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Priorities Straight "I've caught this magical landscape
and it's the enchantment of it that I'm so keen to render. Of
course lots of people will protest that it's quite unreal, but
that's just too bad." Claren, after her workday ended, escorted us to supper at a fancy Chinese restaurant. She invited us to stay with Val and CJ, her cousins. We happily accepted and trundled off to meet them. Val and CJ were a cheerful couple, but their long day at work had exhausted them. Sharon and I were tired too (all that brain power trying to figure out modern art). No one complained too bitterly when we called it an early night.
In the morning, proving all bike paths lead to Canadian's favourite outdoor store, we followed a looping path past the under-construction rear of the parliament buildings, and stopped in front of the local Mountain Equipment Co-op. Alas, we were too early. The store didn't open till 10 am. "Maybe the staff are out doing morning training runs?" "Speaking of training runs," Sharon said, "my rear tire feels weird. It has more play than it used to." After riding so many days and kilometres, Sharon had developed a keen awareness to her bike's handling. Unlike me, she seemed to have developed an almost intuitive sense when something wasn't exactly right. "It's been getting worse lately," she added. We rode to a bike shop to get it checked out. Alas, the bike shop had a notice that they didn't open until noon. "We must be in a government town," I sighed. So, while waiting for our stores to open, we hit a food store (time flies when we're eating). Sure enough, by the time we finished our bagels and juice, Mountain Equipment Co-op had opened. Sharon, not usually one who enjoys shopping, eagerly bounded forth and picked out a new Gore-Tex jacket. "This will be perfect for our overseas travel," she said. "My old one is more like a J-cloth than Saran Wrap." "Wow!" I exclaimed. "The designers of this jacket must actually cycle themselves." The new jacket's features seemed constructed with cyclists in mind: multiple lines of reflective strips; zippers under the arms and another across the back for venting while riding uphill in the rain; and, best of all, it possessed a long tail that covered one's backside even when bent over the handlebars to keep the mud-skunk stripe off one's butt. It was so well thought out I almost bought one for myself. Almost. It doesn't rain in Europe does it? Instead, I turned my attention to a fleece hat embroidered with a row of colourful Aztec symbols. Mornings had grown decidedly chilly! (Guess I figured I might as well look natty when I'm soaked.) "Whoa!" Sharon said, after we had paid for our items and were back outside. "Great hat!" She snatched my purchase off my head and fastened it around her own. I sighed. I hoped that meant she was going to return my old toque she had so forcefully appropriated earlier in the trip. It somewhat reminded me of when waiters ask if we'd like to order dessert. I always get something. Sharon always does not. When my dessert arrives, Sharon asks for "just a bite" and proceeds to eat half. Being as clever as I am you'd think I'd learn to order two. That way, when she only eats half I could offer (magnanimously, of course) to finish her leftovers. But I had to admit: she looked darn cute in my new hat. At noon, we trekked back to the bike shop. The store was open. But the mechanic hadn't come in yet. "He went mountain biking in Gatineau Park," the owner explained. "He'll show up eventually. Ah, probably he will, anyway." "It's good to see that someone has his priorities straight," Sharon laughed. Shortly after 1 pm the mountain bike riding mechanic cruised up - plastered in mud from his helmeted head to his toeclipped shoes. But a white-toothed smile extended from ear to ear. Whistling a cheery tune, he set to work, tightening the axle cones on Sharon's 15-year-old rims. "That should fix the problem for another 15 years," he proclaimed, holding aloft his two chromed cone wrenches. "No charge," he grinned. "Take it for a spin and come back if you want it adjusted more." I'm not sure what the mechanic had in mind for a test ride, but we toured almost an hour, past the Prime Minister's residence on Sussex Drive (couldn't see a thing except fence), then up and along Rockcliffe Drive where we discovered a huge park and picnic area. I hustled over to use the washroom. A sign inside read: No Washing Feet in Sinks. Huh? I wondered. Do they get a lot of touring cyclists? Lolling in the weak sunshine, we ate until our appetites were sated (but feet unwashed). Leaving the park to the dog walkers, we followed another bike path along the famous Rideau canal. (In the winter - which with the biting wind, didn't feel that far off - the canal freezes over and becomes the world's longest skating rink.) Windblown leaves littered the paths in a kaleidoscope of autumn colour. But it was another sign that caught my attention. In a local 'Stoop and Scoop' bylaw, it depicted a rather beady-eyed mongrel, squatting, and staring back at a whopping pile of steaming poo. Under the picture, a caption read: Think About It. I did. Only in Ottawa, I decided. The afternoon turned windier; a decided nip hung in the fall air. Cruising along smooth bike paths, surrounded by green space, Ottawa struck us as being like one big university campus. We met Claren after she finished work. When she suggested a drive in the Gatineau Hills to view the vibrant expanses of autumn leaves, we quickly accepted. Inside her car - the heater flipped on high - we crossed the Chaudières Bridge and entered Hull, Québec. The Gatineau Hills, just a 15 minute car drive from downtown Ottawa, rose out of surrounding farmland looking like a delicious bumble berry pie. Sugar maple, birch and beech, and sumac bushes populated the gentle slopes, leaves blazing tasty wild raspberry reds, honeysuckle oranges, and gooseberry yellows. We stopped at an overlook and viewed the tapestry. "Looks like Monet's been here," Claren beamed. We continued on a gravel road all the way to Meech Lake - site of the Prime Minister's summer cottage and infamous Meech Lake Accord. (The Meech Lake Accord 1982: the federal parliament and nine out of ten provincial legislatures agreed on the Constitution Act (Québec wouldn't sign), which brought the constitution from Britain home to Canada on April 17, 1982. The Meech Lake Accord 1987: Québec signed after it was agreed that they would be recognized as a "distinct society.") A short distance before the cottage, we approached a locked gate. Security guards manned the entrance 24 hours a day. "Now there's an ultra low stress job," I grinned, watching the guard sitting on a chair and thumbing through a newspaper. "Sitting in the forest, listening to cheery birdsong while watching the leaves change colour. Some people have all the luck. How do you get a job like that?" "The Prime Minister's brother-in-law?" Sharon said with a chuckle. As we bumped to a stop on the rocky road, Claren said, "I can tell the Prime Minister helicopters in." No such luck for us. Claren maneuvered the vehicle in a three-point 180 degree change of direction on the narrow, crushed rock road, and we jolted our way back to Ottawa. |
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