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jamisoncrockett91 · 1 month

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Beginners Outline Of Cruise Vacations On Price Seas

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ridesareusottawa · 2 months

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Navigating Ground Transportation: Ottawa to Montreal Airport and Beyond

Traveling from Ottawa to Montreal Airport (YUL) or from Mont Tremblant to Ottawa Airport (YOW) can be an integral part of your journey, whether for business or pleasure. Fortunately, there are several convenient ground transportation options available to suit various preferences and budgets. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the different modes of transportation, including car services, shuttle options, and group transfers, ensuring you have a stress-free and comfortable journey every step of the way.

Car Service from Ottawa to Montreal Airport (YUL)

For travelers seeking convenience, comfort, and flexibility, hiring a car service from Ottawa to Montreal Airport is an excellent choice. Car services offer door-to-door transportation, allowing you to relax and enjoy a hassle-free journey without worrying about navigation or parking. Here's what you can expect from a car service:

Comfort and Privacy: Car services typically offer spacious and well-maintained vehicles, ensuring a comfortable ride for individuals or small groups. Enjoy the privacy of your own vehicle, complete with amenities such as climate control and leather seating.

Professional Drivers: Car service companies employ professional and experienced drivers who are familiar with the route from Ottawa to Montreal Airport. They prioritize safety and punctuality, ensuring you reach your destination on time and in style.

Flexible Scheduling: With a car service, you have the flexibility to choose your departure time and pick-up location, allowing you to tailor your travel itinerary to your needs. Whether you're catching an early morning flight or arriving late at night, car services can accommodate your schedule.

Luggage Assistance: Say goodbye to lugging heavy suitcases and bags through crowded airports. Car service drivers are trained to assist with luggage handling, ensuring a smooth and stress-free transition from your doorstep to the terminal.

Direct Route: Unlike shared transportation options, a car service provides a direct route from Ottawa to Montreal Airport, minimizing travel time and eliminating the need for multiple stops along the way.

Ground Transportation from Mont Tremblant to Ottawa Airport (YOW)

Traveling from Mont Tremblant to Ottawa Airport (YOW) presents its own set of transportation options, each offering a unique blend of convenience and comfort. Whether you're returning from a ski getaway or a weekend retreat, here are some ground transportation options to consider:

Shuttle Services: Several shuttle companies operate between Mont Tremblant and Ottawa Airport, providing shared transportation for individuals and groups. Shuttle services offer a cost-effective option for travelers looking to save money while still enjoying reliable and comfortable transportation.

Public Transportation: For budget-conscious travelers, public transportation options such as buses or trains may be available from Mont Tremblant to Ottawa Airport. While these options may require transfers and longer travel times, they offer an affordable alternative for those willing to sacrifice convenience for cost savings.

Private Car Rentals: Renting a car is another option for travelers seeking flexibility and independence during their journey from Mont Tremblant to Ottawa Airport. Car rental companies operate at both Mont Tremblant and Ottawa Airport, allowing you to pick up and drop off your vehicle at convenient locations.

Taxi Services: Taxi services are readily available in Mont Tremblant and can provide door-to-door transportation to Ottawa Airport. While taxis offer the convenience of direct service, they may be more expensive than other transportation options, especially for solo travelers.

Group Transfers in Ottawa

Group transfers in Ottawa offer a convenient and cost-effective solution for large parties traveling together. Whether you're attending a corporate event, a wedding, or a group tour, arranging group transportation ensures that everyone arrives at their destination safely and on time. Here are some key benefits of group transfers:

Cost Savings: By pooling resources and sharing transportation costs, group transfers offer significant savings compared to individual travel arrangements. Group rates are often available for larger parties, making it an economical choice for group travel.

Comfort and Convenience: Group transfers provide a comfortable and stress-free travel experience for all passengers. Whether you're traveling in a spacious van, minibus, or motorcoach, group transportation offers ample seating and luggage storage, ensuring a smooth and enjoyable journey for everyone.

Customized Itineraries: Group transfers can be customized to accommodate your group's specific needs and preferences. Whether you require multiple pick-up locations, additional stops along the way, or specific timing requirements, transportation companies can tailor their services to suit your itinerary.

Professional Drivers: Group transfer companies employ professional drivers who are trained to prioritize safety, comfort, and customer satisfaction. Experienced drivers are familiar with the local area and can provide valuable insights and recommendations to enhance your group's travel experience.

Door-to-Door Service: Group transfers offer door-to-door service, picking up passengers at their designated locations and dropping them off directly at their destination. Whether you're traveling from a hotel, conference center, or private residence, group transportation ensures a seamless transition from start to finish.

In Conclusion: A Seamless Journey

In conclusion, navigating ground transportation from Ottawa to Montreal Airport and Mont Tremblant to Ottawa Airport requires careful consideration of various factors, including comfort, convenience, and cost. Whether you opt for a Car service for CT Centre, shuttle, or group transfer, each transportation option offers its own unique benefits, ensuring a seamless and enjoyable journey from start to finish. By choosing the right ground transportation option for your needs, you can relax and enjoy the ride, knowing that you're in good hands every step of the way.

#Car service from Ottawa to YUL #Ground Transportation from Ottawa to Montreal airport #Ground Transportation from Montreal airport to Mont Tremblant #Car service from Mont Tremblant to Montreal airport #Transportation from Petawawa to Montreal airport

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quebecphotobooth · 5 months

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High-Quality Photo Booth Rentals in Montreal | Quebec Photobooth

Are you planning a special event or celebration in Montreal and want to add an extra touch of fun to your party? Look no further than Quebec Photobooth! Our high-quality photobooth rentals are the perfect addition to any event, providing entertainment and creating lasting memories for you and your guests.

#photobooth #wedding photobooth rental

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happysnap23 · 7 months

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Founded on February 5, 2023, by Jéo-Darsène Saint-Louis, HappySnap Inc. is a leading photobooth rental company with a passion for capturing memories and a background in event planning and production.

#photobooth #photography services #videography services #corporate events

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newlifemortgages · 8 months

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The State of Canada's Housing Construction in 2023: Insights and Analysis

So, what's the real deal with Canada's housing construction in 2023?

Let's go ahead and get straight to it. According to the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation, housing construction in Canada's six biggest metropolitan areas saw a tiny increase of 1.0% in the first half of 2023 compared to last year. Wow, talk about a slow climb.

Now, where was this slight increase coming from? You guessed it - apartment starts! These had a healthy jump of 15% (48,029 units) for the period. But hold your horses because all other categories weren't so lucky. Row house starts took a 17% dip, semis fell by 22%, and the gold standard of housing - detached single-family homes - saw a drop of 25%. Ouch!

And who were the star players in this game? Toronto and Vancouver, of course! They accounted for nearly two-thirds of the starts, with increases of 32% and 49%, respectively. But not everyone was having a party. Poor Montreal was hit with a 58% overall decline. Can we get a moment of silence for Montreal?

In an earlier report, the CMHC stated that Canada needs to build an additional 3.5 million housing units by 2030, surpassing the predicted 2.3 million, to meet the expected demand. No pressure, right?

But here's the kicker: high interest rates, reduced credit access, and skyrocketing construction and labour costs have put homebuilders between a rock and a hard place. This has resulted in fewer project starts and longer completion times. Talk about a tough gig!

The CMHC anticipates that these economic challenges will further dent building starts through the second half of the year, pushing starts back to last year's levels. On top of that, the agency expects a rising demand for rental housing, driven by record high levels of immigration and the ever-increasing barriers to home ownership, including those pesky high prices and interest rates. So, who's up for a game of Monopoly?

Here's where we come in! We're a mortgage company that knows a thing or two about navigating these choppy real estate waters. If you have questions or concerns or want to chat about your options, give us a shout. We're here to help you make sense of it all. Because let's face it, who doesn't need a friendly guide in this real estate jungle?

Dallas Martin

519-495-7250

The Mortgage FirmLicense# 13466

Mortgage Agent Level 2 -M17001133

#mortgage #realestate #ontario #canada #real estate #canada housing #2023

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cedarboughs · 1 year

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The Californians

The posters had been up all over town and the hill for a month. The International Junior Freeriding Cup, presented by a major car brand. They would rip down the rails and groomed jumps of the terrain park underneath the Lynx Quad, and everyone would cheer. We were dreading it. A competition meant a flood of athletes descending on Raven River in a loose horde, high on glory and just plain high, and every modifier on the poster winnowed the athletes, already a particular breed, into a narrower clan. Junior: teenage athletes. International Junior: American teenage athletes. Given that so particular flood, then, maybe the conversation I had on Hemlock Street was inevitable.

We were headed down Hemlock to the Trapper’s Cabin liquor store, three of us, lifties all, from the rental house. Antoine and Pierre had moved in there a few weeks ago, just after the start of the season, during the second hiring spree. Antoine, from Trois-Rivieres, was a huge birdwatcher, and had taught me how to identify waxwings by the way they flocked. I had taught him Ticket to Ride - the board game, not the Beatles song. Pierre, from Gatineau, had given me his password to an online indie short film festival out of Montreal. I had found his best golf disc when he lost it in the snow.

It was a warm night for January. We were in little more than sweaters, and wide Hemlock was alive. There were no fences on the residential side of the street, and between houses you could see and smell fires cracking in backyards, joints being passed around them. Somewhere down a side street, a guitar was playing some cowboy chords. We were just passing the bottle depot when footsteps fell in behind us, crunching on the old snow of the sidewalk.

“Where’s the party?” said a voice, male, barely broken, and with a faintly detectable American-style fry on the syllables.

I was in a good mood, so I glanced back and said, “Right here, man! This sidewalk is the party!”

I expected in response a half-ironic but genuinely enthused fist pump and a mumbled ‘Hell yeah,’ an acknowledgement of the simple joy of existing, of standing on the cusp of the night, the unknown and, for all we knew then, the endless night, like a fresh-powder chute hidden by cliffs, and we were standing at the drop-in, clicking poles, ignorant of what the line might hold but ready to drop all the same.

But there was no fist pump, no feeling of the drop back there. Instead, I turned and started walking switch to look at round faces, unmasked, deadly serious, hanging over shelf-creased Arc'teryx jackets. The one who’d spoken, I think, had a green jacket and was a bit shorter. The other was in orange and a little lankier.

“Are you guys going to a party?” Green asked flatly.

Now, I did really think that the party was there on the sidewalk. Not to get too woo-woo about it, but on some level it’s true that a party is a state of mind. That said, we were also on our way to a real party, that is to say, a physical party, nothing wild, but a living room in another rental, some drinks, and a Bluetooth speaker. Whoever brought a speaker somewhere was always hailed as a hero. Tunes out loud always brought things up, but a speaker cost well over a day’s wages for a liftie, probably close to a week’s rent. I had looked at them a half-dozen times, but never yet brought myself to justify it. It was an expensive sacrifice to the altar of kicks. Kicks! Did anyone actually call a fun night out ‘kicks?’ anymore? Not likely, but I didn’t mind thinking it. Whenever I started thinking in Kerouacisms, I knew my energy was right for the night. It was Margot Frances and Jimmy Anders, who had lived in the basement of the rental house before Antoine and Pierre, who had left On the Road in the kitchen for me when they moved out, after all. I could do a lot worse than taking some of the slang from it and leaving the homophobic and misogynistic bits. I wonder vaguely if Margot and Jimmy would be at the other house tonight. I had heard they were back in town, after tree-planting somewhere in the Cariboo for the summer. I had cooked my best chickpea pasta for Jimmy and Margot and given them the recipe. Margot had taught me Norwegian Wood – The Beatles song, not the Murakami novel. I had given Jimmy the novel.

So, yes, we were going to a party. But we’d already agreed, without a word exchanged, that these guys wouldn't be following us there.

“We’re looking for hookers,” said Green.

“Hookers and molly,” said Orange. ”You know what molly is?”

MDMA. I did know. I’d seen enough videos of glassy-eyed people grinding their teeth in dark parkades to know. It wasn’t much of a Raven drug. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there were drugs aplenty in town. I’d heard the rumours about how to get shrooms, and testimonies from lifties who insisted it was the only way to watch 2001. And of course, by my calculations there was a cannabis shop for every one-and-a-half-thousand people in the region, which had to be some kind of record, and that was just the legal trade. From what I’d heard, most people still got back-alley stuff, whether out of price or habit, since there was almost no enforcement on it anyway. Last summer during the public concert series, there was an opening act by the guy who owned the disc golf course, whose legal name was Eternity Equinox. He’d sung four songs, and three of them were about how pot was an herb that he grew in his garden and so should be legalized. I don’t think anyone had the heart to tell him that this had been the case for years. Margot said it was the best act of the season.

But I’d never heard of MDMA in Raven River. I knew what it was, but didn’t know what it was, and maybe that was the difference. The drugs people wanted here were plants and mushrooms. You could imagine every step from growing in the woods to a backyard fire. Ecstasy was a pill, wasn’t it? Like Tylenol. Totally synthetic. I had no conception of where Eternity Equinox’s garden might come in.

“Bro, d’you know where to find hookers?” Green said again.

I didn’t know if there were sex workers in Raven. It was certainly possible, but I’d never heard of it. I was still in a good mood, though, so I joked back at them: “Everyone’s a hooker for a price, right? For a million bucks I’ll do anything!”

Again, no laughter, but in the dark patch between street lights I could feel more than see a smirk come to Green’s face. ”My daddy’s a millionaire,” he said, “I could give you fifty thousand right now.”

“Right now? For nothing? Deal!”

“I’ll give you ten thousand to suck my cock,” he said.

“We’re from California,” Orange put in, as if to support the claim. Only millionaires came from California, I guess he meant to say, and not from anywhere else.

Antoine turned around for the first time and asked, “How old are you guys?”

“I’m fifteen and he’s sixteen,” said Green.

“Ah,” said Pierre, and there was great understanding in the syllable. Fifteen. Children of the new millennium. It still struck me as odd that birth years could start with a 2 for people who knew what drugs were. The Californians were born well after the twin towers crumbled down, just around when the economy followed, when, as Arcade Fire put it, we watched the markets crash, and the promises we were made were torn. We had to make our own promises after that. It became clear after a few years that the things we were told in school, that we could all climb the ladder of work and profit, that hard work paid out in the end in the victorious capitalism in which we lived, all that was bunk. So, we had to figure out something else. I think we were all still trying to figure out what that was, but I don’t know. It’s not as if we talked about it. And for kids like these Californians, it was history anyway. They had their own shatterings. I sometimes lamented that my life beyond my hometown had been almost entirely pandemic, but hell, these kids’ whole teens had mostly been pandemic so far.

“Ten thousand dollars, bro, if you want it.”

“What do you guys do for fun around here?” asked Orange.

I said, ”Ski,” just as Pierre said “Snowboard.”

Well, it was the Kootenays in January. What answer did they expect?

“I can do a backflip,” said Orange.

“That’s really cool,” said Pierre, falling back with them a bit. It was cool. I couldn’t do a backflip. Pierre could, I’d seen it once, but he didn’t often. When we rode together we spent more time digging the resort and the sidecountry for hidden lines, untouched pockets of treacherous but ridable alpine terrain far down the remotest ends of ridges where no one had dared to go since the snow fell. Backflips by the chair were cool, but they took time away from that.

“This place is kinds fucking lame,” said Green, “There’s really no hookers except you fags?”

“We’re not hookers. Or gay,” said Antoine.

“Ten thousand, dude.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Antoine. We crossed a side street and he picked up his pace, muttering to me, “Viens. On parle en Francais, ouais?”

My French was hardly good enough to hold any sort of conversation even in the enunciated Parisian accent of school memories and Duolingo. In Quebec French I was hopeless. Antoine knew that, though. He was trying to talk so that the Californians couldn’t overhear. He would go easy on me.

“D’accord,” I said, wondering if the Californians could tell how bad my accent was, how transparent our attempt at coding our words was from them. We had no clue that they didn’t also speak French, I suppose. Somehow it just seemed unlikely.

“I think they are rich,” said Antoine, in a French that was much slower and more scholarly than his and Pierre’s usual cheerful chatter, “They think they can pay for anything. It changes you as a person.”

“Oui,” I said back, “I mean, ouais. And they’re fifteen!”

“Are you gonna suck my cock for ten thousand dollars?” Green shouted again.

“You are going to do it?” asked Antoine, a smirk in his voice.

I struggled to find the words in French to explain. Even “Non,” was too transparent, as it sounded just like the English word. So, I just said “They’re fifteen,“ again, ils on quinze ans, and Antoine nodded sagely.

Pierre was hanging back, speaking with the Californians quietly. Antoine glanced at the three of them. “He’s good at talking to them,” he said. We were getting close to the liquor store now, and they could tell. The sign with the trapper in his David Thompson hat was lit and visible. They knew where we were going, and switched tactics accordingly. The ten thousand dollars to be added to a sex offenders registry seemed to be, mercifully, put to the wayside.

“Will you buy us beer?”

“Maybe,” Pierre said diplomatically.

“We want PBR. Do you know what PBR is?”

Do you know what PBR is? I wanted to say back to them, it’s cheap shit. Instead I said, “Yeah, I know PBR.”

“Pabst?” asked Pierre. I nodded. “Ah,” he said, ”Cheap shit.”

“Not bad as cheap shit goes,” I said, granting a concession to the Californians. It was true; it wasn’t like it was Kokanee.

Pierre held the Californians back again as Antoine and I went ahead. With Pierre distracting them, we could talk in English now.

“There’s no price for sucking underage dick,” he said.

“No, of course not.”

“I don’t want to be on a registry. It’s selling your freedom.”

“And your self-respect. It’s just a horrible thing to do. I wouldn’t want to do it even if they were our age, but at least it wouldn’t be criminal. They think they can just pay us to become criminals. Do you think they were joking? They have to be just joking. Right?”

“I don’t know, man. I really don’t know. Money does things to you. They think they can just own people.”

We came to a stop at last, across the road from the Trapper’s Cabin, the five of us hemmed into a two-by-two line by the snowbanks. Pierre came over to us, a messenger crossing No Man’s Land, and leaned in. “I told them we would get them beer as long as they don’t follow us.” Antoine and I nodded. This seemed like a fair price for peace.

“Will you get me a six-pack of PBR?” asked Green.

“I’ll get you one can,” I said.

“Two,” said Green.

PBR was cheap shit, and there were two of them. “Alright,” I said.

We started off across the road. As we went, Green dug his hands into his pockets and said to Orange, “Bro. It’s kind of lame. I thought the team was gonna party.”

The team. Somehow, until then, I hadn’t thought about the freeride competition. But of course, that was why they were here, wandering the streets unsupervised. This was probably one of the first times they had a weekend away from their parents, who were back in Los Angeles, busy with their millionaire business. If they were millionaires. As we crossed Hemlock I thought about the bad teen movies I’d seen, where the heroes - to stretch a term – pulled off such elaborate scams, whole layers of lies. I thought about the party scene in every movie like that, with flashing coloured lights coming from who-knew-where in a house full of people with their arms up, music blasting, not a speaker in sight. Part of me still thought that maybe parties like that did exist, and just like in high school, I still wasn‘t in enough loops to know about them. But no, I’m sure I would have seen one by now. I thought about pop songs and trap-hop songs, music videos and lyrics, popping pills and hoes in the back seat. Like I said, Hemlock is a wide street.

There was only one car parked at the Trapper’s Cabin. I hadn’t noticed it across the street, but it materialized in the red light up close. I was terrible at recognizing cars – these days they were uniformly bubbly and monochrome, the better to resell you to someone who might not like a certain colour, my dear - but this was a car I would remember for years. It was a pale green chevy pickup, circa early nineties model, with “protect parks” stickers on the tailgate and no less than three Rasta bobbleheads all lined up in the windshield. The roof was folded in a way that was definitely off-model, and I knew it was because it had collapsed in after a huge dump of snow, and then been punched back out and reinforced with two-by-fours nailed to the inside. This was Margot Frances and Jimmy Anders’ truck, a Genuine Kootenay Beater. When walking along the ski hill road with intent to get up there close to opening, it was generally known that if a clean black Mercedes SUV passed by, it wasn’t worth the muscle motion to send up a thumb. If a GKB the colour of road salt grumbled past, though, that was usually your way. And absent the quasi-trusty shuttle bus, Margot and Jimmy’s truck was my favourite way to ride up or down. There was just one back seat, which I had to fold into and sit sideways in, and feeling not at all like I’d be safe in a crash, we would set off around the hairpin switchbacks on the hill road, playing The Doors out loud on Margot’s Bluetooth and talking about our runs for the day.

If one of them was shopping, I’d say hi.

I’ve never thought of a liquor store as a refuge before, probably, and thankfully, because I’m not an alcoholic. But it was kind of nice having a place that we knew the Californians couldn’t follow. We could talk freely here, albeit with the restriction that we couldn't explicitly mention our plan to toss some cans to underage Americans, although in fairness, it was the Trapper's Cabin, the less refined of the two liquor stores in Raven River, and given it was Raven River, that was saying something, so I doubt the cashier would have cared in the least. He was slumped over the counter, head in his hands, hands breaking up the fall of his blond hair, which fell too around wire-framed round glasses – blond! Round glasses! So that was why the truck was outside. Jimmy was the cashier!

“Hey!” I said, just as I’d promised myself.

Jimmy jumped up a bit, activating Customer Service Mode, but shut it down when he saw me. “Jay!” he called out, “You’re still around!”

I always went by J, or Jay, in Raven River. Jerry, what I’d been in Calgary, had been ditched after the first few weeks of jokes. I’d vaguely known that a Jerry was a term for a bad skier, but not realized quite how prevalent it was, or all the implications. Jerry wasn’t just someone who didn’t know how to ski, who was new, trying to figure things out. Jerry was someone from Calgary, or Toronto, who had a fresh snowsuit that matched pants to jacket, and slick skis with oiled bindings, and his toe in the heel piece of the bindings, because with the cash he’d spent on coming out here, somewhere along the line he must have bought the understanding of what he was doing.

“I’m still around,” I said, “I heard you were back. And working here!”

“Ayup. You’re liftying again?”

“Yeah. Probably my last season.”

“You said that last winter.”

“I did. Yeah. I don’t know. Can’t beat the free pass, I guess.”

“Yeah, for sure. It’s tough going back to paying for it. Margot’s just doing day passes, ‘cause she tore her ACL climbing in November.”

“Oh, shit! Hope she’s alright?”

“Yeah, she just lost enough riding days that buying the pass didn’t make sense. She’s working at the Lark Café now. Jill got her the position she used to have.”

“Right, ‘cause Jill’s at that mid-mountain coffee hut now. I always get free hot chocolate from her. Well, if I’m scanning at the base, I’ll just let Margot up.”

“Much obliged,” Jimmy nodded, and I went off to look at beers.

For what I called a less refined store, the selection at the Trapper’s was good – two walls of beer and cider fridges and warm packages in pyramids between, good breweries from all around the West and any flavour profile or drinking style you might want. We rolled past plain sours and fruit sours and salted sours and goses, milk stouts and peanut butter porters, you name it. Antoine lingered in front of something called a Show-off Double IPA. I thought he might take it, but he pointed instead at the peacock on the label and said, “Green peafowl.” I think his bird-identifying was mostly somatic at this point, totally involuntary.

The PBR was tucked in the slightly dismal back corner, under the little selection of Budweiser and the like. I grabbed a six-pack and brought it to Jimmy. Antoine settled on a box of ginger ciders. Pierre was still in the back, weighing a nice pack of honey ales with another pack of PBR.

“I didn’t know you were big Pabst guys,” said Jimmy.

“No,” said Pierre, “This is for someone else maybe. I will try to decide if I want to get it.”

“Party?”

“Yeah,” said Antoine, in a quick, shut-us-down sort of way. He didn’t know Jimmy, though. With any other cashier, not an old liftie, he’d have been right to be cautious. But I knew Jimmy.

“Jimsy,” I said, using Margot’s pet name for him, which I didn’t know if I was allowed to do, but whatever. “You remember when you sent Napalm Chute in the work jacket and I didn’t tell?”

“Yeah,” said Jimmy, unsure where this was going.

“Right, that’s all. So you don’t need to tell whoever your boss is here that there are two fifteen-year-olds outside who won’t leave us alone unless we get them beer.”

“One of them is sixteen,” said Pierre.

“Sure. Some of the PBR is for them.”

“Some?”

“Two cans.”

“Did they give you money?”

“No,” said Antoine, “But they’re rich. They could have!”

“I don’t think they were really rich,” I said. Putting it out loud changed the situation somehow.

Jimmy went to the window, to the little maze of gaps between his back counter and the posters above, and peered out. “Those kids by the light?”

I joined him at the window and looked. The Californians were kicking at a frozen snowbank under the halogen glow of a streetlamp. Maybe they were trying to cut a path through. That bank was solid ice though, weeks old, thawed and frozen a thousand times. It was hardly just snow anymore. At best there was a layer of avi-chute choss, three-day-old plow discard, on top of gravel ice. What’s that thing about the Inuit language having ten words for snow where English has one? Whoever started spreading that one wasn’t a skier.

“They look kind of beat, don’t they?” I said.

Jimmy nodded and considered this. “D’you mean like beaten up, or like, The Beats, like Kerouac?”

“Both. Isn’t it the same thing, anyway? Like, he used the word the way it was used, beaten up, but then he added the other definition, the thing about beatific.”

“You read it, Jay!”

“Yeah. Thanks for leaving it there.”

“I’m gonna get the honey ale,” Pierre broke in suddenly, “And I’m gonna give some to the kids as well. It’s more expensive but I’ll keep some.”

“They wanted PBR,” I said.

“But this is better,” said Pierre, “It’s sweet. They’ll like it. I’ll give them two.”

“I was going to give them two of the Pabst,” I said.

Jimmy leaned in and laced his fingers conspiratorially. “Tell you what,” he said, “If you’re getting two half packs then you’re just buying one, really. Then the kids can have the rest. They look pretty beat, after all. So...” he took off his glasses, laid them on the counter, and looked to the ceiling, “It’d be too bad if you put one of those packs in your bag and I didn’t see it. You might forget to even pay for it.”

Grinning, Pierre unshouldered his backpack and slid the honey ale in. We paid for the Pabst and Antoine’s cider, which came out to not much more than the honey ales by themselves. The cost, then, was around an hour’s liftying. Two if it hadn’t been for Jimmy. Of course, to say two hours of liftying meant nothing without specifying. Was that two hours of the top station at the out-of-the-way chair on an uncommonly quiet day, sitting in a hut with a thermos of hot chocolate and a paperback, watching snow fall on the valley cedars outside, and then occasionally, every two minutes or so, someone would get off, give a wave, and glide away? Or was that two hours at the base, the main base, on a mobbed-busy weekend, with an endless crowded maze of beginners needing the chair slowed down or even full-stopped for them, and others trying to skip the line while you were occupied, and rich Americans who didn’t think the rules about masks in line applied to them, and even the best most courteous guests were still part of the back-aching cycle of bumping, holding back the mass of each and every chair with a special calculated one-leg-up leanback and never a moment to sit down or even to simply stand at attention? Those shifts paid the same: not quite a six-pack per hour.

“Thanks, man,” said Pierre, as he packed up all the beer, ”From a liftie to another.”

Jimmy only shrugged. “Not a liftie anymore,” he said.

“But you were, man, and maybe you say, once a liftie, always a liftie. What were you saying about calling people Beat, Jay? It means two things?”

“Sort of,” Jimmy explained, “It means, like, poor, beaten up, had a bad time. But these guys back, what, seventy years ago, made it that, but short for beatific, like, spiritual. Godly. They thought that one led to the other.”

“Yes!” said Pierre, jabbing a finger, leaning close in over the glass bit of the counter where Jimmy scanned wine bottle bar codes, “And Liftie is like that. It’s the job where we put people on the lift, but it’s also, like. Hey. Answer me this. When you work on a chair, who’s your favourite person to see in line?”

Jimmy and I had no answer for this, but without missing a beat, Antoine said, “Another Liftie.”

“Exactly!” said Pierre, getting way into it now, “Because they are your friend, but not just that. Because they make you feel good about doing the job. They know what it’s like! And...” he was practically vibrating now, “Wherever you meet another liftie, an old liftie too, even years later, they also try to help, because they know you’re down, they know you’re working hard and you’re tired and they LIFT you up... and you LIFT them up sometimes. The people who own the ski hill, who own the shops, they want you to pay for everything. They want you to work more, they want you to be better than the other guy by buying more stuff by working harder so you have more stuff than him. You compete, always competition. Lifting just yourself up...”

“By your bootstraps,” I nodded. I’d never understood that expression. The only boots I even knew of that had straps were ski boots with ratchet straps, and they were too tight to the boots to lift anything by. They were too busy holding you to the snow.

“But you don’t have to. Instead, you let people have free beer. That’s what Liftie is. You lift each other!”

Jimmy stood stunned for a long hanging moment. I thought about the songs we sang and taught on guitar, free beers and hot chocolates, bird facts, board games. I thought about Pierre and Antoine and Jimmy and Margot, and Jill at the mid-mountain hut. Then Jimmy hit a button on his screen, and my short receipt began to print with a sound like the Lynx Quad powering up in the morning, and he nodded, slowly at first and then picking up, and said “Hell yeah.” Then he turned to me and said, “Holy fuck, Jay. Where do you meet these people?”

I said, “At the hill. Liftying. Where else?”

The Californians were still hanging out under the streetlight when we left the store. They perked up when they saw us heading back their way.

“You got our stuff?” Green called.

In response I twisted two cans off my six-pack and tossed them one at a time at him. He caught each with the flawless reflexes of a seasoned backflipper.

“Take some of this too,” said Pierre, tossing them two of his honey ales.

“What’s this?” said Orange.

“Try it!” said Pierre, “Expand your taste!” Then he jogged off. Antoine was already headed back the way we’d come from.

The Californians didn’t comment on getting four beers when they asked for two, but then, neither did any of us. I never saw them again after that, so I never got any more hints on whether they really were millionaires’ sons, or just ski team kids on the tournament dime. Right then, when they were huddling with their gloveless hands in their armpits on a lonely street, I decided it didn’t much matter. Green gave me a peace-sign salute, a universal gesture of cool accord, and we parted, we two victims of disparate hoped-for nights.

As I ran to catch up with Pierre and Antoine, a big raven fell with a sound of wind from a nearby powerline, landing in the middle of Hemlock Street. I took a pause to curtsy a bit. I always bowed to a raven when I saw one alone. One of them, an immortal one, pulled the first humans out of a clam shell on the beach in Haida Gwaii, so it was always good to be respectful, because you never know. Two years ago, when I was browsing a list of ski resorts that were looking for applicants, I had seen Raven River and thought of that.

Two days later, on the final day of the International Junior Freeriding Cup (presented by a major car brand,) I was working the Lynx Quad at the mid-station. A remarkable oddity for a chairlift, Lynx Mid lets riders get off halfway, or else to sit tight and carry on through. For those who carried on, up to where they entered the start gates at the top of the terrain park, all I had to do was watch them pass by, thrusting their numbered bibs out to the safety bar for all to see. I passed the time by collecting high-fives. As they glided past, all I had to do for a high-five was to extend my hand, inches from where the chair slid by. I always got one back, and they would cheer for me.

#writing #kootenays #liftie life #based on my experience working at a ski hill in the early 2020s #and the culture surrounding that community

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amuzinc · 1 year

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Inflatable games rental in Montreal, QC

Inflatable games rental Montreal, QC

5.0 of 5

“C’est la deuxième année que je loue un jeu gonflable chez Amuz et je suis très satisfaite. Le jeu est propre, disponible à la date que je veux et le personnel est souriant et professionnel. Ils font l’effort d’être présent à l’heure qui me convient pour retourner le jeu ( même très tôt le matin avant le travail). Vraiment bravo !”

– kahina

In addition to offering the best inflatable games rentals in Montreal, QC, we also offer: waterslide rental. So if your kids are tired of this year, then you should consider Amuz Inc. for your next party so they can have a party with their friends outside. We have such a huge selection so, be sure to check out all of our rentals.

Amuz Inc. is your source for top notch inflatable games rentals .

Our inflatable games rentals are available for rent around Montreal, QC. So if you are planning to have a party in Montreal, QC, you should definitely consider hiring us for your inflatable games rental. The best parties like the one you are planning need #1 equipment, and you can get that from Amuz Inc..

Inflatable games rentals near Montreal, QC

Amuz Inc. have been providing top notch inventory to the Montreal, QC area for a long time, so you can trust us with handling your inflatable games rental needs. We’ve serviced a large number of parties during the last few years from small to big, but all are handled with the best care. So don’t hesitate to think about us for your next event.

Rentals in Montreal, QC

You may want to check-out these other items in Montreal, QC:

Bouncy Castle rental, waterslides rental, jumping castle rental, dunk tank rental, inflatables rental, Christmas decor, vr roller coaster rental, waterslide rental

We are your #1 source for inflatable games rentals . We enjoy providing the best quality for your money in the industry. With every rental and every event, we focus in on providing the best service so you can focus on having FUN. We also really enjoy providing safe and clean rentals at the most competitive pricing around. Each unit is cleaned and sanitized after every rental to ensure satisfaction. We always follow the rigid safety guidelines and we will not sacrifice your safety for business. EVER.

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Inflatable Games

An all-time favourite, our most popular rentals include classic inflatable bouncers for children. All our inflatable games are easy to transport and install and provide hours of endless fun. We also offer indoor-style inflatable games. From castles to ball pits to extra-large fortresses, we’ve got the style and colour to fit any occasion or party theme.

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Residential Water Games

Turn the heat up on your outdoor summer event with our hugely popular water game rentals. See for yourself why our hilarious foam machine and dunk tank are some of our most popular rentals. Our water game rentals turn any event into a fun place to safely cool off in the hot summer heat. No pool? No problem! All our water games are easy to ship and install, and your guests will be able to splash around for hours.

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Fun Foods

There’s no better complement to your fun and merry-making than carnival-style candy and goodies. From cotton candy and hot dog machines to popcorn makers, we have everything you need to feed a large group of guests some of their all-time favourite carnival food. We have all the machines and ingredients you need to set up your own food stations. Taste the summer with our candy corner.

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Giant Games

Go big or go home! Supersize your corporate or school event with over-the-top and oversized giant games that make everything 10 times more fun! We’ve blown up your favourite games to make it easier and more exciting to play outdoors and with a big group of friends. From palm-sized dice to life-size soccer, we’ve got the giant game rentals you just can’t miss.

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Gameroom / Arcade

Do you consider yourself an arcade junkie? Is your name at the top of all the high-score lists? Then you’ll absolutely love our game room/arcade rentals, that are perfect for individuals and friends to blow off steam, work on their skills, and rise to the challenge. Our arcade games—like table hockey, ping pong, and foosball—are great for indoor or winter parties.

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Residential Inflatables

An all-time favourite, our most popular rentals include classic inflatable bouncy castles for children. All our inflatable games are easy to transport and install and provide hours of endless fun. We also offer indoor-style inflatable games. From castles to ball pits to extra-large fortresses, we’ve got the style and colour to fit any occasion or party theme.

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Semi-commercial Inflatables

An all-time favourite, our most popular rentals include classic inflatable bouncy rentals for children. All our inflatable games are easy to transport and install and provide hours of endless fun. We also offer indoor-style inflatable games. From castles to ball pits to extra-large fortresses, we’ve got the style and colour to fit any occasion or party theme.

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Commercial Inflatables

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Regular Skill Games

Challenge your guests to skill-based games that will amuse them for hours. We offer a wealth of modern skill games as well as old-fashioned carnival-style games, such as tug-of-war, ring toss, mini putt, and Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Our skill games are perfect for corporate picnics, school events, backyard birthday parties, or fairs. Release your inner child with skill games that are fun for the whole family.

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Carnival Games

Carnival games are a wonderful alternative to school fun days or field days, post proms, fairs, picnics, or proms. They bring a sense that is fun for all the family members and are guaranteed to bring everyone into a positive mood.

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Inflatable Skill Games

Inflatable skill games can be a great way to create competitive games. Inflatable skill games for parties can be rented for your next party.

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Semi-Commercial Water Games

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Commercial Water Games

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Decor

Our accessories are essential for proper set-up of your party rentals. If you’re looking to add some final touches to your future event, check out our party extras.

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Accessories

A bunch of fun stuff to add a wow factor to your next event

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Characters

A selection of characters to add to your event.

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Scene kits

A wide selection of classy scene kits and accesories for all your event needs

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Amuz Inc. rents out all kinds of equipment, including: dunk tank rental. While we specialize in inflatable games rentals , you can also rent other items. If you just want a inflatable games rental for your own back-yard, at a park, gym or inside – we can do that. We also do larger event rentals for non-profits, schools, and festivals. Give us a call if you want a quote.

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