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11 Oct 2006
Grouse Grind

Well the plan was simple. Catch a bus up to Grouse mountain, take the Gondola to the top, enjoy the view over a veggie burger, catch the Gondola back down. A nice relaxing day to recharge my batteries and recover from all that walking.

So the bus arrives and I make my way to Grouse, and on arrival (just out of curiosity) I follow two cute Chinese girls over to the start of Grouse grind. I stand there reading all the signs posted up warning no sane person to even bother thinking it might be a good idea when to my amazement I see the two girls stroll off in the direction of the grind. I did the grind about nine years ago when I was first here. I didn’t know what I had let myself in for then but this time even armed with this information the part of my brain which makes sensible decisions just got confused at the sight of a pretty face a nice pair of legs and selected “follow” mode. I quickly realised that to get my long legs to match their pace would make me look like a stalker so I produced a smooth passing manoeuvre that grand prix drivers would probably have nodded their heads at and left them in my wake.




The difference between mountain climbing and hiking is said to be to be a matter of degrees. Grouse grind is sort of an anomaly because it’s neither a climb nor a hike. The brochure states;



Challenge yourself with Vancouver's most famous hike, the Grouse GrindTM - often referred to as Mother Nature's Stairmaster. This rigorous 2.9 km (1.8 mile) hike takes you straight up the face of Grouse Mountain. By the time you reach the plateau, your ascent will have gained 853 metres (2,800 feet) - one and a half times the height of Toronto's CN Tower! Once you make it to the top, take a minute to enjoy the adrenaline rush, spectacular views and all that you have accomplished.




Blah blah blah blah blah. Yeah right. Sounds like a stroll in the park. ( Hot tip: If you’re going to do something so ridiculous at least have the sense to take a bottle of water with you.) I actually started off feeling good, everything seemed to be working, knees were full of life, enthusiasm was on overdrive. I even managed to pass a few people on the way who were draped over boulders gasping for breath like a fish caught out by a sudden change of tide. Haha, losers. Onwards and upwards…..The first sign of trouble is when you start to breath heavily. The second is when you start to sweat profusely. The third is when you start needing to pause to get your breath back and the worse one is when you start getting your arms involved, pushing down at your knees for a bit of help, pulling yourself up with trees, boulders, shrubs, dirt. The moment you realise you are struggling is when you combine all four to make number five: breathing heavily, sweating profusely, and hanging on to a boulder gasping for air like a fish caught out by a sudden turn of the tide. Like a clockwork toy you start running down, your energy ebbing away. Then you hear the thump thump thump of footsteps as one by one you get picked off by fit athletic looking specimens who pass you gulping down copious amounts of water and giving you that wry smile as they think…loser and disappear off into the distance . Then comes the worst bit. You’re knackered, you’re exhausted and parched. You realise this probably wasn’t a very good idea when suddenly you read the words on a sign nailed to a tree that chill you to the bone: HALF WAY. Half way, that’s when you realise that going back is no longer an option. Now with a broken spirit even finding forward momentum was getting difficult. I looked back down the hill and I see the two Chinese girls, their fishing rods were out and they were reeling me in. This inspired me to push on, even managing to pass a woman with her ten year old son (whose own personal hell was the incessant commentary from his mother: “this is good for you”…” this is hard because you kids never go out”…”you’ll thank me for this one day”…when I was your age….etc, etc.), then some poor woman who’s overly fit looking husband must’ve tricked her into going but looked like he was regretting it now and a group of four girls who were sat around waiting for the portly pink faced one with head clasped in hands to recover. But finally with resignation I stood to one side and applauded the Chinese girls as they brushed by asking me what ¾ meant. Luckily they were exercising their dry Chinese humour, and to shrieks and screams I realise they had turned the corner to see the winning post. I had blown it on the home straight, a podium finish but in third place.



Sod the view, I needed water. A wrong turn had me needing to climb three flights of stairs to the cafeteria, surely a sick joke? At this point, if water was $50 a bottle I’d have happily paid up and thanked them in the process. I made my way out to the balcony weighed down like a panic buyer in a heatwave and was beckoned to share a table with my new friend that day, Mr Hargreaves, “like the England Soccer player” he exulted, like it was up there with a connection to royalty. I’m sorry to say that despite getting a detailed account of his whole life in about an hour and a half I never managed to figure out exactly what his first name was, and when I asked him on our parting handshake to remind me it came back with such a strong Canadian drawl that it completely disguised itself again. I remembered him as one of the number that passed me on my ascent, and to rub salt in it he set off to walk back down. I on the other hand had other plans, and after a hearty meal, more refreshments, a walkabout with some snaps of the view and an encounter with a Grizzly bear I booked my passage to freedom on the Gondola.




Emma didn’t believe me that I really saw this real live Grizzly bear on Grouse Mountain. I did, let’s leave it at that.




After having so much fun in one day I decided to spend the next day doing nothing more strenuous than walking up the road to Safeway’s then pottering around the house attacking the cat or working on my computer. Then after another day of sightseeing in downtown Vancouver it was another weekend. The Saturday morning ritual here is a rare lie in for Emma and Gillian then a two hour run around Stanley Park. Two visits ago we all bought roller blades so I thought it would be a good idea to accompany them around the park on my blades, I mean, how difficult can it be? For some reason, me and good judgement on this holiday are not bedfellows. Now lets think about this, would you strap 4 wheels to each foot then skate 5 ½ miles on a footpath which only allows you to go one way, and have to follow two people running at pace? And would you get a bit worried when you try on you skates and realise they don’t actually fit very well and hurt your feet? We parked in the car park and I toodled off and strapped my weapons of choice to my feet and as Emma and Gillian jogged past I shakily got up to speed and followed along. Alarm bells quickly rang as my scrunched up toes started cramping and my back started hurting. No way was I going to pull this one off. Quick decision needed, BAIL OUT! And to curb my speed I headed for the grass verge. Big mistake. The grass was surprisingly harder than the tarmac and my feet accelerated away from under me resulting with an almighty thud as my ass hit the rock hard ground and I ended up unceremoniously laid out flat on my back. After a quick survey of the area to see who was laughing I dusted myself off, removed my blades and threw them down in disgust at them or maybe me, I’m not sure. I decided to take a shortcut across the park, through the woods and back to the car park. Another mistake. This was something akin to Chinese torture, walking along a pathway covered in chippings in bare feet. My vocal accompaniment went something like; ooh aahh, ooh ouch, ow aargh all the way back to the car.



On Sunday we went to Deep Cove for breakfast and then spent the afternoon visiting open houses which basically means the owner ships out for the day, the estate agent mans the door, and anyone can stroll in off the street and have a good nosey about. This is actually quite appealing to me as I’m quite nosey by nature and I like looking around houses. Unfortunately we didn’t see anything interesting. They were mostly doing what they call flipping, which means they buy it, give it a coat of paint then try and make a profit. The decorating was terrible and their choice of materials etc, were what we technically call in the trade, naff.

The next week I had a trip into downtown then feeling inspired I rented a mountain bike and cycled around Stanley Park. Of course this would have been waaaaay too easy, so as usual I cycled on, and on, and on, out to Science world and back. Probably a round trip of around 12 miles but it was great fun but I was knackered at the end. The only slight problem is when you’re desperate for the loo what do you do with your bike? Answer; take it into the loo with you! Nobody was going to nick that bike.



On Wednesday I went to catch the Greyhound to Whistler from Park Royal Shopping Centre in West Van but when I arrived I asked a bus driver where the Greyhound picked up and it was actually about a mile down the road at a dodgy little bus stop at the foot of Lionsgate Bridge. There was an elderly French lady at the stop when I arrived and we got chatting and she seemed quite taken when I said I was from England. Surprising really because Brits are ten a penny over here, we’re everywhere, it’s almost annoying. Her bus arrived and she turned around and gave me a wave as she got on which I thought was very sweet. She was replace by a sporty looking middle aged woman with a couple of bags who enquired if I knew whether or not the Whistler bus stopped here, to which I retorted that I hoped so or we were both going to look pretty stupid, which she found highly amusing and we both felt an instant camaraderie as we planned how we were going to attract the drivers attention as the French Lady had pointed out that it was a bit hit and miss whether he saw you or not. At one minute to ten the cutest and bubbliest girl you could ever hope to see arrived at the stop and asked if the bus for Whistler left from here. When I told her it was and that it was due in just one minute she was so excited she was like a cheerleader after her team had just scored. I just couldn’t help thinking; I wish I was ten years younger…okay, twenty….alright, thirty.



We arrived at Whistler at 12.30pm and amazingly my hotel was just across the road from the bus stop so I was checked in and encamped in my room in minutes, then off for a walk around the lake then around town before grabbing a Pizza and retiring to my room. I noticed that the air conditioner for the hallway was actually built into my bathroom wall and the noise was a little overwhelming to say the least, probably doubling up as a snow blower on the piste on its day off. Well as I lay there in bed I could actually feel the vibration through the mattress and hear the contents of my room rattle. Convinced I could manage to sleep through it I lay there until 11.30pm and thought, no f**king way am I putting up with that, so flinging on my clothes and stuffing my gear into my bag I stormed down to reception and told the poor unsuspecting girl that no way in hell was I going to sleep in that room. Just my luck the hotel was completely full so I asked for a refund. I ended up in the Hilton, beautiful room, dead quiet, comfortable bed and only £10 more that the Delta Hotel I was in.



Next morning I checked out, had a Starbucks for breakfast then watched the downhill mountain bikers for a while. They get the chair lift to the top of the hill, fly down the hill at ridiculous speeds and finished with a leap off the huge jump at the bottom. I couldn’t help feeling that I wouldn’t mind giving that a go on the beginners run but then on second thoughts…



My first disaster of the day was finding out that they had stopped the Gondola to the upper village and it wasn’t going to run again until Saturday. My whole reason for going back to Whistler was to do a hike from the top of Whistler Mountain. Damn.



Now you’d think I was starting to get the hang of what was a good idea and what was a bad idea by now, but some bad ideas just kinda sneak up on you and they become living bad ideas. So I had a day in Whistler to fill. I couldn’t hike from the top of the mountain, I’d done the short walk from town, downhill mountain biking was not a sensible option. Aha! Rent a bike for the day, I’d done this around Stanley Park, this was easy, this was fun. I found a shop and got my bike and discussed my route. I plumped for the Green lake loop. I was given a cycle helmet which I refused but the guy said “if you’re going on the Green Lake loop you’d better take one” which should really have set the old alarm bells a ringing again but the remark just went over my head like a bad joke. Things started off well enough, nice paths through forests, around the lake, even some off road bumpy stuff through tree roots and winding paths.





I’m cycling on the edge of some scary hills on very rough trails. Now things start getting tough. Onwards and still upwards the trail turns to rubble, impossible to cycle up so you have to get off and push the bike. Once at the top there is a bit of downhill but it’s scary stuff, you hit a boulder and it nearly throws you off the bike, things are getting a bit hairy. I get back on my bike at one point and as I put weight on the pedals my foot flips off sending the pedals spinning around, smack into my shin. I was shocked at the amount of blood for such a small cut. It ran in all directions towards my sock like a bright scarlet roadmap. Onwards and upwards, more gnarly stuff which meant I had to walk again. I was exhausted, it was making Grouse grind look like a stroll in the park. More scary downhill’s more gnarly up hills. It seemed to go on forever. Now the thickness of the seat was becoming an issue and it was feeling like I’d spent a week at an S&M convention. I meet a couple who were hiking towards me and they were lost, so I dig the map out of my pocket and on showing them the route they want I’m horrified to see that Green Lake loop isn’t actually a loop in the true sense but more like a letter P, the loop being at the end, meaning I would have to go back the same way I’d just come. I was so exhausted and in pain from the seat that there was no way in hell I was going back that way. The thought of descending the gnarly stretches I’d had to push the bike up was frightning. At the end of the loop I found my way to a logging trail which was a long downhill which I did practically side saddle to save my arse, then over the train line and onto the main road to Whistler. Looking at the map again it was bloody miles. I was miserable, I was so knackered, energy gone, I was in such pain, but I had no choice but to keep going. After a few miles on twisty roads with trucks haring past on the bends I wondered if my fate was to be flattened like a hedgehog crossing a road but luckily as I approached Emerald village a cycle route appeared and I felt saved. Finally I got back to Whistler after another cruel wrong turn which had me going in the wrong direction. I have total admiration for the idiots who were careering down the hill on the mountain bikes, I think I’ll give that one a miss…for now.


 
Holidays
posted by  admin at  00:46 | permalink | comments [5]



28 Sep 2006
Vancouver 2006
B&B at Gatwick was okay apart from the noisy American woman that seemed to think shouting to her mother from outside my door at 6.30 am was not being antisocial. The woman that ran the place had two dogs, a Lab and a huge 3 year old Dogue de Bordeaux (French Mastiff) who had the loveliest face and dead soppy to boot. I felt sorry for the Lab which must be constantly in the shadow of attention.

Gatwick was horrendous. I checked in in about two minutes flat, must be a record. The queue for security on the other hand was reminiscent of trying to get into Wimbledon without a ticket, it snaked from one side of the terminal to the other and back, and continued to snake when you got through the doors and into the departure lounge where we were asked to remove our shoes and pop them on the conveyor belt to go through the x-ray machine. This is when I realised that wearing odd socks that day was probably a mistake but hopefully nobody noticed. Reunited with my footwear and after a body search (external) by the security guard, I grabbed my bag filled with its plethora of electronic devices which seemed to slip through unnoticed. All this managed to kill 45 minutes of a 4 hour wait so at least it broke up the monotony of doing circuits around the departure lounge trying to decide whether having a drink at the wrong time could mean a very uncomfortable period on the plane waiting for it to level out at 40,000 feet before the ensuing stampede to the loo of all the passengers that thought a pint of Special Brew just before leaving would settle the nerves.

The flight was okay, just okay. The seats which were advertised as having more seat pitch than any other chartered airline seemed no better than any other airline I’ve flown with, so I assume “pitch” and “room” don’t have much in common. Luckily the plane wasn’t full and the news of my odd socks seemed to have leaked out and I had a row all to myself. Lucky too for the couple in the centre row who had the misfortune to be sat next to three women in the body of one. To say she was huge was probably being flattering, and sensing an impending mid air eating disorder, the stewardess quickly moved the couple to the next row leaving room for the large lady to “spread out” which she duly did by sitting in the middle seat and flowing out into the seats either side. I’m not quite sure how that counts as a single ticket. The films were “okay” too but I don’t like watching blockbuster, big production movies on a 6” screen, the glare of the lights, the whining of the engines and the constant interruptions from the cabin crew. “cheap” flights seem to come at a price, that price being there are no freebies apart from a cup of tea. Even the headphones for the films had to be paid for. Free entertainment came in the shape of mrs three bodies who stacked her half empty third chair with a generous selection of booty from the food trolley. When she finally squeezed her way to the toilet which enveloped her for what seemed like an age, I couldn’t help wondering “how”?

My plan of getting a good window seat was hampered by an engine. Damn, do those things really need to be there? Anyway it was cloudy until the Rockies anyway but I managed a few snaps.



Terra firma. Nice. Joined another queue though immigration. The girl was fascinated that I was going to be here for a whole month, no questions about where I was staying or if I had any money or a return ticket, just annoyed that anyone could possibly find the time or be allowed to spend a whole month on vacation, and curious to know what on earth I was going to find to do. Reunited with my bag I joined another queue. This time for the Airporter bus to downtown Vancouver. The rather sketchy plan was to meet Emma outside Starbucks in front of the Pan Pacific hotel at 4.30. My new friends were from Taunton, although they were nearly my new enemies when I made the grave error of referring to Taunton as being in Devon. “Zummerzet” was scowled back at me. Well they let me live and we had a nice chat as we sat on the bus, this time in a queue of traffic. I was getting a bit worried at this point. Having known Emma as long as I have I was expecting trouble if I was a few nano seconds late and it was already 20 minutes and counting. As luck had it we both arrived at Starbucks at the same time so I was off the hook. We hung around for Gillian then piled off to the pub for a well earned pint then back to her flat for a Pizza. I like Pizza.

The flat is actually the top two floors of a house on the North shore of Vancouver and is nice enough. The view from the window (if a little obscured by trees and electricity cables) is of the downtown skyline, kind of Hong Kong meets New York:



The road is very busy (and noisy) so unfortunately the cat is only allowed to give passing lunches a meaningful stare as they fly past the balcony. Not that he needs to have more to eat as he’s getting to be as wide as he is tall and picking him up from the ground with my back is a risky business.

Luckily it was the weekend so we could all go play tourist. On Saturday we drove to Whistler for the day. Very cosmopolitan and full of young beautiful people, and shockingly for this part of the world, topless sunbathers at the lake. Luckily I will be going back there again on my own to make a study of this phenomenon! Maybe tomorrow, haven’t decided yet.




Next day we drove to Harrison hot spring to see the sandcastle competition. Very hot day. Harrison was lovely and the sandcastles were also impressive:




Monday was my first trip into town on my own, so I had to get a grip on the bus system, where to catch it, where to get off, where to catch it again, where to get off again, and which way around to insert the ticket in the machine without giving up the gaff that yes, you are a stupid tourist. Well it all went well apart from the ticket bit. Never mind, I suppose I am a tourist, and at times pretty stupid. I had a great day though, walked absolutely miles, had a boat ride and got chatted up on the strength of my Tate gallery St Ives T-Shirt, although I had to admit to being a fraud in the end and explain that the shirt was a present and I’d in truth never been near the place.



I do know why Emma moved back here though, it really is beautiful apart from being way bigger and more crowded than the last time I was here. The traffic is horrible and they’re building everywhere and there are SO many people living here. It makes you wonder where it’s all going, but then I never seem to be able to go on holiday and not find some depressing side to something, it’s just my cheerful Virgo disposition!



I walked right around English bay, not far from where Emma used to live, then back around to the main sea front area which is all unrecognisable from the last time, but they’ve done a nice job. Lots of boats and marinas:




Yesterday (Tuesday) was all about walking and sun. I walked until I could walk no more, and got burnt to a crisp. I get so annoyed with myself when I get sunburnt, it just hadn’t even crossed my mind but today I have Panda eyes… that would be one of those rare bright pink Panda’s with white bits around the eyes. I started off walking around the shops but ended up at the beach. This is that rare time when retail therapy isn’t that interesting to me even thought I did buy a wireless router yesterday so I could stop illegally using a neighbour’s wireless connection. Anyway, the beach was lovely and there were no computers in sight.




So Today I’m going to take it easy, get on a bus up to Grouse Mountain, catch the gondola to the top and have some lunch, but that’s another story…



 
Holidays
posted by  admin at  01:56 | permalink | comments [34]