Day 4 of Bike Tour or THE FOG

As I pedaled up through the Highlands I had hopes that my next stop would be Loch Ness. I had studied Nessie a lot. Since I was a kid. I had read all the stories, seen the pictures and movies and almost believed that she was actually a plesiosaur, trapped from the last ice age.

My travel agent, being moi, did not account for the length and time required to traverse Lock Linnhe and Loch Lochy to get to Lock Ness. Nor did I take into account the energy required the previous evening in showing the British army how to drink.

Approaching dusk found me on the lee shore of Loch Lochy. I had been pedaling for quite some time along a desolate stretch with no signs of civilization. Exhausted, I spied a bit of beach and hauled The Beast down from the road.

I proceeded to set up my bedroll, which was a mummy sleeping bag in a bivysac, which is a waterproof cocoon that breathes made with Gore-Tex. So I didn’t need to pack a tent.

Then I set up my wee campstove and heated up a can of stew and with some bread, for dunking of course, I started to read a book. I had bought it in Heathrow airport and it was a collection of horror stories with the first one was by Stephen King called The Fog.

No, it was nothing like the movie by John Carpenter with the same name about zombies coming out of the fog. Actually that movie did star Adrienne Barbeau, one of my favourites. I digress.

Picture this, if you will. I’m sitting on a beach about 20 feet wide and maybe a few hundred long. Behind me is a 30 foot wall of rock up to the road. I can see across the loch and I guess the opposite shore is only a mile or so. I have heard no traffic since I started to set up camp. Nor had I encountered any traffic for about an hour before I got off the road. I am on a beach along a long narrow lock that is at the bottom of a valley surrounded by Craig Meagaidh to the east, at a “mere” 3,700 metres high, and Craig Culvain, at a “lowly” 3,224 metres.

(Sidebar – As much as I detest the enforced metricism of my country by PET, I did have the honour of being a particular generation that learned both imperial and metric. As I went through university for forestry, the class before us was taught only imperial. Mine was taught both. The next year was brainwashed with metric only.)

Darkness descends quickly between these two crags and I’m already having to use a flashlight to cook and read.

The story starts off very restful - young family at their house on a lake with one son about 10. Then Stephen starts to introduce neighbours with their foibles and faults.

I watch the evening fog envelope the opposite shore.

They observe a wall of solid fog start to advance across the lake towards them during the day. No real concern. Then a wicked wind whips up and knocks down trees and blows out their windows.

I look up to see the fog half way across the loch !

Dad and son decide to go into town to get some supplies. Whilst they are in the grocery store the fog descends. And the occupants hear screaming from outside in the parking lot. It’s decided to lock the doors. Two army guys are in the store and start getting scared.

The fog is now up to my beach !!

It’s discussed that there is an army experimental station in the area and they had been working on some very strange stuff.

The fog is now up to my sleeping bag !!!

Horrible sounds are heard then awful things tried to break into the store. They found one of the army guys had hanged himself. He knew the terrors that were inevitable.

I CAN’T EVEN SEE THE BOTTOM OF MY SLEEPING BAG !!!!

THE FLASHLIGHT IS FADING !!! AWWW !!!

WHO THE HELL IS GOING TO HEAR ME SCREAM OUT HEAR !!!!!



I finished reading this awesome story to the end.
It is not a pretty ending.
In fact, it is a very scary ending.


I did wake up the next morning and pedaled off to see Nessie.

In the rain, of course.

Haunted House

The first house I bought was a cute little old farmhouse in the Caledon Hills, north of Toronto. The missus and I moved there a mere week after our daughter was born.

Everything was roses. I had an exciting career, we increasingly enjoyed our new place and our daughter was an absolute joy to be with.

Until…things started to … subtly change.

The neighbours had advised us to lock up when we left the house due to some recent hooliganisms in the area. Upon our return from shopping, as one of us would reach for the front door with our keys, the door would slowly open!

“Um, okay, I guess we didn’t lock it properly, eh honey?” After the second occurrence, we gave that door a thorough inspection. Yes, we could definitely hear the locking mechanism engage. Next time we came home, same thing…the door was unlocked and partially open.

Okay, we tried coming home via the back door. Same thing.
Oh boy!

I was raised in a family with several women. Guess how many times I left the toilet seat up? Right, once! In this new home, every time I went to do a standup procedure, the lid was up when I walked into the bathroom!

For the first few times, I just assumed that I had left it up after my previous visit. But, NO! I never leave a seat up! And there was no way that the missus would’ve.


But wait…there’s more!



I had bought a rocking chair for the nursery, for the missus and I to feed and rock our daughter. One day, the missus went upstairs to see the chair rocking! Exactly as if someone was in it! The window wasn’t open for any wind to be moving it.

We finally asked our neighbours if they knew the history of the house. Previous to the young couple we bought if from, there were two spinster sisters that had lived there for several decades. Their family had once owned several hundred acres in the area. As their parents and siblings had passed away or moved on, they sold off the property to be left with the wee house on an acre and half.

One of the sisters had died in her sleep. In my daughter’s room! After her passing the other sister moved away.

The missus and I discussed it. Outside, in case the Ghost was listening. We agreed that at least it appeared benevolent and certainly not worthy of any concerns of poltergeist-like activities.

The five of us, daughter, missus, dog, our Ghost and myself, spent a most enjoyable time living there.

Especially, as a man, to find the toilet seat already raised for me.

Crisis In The Kitchen

Those projects that you keep putting off until they become crisis…

I woke up one glorious spring morning on a Saturday ready to tackle two pages of projects (lucky if I got two things done) to find strange noises in the stovepipe of the wood/propane stove. It is illegal to use the wood side, if the propane side is active with these contraptions, so I had been contemplating (for several months – you just can’t rush into some of these projects – it takes careful planning and copious quantities of beer to examine every possible result of an action) relocating the propane piping in order to move the stove back against the wall to allow more room for passage.

Then I heard scraping from inside the pipe and naturally assumed “mouse”. As I listened closer the critter sounded bigger and louder in its frustrations to get back up the pipe. So I thought “squirrel”. But the scratching and vocals were not either. Then I realized it’s a damn bird! Crap!

I started to block off the kitchen from the living room, in case when I removed the piping I can’t get the bird outside before it started to flit around inside. I blocked the back door and screen door open, put on all my safety equipment gear - head, body and gloves (Yah, I watched “The Birds” movie), got some blocks of wood to hopefully cover both ends of the pipe as I gently removed it from the stove and the permanent pipe and, lo and behold, I managed to get 6 feet of pipe outside when a starling popped out and took off without any obvious injuries. WHEW!

This little crisis predicated that I spend the next couple of hours moving the stove all the way out to check the condition of the floor underneath it. GAG! I’ll spare you readers the details but I’ll just state that there was a whole unique ecosystem under there. Mr. Clean and I worked our elbows raw cleaning up under there.

So much for replacing the rotting deck that day. But that’s another story.

My Luck With Football

I spent grades three and four in anticipation of being on the junior public school football team. I knew all the CFL players at the time. I even had posters of some of them. I would watch the Grade 5 team practice and knew I would be an awesome player because I was fast and I could read plays of the opposing team. Whether we were playing at recess or what I watched on TV, I knew what was going to happen.

Near the end of grade four, I still recall looking out the classroom window onto the football field as the boys practiced for an upcoming game. All of a sudden, there was a mass rush to the centre field! Then I watched as the phys ed teacher pointed to the school and one of the boys dashed towards us. He pounded down the hall, past our class door and around the corner to the principal’s office.

A few minutes later, an ambulance arrived. One of the boys had broken his leg. The school board decided no more football team. Depression sets in.

Until I realize that the senior public school has a great team. I practiced hard for the next two years. My friends said that I had Spider Man hands as I could grab the ball with barely a couple of fingers. I was very skinny but fast.

I followed the grade 8 team and shared their successes and, occasional, failures. Then, during a practice, as I was about to finish grade 7, someone on the team broke a leg. No more football when I'm in grade 8.

Okay, high school has a superb football team. Near the end of my grade 8 guess what happens? Someone broks a leg. So no football for me for my duration of high school. Well, by now you’d think that I'm totally jinxed (or karma says I'm not to participate).

I go off to university. First year I live on campus where they have a touch football league. GREATTTTTT! My first game I'm incredible as a receiver! But on defense the QB told me watch a guy that kept getting him. Next play I stop him. And break his leg! And this was only touch football!

Mini-Vampires

So there I was, precariously perched on the top rung of the ladder, as I was filling in gaps around my newly installed air conditioner unit, when my brain started to send horrific warning sounds that a parasite had latched onto my back.

I could tell by the size of it’s jack-hammering into my skin that this was not some light weight deer fly, but a welter weight horse fly. These bastards have grown so smart, over several millennia of attacking humans, that they know our anatomy. Our weak spots where we are unable to reach behind to our back to smack them or how to bob and weave above our heads until they dive in for the kill.

I started flaying my arms to try to reach the parasite from over my shoulders to no avail. Then I tried to reach from underneath. Dammit! He’s just out of reach. Okay, I have a roll of duct tape! Hey, what else would I be using to seal up an A/C unit? Even with that extra six inches I’m unable to knock the blood sucking vampire off me.

I started screaming for my daughter. “CAITLIN!!! CAITLIN!!! HELP!!!”
Hoping that she didn’t have the stereo so loud that my pleas for assistance would be drowned out. She immediately ran out and I directed her to smack with all her strength the evil creature on my back.

Being the sensitive person she is, she hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you, Daddy!” “Caitlin, I will try to be as calm as possible in this situation, BUT WOULD YOU PLEASE SMACK THIS THING AS HARD AS YOU CAN !!!”

She whacked it a good one and as I felt relief from it’s drilling into my back, I climbed down from the ladder to see it’s huge body on the ground. Caitlin claimed, “It’s dead, Dad”. “No, it isn’t honey. These bastards have an incredible resilience. If you were to walk away right now it would fly off to attack again. There is only one way to be sure”. I stomped on it with all my weight and turned my heel back and forth.

Us bush folks have to tolerate the black flies in spring, then the mosquitoes for awhile until they’re just pests at dusk. But one deer fly or horse fly can drive me nuts. I had one stalk me all summer. No matter which of my three doors I would exit he was there in seconds to torment me. I smacked my head so many times trying, in vain, to get him, that I felt like Mohammad Ali after
too many fights.

I feel like Van Helsing, the Vampire hunter with these beasts.

What do you think, dear reader? Am I a lone voice in the wilderness as
to their growing menace?

Day 3 of Bike Tour or It's a Small World

One of my destinations, for my three-year world tour on bicycle, was Glencoe, Scotland. As it is an infamous location, due to my family, the Campbell’s, massacring the MacDonald’s.

Gratefully, the rain abated as I rolled into the town. I asked a local as to a possible bed & breakfast and was directed to a wee cottage. The couple that ran it were most kind and impressed that I was from Canada and riding a bicycle by myself. After getting settled, I wheeled up to the top of one of the mountains where I had a panoramic view of the Highlands.

As I sat surrounded by Scotch Thistles, I tried to go back in time to feel the horrible events of that day, several hundreds of years ago. Friends in Glasgow had actually warned me to not say I was a Campbell once I got up into the Highlands. I just laughed. But it’s true. They still harbour ill will over this event. Heck, the MacDonald’s did more killing of us than we did of them! We just got some bad press.

As my luck would have it, I blew a tire as I was speeding down the mountain. I had stupidly left all my pannier bags, including my repair kit, at the cottage. It was a several mile hike back to town.

I felt like a returning hero, home from a successful skirmish with the enemy, as I staggered into town, carrying my wounded compatriot, The Beast, over my shoulder with blood on my face, knees and elbows.

My hostess was most distressed at my arrival. I downplayed it. “Fret not, my fair lady, I have endured worse encounters. Why, did I ever tell you about the time I came face to face with a bear?” She insisted I have a wee dram of scotch to straighten myself out, as I was obviously rambling at this point.

After a shower and fresh clothes I was ready for some grub and grog. My hosts directed me to the only pub in town.

There were only two tables occupied as I took my usual seat of “back to the wall and facing the door”. I ordered a pint and fish and chips. Just as I started in on my meal, I heard a loud, raucous noise as a bunch of kids entered the bar. They were all in leather jackets and very short hair. “Skinheads”, I thought to myself. “Oh crap, they’re gonna swarm me!” Yup, they proceeded to sit all around me.

One girl started eating my chips and a bloke took a swig of my beer. I nonchalantly leaned back into my seat, with furtive, pleading glances at the barkeep to bloody well hurry up and call in the coppers.

There were five girls and eight guys. I quickly ascertained that there appeared to be one of each sex a tad older than the rest and about my age. Then, one of them spied my lapel pin of the Canada flag. “Are you from Canada, mate?” Well, it turns out, these were new army recruits out for some mountain climbing.

The lieutenant of the lads then asks me where I was from. “Toronto”.
“Oh, do you know the area of Maple and Woodbridge?”
“Grew up there!”
“Well, do you know the Ishoys?”
“Went to school with them!”

This lad had spent two years working at the horse stable where Jim Elder and Big Ben had trained! Probably the most famous Canadian equestrian duo, ever!

When they saw how I polished off my beer, they cajoled me into a pint race with their champ. I just laughed until this behemoth clears his way through the throng around my table. I gulped as I continued to scan my eyes up his towering mass. But I had enough liquid courage in me already to take up the challenge.

The poor boy looked quite downtrodden as I polished mine off before he was even half way through his goblet. Cheers rang out, pats on my back and I was made an honourary member of the unit.

They taught me all sorts of bawdy army songs as we continued to party into the night. Until, gratefully, the call rang out from the barkeep, “Time Everyone!”

The lieutenant asked me if I wanted to go mountain climbing with them the next day. “Shurr, matey, I’d luv to” I heard myself slur out. We made arrangements of when and where to meet the next morning and set our chronometers in preparation for this great sortie.

Neither my head, nor body, greeted six am at all favourably. I realized that I was not in the best shape for defying gravity at several thousand feet, so I opted for a few more hours of downtime.

I finally dragged my corpse out of bed and felt semi-human after a shower. I loaded up The Beast and as I headed out of town I had a bus pass me. With heads out the window all yelling, “Willie! Willie! Willie!” People on the street turned to see who was this demi-god amongst their midst.

“Go back to your lives, citizens. It is only, I, Bacchus, the god of excessiveness. Don’t worry about your women and children. I’m leaving town now.”

As I painfully pedaled out of town and into the next (mis)adventure.

Then it started to rain.

A Scritch Behind Her Ears

A guest columnist: my daughter’s friend and residence mate - Jenette

Golden retrievers are highly intelligent dogs that have been ‘man’s’ best friend for years. This dog shows a great respect and love towards its friends, companions and owners. Although they are traditionally used on farms or as guard dogs, many own them merely as enjoyment or as a loyal companion. Golden retrievers possess traits such as short attention spans, friendliness, loyalty, total reliance on others, and complete happiness. In some cases, people can become the equivalent to a golden retriever. This person is usually full of energy and requires a plethora of attention and personal contact; however, this is not always an unpleasant occurrence.
In one case, a perfect example of a human golden retriever is my roommate, Caitie. Caitie, an energetic teenager, has an extremely short attention span, similar to a golden retriever. A small bouncing ball could deter her from working on a major essay for hours. Although this regular occurrence has become second nature, the other day she was distracted from an important conversation because of a “Canadian Monopoly” board game. This became the new conversation for approximately 15 minutes. Golden retrievers tend to notice the smallest details in life- as does Caitie. Despite the many distractions that this limited attention span causes, there is never a dull moment when Caitie is near-by; in fact, Caitie rarely sacrifices the spotlight, just like a well-breed retriever.
Golden retrievers are well known for being friendly towards all people, no matter the race, colour or gender. Friends come easily and are kept just as effortlessly. Despite the time restraint or obstacles, golden retrievers will go that extra mile to sniff, or in Caitie’s case say hello, to the elderly woman sitting on a park bench. Caitie prides herself in being friendly and courteous at all times. However, she is sometimes unable to take the hint that some people do not appreciate random addresses, but this never discourages her. Caitie displayed this characteristic one day when an elderly women was sitting by herself at the mall. Despite the errands that were priority, she sat and talked with the women until there was a smile on her face. Although there are much better things to be doing, both the golden retriever and Caitie will gladly sit with you and keep you company for no apparent reason. Time is precious, but friends are much more valuable.
Like many dogs, golden retrievers are extremely loyal to the ones they love and cherish. Despite the hardships and rough times, golden retrievers will stand by you and continue the friendship. Many claim that dogs are unaware of what is happening, yet I believe that they are quite aware of the fact. Through rough times, Caitie has always been there to support her friends through thick and thin; in fact, she will support you even if she disagrees with you. If need be, Caitie will stay up all night long and simply play video games with you, or even participate in a conversation about childhood television shows into the wee hours of the morning. This is a true friend.
One of a Golden Retriever’s unique characteristics (or any dog for that matter) is its complete and total reliance on another human being. Sadly, this is also the case with Caitie. The poor girl needs constant supervision and it has been deemed my lot in life to be the supervisor. She requires help with everything. When she first came to university she didn’t know how to make Kraft Dinner, and I ended up making it for her that night and every other time she wanted it. One day, she decided to be ambitious and make it herself. I told her I didn’t mind doing it, yet she was quite adamant about proving that she was finally ready to make it on her own. I succumbed and retreated into my room, expecting to be summoned for help eventually; however, the call for assistance came quite sooner than I anticipated. Not even two minutes into Caitie’s ordeal, was there a knock at the door - she couldn’t open the box.
Although cruelty to animals is something I do not support (I have two beautiful dogs, myself), cruelty to Caitie can be rather amusing. As most people are aware, when an animal is struck, or injured, they cry out or whimper. Caitie is the same way. Poor Caitie has a low tolerance for pain and bruises as easily as a haemophiliac. Not only will she cry out in pain, but also it is usually accompanied by some strange guttural sound or a noise resembling, “Ah-Geuy”. Although some may find this rather disturbing, this familiar whimper will often be followed by a girlish giggle, and then another and another. This comparison can also tie back into the loyalty a golden retriever has despite the abuse inflicted upon it.
When analyzing the characteristics of a friend, it is amazing to find the similarities between them and a golden retriever. Although some may find it insulting to be compared to a dog, the comparisons are quite flattering. The loyalty found in a dog is quite similar to the qualities found in Caitie, and you will never find a friend more loyal and loving as she. Many consider dogs as man’s best friend, but in my case, Caitie is my best friend, and there is less communication issues. With Caitie, there are fewer fleas and more laughs, and she even enjoys a good scratch behind the ears from time to time.