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July 26, 2005

Twenty miles and counting

“Oh yes, Grouse Mountain, you can take a bus” came the reply. “You want to walk there?!” came the shocked response. Apparently people just didn’t walk to Grouse Mountain, they took the bus. Well, they certainly didn’t walk from downtown, that was a twenty mile roundtrip.

As I staggered up the mountain, my ears popped. It was then I realised maybe this mountain was quite high after all. After two hours I began to think about my impending death. The only thing that could trace me was the large amounts of fluids dripping from my back. I guess it was like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, only this time is was sweat. Large amounts of sweat. Just as I was about to congratulate myself for my non stop pace, I was over taken on a blind bend by a sixty two year old granddad. The heart bypasses do wonders these days.

After two hours, as predicted by the wooden sign at the bottom. I could see the light through the trees. If I had been entered into a wet t-shirt competition, I would have proudly been given first place. My light grey t-shirt had turned to a dark gray t-shirt, the sweat was now running down my legs. The wooden eatery area at the top was full of prime, cable car fresh people that had just arrived. After worrying about getting sweat on the newly mopped floor, I decided to move into the tourist shop area to escape. My dilemma was simple. Purchase a touristy Grouse Mountain t-shirt at three times the cost, or, lay on a bench and look like a tramp. After a couple of minutes of internal debating, I went for the item of clothing with the smallest Grouse Mountain logo on it, handed over my credit card, and changed in the adjoining changing room.

The lady at the desk kindly provided me a plastic bag to put in my dripping wet t-shirt, probably more for the benefit of the guests than myself. As I walked out, I picked up a leaflet, consoling myself that I had just walked up 4,100 ft mountain, and maybe it was acceptable to be soaking on a very hot day. Luckily for me, there was advice about what to do if you encounter any Black Bears. I found this most reassuring.

“1 - If a bear approaches you, speak firmly”

Now, does shouting at the top of your voice “Shit, there’s a bear, he’s got big paws” count as firm or not? I was keen to gain more advice, afterall, I was walking down alone in bear country.

“If it attacks, fight back with any weapon”

That will be right. I’ll use the revolver I carry around in bag that I use to blast door locks when I forget my keys. But if I have forgotten my gun, there is always….

“If you have pepper spray, prepare it for use”

Fantastic.. I was now feeling drenched and completely unarmed. All I came with was a bottle of water and a half eaten packet of crisps. Maybe I could bang the crisp packet, or maybe, I could play dead….

“Do not play dead”

Sure, I have no weapons and I can't play dead, surely I would just run for it……

“Do not make a run for it”

I could barely believe it. I woman jogger had recently been killed by a bear and I could see why.

The long, winding walk down Capilano Road, led, unsurprisingly, to the Capiliano Suspension bridge. Apparently it’s Vancouver’s oldest, and most famous, tourist attraction. Declared as the World’s greatest suspension footbridge and built in 1889, it’s certainly tries to take advantage of that reputation, charging twenty five dollars to enter. The walk across is speculator, if a bit flimsy. The rocking motion of kids running about and stamping means there is a full time member of staff watching, and talking over an intercom “Please, no swinging and jumping”. As I wondered the benefits and drawbacks of being paid to watch people walk up and down a swinging bridge, I made my way out, back over Lions Gate bridge and through Stanley Park once again.

After twenty miles and eight hours, maybe the lady was right. Maybe I should have got a bus. But at least I had beaten my walking record. And my shoes.

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