Excuse me while I kiss the ski; Cute Frenchman

While these two beauty savages are catchin Z’s (they likely ran 50kms to catch ‘em just for fun), I’m gonna catch up on this blog.

(yesterday)

I woke up just in time to miss breakfast and the period between breakfast and lunch, so I figured it was a great time to start my day. The only problem was: what the hell was I to do? I’d spent the last 4 days driving across the country looking for my next meal and butt-hurt remedy with no regard for my future activities. I dialed up my #1 contact and the other end was booked solid until the early evening. The decision was quick: Google: “whistler lift hours of operation” = 8am-8pm. Welp, see ya later!

I hopped on the 99 North and within minutes (90 to be exact) I rolled into Whistler Village. It looked unusual and I felt strangely uncomfortable, as if I was looking at my favourite mirror, but all the coke had been snorted. Oh, what emotions are conjured during such a whiteless discovery.

As I got closer to the rental office I quickly discovered that people were whipping around on mountain bikes and havin’ a blast. All was normal again and I felt no need to use the razor blade for alternative purposes.

I grabbed my gear and moved it to the left so it wouldn’t get squashed on the bike seat. Then I put on my riding gear and hit the lifts.

It took a while to get the hang of things and keep the hanging things out of harms way. which was certainly made harder (yes) by the high-speed downhill terrain vibrations. I spend a solid six hours there hurting my body and developing an adrenaline addiction. Not good, for as you know, we’re out of cocaine.

 

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I rode back into town just after nine and headed to my first non-hotel accomodation. That alone was almost as sweet as the downhill. I set up shop (spilled my bags onto the floor) and spent a couple hours uploading footage and flapping my gums about rain, cold, sun, well some, and all things awesomely travelesque and beautiful. I knew I’d talked to myself a lot on the ride, but now that I had a live audience, I was chatter champion; The Great Gabsby.

I finally fell asleep and woke up to my new blender alarm clock which had somehow been permanently set at 6:30am. Gonna be a long week, both in fatigue and hours spent living. I can’t complain though, the living hours have been lived hard; to quote a beauty: “we carpe’d the fuck out of this diem.”

(today)

You know life’s good when you can spend unlimited minutes deciding if you want to put the first three lines of today’s action in the “today” or “yesterday” section. As you can see, I went with “yesterday” (see: “yesterday”).

So anyway, I decided to go mountain biking in whistler for a whil—-ah shit, I put yesterday in today; I’ve gone and fucked it all up (“everyday” section for the fuck-ups).

 

Today (really) I was actually awake before the blender went off, but only for a few minutes as I continually snoozed my cell phone alarm, still set to “Big Pimpin’” from times gone by. Then I rolled out of bed and discovered breakfast waiting at the table. I immediately knew I was dealing with Early Morning Savages; a rare, yet beautiful breed of human beings who can move and sing and talk my kind of talk.

There was a foreboding feeling as I ate healthful food and saw lots of athletic attire around the table. Words like “mountain” and “grind” and “effort” were strewn about the supra-table air and I felt chills in all of my bones, except for the one I lost out of fear…

8:30am rolled around and we headed over to Grouse Mountain for a fun little jaunt up a hill, later found to be the stairs of death, also known as the “keep your head up or it’s going up the ascending ass in front of you” climb. Several times I knew who’d showered, and what it was like to be an over-keen student.

 

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Hey, that’s me! I can see now how lovely it was.

 

After the climb we headed on a little hike down along the river to find mother nature’s cervix. The map called it a swimming hole. Potayto potahto.

About 3km later we came to the only part of the river with less than a 4 knot current. I have no idea what nautical knots are, but as you’ve seen, I can certainly employ the term in a sentence.

I’ll be running for office in the near future.

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The water was COLD. Apparently it’s glacier water and all of the fish are 3x bigger in normal water. I bottled some and bartered with Dasani to get a house in North Vancouver.

Post-swim we headed to the market for some eats. I ate about three fish-worth of sushi (=1 glacier water fish) and we trucked along to Kits beach for some more sun and water. By the end, I’d nearly rid myself of my sunglasses tan, and thus, No stevie Wonder I’d lost most of my vision for the next while.

What after the beach? Come on, man! Sushi! One can never know the beauty of a good roll unless you’ve eaten at multiple places or enjoy larger sexual partners.

There was a fish joke there, but I ate it. Oh, yep, that was it.

The hour-long bus ride back to home base was enough to wear out the crew and it was time for the usual camera backup, social circle, and shower before bed. (Not all at the same time. I would not share that video. Not for free anyway).

So that was today (and yesterday). Really yesterday and the day before, because it’s after midnight and I like to confuse you right when you think you’ve gotten a grip on the flow of my storytelling. Wednesday!

Wait, what?

Alliteration.