Banff, Glaciers & Lake Louise

This "page" in my little spiral notebook carries a lot. If your loading time seems exceptional, bear with me.
I'll break it up into two or more, but even with some of the redundant pictures, all I can say is
I'm barely able to keep in control of this thing...

Oh, the morning got a little cooler. I'm a little more rested 'on the surface' but even with my sore neck all better, and my spirits as mellow as high as the snow line, it has slowly dawned on me that I'm homesick. There are no phones handy, so just thinking of Judy puts the little smile on the inside.. you know, heart and hearth grow warmer. Just a little. Maybe a little more. The hills are getting fun, no traffic, and the air is thin and cool. Cruising and singing at 85, the normal deep roar turns into a snarl and comes up the canyon pulling hard. Easy now. Keep it fun. The road sweeps smoothly, the torque is just as good as the lean into the turns gets tighter and I stay loose. Look the bike around the bend. Don't steer it; just keep it happy as it presses down and likes it. Much over 90 and you need to concentrate here, and so I ease back to 75 and then agree on 80 for a while. When the mood is matched to the scene, I just coast to a stop. Once, twice, whether its ten minutes or an hour between stops, I don't even know. I really don't care, not aware of caring or the lack of it.

Very few pictures for you. While I am immersed in the visual, it saturates the experience so thoroughly that capture is impossible. Sights blend with the sound; the horizon angles and tips -- the pressure of the windstream joins with the Gs of the turn, the pine in my nose affects the taste of the heat when the switchback brings me heading back into the sun. Calculate the angle of an upcoming vista, as it comes near dump quickly down to neutral and just flick the kill button. Deafening silence and the tires sing with the drive belt. The white noise of the wind gives in to the timid squeak of some suspension, then the gravel crackles to a stop. Key off, sit motionless. The kick stand actually squawks as it is extended. Now that is an offense, but forgiven. Helmet off, heat rising to my face, radiating to the leg, not a whisper except my sigh.
Up a game trail in slow motion. Knees are stiff at first, now its something akin to sage in my scent, but not the same at all. Tracks all over. Sit down, listen, but nothing but a pebble or two rolled by the warmth or the dew or some spirit.

Another long sweeping valley, sight line over a mile minimum, this time over a hundred. The bike is screaming, I'm pressed tight on the tank, eyes level with the top of the dials. Not for long, the front end is too light and yet its reluctant to keep an easy line, wants to pull back instead of nosing where I'm thinking. 85 is fine again, the shriek mellows down to a howl.
I caught up to some traffic. I let them stay up ahead about half a mile, and started looking for another place to rest and maybe eat a little. None. McBride at 9:45, gas, and a chainsaw sculptor at work. No way does that fit. As I'm prepping to go, a tour bus comes from the other direction, and my attitude sinks with the stink of the diesel. I'm out of there, steady cruising, slowly improving.

Stopped at 12,021 on the clock, making it 420 miles for the day. Doesn't sound like much, but as I write this in the evening of the first day of fall, 1999, the sensorium of those few miles is vivid, the good and the bad. You have to do it. I can't give it to you, as much as I wish I could. If I do anything, it will be to add another factor to whatever gets you to make up your mind to do it.

You don't need a motorcycle, you need the solitude. You can skip the tequila, you need the Inukshuk. You don't need a Nikon, you need your battery recharged.

Believe me, you do.

At 12,021 miles, I wrote Denise a guilty Happy Birthday note.
I wish I was there, still wish I was closer.

Downhill is not an attitude, it is a condition that lets the pipes just murmur along, - the road is there, we just can't see it just yet.

We'll drop down and follow the river. There's no wind, no clouds, no traffic, no frown.

The pine air is sharp and not-sweet - the chill is organic, volatile, and just braces up my nose like smelling salts.

Its all downhill.

Morning. Tent seems to be lazy, took a long time, no hurry. Goat & a tree

Hit pay dirt, within 80 miles. I'm seeing the same mineral greyishness as I walk up a trail. No hurry.

Sit down, he came to me. And he just didn't care.

Didn't come any closer, not for a minute did he forget I was there, but no stress, no nerves, just munching and licking around.

Now, don't think me unkind, but part of the memory here came from my hunting reflex. There was very little breeze, and my face told me it was coming up the draw toward me. Sure, it probably kept him calm, but I have to tell you, he stank. See that patchy looking hide of his? Well, it stinks.

I was trying to get him with his teeth showing when he was on the gravel and rock. He's not chowing down on the vegetables, he is licking and nuzzling the rock. Must be fun.

One click too many, and he is skipping away.

Smell stays for a while, I'm getting ready to leave. Slowly. I figure on not making a racket, even though I doubt I impressed him much, still I think he needs his tranquility too.

Wait. Goat family in grass Why? Don't know, but down the path, here they come.

Wait a minute. Wasn't I just making the trees shake with the thunder of my kerhuge Harley?

Am I not the packer (sometimes) of a .450 Casull, or if I'm not too tired, a 45/70? Where is the respect?

Those are KIDS! Who am I, Fred Sanford with his fist cocked? They just didn't care. I could have chucked a rock and showed them who's boss.

Next time, I will. Maybe. Patchy coat Goats Maybe the little bitty one with no horns.

My timing was better here, though. See how the foreground beast is licking the rock?

Finally, they do take their leave. No hurry, no stampede. I was never going to get acclimated to that smell, but in this case, you will profit by the single sense I can present to you.

The only sound they made was crunching as they chewed mouthfuls of dirt. The rocks were like candy, and every one took in bulk cargo. I have seen deer at a salt lick, and cows, but this crew was serious about stocking up on minerals.

Onward. Some of the signs around here tempt me. Prince George is where you can cut North again.

This is 'Bridal Veil' falls, I think. Bridal Veil Falls

I remember the sign, and this is the first picture of that series that is printable. Forget the anthropomorphism. If there was some bride, I'll grant she wore a veil and was as pure as that water falling down so lightly.
I think some democrat was just trying to get more money for signs by making up a big legend. Let the scene speak for itself...

What I can't give you is the sound, nor the real perspective. Even I can barely make out the space of the valley between the near trees and far. It takes time, the water just sighs and whispers in the distance. Ever so often, a little breeze blows a little mist, near to the look of two tails on a comet, one bright, the other luminous. Please, go and soak it up for yourself, I'll take full responsibility for the risk.

I wanted so much to stay right here for a week or so. Let's take all the time we need and see what's in that cave behind the falls. The valley is stunning. We could learn something.

I realize why Judy resists traveling with me. I spent an hour here, only dragging myself away when the hunger pangs and my stomach rumblings started to intrude on my reveries.

"Things and actions are what they are, and the consequences of them will be what they will be; why then should we wish to be deceived?" (Berkeley) Why, indeed, impose "Bridal Veil" on our moment? As I sit with my cashews and tequila, old Berkeley comes back and tells me to take my grip on reality firmly. I was asked, while stopped within sight of the falls, why on earth I would risk my life on a crazy motorcycle? I said to her 'because I can see up, down, and all around my life when I ride along, not just that view over there.' I'm not in the mood to fool myself about the risk. Heck, just yesterday I lost my vision and my balance while banking a curve at night on a lonesome road. It could have been pretty bad, and made worse because I chose that stupid bike over there instead of your Whinnie, which would have had me surviving the rollover had I been belted in firmly. No, those impressions over there, powerful as may be, don't carry a bride to me. All my senses pick up, all are soaking in those falls. My bike and risk actually help there too. I'm not relating a conversation, I am sharing the thoughts in the second hour or so I spent thinking in that setting, after the nice people were gone on their way.

My wife and my goofy boss at work let me go. I've done about a month now, and I guess I owe them some. Sure, there will be consequences to this choice I've made. I'll feel guilty about doing this without her. It is too good for me alone, not sharing, and when I spiral in to the Agenback and Inbite, I know she should have the regeneration as much or more than me. Now I owe her more.

Nobody is (or should be) deceived. That way cool banner I have, folded tight under the sweaty socks and salty rain suit, won't improve morale back at the old SSA. It might take some moment of perspective to one or two who signed it.

It might have consequences {sevvur?} to connect with forces I know nothing about, but I won't fool myself or old Berkeley that Dean won't have a ton of work ready when I hit the glass skyscraper... He too, won't be deceived at all. I just hope he is envious.

I

With a final pull on the pull flask, I grin at my feeble metaphysics. Then Bumbeda, Bumbeda, Zoom are the things and actions once more.

Here, I promise you, I'll put in that sound as soon as I figure out an .avi file technique.

Hey, want to boogie up to Dawson Creek?

I get a lot of that. Just friendly people, I think slightly askew from the sensory overload. Whether they live 'aroud here' or are passing through. I have a feeling this place could not, in my estimation, become mundane and familiar to anyone normal. Even those who are normal, I think this grandeur would keep a subconscious vector working. What force that vector would carry, what direction it should align, what magnitude would the power be, I can't know, but don't you think there would be some long-term effect? Let me know. The friendly question was posed with the assumption that I sought 'more' of something.

River & Sandbar pond, glacier Some drifter back at the bar had said Highway 97 is better by far than the way I'm headed. More game, more fishing, more wilderness up to and on the trail. I was tempted, as I think back, but (no pun) there is Judy waiting, and that direction is over a horizon - nowhere near North. The valley keeps my interest, I hike down to the water, numbing cold in the warm sun. Lunch listening to the breeze and burbling out in the current. I felt like taking a nap, but for some reason, I couldn't close my eyes.
.

This run, from Jasper to Lake Louise, is as close to the Alps as I can remember from the sixties when I biked it through them... I did the run from Germany through Austria into Italy, and I'm sure the altitudes were higher, but the scenery was no more spectacular. The Alps go on for more distance, and have much more culture and tradition and civilization, but the raw natural beauty is so close... It brings me back. No, I know you don't want a long reminisce for me to replay those tapes in my head. But, there, resting, I did.

Following the 93 Highway, its called the Ice Fields Parkway. River, Pine & Glacier

I can see why. Here it is the heat of Summer, and everywhere I look, there are snow capped mountains an d more and more glaciers coming down toward me.

Here comes one now.

I don't know if it comes through for you, but the air is clear, and even though my eyes are getting filled with grandeur, I never tire of just stopping, and letting it soak in a little deeper. I can smell that tree on the right - its only a few yards down the slope of the bank, but the sound of the water rushing past seems to bring the coolness from that snow. Its pretty far away. Not a cloud in the sky, it doesn't need it, there is decoration enough for me.

Stopped here, I'm joined by some fellow travelers. Everybody is friendly, but quickly I get motivated to move on. I don't feel like social interplay can add much to the experience. If you can't internalize it, I can't help. Surely you didn't come up here to meet me. I keep the bike just muttering along, those women need me out of the way, and the valley should be quiet for them too, like I had it.

A few more bends... A few more cars, but River 3 Pines & Glacier Here it is again. We're closer, but start again by smelling those trees in the foreground, let the breeze come over the ridge in the middle, just down from the mountain on the right, and the coolness picks up the scent of the water, the needles, even the gravel smells good here. Nice glacier.
I sit with a rock as a backrest. My notebook says: "If the pictures don't come out, just keep quiet, words from here could only carry a millionth of the minutes spent, and even with images from Ansel, the message would be wanting..."

I'm so tired. I pick up a stream bed with firm gravel. Up the side of the stream, away three bends from the road, I just stop on a flat rock with about 50 feet of flat surface. The car sounds are gone, and as darkness falls, even the truck's rumble goes away. I'm 20 feet higher than the water, and just get my sleeping bag out on the sand at the edge. Comfort like that you cannot buy. One more sentiment to Denise, I missed your birthday. Sleep. Morning. Cold! Wow the sun takes a long time getting light and warmth down this steep ravine. I get the bike all packed down in the damp air, but don't start it. I'm stiff and sore in the knees, so I take a leisurely walk around to loosen up. Hungry. Let's go.
Waterfall Closeup

Looking at the left of the valley, I pass another stream. Needless to say, I didn't sleep next to this one. Now, that would have been a better story, but I don't care.

I'm not in a hurry. Learn to take it as it happens. Even the bad news. As you might admire the beauty of such natural, simple scenes, I have to tell you that Banff itself was pretty bad for me. All millionaires, and desperately trying to show off for one another. I saw the latest Ferraris idling along next to E-Type vintage Jags, with the best disdainful looks for everyone, even when nobody was looking at them. Maybe I'm to blame, with my wilderness deep soak of the last few weeks, but that shock of civilization actually depressed me. I looked for somewhere to shelter myself from it.

Bad luck, only legitimate campgrounds are legal. My simple rest stop last night would have been some sort of major violation had the uniforms happened by.

I had to guard against a similar air of superiority in myself. Why am I so put off by commercialism? Why does that spoil it for me? Get off your attitude, old boy, and lighten-up! I thought to myself that Calgary is not too far. I drove out of the main crush of Banff and dug to the bottom of my food cache.

That's better. I cleaned up my mess, just as fastidiously here as when I was looking for bears over my shoulder. Here, though, I was in the midst of millionaires. I gave them just the same courtesy .

Cheered up with that, I'm thinking I'm away toward Calgary, sure, and see this haughty old pair right near the road!

Condescension Goat & one Reclining

As I rolled slowly to a stop, the near one looked at me gently as I pulled the camera out of my jacket, but no panic, no fear of man or bike. Ah, civilization.

I think I detected an air of condescension. Maybe my hair was looking patchy when I took off my helmet.

Denise is on my mind again. I love my little girl. She does fight her demons with spirit, derived from some strength I admire but sometimes just can't see. Yet then her eyes get big to show her fears and vulnerabilities in a way that captures my heart. Hangs on to her principles, and stays good to her Dad. Happy Birthday, again. I love you. -- While I'm riding my 'stupid bike' as you say.

"Seven-Eleven" - Guess what day that is? Its your Birthday!

They call them glaciers.

This qualifies. It might look a little dirty, maybe shrunken from what it once was, but it takes you through time, lets you think about carving that valley, and what that water has seen when it fell as snow and turned to ice.

Don't take my whining about the signs too seriously. Do go read them yourself.

It does qualify, as a glacier.

That sense of well being returned. Other troubles are still carried, those of you who know me, know. Troubles are not part of the travelogue. As reality keeps us all, they continue to exist, but here are are diminished beneath.

Romp down the canyon, follow the river with me, and slide to a stylish stop at the mother of all tourist pull-outs. This has the atmosphere of a prepared event, and the huge old hotel/castle/bar/restaraunt/photo-op thing behind you can be forced out of your experience, but only with a mighty effort. Timidly wend your way through the chattering crowd, and see what they are all looking down at. No, its not a corpse, it is: LL Signage

No, try harder, it might go away. Now, I purposefully degraded this image so you can't read it, no matter how much you blow it up. No, those are not explanations of the heads carved in Mount Rushmore, they are really the names of the people sunk when the ice hit their canoes beneath the cliffs, I think. Or, it should be what they explain.

Let's you and I start with a 'close' look. Glacier Tele

No, I didn't hike up there, although with all my snotty comments above, I admit that would have been a cool thing to do. However, I'm afraid, the cost was high and my time and funds are getting low.

There ARE little teeny people up there, just at the base of the lower feathery ice, but not to worry, I didn't see any big avalanches come down on them.
That is, if you squint, a waterfall where the big ice cliff meets the gorge.

The greens are really much nicer than I show you here. Sorry, but the brute contrast from the snow and deep shadows gave me all I could handle with this shot.

The water is quite literally that color though. Take your time, it does sort of grow on you.

Our pals are out there, little canoes paddling and very peaceful. The jabbering crowd got to me, and I shuffled off the the left a little along the bank. It is more in front of the hotel, but I doubt if the glare off the back of my head could compete with that bright ice.

What's wrong here is the lake is not nearly that gloomy and ominous. I didn't carry a UV filter, and this fights the ultra blue of the clear sky. Now, imagine this through your rose-tinted glasses, warming the green trees back to some life, and the lake takes on a more friendly tone. Help me out here...

Well, let's go. Here the guys in the canoe are making a little progress, so bid them bon voyage, and let's go. LL Canoees

The light is changing, the bike and mike are all cooled off from the heat and excitement, and we can take back a few memories and maybe an insight.

We're leaving the bustle and confusion in a place where we can smile back on it. Hey, it wasn't too bad.

We even get a little treat as, just down the road from town, there is a roaring noise, and it just draws me in. Banff Waterfall

I surely haven't done this one justice, the power is quite considerable, and the noise is satisfyingly thunderous. I'll even allow that the park behind me is restrained, with no vendors obvious, and with that, as I said, lets go.

Well, I hope Banff wasn't a disappointment for you.

Jumping on to Calgary & Glacier National Park.
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