Things started out well enough on Friday. Tonya and I left work a bit early and headed out of town to Montana, in order to "land" and complete our immigration process. The drive was not bad, a little longer than normal due to traffic and road construction, but not overly so. And we were able to arrive in Kalispell in time for a late dinner at our favourite BBQ joint Famous Dave's.
After a good night's sleep, we did a bit of shopping (as you do when in Montana) and headed to the border with a carload of clothing, groceries and Alaskan beer. So far, so good. We were the only car at the crossing when we arrived and, dutifully declaring our intention to land to the agent, were ushered inside. The agent was a bit surly, grousing about "this is supposed to be done from Monday to Friday during business hours" - yeah, right - but undeterred we smiled and, after a few minutes, our patience was rewarded. We were officially Landed Immigrants in Canada. (Sidebar: The "helpful" agent indicated our ID cards would arrive in the mail SIX WEEKS OR LATER, which means we can't travel by air during that time. But as I'm still in the Good section, I'll save that for another rant). Cue O Canada and pass the poutine please. At this point, ALL GOOD.
Back on the road on the north side of the 49th parallel, we stopped in Fernie, BC for a great cup of organic, hippy-fuelled espresso and pointed the car toward Calgary. It was getting dark but a nearly-full moon poked its face over the Foothills and we expected smooth sailing. Cue the BAD music.
We strayed from our usual route, and chose Highway 22 just for variety's sake. Hey, they don't call it the Cowboy Trail for nothing, right? A few KMs after the turnoff, we saw several deer beside the road. (Did I mention it was dark by now?) Just as our collective sphincters were relaxing, we saw the unmistakeable hind quarters of a MOOSE off the roadway, just visible in my headlights, which I should note were now on HIGH BEAM. Whew! Two near misses, no harm done. We were just settling into normal road trip banter (e.g. "Geez, that douche-bag with the BC plates sure didn't have to tailgate me for so long before deciding to pass across the solid line!") when it happened.
Out of nowhere, a (stunning) 8 or maybe 10-point (male, obviously) deer ran, no SPRINTED, into view from our right. His intention, apparently, was to cross the road. Let me just say this for the record - HE DID NOT MAKE IT. Thanks to my goalie-honed, raptor-like reflexes I was able to simultaneously veer left and brake hard. But alas, there was an horrific (for the deer) collision. Thankfully the d-b behind me at that point (probably from BC also) was far enough back to miss plowing into the rear of the Jeep. Apparently s/he was in a hurry to get to Longview before the jerky store closed, whizzing past me on the left and never looking back.
Tonya and I verified that our respective undies were unsoiled (each checking his/her own, for the nasty-minded out there) and we exited the vehicle for a peek. (It was stopped by now, duh.) After removing the dangling front fender moulding and rear bumper trim from the passenger side, I returned to the scene of the impact to survey the damage. The first thing we noticed was one half of Mr. Deer's heretofore lovely rack of antlers was in the roadway. Flinging it out of traffic and into the darkness, I noticed the second fender moulding nearby and placed it into the cargo area, with its two companions. The deer, I noticed after some distressed searching, was probably 40 feet off the roadway in the right hand ditch, from whence he came. I thanked all that is holy he was not moving, having nothing in the car with which to humanely dispatch him save a key ring and a couple of goalie sticks. Eww. We made it home without further incident, save yours truly wondering what this little bit of deerscaping will run me at the body shop. Chalk this episode up as definitely BAD.
This morning, I awoke early to play a bit of pick-up hockey with some guys I'd not met before. A fellow at work had posted a "goalie wanted" ad on our Outlook bulletin board. I made it down to the Olympic Oval at the U of C not really expected much other than a good skate. The guys were pretty skilled and I was on the receiving end of a snowman (that's an 8 in the goals against column) heading into the 3rd period. Fortunately, my luck was about to change. I hunkered down (and charged forward, not unlike a certain deer I had recently met) and bagelled (put up a 0) the opposition in the third, as my lads stormed back with 4 unanswered goals for the tie, the last scored in the final minute with me on the bench for an extra attacker. Boo-yah! But then things turned PATENTLY UNEXPECTED, for as we were coming off the ice and heading for the dressing room, little did I know that my professional hockey career was about to begin.
That's right, my friends. At the tender age of 43, I am now part of the fraternity of those who play not only for love of the game, but also for a payday. You see, some other guys were waiting as I came off the ice and begged me to play for them. It seems their goalie was a no-show and they waved FIFTY BUCKS in my face if I'd stay and play another game. Are you kidding me? (I thought quietly to myself - no way was I passing up a pro contract!) Long story short, I stayed, played and sashayed (nice rhyme eh?) my way to a cool 7-1 win and some cold, hard cash. Heading home, I grabbed a quick shower and parlayed (still on the -ay suffixed rhyme, sorry about that) my $50 into a couple Cokes, bucket of corn and a big screen showing of Casablanca down at Chinook Cineplex. Final assessment: UNBELIEVABLE!
It just goes to show, you never know how a weekend will turn out. I may never live to see its equal again, but through the magic of blogging, I at least get to share it with the world. Peace out, and heads up for those deer eh!
