Anytime one uses commercial transport be it by air or sea the passenger soon learns his place in the scheme of things and it is low on the totem pole—not a bad analogy in these parts. After sitting in line for an hour and a half I was surprised when we waited until the ferry from Horseshoe Bay unloaded and then were directed to make a right-angle turn away from the ferry in front of us we had sat looking at and board the one which had just come in. With three car decks that didn’t take long. Although they fussed about propane when I picked up my ticket the boarding process was extremely casual and used a bare minimum of staff. Passengers were not required to leave their vehicles on the card decks but the foot passenger area above had lounges, a full restaurant, study kiosks, a commodious head, giftshop/magazine/bookstand, and children’s play area. On the top deck were sheltered open seating areas and walkways. Sheltered by the island these inland waters were calm and busy with ferries and tugboats pulling chains of barges. Horseshoe Bay proved to be remote from the city in a rugged area of coastline north of town.
I found Stanley Park but the parking that was available at $2.00 an hour was unsuitable for a Van the size of mine so I gave up on the idea and drove out through the city south to Surrey and Hazelmere RV Park a few miles from Blaine in Washington State. When I got in the much-tattooed, T-shirt-clad urchin at the counter interrupted the conversation he was having with his girlfriend to sign me in. My campsite was in a hollow beside the Little Campbell River, brook-sized save for the fact that its waters, in full flood, raced by at 15 miles an hour. I spent a quiet evening talking to my fellow campers who I’d earlier watched manoeuvring their castle-sized trailers into small campsites.
I can count myself indeed fortunate to have had calm sunny days to cross the Canadian Rockies. Driving high mountain roads lined with snowbanks and avalanche warning signs; the shoulder filled with salt and sand you can appreciate that Highway One does not always grant benign passage. In spring every mountain is snow-capped and the scenery tempts one to let one’s attention stray. Fortunately traffic was light. Save for the steep grades the road into Revelstoke is largely double-tracked and smooth. In Revelstoke amid snow drifts and mud I camped at Smokey Bear, the only place open this time of year behind a giant Smokey Bear statue in a hollow with chickens wandering loose. The Peaks Resort was opposite and though the skiing season was past snowmobiling was still rampant. The local cop sat at the corner in her SUV picking off speeders including a semi pulling a massive load of logs. The fine notwithstanding getting that load going again up a steep grade had to hurt. Revelstoke may be a tropical rainforest in summer but in spring it is hemmed in on every side by towers of white-clad slopes.
From Revelstoke Rogers Pass climbs over summits on roads heaved by the spring thaw curving around mountainsides, through rock cuts and under snow sheds, tunnels and rock slide shelters. After long climbs one is quickly moved to find low gear on the downward slope. Although the roadway was clear all the famous attractions, hiking trails, and campgrounds in the mountain parks were closed. At Yoho’s West Entrance Gate I paused for lunch beside the closed fee station and had my sandwich at a picnic table beside a snowbank. Later in Field I stopped for a break at the Visitor’s Centre. Just before the drive into Calgary I took the off-ramp into the over-commercialized Banff Townsite where the bored staff at the Park Visitor’s Centre largely ignored me. After finding nothing of interest I left tuning into Park Radio as I drove East.
Calgary is a city that seems to have been built in spurts with no overall plan in place. The series of confusing interconnected Expressways seem unnecessarily complicated and poorly laid out. Not for the first time I allowed my GPS to lead me south of downtown to reach the packed subdivision where my friends live.
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