Canadian Rockies - Day 5

Sorry for the delay in posting, Consuela has been busy cooking for three, and the old man has been doing this thing called a job lately.

Back to Lake Louise, when we last left you, we were making our way from downtown Banff to our humble little lodge at the far end of town.  The walk varied each day/night based on the weather.  Last night, it was a crunch fest of slush, and that can only mean one thing come morning . . . an ice rink every where.  We had parked the FJ out in front on Banff Ave, a mere 50 steps from the front door, and it was treacherous.  The tough guys who skied the Great Divide Trail along side dog sleds the day before suddenly felt like "The sorority girls from Bellevue/Chicago trying to negotiate the slippery slopes of Pullman/Madison" on this morning.

We pulled into the local Safeway, navigated the parking lot and managed to purchase the smallest bowl of oatmeal in Western Civilization.  Seriously.We ordered two of the brown sugar variety in the grocery store Starbucks and were each rewarded with 3 whole spoonfuls.  Wilson was worried about eating his breakfast on the big highway, ha, he was done before he made his first turn out of the parking lot.  Good thing we also garnered some tasty maple bars as an impulse purchase. 

With cold temps settling in the Bow River Valley, the Old Man was fired up to head back to Lake Louise where it had snowed heavily the previous day.  Instead of grousing about his oatmeal or bragging about the powder he was about to ski, he should have focused on the TransCanada Highway.  He managed to lose control on a straight, flat stretch.  His excuse . . . "It wasn't me, I wasn't riding the brake, foot wasn't on the gas, and I didn't give it any steering input."  Yeah right, the FJ just magically got sideways and tried to veer off the highway and freeway speeds.   The rest of the trip was driven at a pedestrian 35 mph, without further incident. 

The Banff area boasts three close by ski areas; Mt. Norquay (near town), Sunshine Village (worst named resort ever, about 20ish minutes away), and the big one, Ski Louise (across the valley from the actual lake).  An oddity among North American resorts, Ski Louise has zero slope side accommodations or any thing else for that matter.  Just a few buildings for the lodge, rentals, and offices.  Thus, everyone has to park, no ski in/ski out here.

We bypassed the 27 dollar valet lot and parked sans any fees about 200 flat yards from the lodge. Do Calgarians really pay 27 bucks to save a few metres of trekking?  Or maybe that lot was for the Vancouver folks.

The Old Man continued to flaunt illegality by using Terry's Ski Louise card for a substantial discount at the ticket window.  He affixed his GoPro and made a bee line for the Gondola at the crack of noon.  It snowed 8ish inches the night before. Whistler would be tracked out by 900am on such a day.  Not the case at Lake Louise, one can poke around and find untracked pitches all day long.

Wilson may ski well, but he certainly doesn't shoot good video from his fancy little helmet cam.  Here's the "Essential", "Best Of", "Very Best of", "The Very Best Of", "Greatest Hits", "Ultimate Collection", and "Special Bonus Tracks" of Wilson's day on his skis.

After 15 runs, he could barely find 30 seconds of video stable enough to not make one sea sick.  His photog skills need to be fine tuned a lot.  In his defense, he did rig up his camera at the end of ski poles, bound together by some extravagant tie straps he purchased at Idaho's Most Interesting Store.  Too bad he didn't bring a wind/sun powered battery charger too, the GoPro died seconds after his contraption was operational.

Meanwhile, Amy explored all the base area buildings, five minutes later, she located the comfy chairs in the bar and settled in with her Book Club assignment and enjoyed some tasty snacks. By 4pm, Wilson exhausted his legs and accepted defeat.  His verdict . . .

The journey back to Banff was uneventful for us, but not so much for the many cars that had spun off the road.  Wilson kept it at 35 and griped that he wouldn't have enough beer to get back to Banff.  He's allowed two after ski beers.  We bailed again on the Hot Springs, not sure why, but we did.  Surprisingly, the walk to town was manageable.  Not surprisingly, the Shell Station was the the only hazardous stretch.

Perhaps it was nostalgia for Whistler, or maybe we were just a bit tired, for whatever reason we settled on the St. James Gate Irish Pub on Wolf Street.  The atmosphere was good, the food was fine, if a bit quirky. Nothing to learn from the Shep's Pie here. Amy's is far superior.  Nonetheless, a good time was had despite the Mister's lack of energy.  Any nostalgia was quickly dismissed when we exited the bar and discovered this was no Dublin Gate attached to the lobby of the Pan Pacific in Whistler.  We had a one mile jaunt to our room, and we needed coats, hats, and gloves.