I heard a wise elderly woman asked today if she could share in two words some important life-lesson she's learned. She said, "Don't wait."
Don't wait...
-- to get married
-- to lose weight
-- to have kids
-- for the kids to leave
-- for a better job
-- till you move
-- till you get older
-- till your health changes...
In other words, don't wait for things to be just right. They'll never be.
Life is difficult. But it is whatever you make of it. Choose to make the most of it. Don't wait. Love the life out of everyday.
- Slugdog
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Patriotizing
Today is Canada Day, the 144th anniversary of the confederation of Canada. It is a birthday celebration --the birth of a country. I say it that way in contrast to Independence Day in the US, which is a celebration of Freedom and liberty from British oppression. It is a victory celebration. It is saying "We won!"
In my opinion the differences in origins results in different characteristics in the respective people's psyches. America and Americans are very concerned about winning and patriotism. Everything is about competing and competing is tied to patriotism. Winners are heroes. Heroes are winners. And everyone is overtly patriotic. The national obsession with sport evidences that. It is bred in from early school days where jocks are idolized and nerds are scorned. and sports and patriotism are blended in a seamless cultural tapestry.
In contrast to that, Canadians tend to have a more laid back approach to life. Maybe the cooler climate cools our passion. Jocks are not idolized. For the most part, sports heroes and even movie stars for that matter walk among us virtually unnoticed and unbothered. Their stories are not shot through with patriotic allusions of the underdog overcoming the stacked odds to win.
Which all leads to a my main thought. Although we love our country our patriotism is not worn on our sleeve nor is it mixed with our faith or other aspects of life as if to infuse them with energy derived from zealous patriotism. In other words, we don't dress something up in our flag in order to "patriotize" it. We let things stand or fall on their own merit. We don't dress things in our flag in order to use patriotism to sell them. We don't attach patriotic feelings to everything to elevate their sanctity or manipulate the masses.
Perhaps I'm thinking about this because in a few days hundreds of Americans on the cruise on which I leave tomorrow will be celebrating their Independence Day. And patriotism will be worn on the sleeves and on the backs as Americans dress up in their flag to celebrate the day. Things that normally have nothing to do with Independence will suddenly be transformed into patriotic expressions.
For a cool Canadian like me it's a bit much. But as much as I eschew the overt displays, I detest apathy even more.
- Slugdog
In my opinion the differences in origins results in different characteristics in the respective people's psyches. America and Americans are very concerned about winning and patriotism. Everything is about competing and competing is tied to patriotism. Winners are heroes. Heroes are winners. And everyone is overtly patriotic. The national obsession with sport evidences that. It is bred in from early school days where jocks are idolized and nerds are scorned. and sports and patriotism are blended in a seamless cultural tapestry.
In contrast to that, Canadians tend to have a more laid back approach to life. Maybe the cooler climate cools our passion. Jocks are not idolized. For the most part, sports heroes and even movie stars for that matter walk among us virtually unnoticed and unbothered. Their stories are not shot through with patriotic allusions of the underdog overcoming the stacked odds to win.
Which all leads to a my main thought. Although we love our country our patriotism is not worn on our sleeve nor is it mixed with our faith or other aspects of life as if to infuse them with energy derived from zealous patriotism. In other words, we don't dress something up in our flag in order to "patriotize" it. We let things stand or fall on their own merit. We don't dress things in our flag in order to use patriotism to sell them. We don't attach patriotic feelings to everything to elevate their sanctity or manipulate the masses.
Perhaps I'm thinking about this because in a few days hundreds of Americans on the cruise on which I leave tomorrow will be celebrating their Independence Day. And patriotism will be worn on the sleeves and on the backs as Americans dress up in their flag to celebrate the day. Things that normally have nothing to do with Independence will suddenly be transformed into patriotic expressions.
For a cool Canadian like me it's a bit much. But as much as I eschew the overt displays, I detest apathy even more.
- Slugdog
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Days of the Knights (Day 10)
Ben and I left our hotel just north of Vancouver WA headed to McDonalds for a quick breaky. Downing that quickly we hit the highway, anxious for home. Essentially there was nothing unusual on that last leg. Traffic was good, weather was great, riding was easy. Getting through Canada Customs was quick and soon I was on the final stretch into Chilliwack and home.
The last half hour was bittersweet. Nearing home after a time away is always sweet. Ending a great holiday with great guys is somewhat sad. but I'll always have the colorful memories and the pics.
So, until the Knights of the Open Road ride again...
- slugdog
The last half hour was bittersweet. Nearing home after a time away is always sweet. Ending a great holiday with great guys is somewhat sad. but I'll always have the colorful memories and the pics.
So, until the Knights of the Open Road ride again...
- slugdog
Saturday, June 25, 2011
The Days of the Knights (Day 9)
Ben and I went to the Tall Town Cafe and Bakery, the same place we'd been for supper. It is the kind of place that the locals gather on a Saturday morning to catch up on all the scuttlebutt and goings on and doings. I would describe the ambience as "early stuff and memorabilia." After eating too much we left Lakeview and headed out for the day's ride through eastern California and Oregon. Although the drive was uneventful, it was nonetheless still beautiful. I travelled through desert sage brush, dunes, more mountain passes at snow level, and eventually on to Vancouver WA. One more sleep till I'm in my own bed again.
I read Bob's blog (PositivelyParkinsons) about relevance. I thought about similar things as I drove through small town after small town. Their common denominator was the obvious fact that their best years were behind them, way behind them. Their glory has faded leaving only the shells of buildings in various stages of decay, and even the ones still in use betray a lack of care and attention. It's like they're all in palliative care. The scary thing is this is the heart and soul of the US.
I read Bob's blog (PositivelyParkinsons) about relevance. I thought about similar things as I drove through small town after small town. Their common denominator was the obvious fact that their best years were behind them, way behind them. Their glory has faded leaving only the shells of buildings in various stages of decay, and even the ones still in use betray a lack of care and attention. It's like they're all in palliative care. The scary thing is this is the heart and soul of the US.
Friday, June 24, 2011
The Days of the Knights (Day 8)
After breakfast we left Hawthorne and headed to a town named Fallon where we gassed up again. The countryside is all desert although it wasn't as hot as previous days. Near Gerlock we had to stop for roadwork, something we have encountered every day. We talked to a truck driver who said that Cedarville where we could gas up again was 60 miles away. As it turned out, it was 90 miles and we were running on fumes when we rolled into Cedarville for lunch around 2:00. We ate at Janet's Country Hearth Restaurant and Bakery. I got a giant maple glazed long-john donut for 85 cents! (pic to follow)
We left Cedarville around 3:00 and proceeded along what we thought was the right road. after about 30 miles the pavement ended. Wrong road. We backtracked to where the road had forked. The map showed a gravel road as a shortcut, so we took it. After a mile or so of rough riding and gravel, the road narrowed as it wound through the bush only to end at a private gated-off road. So we backtracked once again and spying a third road marked as a forestry road, we knew this was our shortcut. We headed along this rough gravel and dirt road. Needless to say we were covered in dust in no time. The road climbed higher and higher. At about 6 miles along the 16 mile shortcut we encountered snow on the road-- enough to stop our progress and force us back down the same rough rutted road. Once down we drove the 27 miles back to Cedarville to get back on the right road. In total we travelled and extra 87 miles and lost 2.5 hours. We gassed up again and headed for Lakeview Oregon, arriving at 7:00. Although our day didn't go as planned, it was an adventure... The stuff memories are made of.
We left Cedarville around 3:00 and proceeded along what we thought was the right road. after about 30 miles the pavement ended. Wrong road. We backtracked to where the road had forked. The map showed a gravel road as a shortcut, so we took it. After a mile or so of rough riding and gravel, the road narrowed as it wound through the bush only to end at a private gated-off road. So we backtracked once again and spying a third road marked as a forestry road, we knew this was our shortcut. We headed along this rough gravel and dirt road. Needless to say we were covered in dust in no time. The road climbed higher and higher. At about 6 miles along the 16 mile shortcut we encountered snow on the road-- enough to stop our progress and force us back down the same rough rutted road. Once down we drove the 27 miles back to Cedarville to get back on the right road. In total we travelled and extra 87 miles and lost 2.5 hours. We gassed up again and headed for Lakeview Oregon, arriving at 7:00. Although our day didn't go as planned, it was an adventure... The stuff memories are made of.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The Days of the Knights (Day 7)
We set out from Stovepipe Wells at 8:30 and headed down the road to Artist Drive and then further down the road to the Devil's Golf course and then on down to Badwater. It is literally "down" the road as Badwater is the second lowest place on earth at 279 feet below sea level, second only to the Dead Sea at 400 feet. They are very similar in that both are beds of salt crystals. The area is bleak, and sun scorched. It was there at Badwater we determined that Bob, Ralph and Jim would go their direction while Ben, Jerry Martin and I went ours. After hugs and prayer for safety, we headed up out of Badwater and headed for Tunopah. We had lunch there and it was time to say goodbye once again as Jerry and Martin headed east and we headed west. I also scored when I found one of those small general stores that sell stuff cheaper than anywhere else. I know this sounds silly, but try buying a pair of heavy denim jeans anywhere! I found some in Tunopah! Ben and I set out from there and arrived in Hawthorne Nevada at about 5:00. Although it is a town where they make bombs and bullets, it is
pretty quiet.
pretty quiet.
The Days of the Knights (Day 6)
We left Sonora and had a beautiful ride az we headed for Yosemite National Park. We had had heard that due to the massive snow pack this year, the waterfalls were spectacular. We stopped for gas at Crane Flats and Bob had a power nap. We were told that Ralph had been sick last night and so we joked that he was suffering Maureen's revenge. At the restaurant the night before, Ralph, out of the blue, asked the waitress if her name was Maureen. Of course it wasn't. It was Natalie. So maybe she did something to Ralph's food! Anyway, Ralph was a trooper. By the way, what's with Vegemite? Say Vegemite, now say Yosemite. Weird eh?
Anyway we had a spectacular ride through Yosemite. At the highest points there were 10 and 12 foot snowdrifts along the roads. The temperature was degrees C. at one point we stopped at a rushing waterfall for pictures. While we were there Jim was interviewed by a local reporter and photogrpher about why bikers from Canada were there when we have such spectacular waterfalls. Meanwhile Ralph ralphed over the bridge at the falls. Poor guy. Maureen's revenge...
We then set out from Yosemite toward our next destination, Stovepipe Wells. As we descended into Death Valley the temperature rose higher and higher. By the time we arrived at 4:15pm the temperature was 120 F (48 C). With the winds gusting, the words blast furnace were quite fitting descriptors. Some of us did laundry, setting our clothes out to dry... They dried in no time. one sidebar to the day. As I was finishing up last night's blog a lady appeared in the business lounge where several of us were. She had cash for gas but no credit card. She needed someone to use their card so she could get gas. No one would help her. So I tried, but the gas sttion had blocked use of the card so she had to wait all night in her car till the gas station was open and she could buy gas. I looked in the morning but she was gone.
Anyway we had a spectacular ride through Yosemite. At the highest points there were 10 and 12 foot snowdrifts along the roads. The temperature was degrees C. at one point we stopped at a rushing waterfall for pictures. While we were there Jim was interviewed by a local reporter and photogrpher about why bikers from Canada were there when we have such spectacular waterfalls. Meanwhile Ralph ralphed over the bridge at the falls. Poor guy. Maureen's revenge...
We then set out from Yosemite toward our next destination, Stovepipe Wells. As we descended into Death Valley the temperature rose higher and higher. By the time we arrived at 4:15pm the temperature was 120 F (48 C). With the winds gusting, the words blast furnace were quite fitting descriptors. Some of us did laundry, setting our clothes out to dry... They dried in no time. one sidebar to the day. As I was finishing up last night's blog a lady appeared in the business lounge where several of us were. She had cash for gas but no credit card. She needed someone to use their card so she could get gas. No one would help her. So I tried, but the gas sttion had blocked use of the card so she had to wait all night in her car till the gas station was open and she could buy gas. I looked in the morning but she was gone.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Days of the Knights (Day 5)
Today we set out from South Lake Tahoe with the objective of riding some of the great mountain backroads that surround this beautiful place. Armed with maps and gps units we set out to follow the twisty roads we knew were there.
But things never go as planned. After a few nice runs we stopped at the Cozy Cabin Cage in West Point for a coffee break. We then deliberated and set out for the town of Arnold.
This is where technology failed us. Apparently roads look better on a gps than in real life. Or to put it another way, dirt and gravel don't show up on a gps like they should. So as we travelled along the pavement suddenly ended and we were facing the prospect of several miles of gravel -- something no motorcyclist likes to deal with.
As if that weren't bad enough, the short gravel stretch turned into a long gravel stretch, which in turn descended into a long dirt stretch, complete with grader and copious amounts of dust. In all we probably travelled an hour in the dirt and gravel and another hour trying to find out way out. We finally emerged in an unknown place and still had to ask directions for Arnold.
To make a long story short we did arrive finally, and enjoyed a fine milkshake to quell the 36 degree temperatures and wash down the dust we had eaten. We headed out from Arnold and arrived a little while later in Sonora. Wrestling touring bikes on dirt and gravel is tiring work!
Perhaps the moral of this story is don't always trust technology. It can be and often is wrong.
But things never go as planned. After a few nice runs we stopped at the Cozy Cabin Cage in West Point for a coffee break. We then deliberated and set out for the town of Arnold.
This is where technology failed us. Apparently roads look better on a gps than in real life. Or to put it another way, dirt and gravel don't show up on a gps like they should. So as we travelled along the pavement suddenly ended and we were facing the prospect of several miles of gravel -- something no motorcyclist likes to deal with.
As if that weren't bad enough, the short gravel stretch turned into a long gravel stretch, which in turn descended into a long dirt stretch, complete with grader and copious amounts of dust. In all we probably travelled an hour in the dirt and gravel and another hour trying to find out way out. We finally emerged in an unknown place and still had to ask directions for Arnold.
To make a long story short we did arrive finally, and enjoyed a fine milkshake to quell the 36 degree temperatures and wash down the dust we had eaten. We headed out from Arnold and arrived a little while later in Sonora. Wrestling touring bikes on dirt and gravel is tiring work!
Perhaps the moral of this story is don't always trust technology. It can be and often is wrong.
The Days of the Knights (Day 4)
We left Oroville and made several beautiful drives on mountain passes and park roads. Once again we were cut off by snow when we attempted to travel through. Who would have thought that we would still encounter snow at this late date?!
But this trip is all about the riding. It is not a sight-seeing trip. So if we see something we want to see better, then we'll have to come back! To understand what this kind of riding is like, think of downhill slalom skiing combinded with a roller coaster. There are curves and dips all driven to one's own inner cadence. Being fully focused on the road and engaged in the ride brings an escape unrivalled in my experience.
Temperatures began to rise today, hitting 100 degrees F.-- a foreshadowing of what is yet to come further south. The rides today were among the best any of us have ever done. You may wonder, what determines how good a ride is? The weather, the scenery, the road conditions, the amount of traffic, the layout of the roads themselves and how well they are built. Add in to that mix the psychological state of the rider and it can all be amazing. If the rider is psyched out by the corners, it can be a very hard ride indeed. If one is "in the zone" it is amazing.
So to wrap this up, eventually we arrived in beautiful Lake Tahoe, a place I've heard a lot about and now finally visited. It too is a place of contrasts, with expansive mansions owned by the rich and famous, right down to the ramshackled houses found anywhere. Nevertheless a beautiful place.
But this trip is all about the riding. It is not a sight-seeing trip. So if we see something we want to see better, then we'll have to come back! To understand what this kind of riding is like, think of downhill slalom skiing combinded with a roller coaster. There are curves and dips all driven to one's own inner cadence. Being fully focused on the road and engaged in the ride brings an escape unrivalled in my experience.
Temperatures began to rise today, hitting 100 degrees F.-- a foreshadowing of what is yet to come further south. The rides today were among the best any of us have ever done. You may wonder, what determines how good a ride is? The weather, the scenery, the road conditions, the amount of traffic, the layout of the roads themselves and how well they are built. Add in to that mix the psychological state of the rider and it can all be amazing. If the rider is psyched out by the corners, it can be a very hard ride indeed. If one is "in the zone" it is amazing.
So to wrap this up, eventually we arrived in beautiful Lake Tahoe, a place I've heard a lot about and now finally visited. It too is a place of contrasts, with expansive mansions owned by the rich and famous, right down to the ramshackled houses found anywhere. Nevertheless a beautiful place.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Days of the Knights (day 3)
When we set out for Klamath Falls we had no idea what the day would bring. We rode some great roads around Klamath including some of the roads in the state parks. Hwy 15 was one of those roads. it was a great ride, winding through great vistas, offering challenging corners and beautiful straightaways. The road climbed as it wound so that soon we were high in the mountains. This road was a high mountain pass road, and was to bring us up and over and down further south.
It all looked promising until we had to stop abruptly. The road was blocked, rendered impassible by snow, still thick on the ground. We dismounted the bikes and were standing and joking around about trying to get through when suddenly two cars appeared and pulled up to us. In the cars, were what appeared to be two young Hispanic couples, one with a baby. Jim went and talked to them and they seemed game to try to plough ahead even though there was no chance they could do it, and it only got deeper up ahead. determined to carry on with their plan for a picnic, the fellow threw his Lincoln Continental in gear and plowed forward... about 8 feet until he was high-centered and stuck! (I have a movie of it I will insert here once I'm home). They spoke no English, we spoke no Spanish.
We tried to push him out but to no avail. At one point we asked if they had any rope, and he proceeded to open his trunk and produce a set of jumper cables. He only attached one clamp to one car before we told him it wouldn't work... After some digging and having everyone lift as the young wife apply the gas we were able to get him out and on their way. As for us, we retraced out steps back down and had lunch in the town of Weed, named after Abner Weed.
We eventually ended up in Oroville and encountered an interesting family at the hot tub. But that is for another blog.
It all looked promising until we had to stop abruptly. The road was blocked, rendered impassible by snow, still thick on the ground. We dismounted the bikes and were standing and joking around about trying to get through when suddenly two cars appeared and pulled up to us. In the cars, were what appeared to be two young Hispanic couples, one with a baby. Jim went and talked to them and they seemed game to try to plough ahead even though there was no chance they could do it, and it only got deeper up ahead. determined to carry on with their plan for a picnic, the fellow threw his Lincoln Continental in gear and plowed forward... about 8 feet until he was high-centered and stuck! (I have a movie of it I will insert here once I'm home). They spoke no English, we spoke no Spanish.
We tried to push him out but to no avail. At one point we asked if they had any rope, and he proceeded to open his trunk and produce a set of jumper cables. He only attached one clamp to one car before we told him it wouldn't work... After some digging and having everyone lift as the young wife apply the gas we were able to get him out and on their way. As for us, we retraced out steps back down and had lunch in the town of Weed, named after Abner Weed.
We eventually ended up in Oroville and encountered an interesting family at the hot tub. But that is for another blog.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
The Days of the Knights (Day 2)
The name, The Knights of the Open Road had it's origins with some of the group being dubbed that while on a cross Canada trip in 2008. It has stuck ever since. You can also follow this trip by reading Bob Kuhn's blog at http://positivelyparkinsons.blogspot.com/2011/06/journey-begins.html
The day started out raining as we walked back to the Almost Home restaurant for breakfast. There was a cardboard cutout of John Wayne. I should have had my picture taken with him just as I did with Clint Eastwood last year. (See older blog post).
After stuffing ourselves we waddled back to the Motel 6, packed up our stuff and put on the rain gear. I came to find out later that I left part of my CPAP machine (electrical transformer) in the room. *sigh* I must be getting absent minded.
I donned my fluorescent orange HelleHansen rain gear, making me look like a road construction cone, and after gassing up, headed for Roseburg. In Roseburg we stopped to refuel our bikes with gas and our bodies with coffee. From there we continued on toward Klamath Falls and my "divine encounter."
It was continuing to rain as we wound and wove our way through the twists and turns of Umpqua National Park. I was following Bob and Jim, and being followed by Ben as we snaked along the 30 and 45 mph. curves. As I entered one 30 mph corner I ws hugging the center double line. Suddenly my back wheel slid out from under the bike tipping me onto my left side. I turned the front wheel slightly to the right as I felt the slide and both heard and felt the grind of the footpeg and the peg on the highway bar as they ground into the pavement. Sparks flew out behind as the metal momentarily met asphalt. But the turn of the wheel and the hitting the pegs as the bike went over were enough to put me upright again, and straightening out, I continued on. I called it my divine encounter because later, Ben who saw it from behind, said it was like the hand of God just reached down and straightened me back up after going onto my side. I'm grateful God was there.
We continued on through more rain, climbing to an elevation of 5900 ft., seeing snow on the sides of the road as we traveled past Crater Lake to our lunch at Diamond Lake Junction. there we met Arlene and had had the hand-pressed, homemade bacon cheeseburger.
We finally arrived in Kalamath Falls at about 3:30, got unpacked and soaked our old weary bones in the hot tub. Yes folks, life doesn't get much better than this... (once I figure out how to load pics from my iPad I'll post them)
The day started out raining as we walked back to the Almost Home restaurant for breakfast. There was a cardboard cutout of John Wayne. I should have had my picture taken with him just as I did with Clint Eastwood last year. (See older blog post).
After stuffing ourselves we waddled back to the Motel 6, packed up our stuff and put on the rain gear. I came to find out later that I left part of my CPAP machine (electrical transformer) in the room. *sigh* I must be getting absent minded.
I donned my fluorescent orange HelleHansen rain gear, making me look like a road construction cone, and after gassing up, headed for Roseburg. In Roseburg we stopped to refuel our bikes with gas and our bodies with coffee. From there we continued on toward Klamath Falls and my "divine encounter."
It was continuing to rain as we wound and wove our way through the twists and turns of Umpqua National Park. I was following Bob and Jim, and being followed by Ben as we snaked along the 30 and 45 mph. curves. As I entered one 30 mph corner I ws hugging the center double line. Suddenly my back wheel slid out from under the bike tipping me onto my left side. I turned the front wheel slightly to the right as I felt the slide and both heard and felt the grind of the footpeg and the peg on the highway bar as they ground into the pavement. Sparks flew out behind as the metal momentarily met asphalt. But the turn of the wheel and the hitting the pegs as the bike went over were enough to put me upright again, and straightening out, I continued on. I called it my divine encounter because later, Ben who saw it from behind, said it was like the hand of God just reached down and straightened me back up after going onto my side. I'm grateful God was there.
We continued on through more rain, climbing to an elevation of 5900 ft., seeing snow on the sides of the road as we traveled past Crater Lake to our lunch at Diamond Lake Junction. there we met Arlene and had had the hand-pressed, homemade bacon cheeseburger.
We finally arrived in Kalamath Falls at about 3:30, got unpacked and soaked our old weary bones in the hot tub. Yes folks, life doesn't get much better than this... (once I figure out how to load pics from my iPad I'll post them)
The Days of The Knights (Day 1)
These are the days of the Knights of the Open Road June 2011
I left home at about 7:00 am and headed to Lynden to meet the rest of the guys. I arrived there at the appointed gas station at 8:00 and proceeded to gas up and get a coffee. It turned out I got. It for free because when I went to pay with my credit card the clerk informed me that they didn't accept debit or credit for under $5. I had no cash, so she gave it gratis!! Good start.
Bob, Jim and Ralph showed up at about 8:25, gassed up and we were on our way!
The next time we stopped for gas my card was declined, so Jim paid and while enjoying a coffee at Starbucks I called the credit card company and got things sorted out. Traffic was good and we arrived at the Motel 6 in Salem Oregon at about 4:30. We were told there would be a cot. When I phoned I was told there were no cots here. Ben and Bob will be sharing a double bed. Can you say Planes, Trains, and Automobiles?
Ben arrived at about 6:00 and we went for supper to the Almost Home restaurant. We also discovered that it is against the law to ride without helmets in Oregon, something we had done for the short jaunt to the restaurant.
At the restaurant we were joined by two friends of Jim's from Calgary, Martin and Jerry. Jerry broke the news over dinner that had dumped his bike in a corner. He was a little sore and the bike got a little banged up, but it is still driveable.
So our total today from the border was 554km. From home was another 30 or so for about 600km today. The plan is to do about 500 tomorrow. Bob and Ben get to sleep in the double bed. Let the good times roll!!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
T'is Another Night Before The Days of the Knights
This is like deja vu all over again. My first blog post a year ago was the night before my long anticipated motorcycle trip. Today is the day before I leave again on another trip, this time through Washington, Oregon and California.
I've been looking forward to this for a long time... about a year... or, since the last trip ended. I'm anticipating wonderful scenery, lots of fun and laughs, and good camaraderie with the rest of the aptly named "Knights of the Open Road." We lose one knight, George, and gain another, Ralph. George will be missed, but Ralph brings his own brand of unique Ralphness.
It will be fun... The adventure awaits...
I've been looking forward to this for a long time... about a year... or, since the last trip ended. I'm anticipating wonderful scenery, lots of fun and laughs, and good camaraderie with the rest of the aptly named "Knights of the Open Road." We lose one knight, George, and gain another, Ralph. George will be missed, but Ralph brings his own brand of unique Ralphness.
It will be fun... The adventure awaits...
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Moosecumentary (Part 3, The Materiel)
Materiel: n. "the aggregate of things used or needed in any business, undertaking, or operation"
Over the years since we have been hunting, our materiel has evolved, advanced, enlarged, accumulated, adapted, and quite simply become more accommodating to our aging bodies.
To give you an idea, that first year we hunted together I had moved from BC, land of lotuses and rain, to Northern Alberta. The only boots I had were rubber. So they were the boots I took when we left to hunt that last week of September, 1989.
The three of us slept in a 3-man nylon tent with our boots outside because there was no room inside. There was no room for anything besides us in the tent. And when we got up in the morning, the boots were frozen and putting on frozen boots is not fun. My feet stayed numb till noon. We had to light a fire every morning after we got up to try to get warm.
We each took two 2-litre bottles of water for the week and if remember correctly, a two litre bottle full of pancake batter. That was for our drinking and cooking. For the week. We must have had other food...but the pancake batter is what sticks.
In the years that followed we stayed in a camper, then a tent trailer, and eventually the wall tent that we have now.
(more pics and content to come... stay tuned)
Over the years since we have been hunting, our materiel has evolved, advanced, enlarged, accumulated, adapted, and quite simply become more accommodating to our aging bodies.
To give you an idea, that first year we hunted together I had moved from BC, land of lotuses and rain, to Northern Alberta. The only boots I had were rubber. So they were the boots I took when we left to hunt that last week of September, 1989.
The three of us slept in a 3-man nylon tent with our boots outside because there was no room inside. There was no room for anything besides us in the tent. And when we got up in the morning, the boots were frozen and putting on frozen boots is not fun. My feet stayed numb till noon. We had to light a fire every morning after we got up to try to get warm.
We each took two 2-litre bottles of water for the week and if remember correctly, a two litre bottle full of pancake batter. That was for our drinking and cooking. For the week. We must have had other food...but the pancake batter is what sticks.
In the years that followed we stayed in a camper, then a tent trailer, and eventually the wall tent that we have now.
(more pics and content to come... stay tuned)
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Moosecumentary (Part 2 -- The Machines)
I know this seems like an odd thing to blog about... like, who writes about their machines, ATVs, but it is part of the whole history and experience of our moose hunts. So they have to go into this Moosecumentary.As mentioned in part 1, Reg, Tom, and I started hunting together about 22 years ago. They both had three-wheeled ATV trikes and they were the usual vehicle of choice for hunters. The first year I went with them I had no ATV, so Reg, who actually had two, loaned me one of his, a 1983 200cc Yamaha trike. Tom had a similar machine. IN those early days, everything was pretty primitive. We slept in an unheated tent, and when it snowed, were cold for a week.
I used Reg's extra trike that for a couple years until I bought a 250cc Polaris 4-wheel quad. Of the three machines, this was the most comfortable and powerful.
The beauty of the Polaris was -- 4 wheels and no clutch making it more stable than the tippy trikes. Because of the tippyness, we used to tip over all the time. And they had no suspension so our backs perpetually ached from bouncing through the muskeg.I had the Polaris until someone stole it, rode it into the bush and left it. The police eventually found it and phoned me with good news and bad news. The good news was they had found my quad. The bad news was they found it when a D-9 bulldozer clearing brush backed over it. When I got it back it was about 2 feet high.
The flattening precipitated the purchase of a used 1994 350 Honda Fourtrax, seen here.
Tom had bought a new 400 Yamaha Grizzly and Reg continued to ride his little 200 Honda trike. We came realize during those years that Reg's success in riding up to game was due to the fact that his trike made less noise than our bigger machines.In 1996, because of work I moved away from Fort McMurray, Alberta where we all lived, out to B.C. It was traumatic and teary. When the hunt ended that year I thought it would be my last...ever, with these guys. So I sold my quad to Reg, and said good bye to moose hunting with them.
Over the months that followed I started thinking, "Why do I have to quit going for the annual hunt?" Many people spend a week of vacation and spend way more than I do for a week of hunting. So I decided I could keep going. Sure it meant a 15 hour one-way drive, but it was worth it.
So I purchased my 1998 Honda 450 Fourtrax 4-wheel drive quad, nicknamed Emma,
and a trailer, which I have used ever since. She's reliable, sturdy, and gets me out of some pretty messy places.Tom went on to buy a Yamaha Rhino, which we nicknamed "The Popemobile" due to the plexiglass additions and then a another Yamaha Grizzly 500.
Reg eventually bought a newer Honda Fourtrax. Gary started out with a Honda 300 Fourtrax but eventually bought his brother's Honda.The point of this blog I guess is to say that as we evolved our hunting skills and personally grew up, so did our machines. Metaphorically, they were a reflection of the men who rode them.
What the future looks like for us or our machines, we have no idea.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Moosecumentary 2010 (Part 1 -- The Men)
I wanted to share my recent moose hunting experience with you, but as I thought about it, I need to put it in context for you to really appreciate what it means to me. I have broken it down into parts so that I can talk about different aspects of it, beginning with the guys I hunt with. For those who are a little squeamish, I have cropped the pictures. And that's not because because of how these guys look...
When I began moose-hunting, there were just three of us: Reg, Tom and me. The three of us hunted annually together for about 10 years.
Most of what I know about successful moose-hunting I learned from these two guys. We started out as friends and over the years we have grown together as friends and as hunters. We tried different hunting techniques and experiments, the success or failure of which have provided much laughter -- things like our black fleece cow moose decoy named Alice. All it ever brought in was a hungry coyote.
Reg is an amazing guy. He's in the middle in this pic on the right. He's one of the smartest, most determined, hard-working, generous men I know. He is also the best hunter I have ever known. Bar none. He is the best at whatever he does because he works hard -- a life lesson I have tried, often unsuccessfully, to emulate.
Tom, on the right, is very much like Reg. He has a big heart, is funny, creative, handy, courageous, and sincere. He too is an excellent hunter and a good man.
The three of us have hunted together for 22 years. It has been a special part of my life.
After we had been hunting together for 10 years or so, we were joined by Gary. We had been friends, and Gary was a good rifle hunter, but he began to come along on our bowhunts. I remember the first time he came into our hunting camp. The three of us had been in the bush for 5 days and as is usually the case, we were getting pretty ripe. That day, it began to rain and it occurred to us that we could capitalize on it and shower. So doffing our clothes we were outside the tent catching the water as it ran off the tent soaping up and rinsing off when Gary arrived. Gary is a banjo player and I'm sure he could hear "dueling banjos" playing in his mind as he watched the spectacle in front of him.
Gary is a great guy. He has a tremendous sense of humour and like Reg and Tom is a skilled tradesman. He is gracious, practical, logical and kind. It should be noted that until this year, he has never bathed during the time with us in the bush.
Finally, a word about me. I am not a tradesman. Words are my craft. I do not come from the trades, nor do I have the practical skills these men have. I live in a different province and operate in a different occupational world. And yet when it comes to the hunt, we manage to all fit together.
We did some calculations. Collectively the 4 of us have 140 years of hunting experience. When it comes to bowhunting, it is merely 100 years. I'm not sure these facts are something to be proud of, but they are interesting in spite of making me feel really old.
Although our communication throughout the rest of the year is minimal, like salmon that annually return to their home streams, each year at the same time the 4 of us travel to our hunting spot and pick up where we left off the previous year. Spawning jokes and spinning tales. Although we have moved to different locations, and have each of us have lived our lives in our own different worlds, we have this common ritual. And amid all the other events that have transpired over the years, the hunting week serves as a place of calm and these men as a source of camaraderie. Bar none.
When I began moose-hunting, there were just three of us: Reg, Tom and me. The three of us hunted annually together for about 10 years.
Most of what I know about successful moose-hunting I learned from these two guys. We started out as friends and over the years we have grown together as friends and as hunters. We tried different hunting techniques and experiments, the success or failure of which have provided much laughter -- things like our black fleece cow moose decoy named Alice. All it ever brought in was a hungry coyote.Reg is an amazing guy. He's in the middle in this pic on the right. He's one of the smartest, most determined, hard-working, generous men I know. He is also the best hunter I have ever known. Bar none. He is the best at whatever he does because he works hard -- a life lesson I have tried, often unsuccessfully, to emulate.
Tom, on the right, is very much like Reg. He has a big heart, is funny, creative, handy, courageous, and sincere. He too is an excellent hunter and a good man.
The three of us have hunted together for 22 years. It has been a special part of my life.
After we had been hunting together for 10 years or so, we were joined by Gary. We had been friends, and Gary was a good rifle hunter, but he began to come along on our bowhunts. I remember the first time he came into our hunting camp. The three of us had been in the bush for 5 days and as is usually the case, we were getting pretty ripe. That day, it began to rain and it occurred to us that we could capitalize on it and shower. So doffing our clothes we were outside the tent catching the water as it ran off the tent soaping up and rinsing off when Gary arrived. Gary is a banjo player and I'm sure he could hear "dueling banjos" playing in his mind as he watched the spectacle in front of him.
Gary is a great guy. He has a tremendous sense of humour and like Reg and Tom is a skilled tradesman. He is gracious, practical, logical and kind. It should be noted that until this year, he has never bathed during the time with us in the bush.
Finally, a word about me. I am not a tradesman. Words are my craft. I do not come from the trades, nor do I have the practical skills these men have. I live in a different province and operate in a different occupational world. And yet when it comes to the hunt, we manage to all fit together.
We did some calculations. Collectively the 4 of us have 140 years of hunting experience. When it comes to bowhunting, it is merely 100 years. I'm not sure these facts are something to be proud of, but they are interesting in spite of making me feel really old.
Although our communication throughout the rest of the year is minimal, like salmon that annually return to their home streams, each year at the same time the 4 of us travel to our hunting spot and pick up where we left off the previous year. Spawning jokes and spinning tales. Although we have moved to different locations, and have each of us have lived our lives in our own different worlds, we have this common ritual. And amid all the other events that have transpired over the years, the hunting week serves as a place of calm and these men as a source of camaraderie. Bar none.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Weapons of Mass Distraction
We all know we live in a day when the pace of life seems to be going at breakneck speed. Working with communication in various forms I deal with this every day. Communication must be succinct, not texty or appear wordy lest that scare away the reader or listener who is increasingly looking to have her attention drawn in by a picture or pronounced font usage. People don't read, they survey, and if their eye is grabbed, well, then they might read a few lines -- but nothing more, because they get bored easily and have small attention spans.
I'm generalizing, but it is symptomatic of a larger malaise plaguing us today. I'm talking about the pursuit of meaning and fulfillment through the pursuit of money, things, and activities of whatever kind. The virtue of contentment is almost unheard of. We are constantly being fed the message of "get more", "this one's better", and "you need newer" in order to be fulfilled. And so we chase after all these things.
The paradox is this: we are so busy seeking life in these things yet they are the very things that strangle the life out of us. Is it just me or am I onto something here?
I'm generalizing, but it is symptomatic of a larger malaise plaguing us today. I'm talking about the pursuit of meaning and fulfillment through the pursuit of money, things, and activities of whatever kind. The virtue of contentment is almost unheard of. We are constantly being fed the message of "get more", "this one's better", and "you need newer" in order to be fulfilled. And so we chase after all these things.
The paradox is this: we are so busy seeking life in these things yet they are the very things that strangle the life out of us. Is it just me or am I onto something here?
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Midnight in the Outhouse
This is a retrospective. A comment from a friend caused me to flash back to an incident from my youth. I was 14 I think, and attending a long weekend church youth camp. I should have known this would be a weekend to remember after the first disaster.
I had arrived at the camp early with 3 other friends and spent some time looking around. The camp in situated near a small lake and canoeing is part of the program. We saw that some canvas-bottomed canoes for use on the weekend had been dropped off so we thought it to be an excellent idea to take a paddle on the lake before the rest of the campers arrived.
The 4 of us dragged the canoes down to the lake and launched out. I don't recall going too far. But we paddled to the far side of the lake, got out to go to the bathroom, and then decided to head back. What we didn't notice was that when the canoe was pulled out of the water it was dragged up on a snag -- a snag that ripped the canvas bottom. We relaunched into the lake to return, and our canoe soon sank. Not completely, but enough that we got soaked and had to swim to shore, dragging the water-filled canoe behind us.
Sometime during our great lake adventure the other campers arrived. They were assembled on the bleachers at the ball diamond -- a setting offering a splendid vantage po
int of the lake. So in the middle of the camp director's initial talk, 4 drowned rats trudged across a dirt field toward the camp dragging two canoes, one with the bottom ripped out. I'm sure it was quite the sight, and created wonderful first impressions. it turned out to be a warm-up for the main event.
On Sunday night, all the campers headed into town, about 15 miles away to participate in activities there. One of the guys I was with was old enough to drive and so we left early and drove his car back out to the camp, stopping at a small general store on the way. There we bought firecrackers -- a lot of firecrackers!
Back at the camp we hid out in one of the old buildings. The we ran around outside, trying to stay warm, out of sight, and trying to position ourselves for the arrival of the rest of the campers back at the camp. We were so preoccupied with hiding, we were unaware that the rest of the campers had already returned and were in the main mess hall enjoying warmth, food, and fun. Finally the campers emerged from the hall and were headed to the cabins. From our hiding place under the camp bus we threw firecrackers out into their feet. Havoc ensued. Yelling, screaming, and general mayhem broke out as campers and counselors alike ran everywhere trying to figure out where the firecrackers were coming from.
Guerrilla-like we ran from the bus to the bushes to the buildings. The counselors knew who the trouble-makers were by now and were actively searching for us. But we successfully evaded them for what seemed like another hour or two.
Eventually one of our gang got caught and taken to the cabin for the night. This foreshadowed what happened next. It was getting very late by now and we decided to "hole" up and hide in one of the outhouses.
A fellow camper, hearing the call of nature chose an outhouse to visit. It was the one where we were hiding. When he opened the door he said, loud enough for one of the marauding counselors to hear, "Hey, what are 3 guys doing in this outhouse?" The irate counselor came over and slammed the door shut.
He held it tight while another counselor nailed several two by fours across the door with the dire warning that if we wanted to get out we would have to exit via the hole. Otherwise we would be spending the night in there.
Unfazed we shrugged off the warning and proceeded to drop firecrackers down the hole. Great fun! This continued for some time until we observed that it was around midnight and we should wind it down. But how do we exit? Down the hole didn't receive much consideration and the best option seemed to be kicking the back out of the outhouse. And so we proceeded to do that, taking turns and gradually loosening the lower corner of back wall.
When we just about had it opening wide enough to crawl through, one of the counselors showed up with a bucket of water. When we kicked the corner open, water was thrown in. We kicked again, and more water came in. Soon we were drenched, wet toilet paper was everywhere, and morale was sinking.
More threats from the counselors that if we didn't come out and behave, our parents would be called to come get us had the desired effect. We surrendered. Soaked but unbowed, we returned to our cabins for what was left of the night.
I don't know if our parents were ever told. But the next day we had to repair the outhouse and for that day at least, we all had dish duty.
We do a lot of things as young people that we regret later on. I feel fortunate that I I don't really have any serious regrets like many of my friends. As for this little adventure, I don't regret it at all. Throughout my life remembering the little adventure I now call midnight in the outhouse has provided many smiles.
I had arrived at the camp early with 3 other friends and spent some time looking around. The camp in situated near a small lake and canoeing is part of the program. We saw that some canvas-bottomed canoes for use on the weekend had been dropped off so we thought it to be an excellent idea to take a paddle on the lake before the rest of the campers arrived.
The 4 of us dragged the canoes down to the lake and launched out. I don't recall going too far. But we paddled to the far side of the lake, got out to go to the bathroom, and then decided to head back. What we didn't notice was that when the canoe was pulled out of the water it was dragged up on a snag -- a snag that ripped the canvas bottom. We relaunched into the lake to return, and our canoe soon sank. Not completely, but enough that we got soaked and had to swim to shore, dragging the water-filled canoe behind us.
Sometime during our great lake adventure the other campers arrived. They were assembled on the bleachers at the ball diamond -- a setting offering a splendid vantage po
int of the lake. So in the middle of the camp director's initial talk, 4 drowned rats trudged across a dirt field toward the camp dragging two canoes, one with the bottom ripped out. I'm sure it was quite the sight, and created wonderful first impressions. it turned out to be a warm-up for the main event.On Sunday night, all the campers headed into town, about 15 miles away to participate in activities there. One of the guys I was with was old enough to drive and so we left early and drove his car back out to the camp, stopping at a small general store on the way. There we bought firecrackers -- a lot of firecrackers!
Back at the camp we hid out in one of the old buildings. The we ran around outside, trying to stay warm, out of sight, and trying to position ourselves for the arrival of the rest of the campers back at the camp. We were so preoccupied with hiding, we were unaware that the rest of the campers had already returned and were in the main mess hall enjoying warmth, food, and fun. Finally the campers emerged from the hall and were headed to the cabins. From our hiding place under the camp bus we threw firecrackers out into their feet. Havoc ensued. Yelling, screaming, and general mayhem broke out as campers and counselors alike ran everywhere trying to figure out where the firecrackers were coming from.
Guerrilla-like we ran from the bus to the bushes to the buildings. The counselors knew who the trouble-makers were by now and were actively searching for us. But we successfully evaded them for what seemed like another hour or two.
Eventually one of our gang got caught and taken to the cabin for the night. This foreshadowed what happened next. It was getting very late by now and we decided to "hole" up and hide in one of the outhouses.
A fellow camper, hearing the call of nature chose an outhouse to visit. It was the one where we were hiding. When he opened the door he said, loud enough for one of the marauding counselors to hear, "Hey, what are 3 guys doing in this outhouse?" The irate counselor came over and slammed the door shut.He held it tight while another counselor nailed several two by fours across the door with the dire warning that if we wanted to get out we would have to exit via the hole. Otherwise we would be spending the night in there.
Unfazed we shrugged off the warning and proceeded to drop firecrackers down the hole. Great fun! This continued for some time until we observed that it was around midnight and we should wind it down. But how do we exit? Down the hole didn't receive much consideration and the best option seemed to be kicking the back out of the outhouse. And so we proceeded to do that, taking turns and gradually loosening the lower corner of back wall.
When we just about had it opening wide enough to crawl through, one of the counselors showed up with a bucket of water. When we kicked the corner open, water was thrown in. We kicked again, and more water came in. Soon we were drenched, wet toilet paper was everywhere, and morale was sinking.
More threats from the counselors that if we didn't come out and behave, our parents would be called to come get us had the desired effect. We surrendered. Soaked but unbowed, we returned to our cabins for what was left of the night.
I don't know if our parents were ever told. But the next day we had to repair the outhouse and for that day at least, we all had dish duty.
We do a lot of things as young people that we regret later on. I feel fortunate that I I don't really have any serious regrets like many of my friends. As for this little adventure, I don't regret it at all. Throughout my life remembering the little adventure I now call midnight in the outhouse has provided many smiles.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Wrecked Him; Darn Near Killed Him
A little while ago someone I know was mountain biking and had a pretty severe fall.
He hit hard enough that he required an epidural to control the pain. While he eventually recovered, he wasn't too clear on the words he was using. He went around telling people he had an episiotomy, rather than an epidural. His experience is like another story I heard....
The pastor asked if anyone in the congregation would like to express
praise for answered prayers. Suzie Smith stood and walked to the
podium.
She said, "I have a praise. Two months ago, my husband,
Tom, had a terrible bicycle wreck and his scrotum was completely
crushed. The pain was excruciating and the doctors didn't know if
they could help him."
You could hear a muffled gasp from the men in the
congregation as they imagine the pain that poor Tom must have
experienced.
"Tom was unable to hold me or the children," she went
on, "and every move caused him terrible pain." We prayed as the
doctors performed a delicate operation, and it turned out they were able
to piece together the crushed remnants of Tom's scrotum, and wrap wire
around it to hold it in place."
Again, the men in the congregation cringed and squirmed uncomfortably as they imagined the horrible surgery performed on Tom. "Now," she announced in a quivering voice, "thank the Lord, Tom is out of the hospital and the doctors say that with time,
his scrotum should recover completely."
All the men sighed with unified relief. The pastor rose and tentatively asked if anyone else had something to say.
A man stood up and walked slowly to the podium.
He said, "I'm Tom Smith." The entire congregation held its breath. "I
just want to tell my wife the word is sternum."
Moral of the story? You tell me...
He hit hard enough that he required an epidural to control the pain. While he eventually recovered, he wasn't too clear on the words he was using. He went around telling people he had an episiotomy, rather than an epidural. His experience is like another story I heard....
The pastor asked if anyone in the congregation would like to express
praise for answered prayers. Suzie Smith stood and walked to the
podium.
She said, "I have a praise. Two months ago, my husband,
Tom, had a terrible bicycle wreck and his scrotum was completely
crushed. The pain was excruciating and the doctors didn't know if
they could help him."
You could hear a muffled gasp from the men in the
congregation as they imagine the pain that poor Tom must have
experienced.
"Tom was unable to hold me or the children," she went
on, "and every move caused him terrible pain." We prayed as the
doctors performed a delicate operation, and it turned out they were able
to piece together the crushed remnants of Tom's scrotum, and wrap wire
around it to hold it in place."
Again, the men in the congregation cringed and squirmed uncomfortably as they imagined the horrible surgery performed on Tom. "Now," she announced in a quivering voice, "thank the Lord, Tom is out of the hospital and the doctors say that with time,
his scrotum should recover completely."
All the men sighed with unified relief. The pastor rose and tentatively asked if anyone else had something to say.
A man stood up and walked slowly to the podium.
He said, "I'm Tom Smith." The entire congregation held its breath. "I
just want to tell my wife the word is sternum."
Moral of the story? You tell me...
Friday, August 6, 2010
Doublecrossed
When I think of embarrassing moments in life, I think of an incident that took place on a live stage.
Rewind to a time when I was travelling and performing as a musician. I played trumpet and travelled with 3, sometimes 4, other guys. For the most part, the other guys were pretty straight-laced and although they each had a good sense of humour, they were generally serious.
That of course was the recipe for John, the one other group member and me to regularly have fun at their expense.
Our usual routine was to go on stage, play a song or two, and then introduce ourselves, starting with Dan, the group leader on the left, then me, then John.
On this particular occasion, we were playing a sacred concert staged in a church – fairly serious crowd. John thought it would be fun to liven things up a little during the introductions. So he said to me just before we went on, “When we introduce ourselves let’s all say we are Dan!” I thought that would be really funny and help to be a great icebreaker.
We played a couple of songs and then it was time for introductions. Dan started first…
“Hi my name is Dan so and so and I am from such and such a town.”
Then, playing along with the joke I said, “Hi, my name is Dan so and so and I am from such and such a town.”
Then John said, “Hi, my name is John and I am from such and such a town and turning to me he said, “Steve, what are you doing? You’re name isn’t Dan!”
Needless to say, red-faced, I had to backtrack in front of the audience and try to recover some semblance of my dignity.
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