I was about an hour into a drive up the Icefields Parkway when traffic slowed to a crawl. As I came around a hairpin turn, I saw the problem: a minivan pulled not quite onto the shoulder of the highway. Some of the passengers were lined up at the guardrail taking pictures of the view, while another person was standing on the road itself, the driver’s door open as he unloaded a small child from a car seat. Oncoming traffic, meanwhile, was forced to inch around them.
The whole thing was idiotic by any stretch, but especially so considering there was a scenic lookout and parking lot mere yards up the road. Even if the driver didn’t see the point itself, he should have noticed the many signs leading up to it. But, for whatever reason, he did not. Or, perhaps more likely, he just didn’t care. Evidently, he wanted to unload his toddler and take a picture right here – barely off a three-lane highway with the woosh of traffic all around him. Alternatives and safety be damned.
Later, as I recounted the whole thing to Johann, I said, “Right on the road! I honestly couldn’t believe it!” But then I realized that wasn’t quite right. These days, hardly anything surprises me. Dodging traffic to get a picture? I can believe it. What I really mean is that I can’t stand it.
That driver was hardly the only person I encountered in Canada who was in the running for the Darwin Award. The following day, on a hike through Johnston’s Canyon, I saw another man attempt to swim at the bottom of a 100-foot waterfall. A group of Swedish tourists, no doubt unfamiliar with North American stupidity, were understandably confused.
“What is he doing?” one of them asked the man’s girlfriend, who was standing on the nearby catwalk in a muddy pair of flip flops.
“Just swimming,” she said. “He just wants to take a look around.”
It was an answer that only raised more questions.
“Did he lose something?” the Swede asked. “Is he looking for something that he dropped?”
“No,” the girl answered. “He’s just swimming.” Then, apropos of nothing, she added, “Don’t worry. He’s a scuba diver.”
No one had the heart to tell her that we weren’t worried, so much as appalled.
On my way out of the parking lot that day, a luxury SUV pulled alongside me. A young woman, all fake eyelashes and designer outerwear, rolled down the passenger window and asked, “Where is the canyon?”
I pointed to the park entrance. “It’s about a half mile to the first fall,” I said. “And then another mile to the next.”
She looked disappointed. “Oh, so you have to walk to the canyon?” she asked.
I blinked my eyes several times.
“Well you don’t walk to it, so much as through it,” I explained.
“Oh so it’s big!” she replied to me. Then she turned to her husband and announced, “Well I’d like to see the canyon!”
The way this woman was talking about The Canyon really made me wonder if she had any idea what one is. She seemed to think it was a set destination or hyped up attraction, like a Starbucks or the Mona Lisa. In all likelihood, she was probably confusing it with a cave, which is, in a way, kind of adorable. I would have loved to see her face when she realised the difference.
As one might guess from the photos, Alberta is still one of my favorite places on earth. It’s outrageously beautiful, even when it’s on fire and in a state of constant drizzle – which it was for the week while I was there.
Still, I couldn’t help but be disappointed with my visit. So many of my plans – the hikes, the scenic drives, the long-awaited visit to a thawed-out Lake Louise – literally went up in smoke due to all the forest fires. It’s no exaggeration to say that most days, I couldn’t see a thing. I enjoyed my time as best I could, but it was hard not to be mad at my own bad timing. This was not the Canada of crisp air and gorgeous scenery that I fell in love with a year ago. This was not how I wanted to spend my vacation.
And then, as I headed back home, I adjusted my thinking. Because I may have had the bad luck to visit Canada during one of the worst weeks of the year, but I’ve had the great fortune to visit one of my favorite places twice in the past two years. Even when I lose, I win.
Until next time, Lake Louise.
there is probably no country in the world where you can escape these kinda people.
no, probably not. we all have our moments. I just hope I never have one in the passing lane.
Stupidity knows no boundaries, nor does arrogance.
Last summer on our less than generous local highway, a woman and some friends were rollerblading in the breakdown lane. No problem, except that the woman, who was frankly huge, was skating in such a way as to push into traffic with every right foot stroke. Cars had to veer around her, but not run into the cars coming toward them.
I couldnt resist. She veered left just as I went by her, and I tapped the horn. She apparently had no idea ANYONE was there, she jumped a foot, and then made A Gesture at me. Her mouth was moving, too.
Prime candidate for Darwin. If only I had his number.
So I actually hate when cars honk at me when I’m riding a bike… it’s startling and I swerve a little and it actually makes it more dangerous for everyone – me, the car, the other riders. (The difference is that I am almost always in a designated bike lane or cyclist path and I’m in Germany or Finland or some other place where there are often more bikes than cars and I can’t believe we’re all not used to sharing by now.) But I hear you… rollerblading in a breakdown lane is not the same thing. Floating into the driving lane is downright stupid. You mix that with a distracted driver and it’s a recipe for disaster. I’d have the urge to tap the horn too.
It’s something I would never do, ordinarily, but she was endangering herself, the people with her, and a LOT of traffic trying to get around her.
There are even signs along the highway that say “no two wheel bikes, scooters, foot traffic, skateboarders”. Riiiight.
Oh I get you! I can picture it perfectly.
You know, between all the fires, hurricanes, and human stupidity, I can’t help but wonder at times if we’ve entered the end of days. I would have called the police on that family; that’s child endangerment.
That said, your pictures are beautiful!
It may be that what fifty years ago was okay (by jesus, my dad ‘n’ I useta walk on this road day n night and nobody bothered us, nossir, now you can’t even stop to show your kid the wonders of nachure no more…) is now too dangerous. As it was then, but there were less of us around.
Times change. I used to ride in the back of my dad’s pickup (the one with the running boards), and sometimes he’d let me sit on his lap and steer. zowie. Now they’d have us both arrested.
sometimes people are being so ridiculous, it almost seems criminal. almost.