“Spend the weekend in Calgary; check out some property in Red Deer.” he said.
Sitting at the base of a mountain coal mine that I’d just descended in my black-dust-covered white Prius; I excitedly embrace the words of my superior. Having just crossed the Southern Interior of the province, starting in Kelowna at midnight and riding South through the Okanagan through the wee hours until hitting Osoyoos.
I think back to where I’d landed the day before…
Driving through Kelowna early on a Thursday morning, leaving the airport at half past midnight after landing late on a flight from Saskatchewan – where I had been criss-crossing the province visiting potash mines all week; I was tired.
My goal was to be asleep in Osoyoos by 2:30; then showered and awake and on the road for 5:30 to make it to Trail for a Thursday morning meeting at the metal smelting plant.
On this calm evening, I took as many deep breaths as I could muster; slowly and in through my nose. I could see the dark impressions of the beautiful cliff-faces; contrasted ever so slightly against the dark night sky. If a place to visit before my death be chosen; the Okanagan Valley be the place I doth explore. I’ll need a designated driver, of course.
After passing a road crew painting lines on the road; I stopped for gas. That smell. I couldn’t place it. The entire valley smelled of it. Was it the nature? Was nature to blame for the peace and love I felt here? Orchards and fruit farms and wineries; everywhere.
But now, Friday, two hotels later – I’m sitting outside a restaurant called the Arrowana; about a half hour from the border with Alberta. My employer tells me that after being away for a week; I was required to be in Vancouver on Monday to pick up some tender documents. I smirk.
“There’s no bloody way I’m driving back through those mountains.”
Setting the GPS for Calgary; the following several hours of my life showed me some of the most breathtaking scenic realities available in our country. The Western window of my Prius contains miles and miles of lush green, perfectly manicured fields; the odd farm house atop a mound of grass; back-dropped by the Rocky Mountains.
The Easterly view be full of rain clouds that were quick upon me; cleansing my small emasculating rental car of the sins it committed climbing above the clouds as it scaled the coal mountain just hours before.
I text my brother on the East Coast and ask him to find me the address of a strip club in Calgary. I’d never spent any time in Calgary; or really any time in a strip club; aside from a few dodgy ethnic dance joints in the Middle East. Turns out his roommate at university; a guy sitting in the same room as him; is from Calgary.
He gives me a name and an address.
I re-calibrate the GPS and press on Northward.