The logistical problem had reared its ugly head, exposing the weakness in the plans. They had put multiple drivers on the one flight that was the one to be delayed this year. It was Murphy's law, you get a bunch of people flying in from across the country, and someone is bound to be delayed. Anyway, this was the start of the trip, and after collecting all the luggage and strapping the extra long snowboard that "won't fit in a standard trunk" (let alone a Miata trunk) to the roof of the Explorer, they were off.
For the Texans, Calgary wasn't much of a change: oil tanks, cattle, and people in cowboy hats were to be found everywhere. Saying goodbye to Calgary quickly (someone should really leave their inheritance to these people, so they can afford to move somewhere decent), they passed the old Olympic ski jump, now being used primarily as a snowmobile race track, which was the size of a go-cart track at the bottom of the jump.
As they headed northwest to the mountains, and Banff National Park, they wondered what adventures were awaiting them.
Mulder said, "Scully, it's obviously a related to the disappearance of the entire staff of Banff National Park. The strike is just a cover-up by the men in charge in conjunction with the Canadian Mounted Police. You can't simply make that many employees vanish that quickly. And the heat, Scully, don't you find it significant that there's a trail named "Hell's Kitchen" over at the Sunshine Village ski area?"
Scully, still incredulous, replied, "Mulder! First, I see nothing beyond an economic difference of opinion between the park workers and management. Second, you know this is the year of La Nina, when the coldness of one year is followed by a much warmer year. And third, the temperature, though incredibly high, is within an acceptible variance set by the USGS and its Canadian counterpart organization."
Quick to reply, Mulder exclaimed, "The same USGS that has been linked to the Pentagon since 1947. And why would fifteen seemingly ordinary US citizens from San Jose to Virginia be drawn to this place at this exact time?"
Scully, obviously already tiring of the argument, said, "I don't think this is an X-file, and definitely not worth our investigation."
"How many layers do you think I'll need?" The question could have been, and probably was, asked by anyone on any of the ski trips, but today it was Steve. The ritual was beginning to return: up, turn on the TV for a snow report and perhaps a few stock quotes, eat, layer up, sunscreen, and head out. Of course the obligatory group picture had to be taken on day 1, when everyone was present.
All that layering, in combination with the anticipation of riding a brand spanking new snowboard, was starting to make Adam's blood rise above its normal temperature. The sun was already blasting down its radiation on the base area of the Lake Louise ski resort already at 10AM. The snowboard, catching a ray of light and deflecting it, sent a glimmer directly to the retina of the grunge-dude from Vancouver.
"Rad board, man", he remarked to his buddy, who was standing next to him.
Giving the cigarette a final puff, the buddy replied, "It's a keeper, let's go."
The buddy-leader calmly put his cigarette out on a nearby set of skis while his partner lifted the board from the snow.
They were off, to sell their newly found possessions back in Vancouver. Altogether they had scored three boards in a quick sweep of Lake Louise. To gather any more would be too risky. They could sell them for a hundred fifty or so each in Vancouver. Then do the same trick in reverse at Whistler.
Adam came out of the lodge, and looked around. No board. Now the triple effect of layers, sun, and stolen board turned his already warm blood almost to a vapor. It was not a good start.
Phil, after recounting the Adam's story to others who weren't present that fateful morning, vowed, "I'm going the tackle and beat the crap out of any snowboarder with a gray board."
Unfortunately though, Phil had problems of his own to worry about. At lunch, he noticed several purple pieces of plastic on the floor beneath the table. Picking them up, he realized these pieces had once been attached to the heel of his boot. Examining them, Andy remarked, "You're one hell of a skier, Phil", referring to the awesome turns he had seen in the morning. "Unfortunately, your boot couldn't take the punishment you were giving it this morning -- you should try something a little more sturdy, like titanium." Indeed Phil in his usual "press the glass" exuberance, had shattered not just one boot, but both boots' plastic heel pieces. After eating, Phil skied down on his partially functioning boots and felt his own temperature rise. This was going to cut into his plan for a solid week of non-stop skiing.
As they returned to the base after lunch, they noticed the temperature had risen to a mild, I mean blistering, 59F. Slush was everywhere: not the good kind associated with the word "fund", but the sticky, snow-cone substance frozen margaritas are made from. The top half of the mountain offered cooler climes, but the term "slush-city" still applied up there.
Stacy, deciding not to ski Sunday, was on her own adventure. She was out on an animal hunt that would make even Mutual of Omaha proud. Her quest - to get some good pictures of wildlife in general, but particularly of elk. After several hours of oversleeping, she headed out for even more hours of tracking down elk. In retrospect, the pictures she captured were worth it, though it was lost on the die-hard skiers why you'd ever want to skip the first day of skiing, however slush-like the conditions were.
"Look what I found!", Stacy yelled from the doorway to the already returned skiers. As they approached the doorway, they could see the incredibly tight stranglehold she had on one of the elks, her feet almost dangling beneath the huge beast. "Can I keep it?", she asked, playfully. Everyone was astounded and a bit frightened at what was going on.
Jay asked "What does that orange tag mean?", spotting the tag hanging out of the elk's ear.
"Hmmm... I don't know.", Stacy replied.
Dinner was upon them. A nice Swiss-Italian restuarant called Ticino on Banff Avenue was selected. "Ring my be-e-e--e-ll, ring my bell", the song running through Steve's head was now reverberating ever louder in his cranium. Several of the ski group and a couple a table nearby reported later, "Yeah, I thought I heard that, but couldn't tell where it was coming from."
Steve, now in discomfort, asked the waitress "Has anyone ever rung the bell?"
Her response, though she was silently intrigued by his question, was a curt, "On occasion."
This bell in particular, within arm's reach of Steve's seat, was a bronze object 6" in diameter, that could probably double as a spittoon if turned upside down. Dave pleaded for restraint on Steve's part, but also taunted him, "If you ring that, I'll have to one-up you by taking that Alpenhorn down off the wall over there, and blowing it."
Steve, still under tremendous internal mental pressure, again asked the waitress, "Really, do you mind if I ring the bell?"
She said, "Bell ringing isn't customary, but here's my phone number."
Desert and coffee arrived, and finally the check. Dave and all the other exhausted folks headed out the door. "Boing!" The slightest of taps had caused an immense gong sound, echoing throughout the entire town of Banff. Several elk looked at each other in confusion. The Banff native, the one who hoarded the frosted brown sugar pop tarts, muttered "...damn...tourists..." and went back to sleep.
"Scully, I want you and Mulder to take a look at Radium Hot Springs, wrap up that case and head back to Washington in two days," Skinner said with a tone of finality over the cell-phone.
"Yes, sir", Scully said. "We gave it some looking at yesterday, and there is a slightly high amount of radiation in those springs. Maybe not enough to cause mutations, but still, it's a bit on the high side."
"Good, let me know when I can see your report," Skinner said, ending the call.
"Who was that?", Mulder asked.
"Skinner. He wants us to wrap up things here."
"We still haven't found the link, Scully, between the hot springs, the high temperatures, and the disappearance of all the park workers."
Reluctantly, Scully said, "OK, Mulder, we'll stay a couple more days."
On the way to the glacier, they took in the beatiful road that lead through the Columbia Ice Field. On the way was Castle Mountain, and again, passing by but not detouring to Radium Hot Springs. As they wound closer to the glacier, large orange sacks, like you would find for potting soil at Home Depot, lined the sides of the road. "Is that Tang?" Dave asked, naively. The answer would come later as a resounding "No."
"This is just like an expedition to Everest," Beth stated. Indeed, camp 1 was set up (in the parking lot) so they could don all available clothing to fend off the gale force wind now blowing dark clouds over Athabasca glacier.
Camp 2 was set up as Jeff, Vince, and Dave started up the Western face, and the others (Jay, Sharon, Andy, Michele) let Beth sprint to the lead with newfound vigor up the traditional route via the South Col. Even the Sherpas were having a tough time keeping up with Beth.
At the foot of the glacier, the sight was awesome, blue ice above and to the left on the cliff and also further back, spilled out onto a sheet of white ice. Down at the very foot, there was Dave, kneeling, who said "Mah tong is stah ta da glacia!" The signs warned of any more frivolity: one depicted a person, 20 feet down in a dark blue chasm, with white bubbles coming from his mouth, trying to swim up. As recently as 1994, someone had ventured out onto the ice and fallen in. Additional facts crossed their minds, such as that the glacier's recession rate was 13 meters/year. Steve, overawed by the glacier's beauty, screamed, "Aaaiigh... let go you stupid glacier!" as he was dragged upward. This year, the glacier had decided to receed all at once (March 22, 1999, at precisely 2:37PM), taking with it Steve's foot.
Walking back from the mighty Athabasca, Jeff attempted to body surf down the snow dunes, and ended up, well, looking like Jeff. Captured on film, too. Michele, to annoy her coworker, called from a pay phone, right at the glacier, for just such occasions, to say "I'm at a glacier!" and promptly hung up. She would pay for that later, back in Austin.
On the road, only two miles from the Glacier, the uniformed Canadian approached our lead car to inform us that the Tang was not Tang, but explosives, for creating avalanches. The bad news was that it might take an hour to clear the man-made avalanche. The worse news was that they might make too big of a mess and not be able to clear it. Boom! After about 15 charges were set off, they discussed options. If it was too big, they would be spending the night, whether they liked it or not, in Jasper, to the north.
"Fortunately, they were able to clear it.", said Beth, recounting this story to everyone back at home in the condo. "And, oh yeah, it was a blast!" Her mind was already at work on turning this experience into an audience member participatory story, for next time.
After a mighty fine meal at The Balkans Greek Restaurant (in Banff), the condo was alive with discussion. Dan's Mafia game, where you get about fifteen people together, deal out roles, and start killing each other, was a definite game of doublethink, and triplethink. Especially when most of those people were engineers or had some scientific training. (As Vince once pointed out, "Anything worth analyzing, is worth overanalyzing.")
"I thought we were investigating the high temperatures, so why are we out here on a glacier?" Scully asked the obvious question.
"Those people knew something, otherwise why would they send most of their party out here today? They were almost prevented by those so-called avalanche workers from even getting this far. Something's afoot, Scully."
"Still, this ice has been here for thousands of years, do you really expect to find something new?" Their flashlights penetrated the dark cave-tunnel they had found, on the side ice-flow of the glacier.
"Look at this, Scully!", Mulder said, pointing to a smooth spot in the ice of the Athabasca glacier. "It looks like this has melted and refrozen... Give me your ice axe." Mulder chipped away carefully around the area, then more vigorously. "It looks like there's water below."
"Careful, Mulder."
As the ice broke under a hefty stroke, Mulder barely managed not to fall in. Touching it, Mulder said, "It's warm."
"Let me get a sample," Scully said.
"Have you seen the water slide?", asked the person on the lift next to Steve. Steve replied, "Sadly, my son, no. My ultra-conservative, calm, pompous demeanor prohibits me from engaging in any such frivolous activity." This was just Steve's way of expressing his lingering doubt about a conversation he had over the telephone with a lady at the front desk. Remembering the conversation vividly, he was still skeptical to her answer to his own query as to whether the slide was a kiddie slide. She had replied, "Oh, definitely not!" Steve, now snapping back to the present on the lift (and to his normal self) turned to the skier next to him, said "I mean, I'll be there as soon as I'm off these slopes."
meanwhile in a parking lot kilometers away...
"I'm from Calgary, so why am I asking a bunch of Rice guys where to cross country ski?", asked the stranger in the parking lot of Chateau Lake Louise. None of them had expected anyone from the western Canadian territory to know anything about Rice. Apparently, as an avid sports fan, this guy did. After a few minutes (and what seemed like hours to Sharon) of polite conversation, they headed out to the other side of the lake where the cross country trails called their name repeatedly, "mo.....Mo.....MO".
The canyons on the far side of the lake were spectacular with blue ice above and fresh snow everywhere. Swish-swish-swish went their skis as they glided effortlessly forward. The silence was almost defeaning, and peaceful, until Jeff hollered out, "Watch me, cross country skier extrodinare, jump this boulder, with no effort." Although he cleared it completely, Jeff ended up in a face plant that would have made any of Adam's boarding ones pale in comparison. Andy, having taken mental note of Jeff's exact words, now substituted "...no effort" with "...no grace".
Andy, now admiring the canyon walls, was testing out other words. With just two words: "ice" and "baby", and with the correct timing, he found the echo chamber could reproduce a majority of the lyrics from that Vanilla Ice song. The problem was that it wouldn't stop. "Ice, ice, baby..." kept reverberating in everyone's ears. Sharon screamed out "Quiet!", only making the situation worse. After about 20 minutes, it finally subsided.
Jeff, now in the lead in a new section, had found a section of freshies in a clear area on one side of the canyon. Finally, it struck them, only when they were halfway out on the embankment of very white new snow, that they were cross country-ing across the aftermath of an avalanche. Jay said, "Let me lead, boy, we've got no time to get caught in an avalanche: I have to get back to the condo to make some kick-ass lasagna." [OK, so he didn't actually say "kick-ass."]
Indeed it was good lasagna. Even despite Steve's pre-trip warnings of not smuggling cooking implements across the border, Jay had managed to sneak in a lasagna pan in the midst of the extra sets of underwear in his suitcase. After cleaning the pan thoroughly in the autoclave in the condo, construction began from the ingredients meticulously prepared by June, Jay, Sharon, Beth, Dave, Vince, and finally Steve (who seemed to do most of his preparation in the other room with his butt on the couch.) Sharon directed the layering, "Don't forget the corners, those corner people never get any justice."
The three lasagna pans containing meat and meatless lasagnas amply fed the fifteen people that made up the group for the first half of the week. There was even some left over for the next days.
Suddenly headlights came on behind him. "Uh-oh, company," Mulder said to himself as he looked in the rear view mirror. Having just left Scully to work on the analyzing the water sample, he was now being tailed -- but by whom? Immediately his mind jumped back to the red-coated agents, who sported cowboy hats, that they had evaded skillfully a few days back, in the Calgary airport. Their poor cover was almost embarassing.
Screeeeech. Mulder slammed the brakes as the oncoming car had turned slightly sideways and was now blocking both lanes of the two-lane road. Nope, no escape from behind, either, since now two of the red-coated agents were now blocking that route.
Mulder rolled down the window, squinting to see past the flashlight beaming into his face. Was it? Yes, it was. Krychek.
Back at the lake (Lake Louise), the regular wake-up and semi-pressing-the-glass attitude had not earned the early skiers (Phil, Steve, Andy, Dave, Henrik) a very nice reward. "Krusty burgers", Dave said dejectedly. Yesterday's sunny day and afternoon slush had refrozen, not giving the grooming machines anything to really work with. The grooming machines had created either large ice cubes lying all across the slopes, or nice refrozen 2 cm wide ridges.
Shopping was the initial pre-dinner target of June, Michele, Stacy, and Dave, prior to the feast they would soon receive. Unfortunately, the noise coming from outside the car forced Stacy to pull over. Sure enough, there was the flat tire, fully deflated on its the front-right rim. "Let me know when you girls are done.", Dave said, reclining the passenger seat back as far as it would go. All-in-all it was a quick tire change, which Michele supervising. She found her skills of whipping her minions into line at work were easily transferred to tire-changing. And she knew how to reward them, too. As they strolled by the array of shops on Banff Avenue, she commanded, "Everyone in the fudge shop, now! And you can't leave until you have a half kilo of fudge."
Finally, after sampling the fudge, it was time to proceed to dinner. The choice of cuisine that evening was at Sukiyaki, a Japanese restaurant, mingled in the midst of the horde of other stores on Banff Ave. Everyone was pleased with their orders, and the weight of the American dollar again made the meal a bargain. Only one complaint was heard, though, when Dan recounted later, "Getting to cook your own meal on a hotplate was OK, but next time I want to see an actual flame and have my own personal waiter cook it for me at the table."
Despite the lack of sterno, the food was excellent, which reminded Phil that he'd almost forgotten to propose his toast. He cleared his throat, and the table waited for what they thought would be a heartfelt toast. Finally, he said, "Here's to the half weekers. God bless 'em and for all the food they left behind."
Back at the condo games of Bleeding Sherwood and Give Me the Brain broke out. Quite heated arguments surrounded the round table, around which the knights playing Sherwood sat. "Bloody hell! What do you think you're doing Sir Dave?", Sir Phil exclaimed.
Sir Dan answered, "Sir Dave is trying to establish himself as a madman, if you can imagine that."
Sir Phil said, "Still, one should play to the best of his ability, shouldn't he?"
"I have the right to play my bloody cards any bloody way I prefer," Dave retorted, as the sound of the sword slowly scraping against its scabbard became obvious.
"Why don't you POME's just deal up a new game, since we all know who is the madman here," Steve from the outback said, waiting impatiently for a fresh wad.
Finally the urge to quiet down fell over them, but more heavily on Phil. Curled up on the couch, facing sideways, he looked pretty uncomfortable. Dave was thinking, "a night without earplugs, if he sleeps here in the Jain/Jeff condo." Then it began, the snoring, almost on cue, to prove to the others that the earplugs were a good idea.
"Phil, you should wake up and go back to your own condo," Stacy suggested, half concerned about Phil's would-be cramped condition the next day, and half concerned about the paint on the walls, in her condo.
Half conscious, Phil replied "No, I'll just roll over and give you the back snore."
And he did just that. And Stacy kicked him out. Back in his own condo Dave put the earplugs in, as he heard Phil enter.
"What do you - or the cancer-man - want, Krychek?", Mulder questioned defiantly.
"Watch your step, Mulder."
"I'm not one of your lackeys."
"Listen, close your investigation, or you'll be seeing more red than just these guys' coats."
Ah, the luxury of sleeping in. Or so Steve thought.
"Pressing the glass, Pressing the glass,
Ah - Ah - Ah - Ah, Pressing the glass."
Dave sure could belt out an awful rendition of Saturday Night Fever, thought Steve, still unsure what possessed Dave every morning to annoy everyone in the condo.
This was the day of hiking Johnston canyon, and a more relaxed schedule could be followed. Jeff, the early riser, took the initiative while the others were snoozing/snoring away. The flat tire from Wednesday still needed to be fixed, and he found himself a recipient of advice from the automotive mechanic.
"Is the tire safe to drive on?" Jeff asked the mechanic.
"Oh sure, but keep in mind that it's like a balloon now, it could pop at any time, eh?"
Jeff had him put the tire back on, balloon-like or not.
Finally they were off to their hike in Johnston Canyon, leaving the die-hard skiers/boarders (Phil, Henrik, & Adam) to their work on the slopes. The Canyon's informational signs answered the unasked question: "What formed this canyon?" Everyone would have been happy hiking along the creek, with the half-frozen waterfalls and occasional patch of blue ice, but again the sign said. "Water did this." Jeff rhetorically asked out loud, "What's more powerful than water?" The silence was almost defeaning.
Thursday afternoon was sunny, but a few flakes fell on the hottubbers as they returned from the hot tub and sauna. This was the first snow they'd seen all week.
"Krychek? Here?", Scully was incredulous.
"Yeah, told me the same thing Skinner did, to get out of here."
"Hmmm...."
"What did you find with the sample?", Mulder asked.
"The same levels of radiation that we found at the hot springs. But while you were out having fun with Krychek, I had time to get a blood sample from one of those elks."
"And?" Mulder urged her to continue.
"The orange-tagged elks have a virus, the other ones are OK. The virus, though looks like it may have more effect on humans, than elk."
"So, they're a carrier?"
"Looks like it. Remember the bees we discovered? The virus is very similar to what we saw in them a year ago," Scully said.
This morning, it was time to press the omelettes. After resupplying with a new stash of eggs in the fridge (after Phil's Thursday afternoon no-carbo egg and sausage snack/smorgasborg), Dave treated everyone to a power breakfast before heading out for a final day on the slopes.
Finally the snow gods had graced them with a foot and a half of snow (at Sunshine Village). On the way up (well, mostly sideways) in the gondola Dan, Steve, and Dave were pleased to make the acquaintance of two individuals who were middle school students in Toronto and Seattle, but somehow knew each other. Dan was wearing his Itchy & Scratchy knit cap that day, so they seemed to be immediately accepted as "cool" by these two. "You're from Texas?, do you know Fightin' Freddie?" The only thing they seemed to know about Texas was a wrestler, which Dan, Dave, and Steve had never heard of.
These two (punks) also explained some of the social order at their school, "Yeah, one guy came to school as Kenny, and he got jumped." The other added, laughing, "And then he came back a few days later, and they jumped him again." How stupid do you have to be to wear a Southpark Kenny costume to school, and not expect to get beat up?
The punks were able to solve the mystery of the tagged elks, after we mentioned that we'd been taking pictures of them. "Yeah, I think the orange tags mean they're agressive," Punk #2 said, with a smirk on his face, turned his head to reveal an orange tag hanging from his own ear.
Probably while Dave, Steve, and Danny were beaten to a pulp by the punks, Andy was apologizing. "Sorry...Sorry!" he said as the not-so invincible 4-wheel drive Explorer careened into a 180 and ended up in the opposite ditch. Better the opposite ditch than the opposite cliff, he thought. After about 45 minutes of waiting, a tow truck pulled them out of the ditch, and they were on their way.
Later, as was the norm, the accounting party ensued. The air was abuzz with loud conversation, as Andy and one or two others were left off to the side to settle matters.
"It's Canadian money, it doesn't matter.", Michele teased those who had receipts printed with Canadian dollar totals.
Recounting an episode of Seinfeld later, Dan quoted, "Canadian money? Why don't you just throw that stuff away?"
"So, this what you've got," Skinner asked them, glancing at the report, then over to Mulder and Scully on the other side of his desk.
"Yes, the elk are being used as some sort of distribution system," Mulder stated.
"But the virus is ineffective. It doesn't do anything in humans," Scully added.
"The intent is there, though, to distribute this virus, or whatever," Mulder countered.
"Is this reasonable, Scully?" Skinner asked.
"It's scientifically possible. And we did run into Krychek up there. This looks like a failed attempt of a large experiment."
Saturday was supposed to be another uneventful day, just a drive and then a flight home. The Explorer got a flat. Andy, Michele, and Phil were delayed in a 150-person line as Henrik strutted through the gate as a member of the Sapphire Club. Andy & Michele almost plunged 20ft out of and open jetway onto the tarmac before Andy yelled, "Hold tight, Leia - I mean Michele - we can make it across the chasm!" To the dismay of Phil, Andy, Michele, Dan, and Andy, flight attendants for American Airlines were unsure how many seats were on an airplane. Ask for Dan's separate American Airlines saga story, on sale in paperback, today.
And finally, remember, please "Keep Alberta Knapweed Free."
The cigarette-smoking man walked away from the two adjacent fields of knapweed, with almost the slightest hint of pleasure on his face. Where the elks had failed, maybe the weed could succeed... with water.