Ever cliff dive? Me neither. Extreme sports have never appealed to me. There are hundreds of them now. Maybe more. Only extremely dangerous thing I have ever done often is fuck around on motorcycles. That has provided enough death defiance for a thousand lifetimes. In comparative terms cliff diving is about as dangerous as breathing.
Anyhow.
Sonja and I took a long walk to a lake not far from Dope City to have a picnic at a viewpoint that is favoured also by people who also like to think they are being daredevils by jumping from the viewpoint to the lake one and a half bus lengths below. We were hoping that arriving for an early lunch would lessen the chances of sharing the space with any cliff divers. There was only a big pick-up truck owned by some sort of a park operator and a smaller Alberta plated truck in the parking lot.
We were right. Sort of. When we reached the viewpoint a pair of park officials were on the losing end of an argument with someone we guessed must be the fucking Albertan fucked up on a cocktail of fuck knows what and then some.
Seems the fucked up Albertan had been spotted passed out on the edge of the cliff by someone concerned enough to call on the park operator to check him out.
The park operators were trying to be reasonable.
The fucked up Albertan had been reduced to communicating in three words. "Go fuck yourself!"
Eventually the park operators called the RCMP who sent a boat to the splash zone below the viewpoint and a pair of uniforms up the trail.
They too tried reasoning with the Albertan until their patience ran out. This caused the Albertan to take a couple swings at the cops who soon had him handcuffed and staggering down the trail to an elevation where he might eventually, after a spell incarcerated, begin to think a little clearer.
We followed from a safe distance. Albertan had not done anything to deserve the beating the RCMP may have liked to have laid on him after about the 150th time he told them to go fuck themselves.
Whole thing was handled pretty well I guess. Cops probably figured the same as Sonja and I that the Albertan probably had a firearm or two hidden in his truck so they had to get him sober before reuniting him with his possessions.
The cost of the event to British Columbia must have been high however. Three cops, a boat, a night in the Crowbar Hotel. No way we will ever see that money again. So feel free to to get all liquored up and raise some shit next time you are in Alberta. Motherfuckers owe us one.
3 comments:
Must not have been poor enough looking to taser or shoot. But then it was the Queen's cowboys not the VPD
Did not appear he had anything left to his name besides his truck, guns and enough bad luck to write an album worth of country crack anthems. Could be it was his enduring relationship with his truck that prevented him from slipping on the trail and hurting himself.
I understand the truck thing. Much like a man and his horse 160 years ago
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