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Pfft... s'mountains

On Saturday, we had our big road trip. We left Calgary (thank Jebus) and drove for an hour before we hit the mountains. Totally, totally beautiful. And the conditions were just perfect—they were still snow-covered, but it was bright blue day which got steadily warmer the further we got from Calgary. (About a week before leaving, Sarah asked, “Baby, are you excited that you’re going to see mountains?” And I was all, “Whatevs, I’ve seen mountains before.” So, every time we came across a beautiful view of the Rockies, someone would mock me with, “Pfft… s’mountains.”) Our first stop was Canmore, where we grabbed a pretty decent coffee and a pretty terrible bagel’n’eggy sandwich. Then we motored over to Banff, which is a good looking city, but tourist-overrun. We stopped at the Fairmont Banff Springs to snap some pictures and walk through the hotel, then we visited the Banff Upper Hot Springs, where all my oozing sores found sweet relief (and almost nobody was Speedo-clad.)

Then it was off what would be the highlight of the entire trip: Field, British Columbia. When Justin first came west, the opportunity that brought him to Alberta fell though, so he drove on to Field where a friend lived. He’s missed it ever since, and now we know why. It’s a tiny little place in the middle of Yoho National Park, and it’s surrounded by mountains in every direction. There are maybe 140 people living there, everyone knows everyone, and there’s exactly one restaurant. It’s like something right out of a sitcom. Coming fresh from Calgary—a city that prides itself on being friendly but fails miserable—everyone in Field was completely welcoming.

We ate at Truffle Pigs, a great restaurant which incidentally was where Justin worked during his time here. Then we took a quick side trip to Emerald Lake, named very appropriately as the water is perfectly clear and Gatorade-coloured. After this it was back to Truffle Pigs for our second meal in about three and a half hours. After dinner, we were invited over to the local hotel, officially closed, but the owner opens the bar for the occasional private shindig. Not sure what the scientific principles are behind it, but at high altitudes (Field is 4000 feet above sea level), one drink has the effect of two. Which begs the question: can one train for enduro-drinking at high altitudes the same way one trains to run at high altitudes? Couldn’t say, but we trained well and heartily for at least that one day. We ended the night at Justin’s friend Jer’s place. Jer was also our waiter at the restaurant. You’ve got to love a place where your waiter invites you back to his place and gets you hammered.


Unknown said…
Dave, you say that almost nobody was Speedo-clad... is that because you were Speedo-clad?


The way you describe Field... it sounds loverly! Especially if the waiters invite you back to their place and get you hammered. Yip!
Anonymous said…
I loved my drive out that way (was a long time ago).

Wouldn't mind checking out that mean restaurant.


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