“Mon., Aug. 27 - sprinkling @ breakfast 7:45. I’ll be gone soon in wet clothes?”
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CHAPTER SEVEN - Good memories, great trip PT 1
The answer to the above question (i.e., “I’ll be gone soon in wet clothes?”) is yes.
But I didn’t care at 7:45 a.m. I knew a cool, drizzly day would make for a cooler bike ride home to London from Port Bruce, a distance of 60 - 65 kilometers if my motorcycle odometer - during dozens upon dozens of trips to the small port over the past 6 years - can be trusted.
I packed up my camping gear while a few early risers from nearby trailers went about their own chores and felt, with a lighter load, my ride home would be a lot easier than the ride to the seashore three days earlier.
I already felt the short trip or mini-vacation was a success for several reasons. I’d combined fun with fitness, finished a good book on the beach, ate and drank well, slept soundly in spite of night-time Hallowe’en activities in the campground, splashed about in Lake Erie, celebrated (somewhat unknowingly) the 251st anniversary of The Royal Salute with cold beers in the shade of scrub trees mere meters away from where the original salute took place (the beers may even have been prohibited, so that made them taste awfully good), got a lot of use out of one pair of pants and was going home with many excellent photographs and memories.
Good memories of Port Bruce have piled up over the years, starting over 45 - 50 years ago when I was invited to the wee hamlet for a couple of days during the summer by Ken Faulds, a butcher of some repute.
That may sound a lot worse than it is. Ken Faulds and I worked at the same grocery store (Maedel’s Red and White) in Norwich, Ontario for a few years in the mid-1960s. Ken ran the butcher shop full-time and I stocked shelves part-time, but I happily helped in the butcher shop - because of the perks - by grinding hamburger and wrapping and tagging packages of meat whenever Ken needed an extra pair of hands. Not only did I get my regular pay but I often went home with a small bit of steak as a ‘thank-you’ for my general all-around helpfulness (I was one of the best sweepers and cleaner-uppers in the business) and positive attitude with grocery store customers.
“This regular ground beef looks a bit too fatty for me. Can I get 2 pounds of lean ground beef?” someone would often ask while Ken was slicing and dicing pork loins.
Ken would give me a look and I’d walk over to the customer and say something like, “Why, sure. I’ll just go out back, grind some up fresh and be back in a jiff. And I guarantee it will be leaner than anything you’ll get south of Little Otter Creek.”
After I finished my task of grinding, wrapping, tagging and waving ‘good-day’ to the customer, Ken would say, “What did you do to get the lean ground beef?”
“I took about two pounds of regular and reddened it up by adding some chicken gizzards and pork scraps from the bucket on the middle shelf in the cooler,” I’d say.
“See me on the way out, my boy,” he’d say.
And one time he said, “And how’d you like to come to the lake this weekend to meet my wife and kids? I think you’ll get along great with my oldest son. I’ll fry us up a few T-bones.”
A good connection was made with Ken, his wife Jean, older son Peter and younger son Billy on a pleasant summer night that smelled of warm beer, hot fried steak and cool breezes in a tiny lakeside port that few people ever pay much attention to these days. At least that’s how I think of it - and thought of it when I was 16 years old... and it’s my story after all.
Peter Faulds plays a central role in another favourite story of mine, related to Port Bruce, and I’ll share it next. Once you hear it you’ll want to visit the place yourself.
[Photos by G.Harrison]
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Please click here to view Discovering the World: Photos From Along The Way
Please click here to read Discovering the World Chapter Six Part 2
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