Profile
Blog
Photos
Videos
Hello everyone!
A word of warning: this is the second of a pair of entries, both of which I have posted this afternoon. For those who may care, it makes much more sense to read the preceding entry before moving forward to this one!
Still floating on air (well, a little bit) in the aftermath of our wondrous night at 'db', Vic and I readied ourselves for a trip north to Whistler, snow-capital of British Columbia in the winter and a summer-time paradise for hikers and bikers. This was to be Vic's first trip to jewel of the province's outdoors crown and my first return since that wonderful excursion with my family back in the summer of 2006. I marvel at the paradoxical nature of this last statement: my mind truly boggles when I think about all that has transpired in life since that brilliant trip four years ago and yet, upon arriving back in Whistler village, it was as if I had merely been gone a short while; on a business trip to the city perhaps. Truly the mind works in wonderful ways to store such magical information as the splash of sunlight upon a sturdy evergreen, the ripples of a crystalline lake, the layout of a mock-alpine public square and then call it forth out of the depths of memory, after so much has come to pass, on just such an occasion.
I had called ahead to make some necessary arrangements and so it was that we found ourselves safely deposited outside the Whistler village information centre after a smooth journey upon a Greyhound bus (a mode of transport that I am sure will be a recurring theme later in my adventures here). After a brief orientation both inside the centre and outside on the wide, pedestrianized streets of the village, we made our way to a pizzeria that looked particularly inviting upon a flier in the information kiosk. We arrived to find a very small, very cosy space with just four intimate tables: fortunately(?) there were few people present and only one table occupied. No sooner had we taken our seats to peruse the menu, however, than denizens began to issue forth for every direction, to make an order or pick up a meal that had clearly been telephoned ahead and in every situation to share some friendly words with the establishment's husband and wife proprietors. I settled back to enjoy the feel of a small, communal setting, where neighbours are more than simple acquaintances, my mood enhanced by the golden evening warming the green backdrop of outside and the sound of children's laughter filling the relaxed air. To complete this happy memory, the pizza was very tasty and there was enough of it to take back to our hostel as an impromptu breakfast for the next morning.
Our meal ended, we strolled the forty minutes or so out of the main village back to one of the many tiny, quiet enclaves blossoming out from the main road, hugging closely to the tree-cover, nestled away in natural tranquility. We had closen the University of British Columbia Whistler Lodge, a simple hostel owned and run by the University, but open to all. We were welcomed by a warm, enthusiastic young lady at reception and made to feel at home in a clean, orderly accommodation still awaiting the full onset of summer, with its heaving number of visitors and their ensuing needs. The evening passed by in idle amusement, Vic reminding me of a simple, yet competitive, game of cards for two players, my own suggestions exhausted beyond the rather tired example of 'Rummy'. We retired early to bed, conscious of the use of being fresh for the following day, which promised to be action-packed, as it would be our only real day in Whistler: due to time constraints, we were due to return to Vancouver later that evening, with Vic's plane scheduled to depart (very) early the next morning. The “rooms” were interesting indeed, being little more than alcoves opening off a main corridor, each providing between two and four beds, separated from the corridor simply by a curtain: it was as if each corridor were a large dormitory, simply with a little additional privacy. Vic and I had one such alcove to ourselves and despite some noise issuing forth from behind neighbouring curtains, we were soon able to retreat into dreams, sheltered by the tender embrace of sleep.
True to form, we rose early the following morning, wolfed down delicious cold pizza and checked out of the hostel. We were soon on our way, walking with purpose down past the gorgeous Alta Vista Lake, but not so fast as to spoil our appreciation of the inspirational natural scenery lying round-about. Whistler sits in a large valley, surrounded by majestic peaks and dotted with glittering bodies of water; a pleasant outpost nestled in the lap of the wilderness – an extremely desirable location, but not yet too tame. We paced back into the village and on into the upper section of the urban space: Whistler is furnished by two mountains, Whistler and Blackcomb; the first, lower village sits at the base of Whistler and the second, higher section is located nearer to Blackcomb. We had decided to hire out bicycles for the majority of the day (provided, of course, that we were enjoying ourselves) and settled upon a shop recommended by the girl behind the desk at the lodge, encouraged by a discount offered to such lodgers as ourselves. The first important questions answered – which activity we most wanted to indulge in, where we would hire the necessary equipment – we now stumbled upon a final poser: should we opt for the safer cruising bikes, developed to enable smoother, easier riding along flat (perhaps uninspiring) pathways, or should we plumb for the cross-country bikes, offering frame suspension and the promise of suspense along the more challenging (more interesting) man-made trails? I am happy to write that I got my way, although we did compromise, selecting bikes with front suspension only, making for a harmonious exchange if we decided to mix up the technical trails with the more sedate, yet picturesque, valley network, which is mostly paved or gravelled and always reassuringly wide and open.
I confess to a deep, thrilling surge of nostalgia as we made our way out to the trails around Lost Lake. It was here that I enjoyed the majority of my riding upon that first, idyllic trip, often accompanied by my skilful, powerful and incredibly witty sister, Beth. We would exhaust ourselves, even after a morning of riding with Mum, Dad and one of our fantastic guides, Mark or Johnny, practising technique and working to overcome the natural pangs of fear when faced with anything that seemed especially challenging. That was four years ago and at a time when cycling was something that I enjoyed on a very regular basis: thus, whilst such memories were fresh in my mind, such parallelled strength was sadly lacking from my body and with it there remained only a dim confidence in my ability to handle even the moderate trails. As I was riding with Vic, who had never before attempted such off-road antics, and because we had only a single morning and some of the afternoon, I was content to stick to some of the tried and tested favourites from those days (always ready with an excuse – in truth, I would need some days to regain the standard at which I left Whistler those four summers previously). So it was that we were soon flying down the jarring, aching, uttely magical berms of 'Tin Pants' and 'Peaches en Regalia'. Ah, such fantastic trails! Victoria was a splendid sport and picked up the essentials very quickly, despite my dire attempts to provide advice sounding, I am sure, more like hinderances. With so little prior experience and only myself and her instincts (a far more useful guide) from which to learn, I was very impressed and grateful, as such an adventure was – at least initially – predominantly for my benefit. As for myself; I managed not to break anything (I was particularly concerned for the bike), but as I had feared, I was a far cry short of where I would like to be in terms of cross-country cycling: at least I shall have activities with which to occupy myself upon my return home.
After barreling down the trails a couple more times, we decided to finish our time in the saddles with a foray out to the far edge of the valley path and a marvellous vantage-point out over Green Lake. I smiled as I cast my gaze out over a scene that I remember particularly well from my first visit here: there were the electricity pylons, spoiling an otherwise glorious sight; emerald waters sparkling in the early afternoon sun, the highway running north to Pemberton or south to Vancouver snaking along the lake's flank, the mountains rising impressively behind, framing the view. As we sat overlooking this stage, smiles curling our mouths in wonder, a sea-plane opened its engined and roared out across the lake, slowly, cumbersomely dragging its weigh up into the azure sky. This latest, magical moment imprinted upon our minds, we cycled leisurely back to the shop, returned our trusty steeds, gathered our sparse belongings, left in the building for safe-keeping and made our way back to the bus-stop and then swiftly on to Vancouver.
The following dawn arrived far too swiftly and it was with tired eyes that I accompanied Victoria back to the airport, waving goodbye as she ducked into customs (a formality, interestingly, that is completed this side of the border for those entering the US). Making my way back home, alone with my thoughts, I looked back over what I now had time to realize had been a spectacular week: I had done and seen much that I had been unable and, indeed, unwilling to explore during my initial six months in Vancouver. The factor that had truly enriched these excellent experiences, however, had of course been the wonderful companionship of Vic. She is a patient, gentle, empathic and frighteningly intelligent friend – she is modest too and will therefore be extremely put out that I am lauding her in this manner. Perhaps best of all, she laughs at all of my jokes and then sometimes even when I had no initial intention to appear amusing (I jest here; though endearing, I do not truly believe that this is Vic's best quality – you do all, however, now know the easiest way into my good books). In truth though, I am deeply honoured that Victoria would take the time and make the effort to travel across the continent to see me (oh, and Vancouver too I suppose). It was an absolute pleasure to play host to her for our wondrous week together and to be able to show off so much of what, I believe, makes this city such a fantastic place to call home (however temporary that may be). I am truly blessed to be afforded such friends, particularly when my attempts at correspondence, although not terrible, leave something to be improved upon no doubt, especially in terms of consistency.
I look forward to my next rendezvous with such a great friend, perhaps even in Washington during my time on the east coast before flying home this November. In the meantime, I hear the wind rushing through the trees, waves lapping at stony shores, the tantalizing, muffled sound of wheels rattling over tree-roots: the trails are calling to me.
Best wishes to all!
David xxx
- comments