Letting it all hang out at the Victoria Highland Games

If "Letting it all hang out" rings a bell somewhere, here is the SONG that is responsible for it. And yes, like a lot of other Eric Clapton hits, this one was written by J J Cale!


I owned his records when I was 15 years old (on VINYL :-).

And here is a heart-warming little FLICK by Eric Clapton on Cale's death in 2013.











But enough on that, that doesn't explain the title.










Letting it all hang out in this case is a reference to what presumably goes on under that male garment referred to as  The Kilt.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves.The day starts in the morning. And it starts poorly: when I try to put on my wristwatch, the leather armband disintegrates (all the cycling sweat I guess).

Fortunately my brain is running at a high clock speed this morning and I head to the reception to ask for a stapler.

et voila; I was unsure which way the stapler stapled, so the sharp edges will be removed later.

I go for a morning discovery ride (actually I am looking for a gas station to sell me some cigarettes ;-) and spot yet another reminder why Victoria is considered an old folks town.

The low tide reveals signs of thoughtful and conscientious citizens of this town,

The Empress Hotel. Bringing back memories of when George and I were here ages ago

the houses of P

Signs of China Town

The venue of the Highland Games is only 5 blocks from my motel. Thank you again Karma! I already hear bag pipe music when I lock the bike and I race towards the music once the bike is safe.

Some people have an uncanny feeling for cameras being pointed at them ;-(

From some YouTube watching I had formed the impression that most pipe band members are pasty white and not what one would call cute.  So I take a picture when I seen an exception.

The International Scottish Drum Major competition.  The guy in the top left throws his stick twice as high as anyone else (yes, same one as in the previous picture)

This is what I came here for: The SFU Pipe band, 5 or 6 times World Champion. Well, at least their tent ;-)

The 'Grand stands' are filling in anticipation of the main event

As with most events, the good guys and gals always appear at the very end. In order for beginners to be able to win anything, the pipe world band has competition in 4 or 5 categories.  So the first bands to enter the area are those in the lower categories.

There are a few more beginners or youth bands and this is followed by a break for some more Drum Major competition, which I use to walk around and get some food (NO Haggis, but Filipino curry chicken on rice ;-).

art

Probably no point ENLARGING this picture ;-)

Sometimes one hears bag pipes from all directions. Those performing right now, and various others standing around practising.

In the video you will notice that the FAMOUS and FABULOUS SFU Pipe band is led by no other than the guy whom I photographed at the very beginning. This is also about the time that I find out that he is the World Champion in Scottish Drum Majorism or better-said he is the current World Champion Scottish Drum Major.

There is some time after this to wait for the Medley competition (they play many tunes merged into one instead of just one tune), so I have time to roam the grounds.

A working steam engine

Variation on a theme

I manage to film the medley performance of the SFU pipe band towards the end of the event but even though it is truncated, the file is still too large to upload to Blogger. HERE it is on YouTube.  I leave the event when the sound produced by the perfect interaction between the various pipes drives tears to my eyes.  Better to leave on a high note (Pardon the pun) than have one's memory soiled by something that could happen later!

All day I've been texting Tamil, who recently moved to Victoria and now find out that she lives about 3 blocks away from where the bag pipes played.  I haven't seen her in about 5 years and we meet for a cheap drink and a great chat.   (not my picture; I stole it from the internet; Tamil is FAMOUS ;-)

To Victoria on Victoria Day weekend (or How to beat the ferry overload demon and cycle 80 km)

I would have called the following picture (which I stole off the web) "Good luck getting onto this one, Nanaimo passengers" but the creator of this picture simply called it "Hate BC Ferries".

 

"hate BC Ferries"

So what am I thinking taking a ferry on one of the busiest day of the year on the busiest route?  I've made this mistake before when I was younger and I had to wait 4 hours in Nanaimo to get on a ferry back to the mainland.  Haven't I learned anything?

Actually, I have.  And I no longer hate BC Ferries.  I no longer have to deal with overload waits or have to be there early to make sure I get on a certain ferry.  All things of the past.  Now when I roll over the terminal concrete on my bicycle, I just look at those long lines of cars roasting in the sun (with their engines running to support the AC) or in the cold days of winter (with their engines running to prevent numbness) with a tiny amount of pity but mostly with "Don't whine NOW. YOU wanted to drive a car!"

But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

At 8 am on Saturday morning I feel like crap.  I am actually considering scrapping the whole trip and going back to bed.  But that would also mean staying in this hell-hole of traffic mania and listening to honking idiots all day long. Breakfast at Denny's is consumed not because of its taste or because I feel even the tiniest appetite, but because some part of my brain tells me that I should not attempt to cycle 70 kms without eating properly first.  Doing laundry feels like an overwhelming task, so I leave it until my return and only pack whatever is still clean.  

Having pumped up the tires, waxed the chain, and thrown on the saddle bags, I leave North Vancouver at 9 am.

Halfway over Lions Gate Bridge I realize that I have forgotten the admission ticket for the BC Highland Games, adding 5  km to today's cycling distance. (Short memory needs long legs ;-)

At Burrard station it's time to take the SkyTrain  (It's Saturday today, so the 3-zone ride to Surrey is charged as a 1-zone ride ;-).

I used Google Maps to find the shortest distance from the Tsawassen Ferry Terminal to SkyTrain stations and while 22nd Street is not bad, the Scott Road station is the same distance but less bridges to navigate.

It's still early, so I decide to abandon the train at Joyce station and visit Chantal and my pseudo-nephew Mika.

The censored picture (Chantal is very picky about pictures of her)

After surprisingly good Peach Crepes at Bino's, I hop back onto the SkyTrain and ride to Scott Road Station. I instantly know that I should have taken the

This whole area is a composite of concrete. highways, and large industrial areas.

The first part of the journey is along a highway.  The signs might call it a bike route, but by the amount of gravel and auto parts strewn along the asphalt under my tires it could be called a junk yard. 

 

 
 

Google wants me to stay on this route, but I take a detour along River Road. A very quaint name, but it’s home to more of the same atrocious space-consuming industry.  But better than the highway.

 

Crossing Delta is a bit nicer in scenery, but now the wind blows hard from ahead and it carries soil from the many tractors working the fields.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My BC ferries card gets the bike on the boat for free, and 5 minutes after I reach the berth I was directed to, the bicycles frantically rush over the gangplank to board the ship.  Perfect timing!  Try that in a car ;-)

The ferry leaves at 2:00 sharp, leaving only 20 cars behind.  Not bad for a long weekend but then this ferry runs once an hour instead of the 2 hour interval for ferries in Horseshoe Bay.  We’re supposed to reach Swartz Bay at 3:35, at which time I am looking at another 30 km bike ride, so I waste no time finding an outlet to plug in the charger of the bike battery.

 

 
In the cafeteria I consume my BC Ferries favourite, Cheese cake with strawberries and Earl Grey tea.  Prices went up but this cake is still worth it.

I get scared for a moment when a shrill alarm sounds somewhere on the ferry, my behind on the chair tells me that the ship is executing a sharp turn, which is confirmed by the horizon in one of the windows dipping very noticeably.  Trying to avoid a whale?  Or a Russian submarine?

 

 I had taken Lochside Trail to Sidney last year when doing a trip with George but I didn't realize that it extends all the way to Victoria.

 

 

 
Passing  cyclists are amazed that I would take a picture of the following public bike maintenance installation.  I've never seen anything like it !  Now if they had a power outlet to charge an e-bike battery this would truly be Nirvana.

30 kms from Swartz bay to 500 meters from my hotel along a bicycle only route.  How cool is that?  And car drivers in Vancouver dare whine about separate bike lanes. Get a grip!

First look in the hotel bathroom mirror. Storm-Do

The hotel receptionist feels that there are too many cars in Victoria (visit Vanocuver more often, then you know what a toxic amount of cars looks like) and recommends a restaurant in the nearby Ramada Hotel. Ya right!  I don't want hotel food !  A quick Google Maps search (Did you know that you can type in the search window something like "Thai restaurant near xxx Hotel" and  it displays all the Thai places  near the  specified location?) directs me to Thai Green Elephant restaurant in Esquimalt.  It's not particularly bad, but I've had better.

On the way to the restaurant an SUV sloww down beside me (cyclists HATE cars driving at the same speed next to them!) and when I finally look into the open passenger side window, the driver and his wife are adamant to tell me that I'm not wearing a helmet.  Oh GREAT. I've arrived in the Nanny Capital of BC!

And if I'd gone to the Ramada, I wouldn't have crossed that gorgeous gorge, would I have?

Lawn mowers have feelings too

Summer time is lawn-mowing time.  I hate the water- and labour-intensive green areas that really should be operating as vegetable gardens.  But Grandma likes her lawn.  So I mow it for her.

As I did yesterday.

Memories: that evil pull cord and the rusted exhaust pipe

20 years ago Grandma had had enough of an old Briggs & Stratton motor mower.  You could pull on that bloody starter cord for half an hour and the motor still wouldn't start.  It wasn't the chore of mowing the lawn that everyone dreaded; it was getting that evil mower started.  So Grandma bought a Black&Decker electric mower.




I had finished the front lawn and was about 60% through the rear lawn when I noticed that there were individual blades of grass still standing where I had just mowed.  That's what you get when you don't sharpen the blade for 20 years !
I called up to Grandma, who was watching me from her balcony "It doesn't mow that well any more !"  I didn't even have time to explain to Grandma what was lacking in the mower's performance, when the noise of the blade on grass died down and I noticed black smoke coming out of the top cover.

I had heard that overheating and the consequent burning of the varnish insulation between the wiring can cause a burn-out, but no one ever mentioned bruised feelings as a cause.

Where electric motors go when they die

As an afterthought:  Maybe that old Briggs & Straton would have started right away if we had given it a friendly pat on the back before we pulled that starter cord?

365 days. Such a long time. Such a short time. And another one bites the dust.

George died one year ago last Friday.

365 days. That's a whole friggin year.  That is 365 days of realizing at some point of every day that he is no longer here and starting to ball. Because it still feels like he should come through the door any minute.

If I run down a hill imitating a plane these days, people just give me weird looks.  Having someone that finds your strange quirks cute is priceless .

George got his very first passport one week before this picture. This trip was to be first of many. But it ended up being his only one.

On the way to Rotterdam. Donkey !

Some of George's relatives believe that he is with me in some way and sees what I see. If that is true in some way he has seen places in 8 countries these past 365 days, including Cologne, Antwerp, Bruges, Rotterdam, Amsterdam, San Francisco, Kona, Paris, Saint Malo, Puerto Vallarta, Varadero, LA. He's also seen 4 Neil Young performances during that year; far too many for his taste ;-)

One of the many things I learned from George: Talk to animals and they will LOVE you up!  When I hopped back on the bike after this picture, donkey galloped along on his side of the fence, his whole body bucking and his hind legs kicking at unseen targets in the air.  He was having a blast !

But I'd be lying if I stated that my travelling is being motivated by being a world tour guide for the departed. Running away probably comes closer to the truth.

George would have been happy about the attendance at a memorial food feast at his grandmother's place on Saturday. 30 people ranging in age between 1 and 80 were there. Despite me being the only attendee without a trace of First Nations blood in the veins, I got more hugs in those few hours than from my blood relatives in the last few years.  This feeling of being welcome was confirmed when Kookum, George's Grandmother and matriarch and trunk of that giant family tree said to me upon me leaving "Now you know where to find your family".

The day ended with yet another reminder not to postpone things too long.  For about 6 years I have been helping Frau Besuch, an older Serbian/German/Canadian lady with her German tax issues.  Every time I visited, she baked a cake and made Turkish coffee, which we sipped while we both smoked cigarettes.  She had always asked me to visit for Christmas, but I had maintained a distance. But on Saturday it was her 90th birthday.  I picked up the phone and dialled her number.
 "The number you have dialled is not in service".  Never in my life has that sentence had such a final ring to it.   Good bye, Frau Besuch, it was a privilege  and  a pleasure knowing you. Evil had to hide when we were pointing our fingers at it during those caffeine-, nicotine-and cake-inspired meetings.

And yes, life is probably like a box of chocolates. I have been lucky enough to be able to pick my favourite tasting ones for a decade. But now they're gone.  But it serves us well to remember that 1) Some people get a box with only crappy chocolate and 2) the rest of the stuff in my box might not be my favourite taste but it still is chocolate ;-)

Im Westen nichts Neues (All quiet on the western front)

And yes, the title is to be read as a double entendre.











I've been back in Vancouver for a whole week now and I'm BORED. I miss seeing something entirely new to me every day ;-)  But I also miss the warmth of both the climate and the people of LA. 

For the other side of the coin: Like in the brilliant 1927 book of the same title as this post by E.M. Remarque,  the little everyday violence doesn't even get noticed anymore against the impossible-to-understand background of large scale massacres being splashed over the news on an almost daily basis.

Just read in a German magazine that fighter jets of the US-led alliance (what does that actually mean?) flew a BIG bombing run in Syria and killed ~50 civilians and a few IS fighters.  Since the Canadian Air Force is part of this, should I feel much safer as a Canadian resident today?
Do I want to feel safer at the cost of 50 civilian lives?  Are those lives worth SO MUCH less that they can be sacrificed for 'our safety'?  This question gets MUCH MUCH thornier if you don't believe that enhanced security of North American citizens is the real substantiation to be used for those bombing runs,  After all, history tells us that wars are rarely fought for humanitarian reasons; Financial gains for large entities (be they kingdoms, corporations, or whatever) are much more likely motivators.

Kobane (yes, that is/was a human being and one bomb)

Then citizens are told to FEAR VIOLENCE (or is that violins?) at the May Day Demonstrations in the middle of Vancouver.  But if you read the article carefully, the VIOLENCE discussed is people lighting a fire in the middle of an intersection.  That ain't violence, that's violins !  The day after (today), radio and TV report that Police acted vigorously against OPEN LIQUOR.  Canada pulverizes civilians in Syria with bombs from jets, whose pilots aren't really risking that much (Aren't we supposed to be on David's side and not on that of Goliath?), and Canadian Police acts against people carrying an open can of beer. Please step forward all the people who voted for this madness in the last election!  

As a side note: Do travellers still sew Canadian Flags on their backpacks (hoping the world will remember the days when Canada was considered a peacekeeping nation) or is that considered to evoke the opposite reaction these days?

Maybe a gifted graphic artist should erase the green jet in the stolen picture on the left and replace it with a bright red Maple Leaf?  

This would create a much delayed up-to-date version of the sticker that many world travellers attach to their backpacks!

No longer reccomended (Thanks Mr.Harper!)

And the saddest violence is the one that will never be reported anywhere. Lions Gate Bridge was closed to traffic for just a short time around 11 am yesterday.  From the bike path I had a good view of the Coastguard hovercraft emerging from below the bridge, most likely with yet another fished-out body on board.  This is happening much too often these days.  The everyday violence in this metropolis of concrete without pity claimed another victim.  As Neil Young sings "How could people get so unkind? ".

April 2014 on another bridge