Spring Break

My favourite part of spring break was getting to drive my dad’s sports car out to Brag Creek. It was a warm Friday afternoon, around two, maybe three. The sky was a brilliant blue with no clouds to speak of and the dry earth was just beginning to take the subtle juxtaposition of frozen lands coming back to life after the long winter months. It was a good day for a drive. I started the car and pulled out of the garage. This in and of itself was a special occurrence as my father previously had never let me start or stop the car, claiming if I stalled the engine would flood. As I began accelerating I heard the familiar roar of the engine. It was a sound unlike any other car. The dull whine gradually getting louder and louder until I shifted gears and it dropped an octave and one again began to climb. As we headed out of town we opened the windows and the warm wind blew through the car. It was absolutely exhilarating. It was truly an impressive car. I watched as the rpm climbed higher and higher in unison with the beautiful noise. The closer we got to the mountains the more beautiful the scenery got. Fields gave way to foothills to mountains, grasslands to aspens to towering pine trees. The road started to become curvier and curvier, letting the nimble car really show its stuff. The suspension fighting back against the force of the turn as it powered through the corner. The supple leather wheel stiff in my hands pushing back against the corner. It was better than I could have imagined. All the while my father and I talked about anything and everything. I got to drive a great car and got plenty of bonding time with my Dad. It was a great day.

New Years Resolutions

As defined by Albert Einstein insanity is “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”. By this definition New Year’s resolutions are very insane. Each year we give ourselves an ultimatum, a three hundred and sixty five step plan aimed on the betterment of ourselves in one aspect or another where we find ourselves lacking. Each year we fail to meet this ultimatum. We dive into our plans head first and go at it in full force, doing everything in our power to procure immediate, inspiring results. However, like the holiday spirit, our resolve fizzles out as January progresses. More often than not by the time February first rolls around our resolutions have been shelved in the deepest edifices of our guilty subconscious, far enough out of the forefront to be ignored. By March they are all but a distant memory. We slip back into our old ways and enjoy nine months of the life to which we are predisposed until we find ourselves once again on the precipice of a new year. This is the inevitable cycle of the New Year’s resolution.

Be it to exercise, eat better, drink less, go out more, volunteer more or anyone of the host of resolutions which are made there is always a reason not to follow it. Exercise begins to take a back seat to pleasure as the relation of physiological reward to physical pain begins to deteriorate. Eating better is often undermined by social activities and a lack of will power in the face of the decadent delicacies of which we are depraved. The struggle of drinking less is embodied by the social pressure one encounters on any endeavour which alters ones social persona. Conversely increasing ones social life often requires the disparagement of one’s moral or health obligations. Volunteering more, naturally, requires the sacrifice of ones most valuable resource, time. As one can plainly see every resolution worth making is enamoured with obstacles that are often insurmountable. Herein lies the inherent insanity of resolutions. The notion that because a goal is set on the first day of a year it inherits a cosmic purpose inspiring a spontaneous increase in will power is absurd. Setting a New Year’s resolution is plain and simple setting a goal. However any true goal must be set in conjunction with a resolve to achieve it which comes from an organic source within one’s self. Setting one simply because of a tradition founded on a date derived from a calendar which records the passage of man’s interpretation of time and expecting it to produce fruitful and meaningful results is, by definition, insane. 

What is your favorite winter holiday memory?

The first thing I saw was my sisters round face. She was bent over and had tilted her head to look me directly in the eyes as I awoke. Her hair was strewn about her face and was hanging off of her head in a frizzy deluge of reddish blonde. She had the biggest smile on her face that I had only moments to enjoy before she ensured I was awake and bolted out of my room. The rule had always been that no presents could be opened before everyone was awake. So naturally in her eight year old mind the most logical course of action was to wake the entire house at six in the morning. I did not dwell on this however as my initial disgruntlement at being awoken at such and hour was expelled by the liberation of the Christmas anticipation that had been growing for a month prior. I struggled my way out of twisted bed clothes and raced after my sister. As I reached the bottom of the staircase my nostrils were assaulted by the smell of pine needles. I followed this odor to the living room where a vibrantly decorated tree stood as a centerpiece framing a scene out of a holiday movie. My mother and father sat together on a love seat, my fathers arm around my mother, watching my sister opening the largest present adorned with her name. As I entered the room both of my parents greeted me with a "merry Christmas" and my sister ran to me handing me a present before darting back to the tree to deliver one to each of my parents. I sat upon the floor and I slowly peeled back the wrapping paper. I uncovered a small white box. My intrigue turned to excitement as I began to realize what it was. I tore off the remaining paper and flipped the small box to reveal a clear plastic cover. Beneath the plastic was a silver i-pod nano. Clutching the box in my hand I ran to my mother now kneeling in front of a still wrapped present and hugged her tight. My father wrapped his arms around us and my sister wiggled her way in between my mother and father. It was the ultimate Christmas feeling. 

# 392 Catching The Ice Cream Truck

After twelve hours and forty- two minutes of travel we had finally arrived. We had endured sprinting through an airport, nearly losing a cell phone, four hours of turbulence, six flights of stairs with fifty pound suitcases and a taxi ride to rival space mountain en route to our temporary home. We were exhausted, sore and in London England. It had all been worth it. As soon as we got to our flat we threw down our suit cases and tore open a map of the city. We were on Tower Hill and a glance off the balcony gifted views of the Gherkin and the Shard. It had been determined months ago that today would be devoted to the London Eye. Plotting our route with the care of general preparing to march we set off. As we walked we encountered a the London Bridge. Shocked at its ornate decoration and unfathomable age we stared up in awe as we shuffled along with hoards of tourists and businessmen alike. As the bridge was conquered we refocused our attentions on the gargantuan masterpiece we will soon be riding. As we rounded the final bend we saw it in its entirety for the first time. Simultaneously we were blinded by the beating hot sun. This was the first time since the tarmac of Heathrow that we had encountered an area without skyscrapers for shade. We immediately started sweating. It was a solid thirty degrees centigrade and at just before noon it was only going to get hotter. The closer we got to the eye the more we realized this would be a half day affair. The ride alone was over a half hour and the line up was a staggering hour and a half long, if signage was to be believed. Having already paid there was no turning back and we took our place in the gargantuan cue. We absolutely fried. As the sun rose to its pinnacle the temperature rose with it and continued to rise as morning ended and afternoon began. We were being bombarded by heat from the sky and the tarmac. Just as we neared the end of the line we spotted an oasis. A old British ice cream truck. Faded pink with hand drawn fresco's of soft ice cream swirling to a vertex atop a faded beige cone. It was a thing of beauty. I ran sprinted to the window just as the man reached for the shutters. I immediately bought four of the largest cones he sold with a single flake bar sticking out of it like an extra appendage. As soon as the cones were in my hands the window shutters were slammed shut and the truck peeled away faster than any ice cream truck I had ever seen. It was the best ice cream I have ever tasted. Maybe it was because I was dehydrated and over heated, maybe because it was shared with my family on an adventure, or maybe British ice cream is just better. I cant say but what I do know is I was glad I had caught the truck.   

Staying Up So Late Everything Is Funny

It was cold. The terrible kind of cold that seized the air in your lungs and crystallized it with every inhalation. Snowflakes gracefully danced out of the inky black sky in front of streetlamps like alabaster ballerinas. It was late. Too late to be outside and certainly too late to be out in such arresting cold. I was on my way to the gas station in search of candy and soft drinks. Like a solitary messenger sent across a scarred battlefield I was elected by my cohorts for this mission and I felt equal parts envious and victimized. As I reached the doors of the convenience store I was greeted by a deluge of warm air. I quickly garnered the requested supplies and proceeded to the till laden with sugar and caffeine in all of its forms. As I deposited my spoils on the counter I looked up to see a rather familiar face. A face which had become synonymous with summer afternoon Slurpee and compulsory movie night snack procurement. To this day I do not know his name and he has yet to obtain mine. To him I was buddy and he was man to me. Despite this he was a fixture of tween escapades and held a special place in my heart. Having paid for my copious food supply I left feeling far less morose about the ludicrous temperatures I had been sent out in. This wave of happiness however was quickly superseded by a torrent of fatigue. I was leveled by the lack of energy and was reminded of the obscenely late hour. I then proceeded to trudge homeward as dancing snowflakes changed to icy daggers propelled by ever increasing winds. Just as I feared losing my way I found myself on my doorstep. With my mission almost complete I released a sigh of relief and began almost jogging towards the door. Just as I surmounted the driveway I found a patch of sheer ice and promptly fell directly onto my back, my bag of junk food flying out of my hand strait into the air. As I fell to the ground I watched as a solitary can of Coca Cola escaped the bag and plummeted just inched from my head onto the frozen pavement. It promptly exploded and sprayed me with a torrent of freezing liquid. At this point I burst out laughing, What were the odds that a single can of Coke would manage to land exactly where it could soak me. My lungs having been evacuated by my fall struggled to regain function amid fits of laughter. I stayed like that laughing on the cold ground until I regained enough function to stand up. I picked up the scattered remnants of my escapade and walked triumphantly through the front door of my home.

Camping Experience
My favorite camping experience was camping in the bad lands in Drumheller with my scout troop.  It was just at the tail end of summer so the days were hot and the nights were cold. We arrived at the camp ground during one of the only rains of that summer. It was pouring. Erecting the tent was as simple as it could be under the circumstances but we were drenched. As soon as the tent was done we threw our sleeping bags down and fell asleep. When we woke up it was seven in the morning and blazing hot. We put all of our wet clothes on rocks to bake and we set off for a hike through the hoodoos. We just walked and walked through crevasse and atop mountains and you couldn't see anything but dusty hills in every direction. The excruciating heat of the sun was matched only by the exquisite cool of the shaded areas. As we adventured I saw larger snakes than I had ever seen slither under rocks and out of fissures in the hills. We finally got to our destination we saw a solitary rock standing above the hills. It was khaki brown with a steep buttress that we were facing with a steep climbable incline hidden from our view. We climbed atop it and gazed into the distance. The horizon disappearing into a clear blue nothing holding a solitary yellow orb directly above us. It was gorgeous. We climbed down and set off in the direction we had came. We felt like pioneers. in uncharted territory struggling to make it back to our campsite alive. As romantic as a sonnet we each envisioned our heroic return to the meager civilization we called home. Unexplained to us this had been a hike planned by our leaders and carefully plotted to fit within the fragile and complex agenda for our weekend. We didn't care. We had disappeared into a wilderness unlike we had ever seen and  found our way home again. After our triumphant return it was just past midday. After a camp meal of hotdogs and chips we were given free time. We immediately headed back for the mountains and climbed and climbed for hours on end. We watched the sun set through two mountains forming a wedge of red hot light between the slopes of two hills. As the wedge slowly decreased its size we headed away from it towards the camp. As we reached the apex of the final summit before the long decent we saw a solitary pillar of smoke characteristic of a fire newly weaned from paper to wood. We reached the bottom of the hill just as the sun set and marshmallows were brought out. I sat on the nearest log and simply stared at the fire. Seeing in the flames the red of the sun we left behind. The sun that illuminated our adventures.