(6) Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants

Gord’s bicycle trip to Port Bruce and Catfish Creek, Aug. 24 - 27, 2012

“Lazy bum am I.” (Historically speaking, of course).

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CHAPTER FIVE   -   Sir William... meet Sir Gordon

Readers who know about Port Bruce’s exciting history will undoubtedly be aware that, on Friday, August 24, at about the same time I was speeding down Dexter Line toward a stop sign - with 50 pounds of gear strapped to my bicycle and hoping my hand brakes would save me from ripping across a busy intersection and splashing into Catfish Creek - Sir William Johnson approached the creek from the opposite direction, from Long Point, with “his son Lt. John Johnson, Capt. Slosser, the Royal Americans under the command of Ensigns Francis Slosser and Robert Holmes of the 60^th regiment in four "battoes" (bateaux or large boats) and the Yorkers under the command of Lt. Amos Ogden in eight boats and one birch canoe... (along with) a group of Mohawk Indians giving a total of 13 boats in the expedition” 251 years earlier to the day. (History: At Port Bruce)

[Sir William Johnson visited Port Bruce in 1761]

[Meet Sir Gordon, 251 years later]

Some readers, now that the dates are fresh in their minds, will also know that August 25 is a significant day as well, and that exactly 251 years before I sat on the Port Bruce beach under lovely, sunny skies with a few cans of cold beer and read some of the last chapters of a thick book about D-Day in Normandy (WWII, France), Sir William, after receiving significant news “of the surrender of Belle Isle to his Britannic Majesty, the 7^th of June last; also an account of our defeating the Cherokees the tenth of last July, and burning fifteen of their towns,” assembled his mighty forces around him - along with a quantity of gunpowder and alcohol - and “gave orders for the Royal Americans and Yorkers, at three o'clock, to be in arms, and fire three volleys, and give three cheers; after which, each man is to have a dram to drink his majesty's health.” 

Hip hip hooray! What a lovely day, I say.

[Sir William wrote, "Tuesday 25^th, A fine morning; wind at N. E."]

According to my notes, I too raised a glass (in my case, a plastic cup) at about three o’clock, and was quite likely the only person in the entire world celebrating - somewhat unknowingly - ‘The Royal Salute’ on the beach upon which the very first was given. I’m a proud, historic man. 

According to Sir William’s diary, however, the same cannot be said for all who took part in the original salute. It says, “All the officers dined and spent the afternoon with me, and Mr. Gambling, the Frenchman, who got very drunk this night, and told me several things very openly.”

What shameful, historic secrets were blurted out over tall glasses of rum I can only imagine.

My day and evening past peacefully. I spent most of the afternoon reading in the shade and bobbing in Lake Erie. I ate healthy meals and, because Hallowe’en was celebrated in the campground, I treated myself to ice cream after supper - far away from the noise.

[Motor 'battoes' entering and exiting Catfish Creek]

While looking at the selection of ice cream at the Corner View Cafe I also answered what was likely the most important question of the day.

Question (from my notes): What ice cream flavour tops off my 2nd meal of No Name Irish Stew with “formed chunks of meat”?

Answer (also from my notes): Something without chunks, maybe! 

I later enjoyed tea at The Sand Kastle, with my D-Day history book in hand, and as the sun set I returned to my tent, hoping all young ghosts and goblins were zonked out on sugar. 

Most were, and ten minutes after parking my head on a pillow inside my tent, steps away from the last bits of Hallowe’en madness (“It’s 10 o’clock Saturday night in August, for Pete’s sake,” I said to myself.), I fell fast asleep, with not a care in the world, except for that Hallowe’en thingee.

Please stay tuned for more PHOTOS FROM ALONG THE WAY and CHAPTER SIX of Discovering the World.

[Port Bruce, August 25, 2012]

An account of Sir William Johnson's visit to Port Bruce, Ontario (site of the Royal Salute, Tuesday, August 25, 1761) is found at this link. References to my participation have not been found.

[All photos but one by G.Harrison]

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Please click here to view more PHOTOS FROM ALONG THE WAY

Please click here to read CHAPTER FOUR, Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants

(5) Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants

PHOTOS FROM ALONG THE WAY

Gord’s bicycle trip to Port Bruce, Aug. 24 - 27, 2012

Please join me here to read CHAPTER FIVE related to Gord’s most recent adventure. Coming soon.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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Please click here to read CHAPTER FOUR, Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants

(4) Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants

London to Port Bruce, four days, by bicycle

“I predicted I’d be in Port Bruce by 3:30, in the lake by 4:30. First prediction (came) true.”

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CHAPTER FOUR   -   Cold nose, cold beer, good sleepin’

According to an old Elgin County Atlas (1876), Port Bruce was “A Romantic Village at the mouth of Catfish Creek, on the north shore of Lake Erie, township of Malahide, county of Elgin. It is a port of entry.”

I didn’t arrive at my destination under a sweetly-romantic moon-lit sky with a mouth watering for fried catfish. Rather, I entered the port by way of a steep downhill ride at about 30 miles per hour. Only my bicycle’s sturdy hand brakes kept me from racing through a stop sign and landing in the tepid waters of Catfish Creek on my way to a waiting campsite at J.R.’s Beach trailer park.

After pitching my tent and organizing my gear I found the main office and knocked on the door before entering. Once inside I was greeted by a bearded man I’d seen earlier travelling around the trailer park on a golf cart, and as I opened my wallet for my debit card I was also greeted - coldly, very coldly as I recall - by a shaggy black dog that had his wet and unwelcome nose up and inside my baggy swim shorts before the count of “one, two, thr-eeeeoo!”   

[Except for the dog’s cold nose, money well spent.]

Transaction completed, I walked to the nearby beach, unfolded my chair in the shade of a small tree, placed valuables inside a thick towel and gazed at the welcoming waters of Lake Erie. Upon seeing shallow waves and feeling a lovely breeze upon my sweaty back I sorted various worthwhile goals into their order of importance:

-go jump in the lake

-wash off a thick layer of dust

-bob up and down like a kid for awhile

-sit down in the shade

-enjoy a cold beer

-read and write

Beyond a doubt I took great pleasure in jumping, washing and bobbing in Lake Erie for 10 - 15 minutes. My body temperature dropped from ‘sweatin’ like a pig’ to ‘feelin’ human again’ and once back on dry land, and after looking carefully in all directions several times, I savoured one fine, cold bottle of beer.

My “brilliant notes” reveal my pleasure: “WATER FELT GREAT!! WATER FELT GREAT!! dust from the journey (about 60 km.) washed off nicely and I opened beer on almost deserted beach. BEER TASTED GREAT!! BEER TASTED GREAT!!”

By now, some readers will realize it doesn’t take much to amuse me. Besides the cool water and cold beer, I took great pleasure in receiving my own key to the bathroom and shower house. “Cool! Life in Port Bruce comes w perks,” I later wrote. In such a positive mood, I’m not surprised that, after calling my wife from the end of the pier (the one spot where cellphone service was usually available) to say I’d arrived safely, I bought myself supper instead of cooking it up myself back at the campsite.

Honestly. Here were the choices:

King Burger at the Sand Kastle vs canned spaghetti and meatballs at my picnic table. 

$5 price tag vs $1.09.

Burger, cheese, peameal bacon vs canned pasta and mystery meat.

Marvelous vs mysterious.

Easy decision, right? It took me less than 5 seconds to readjust my plans for supper. (I think the long bike ride had a part to play in tilting the scales heavily in favour of the easy kap-easy route and letting somebody else cook on my first night of camping near the peaceful shores of Lake Erie. Of course, I do have a lazy streak).

And once I entered my tent for the night, though a few thoughts about future trips entered my mind (e.g., “Cycling w too much weight is hard work. I may have to think about a B&B scenario or... a cheap, dark motel!!”), they didn’t linger long. I slept like the proverbial rock.

Please join me here for future chapters of Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants and more photos from along the way.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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Please click here to read CHAPTER THREE

Please click here to view Photos from along the way

Please click here to view a song about A Cheap Dark Motel

(3) Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants

London to Port Bruce, four days, by bicycle

“Reached Jaffa Rd. @ 2 p.m., then biked uphill to Pleasant Valley Rd. (saw Golden Eagles on motorcycle 5 years ago).”

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CHAPTER THREE   -   About motorcycles and ointment

I left my motorcycle in storage this year so that I didn’t have to pay to insure it because I’m trying to save money for an important trip to Scotland. (A museum, built after World War II and dedicated to soldiers, sailors and airmen involved in Combined Operations (e.g., my father, a member of RCNVR) is found in Inverary).

Some will soon say, however, my ability to save money is a lot like my ability to pack light, i.e., it’s a work in progress, because the $700 I saved on insurance this year I used to purchase the Miele bicycle I rode to Port Bruce, as well as the CCM trailer I hauled behind it. 

Thanks to recent purchases of bicycle accessories I’m actually in the hole. However, if I sell my motorcycle next spring I’ll be way ahead in the savings department. That is, if I sell it. (“Scotland, here I come?”)

I thought about my motorcycle a lot during the bicycle trip. Every time I felt the trailer tug at the back of the bike - almost every ten seconds, especially often on uphills - I thought about how much easier were past camping trips when I strapped all my gear to the back of a Suzuki or Yamaha. 

[“My motorcycle and heavy load in Halifax, 2010”]

Every time I felt the sharp strain of a leg muscle or the dull ache of my hinder parts I thought of the lovely 1100cc Yamaha Virago sitting in storage. Every time I saw another hill - short, medium, long; they were everywhere - I thought of my motorcycle’s reliable motor.

I asked myself several times, “What was I thinking?”

[“It seems all uphill to Pleasant Valley Rd.”]

But for every uphill there is a downhill (never of equal length in my mind) and for every negative thought there is a positive.

For example, after passing Jaffa Road, two miles north of the historic village of Sparta, I climbed - slowly, on legs beginning to cramp - toward Pleasant Valley Road and recalled the moment several years ago when two golden eagles passed silently over my shoulder while I motorcycled toward the narrow bridge at the base of Pleasant Valley. I sensed the presence of the gliding eagles before I saw their shadow upon the ground. Hair raised upon the back of my neck. It seemed the sky grew dark, and when I lifted my head I saw the pair pass above me 15 feet away. Though I shivered for a few seconds at the thought of them carrying me easily (Maybe not ‘easily’. I do weigh a lot more than a baby sheep.) to some distant aerie for lunch, I was happy to be afforded such a good look at such rare and majestic birds.

And during this bicycle trip I wrote the following about Pleasant Valley Rd.:

(It) may lead to a pleasant valley but it felt great, for the most part, to coast easily into Sparta on the downhill side.

I suppose I said “for the most part” because my legs were tired and my rear end was numb. I took great pleasure in standing up on the pedals and airing out my shorts for half a mile. And thank goodness one can buy ice cream at Sparta’s one gas station. 

[“New York Cherry Cheesescake - all for me!!]

Had the gas station sold soothing ointments I would have sat down in a bucket of their best, but the cold ice cream helped me forget my aches and pains for a few minutes at least. As well, the short break set me up nicely for my last hour of pedaling for the day. I was on Dexter Line inside of 20 minutes and soon thereafter snapped my first views of Lake Erie. 

And it wasn’t long before I flew down a steep hill into Port Bruce to receive an unexpectedly cold welcome to my campsite for the weekend.

Please join me here again for more ‘Discovering the World’ and ‘Photos from along the way’.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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Please click here to read Chapters 1 and 2

Zoom w a View: “Another way up”

It seemed every time I finished hauling the trailer up one hill there appeared another.

Did the journey to Port Bruce ever end?

Yes. About five and a half hours after it began.

[Photo by G.Harrison]

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Please click here for more photos from along the way.

  

(1) Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants

Introduction

Round trip by bicycle: London to Port Bruce, Ontario. 125 km. 

August 24 - 27, 2012

“Cycling with too much weight is hard work”

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CHAPTER ONE   -   Why cycle to Port Bruce?

Why ride a bike over 60 kilometers to an almost-forgotten old fishing port I’ve visited one hundred times already? Good question. 

Why not? It’s guaranteed to be quiet, peaceful and several flavours of ice cream are sold at the Sand Kastle restaurant. Good answer.

I like travelling no matter the method. By foot, bicycle,  canoe, motorcycle, train or plane. I like travelling a short distance for a few hours (e.g., through Chicago by foot or to Lake Erie by bicycle) or a long distance for several hours (e.g., to Switzerland by plane). The rewards are plentiful along the way and more await at my destination.

[The beach at Port Bruce]

I’m a willing traveller who likes to pack (often too much), unpack, take walk-abouts and scores of pictures and talk to complete strangers when I’ve had enough time playing quiet observer. I like learning a few new things each day away from home and then packing up for the return trip.

I like trying to pack light (one pair of pants) and hanging onto my money. My favourite souvenirs are rocks, tans and photos.

A few days ago (August 24) I bicycled to Port Bruce in order to camp for three nights, read at the beach and enjoy a King Burger at the Sand Kastle. Now that I’m home, and after much careful thought and several complicated mathematical calculations (including one Venn diagram), I give the trip a score of 8 out of 10. 

[Miele bike, CCM trailer and me, ready to go]

About the score: The weather was great, I couldn’t ask for better, I felt my bones relax, and though the broken sign that read “Are Strictly Prohibited On The Beach” probably referred to Alcoholic Beverages, the first cold beer I drank under the spreading arms of twin scrub trees tasted absolutely great. And if it was illegal then it tasted even better. However, a few snags appeared along the way, as did the cold nose of a frisky dog - almost inside my shorts - when least expected.

Please join me below for CHAPTER TWO and more PHOTOS FROM ALONG THE WAY.

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Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants

London to Port Bruce, four days, by bicycle

“I settled on lunch under a shady tree at New Sarum Diner @ 12:45”

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CHAPTER TWO   -   A detour and a free lunch   

I left my house and my anxious wife (“What will I do with all my free time, now that he’s gone?” she wondered.) at 9:45 a.m. on Friday, the 24th of August, and headed to a nearby bike shop to buy pedals with toe clips, but I found it was closed, so I past some time by pumping up the tires on my bike and heavily-loaded trailer, and tapping my feet. 

In all I waited about 15 minutes but couldn’t wait any longer because the thought of riding 60 kilometers weighed heavy on my shoulders, as did the extra pounds of gear I had behind me... compared to a similar trip earlier in the summer. (My large can of Irish Stew with its ‘preformed chunks of meat’ alone felt like five pounds of excess cargo during the first two blocks of pedaling. I decided to keep it on board anyway, along with a lot of other stuff I used once - or not at all - during four days of camping. My packing skills are a work in progress).

“Forget about the pedals,” I said and headed south toward Bradley Avenue, Pond Mills and Wilton Grove Roads. They led me to my favourite route south to Lake Erie, i.e., Old Victoria Sideroad.

Though Old Vic has a few sections still in gravel (the road isn’t called ‘Old’ for no good reason), the hard-packed dirt is a decent ride and the lack of traffic is a welcome relief. When motorcycling to Port Bruce in the past I often used the road at low speed for sight-seeing. I once spotted elderberry bushes in bloom and another time wild turkeys on the run - nearly 50 miles per hour it seemed - in harvested corn fields.

On this day I found it closed due to construction.

[My favourite route is closed]

“Darn it all,” I said, though not politely. “Now I’ll have to take the Belmont Road to New Sarum (on Highway 3).”

On the plus side I would have all paved roads. On the minus side I would have heavier traffic, more noise - compared to birds - and less solitude. And I like solitude. I like stepping off the bike in quiet spots and listening to the wind in the willows, chirp of golden finches and quietness of wide open spaces.

[Sometimes, on a quiet day, I hear corn grow]

Not today, I thought. At least, not until I get to Quaker Rd. south of Highway 3.

My trip diary - it’s always close at hand - records the following: I continued east (RATS!) on Wilton Grove Rd. = busier, w chewed up shoulder. Belmont Rd. was OK w shoulder and I arrived in Belmont @ 11:50 but pressed on (w 2 major hills) to Mapleton. Made good time so settled on lunch under a shady tree @ New Sarum Diner @ approx. 12:45.

According to my well-organized ‘camping menu’, which I kept on a separate piece of paper in my wallet (close to my money, as if to say, “Go easy, man. Stick to some sorta budget”), I planned to buy myself, as some kind of reward for endurance, a nice lunch at the New Sarum Diner, the home of ‘four-penny cheese’ in the not-too-distant past. 

[I planned every meal. But didn’t stick to it!]

But my wife had packed a lunch for me so I relaxed in the shade outside the diner, stuffed my face for free and put the frustration of the detour behind me.   

[In the shade, outside the diner]

Note to readers: I wrote a column in The Londoner (London’s finest community newspaper) several years ago re the New Sarum Diner and their world famous ‘four-penny cheese’. If it wasn’t world famous then, it is now. 

When I find a link to the actual column I will provide it. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it!

Please click here for more PHOTOS FROM ALONG THE WAY.

CHAPTER THREE will appear shortly at this website.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

(2) Discovering the World in One Pair of Pants

PHOTOS FROM ALONG THE WAY

Round trip: London to Port Bruce

“I stopped several times for water and butt breaks.”

“I wasn’t kidding about the hills. Tough sledding.”

“Biking uphill would be easier with less weight in the trailer! And on a motorcycle!”

“Definitely time for lunch (in New Sarum).”

“It’s one hot day.”

“My first view of the lake is over two hours away.”

[Photos by G.Harrison]

Please join me here for CHAPTER THREE  and more PHOTOS FROM ALONG THE WAY.

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Please click here to read TRIP ONE: CHAPTER TWO

Prose: good defensive hockey

[The following was inspired by the excellent display of defensive hockey by Tyler Ferry of the London Knights (OHL) when he shadowed Nail Yakupov of Sarnia Sting on Oct. 30, 2011. A fellow I regularly play hockey against said the game was less enjoyable to watch. I heartily disagreed. gah]

good defensive hockey

stay on him
like dirt on an old dog
like the sticky on warm tape
stay on him

coach repeated his plan to me
stick to him, that number 10
like spit on the sidewalk
like smell on your old man’s shirt
and I stuck to 10 that night

near the end of the first
he hacked my ankle and was sent
to the penalty box - I guess so!
but my team failed to capitalize
and my ankle tightened up
while I shook my head

period one ended, score one each


back on the bench coach leaned in
you keep on him
like burrs on a wool sock
like gum under a kitchen table
and I did, sore ankle and all

I stayed on 10
like grease on a bike chain
like sweat under a leather helmet
and though he managed
two weak shots on net
I got a good one off myself
and I looked dangerous
like I was the one to watch

period two ended, score two each


in the dressing room coach said
stick on 10 some more
you’re doing good out there

but out there, on the ice
I wanted more
I wanted 10 to pay for my ankle
to stick to me for a change
I got my one chance
a minute remaining in the game

as 10 raced down the ice
I leaned into him low
and he lost his quick stride
near the empty penalty box
and though I wanted to
dump him right in it
I stabbed at the puck - got it!
I sent it across ice to my winger
already heading the other way
go! I hollered, go!
and then turned and chased the play
with 10 hot on my tail
I felt rather than heard the words
catch me if you can

after a good deke or two
my winger shot high on net
the puck caromed off the glass
and bounced toward my stick
I felt a sharp tug at my waist
but it didn’t stop me
from slapping at the puck
or following it into the net


I heard the final buzzer
I heard the hoots and hollers
and I screamed too
a throaty yell of youthful
jubilation and relief
and I saw, framed by
goal posts slammed off their moorings
number 10’s back as he stepped
through the gate to his bench

I was glad to see the back of him
but happier still to be gripping
a puck under a leather glove

gah

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Please click here to read prose entitled ‘she and me’ by G. Harrison.

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Prose: slow ride quick death

[“I don’t usually sleep very well when I’m away from home. One morning, during a recent trip to visit my son and his family in Fenelon Falls, I awoke with a start.” gah]

slow ride quick death


in a flash I was awake
in a dark room - still alive
I felt a warm bed cover
on my shoulder
but a hot question
on my startled mind
what happened? I said
perhaps aloud

I closed my eyes
thought backward cautiously
to the scene of the explosive crash
to the sound of my heart
beating in my ears

only seconds earlier I’d been dreaming
driving my car up a small hill
and the only other passenger,
my wife, was making small talk
as we neared the crest
a car appeared
full speed ahead
in our lane, a wide chrome grill
aimed at my eyes


one second left of life
one thought - this is it
one scream - oh no
one impression - surprise absolute
the surprise of arriving
at an unexpected destination unannounced

I opened my eyes
stared at the wall -
still alive

gah

***

I hope this won’t be a recurring dream whenever I visit Fenelon Falls.

Please click here for wee prose more cheerful.

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Prose: Nature’s solace, alone time

7 a.m.
this morning one duck sails south
past the dock, so quietly

last night
a group of seven
a tight-knit band
plied the same waters
and earlier
eleven braved the channel
alive with motored crafts at the time
all shapes and sizes
but none as at home
as this lone duck

7:02 a.m.
it's time for quiet thoughts
time to listen to a line
or verse of nature's prose
writ upon a breeze


["It's time for quiet thoughts... writ upon a breeze": photos GH]

more fishermen will start
their engines soon and rattle by
then the daily din
of more human enterprise
will hold sway and chase
the wary ducks away

but now, with one duck
disappearing from view
it's time for nature's breath
to tell another tale.

gah

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Please click here for a closer look at a few trees.

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Prose: Come to me, old barn

“Come to me, old barn, and I’ll build you a house,

Cozy and warm and fit for a mouse

or family of finches or sparrows dressed brown.

Come to me, old barn, you may soon live in town.”

gah


["Note the light blue trim from barn board": photos GH]

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Please click here to read the post that inspired the prose.

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Prose: “First ice is on the pond”

I slip on rubber boots, the grass feels wet and cold

I step around dry leaves, crisp edges in a fold.

Colours, the oranges and reds, of which I’m fond

Are now subdued, and first ice is on the pond.


[Prose and photos by GH]

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Please click here for Zoom w a View.

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