Around
the States in Eighty Days
Being an irregular and erratic account by the
Greedy Bastard himself as he sets out to traverse America on
a comedy tour.
Day
Sixty. Across the Rockies.
Sunday,
November 30, 2003 - Travel Day Calgary to Vancouver
I
wake up in The Rockies. The rising sun is lighting the tips
of the mountains as we pull out of the Three Sisters campground
and enter the Banff National Park. The bright yellow morning
light shines crisp on the white snow. Above us great grey
granite peaks tower against the clear blue sky. We are traveling
along a flat glacier bed, on a two lane highway which we share
with an oyster colored river and a single lane railway. Hanging
valleys on either side drop into v shaped tree-lined funnels
of snow. Frozen waterfalls hang suspended like icicles. On
the steep slopes the black outline of the trees slide down
the ski slopes and beside the road, snow speckled Christmas
trees have been blasted with white. Occasional black crows
sit in the tree tops or rise reluctantly from road-kill. The
far mountains gleam like dentures in the sunlight and we pass
great swirls of rock, folded and scooped and twisted by the
earth,
We are traveling due west, with the sun low and golden behind
us, intensifying as it rises, lighting the road ahead. The
icy dentures of the molar mountains the monstrous peaks and
the huge tubular piles of rock are awesome in the yellow of
the morning. This is like traveling through a calendar. This
is awesome. This is inspiring. In the chasm of the glacial
valley we are in the deep blue of the morning, only the very
peaks on either side are sunlit. Occasional plumes of snow
like smoke signals are blown off the icy tops.
The valley widens where the mountains have been pushed over
sideways leaving long, gentler tree-lined slopes which lead
to jagged up-thrust peaks beyond. The insistent rising of
the golden sun pours light on some truly breathtaking stacks
of rock. They make you catch your breath and cry out. Pillars
of mountain piled like a citadel look like a mighty fortress
of heaven, a pinnacle of the earth's glory and majesty. Everywhere
the freckled fir trees flecked with snow stand knee deep in
creamy scoops of pure white snow sparkling between the close
stand of the trees. It is awesome to be here. Monumental.
Inspiring. Everything is free of man save this two lane salted
highway.
We pulled out of Calgary at six thirty this morning. We had
moved off early without Jen - she slept ashore with her visiting
parents - but luckily Gilli was alert and stopped Lish leaving
without her. I knew there were a couple more hours of darkness
so I went back to sleep. We had spent the night parked outside
the Jubilee Auditorium. Some of the lads were up late enjoying
their wine, too bad they are going to sleep through. This
is the most magnificent scenery I have ever seen.
We were originally supposed to do this journey at night, but
yesterday I changed the plan. How many chances do you get
to see the Rockies? I ask people if they would prefer to go
by day and get to Vancouver later and it's unanimous. In the
end this is a must see journey. 12 hours from Calgary to Vancouver.
On Friday 100 mile an hour winds blew over five big rigs but
today there is no wind. The sky is as blue as a Krishna calendar,
though it's arctic cold. A river with frozen banks steams
alongside us. It is covered in wisps of icy breath, tiny mist
clouds steaming in the morning light. The horizontal rays
of the sun make long shadows of the trees in the snow. The
peaks of the mountain smoking with snow blown off the top.
It's like passing through the Paramount logo. A who's who
of mountain shapes, some virtually vertical peaks like a child's
drawing of a mountain, others are pyramid peaks, triangulated
mountains, every possible shape of rock formation covered
in thick creamy blobs of snow. As we enter the Yoho valley
we cross in to British Columbia, and soon we'll be back on
Pacific time. We pass a Canadian Pacific freight train. The
girls are curled up under a blanket on the front seat next
to Lish. We swallow hot chocolate as we ride through this
winter wonderland.
We enter a town called Golden, and pass the Kicking Horse
Hotel, where we are suddenly shrouded in white mist. These
frozen clouds looked pretty till we entered them, now visibility
is down to thirty feet and we are descending very slowly on
the brakes. We are in a steep gorge and crawl to a standstill.
The road has been closed here. Snow ploughs covered in snow
sit by the road. An unfinished bridge is waiting for the spring.
A single lane is open and as we pass through, the mountain
peaks suddenly emerge from the mist and the sun comes out
again revealing little cottages with smoking chimneys.
The hours pass. It's very comfortable riding through this
constantly changing snowscape. I flick on the TV to watch
Arsenal playing Fulham on the satellite. It seems very decadent
to lie in bed watching Sunday afternoon soccer as this extraordinary
landscape slides past. It's certainly a long way from Highbury.
There's only an intermittent signal, so the game keeps freezing
or breaking into surreal pixels or disappearing completely
as we crawl under the lee of a great mountain.
Soon we cross the mighty Columbia river. Now we are traveling
through a land of lakes, deep wide waters, some completely
frozen, others big broad expanses of choppy blue fiord. They
look like Lochs and have odd names like Blind Bay and Salmon
Arms. We stop for lunch in Kamloops at a very acceptable Grecian
Italian restaurant, where the waitress asks me if I'm John
Cleese. Turns out I'm not. I tell her I'm Michael Palin to
confuse her.
It's a beautiful day, but we are still quite far north and
the sun only staggers up so far and then sinks back exhausted.
It never clears the mountain tops. The Rockies are behind
us but we still have four hours and two big climbs over the
Sierras. Here the trees seem wider spaced, the mountains somehow
less tortuous, but they are steep alright and packed with
thicker snow, and we pass through some mighty deep chasms
as the sun sets arctic green in the west. Lights in the valleys
pop on twinkling and soon we are crawling into Sunday night
traffic, with Vancouver just a few clicks away. A towering
high rise with hot water and warm beds awaits us and it's
a full twenty degrees warmer. But what a day. What an unforgettable
journey.
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