Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These And Who Am I To Disagree?

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Luckily, nature intervened on my behalf so unpleasantness was avoided. Mom woke me again, only this time with a "David! David! Get the camera and come here!"

I cracked open one eye, dreams still flitting across my synapses light as butterflies, and I couldn't figure out why Mom wanted a picture of me running down a hallway being chased by a grizzly in a pink tutu while an elk played goalie at the other end. Then, the world swam into solidity and I saw that she was standing by the glass door to the balcony, towel wrapped around her head, pointing excitedly at something down below.

"Grrrrk", I said, quite plainly. My vocal dexterity of moments before gone. Stupid tongue paralysis. I opened my mouth and tried again. "Whatizit?"

“Just get the camera and come here!"

I bounced out of bed and promptly smacked my knee on a log. Really, who the hell builds a bed out of logs anyway? Poor lumberjacks? Beavers forced into labor camps? Carpenters with a raw timber fetish? I managed to teeter over and grabbed the camera off of the end table closest to the bed, then hobble-gimped over to where your mom was fairly bouncing by the window.

"Look!"

Remember that we hadn't seen the view from 'Moose Snot' in the daylight, so you can excuse my sleep-addled brain as it struggled to interpret what I saw.

A postcard. That's the only way to describe the scene spread out before me . . . a flippin' postcard. In the daylight we saw that our room sat perched on a small bank 25 feet, (or 7.93 NLM - that's nano-liter-meters to you plebeians), above the valley floor, and overlooked that same gorgeous meadow that we had traveled by in the twilight. Iridescent green grasses, lush bush, and a small stream that looked close enough to touch lay before us. The meadow widened close to the Lodge, playing over hollows and slight slopes for a half a mile. (Oh I said mile, yes I did. So SNAPS!) Then the green blanket gave way to a gentle hill and the grasses transitioned to scattered trees. After a short distance the trees gave way to the dense forest of the foothills, that then climbed rapidly into some of the most stunning mountains I've ever had the privilege to view.

*** the journey continues ***

I Never Get Lost

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"Did you get lost?", she asked, as she ushered us into a large and well appointed dining room.

Other staff floated in from . . . well I have no idea. Possibly the ether. They gathered round and studied us, much like I would imagine the caretakers at a zoo would study new arrivals. If those new arrivals rode motorcycles. And were muddy. And wet. And from THE STATES!

"Lost?", I queried, "No . . . not us. Just delayed a bit. It was raining, and . . ."

I looked to your mother for confirmation. She sold me out quicker than tickets to a Cher concert in San Francisco.

"Yes, we got lost."

"Only for a bit," I retorted, trying to salvage some shred of my manhood. Mom gave me the death-stare. "Well, quite a little bit. But that's beside the point. We're here now. I have to tell you, I wasn't sure we were going to make it there for a little while."

I smiled. Or snarled. My lips were tired. And numb. And chewed to bits.

"Oh you poor things. Stacy, show these folks to their room." She motioned one of the young women floating on the periphery over to our little party. "I'm sure you guys want . . . ," and here she paused for a moment, trying to triage our needs, ". . . some dry clothes and a hot shower. We missed you for dinner, but the cook has kept a couple of plates warm for you. Take your time and when you're ready come back to the dining room. You guys look bushed!"

Mom smiled, for what I realized was the first time in hours. Possibly days. "That sounds great."

*** the journey continues ***

It Can't Be Far Now

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As we progressed the road curved to the right, and I thought for a moment that we were going to skirt the back side of the cliff and escape the water all together but . . . no. It swung back on itself and headed straight for where the water met the cliff. Fine. Drowning seemed like a fairly quick death of which I was sure your Mother would agree, so I pushed on.

Fortunately, the road didn't end! HA! Our luck was improving! I hadn't been able to see, but the road actually skirted between the cliff and the lake! Now here is what made it so weird - the level of the lake was possibly an inch below the road level. Lake on one side, cliff on the other, it looked like we were driving on water. It may have been exhaustion or hypothermia, but it was one of the most bizarre optical illusions I've ever encountered. It actually made my stomach flutter.

Mom leaned forward and said, "Well, this is just unreal. It feels like we're driving on the lake."

Yes. Yes it does.

We drove on and on around the lake for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably more like 4 minutes. Or 17.6 Kiloseconds. Whatever. The point being it was long enough. Up ahead I saw that the lake ended, as well as the cliff, and the road, (Yay!), continued on through an extraordinarily beautiful meadow. I breathed a sigh of relief. Which immediately fogged my glasses and I didn't tell your Mom but for the last quarter mile or so I was driving purely on instinct. I don't think she would have appreciated, nor been amused by my mad riding skills.
As we traveled further from the lake the road improved a bit. Now there were brief sections where there were no washboards and the gravel was packed down firmly. I bumped the speed up a few notches. The Lodge couldn't be far now.

We began to climb a little, and the road deteriorated once again. The path became narrower, and instead of lush meadow we were heading into a stand of forest. Big trees on each side with the road cutting a swath between them.

I leaned back, "You doing okay Babe?"

"Yeah. Fine. Funny, 2 hours ago riding on this part of the road would have scared me to death. After coming through what we just did, it seems like a well maintained freeway."
I nodded in agreement. "I'm exhausted, but the place can't be too far now."

Yes. The place can't be far now. That became my mantra.

*** the journey continues ***

Non-Refundable - The Path to Insanity

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I had booked an all-inclusive package. Everything was covered; meals, snacks, ‘high tea’. The only additional charges were for beer, wine, and spirits. The Lodge garnered the highest ratings on various websites, and was written about, quite elegantly, as a 'gem', and a 'hidden treasure', and 'an experience not to be missed'. A place where the food was "indescribable, delicious and a rare gourmet treat not often found outside of Europe". I was sold. I was the target market. There was one caveat however; the place was not, by any stretch of the imagination, cheap. Gripped by the fever of adventure, I had hovered my quivering hands over the mouse and throwing caution to the wind, I clicked the button and committed ourselves to three non-refundable days at this alpine paradise.

You might want to remember the words 'non-refundable'. Those two words lead to insanity. Which brings us back to the outskirts of Carnack.

Now, as you recall if you’ve been paying attention, your mother was not in the best of moods. Who can blame her? It had been a weird, weird day. From the night before in Galway's Bay to the Ferry and Toads and Rain and Cannibals and Beavers and a guy named 'Ted' that I don't have the energy to write about. So, the day is winding down, the sun is slipping away, and it's frickin’ raining buckets. Again. Or Still. Doesn't matter. But at least we are near the Holy Grail – Hidden Valley Lodge.

We rolled through the city limits of Carnack, (motto: Hey! You just drove through Banff at insane speeds! Well done! Enjoy your stay! Bye!"), and Mom, in her ever inquisitive, and I must admit that at this point in the day, somewhat annoying voice, leans forward on the bike and asks, "Thank God. I'm beat. So, where exactly is this place?"

*** the journey continues ***