I Rode 12 Kilometres Into Banff’s Backcountry to Share Dinner With Strangers.
What I found at Sundance Lodge wasn’t the solitude I expected.
Twelve kilometres separated me from a cozy cabin in Banff’s backcountry, but it wasn’t the ride I was nervous about. The whole way up, I rehearsed what I’d say when the conversation inevitably turned to me.
Four hours earlier I’d been in a mild panic, trying to gather my fatbiking gear and get my daughter to my mom’s before meeting my dad and his partner. After a quick hello to mom and a goodbye to my daughter, I made the short trip west to my dad’s. My heart rate settled as I slumped over in the back seat and let the drive fade away into an endless scroll punctuated by bits of conversation.
After a quick stop in Banff for lunch we arrived at the trailhead. I looked around at the other cars in the trailhead parking lot. Which of these belonged to the other guests? I scanned the lot like I was trying to read a room I wasn’t even in yet. How old were they? Would they try to make us play board games?
As we eased into the trail the sounds of the highway faded away and the frozen creek and mountain peaks drew us deeper into a valley I’d never explored before.
The minutes ticked by on the trail. The climbing meant the pace felt slow. I soaked in the views that waited around every bend. Still, my eyes were consistently drawn to other tire tracks on the trail. Were they staying the night at Sundance Lodge as well? Was that one or two sets of tracks?
I crested a climb and leaned into an icy descent before quickly squeezing the brakes. A couple on skis was gingerly making their way down. Riding cautiously, I called out my approach. The man tried to get his wife’s attention. She spun her head around in surprise, teetering off the side of the trail in an effort to catch her balance.
“Sorry, I hope I didn’t startle you. There are two more shortly behind me as well.” I made a mental note: cross-country skiers. Outdoorsy. Probably interesting.
I continued down the trail, taking in the scenery and stopping to take photos of my companions as we worked our way up to the lodge.
Slowly the smell of chimney smoke filled the air. The log structure of Sundance Lodge came into view. My shoulders finally relaxed as I leaned my bike against the porch. Gloves and helmets came off as the lodge host poked his head out of the door, inviting us inside.
I hesitated at the door. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting inside the lodge, I spotted two other sets of boots and a woman perched on a couch by the fireplace, reading a book. She smiled and said hello. I nodded and followed our host into the kitchen. We were shown around the main floor of the lodge, then up to our rooms. I sprawled out on the bed for a moment, the day’s effort pinning me to the mattress. I set a timer for thirty minutes, and then I slept.
When I awoke it was nearly dinner. Downstairs, my dad, his partner and the other guests were deep in conversation, including the two skiers we’d passed earlier. I’d been asleep for less than an hour and already everyone seemed like old friends. I approached the group and someone asked me how I was feeling. Aside from my dad and his partner, I didn’t know these people. With no phone signal to retreat into, I joined the conversation, wracking my brain for stories to share, anecdotes to tie things together, the perfect moment to bridge silence with a joke.
Stories flowed back and forth across the room until we were called into the kitchen for dinner.
The dining room was awash in the smell of homestyle ribs, cheesy mashed potatoes and yorkshire puddings. Conversations from the living room carried on, with the host and groundskeeper joining in as well. The skiers, an Australian couple on holiday, told us of their daughter, a skiing instructor in BC, and their extended trip in Canada. The groundskeeper shared tales from her time in Australia breaking wild horses, while I connected with another writer in the room. At some point, I stopped trying to plan what I would say. Dessert came and went, everyone filtered back to the living room.
As it drew closer to 9:00 pm, I withdrew to my room, saying goodbye to these new friends before reading by the light of a headlamp and falling asleep.
The morning came slowly, the sun charting a slow course over the high surrounding mountains. I dressed and made my way back downstairs to the smell of fresh coffee. Fast friends again gathered around the fireplace.
Breakfast proved as good as dinner the night before, and soon lunch fixings appeared so guests could pack a meal for the day’s adventures.
Everyone lingered around the table after breakfast, seemingly reluctant to leave. I questioned whether to gather everyone’s names, email addresses, phone numbers. Something to be able to connect with these wonderful people again. They felt like long-time friends, bonds forged over years, not hours. The host grabbed a photo of all of us on the steps of the lodge, the sun breaking through the previous day’s cloud and giving us an amazing parting view.Breakfast proved as good as dinner the night before, and soon lunch fixings appeared so guests could pack a meal for the day’s adventures.
The trail out proved much faster than coming in. I flew down the hills, listening to the crunch of tires on snow and replaying the morning’s conversations in my head, struck by how quickly strangers stopped feeling like strangers.
As the mountain vistas faded, the sounds of the highway crept back in. My phone vibrated in my pocket, sixteen hours of notifications vying for attention. I let it buzz. There was still trail to ride.
