| A roadster is a very special thing. It is almost completely
useless, a car with room for two people and, if you’re lucky, two sets of
clubs. And that’s it. As in: the kids and that unruly pair of Bernese mountain
dogs will be spending a few days with grandma and grandpa because mommy and daddy
are going to have some fun, and there’s just no room for anyone (or anything)
else.
A weekend escape in one of these becomes infused with the romance of an automotive
table for two, the exhilaration of open-air motoring (complete with the rare pleasure
of applying sunscreen before embarking on a road trip), and the sense of adventure
that comes from the forced spontaneity of the vehicle’s meagre cargo capacity.
A roadster is more than sporting, roofless transportation for two; it’s
the decadence and simplicity of the jazz age, it’s a page out of The Great
Gatsby, a hedonistic indulgence.
So when I was asked by Fairmont Hotels and luxe travel purveyor Horizon &
Co. to take a spin around the Canadian Rockies in a BMW Z4 (one of the finer specimens
of the breed), staying in and reflecting upon some of the region’s finest
hotels, I gave the proposition less than a moment’s hesitation. I arrived
in Calgary a few weeks later feeling like the world’s single most lucky
journalist.
My girlfriend and I were met at the airport by a DreamFleet representative, from
whom I picked up my wheels. If you’re wondering who in their right mind
hands over to someone like me the keys to a gleaming, electric-blue German sports
car with little more than a smile and a handshake, the answer is these guys. (Well,
there may have been a credit card imprint involved at some point.)
I tossed my spartan bag in the trunk, slid into
the amply bolstered beige leather driver’s seat, and reached for that magical
little button on the centre console that invites the full expanse of the Prairie
sky into the cabin. There was a whir, then a thunk, and I was officially on vacation.
Clare wrapped a silk scarf around her hair, as Lauren Bacall might have done,
and donned her ludicrously oversized sunglasses, embracing the glamour intrinsic
to any trip in a car like this.
The sun was sagging behind the Three Sisters as we approached Banff National Park’s
eastern gate.
I noticed for the first time that vacationers travelling in the Rockies typically
opt for heftier modes of conveyance: minivans, SUVs and that most heinous
of leisure vehicles, the RV. Gazing up at a taupe leviathan called the Southwind
27, I imagined the sounds of Shrek DVDs and the smell of spilt juice boxes and
gripped the leather-wrapped wheel in sublime satisfaction. Lining up to pay the
toll I spotted another couple in a ragtop two-seater, their smiling heads, like
ours, barely peeking above the sculpted flank of the car. A curious thing happened.
It wasn’t quite like the wave that boaters exchange; it was more of a subtle,
knowing nod.
Our first destination was the palatial Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel, a Scottish
baronial-style structure that looks, from the bridge over the Bow River, as if
whittled from raw rundlestone by the same forces of water and weather that shaped
the mountains in its backyard. The valet took my keys and I took his compliments
on my ride, my companion having earlier promised not to reveal the Z4’s
true owners. We checked in just in time to relieve our road-weariness in the azure
luminescence of the Willow Stream Spa mineral baths. The aromatic mists and the
delicate patina of the tiles juxtaposed against the raw wilderness backdrop of
Sulphur Mountain provided a sense of sanctuary that made our hour in that place
feel like three.
Over dinner at the Alps-themed Waldhaus Restaurant, we were introduced to another
persistent feature of any luxury Rockies trip: exquisite meals composed of prime
cuts from the region’s unique four-legged bounty. Opulent tenderloins and
succulent shanks abound. Vegetarians beware: the jewels of every top-tier Rockies
menu are always served medium rare.
Lingering with our sangiovese after the meal, we noted authenticity of the dining
experience and wondered: Of the experience that hotel’s first guests enjoyed
in the summer of 1888, how much is available to visitors now? The only mineral
in the natural hot springs discovered by Banff ’s railway workers was sulphur;
we nearly needed a geology degree to decipher the brochure for our spa treatments
today. The traditional venison dish I ate could certainly have been on the menu
in 1888—probably without the lingonberry preserve or the roasted organic
pear in the accompanying spätzle.
We spent the rest of the night deciding on an activities itinerary that would
enable us to explore other “old Rockies” experiences in exciting,
luxurious, or otherwise new ways. First on the agenda was fly fishing on the Bow
River. My companion knows how to fly fish—I, embarrassingly, don’t.
Humiliated by her prowess, I suggested we move on.
And moving on, happily, meant getting back behind the wheel. Jasper was our destination,
but we were planning a few roadside diversions (and one alpine adventure) along
the way. We ducked into the Bison Mountain Bistro and General Store, on Banff’s
Bear Street, to pick up some gourmet picnic supplies, then hit the road equipped
with peppery bison sandwiches and a local chèvre chosen on the advice of
a knowledgeable server.
Considered by most who’ve driven it (and by the UN, which designated it
a World Heritage Site in 1984) to be one of the most beautiful stretches of asphalt
in the world, the Icefields Parkway is a destination in its own right. It opened
in the 1940s, but the route was well travelled by mountaineers for years prior
and it was this earlier experience that we were after. We wound our way up to
the Columbia Icefields with the crisp mountain air biting our faces, as J. Norman
Collie and Herman Woolley would have experienced on their historic first ascent
of Mount Athabasca. There were, of course, a few differences—our progress
was hindered only by convoys of vacationers, not exhaustion or the elements, and
we glimpsed the spectacular expanse of white icefields from a monstrous all-terrain
bus—but it was essentially the same experience.
Arriving at the Fairmont Jasper Park Lodge, we were greeted by a few locals who
seemed to embody the aesthetic of the hotel: the herd of elk passing through presented
an air of blissful indifference to picture-snapping guests as they consumed the
well-manicured landscaping. We figured any hotel that could make elk feel so at
home would suit our old-Rockies theme perfectly.
After another outstanding meal of local fauna, an excellent cut of Alberta beef
tenderloin, we retired in anticipation of the next day’s ridgeline packhorse
trip. The smell of old saddle leather and the slow rhythm
of the horse’s gait conjured a vivid sense of continuity with the golden
age of Rockies exploration we sought to discover. It also exposed another mountain
recreation skill I’m lacking and provided some of the most beautiful vistas
of the trip.
The return journey was predictably pleasurable. With the aid of a clever GPS-powered,
PDA-based “tour guide,” called GyPSy Guide, we found a host of natural
and historic landmarks—like mountain man Jimmy Simpson’s Num-Ti-Jah
Lodge on the shores of Bow Lake and the astonishing Weeping Wall—that we
might otherwise have driven obliviously past. We were also treated to a steady
stream of interesting factoids: did you know the Icefields drain into three oceans?
Were we not headed toward the majestic luxury of the Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise,
I would have been disappointed to approach the south end of the Parkway.
Pulling up to this icon of the Rockies, the first thing I noticed was not its
grandeur, but its valet; specifically, the young man’s attire. We shared
a moment as he held the BMW’s door. He looked at me as if he was daring
me to think of a quip worthy of his absurd traditional Swiss clothes. I looked
back, desperately trying to think of something good before settling, pathetically,
on “nice socks.” He grinned. Clare and I unpacked in
a suite overlooking the turquoise splendour of the lake and, determined to play
along, made a reservation for the über-Swiss Wallister Stube.
Our meal was a coma-inducing three-course fondue marathon.
If you’re thinking that so much cheese and chocolate seems at odds with
the sophistication of a hotel of this calibre, you haven’t tried this fondue.
White wine livened the traditional blend of gruyère and emmental; the chinoise
featured such beautiful cuts of beef it felt sinful to dip them in hot broth.
We wanted to cap our trip with a final flourish, an experience to capture the
romance of the old Rockies and the elegance of the new. We visited the Chateau
Deli for picnic supplies while the valet retrieved the Z4, then drove to nearby
Moraine Lake and picked up a canoe.
After a short paddle across the lake—a far less crowded and equally spectacular
alternative to Lake Louise—we found a rocky outcropping on which to luxuriate.
Paddling back, it occurred to me that, despite the busloads of tourists, these
mountains haven’t changed in the 120-or-so years since the CPR first crossed
them. Then, as the BMW pulled up, I realized it’s the way we experience
them that’s changed. |
The GyPSy Guide is the
high-tech ticket to a fun road trip. Using GPS technology, it provides an audio-visual
guide to history, geology and wildlife. (Along with Banff-to-Jasper, Lake Louise
and Rockies routes, GPS tours of Calgary, Whistler, Victoria and the Okanagan
are also available, with unit pick-up in Western cities and airports.) 866-477-4171,
gpstourscanada.com.
