the top of our lungs? In two-part harmony? While riding? Sacrilege. I’m surprised our bikes didn’t spontaneously combust.
As we approached Jasper National Park, L asked the group if we were interested in getting off the bikes for awhile and riding the aerial tram up the mountain. We shot down the idea. Tired, hot, want to get to the campsite. But the miles peeled off pretty quickly, and K pointed out maybe we should make it a tradition to do some crazy ride each trip. Last year, the four of us piled into a bobsled on wheels together when we spent some time in Lake Placid, and I think we set a course record. This was a light mileage day, we were going to be done early, and the cool air at the top of the mountain seemed inviting. We stopped and rode.
The aerial tram is on Whistler’s Mountain. It starts at about 4,300 ft. above sea level and goes up by cable to about 7,500 ft. The Aussie tour guide on the tram is a font of knowledge.
Turns out, Whistler’s Mountain was named for the critters called Hoary Marmots that live at the top and make whistling sounds. Tip for tour guides: you should not say “hoary marmots” on a tram crowded with teenagers and/or motorcycling adults with the senses of humor of twelve year olds. Sophomoric snickering filled the tram. He also told us the peculiar greenish-white color of water we had noticed since we stepped into Canada was from the glacial silt.
At the top, you could hike around lightly or fairly seriously if you wanted to hike up to the very top. The four of us were in motorcycle boots that are designed for protection against small rocks, bugs, road rash if the bike goes down, etc., but they are decided built for staying in one place. A lot of one place. We did minimal hiking, and we watched some critter battle an old Gatorade bottle up and down through his rock cave. I don’t know if it was a hoary marmot, but I didn’t hear it whistle.
We waited for the next tram back the mountain, got back on the bikes, and headed for our campground in Pocahontas, Alberta. It was about 5:30 p.m., or prime animal viewing time. The Yellowhead Highway curved through Jasper National Park, with lakes and rivers on one side and mountain sides on the other, totally protected from towns of any kind. We saw mountain goats standing on rock walls on our left. Then, we saw a skinny wolf loping across a plain to our right. Then we saw a herd of elk? moose? in the trees. We argued later on which. We decided in the spirit of compromise they were a herd of melk. Then we saw another herd of mountain goats. It was a ride through the Wild Kingdom with Marlin Perkins. (The under 40 crowd will once again need to consult Wikipedia.)
We had noted early on in the trip that we could go broke buying bottles of water at every gas/meal stop. I am not picky about my water and am cheap in the oddest places, so I decided to refill my water bottle from sinks in restrooms. L needed more water and asked if I would go to the counter and ask to have it refilled while she headed to the washroom. S pointed out that this was ridiculous. The water behind the counter would be the same water that flowed in the bathroom sink. L said there was a big difference. She was not drinking washroom water.
There was no way I was going to stand in line at a busy establishment and ask them to refill a water bottle when they sell bottled water. S looked at me. Now’s your chance! Go refill it in the washroom yourself before L gets back! I scrambled to.
Moments later, I walked back to the table, an empty bottle in my hand. L was back at the table with S and K. “Couldn’t fit the bottle under the tap?” she asked.
“That’s the way it went down,” I affirmed.
A splendid day for a ride, although the afternoon brought unaccustomed heat. We crossed from British Columbia back into Alberta. L and I were trying the intercoms again, and when we saw the “Welcome to Alberta” sign, we both broke into song together, “She lives in Vancouver, Her name is Alberta, She’s my girlfriend, my wonderful girlfriend, my girlfriend who lives in Can-a-da!!” This is the ending to a song from our favorite musical, “Avenue Q.” I think we lost our Harley Owner’s cards right there. It is bad enough that we even know the lyrics to any musical theater, but singing them? At the top of our lungs? In two-part harmony? While riding? Sacrilege. I’m surprised our bikes didn’t spontaneously combust.
As we approached Jasper National Park, L asked the group if we were interested in getting off the bikes for awhile and riding the aerial tram up the mountain. We shot down the idea. Tired, hot, want to get to the campsite. But the miles peeled off pretty quickly, and K pointed out maybe we should make it a tradition to do some crazy ride each trip. Last year, the four of us piled into a bobsled on wheels together when we spent some time in Lake Placid, and I think we set a course record. This was a light mileage day, we were going to be done early, and the cool air at the top of the mountain seemed inviting. We stopped and rode.
The aerial tram is on Whistler’s Mountain. It starts at about 4,300 ft. above sea level and goes up by cable to about 7,500 ft. The Aussie tour guide on the tram is a font of knowledge.
Turns out, Whistler’s Mountain was named for the critters called Hoary Marmots that live at the top and make whistling sounds. Tip for tour guides: you should not say “hoary marmots” on a tram crowded with teenagers and/or motorcycling adults with the senses of humor of twelve year olds. Sophomoric snickering filled the tram. He also told us the peculiar greenish-white color of water we had noticed since we stepped into Canada was from the glacial silt.
At the top, you could hike around lightly or fairly seriously if you wanted to hike up to the very top. The four of us were in motorcycle boots that are designed for protection against small rocks, bugs, road rash if the bike goes down, etc., but they are decided built for staying in one place. A lot of one place. We did minimal hiking, and we watched some critter battle an old Gatorade bottle up and down through his rock cave. I don’t know if it was a hoary marmot, but I didn’t hear it whistle.
We waited for the next tram back the mountain, got back on the bikes, and headed for our campground in Pocahontas, Alberta. It was about 5:30 p.m., or prime animal viewing time. The Yellowhead Highway curved through Jasper National Park, with lakes and rivers on one side and mountain sides on the other, totally protected from towns of any kind. We saw mountain goats standing on rock walls on our left. Then, we saw a skinny wolf loping across a plain to our right. Then we saw a herd of elk? moose? in the trees. We argued later on which. We decided in the spirit of compromise they were a herd of melk. Then we saw another herd of mountain goats. It was a ride through the Wild Kingdom with Marlin Perkins. (The under 40 crowd will once again need to consult Wikipedia.)
Wild Kingdom continued at our campsite, although only with human critters. Campsite courtesy is that quiet time starts around 9:00 p.m., since at least half the campers will get up ridiculously early to set out on their sightseeing for the day. Unfortunately, at our camp, either a busload of families or some kind of entire social group showed up around 10:00, noisily erected their massive tents and air mattresses, then commenced a spirited game of football accompanied by yodeling from the concrete rest rooms. The acoustics resonated perfectly if the doors were held open so yodelers could, I’m guessing here, see all the action. I seethed and wondered if I was ready to be that killjoy camper to stomp down the gravel path in my bunny slippers and curlers to tell them all to quiet down already. I was not.
Daily Recap: 250 miles, Province: Alberta again (Pocahantas)
Daily Recap: 250 miles, Province: Alberta again (Pocahantas)
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You don't have Tim Horton's in Northern Virginia? They are all over Columbus. Some are in combination with Wendy's, since Tim married Wendy (I'm assuming Dave Thomas' daughter is named Wendy). A few years ago our Physics Librarian at Science & Engineering Library was from Canada. She assured us that Canadians love their "Tim Horton." She was thrilled that Columbus had Tim Horton's Restaurants.
ReplyDeleteWas that sign supposed to be telling you, "Don't let a Hoary Marmot poop in your hand?"
ReplyDeleteOh, Michelle, that's really funny!
ReplyDelete