On a coincidence of my personal and professional worlds

I got a Christmas card and a tin of cookies from my three supervisors. In the card, one of them had written, and I quote with her permission: "You are the crankset of the bicycle that is the youth dept. and I thank you for it."

Thank you, Katie.

Please note that the view expressed here is Katie's and does not necessarily reflect the views of our employer.

On lost cellphones, curries and an early winter

This entry is partly the result of prods from the Maternal Unit.

Riding home from work on Monday of last week, I stopped in the middle of NDG to give directions to a woman in a cowboy hat. This involved pulling out my iPhone to consult a transit app. As I prepared to set off home, I remember a moment of uncertainty when I couldn't find my black gloves which I had removed to use the iPhone. I found them in my crate and set off for home. Around 9 PM, I suddenly realised I didn't know where my iPhone was. I tried phoning it, but I couldn't hear it and I had an uneasy recollection of having set it to silent mode recently. After a search of my messy condo didn't turn it up, I went out and retrace by bike the roughly 4.5 kilometres to where I had last had it. This did not turn up the phone. The trip back was made all the more stressful as my headlamp began to lose its charge. (Recharging it had been on my to-do list for the evening.)

When I got home, I called my mobile service provider to suspend service. I spent an uneasy night, tossing and turning as I mentally debated how soon I should go out and buy a new iPhone between mentally kicking myself for not having activated the "Find my iPhone" function, for having lost the thing in first place and for being so upset at having lost an electronic device. Yes, I am neurotic or something.

I went to work the next morning. However, the lack of sleep and stress led me to leave by mid-afternoon with my sympathetic managers' blessings. When I got home, I found a message on my answering machine with a British woman's accent saying that she had found my cellphone nearby and left a number to call. (While my cellphone is locked by fingerprint, I long ago took a photo my business card and have that displayed as the initial image on my cellphone. Thus if you were to pick up my phone and try to turn it on, you would see my name, addresses (both snail and email) and phone numbers. The logic was to accommodate just such an eventuality.) I phoned the number. She was at home in Westmount (thankfully below Sherbrooke Street). I grabbed the best bottle of wine I had in my wine cellar and rode up to retrieve my iPhone. I did my best to express my gratitude. I am not sure I fully conveyed the full extent of my considerable relief. (I suspect she had been walking her dog when she found it.)

As mentioned previously in this blog, I have returned a number of cellphones over the years, usually found when biking. The Maternal Unit in her prods expressed the opinion that I had easily earned enough karma to allow rapid return.

I then had to go to my mobile service provider in order to restore service. This took a while and by then night had fallen. So I headed off to Hurley's Irish Pub on Crescent Street. This establishment is well known for the best poured pints of Guinness in Montreal. It also does decent pub grub. There was beef curry among the specials, so I opted for that. One of the waitresses said it was good when I placed the order.

It was.

It was, hands down, the best curry I have had that wasn't either in an Indian restaurant or homemade.

That might sound a bit like faint praise, but I have eaten in some very good Indian restaurants (Mother India in Glasgow springs to mind) and I eaten some extremely good homemade curries, some made by my own hand. Also, I have eaten worse curries in Indian restaurants and made far worse curries.  (As well, please note that by "Indian", I mean the Indian sub-continent including Pakistan and Bangladesh. "South Asian" is the PC term.)

I let the staff at Hurley's know my high opinion of the beef curry. This included the manager and/or owner who happened by and who I encouraged to have the curry added to the regular menu. He seemed receptive to my enthusiasm.

The next two days of the week (Wednesday and Thursday) involved biking in some very cold temperatures (-10 C and beyond). The forecast for Friday called for snow, so I brought die Fleddermoose inside on Thursday night. Sure enough, there was easily enough snow to signal an end to biking for the time being. In my particular definition of the seasons, this means winter has come. This is relatively early, given that one year I biked until the Christmas holidays. It also might be temporary the forecast is calling for rain and above zero temperatures on the weekend and following. Still, it feels like winter.

On bikes, lights, further thoughts

For reasons that I am not going to discuss here, I went through a phase of uncertainty which lead me to want to be damn sure I was within the law regarding bike lights in Quebec. I would be bloody embarrassed and bloody angry if, after writing a slight smug post about bike lights, I was to be on the business end of a $127 ticket for riding without a proper light. So yesterday, I went to a police station to check that I had the right information. Unfortunately, I failed to convey that my bike (Floria die Fleddermoose) was fully (and possibly overly) equipped with reflectors and thus having a Light & Motion Vis 360 on my helmet* was not adequate according the officer at the desk.

When I returned home, I looked up the regulations on the SPVM** website. From it I could tell that die Fleddermoose was easily within the requirements vis-à-vis reflectors. However the requirement "[a]t night, every bicycle must also carry, a white headlight or light and one red tail-light, both of which may be flashing" was sufficiently vaguely worded that I was wondering if I had needed to dip into my bag of semi-discarded bike lights to find a couple of MEC turtle lights to make die Fleddermoose legal.  The whole insecurity thing lead me to go back today to the police station and verify with the SPVM that when riding a bicycle compliant with reflector requirements, that if I am wearing a helmet equipped with proper lights, I don't need to put lights on the bicycle itself. Thankfully, this proved to be the case. As well, the officer at the desk wasn't the same one as yesterday so I was spared looking like a crazy person.***

As it was, I had already visited SPVM stations three times in as many days owing having found an iPhone on my way to work on Friday. By my count, it was at least the 8th lost cellphone I have come across since the day I graduated from Library School in 2000, and 4th I came across while biking to work. This is easily worth my time as I would want anyone who found my cellphone to try to return it to me. Also, one time, the cellphone belonged to a real estate agent who was so grateful he gave me a card with $100 in it.

I would like to state that I very firmly support the SPVM's attempt to get cyclists to have proper lights at night. Nothing in my comments should be construed as negativity towards the Montreal Police, only a desire for great clarity. Of course, if I get a ticket for not having the right lights coming home tomorrow, I reserve the right to very, very angry with the SPVM! ;-)

* This incorporates a fairly powerful forward headlamp with rear facing red LEDs in a USB rechargeable battery pack.

**SPVM = Service de Police de la Ville de Montréal

*** Then again, I probably am.

On why it is important to have bike lights at night

Biking home from work yesterday (October 29) at around 6:30 PM, the police were stopping westbound cyclists opposite the Vendôme Metro station. (I was going East.) From the body language, I believe they were doing a safety blitz telling people to have proper lights and reflectors as nights are coming earlier. And I could be wrong.* It is definitely the time for it and there is a lot of need for it.

So it was with some amusement that I saw this CBC news article about two wanted men being nabbed because they were spotted riding their bikes at night with no lights. There is something ironic in this as they drew attention to themselves by not drawing attention to themselves! ;-)

*Addendum:
My route home yesterday (November 1st) took me to the corner of de Maisonneuve and Atwater. There was this sign right next to bike path.

So I think I was right.

Because it didn't fit the flow of the post, I left out that the cyclist behind me in front of Vendome had asked me what I thought the police were up to. When I told him, he concurred and said that he often yelled "Lights!" at unlit cyclists. 

On twin railway stations

Not for the first time, my bike travels in the UK have taken me to the St Pancras YHA which is kitty corner to St Pancras Railway Station. In turn the latter is across a side street from King's Cross Railway Station.  The rationale for having two major railway stations one beside the other goes back to the late 19th century.

In the second half of the 20th century, St-Pancras was considered redundant by British Rail. It was allowed to run down, in favour of King's Cross. In his book, The Long, Dark Teatime of the Soul, Douglas Adams describes it as deary, but beautiful place for lost souls, including minor Norse deities. It was also an entry point to Valhalla. Even into the 21st Century it was decaying. However, it was revived by being selected to be the endpoint of Eurostar and thus was re-baptised St-Pancras International. The choice of St Pancras eludes me, as I would have thought one of the Southern railway stations. Victoria or Waterloo would seem more logical. However, the upshot is that St Pancras was given not only a new lease on life, but also a significant amount of sprucing up, to the point that it now seems to be the posh railway station in London. It feels posher than the other ones I have visited in the last year (Paddington, Euston, King's Cross, Marylebone and Victoria.) This may be partly connected to the attached St Pancras Hotel which among the cars parked outside was a McLaren sportscar.

King's Cross Railway Station did not escape notoriety in late 20th literature either. If anything, it was more subject to it to the point that there is a shop dedicated to the mythical platform 9 3/4 as mentioned in the Harry Potter books. There is a luggage trolley embedded in the wall for tourist to be photographed with. Long lineups form for such devotees. I was not among them. I did buy a postcard for Alisa, as she is a devotee of Harry Potter.

On wheels, canals, tunnels and Kelpies

On the train to Edinburgh, I dug out my cycling map of the area as I had the plan of leaving the bulk of my clobber at the train station before catching a train to Falkirk as it was a weekday and I could not expect Donald or Dominique would take time off to greet me. (I would be staying with them.) Looking at the map and listening to routine announcements, I realized that the train I was on would stop in Falkirk. I checked with a member of the train staff about the logistics of getting off the train in Falkirk. The hitch was that the platform in Falkirk was too short, so would have get the bike out of the bike space and put it in the forward vestibule of coach F for Foxtrot while the train was stopped in Stirling. This I did but it was stressful to run back and forth on the platform.

From the station in Falkirk, I found the Forth and Clyde Canal and followed it west to the Falkirk Wheel. It raises boats from the level of the Forth and Clyde Canal to that of the Union Canal. It is a brilliantly simple exercise in engineering, modern art and tourism. All three elements are at play at multiple levels.

It is also located at part of the Antonine Wall. Constructed on the orders of Roman Emperor Antoninus Pius, it was an earthen version of the more famous Hadrian’s Wall. However, for various reasons, it was abandoned in a favour of the more southerly location. Unfortunately, it was poorly signed so I wound up following the new Interchange Canal between the Forth and Clyde and the Union canals through Scotland’s second canal tunnel. At the other end, I turned East on the Union Canal’s towpath, in search of the Antonine Wall site which my maps said was close but which Google Maps couldn’t locate. I went through the first Scottish canal tunnel which a panel cheerfully described as having been worked on by Burke and Hare before they started killing people for the anatomists. The towpath was narrow enough and slippery enough that I walked the bike through.

Coming out the other side, I deduced I had missed the Antonine Wall, so I headed towards the town centre for lunch. Afterwards, I headed back towards the Wheel by road and managed to find the site. The wall and ditch isn’t hugely impressive except for the fact that it is there after nearly two thousand years. Even today, in its present, eroded form, it would slow down a horde of ravening Picts, giving the Roman Legion a better chance. Also, the fact the Romans could build it probably suggested to the wiser Picts that the Romans had a superior power of organisation.

I took the F&C canal East to the Kelpies. These massive horses’ heads are of a piece with the Falkirk wheel in their being Millennium projects and being clad in stainless steel. The Kelpies differ from the Wheel in that they don’t have an inherent practical function. I caught a train into Edinburgh. It was still too early to get to Donald and Dominique’s, so I paid a visit to Cadenhead's Whiskey Shop. There were a number of people there. While trying to make up my mind about what to buy, I overheard a clerk explaining to an American couple that Campbeltown was a well regarded whisky region with three distilleries. I couldn’t resist voicing the observation: “Yes, and two of them are owned by the same company that owns this place! But they make very good whisky!”

After some shopping both there and elsewhere, it was time to head over to the New Town to Donald and Dominique’s house. As luck would have it, Donald and their youngest daughter were just getting out of a cab as I arrived. I was made at home in their gorgeous Georgian home. I think the room they put me in has half the floor space of my condo and, with its high ceilings, the same volume! It is a grand residence.

Today, I slept in, had breakfast and lazed until a little after noon, when I bid my farewells and cranked up and over to Waverley Station to catch a fast train to London. As luck would have it, my seat was in coach F for Foxtrot in the parlance of LNER. As well, I had window looking East, so had the chance to replay in reverse my trip prior to Edinburgh.

I had supper tonight in Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese pub, as rebuilt in 1667. It has frequently by Charles Dickens, Dr. Johnson and Charles II if memory serves. And of course countless others. I ended up in a Gothic vaulted undercroft adjacent to its Wine Cellar Bar room. It was packed, as might be expected on a nice evening on a Saturday night on the first of September.

On travels by ferry and train

After supper in the Ferry Inn in Stromness, a chance remark about the difference between a ketch and a yawl resulted in me chatting with a Brit living in Wales with the improbable name Vasco (he was half Portuguese) and an American woman named Sofia (a cycle-tourist). She was involved in education in San Francisco. This is relevant as the conversation drifted on to the topic of second or dual language education in schools. The three of us each had differing experiences on the subject. In some way, I had the broadest knowledge having experienced the school system in Quebec and California. She was amused by my account of how the vice-principal at La Cumbré Junior High warned me that as a non-Latino, I would in the minority. This provoked giggles from my mother and I, as an anglophone, I had been a minority student for the previous six years.

The next morning, I caught the ferry to Thurso. I realized that the jaunt to the Orkneys had been poorly planned as it was far too short. Next time, I should plan on at least a week! The last vehicle off the ferry was a Porsche Convertible that was on a mission to visit all the RNLI (Royal National Lifeboat Institution) stations in as short a time as possible. The day was like the one before with bright sunshine, wind and light rain that came in short bouts.

There was a distinct swell on the sea which allowed me to wonder at how the seabirds glided just inches above the rising and falling water. I caught sight of a pod of dolphins which I called out to the other people in the quiet lounge. (I was technically breaking the rules but as the response from the patrons was a genuine “thank you for letting us know”, I think that I was justified.) I say dolphin in the sense that they were members of the dolphin family, but I am not sure which species, as we didn’t get that long a look at them. I saw one leap out of the water and my memory was that it was largely black with a blunt head. That would make it a pilot whale. However, it was silhouetted against a bright, sun reflecting sea so I may be mistaken. Someone else said they were common dolphins.

In theory, I had 33 minutes to get from the ferry terminal to the train station. Google Maps said it would take 15 minutes. However, both are not guaranteed owing to the vagaries of wind, weather and tide, the ferry being particularly subject to all three. I was therefore anxious to make a rapid departure from the ferry. Luckily, the bike parking spot was nearest to the exit doors and the drill was bikes get off first. The only downside of this was that I didn’t have time to gawk at what I think were a pair of Alfa Romeo Montreals, a type of car designed in response to Expo 67. Once off the ferry, I cranked hard to the train station which despite a wrong turn, I got to in...fifteen minutes! I could have stopped in the town centre of Thurso to buy a sandwich for lunch.

As it was, I lunched on Orkney cheddar and oatcakes as North East Scotland went by. The grey seals were again on their beach, which contrary to a previous entry was not on Cromarty Firth but somewhat further North. (I will correct the error at a later date.)

I caught the train to Edinburgh this morning. I was disconcerted to see a party of young men in Hawaiian shirts sitting a table with a case of Corona and an excessive number bottles of spirits of a flashy nature. This included a round tray box full of miniature bottles of assorted vodka shooters. They also had a bottle of Crystal Skull vodka. Despite the train having left at 7:55 AM, they started in on the drinking. I guessed they were a stag party. They were already sufficiently noisy to the point that not only that I didn’t ask if they knew that Crystal Skull is a joint venture involving both Dan Ackryod and the Newfoundland Liquor Commission but I decided to find a seat in another coach, most notably the quiet coach which also has the benefit of being closer to the bike. I inquired with a crew member about the rules about bringing your own booze on board. Unlike Via Rail, there is no restrictions beyond responsible behaviour.

Crossing through the mountains was gorgeous with just the right combination of sun and mist. As well, there were familiar sights from when I biked along this route on an earlier trip. (The railway, the motorway and NCN route 7 all follow the same path.) One sight was the Ruthven Barracks. If I remember correctly, my best friend James is connected with the Ruthven family.