Poppers

Today's post is dedicated to someone very important to me. He's had a profound influence on my life. Its because of him that I have such a great love for the outdoors. His stories about hitch hiking in his youth inspired me to take risks that I may not have otherwise. Today's post is dedicated to my Dad.

When I was a child, we lived in a very small town in South-Western Manitoba. My brother and I had total freedom to run, play with our friends, bike, or do whatever. My favourite thing to do though was spend time with my Poppers at a creek just outside of town. This is where I fell in love with nature. He would take me on little walks in the woods and show me things I hadn't seen before like black swans, beaver, eagles. We even found a plant fossil once. We spent countless summer days catching minnows and hopping on rocks across the creek. Those moments inspired me to look for more and appreciate the beauty of he world around me.

I remember the first time I saw a porcupine. It was early spring and there was still a bit of snow on the ground. We walked a ways and I stopped under a tree. Dad chuckled and warned me to move. “Why?”, I asked. “Look at the snow”, he replied. I looked down and at my feet were little yellow patches in the snow. “Now look up” he said. There, sitting in the tree, was a chubby blonde porcupine. We had so many precious little experiences like that.

When we were a bit older, we moved to the city. We lost a lot of freedom and I really struggled to adjust. One thing that always made me feel better though were days spent in the park or fishing with my Dad. To this day, he's still my favourite fishing partner. He taught me how to rig a line, hook on bait, and cast. I used to be very finicky about touching fish so he'd always take them off the line for me. Fire coffee was a must on every trip and if it ever rained, he would break out the red-neck gazebo ( a lean to made from a blue tarp).
 
  If that wasn't enough, my Dad also had a lot to do with my love of travel. We would spend hours sitting and talking over hot cups of coffee. He would talk about all the places he'd been and different jobs that he had. Most often he would talk about BC and the mountains there and their unparalleled beauty. Before we came along, my Dad was quite the nomad. He hitch hiked through Western Canada in a time where sticking out your thumb was much more common and unlike me, he did it alone. Once he was even picked up by the great Lanny McDonald.

 What I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't be the person I am now if it weren't for my Dad. I'm sure of that. Even though he worries, he's always supported my little escapades and helped to inspire new ones. Thanks Poppers.

A Very Bohemian Backpacker's Hostel

A little over a month ago I took a trip back to BC. I was going stir crazy in Winnipeg and just needed a break. I quit my job, cashed my check, and bought a Greyhound ticket. The ride was stressful enough having to deal with Fish Lips. When I got to Vancouver not a single hostel had any space. Turns out the last week of August is one of the busiest for travel in the area. I skipped over to Vancouver Island for a few days knowing that even if the hostels were full camping in the city parks is free and legal from sun down to sun up.

After a few days on the Island, I headed back to Vancouver hoping my luck would be better. It wasn't. I walked from hostel to hostel. All were full. All recommended other hostels. Other hostels except one I will not name, the one that I wound up at. Every single desk clerk I talked to said not to go there. But it was that or sleep on the beach. Looking back I would have honestly been better off on the beach. I didn't take their advice and instead headed to said hostel desperate for a bed.

I walked in to the overwhelming smell of smokes and weed. Someone walked by wearing nothing but a towel, winked, and said “Welcome to the Hostel”. Charming. Check in was supposed to be at 11am but the desk clerk was nearly a half hour late. I got my keys, a grungy set of mismatched sheets, and headed up to my room. A double bed for only $35 per night plus a $10 deposit. Toilet paper was an extra dollar. By far the lowest hostel price in Van.

The room seemed actually kind of adorable at first. It was furnished with a four post bamboo bed, a dresser, an old wood table and a small counter with sink and mirror. As I threw down my bag and sat at the table I could hear opera music coming in through the window. I was nice. I sat for a while to catch my breath and enjoy the music and then wandered through Van to meet up with an old friend.

When I came back I decided I would hang out in the kitchen to see if I could meet some people. The kitchen has a lot of art that I assume was made by patrons and a little shrine to Jimmi Hendricks. One corner had instruments like djembes and didgeridoos for guest use. I walked in to a man spinning a large kitchen knife in his fingers and chanting “Rooobeeeerrtooo”. Creepy. I sat down at the dining room table and chatted with a few hostellers. Nearby on the computer, a guy with a massive tray of dope sat rolling giant joints. He and the other fellow got into an argument and I decided it wasn't really my scene.

I mostly stuck to my room after that but even wandering through the halls I noticed odd things. One hallway with a fire escape had been blocked off by planters and there was bedding on the floor. They were renting it out as a room! The top of the staircase was also blocked off as a room. Even a patio had been covered by a tarp and made into a room. They tucked people anywhere and everywhere.

Sleeping that night was not peaceful. There was a party right outside my door but that wasn't really a big deal. It was the creepy crawlies that got me. The place obviously had bedbugs and some other type of beetle was escaping from the wall behind the mirror. That's what I could see. I don't want to think about what I couldn't.

The next day proved to be just as odd as the last. As I sat in my room drinking coffee and listening to the french chansons playing over the PA system, a window in the same courtyard as mine opened. Someone yelled something and then jumped out the window onto the tarp covered patio where someone else was staying. The jumper was obviously on something. He just said he was “High on life” and then ran out of the hostel. The place definitely had some characters.

Needless to say I was glad when I finally checked out. Next time I'll sleep on the beach.

Bike Jam

 Last month I had the pleasure of taking part in a Winnipeg Bike Jam and it was the most magnificent display of bike love I have ever seen.

Bike Jam is a massive night time bike ride that happens once every month or so in the summer. The route is posted the night before or day of the ride and changes every time with route map and itinerary available online. This ride in particular was centred around an all night art event in Winnipeg called “Nuit Blanche”. It was the last and largest ride of the season with riders numbering nearly 1000.

As a first time jammer I wasn't quite sure what to expect. To be honest, I almost didn't go. I started the ride an hour late at the Frame Art Gallery on Ross st. I rolled up just as the pack arrived and they were easy to spot. A few hundred cyclists were clamouring for poles and fence space to lock up. Everyone was smiling and laughing, the lights on their bikes blinking red and white. I could hear music pumping in the gallery parking lot and see swarms of people flooding into the gallery. I met up with friends, grabbed a quick beer and headed for the gallery.

The gallery was absolutely packed! I saw a few interesting abstracts but wasn't overly impressed at first. There were so many people that it was hard to have enough time or a clear view to appreciate anything. Then I saw the Purple Room. Blue and purple lights dimly lit the room as a DJ pumped tunes at the front. At the far end was a large canvas, paint, and brushes for visitors to get creative. I added my own little tag and moved on to two more large canvases where individual artists were painting. One landscape and one abstract.

After watching the artists for a few minutes, I ducked out into the parking lot in search of familiar faces. This is when I really started to understand the enormity of the event. Everywhere I looked there were throngs of cyclist from many different groups. Commuters, polo players, trial bikers, tall bikes, unicycles and so much more! Finally a city where the bike community isn't divided. It was even more impressive to see the group leaving the gallery. Throngs of cyclists mounted their bikes and poured back onto the street.

I tucked into the middle of the pack. Looking over my shoulder were bikes as far as I could see down the street. I wanted to see the whole pack at once so I wove my way to the front where a beardly man was blaring tunes from speakers mounted on a recumbent trike. Two cargo trikes from Natural Cycle provide the music and it is these two bikes that really make the ride. The atmosphere they create is so lively and energetic. Our bustling bunch wove through the Exchange District to Old Market Square. Once again, everyone piled up their bikes. Some people danced by the trikes, others milled about the square cracking cans of brew. I made the mistake of only bringing one beer and had to make a run to the nearest vendor, the Woodbine. It took so long I almost missed the pack as they headed for the next destination.

We rode down Higgins to a park beside the Louise Bridge. The pack moves pretty slow but there are so many people that some run into each other and wipe out. This is where I really started to notice. Volunteers were stopped periodically between the left and right lanes instructing riders to stay to the right but some were speeding up the left lane. A friend of mine collided with one of these volunteers at full speed and bailed hard and separated his shoulder. Seeing him hit the pavement made me regret leaving my helmet at home. Another friend mentioned a girl who clipped his handlebars on the last ride and fell so hard that she got a concussion and had to be taken to the hospital. Pro tip, wear a helmet!


From the park we crossed the Louise Bridge and headed towards the Saint Boniface Basilica via the Whittier Park trails. Taking the trails was nice but served as a terrible bottle neck. I felt bad for the guys on tall bikes having to stop and dismount so often. As we rolled up to the Basilica I couldn't help but feel ecstatic. The Basilica is my favourite building in Winnipeg and has long been a regular hang out of mine.  As part of Nuit Blanche, swings were installed in the empty archways. The sounds of laughter and tolling bells echoed through the yellow glowing courtyard. I danced a bit and then sat with friends in the grass drinking cheap beer and taking in the atmosphere around me.

At this point the riders started to split apart. The Basilica was a high point for me so after a short stop at Old Market square I called it a night and headed home. I will never forget the sight of hundreds upon hundreds of cyclists of all types winding their way through Downtown Winnipeg. Thanks to everyone that made my bike jam experience extra special. 

Want to see a great video from the Bike Jam?  Click here!

Fish Lips

    About a month ago I took a trip back to British Columbia. I decided to travel by Greyhound for the first time in four years after a previous and equally bad experience. Every time I took the bus, there was some nut that caused trouble. This trip turned out to be no better. This trip had fish lips.

    To travel from Winnipeg to Vancouver by Greyhound took 37 very long hours with a stop in Calgary along the way. That's where Fish Lips got on. This middle aged man got on and sat down in 6 different seats before choosing the one beside me. He struck me as odd but didn't say anything so I thought it would be ok. About 5 hours later he decided to ask me about the book I was reading. We chatted for a little while but it was difficult. He was Mandarin and his english wasn't very good. I talked long enough to be polite and then decided to go to sleep. I shut off the light, closed my eyes, and let the highway put me to sleep. What I woke up to was quite a shock.

    I woke up to this man kissing me right on the mouth! This total stranger! Shocked, I yelled, “HEY!”. His reaction? He turned around and tried to pretend he was sleeping! The nerve! I yelled again and said “That is NOT ok”. Just then we pulled into Revelstoke and the moment the bus stopped I told the driver what happened. “Was he at least a good kisser?”, the driver asked trying to calm me down. It didn't work. He asked if I would like to call the police but I declined. I asked simply for them to move him to another seat so I could sleep and they did. Relieved, I put my feet up on the extra seat and went back to sleep. But it didn't last.

    Someone was trying to shimmy onto the extra seat beside me. I felt them moving my feet. I opened my eyes and it was the same guy! Fish lips! I yelled so loud that I woke everyone on the bus. Everyone stared as I yelled in this little man's face but he refused to move. I had to threaten calling the police before he did move and after that I didn't sleep another wink. I have since sworn off the Greyhound. I will not make the same mistake again.