Pissing in the Rockies - Canada Travel Story
(0 reviews)
Title: Pissing in the Rockies
Website:
Living in an area such as the Canadian Rockies there is so much to see and so much to do as a skier, and knowing I would only be here once I had to do as much as possible, but early road trips had been one disaster after another. A trip to Cranbrook to look for cars and get a tattoo had turned into a night at a native reservation casino with a shocking hangover, losing money, waking up late the next day then going straight home with no time to look for cars. My friend, Emu, and some others had gone to a ski resort called ‘Kicking Horse,’ driven 3 hours the wrong way then had only 2 hours to ski before going home. “Road trips I’ve been on have all been gong shows,†said Jamie Ditto – a Canadian friend of ours who can only be described sarcastically as a rocket scientist – as we drove away from Mt Panorama (home) with him, myself and Emu beginning our two day road trip to the world famous Banff, a ski/party town in the heart of the Rockies. How true his words would turn out to be. Being Canadian we trusted Jamie to have some sort of local knowledge so we began the trip with his advice that (a) you turn right out of Mt Panorama to get there, (b) Sunshine Village Ski Resort (in Banff) will be open and (c) Banff in a great place to party on a Monday night. Heeding his advice, we turned right upon leaving to go the wrong way for 20 minutes before turning back on course only to fight a violent snow storm for two hours until arriving at Sunshine Village. Jamie had checked the website that morning and the previous night and excitedly informed us that there had been 42cm of snow in the past week. Unfortunately he had missed the main heading on the website that said the mountain would be closed that day for gondola maintenance. Jamie had messed up again and was given the appropriate verbal abuse, but in an area like Banff we had other options, the closest being Mt Norquay, a much smaller mountain but apparently the steepest in North America so it had some appeal. Unfortunately that appeal was lost when we got there. Sticky snow, limited lifts and short runs where not what we wanted. “This place is shit,†was Emu’s evaluation. Of over 20 ski resorts he had been to around the world this had won last place. “It’s even worse than Mt Bulla.†The gong of another disaster road trip was ringing in our ears. “Fuck this, let’s go get drunk,†was Jamie’s first sound advice for the day. But first we had to find a place to stay, which took about 3 hours in a town full of hotels. The winner was ‘Bumpers Inn.’ To save money we decided to ask for a single room for the three of us and sleep on the floor. Jamie went in, asked for a room for one then came straight out. “You need a credit card to check in,†he said, so I went in and asked for a room for one. “How many keys?†he asked, this guy was cool so we didn’t need to sneak in 3 people like we thought we would. To celebrate some good luck of a cheap place we sat in our cramped room for one and drank a slab of beer, listening to Jamie trying to form grammatically correct English sentences but struggling. The best of which being the following conversation: Me: Did you do French in school? Jamie: No, I wish I would of took it. Me: (confused look) Did you do English? Jamie: (long pause) . . . fuck off. Despite our crippling fatigue and cosy surroundings we naively took more of Jamie’s advice that Banff had a great nightlife on Mondays and ventured out into the cold evening air and into town. The first pub had about 15 people in it, one of which female and a depressing atmosphere so we finished off one jug there and left. The second, ‘The Paddock,’ was more of a restaurant and was made up of an elderly couple, a group of Japanese tourists and us. One jug there was also enough before leaving and going to a nightclub with our spirit all but gone. They weren’t raised at all when we asked the bouncer at the door if it was good inside and he looked at us in shock, like we had just asked to marry him. Despite his less than glowing endorsement – which I’m sure management would have been proud of - we went downstairs to one of the worst places I’ve ever seen. Deafening dance music can be bearable when a nightclub is full of people dancing, but when a club has about 7 people in it, none of which look even close to dancing, loud, thumping music can seem pointless to the point of insanity. The dance floor was bare so a screen had been lowered and was showing extreme snowmobile footage to give the place some sort of atmosphere. After a long day and a lot to drink this place was a strong hint that it was time to go home. We were either struggling to finished our glasses or couldn’t at all so we upped and left, deciding to grab a piece of pizza before going home for the night. Being a male drinking heavily you often need to relieve yourself and not having the proper facilities is rarely a hindrance. It’s a basic activity that can be over in less than thirty seconds and have long lasting benefits. When we re-entered the streets of Banff there seemed to be a crowd of people that hadn’t existed earlier. The pizza place was the main attraction but before that I felt nature calling, and seeing no washrooms in the immediate vicinity I unzipped near a tree. “You can’t go there man,†yelled Emu, “there’s people everywhere. Come down the alley.†So we wandered down the cobble stone lane to look for a more suitable spot. Emu turned around a dark corner and stepped into a small opening between an electrical box and a wire fence. I stood a metre behind him, not behind the electrical box but still hidden in the shadows, and we began to partake in a pastime that millions of men participate in everyday, and have been doing so since the dawn of time – pissing outside. Half way through I heard Jamie stop behind us, unzip, then zip up again. ‘How odd?’ I thought, ‘maybe a little stage fright?’ The first time he said ‘cops’ I thought he was joking, but the second time was followed by the sound of his footsteps running away and then a car engine right behind me. I miraculously stopped half way through my business (an amazing feat worthy of praise in itself) and pulled out a cigarette, which I assumed to be a clever alibi. Two police officers emerged from the car, one male, one female. “Are you aware that urinating in public is an offence, sir?†said the female. “I wasn’t, I was having a ciggie,†I pleaded in my best I’m-not-drunk voice, unaware at the time that my swaying body probably gave me away. “Sir. I saw you urinating in public and that is illegal in a national park.†I made another flimsy attempt to deny the charge while the male officer looked at the steaming pile of snow I had just stepped from while the female officer banged on about the law, my rights and other rehearsed ramblings I’m sure she loved to pull out for all sorts of minor, harmless offences such as this one. I realised that Emu was still hiding behind the electrical box, crouched down smaller than I thought an Emu could be, in a pile of his own steaming urine – maybe there was logic to this law? To protect his lucky, already in debt-with-the-law-arse I kept quiet and let them go about their heroic business of protecting the national park by patrolling a dirty alley way. While the female officer struggled with the intricacies of reporting a tourist I made idle chit chat with the male officer while smoking a cigarette that I didn’t want, still trying to stick to my now deceased alibi. He seemed like a good fellow, not too concerned about my offence, and I figured I may escape with just a warning, before he was called into the car to help with the report that his partner was having difficulties with. A few minutes passed before the female re-emerged from the car looking very proud of her nights work but keeping a stern face. “Mr Davies (me) you have been charged with improper disposal of waste in a national park. The fine is $115. If you fail to pay this fine your court date is set for April 24th in Calgary. Do you have any questions Mr Davies?†“Yes, does this hurt?†I said before slapping her, tying her to the exhaust pipe by her pony tail and driving the car down the lane. Or at least I would have done so had her partner not been there, and if I didn’t have a bad leg, and a number of other reasons. Instead I accepted the fine with a grace I regret, thanked them and watched them drive away, safe in the knowledge that this dark alleyway was safe once again from a sprinkle of urine. A few seconds later I was met by the laughter of Emu and Jamie and we wandered home, the two of them pissing everywhere they could to figuratively rub my face in it. That was without doubt the most expensive piss I had ever taken. $115! I don’t want to reveal the name of the pit-stain-of-a-person that fined me but she wrote her name on the ticket so she must want to be known. So be assured that Officer Natalie Rice is protecting Banff National Park from the illegal act of ‘improper disposal of waste in a national park,’ ie. Urinating outside. Forget the fact that drugs are rife in this town, there were intoxicated idiots running around the streets and thousands of animals do the same thing every day, a drip of human urine on a pile of snow that will either melt or be snowed over cannot be tolerated apparently and a $115 fine should help dispose of the offending material. I woke up the next morning determined to forget about my misfortune and enjoy the rest of the trip. We drove the short distance to Sunshine Village, waited in line with a few hundred people in a blizzard, saw the gondolas weren’t moving, so decided to go to Lake Louise, and after missing the turnoff and driving half an hour in the wrong direction again we eventually arrived at the mountain, one of the Rockies’ main attractions, and enjoyed the best days snowboarding I will probably ever have in knee deep powder which made the whole trip worth while. On the drive home Jamie pelted the scenic highway with empty beer cans while I diligently flattened mine and kept them in the car, wanting the preserve the natural beauty of the landscape from non-biodegradable materials, and by no way by the fault of Miss Rice.
Website:
Living in an area such as the Canadian Rockies there is so much to see and so much to do as a skier, and knowing I would only be here once I had to do as much as possible, but early road trips had been one disaster after another. A trip to Cranbrook to look for cars and get a tattoo had turned into a night at a native reservation casino with a shocking hangover, losing money, waking up late the next day then going straight home with no time to look for cars. My friend, Emu, and some others had gone to a ski resort called ‘Kicking Horse,’ driven 3 hours the wrong way then had only 2 hours to ski before going home. “Road trips I’ve been on have all been gong shows,†said Jamie Ditto – a Canadian friend of ours who can only be described sarcastically as a rocket scientist – as we drove away from Mt Panorama (home) with him, myself and Emu beginning our two day road trip to the world famous Banff, a ski/party town in the heart of the Rockies. How true his words would turn out to be. Being Canadian we trusted Jamie to have some sort of local knowledge so we began the trip with his advice that (a) you turn right out of Mt Panorama to get there, (b) Sunshine Village Ski Resort (in Banff) will be open and (c) Banff in a great place to party on a Monday night. Heeding his advice, we turned right upon leaving to go the wrong way for 20 minutes before turning back on course only to fight a violent snow storm for two hours until arriving at Sunshine Village. Jamie had checked the website that morning and the previous night and excitedly informed us that there had been 42cm of snow in the past week. Unfortunately he had missed the main heading on the website that said the mountain would be closed that day for gondola maintenance. Jamie had messed up again and was given the appropriate verbal abuse, but in an area like Banff we had other options, the closest being Mt Norquay, a much smaller mountain but apparently the steepest in North America so it had some appeal. Unfortunately that appeal was lost when we got there. Sticky snow, limited lifts and short runs where not what we wanted. “This place is shit,†was Emu’s evaluation. Of over 20 ski resorts he had been to around the world this had won last place. “It’s even worse than Mt Bulla.†The gong of another disaster road trip was ringing in our ears. “Fuck this, let’s go get drunk,†was Jamie’s first sound advice for the day. But first we had to find a place to stay, which took about 3 hours in a town full of hotels. The winner was ‘Bumpers Inn.’ To save money we decided to ask for a single room for the three of us and sleep on the floor. Jamie went in, asked for a room for one then came straight out. “You need a credit card to check in,†he said, so I went in and asked for a room for one. “How many keys?†he asked, this guy was cool so we didn’t need to sneak in 3 people like we thought we would. To celebrate some good luck of a cheap place we sat in our cramped room for one and drank a slab of beer, listening to Jamie trying to form grammatically correct English sentences but struggling. The best of which being the following conversation: Me: Did you do French in school? Jamie: No, I wish I would of took it. Me: (confused look) Did you do English? Jamie: (long pause) . . . fuck off. Despite our crippling fatigue and cosy surroundings we naively took more of Jamie’s advice that Banff had a great nightlife on Mondays and ventured out into the cold evening air and into town. The first pub had about 15 people in it, one of which female and a depressing atmosphere so we finished off one jug there and left. The second, ‘The Paddock,’ was more of a restaurant and was made up of an elderly couple, a group of Japanese tourists and us. One jug there was also enough before leaving and going to a nightclub with our spirit all but gone. They weren’t raised at all when we asked the bouncer at the door if it was good inside and he looked at us in shock, like we had just asked to marry him. Despite his less than glowing endorsement – which I’m sure management would have been proud of - we went downstairs to one of the worst places I’ve ever seen. Deafening dance music can be bearable when a nightclub is full of people dancing, but when a club has about 7 people in it, none of which look even close to dancing, loud, thumping music can seem pointless to the point of insanity. The dance floor was bare so a screen had been lowered and was showing extreme snowmobile footage to give the place some sort of atmosphere. After a long day and a lot to drink this place was a strong hint that it was time to go home. We were either struggling to finished our glasses or couldn’t at all so we upped and left, deciding to grab a piece of pizza before going home for the night. Being a male drinking heavily you often need to relieve yourself and not having the proper facilities is rarely a hindrance. It’s a basic activity that can be over in less than thirty seconds and have long lasting benefits. When we re-entered the streets of Banff there seemed to be a crowd of people that hadn’t existed earlier. The pizza place was the main attraction but before that I felt nature calling, and seeing no washrooms in the immediate vicinity I unzipped near a tree. “You can’t go there man,†yelled Emu, “there’s people everywhere. Come down the alley.†So we wandered down the cobble stone lane to look for a more suitable spot. Emu turned around a dark corner and stepped into a small opening between an electrical box and a wire fence. I stood a metre behind him, not behind the electrical box but still hidden in the shadows, and we began to partake in a pastime that millions of men participate in everyday, and have been doing so since the dawn of time – pissing outside. Half way through I heard Jamie stop behind us, unzip, then zip up again. ‘How odd?’ I thought, ‘maybe a little stage fright?’ The first time he said ‘cops’ I thought he was joking, but the second time was followed by the sound of his footsteps running away and then a car engine right behind me. I miraculously stopped half way through my business (an amazing feat worthy of praise in itself) and pulled out a cigarette, which I assumed to be a clever alibi. Two police officers emerged from the car, one male, one female. “Are you aware that urinating in public is an offence, sir?†said the female. “I wasn’t, I was having a ciggie,†I pleaded in my best I’m-not-drunk voice, unaware at the time that my swaying body probably gave me away. “Sir. I saw you urinating in public and that is illegal in a national park.†I made another flimsy attempt to deny the charge while the male officer looked at the steaming pile of snow I had just stepped from while the female officer banged on about the law, my rights and other rehearsed ramblings I’m sure she loved to pull out for all sorts of minor, harmless offences such as this one. I realised that Emu was still hiding behind the electrical box, crouched down smaller than I thought an Emu could be, in a pile of his own steaming urine – maybe there was logic to this law? To protect his lucky, already in debt-with-the-law-arse I kept quiet and let them go about their heroic business of protecting the national park by patrolling a dirty alley way. While the female officer struggled with the intricacies of reporting a tourist I made idle chit chat with the male officer while smoking a cigarette that I didn’t want, still trying to stick to my now deceased alibi. He seemed like a good fellow, not too concerned about my offence, and I figured I may escape with just a warning, before he was called into the car to help with the report that his partner was having difficulties with. A few minutes passed before the female re-emerged from the car looking very proud of her nights work but keeping a stern face. “Mr Davies (me) you have been charged with improper disposal of waste in a national park. The fine is $115. If you fail to pay this fine your court date is set for April 24th in Calgary. Do you have any questions Mr Davies?†“Yes, does this hurt?†I said before slapping her, tying her to the exhaust pipe by her pony tail and driving the car down the lane. Or at least I would have done so had her partner not been there, and if I didn’t have a bad leg, and a number of other reasons. Instead I accepted the fine with a grace I regret, thanked them and watched them drive away, safe in the knowledge that this dark alleyway was safe once again from a sprinkle of urine. A few seconds later I was met by the laughter of Emu and Jamie and we wandered home, the two of them pissing everywhere they could to figuratively rub my face in it. That was without doubt the most expensive piss I had ever taken. $115! I don’t want to reveal the name of the pit-stain-of-a-person that fined me but she wrote her name on the ticket so she must want to be known. So be assured that Officer Natalie Rice is protecting Banff National Park from the illegal act of ‘improper disposal of waste in a national park,’ ie. Urinating outside. Forget the fact that drugs are rife in this town, there were intoxicated idiots running around the streets and thousands of animals do the same thing every day, a drip of human urine on a pile of snow that will either melt or be snowed over cannot be tolerated apparently and a $115 fine should help dispose of the offending material. I woke up the next morning determined to forget about my misfortune and enjoy the rest of the trip. We drove the short distance to Sunshine Village, waited in line with a few hundred people in a blizzard, saw the gondolas weren’t moving, so decided to go to Lake Louise, and after missing the turnoff and driving half an hour in the wrong direction again we eventually arrived at the mountain, one of the Rockies’ main attractions, and enjoyed the best days snowboarding I will probably ever have in knee deep powder which made the whole trip worth while. On the drive home Jamie pelted the scenic highway with empty beer cans while I diligently flattened mine and kept them in the car, wanting the preserve the natural beauty of the landscape from non-biodegradable materials, and by no way by the fault of Miss Rice.
Reviews (0)
See also...
Learn about Canada
Explore Canada
