Tag: motorcycles

Spring Grind

Dogwood blooming at the corner of Seemore and Do-less. This is the ubiquitous four-way stop in downtown Ladysmith. It seems to utterly confuse a lot of folks. First come, first go but some people prefer to park out there and give directions.
A harbour view. Ladysmith is picturesque.

It is Saturday afternoon, (Well it was when I started this blog) the last one in April. The wind is gusty and brings fusilades of thick rain. The Corona umbrella is still furled up in the garden shed. Typical spring weather, it comes sandwiched between forecasts of an impending drought.

The weather inside my head is just as spring-like. “Use it or lose it.” That’s how it works. Efforts at writing are both pithy and pissy so I go and tinker at projects I invent. I’ve had the suspension on my trailer rebuilt. New parts throughout and the axles were remounted beneath the springs. The trailer is now 4” higher. The scrape marks on the bottom of the sewage holding tank are that much further from the ground. I’m not afraid to leave the pavement now.

“Dunno how it happened boss. Everything was fine until I went under that bridge.”

So no more excuses other than lack of money. I’m going to break out of this suburban gulag where there is a constant drone of lawnmowers and the distant wail of sirens. Struth! Just go sit outside for five minutes and simply listen. What a world we’ve created! We don’t even hear it. A neighbour recently complained to me about the sound of mourning doves!

A little guy.
There are billions of them. I wonder at times about the drive to live no matter what.
Wouldn’t it be nice not to question the meaning of life?
Fiddlehead unfurling
Vanilla plants in bloom. If tied up in bunches and hung in an enclosure these will make a natural insect repellant.

May

Now it is a week later. I’ve just walked the dogs and am having my last coffee of the day. I started doomscrolling, that process which so many of us fall into with our cell phones. Then I was hit with these two quotes.

“When you get lazy you are being disrespectful of those who believe in you.” The next went, “A winner is just a loser who tried one more time.” Bugga! Those hit me below the belt. I’ve been thinking of quitting blogging all together but then I find quotes like. People also send notes telling me that I’ve made a difference. And so life goes on. The weather forecast this week is for perfection in the skies. Maybe we’ll drag the trailer to a beach and see if a winter’s tinkering was worthwhile.

Two weeks later

Libby contemplates distant horizons.
Paddleboard dog. Heading up the San Juan River. The yellow streak is pollen. It has been a bad year for sinus problems.
San Juan River morning. The last bend before it meets the sea. A bear was ambling around in the meadow across the river.

And so we did. The drive to Pacheedaht is less than three hours from home and entirely on pavement. The pavement is badly heaved a lot of the way and so there’s no point in hurrying. It is a very popular route for motorcycles although the lurching sections must be hell. One can leave Victoria, make your way first to Port Renfrew, then Lake Cowichan and Duncan and finally back to Victoria all in one day. Or, go the other way around. We arrived late and had to settle for a spot next to the north end of the one-way bridge. “That sun brings ’em out” the lady in the office said apologetically as I picked a remaining spot. For the next three days we listened to the thump thump of vehicles taking their turn at the bad plank on the bridge just above us or the blare of their stereo as they waited to cross. We did have a spectaculat view of the last bend of the San Juan River where it meets the ocean just below the bridge. The wildlife and constantly changing tide provided an intriguing and peaceful show.

Where the river meets the sea. These houses look out the bay to the open horizon. Jill took this photo while I napped with my achy knee buried in the sun-warmed sand. Very nice. Meanwhile blappety motorcycles were thumping across the bridge. Our trailer was just on the other side of it.
Sea breeze. “Look Dad, I’m flying.”

 

There was indeed a tremendous number of motorcycles, almost half of the traffic at times. Of those, half seemed to be rumbling Harley Davidsons. I don’t understand their popularity but that’s fine too. It is a culture beyond my interest, wheeling a behemoth through the traffic and along our winding roads holds no appeal. I’ve been a mechanical guy long enough and I hold no interest in what flavour of pistons someone has installed in their ride. Whatever floats your boat! I seem to prefer feeling like a circus clown on a tiny bike but even that is beyond me at the moment. I am waiting and waiting for a knee replacement and hopefully after that I’ll be a little friskier.

Other folks paddled their kayaks and paddle boards up the river. One dufus had a boom box tied to to his board and proudly ascended the river stroke stroke, change sides, stroke stroke, bringing crashing rap culture to the forest. It is a good thing that I had brought no firearms. And…he was no teenager!

On the first night there was a spectacular display of Northern Lights which apparently were seen across the entire width of Southern BC. Always humbling and awe-inspiring’ the dome of throbbing light all around overhead reminds us of how tiny we truly are.

Well tiny as we are, we’ve found our way home again. Yet again, I’m having coffee after walking the dogs. I’m waiting for the truck motor to cool down; then I’ll treat it with a set of new spark plugs. Damn! I just paid more per plug than I did for my first car! I haven’t changed them since buying the vehicle so now I’ll know when they were done. Hopefully $140 worth of spark plugs will be amortized in fuel savings. I am finishing this on my new whiz-bang laptop computer. It seems odd, everything is new and feels it, all the keys have a letter clearly inscribed on them. It still seems to make spelling mistakes, I couldn’t find one with dumbo keys for banana fingers.

Trailer for rent. Quiet country setting. A gardener’s delight.
Time passes. So do we. The beauty of the day is all we have.

So now I have a fully functional computer, I can hit the road. I live in a truly beautiful place but once in a while one needs to see things from a distance. A fresh focus can only be good. Boots and saddles, wagon ho!

The first wild rosebud I’ve seen. Once they have bloomed and their petals are falling it is summertime.
The shining path
And then through the portal.

If you know you can do it, why go in the first place? …Iohan Guearguiev

Gauntlet

Well, just fly on by into the sunset. We’ll be here to see you when you come back.

Reconciliation Day is past, a precursor for Thanksgiving, which has now also slipped by. One excuse for a paid day off work is as good as the next. Everything I have to say on reconciliation is taboo so I’ll keep my squeaky, politically incorrect pie hole to myself. That’s statement enough.

They appear each late summer and bloom on into fall. I don’t know what they’re called but I admire their delicate hardiness.

I talked with a lady from Peru this past weekend and when I asked about concessions for First Nations people there, she simply smiled and explained that eighty percent of the population is indigenous and human rights were questionable. No-one is entitled to anything simply for showing up and if you can prove you deserve special rights and are somehow superior to anyone else you’ll get special considerations. If we pull down some pants I’m confident we’ll find similar plumbing as other folks, and that’s regardless of what gender you’d like to be…today. Meanwhile, life down here in the Last Nations is getting no easier. Ho! But, we’re all equal and nobody gets extra cake.

After the rain.
There’s a sense of fall in the air.
This oak is usually one of the last to turn colour and shed its leaves. Strange!
Libby on the bridge to troubled water. She is an intrepid explorer.
Down there! Really dad?
It’s the end of the line. This replica rail commemorates the mining railway from the old Copper Canyon mines to Crofton.
Morning again? Where ya dragging me off to today?

I recall Gary Larsen’s ‘Boneless Chicken Farm’ and I’m thinking about the ‘N Rocking B’ cattle ranch (Non-Binary for short) How big is your herd? One steer! I once heard a military chaplain describe ultimate evil as the “destruction of innocence.” I am enraged at learning children go to school now to be questioned about what pronouns and gender they’d prefer. How dare you? Life is confusing enough for wee children without that sort of madness. Now go ask your mother what gender he is. Children are everyone’s future. Treat them with respect. Believe what you want, good on you, but don’t demand anyone else swallow your slippery pills.

Mount Baker on the left, 136 km away from Crofton
Pier pressure. Yet another lovely autumn day.

Meanwhile, when the afternoons are warm and dry, I wobble off to improve my motorcycling skills. So far I’ve come home every time with my head where it should be and both wheels beneath me. An online motorcycle course admonishes motorcyclists to consider themselves prey and everyone else predators. I think that’s right. At least now I have the power to zoom away from tailgaters. There is no feeling like being able to see only the corner of someone’s grill immediately behind your back at over 90kph and you can’t get away. Motorcycles also magnify how quickly things can go wrong. A blink or a glance away can become a nasty error. How motorcycle racers operate up around 200 mph is an admirable but dubious skill. Most of them die on a bike. Zoom, gone. I’ve learned already to stop to admire the flowers or any view. Staying alert to the road is a full time job and the view in my mirrors is as important as looking ahead. I will also admit that being a senior involves operating with not-so-sharp skills (if I ever had any) anymore. That awareness is the first skill in staying alive.

One fine day
A day later. Waiting for a cargo in the variable fall weather.

In our little town there is a four-way-stop intersection at the top of main street. You enter the street on the bottom end by manoeuvring around the entitled folks arriving and departing the local Him Tortons temple, then navigate your way through the roundabout framed with four pedestrian crossings. Next comes the gauntlet proper, the main street. It climbs uphill and is loaded with several more cross walks, which few use. Folks meander out from the curbs anywhere except on the crosswalks or launch themselves from the curb without bothering to look.

When I was a wee boy I’d take my toys apart. Now I’m older, not getting them back together is not an option. I was tracking down a noise I didn’t like.
More is not better. I discovered there was far too much oil in the engine. Old oil in the bucket, the 1 litre bottle on the right is nearly the required amount. Overfilling an engine with oil is very bad business and can even destroy the whole motor.
A Taliban laundromat. Chaos and neglect everywhere. I felt like Io needed a shower after washing my coveralls in this sad business.

I once almost wiped out our resident movie star as she and her mom launched themselves from the curb while deep in conversation. Visiting drivers, and perhaps residents, may stop in each intersection to view what’s of interest up the hill on that street. And to balance things there are those who zoom past stop signs in a rolling right turn without bothering to look to their left. Of course angle parking on a hill is a challenge for some, while others enjoy u-turning into a spot on the other side of the street. That seldom goes smoothly. A few days ago a huge motorhome was parked downtown in one of those angled spots and had the lane blocked while they probably stood in the lineup outside the “World-famous bakery.” On the other side of the street a delivery truck from Penguin Meats was doubled-parked in front of our local butcher. I wanted to ask the driver, “ So who eats all the penguins?” Other folks back out of their parking spot from behind one of those jacked-up testosterone trucks in a single car-length lurch, often indignant that you didn’t slam to an instant stop and heave your keys out onto the street.

Finally, you arrive at the four-way stop. The protocol is as simple as it gets, first come-first go, pedestrians crossing considered. Some folks however (Note that I didn’t say OLD) arrive in their geezermobil with windows rolled up tight, geezer goggle sunglasses on (Regardless of the weather) Covid mask in place, sometimes beneath a broad hat and wearing surgical gloves. They glare out at the world while pondering their next move. They may sit in their sterile bubble while trying to direct the movements of their fellow motorists. *#^^^! just play by the rules thank you.

Then along comes a chunky, obstreperous old fart on his new-to-him motorcycle. Rmmn, rmmn, old rumble bottom hisself. Watching from the sidewalk are bewildered tourists and God-botherers attending their rack of religious literature, roadmaps to heaven. They smile munificently out on the fray where folks have apparently ascended beyond the primal instinct of fear. “I shall fear no evil, especially my own.” Ladysmith, where everyone is on a hill.

Days of the fungi.
Barnacle Back
They often break through brick-hard ground overnight.
Some are yum, some are deadly and can cause a hideous illness which leave you wanting to die. I enjoy the mystery of them all.
Thanksgiving Day at the corner of Seemore and Do Less. This is the intersection and four-way stop I describe. Some folks actually sit and wait until someone else arrives. It’s all downhill from here.

Every town is alleged by its locals to have the worst hospital, police, fire department, schools and…drivers. But struth, I’m sure we’re among the finalists. Yet, have you ever heard anyone declare what a poor driver they are? Ladysmith is self-acclaimed to have the best main street in all of Canada. Uhuh! It’s a gauntlet!

A fine weather fog.
An overview of Nanaimo today. It’s a flawless autumn afternoon although slowly retreating fog still covers much of the Strait Of Georgia.
Rain tomorrow.

“Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.” Albert Einstein