← PreviousTaking our time up to the Bow GlacierSunday 23 August
The motel is undeniably part of the North American experience: sleeping in one of these budget hotels is also a taste of the country's folklore. But beyond the cultural interest lies the sad reality of these places. The shower was indeed a lifesaver; the night was not. For 120 dollars, the Lakeview Motel, which offers no view of any lake but rather of the highway, is run-down and full of very noisy rednecks. In the car park several huge pick-ups sport the Confederate flag as a front plate. The walls are so thin that the guest upstairs makes the ceiling light shake with every move. He has the bright idea of taking an endless shower at 10:30 pm, and we spend an hour surrounded by the rumble of pipes and running water. Every time he uses the toilet, the plumbing announces with a crash that our neighbour has just flushed. Even earplugs can't cover the constant racket. So much for a restful night.
When we left Montreal we expected wide open spaces and a striking calm. For scenery we're well served; silence, on the other hand, is rare. Canada has a huge noise problem that doesn't seem to bother its people. We've known the campground by the highway, the Airbnb where the train goes by sounding its horn ten times a night, and the hotels with papier-mâché walls full of inconsiderate guests. Still, we snatch a few hours' sleep before being woken early by the other guests. We leave the motel in a daze and drive to Folding Mountain, twenty minutes away.
It's one of the toughest hikes in the area, and the hardest we've done so far. Folding Mountain only rises to 2,100 metres, but the trail imposes 1,200 metres of climbing in seven kilometres. The first three are a wall winding between the trees, and it takes us nearly an hour to climb it. We finally get above the treeline and carry on up a gentler slope. The last kilometre is steeper still than the start, and the final four hundred metres are on a sheer, unstable scree of small, very slippery stones. We go carefully, take the wrong path several times, but finally reach the summit!
From up there the view takes in the whole range. We lie in the grass to escape the wind lashing our faces and enjoy a sun that warms us a little. This hike has a fun rule: a selfie at the top earns you a free beer at the brewery below. But before you can enjoy it, you have to get down, and if the climb was hard, the stony section takes us even longer on the way down. Gravity pulls us downward, and at times we have to press ourselves against the almost vertical slope to make progress. At last the mountain is beaten and we're back to a cruising pace. On the way we meet a very friendly Quebecer living in Edmonton, who invites us for a drink when we're there the following week. We take her number, delighted to meet locals. And of course we head straight to the craft brewery to claim our free pints, and grab a bite while we're at it.
In the evening we meet up with Maël and Cindy, the French couple we met a few days ago, in a pub in town. Their day was less athletic than ours, but they were lucky enough to see moose, for the first time in three years of living in Canada! Unlike the kangaroo, which you see absolutely everywhere in Australia, the moose, one of the country's great emblems, is genuinely hard to spot, and you need luck. We spend the night in an unlit, extraordinarily quiet side street, and needless to say we savour the silence. The paradox: we sleep better in our car than in a hotel.
Monday 24 August
We're so tired that the light rain drumming on the bodywork doesn't even wake us. We hear it through our sleep and surface naturally after an excellent rest. The forecast was for rain all day and, alas, it was right: thick clouds seem trapped in the mountains, a very threatening dark grey. Today we won't even try to brave the elements. Hiking has its charm in gloomy weather, but much less when it's pouring relentlessly.
We settle on the sofa of a café to charge our devices. On a long journey these days aren't felt as a loss: they're a chance to rest and take your time. We do some laundry and call our families at the same time, always a precious moment in our weeks. Jasper is resolutely geared towards the outdoors, and you can feel everyone going round in circles trying to kill time. We take the car along the country roads around town hoping to see animals. The tally is slim: two colossal elk lying peacefully by the roadside. The rest of the day is nothing special, and in the evening we go back to sleep in the same side street. The forecast says a mere two degrees tonight; we wrap up warmly, hoping the cold won't stop us sleeping too much.
Tuesday 25 August
We had to run the engine for a few minutes in the middle of the night, it was so cold, but on the whole we slept fairly well. After a simple breakfast we take the road that winds up to the huge Maligne Lake for the Bald Hills hike. The sign at the start says four to six hours; it takes us barely three. From the top the view takes in all of Maligne Lake and the peaks around it. We don't linger, as it's bitterly cold at over two thousand metres. For nearly two weeks we've been piling up the kilometres, and our legs are starting to complain loudly. We don't push it: back in the village we treat ourselves to a hot chocolate in the sun on the terrace of the café where we've become regulars.
