Volume 6: Pete in Canada Part 18. Beaver Las Canada. 1 Continent, 2 Blokes, Infinite Weird Sh*t
Day 42 – Kamloops to Whistler
Today, in theory, was supposed to be a shortish drive to Whistler. Our map said it was a 355 kilometres from Kamloops to Vancouver and that the driving time would be 3 hours and 33 minutes. So armed with a map that was so precise down to the exact minute on travel time (let’s hope later releases of the map can be more precise to the second for these long trips), we looked at the map and guessed it should only take us about 2 hours to get to Whistler as that was about two thirds of the way from Kamloops. Wrong! What the map was missing was an icon of a mountain goat to indicate highway 99 should only ever be used by mountain goats. The drive took over 4 hours. Thankfully, it was Brad who was driving as I slept off the effects of a big night, with him waking me every 10 minutes shouting “C’MON!!” at a White Chrysler tippy toeing its way through the ever winding wet highway 99. There was little opportunity to overtake the White Chrysler, what with this being a mountain goat track designed to only allow the goats to travel in single file line in each direction, filled with constant blind corners that only alerted you to the tight hairpin with a sign 2 metres from the entry to the corner.
The long journey eventually rewarded us by letting us get to our destination still alive. I was surprised with Whistler’s architecture, expecting large gargantuan high rise apartments considering we were now out of the National Park and the building restrictions applied in National Parks. Whistler was quite a picturesque town, seemingly built on the understanding that everything had to look like a Swiss Chalet. We stopped into the information centre for general news of what to do in town and potential accommodation options. We ignored the information centre woman trying to flog us a room at her mother’s bed and breakfast, and instead headed to the Riverside RV resort. We setup our campsite there, noticed what must be a legal requirement for non-National Park campsites, the minigolf course, and headed into town for some food and a stroll.
We checked out the cost of renting mountain bikes for the day, said “Oh s#$t!” when we were quoted $155 and then went and had something to eat at the Old Spaghetti Factory (official restaurant of the Vancouver Librarians Association). The Old Spaghetti Factory also supplied me with some more meducation. According to my menu Whistler got its name in 1975 because the locals were forever hearing some animal that made a constant Whistling sound (I hear the locals in Rooty Hill in New South Wales used a similar naming approach when naming the hill, but their decision was made more on the actions of the animals, not the sound).
After dinner I kept my drinking streak up by having a pint at the Brewhouse Restaurant and Pub. It was there Brad’s streak would end at 49 days as he finally gave into the pain his body was suffering and had an alcohol free day. As he had got to Vancouver before me he had the chance to own the Beaver Las Canada consecutive drinking day’s record. Now he had left the door ajar! If I could drink my way through the pain barrier for another 8 days I would own the record.
We were both pretty flat that night so we hit the hay early at around 9:30pm. It was a great idea as a number of uprisings and coups where beginning to take place. One between my cargo pants and jacket, who had united to say they were sick of me wearing them without being washed in 42 days, with another coup started against the early mornings by my body.
Day 43 – Whistler
You can do a lot inside 12 hours, like play 3 rounds of golf, see approximately 8 movies, listen to half of a Fidel Castro speech. Or as I choose, sleep. I awoke some time after 9:30am as my body now begun to feel the effects of being on the road for 42 days while trying to break Brad’s 49 consecutive days with at least 1 alcoholic beverage. My body was really starting to find a new appreciation for the dedication and discipline it takes to become an alcoholic. I’d been 42 straight days with a drink and my body was screaming for some relief. Alcoholics: a great example for kids that anything is achievable if you just stick to it.
In a day full of indifference, we caught the Gondola to the top of some mountain. We had a jug of beer and some lunch, stepped outside thought “bugger it, it’s too cold” and went straight back down the mountain. If it wasn’t for the snow capped mountain and wood carving of the bear I would have thought I was still in Australia. There was an Aussie chick working on the Gondola, an Aussie chick serving food at the top of the mountain and an Aussie chick working at the front desk of our camp site. They say Australia day is the biggest day on the mountain and I was beginning to see why, with countless Aussies under 30 lured by the holiday working visa and the chance to work on the ski fields for $8 an hour. On the upside they do get free ski passes and discount mountain bikes. Those discounts were looking inviting as we did some more investigation on the cost of renting mountain bikes and found the prices ranged from $120 to $170 a day depending on how far from the mountain you walked. At these prices a walk to Vancouver was not out of the question.
To stay in prime physical shape we walked to the driving range. We then worked on our upper bodies by proceeding to belt a bunch of golf balls at a net just 200 metres from the tee. As there were no woods available for the right handers reaching that 200 metres was quite a stretch for Brad. While for me, being a left hander meant I could use a driver which gave my wicked slice all that more distance and meant all wildlife were put on high alert for 30 minutes as I pumped countless balls wide into the surrounding trees and houses.
That workout proved tiring so we headed back to the camp site for a power nap at 4pm. After I woke up Brad told of how a woman in a nearby campsite had heard me snoring and somewhat scared had asked her friends if that was a bear she could hear. It amused Brad greatly and was a constant reminder to tourists to be bear aware.
Recharged we caught the bus back in to town and met up with Brad’s friend Spoony at the Brewhouse. Spoony was an Aussie working on the mountain and joined us for a few pints after he’d knocked off work. Spoony bid us a fond farewell and a good night after the third pint, while Brad and I kicked onto a nightclub called Garibaldi’s. It was a confusing night for me as I used my “cheeky Englishmen” smile (not named by me, but a former English colleague) to reel in some chick, only to see her spend the rest of the night with some tall doofus. It was then I put a temporary embargo on North American chicks (all though it seemed they’d put one on me about 20 days earlier) as I tried to sort out the confusion. I spent the rest of the night occasionally dancing on podiums and watching some drunk woman do the “lawn mower” dance so many times that she could have mowed the lawns of every residence in Whistler 3 times over. The lawn mower was only broken up by Brad throwing an imaginary fishing line at her and then watching her pretend to be a caught fish. That amused her so much that in between ensuring the dance floor grass was a perfect inch and half tall, she insisted Brad threw her a line to the point where even John West would have cracked the s#$ts at rejecting something so many times.
Can’t remember what time we got home, but I’m pretty sure it was after closing time.
Day 44 Whistler
As for the next coming days, these are only being included in the tour diary for completeness, just like the last few days which were about nothing. If I was the reader I would skip to the end. If you happen to be reading this on the toilet and just noticed there is no toilet paper left, at least this diary entry can be put to good use.
We woke up after 11am and released we needed to book another 2 nights accommodation. Brad was sleeping in so I dragged myself to the front desk and secured another 2 nights at the campsite. Brad had been an early riser all tour, so I was happy it had only taken 44 days to swing him to my way of thinking.
After breakfast we had a game of golf on the mini-golf course. The holes on this course where all turf, as opposed to Astroturf, which made this challenge a PGA sanctioned game. It remained tight until the 14th when I put my first shot in a bunker. In an all or nothing display I went for a ramp shot, attempting to use the lip of the bunker as a jump to launch my ball at the hole. It was a shot that only took 3 attempts and all but handed the Whistler Open crown to Brad.
Having worked on our short games at the Riverside RV Resort links, we headed back to the driving range after receiving a 2 for 1 offer the day before. Today I noticed the sign saying golfers are “Responsible for damage”, so as I launched countless shots over the nets and sliced even more towards the nearby houses it took some great acting to pretend I kept losing those balls in flight, working on the theory I couldn’t be held responsible for any damage if I didn’t see it.
Now content we could make it on the US tour as professional golfers we walked back into town and watched the mountain bikers coming down the hill. People watching is always fun, even more fun when you add out of control mountain bikes flying down a mountain. In a scary accident a hot chick stacked and scratched her stomach, thankfully her face was undamaged courtesy of the faceguard on her helmet. I also noticed some bloke with a fluorescent pink towel attached to his bike. Before I could get out “who’s this poof?” I then noticed his bike had no seat. I wasn’t sure whether that was due to an accident or had been removed by choice to enhance his pleasure over the rough terrain. We also watched the conclusion of the “Sea to summit” event. An event that sees competitors, not surprisingly, run from the sea to the mountain in an ultra marathon. As I watched some 72 year old bloke cross the finish line I couldn’t help but think he still probably felt better than I did when I woke up after last nights big night.
Spoony knocked off work in the afternoon so we did the right thing and drove him back to his accommodation just out of town. As the trip was to take more than 10 minutes, we stopped off at the Boot Pub for a jug of beer. The Boot was a dark, dodgy setup, as it was a combination of bar, strip club and hotel. Spoony had stayed here when he first landed in Whistler and listed his neighbours as strippers. Awesome. As we finished off the jug Spoony told some stories about events on the mountain. He told of one story where a previous colleague had shut the chairlift down for the night while there was still some bloke on it. Needless to say leaving some punter swinging in the breeze for a few hours is not great for career advancement, and this colleague was instantly dismissed.
At the conclusion of the jug, we stopped by Domino’s and paid $20 for a large pizza, and then dropped Spoony off at his home. That $20 seemed somewhat inflated given I could get a large pizza back home for $5 (pick up, no deliveries), but it did taste good with a can of Molson Canadian. As I carried that pizza to the campsite resting on my ribs, while my other hand carried the beers, my body felt like it had gone 10 rounds of boxing. Sleeping on gravel for a few weeks was the equivalent of suggesting to Mike Tyson that he punched like a girl and then inviting him to punch you in the body.
After dinner we crashed for a powernap at 8pm, before getting up and catching the bus at 10pm back into town for a bunch of drinks at the Longhorn. It was then Brad and I had a Danny Glover and Mel Gibson moment; we were getting too old for this shit. I’m not sure what time we headed back to the campsite, but I’m assuming it wasn’t long after midnight.
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