Signs of the Times.

Well yes, now that you ask, my thirst for signs I find to be comical and witty does indeed continue unabated. Innuendo? Check. Juvenile humour? Check. Snickers shared in a subtle glance with a partner? Check.

I liked this one. Really. It's also quite appropriate, I suppose, for a store laden with sweets, chocolates and sundry other sugar-laden hip, thigh and rear end enhancers to be called "Nuttin' Butt". Walking by a number of its patrons, however, I saw just how fine a line it is between wit and irony. A lot finer than many of them were.

Signs like this were affixed every five feet or so to a fence surrounding a mansion the size of a small town (we're talking tens of millions of dollars here). Never mind the ominous teeth of razor wire that lined the top of the fence (or the likelihood that the fence was itself was electrified). No, it was the 'Bad Dog' (with an exclamation mark, no less!) you had to be worried about should you have the misguided notion you should climb it. I thought it was trendy for rich folk to have teacup poodles and chihuahuas? No? I didn't test the theory. Or maybe this was just their way of shaming the family pet, who had recently misbehaved - stealing a pie from the window ledge?

Not sure what dope thought of this one, but it's certainly a clever (sharp, rather than blunt?) and snicker-worthy name for a burrito shop. Care for one? Take a flour tortilla, some rice, cheese and, for a vegetable, some grass? Great if you've got the munchies, I suppose. If it catches your attention, though, it's obviously a successful form of marketing, regardless of the insinuation.

Snicker. He said "Church". Yeah, yeah, okay, fine, I'll give you that the seamen joke is the oldest one going. Still, I think it was the part about the "Confident Captain" that made gffl and me laugh. That or we're really just twelve-year-olds. Tough to tell. Then again, it's hard to picture Blackbeard sailing the gnarly seas, pillaging from the masses and having to head back to shore for Sunday service. Confidently, of course.

Just a great name for a toy store. Period.

Rock Point, On Point.

Smoky goodness and insect repellent: perfume of the outdoors. By now, the smell of campfire has worn off following my first tenting excursion of the year last weekend. Settling on Rock Point Provincial Park near Dunnville, Ontario, gffl and I set up camp and noticed an empty bird's nest in a tree looming over the site. Me being me, I made like a monkey to take a peek (and a 'peekture'). I won't, however, admit to scratching my sides while making monkey noises. Tent raised, we headed out for a stroll along the beach and were greeted by a vast array of topography: fossilized limestone shelves, dunes, shell, rock and sand.

It turns out the area had been submerged in the Caribbean 350 million years ago, as indicated by fossils from the coral reef embedded in the slabs of limestone that line the coast. Forming divots in the rock, evidence of trapped plant and animal life is featured prominently in the limestone, which was eventually sheared off by advancing glaciers as the Earth's continents took shape. It's easy to lose yourself for hours, poring over the landscape for increasingly interesting examples of prehistoric life. Highlights from dinner included campfire-roasted peppers, garlic and potatoes.

On Saturday, we caught a drive-by view of Niagara Falls ($18 to park nearby - incredible) and of some of the rest of Las Vegas North (what a tacky, over-the-top city). Q: "What would a crazed Frenchman say, bobbing along the river, about to plummet over the falls?" A: "Chutes!"

We continued on our short trek to quaint Niagara-on-the-Lake and poked around for a bit. I'm not so sure I've seen that many preppy people walking around in such a concentrated area in quite a while. Oh, and men in pale yellow pants, not a hair out of place. Women, with chunky necklaces, prim collars and, also, not a bouffant hair out of place. We also stopped in at the Inniskillin winery and admired the row upon row of grapes. Hopefully, none of them sour. On the way back, we came across an ostrich farm and had to stop to check them out. Despite being able to run at speeds of up to 65 km/h, the (very large) male and a female took their time coming to see us. Go figure. Like they had their heads in the sand or something. They are mighty impressive birds up close.

Rock Point is a really neat park to explore, particularly if you are even a closet rock hound. Unfortunately, the weather was, surprisingly, a little chilly for swimming this past weekend (unless you had the body temperature thermometer of a child), but there was plenty to see, including various waterfowl, the little critter I found above, pretty shells and plenty of fossils. During the drive, we also came across a couple more signs that could be included on the blog, but we didn't get the camera out in time. They included one advertising the sale of "Tree Wood" (as if there is another kind) and a butcher operating under the name, "People's Meat Market". Wonder if that was intentional. On a couple of fronts.

Toronto, Distilled.

Keys to the rental car in hand, SCS and I fled to Toronto this past weekend to escape the deluge of work cascading over our desks and for a chance to visit friends. Oh, and to smell some fresh human. I’m pretty sure I heard the sheaves of paper whispering maniacal threats as we cast them aside for another day and darkened our computers. Threats they would multiply in our absence. And there they were, glowering like embers in the darkness, when we returned on Monday.

Roomy, but gutless, odd looking and unable to maintain its footing in the snow (sounds like me, though the swelling in my ankle has finally begun to abate, thanks so much), the black Dodge Magnum was at least comped due to poor service received from Enterprise. Again.

Being a fan of old buildings and interesting architecture, I had long wanted to head down to the Distillery District, which has been designated a national historic site and boasts some of North America’s finest examples of Victorian industrial architecture. It seems the former Gooderham and Worts Complex evolved over 170 years from a single, wind powered grist into the largest distillery in the British Empire. Restored in 2003, it is now home to art galleries, trendy restaurants and other stores, and is also an oft-used locale for movie sets, including Chicago, Cinderella Man and X-Men.

As snow danced between buildings and the cold carved its way into my sinews, I was reminded of how this would be a much more vibrant setting come summer when the patios are jammed. And, you know, it’s not sub-zero. But, a Balzac’s coffee (mmm, chocolate-dipped cookie stir stick) and a pastry later and I was back on the cobblestone streets.

As always, some signs and things from the voyage:

“Distillery District Daycare”? I’m imagining those are some of the best behaved children around. Sure, I’ve heard of rubbing some whisky on a teething toddler’s gums, but raising children in the distillery seems to be a whole new game. Graduate straight into AA. Finally, school t-shirts are highly sought after on the playground. School mascot’s likely a bottle, tipped like Pisa.


Outside Balzac’s in the Distillery District, I found this curious little sign over a basketful of brightly coloured biscuits. Literally translated, it reads “Nice dog” or "Kind dog"(oddly, not pluralized). Bad dogs be warned: No cookie for you. What if he was just dogged by a bad reputation? Can she get away with being a bitch? Or would they both be pooched? If so, it’d be a ruff life. Okay, I’ll stop now. Really.


Simply the best knife block. Ever.


And we saw this billboard in a couple of locations. So much for the British having a dry sense of humour. Yike.

To Hull and Back.

Yes, this might be the world's longest post. For me, anyway. But I guess that's what happens after a week of no posting. Blert. (Actually, following a world of hurt from Blogger, I have now started anew and split the post -- ed.) I won't even start with the overweight, middle-aged woman milling about the produce section of the grocery store in a t-shirt advertising a local 'gentlemen's establishment' last night. And no, she wouldn't have been confused with someone who had just aged somewhat less than gracefully. Cringe. No, tempting as that might be, I instead just returned from a weekend in the Gatineaus. And they were real purty. So was the company.

SCS and I left on Friday following a morning of classes and she and I edited some work until we reached Kingston, weaving in-and-out of both traffic and subordinate clauses. Then, of course, we needed to find a (free) Internet connection to send the report to the requisite people. People who do not necessarily read their email. Our first stop, a somewhat sleazy-looking motel, only briefly gave us a connection (after all, we weren't surfing for porn), so it was on to Queen's. An hour and a very helpful employee at the university who happened to be headed to Tanzania (from which SCS has just returned) later, and we were free to dine at the Sleepless Goat. Yes, the Sleepless Goat (who knew?). I didn't dare ask about the origin of the name. After this, it would be two days where the only Internet connection we would have would be like that found in the photo above. No email. No blogging. No stress (well, we'll get to that later).

On to the Gatineau hills and Les Trois Erables Bed and Breakfast in gorgeous Wakefield, QC. What a gorgeous spot. And a 110-year-old Victorian home. The decor was nice despite a couple of eyebrow-raising knick knacks interspersed. Service and the breakfast were tremendous. And a couple of great nights of sleep were had by all.

The view from the room defied beauty, conventional or otherwise. Overlooking the lake and the hills, trees shed their verdant skin for tones more suited to fall. Ablaze. A steam train also brings in tourists to take postcard pictures. And a covered bridge spans the water. No word if the waters are troubled.

Fall. How I love the fall. And in this case, even the tripping. Really, Wakefield is a quaint little spot. And I mean that in a good way. So relaxed.


Quebec, home to Ontario's underage drinkers and apparently, also home to the 'stubby' as a wine bottle as opposed to the traditional beer (Bob and Doug, anyone?) And a screw-top, too. God love the screw-top swill, er, wine. Not quite a Tetra Pak, but still. I likely should have known when it came in a non-descript paper bag, crumpled like my brain after drinking it. Alcohol in the depanneur -- got to love it. I guess.

The wedding was on Saturday at one of the local churches and one of the highlights (besides, of course, the nuptials -- duh) was one of the members of the wedding party getting up and singing Josh Grobin's You Raise Me Up. Better than Josh Grobin. Tears, flowing all around. And then, the awkward pause and silence at the end because, being in a church, nobody knew how to react. Then the eruption. Would have thought we were in a Baptist baptist church for a moment, except that this was, well, Wakefield. Hallelujahs all around. It was beautiful. The bride and groom, too, said their vows in the other's native language, which was a nice touch. The reception was at Wakefield's old mill, which also provided a spectacular backdrop. A recurring theme, yes. A waterfall. More fashionable leaves. And SCS was glad to finally have some chocolate

More Hullabalooza.

A number of great signs pointed us, cajoled us, pleaded us and directed us throughout the weekend. This one, in Wakefield, made me chuckle. I also want to "Attain Joyful Fluency". As opposed to the painful bilingualism I grace now. "Master tense situations"? Doesn't matter what language, that's a great skill to have in your back pocket ("I'm a teepee, I'm a wigwam"; "No, you're too tense"). Another sign I found to be quintessentially Quebecois advertised condominiums. In French, it pointed out that Gatineau was only 25 kilometres away. And in English, it blared out that Ottawa was only 30 away. Well, it is always said that you need to "Know your audience". But it was still funny to me. The sign of the weekend, however, must go to the store along the road (alas, no photo) that sells "Second-hand candles". I'm not kidding. Really, are they in bulk? Are they still liquid, or still smoking (somebody might be)? Are the colours all molded together in one gelatinous blob? Are wicks included? Tough to wax poetic about that one. By the way, a quick Google search for "second-hand candles" results in 1,280,000 hits. And strangely, for the Internet, no porn. Or ear candling.

During a peaceful walk gone amok on Saturday, SCS lost her wallet after the reception, but prior to the evening party. A wee panic ensued. Luckily enough, a retired police officer found it and tried to track her down, visiting local restaurants and businesses. He even called her parents. I'm guessing he worded it carefully, rather than say "Hey, I found your daughter's wallet along the railroad tracks beside the lake...but there's no sign of her". Not good. They told him that we had rented a car from Enterprise, which I had happened to park nose first (showing the logo sticker on the back) after heading to the mill in my new role as Sherlock Holmes. As he came to the door at the Bed and Breakfast, his phone rang. SCS had gone into the Pot au Feu restaurant (free plug because of your kindness) and one of the staff passed her a piece of paper. On it, her name and a phone number to call. I'd have been jealous and all, but you know. I am sure it is strange to see your name in a random and unexpected situation like that.

Anyway, it all worked out and we headed to the 'Bal en Blanc', where we were to wear all white, hence the name. A little skeptical at first, but it really worked out. Even after Labour Day. Neat. Even the decor was white, with sheets hung. And I can no longer say I've never had a man sporting a fluffy, black boa jump into my arms. No, I'm not going to post the picture. All in all, a good time, for sure.

Sunday, we had a little more time for relaxing and went hiking in the hills and over to the covered bridge. It was an absolutely spectacular morning, with blue sky and fluffy clouds. Air crisp like a potato chip. It just smelled and tasted good. Tickling the skin and tempting the nose. Along the way, we saw a flash of red fly by and saw a woodpecker take up in one of the trees nearby (above right). I hadn't seen such a big pecker before. Oh, let's re-write that one. Quite a weekend for birds as I had also seen my first wild bald eagle on Friday, flying gracefully over the Thames river.

All in all, it was a really good trip. I love hitting the road and seeing new things and new places. It didn't hurt that we were in a very pretty spot in which I could actually picture myself living if only there were appropriate work there. Oh, that work thing. Details, details. On the way back, we also hit the Hershey's factory in Smith's Falls (what, no damaged peanut butter cups in bulk? Shame, shame!) and Ikea in Burlington. We've kind of been jonesing for Ikea for a while and really, it's tough to come out of there without having bought something. Fall-smelly candles and tea light holder (oooh, that just reeks of manliness, doesn't it!) and some brushed steel tins (that's better) for me. The great book case dilemma for SCS, though she also couldn't resist coming away with some goods. Whoever says money doesn't help obviously doesn't have any. It makes the world go around, unfortunately.

Sunday night was spent in Toronto. A shout-out is in order to Connor, who hosted us (his parents might temper that a bit). He is, afterall, in the vernacular of SCS, "Fresh Human". And an adorable one at that.

1,470 total kms. Yawn.

The ever-so-imporant road trip music: Cat Power: The Greatest;Swing Kids OST; Great Lake Swimmers: Great Lake Swimmers; Sarah Harmer: You are Here; Band of Horses: Everything All the Time; Coldplay: Live 2003; Hayden: Elk Lake Serenade; Midlake: The Trials of Van Occupanther; Emily Haines: Kives Don't Have Your Back; Acid House Kings: Sing Along with the Acid House Kings; Voxtrot: Mothers, Sisters, Daughters & Wives; Sarah McLachlan: Fumbling Toward Ecstacy; Sarah Harmer: I am a Mountain; Kathleen Edwards: Failer; REM: Green; The Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs; REM: Out of Time.

Outtakes.

I have had a few days back in Ontar-I-O to regain my bearings, as well as to hibernate a bit (though I watched a couple of suns set, and a few stars dance, while learning about blogging in Malaysia). Just in time to return from vacation and face the hordes of weary, post-labour day souls turning up their collars to fend off the small teeth of fall. Self-sharpening like Ginsu in preparation of the w----- to come. I love this time of year. I can smell it, touch it, taste it. And best of all, I can feel it to my core.

A few additional photos from the trip south this past week.

Huntsville, Alabama: Beauty is all around, waiting to be found. A piece of graffiti I found written on a white board that had been affixed to the red brick wall. Just seemed poignant as I poked around alleys in an otherwise empty downtown Huntsville looking at the architecture and details on the buildings.

Near the Kentucky/Tennessee border: Did I mention that it rained? Hard? I believe that this storm 'benefited' from the effects of Tropical Storm Ernesto threatening south and east of here. It was wet. Very wet. And this was when the visibility was still relatively good.

Tennessee: From the category of signs gone wrong (or "Signs gone Wild!"?), we first have the "Polk Motel", which -- yes -- is named for one of the country's former Presidents. I'd still think they could have named something a bit more prestigious for him. At least a Suites. An Inn, perhaps? With a motel, there are just too many jokes (or pokes!) to be made.

Alabama: That said, however, taking the cake are the Alabamans? Alabamians? (Yes, just looked it up; that's the correct offering for you trivialists.). Really, this one writes itself. And it's in the south, no less. Was there no thought put into that one? I can imagine the bank officer sitting there reading the business plan, snickering. With the number of strip joints I had seen advertised along my route, I would have been pretty disappointed to have pulled in here thinking it was somethign else and instead found that it was a 'Restaurant supply' store. At least it wasn't a carpeting depot.

Huntsville, Alabama: The store fronts (which were actually mostly lawyer offices) were really beautifully done with leaded glass and ornate designs.

Huntsville, Alabama.

Huntsville, Alabama: A pigeon decided he wanted to be a part of this one. The buildings were so neat that I found myself looking skyward during most of my visit. At least there was nobody around to relieve me of my wallet when I was there because I was doing more craning than, well, a crane.

Huntsville, Alabama: Which direction next? A few weeks until the next road trip, this one, however, only inter-province. Will be joined by a co-pilote this time, though!

Day Three. Home Sweet Home.

And, he's back. Good golly, we return to Michigan today, where they like them some churches, mighty fine. Halleluiah!

The day started off well, with a complete – and most importantly – included, hot breakfast, Super 8-style. Make-your-own waffles, cereal, doughnuts, some sort of chopped sausage grits/porridge concoction I didn’t touch. And coffee. The orange juice was skunky, so it got tossed. Not a bad start, particularly after the lack of real food yesterday. Up at 6:54, I am still completely knackered. My throat is scratchy. And not in the sexy way. The trip started to catch up with me last night, but I really didn’t want to ply myself from the covers this morning. Well, I should have crawled under them earlier. Sigh. Such a dummy. Having started at the crack of darkness on Tuesday didn’t help either. Really.

On the road at 7:34 – not too bad a turnaround time despite the fog in my brain. One sign that it’s going to be a good day, though: the warning at the entrance to the highway states that it is not to be used by “farm implements”. Brings back fond memories of one of my former history professors who would always sprinkle his lectures with the term because he knew it would make us all laugh. Absurd, really. Another good sign: it’s clear and 20 degrees. Starting at 2,078.7 kms. today.

7:44: Big Bone Lick State Park. No comment. It’s too early, dammit. And I’m dumb today. Just past this, and outside Cincinnati, though, a giant traffic snarl lights up like an LED board. Signs warn of 10-15 minute delays. I remind myself of the perils of cat naps during that stretch. Then stretch and yawn. Where’s that coffee again? Gone. Damn my inability to drink more slowly. Sigh (number two).
What’s Playing: The Organ, Grab that Gun

8:13: Cincinnati! Finally, free from the clutches of the hordes. Traffic jam, be gone.

8:34: 2,170.9 kms. It’s grey out, but at least it's not raining.
What’s Playing: Man on the Moon, OST

8:57: West Carrolton, OH for more gas. Looks like a ritzier neighborhood. Whoops, maybe not the best place to choose for gas. It just struck me that I’m so used to not going to generic gas stations that I have stuck with the majors to fill the rental car. Hmm. $2.479 a gallon for a total of $26.48. According to news reports last night, fuel is cheaper across the US than it has been in a year and it is anticipated that gas prices will be down to $2.00 a gallon by Thanksgiving. Depends if their President starts another war somewhere. Sorry, my little yellow ribbon must have peeled off. I can support the troops just fine, thanks – I just don’t support that government. There is a very BIG difference. But these people carry guns, so I’ll keep my trap shut. Big trap. Big guns. Closed.
What’s Playing: Lauryn Hill, The Miseducation of

9:34: 2,272.7 kms.
What’s Playing: Alanis Morissette, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie

10:34: 2,383.7 kms.
What’s Playing: The Tragically Hip, Day for Night

11:23: Michigan!

11:29: Monroe, Michigan, here we come. Alright, one more stop for the road trip. The last hurrah. The big finale (have I built up the anticipation yet?). Jerky!

Uh, Santa lives there, right? How exactly do I get into a career in Jerky? I’m sure Guelph offers a degree in it.

Anytime a man wearing an apron -- and surrounded by various cured meats -- approaches with shears, do not fret. Smile broadly. Samples! Teriyaki Beef. Smoked Beef (sorry, drooling on the keyboard). Some other kind I cannot remember, though if I search far enough back into my molars, I might find some stringy remnants. Mmm, remnants. Jerky = yum. Especially on road trips. Too bad this one is almost over.

Anyway, paper bags full of jerky and I’m a happy man. In the absence of other exciting photo opp’s today, we’re going to embark on the journey called “Jerky over Michigan”. Replete with reviews. In depth reviews. Some might even say, “meaty”. Others stick to “dry”. Those ones are usually being jerky.

Beer flavoured beef. Spicy. Okay, I get it – tough to go too far astray with this one: Give man meat. Give man beer. Man be happy. A club, too? Over the moon.

11:34: 2,484.9 kms. Last stop? For real this time? Michigan Welcome Centre in Monroe. There’s the coffee again. And empty the car of garbage acquired in six states and one province over three days. But really, I just wanted to add to my map collection. I just got back into the car and wow, does it smell strongly of dried meats. Mmm, dried meats…Sorry, I just lost more time, opening and closing the door. Wafts are so good. But such a tease. Need more meat. Did I mention there’s jerky? Jerky, we’re close, you know.

Try the garlic beef, you say? Why, mighty nice of you to ask. Barkley was feeling left out and wanted to try some, too (I don't even want to see the cat gut after that one). This was surprisingly bland until 5-6 hours later. Just ask anyone I talked to. Except the jerky, he’s gone (hey, it was a lonely car). That conversation went like this: “Am I shaped like a state you just left?” “Not yet,” I replied. Then it became Rhode Island, which was subsequently sucked into the dark, gurgling ocean.
What’s Playing: Travis, The Man Who

12:20: Detroit! (Sorry Paul, “The D”).

12:28: Canada!*
(*Caveat: Well, we’re at the midpoint of the Ambassador Bridge, so they haven’t technically let me into the country yet. But the Russian judge ruled in my favor on this one.)

12:34: 2,555.8 kms.

My favorite jerky of the day was the honey garlic pork. Ever so slight a zip. Tender. I don’t want to pig out because I’m bac-on track to get home. It was smooth. Like butter. Very chewy butter. At least it looks like a maple leaf for going across the border (that’s what they’d say at Ruby Falls, anyway).

12:36: SCS wins the bet (she had wagered that I had a 42 per cent chance of getting stopped at the border, I had wagered 74 per cent). I whizzed through without any difficulty this time. I think the ever-so serious agent even raised the corner of her lip the slightest bit when I replied to her query about items to declare: “…right at $100 worth of apparel, including a pair of shoes…and some jerky.” A micro-smile at best, but I know she wanted some. I was just glad that she didn’t ask where I had been; I’ve had a mental block about remembering “Huntsville” all week, for whatever the reason.

Welcome to Canada! Windsor! Eek. 24 degrees and sunny. Finally make it to the good ol’ 401 eleven minutes later.
What’s Playing: Split CD: Wolf Parade, Apologies to the Queen Mary and EPs

13:34: 2,652.7 kms.
What’s Playing: Split CD: Regina Spektor: Soviet Kitsch and Begin to Hope

14:20: London! Grr. Welcome back to the city’s horribly mistimed lights. All red. And I’m so close I can taste it. Or maybe that’s just the jerky.

14:34: 2,749.4 kms.

14:38: Gas for the last time. 89.7, which is still cheaper than I’ve seen it in quite a while around here, for a total of $34.77. Drivin’ isn’t cheap.

14:43: HOME!!! (Yes, that one deserves triple exclamation marks). Total trip kilometers: 2,751.7. 35 hours and 28 minutes of tooling around time. Two bags of Crispers. Two Granny Smith Apples. A bag of Licorice. Most of two boxes of granola bars. Two 2L bottles of pop and a litre of water. A bag of Skor bites. And jerky, sweet jerky. Where would I be without you? Um, here.
And yes thanks, I am as tired as I look. But it was worth it.