Naked and Afraid (without the naked part) - My Weekend Off the Grid (kinda ... not really ....)

Some of you may recognize this as the Patullo Bridge, which spans the mighty Fraser River between Surrey and New Westminster - some of you may actually have read about Breehy-hinny-brinny-hoohy-hah and me crossing this bridge a couple of years ago - but this time around, this bridge was just the beginning of different kind of adventure.

With Steve at the wheel, two kiddies in the back seat, me in the passenger seat with Charlie on my lap, and a trunk full of camping gear, the little Chevy Cobalt didn't know what was ahead. The views were lovely, a sparkling Howe Sound and snow capped mountains - this was the Sea to Sky Highway, and we were heading to the scenic area between Shannon Falls and Cat Lake - in other words, Squamish.

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This is probably one of the west coast's most famous landmarks - The Chief. Its proper name is Stawamus Chief, and although many people have climbed to the top, I had no intention of doing so, not even a little bit. 

We did, however, plan on visiting Shannon Falls. I tried to get a pic from the moving car, but was a bit unsuccessful. No problem though - we would come back and walk up there after lunch. Nothing like a nice leisurely stroll through the forest on a pretty April day. One would think.

We headed to the town of Squamish for a Mountain Burger, as Steve thought we might need the extra boost of protein and carbs to get through the next few harrowing hours. Steve and Chris went in to order take-out - Lizzie and I stayed in the car with Charlie. After hours (it seemed) we drove the huge bag of aroma back to Shannon Falls park for a picnic.

It was a bit chilly, and I had to go back to the car for my jacket. Just a friendly reminder that it is not summer yet, no matter how pretty the sky looks.
These two fussy eaters had no trouble demolishing their cheeseburgers, which was a good thing as dinner would be pretty late. Sometimes it's hard to start a fire in the rain.  Just  sayin'.

The park is in a beautiful setting. (I only now noticed the hair on that gal on the left. Wow.)

Poor Charlie. He wanted his own burger but had to share mine. He does not like the car much, but he sure loves the destinations!

The trail to the Falls starts out pretty gently. 

Lots of photo ops for the two young'uns. Meanwhile, Steve and Charlie were way up ahead, so we had to do lots of catch-up. He takes after his dad in some ways.

Mmmm. Looks like maybe a bit of elevation in my future.

But so much colour and texture, thanks to Nature.

Some Shannon Falls. Just spectacular.

But this was just the first lookout. Aren't most of us just a happy looking bunch?

Stairs. Oh well. What are a few stairs to someone who always walks up escalators?

I was so thankful for any excuse to stop and rest my burning thigh muscles. I just adore old rotten tree trunks. Really.

More water falls ....

It's really hard to capture the beauty of a waterfall, at least when I'm behind the camera. The roar and the spray .... God can make much more than trees. Wow. Splendor.  This was on the third lookout (I think.) So now it was time to go downhill.

Lizzie and her heart-shaped rock. 

Chris and his stick.

I figured I'd better move a bit faster before this happened to me .... but I love the moss on the trees.

And on another path we went. This one we hoped would lead to the Upper Shannon Falls trail, and I didn't really want to think much about that, but am game for anything. Obviously.

We weren't that far behind .... pant pant puff .... and it's pretty level here anyway, just lots of cool things to look at. Forest and moss and stuff.  You know.

Hmm. Sometimes two paths do diverge, and it is tough to decide which one to take. Since we saw another couple skirt this orange fence because they said it would cut 20 minutes off .... we followed. Did I mention this was a young couple? I'm not even close.

Sort of kind-off steps built in.

But not everywhere.  Chris and I would stop and let people pass. He was kind enough to wait with the old un - Steve, Lizzie (the mountain goatess) and Charlie were way ahead.

The more we climbed ..... the more the awesomeness got. (Great grammar, I know, but who cares?) However, we soon came to the spot where this trail joined to the trail going up the Chief. We (I) didn't realize the Upper Shannon Falls trail branched off the Chief's trail way farther up. But what the heck ....

After walking up about 5000 stairs, we come to this lookout point ....

When I realized this was just the beginning of the climb, I wimped out and said No more, no more, my legs are sore, my knees both ache .... for goodness sake. (Well, I didn't say that out loud. I'm not one to complain.) So we head down these stairs .... Chris and I head to the parking lot at the base of the Chief, and Steve and Lizzie head back to Shannon Falls parking lot to pick up the car and rescue us.

No Shit, Sherlock.

So now it was to find a place to camp for the night. We found the turnoff for Cat Lake, just a little dirt road to a provincial park. We hadn't really decided to camp at a park, but parked in the lot for a walk around the water.

Camping there would have meant lugging all our gear down hill, and hauling all the food related stuff back to the car before settling down for the night. It's not a good idea to have bacon and granola bars in or near your tent in bear country, so I'm told. However, our minds got pretty made up when the first view of the lake also included a bunch of teenagers with a slew of tents, an assault of music, and a lot of coolers filled with whatever one fills coolers with when you're far away from your parents.

Lizzie had to go to the Ladies Room, so I went back with her. Yes, these hole in the ground ones with God knows how many creatures lurking under the seat. Thank heavens I never had the urge.

By the time we caught up to the guys, they were (or were trying to) skip rocks on the water.

We jumped onto this floating jetty. Sometimes I wish my camera was always on duty, for I would have loved to have a picture of Lizzie when she sat on the end ....

... and decided to let her feet hang down. Up to her ankles in Cat Lake water. Oops.

Not only did Steve help Chris bridge the gap between shore and jetty ...

... he also offered to toss him in.  Chris wasn't very impressed.

In fact, no one seemed very thrilled about the jetty adventure.

Poor Lizzie. 

Oh well, So much for the lake. We hopped aboard the car again and headed up the road. Which turned into a logging road. Which had a sign saying that this particular logging road was not being tended to. Which meant potholes and gullies and god knows what. Remember, we were in a Chevy Cobalt. I'm sure all the 4x4s and trucks were really impressed.

We finally found our spot to camp. It was just before we reached an impossible for our car to cross washout across the road, but after a 15-point turnaround on a narrow 'road' with mountains on one side and gully on the other (which happened to be my side) we headed back to our spot.

First thing was to raise the tents. This didn't look quite right.

But thanks to Steve's know how, we soon had our bedrooms already for night time. My major priority was to have them close to the car so we'd be able to dart into safety when the bears came by.

Meanwhile, we kept hearing this really weird noise in the woods on the other side of the road. This was on the valley side, so we knew whatever monster was whooo whoooo whooo whoo oo oo whooing wouldn't be able to reach us without us hearing it clamber through the trees, but it was still very unsettling. And no, it wasn't an owl. It was definitely some kind of wildlife animal, possibly even a Sasquatch. The fact that it was a very consistent call and lasted all evening wasn't reassuring - anything that had the stamina to produce such a loud and terrifying noise was no doubt a terrifying creature. (It did stop after dark, though, so we were just hoping it had settled down in its den for the night.)

Road looking up from our  camp ...

Road looking down from our camp. We scavenged both sides for downfall branches, sticks, etc for our fire. You wouldn't believe how much fuel we'd need to feed a fire until bedtime, aka as dark. Steve does have a wonderful lantern, but it stayed back home in the garage. Alongside his folding saw.

Path to the bathroom, which raises another question: Do grandmas pee in the woods? Well, I'd rather pee in the woods than use these roadside/park outhouses with cavernous pits staring up at my butt. One must just remember to face uphill and spread out these feet. All is good.

Meanwhile, back at the base, it was time to get a fire going. This was about the time the first rain shower started. 

Coaxing that little flame. Our little rack is all ready to cook our evening meal. 

Believe me, where there's smoke there isn't necessarily fire.

But finally! Nailed it!

Meanwhile, a cold little girl with cold wet feet waited patiently for heat.

... and her sneakers and socks were the first things on the grill. Along with the butter. Reminder to self: Next time bring Becel.

Steve prepared the wienies, and I got the Heinz beans in the pot ....

Because the lantern was back in Surrey, and we had to save enough firewood for the morning, we headed into our tents before it got really dark. The fact that it was pissing down rain made it impossible to count the thousands of stars we knew were hanging in the sky, anyway. 

So we drifted off to the sound of a thousand raindrops on the roof of our tent, and awoke about 6am when a kind person roaring by in his vehicle tooted the horn just so we'd know he was up and at'em while we were sleeping the day away. And of course he awoke the monster in the woods too. 

So I woke this little monster, but about an hour later.

 At this point I checked the temperature on my phone - it was a lovely balmy 2 degrees. No wonder I was frigging frozen, my sleeping bag was only meant for 5 degrees. Brrrr. When I reached for my jacket, I found it at my feet - against the edge of the tent. Great. Wet jacket.

However, not to be deterred by anything as trivial as hypothermia, I asked Steve to help haul me to my feet (remember yesterday's hike?), wrapped a Lions' blankie around my shoulders, and headed to the washroom. Steve, meanwhile, got the fire going again. 

We just needed a little fire to heat up hot chocolate water and perc some campfire coffee.

By now the temp had risen considerably, and there was lots of traffic heading up country with dirt bikes and skidoos, making Steve incredibly wishful. Everyone waved at us going by, and of course we waved back.
Some gave us the peace sign - Lizzie asked what the two fingers meant. Steve told her. Then she asked What do three fingers mean? And Steve said, It means Read between the lines.  I don't think she got it. I did though. I am still smrt. 

And we were lucky enough to actually see some wildlife! Besides the monster in the forest, we had heard the flutter of a big bird's wings last night, and I heard it very close to my tent early this morning. I figured it might have been a buzzard checking to see if the bears had left any parts, but Steve said big birds don't flutter their wings. Makes sense. Most big birds I see glide.
This slug drew in his horns when I took his picture, guess he was camera shy. I did go looking for him while I was drinking my coffee, but couldn't find him. Maybe he's on the bottom of my shoe ... or heaven forbid, in one of our sleeping bags.

Ooooh, coffee. A bit weak, but who knows how much coffee goes into a percolator? I use a Tassimo.. Doesn't everyone?

The hot chocolate, however, got rave reviews.

I'm hoping this video works - it's a short clip of part of our journey back to civilization. I was holding the phone very still - but the road was incredibly bumpy. The driver was incredible. If I had to drive down I would have just sat on the side of the road and cried.

And of course - what better way to end a wilderness adventure but with a stop at the Golden Arches ....

... and a Sausage and Egg McMuffin ... and a real coffee!

Huge thanks to Steve for an amazing weekend. Huge thanks to Penny for covering for me at work. 

Only 47 years ago ....

When I was young and wise, second year universary student and not so smrt when it  came to time-management, I realized about 9 o'clock one night I had an English assignment due the next day. This was before the computer age, so I sat with my pen in hand and whipped this up. Looks like I really loved that silly old semi-colon!

THE END

The white Ford flew along the highway, a dazzling blur beneath the sun's unrelenting haze. Inside, the man held the wheel savagely with his right hand; the other hung numbly at his side, a small trickle of blood dripping from it to the seat. He pressed angrily on the accelerator every few seconds, making the car jerk forward in a movement not unlike a hiccup.

His heart raced along as if it were chasing the car; the hand at the wheel turned into rubber as he increased its grip. Thoughts tripped around his brain, enticing his memory with the silent damnation of his conscience. No one would find out. Surely he had cleaned up quickly and thoroughly? Dear God, he thought. It wasn't me. I never did it. Not me .....!

A car wormed past him on the narrow strip of road which curved around a lonely marsh. He shoved the accelerator to the floor. He must not let the driver of the other car see the soft bundle under the grey army blanket.

He saw it, he saw it, the man said to himself. It's all over. Help me, Father!

He jerked his head around 'til he could see the blanket on the rear seat. Suddenly the smell of blood and gas seemed to explode in his lungs; he slammed on the brakes and lunged out of the car, retching horribly in a ditch by the side of the road.

He couldn't go back to the car. Even here in the fresh air he could feel the smell of stale blood encompass him, smother him. His pulse pounded in his temples; his brain reeled. He began to run into the marsh. His feet sank into the damp, wet carpet of moss and grass, stumbling over lifeless tree stumps and dead bracken. He was again reminded of death; the nauseating odor of the bundle seemed to weave its way to him and permeate his body. He fell into the imaginary clutch of its power; slowly, silently, he sank, dead like, to the ground.

He was unconscious. The blinding light inside his head dimmed down to become a rifle reflecting the sun in his eyes. The child stood by him, tugging his sleeve, begging him to let it hold the rifle. The woman stood facing him. They were arguing again. As usual, the child was on its father's side. the woman shouted.

'No, you are absolutely NOT taking that kid on your hunting trip!'

The man smiled, sneering at her. He always won in the end. He told her, 'Your lipstick is smeared.'

She lunged at him, pushing him down, fighting him. The rifle dropped at the child's feet. The man cursed. The woman caught his arm between his teeth and bit it with all her strength. Nothing mattered anymore. Blood sprang from his arm and stained her face, but she hung to him, claiming his blood as her own. The child screamed and picked up the rifle, chanting in a sing-song voice Kill her, kill her, kill her....

It played with the rifle, and the bullet pounced out. The child reared back and sank to the ground.

The woman's grip slackened. Her own blood joined that of the man's. And she died.

...

The sun began to set over the marsh. The man stirred for a moment, then opened his eyes. His wild dream had left his limbs fatigued and useless; blood trickled from the deep narrow wound in his arm, dying the grass a rich purple in the sunset's reflection.

A wild cat smelled the odor of blood and ran towards its source. He was hungry. He saw the man and sprang.. the man screamed.

So there it is. I got an A on this and the prof had it typed out for all her students. Silly me, I should have insisted on a stipend. Oh well, I was only 18 ....

It's a Story! I wrote another story! Yeah!

After 40 years of marriage, you'd think he'd learn by now not to drive past a garage sale when I'm in the passenger seat, but yesterday he did. He thinks i have enough boxes in the basement already, he thinks i have enough books, enough records, enough everything .... when I tell him he has enough beer, he usually shuts up.

Anyway, I can drive, so when we got back home and unloaded the groceries, I just turned right around and headed out again.

'Where ya off to now?'
'Nowhere.'

Seemed as good a response as any.

Of course he knew where I was going. It was just as well for him to go clear away a spot in the basement. However, he didn't know that this was going to be the last time I'd head out for an elusive treasure.

The weird thing was, I drove around for almost an hour, backtracking, detouring, my brain spinning as fast as the tires on the truck, and couldn't find the damn house. And it shouldn't have been hard to find, not a weathered  barnlike edifice that stretched from fence to fence in a rambling fashion, a tall tower sprouting from the middle like a giant beanstalk. I couldn't believe I had never noticed it before, and thought there should have been a whisper of fog shadowing the giant elms bracketing it. I was just about ready to give up and go home empty handed, when all of a sudden, I noticed the silhouette of the tower against the huge harvest moon.

I was just as surprised to find the gates wide open, and extra lights hanging over the outdoor tables. There didn't seem to be any other prowlers there, nor did there seem to be a seller, but I parked anyway, and headed over.

I wasn't surprised to see the regular stuff - chipped dinnerware, tarnished flatware, boxes of shoes tangled up in a last dance, but one thing did catch my eye. It was an old box radio, the kind my grandpa listened to way back in the days of the Great War, and right away, I knew it was going home with me. Assuming, I thought, if the price is right.

'How much is it worth to you?' Well, I almost jumped right out of my skin. I don't know how, or from where, but he had sneaked up to my right shoulder, and I could only thank God I hadn't peed my pants right then and there.

I turned and looked up ... and up ... at his face. He seemed to be around 7' tall, but then, I always swore I'd make a lousy witness. Sleek locks of black hair surrounded pale cheeks and a pointed chin; a high seamless forehead sat above two thin eyebrows, and eyes as dark as a raven's wing stared
unblinking at my face. A shiver of cold air danced around my ankles, and for once in my life I was rendered speechless. Sort of.

'Um ... um .... ' I stepped back. He stepped forward. I had the crazy thought that he was keeping me in his shadow, but even though he was standing in front of a hanging light, there didn't seem to be a shadow. I turned my head around slightly, just enough to see my cowardly freaked-out shadow shaking warily behind me. I blurted out, 'I've only got $20, would you take $20 for it?'

He finally stepped back, and grunted. Or laughed. I'm not sure which. 'Yes, madam, $20 was my asking price. With pleasure.'

I grabbed $20 from my ass pocket, and he reached over, picked up the radio, and passed it to me.

'A fair trade is no robbery,' he continued, 'I wish you many years of listening pleasure. But remember, what was, will always be, and what is to be, will always be.'

I almost threw the money into his hand, and hightailed it to the truck. He had frightened the bejeesuz out of me, and let me tell ya - I was pretty glad to get home.

For once, my hubby was a tiny bit interested in my find. I placed it on the only available space on my kitchen counter (I'm an appliance junkie), and plugged it in an outlet. After a few seconds, a faint hum eminated from the front speaker.

Grabbing my readers, I popped them on the end of my nose and bent down to see the dial, really wanting to get the sounds of the Golden Oldie station drifting from this baby. However, this vintage dial didn't have numbers, so finding YAH(Young At Heart, fyi)102.3 wasn't as simple as you would have thought. Instead of numerals, there was a big blue dot in the middle, a black one about an inch to the left, and a red one to the right. Odd. Really odd.

I turned the knob until the hand stopped on the blue dot. Right away I heard the current forecast from an unknown station, but one obviously from nearby, as it was giving the lowdown for our town. Clear skies, calm winds, temps hovering around 18 degrees ... ho hum ho hum. I heard all that on the radio on the way home, although obviously not from the same weatherman. This voice had a very unusual accent, one I could almost but not place. Strange.

As I was pondering the accent, the dj (I don't think they're called djs anymore) started spinning records (although I'm pretty sure they don't do that any more, either) and yes, this was a country music station. The kind of country music station that plays only new country. Luke Bryan. Sam Hunt. They're fine, but not so much for a Merle and Waylon junkie. So I decided to go hunting myself, and turned that dial a little towards the black dot.

Just a little. And found a bit of Alan Jackson, who isn't old old, but somewhat old, and fits my ears well. I decided to listen for a bit while I puttered around the kitchen, doing the dishwasher thing, the watering the plants thing, and the broom thing. But what made me stop in my tracks was the 8 o'clock News bulletin .... and the top story of the day was President Bill Clinton declaring 'There is not a sexual relationship or any other kind of improper relationship.', and then going on to his argument that his statement 'depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is.'

I reached over and unplugged the radio. I turned on my computer and googled this piece of historical fiction, and yes, this was the news of the day ... in 1998.

I don't usually drink, but I do have an emergency bottle of gin I keep in the freezer, for times like this when I figure I'm losing my mind anyway. I'd just as well finish the bottle before I end up in the care home.

By this time, my early-to-bed-early-to-rise (which by the way, makes one neither healthy, wealthy, nor wise) husband was already fast asleep, so I decided I would just leave this radio alone for a night. If I was indeed losing it, I would just as well finish losing it in my own bed, beside my snoring husband, with a light coating of gin lining my stomach.

The next morning, as I downed my toast and coffee, I noticed that radio staring at me as if I were possessed. I gave into its beckoning, and plugged it back into the outlet. Bending over a bit, I twisted the dial a little more to the left, towards that magical black dot.

Waylon Jennings. Willie Nelson. Kris Kristofferson. My own personal perfect Trifecta. I lost myself in that good old 70's music, until the clock struck 9 and once again that news bulletin cut in.

Oh Lord. George Harrison is now organizing a benefit concert for Bangladesh. My son is in his 30's now, but I remember telling him to eat all his supper, because there were a lot of children in Bangladesh with nothing to eat.

For once, I didn't care that Willie Nelson was on the road again. I hauled that plug out of the wall, grabbed my purse and headed to the mall. I hate malls, but at that moment, anything was preferable to sharing the same air as my garage sale treasure.

I didn't find it hard to finish my day. I window shopped, tried on clothes I had no intention of buying, and had a Tim Horton's coffee and a Krispy Kreme donut for lunch. Then I went to a movie and had a small popcorn, diet Pepsi and a pack of Smarties. By then, I knew my husband would be home, and we could spend a nice quiet radio-less evening watching The Weather Network and The Food Network.

But of course, when I did go home, he was in the kitchen, making a stir fry for supper. For some reason, I wasn't really hungry. For another reason, my stomach was rocking and rolling - to the sounds of Hank Williams. Not the Third One. Not even the Second One. But the original one. And then came Kitty Wells.

I rushed into the bathroom and threw up all these snacks, my mind wavering between all these calories I was getting rid off (thank God), and what the hell was happening with that radio. When I went back into the kitchen I was met by a confused glance from my husband, as he stood with one hand on his hip and one hand on my new pink spatula. He turned to the radio again, as intent as if he were seeing the news unwind in front of him.

... assassination attempt on President Truman ....

Once again that plug gets ripped out of the wall. I'm amazed it's still attached to the cord, to tell the truth.

And I'm even more amazed my husband asked me what was going on. Half the time he thinks I'm not very smart anyway, so why did he feel I was smart enough to figure this out? We did have quite a short discussion though, which I won't go into here. He got the last word.

'Throw that damn thing out..'

And now he's gone to bed. And I'm just sitting here, looking from the dial to the plug that's nestled comfortably in the socket. Wondering what would happen if I turned that dial to the right, all the way past the innocent big blue dot at the top of the dial.

Life is a Walk in the Park ... or at least it was on Friday.

Friday, May 15 - payday is the reason we headed to Steveston, and Steveston was the reason we walked around Gary Point Park. What a beautiful day, and after the hassle of trying to find a parking spot in the village so I could run into the store and then the bank, it was so nice to drive a few minutes farther west and choose one parking spot out of many at the park.

There were a few people around, but not many. Everyone seemed to be at the village itself, or at least, their cars were. Parking is a huge big deal at Steveston - people drive around forever waiting for a space. Most of the previous free parking has been turned into pay lots, and that deters some visitors. 

However, the park is, as always, the perfect spot. Believe it or not, Howard saw a big big ship way off in the distance here ... and we noticed the Pilot Boat scooting out with a pilot aboard, so this unseen (to me) big ship would get a well-practiced ride up the river.

Here comes the ship - according to the Man Who Knows, it's a  car carrier, which is equipped to carry 500 cars, and is heading to Annacis Island. How he knows all this, I'll never figure out, but I won't argue as he's almost usually right.

 We walked by the Japanese garden ...

 

... and came across a Raven (?) on a bench. Now, I would have thought it was a big crow, but He said it was a raven. I don't believe we have many ravens in the Lower Mainland, but I was pretty sure I had seen one several years ago while I was riding bike to work. That one looked like a crow on steroids. This one didn't seem so big. However, if I could have thought I had seen one years ago, I'll give Howard the benefit of the doubt, and call this one a raven, too.

One thing about this fellow, he was not shy at all. I did not have this shot zoomed it - I got this close, and he still didn't budge. I wouldn't try and get closer in case he decided he didn't like me.

We soon came to the second beach, which is edged with a whack of driftwood. The tides were low, and there was lots of sand and lots of rocks, but since I was wearing sandals, I didn't want to walk on the sand and get all these little sand grains stuck between my toes.

And here comes the ship ....

At this point, it seemed to be the only thing on Howard's mind ....... so I went to visit the lupins in the field. Love lupins - they remind me of 'back home', where they grow wild during the summer.

As we walked up to the farthest point on the beach, we came across this huge trunk - I have no idea why it has all these tags nailed on.

 And the boat gets closer!  How exciting!

 Zoom in a little bit ....

My attention span is short. What boat? Here's some pigeons on a big rock ... there were actually three of them, but one was camera shy.

 If I had been attacked by killer pigeons and ravens, he never would have noticed, I'm sure.

I picked up these two pieces of dried up wood - so dry they felt like cork - and I was going to take them home, but realized they were full of carpenter bugs and God knows what other entities. So I posed them for a photo shoot instead. We have enough pets at home. I almost always find at least one bug or spider in the downstairs bathroom every time I go there. It's panic time when I'm already in the shower and realize I haven't done a spider scan.

All the excitement wore off after the boat ... I mean ship ... passed by, so we headed back to the park entrance. Howard did notice another ship in the distance, and we saw the pilot boat heading out again, but I just kept on walking. One ship a day is enough.

Aha. Pajo's. The best Fish'n'Chip place in Steveston, for sure, so we decided to celebrate the season with a picnic.

We shared a 2 piece cod and fries (which was actually 3 pieces of cod), coleslaw, onion rings, and water. And I'm pretty sure we didn't even eat half of it .... neither one of us is used to eating a lot at lunch time, and I'm trying to watch my waistline. At least I would be watching it, if I could find it.

 Burp.

To The Park, To The Bank, To The Store ... ta da...

Thursday, April 10. After two beautiful sunny 19 degree days, I decided to wait until Thursday, with a temperature of !0 measly breezy degrees to bring Breehy out on the road again. All wrapped up in winter fleece and fingerless mittens, I dragged her out of her winter hibernation in our basement, and climbed on up.

Oh oh. Something didn't click right ... actually the gears were clicking way too much. I thought maybe the panniers were somehow interfering with the chain, so I took them off, but no difference, so back in the house I went.

However, Steve to the rescue. He rode that pretty pink bike up and down the driveway, changing gears and figuring everything out perfectly. Seems like one of the sprockets in a low gear was sort off damaged, so as long as I didn't change gears, everything would be fine. I'm not one to change gears, anyway, so it was all good, and off we headed to the Hydro line path and Holland Park.

There was tons of spring colour here, not counting my red nose and fingertips.

Spring is by far the prettiest season here on the Lower Mainland of BC.

Back home in Newfoundland, Autumn wins by a country mile.

It looks like Autumn in this pic, even though it's not. But I wonder do you see what I see? Something that doesn't belong in a beautiful place like Holland Park?

A dandelion! My goodness. Someone call the Weed Police. (No, not that kind of weed. I think that other kind is legal in Holland Park, according to the aroma that abounds in the air.)

So, on we rode. Our first mission of the day was to go to the Royal Bank, because a certain someone who I gave my bank card to so he could go to the beer store so my husband wouldn't be cantankerous, forgot I changed my pin number, causing my card to be useless. (I know that's illegal, both bankwise and grammatically, but let's not bother with either.)

Once again in Surrey, our bike-friendly city, there was no bike rack near the bank, so I wheeled Breehy in to the lobby. No security guard there either, so I just kept wheeling her into the bank itself and we got in line. That's when the security guard came over and told me I couldn't bring a bike inside.

I said, 'There's no bike rack.'

She said, 'Leave it in the lobby.'

I said, 'No. If I can't lock her one, it's staying with me.'

(I have enough sense not to refer to Breehy as female when talking to strangers. I don't want to see the nice young men in their nice white coats waiting by the door for me.)

Anyway, the guard just walked away. If the bank has to hire security for their patrons and cash, I'm certainly not taking chances on someone walking away with my bike. 

Next stop was Save On Foods for a red pepper, some mushrooms, and some delicious Cheese Buns. I decided to check my blood pressure while I was there. I must say, it's never been this low before - if anyone reading this knows anything about blood pressure and realized I'm about to keel over and die, please let me know. I'm sure it's okay. However, it might explain why I get dizzy sometimes. 

So, shopping accomplished, we headed home, along King George Boulevard. I didn't realize there was construction on the way, but all that meant was I had to walk a bit of uphill sidewalk to pass by, and that was all right with me. My leg muscles were a bit wishy washy by then anyway.

This new piece of architecture is right beside the sky train station. I'm not sure my thoughts exactly, but I don't think I'd want to work in a top floor. I'm sure I'd feel like hanging on with every step I took. Strange looking edifice, if you ask me.

This wasn't an adventure, really, but I'm hoping some real humdingers will follow. Keep tuned.