The Ho

Time:  12:37 AM

Day:    Wednesday

Fare:   $6

Tip:     $2

Passengers: 2 females – early 20s

After a fairly tame evening, I got a call for a pick-up from the Canmore Hotel (one of the busiest bars in Canmore, aka: The Ho).  The Ho has a younger demographic than any of the other bars in Canmore.  More often than not, the party spills out onto the street and the tenuous line between jubilance and fray entwined in any large group of inebriates is on display.  When I get a call for a pick-up from the Ho, it can be a bit of a fiasco to get the right person into the cab.  This night however, I was pleasantly surprised, by how quickly they loaded up.

-       Are you Katy?

-       Yep

-       Alright, hop in.  How’s your night going?

-       Mi neight wuz real goood.  Hur neightT?... natasgoood…

-       Oh no, that’s too bad.  Can’t win them all I guess.

-       We met a guy on da tstreeet, hiss mame was Furbo.  Is dat a drugg deelers ‘ mame?

-       Yeah, sounds like it to me.

-       Neeways, sshes av’n sumboy trooblez Furbo seemedd tuu bee a gud pursen soo I axedim to geeve hur sum boytips  Hee didn’t tho so we r goin ome.

-       What kind of boy troubles are we talking about?  Maybe I can help out.

-       Yeea u seem ike u wood naw wat to do so she met a boy onligne

-       DOUGHN’T TELL’M THAT!

-       Wat?! Sory, ‘s part o wat ‘appens whan I drinc. So she net dis boy onligne ‘nd day av’nt ssceen eech oder in ttree weaeks. Schee raly liiks ‘im dough. Wat schoould chee do? I tink dat ‘f u real ‘ike sumbady u kneed to ‘ell ‘em, n try to get bakk wid dem. Wat do u ‘tink.

-       Yeah, that sounds like good advice to me, although you might want to sleep on it before you make any decisions…or phone calls…or texts.

-       Woowu, ur a grat cab diver. U now cab dicers r kindaj ‘ike modern ‘ay barteenders do gud at geev’n advice.  U r reel grate. Narmallie I taak Apex cabs, buut cuz a u, I’m goona tak ‘ougar reek cabs now.

-       Glad I could help out.

-       Yeeh, ‘m praty gud normuly fur daadvice, but ‘m a lil fdroonk rite now. ‘ow lon ‘ave u bean divin’ cabs fur?

-       This is my third week driving cab.

-       Wooow! ‘nd ur alredy dis gud?

-       Hehehe, yeah I guess so.

Awkward/drunk silence ensues. Katy, the passenger without the boy troubles was sitting in the front seat, and hasn’t taken her eyes off me since we left The Ho.

-       Well, here we are.  That’ll be 6 bucks.

-       ‘ears sum honey.

Even in the best of times, the moody idiosyncrasies of the sliding doors in cougar creek cabs are enough to trump efforts by the most clearheaded teetotaler.  As I leaned over, and reached behind the passenger seat to help the boy-troubled backseat passenger, I glanced at Katy.  Her eyes - shut, her lips – puckered, and she was listing heavily in my direction.  Apparently someone was looking for more than just a cab ride. I dodged right, unlatched the door, and cleared my throat all at once.  It amazes me how the most embarrassing of moments can be so easily brushed off when well lubricated with alcohol.  Katy, un-phased, gathered her purse, fumbled her way out the door, then turned towards me and waved goodbye with the muster of a Marine Land dolphin.

$6 minimum

Who could have guessed that after an unseasoned dozen years on this planet, a defining moment would blaze the trajectory of my existence to one day become a van-dwelling cab driver in mountain town of Canmore?  When moments of such significance arise, he who is subject rarely realizes the gravity of the instant until one’s persona is symbiotically attached.  More so now than ever am I filled with pure amazement as to the pure joy that rock climbing has brought me.  For years, when people asked me why I climbed rocks, I struggled to find an answer that truly depicted my feelings towards this sport.  A couple of months ago, while climbing alone in the gym no less, I gained a deeper understanding of my attachment.  I was using the self-belay machine, running laps to gain some fitness before the outdoor rock season when it hit me.  Rock climbing is the most beautiful “thing” I have ever encountered.  The places, the people, the movement, the views, the routines, the equipment, the steadfast commitment it requires.   What more could you want to guide you across this planet than the profound magnetism of beautiful rock faces? 

After graduating from University, the grip that rock climbing had upon me tightened.  I was forced to find an occupation that would allow for me to climb as much as possible, and save for future climbing trips. This made getting a “real job” a near impossibility.  I narrowed my job search to the Bow Valley, the limestone Mecca where I cut my teeth as a sport climber.   Environmental Science jobs here are far and few between.  Supplanted into the shoes of a professional, university-educated immigrant looking for greener pastures, I too left my parchment in the drawer and decided to go behind the wheel of a taxicab.   

Why a taxicab you ask? Well, the all hours nature of the job, in combination with my ability to function at a relatively normal energy level with 6 hours of sleep per day allow for rock climbing any day of the week.  This tight schedule has taken a little getting used to.  For the first week or two, I was only getting out on my days off.  Even the call of the mountains weren’t enough to spur my vertical addiction after a 12-hour night shift. My cozy bed on wheels was all too enticing.  Having realized the error of my ways, after an après-work mission to Planet x with Marshal, my summer of climbing is looking up.  Canmore is rife with climbing partners raring to get out, now the hardest piece of the puzzle is where to fit rest days in.

This space will serve as a record for the most memorable Cabby moments of the summer.   Entries may be sporadic, but based on the uproarious profligacy I have been witness to in my first three weeks of employment, the limiting factor is likely be my commitment to putting pen on paper (or fingers on keys).

Ciao,

AQ