Funny story here.
At least for me.
A large group of us had descended onto the Canadian Ski Resort of Mount Tremblant for few days of debauchery. There was no particular reason for it, no bachelor party, graduation or anything like that; we were simply seeking a wild winter weekend.
We had arrived from Toronto aboard two Greyhound-sized charter buses. My buddy Luau Larry and I had flown in from Los Angeles for the entire trip. Yes, we could have gone to Montreal and met the group in Tremblant but heck, there were two party buses full of Canadians and it offered the possibility of finding warmth in some MCBs bosom.
Neither Luau or myself had ever been to Tremblant, and were really looking forward to the trip. I suppose you could call us “California Ski Snobs” to a degree, because we have Mammoth Mountain a few hours away, plus quick access to Utah, Colorado and even Whistler. So we we were not expecting much from the mountain but sure wanted to party. Tremblant far exceed our party expectations, by the way, and matched our mountain desires.
It was a six-hour bus ride and yes, we were drinking Canadian beers the entire time.
We arrived just in time for Apres’ so we hit the post-slopes bar, The Shack. We quickly became party friends with the two lovely bartenders and after a brief pause for some beer-sustaining food and my failed marriage proposal to a petite sex bomb named Annmarie who worked at a place called Ya’hoo Pizza, we went to one of the two clubs in town.
Now is a good time to point out that Tremblant is a quaint ski village, built to resemble the real deal in places like the Swiss Alps. It can be initially a bit confusing to navigate, but it’s small and the second bar we visited, LePuck, is maybe a five-minute walk back to the hotel, which was conveniently located right by the ski lifts and gondola.
Eventually things slowed down at the bar (it was a Wednesday night) and three of us – myself, Luau and our friend Andrew – decided to pull the ripcord. Andrew and I were buzzed but Luau was ripped. We all walked out the door, or so we thought, because suddenly, there was no Luau. Just seconds earlier, he was right behind us.
We asked the doorman if he saw Larry and he said no. A search of the bar revealed no sign of him.
Puzzled, we walked back to the room and went to bed. A few hours later, there was a knock on the door and standing – well, swaying, actually, as if had just spent a week on a boat – was Luau Larry. Accompanied by two cops.
“Does he belong to you?,” one of the cops, a somewhat attractive female, asked.
Luau then stumbled inside and was mumbling incoherently; all we could make out were repeated references to a “big chair.” (Amusing side note: At this point, as his escorts started to depart, Luau snapped to attention, leaned against the kitchen counter and, sounding as sober as a judge, turned to the somewhat attractive female cop and said, “so, do you want to come in for a drink!?” She declined.)
Turns out, after somehow not walking out of Le Puck with Andrew and myself (this part remains a mystery even years later), Luau got lost. As in really lost.
“I wandered around town and the whole village was shut down,” he later said. “I couldn’t find the hotel, could not even remember the name of the hotel. But I did, for some reason, remember the room number.
“Every place was closed and it was freezing. I started knocking on windows but nobody was around. I kept passing this big chair. I was completely lost and every time I went down one road, I would wind up back at the big chair.
“I then went down another road and wound up at the gondola!
“I didn’t think that could be right, so I turned around and went to sit in the big chair. All I had was a leather jacket and I was shivering.
“Finally, I saw two cops and went running over to them, practically begging them to arrest me because I knew it would be warm in there. I don’t know how, but eventually they found the right hotel.”
The next day – and let me point out that Luau was the first one in our group out the door in the morning and on the slopes – the guy who got lost was the talk of the town.
“I heard kids talking about it on the gondola,” he said. “I didn’t tell them it was me.”
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