Almost as good as a double prizer.

I had a moment today. It bordered on spiritual. To say it was euphoric wouldn't be exagerrating. This is just between us okay. Don't let it get out to too many people.
There is a Canadian Tire Store in the city with a defective jelly bean machine.
Here's the thing. I learned back when I was about ten years old that if you put a quarter into a gumball machine, then turn the dial really slowly, you might find the mythical sweet spot, where the prized candy within just keeps on coming. I've never managed to clean out a machine this way, but I've certainly gotten more than my money's worth more times than I can count. It all started with the gumball machine at the old Pinder's Drugs on Broadway and Taylor. By turning slowly to the limit of the dial, then exercising a couple quick twists of the wrist, I was often able to get 2 or 3 gumballs for the price of one.
It seemed that the candy companies caught on to this sometime in the mid 80s. I've haven't cashed out more than I put in for decades.
Then today it happened.
In the exit door of this Canadian Tire they have a row of candy machines. I love jelly beans, and the jelly bean machine did a Svengali number on the last quarter in my pocket. I sunk it into the machine, and gave the dial a slow clicking turn, the same way that I've been doing for the better part of 30 years now. I could hear the jelly bean bay filling up, and I just knew I was getting a little extra. At the end of the turn, when the dial would turn no more, I gave it the patented Pinder's Flick back a touch, and SCORE! I heard another payload of jellybeans tumbling into the bean bay. It all came back to me, all the subtlety, all the English that I used to know so implicitly, instinctively back in the day. I kept flipping the dial, and I found the sweet spot where the tumblers never locked. I filled the bean bay twice before the Canadian Tire flunkies started to notice my surreptitious activities, and making a mental note of the machine's location, I beat a timely, low profile retreat with a FULL pocket of beans!
Life is good people. Life is good.
Almost as good as a double prizer

Rush Hour.

It was about 26 degrees outside, which would have made it a beautiful day, but I was stuck in my car. The traffic was so heavy that it fought for every step forward and the exhaust was thick and burning in the dead heat. I was sitting on a whole pile of stress and energy, having just left a hot busy kitchen with tempers running higher than temperatures and I was all wound up in all the wrong ways.

I've written a lot about how my temper skyrockets when my patience is tested, and nothing seems to test my patience like heavy city traffic. My gas gauge was low, and getting lower when I hit the 25th Street Bridge. 10 minutes into the crossing I was starting to panic thinking that I might not have the fuel to get across. But I made it across, swearing and sweating, and I made it home and the energy of my kids and the mountain of housework still to be done was almost the last straw for me and I felt myself close to snapping. I was more wound up walking in the door to my house than I had been when I'd left work half an hour earlier.

That was about a month ago, and it was the day that I decided, "F$#@ this shizzle, I'm not driving to work anymore unless I absolutely f%^$#n' have to!"
Since then I've been rolling on the old Norco Charger. It's been a blast. It takes me about 15 minutes longer in the morning, but I get to work with more energy, calmer and with a clearer head.

One of the uber hottie girls at work saw me on my way out of work the other day, carrying my bike seat and she asked, "Do you ride your bike here every day?" and I said "Whenever I can." and she said "Wow that's impressive!" and I was feeling pretty damn cool on my way to unlock the Charger.
Then it occurred to me that maybe it's only impressive because I'm so damn old. A lot of the young guys bike, and it's not really all that impressive. But then I thought, "I work 12 hour days and it's pretty physical and high energy draining work, so f*&^%n' ay it's impressive!"

So today it was 4:30 Friday afternoon and the traffic was already backing up when I saddled up ol' Trigger and blasted off through the parking lot.
My first moment of triumph and glee hit before I even left the parking lot. A line of cars was backed up in the lot, waiting for a break in the traffic flow to get on to Circle Drive. I bunny-hopped up on to the sidewalk and blew past them, the sun shining and my own slipstream keeping me cool in the heat.
I crossed the street illegally, cutting between bumper to bumper cars filled with sweating suffering commuters and I cut off of Avenue C to the quiet stillness of Avenue B.
The trees grow old and tall in Mayfair and the leaves fall in rivers of sweet smelling gold that snake along the sidewalks and along the curb and when the wind blows they make a sound like rippling water, if water were made of wood chips and crystal.
I purposely sliced through the dry crackling leaves just to hear the crunch, a sound like paper ripping and I ripped them, a big tear exposing pavement where my tires had cut through in 16th gear and climbing.
I alternated between sidewalk and road, depending on what kind of jumps the driveway or road offered, and maybe it's a sign of the pounds that I drop every time I drop gears to take a bridge or a hill, but I seemed to getting a lot more air today than I've been able to catch in a long time. The soft suspension of the Mazarocchi forks makes it tough to get a good jump with the Charger, not like I would have been able to on the old Bush Pilot in GP, but today was good.

I cut over to Idylwyld a few blocks before 33rd, tearing through the gas pump islands at the 7-11. There was a line of cars fueling up, and I had a little vision of the gas pump dollar total rolling backwards, putting money in my pocket with every mile I pedalled instead of sucking it out.
I looked at the traffic jam and thought of all the fuel being burned, and all of the negatives that go with exhaust, and then I thought of all the fuel and calories that I was burning by biking, and I thought of all the positives, increased oxygen, decreased stress, improved longevity, better circulation. The old trees lining Idylwyld lean over the sidewalk low and heavy, and I got the sense that they were pretty happy with me pumping out CO2 instead of exhaust, and I was pretty happy with them pumping out oxygen and when I passed the lower branches I'd give their leaves a friendly high five and they'd wiggle back happily.

Meanwhile, blood pressure was rising in the cars that I left grumbling at idle with their discontentment. Biking in rush hour is more fun when you can gloat, so I always make a point of doing a flyby past the worst of the traffic.

The intersection of Idylwyld and 33rd was sheer hopelessness for anyone in a motor vehicle. The vantage point offered by it's altitude showed an endless line of clogged traffic in every direction.
It worked perfectly to my advantage. I weaved in and out of idling cars, crossed with enthusiastic disregard for the traffic lights, and hit the long 33rd St. downhill towards city center.
(Note: Sometimes I elect to cut across Idylwyld at 38th, and head for the cemetery. Nothing inspires a guy to better health than acres of prematurely dead. And nothing feels quite as alive as being alone with the sound of your breathing and humming tires on a sunny day while other people are losing their mind stuck in rush hour.)

I cut quickly across 2nd Avenue, into the Technicolor canopy of City Park in Autumn, and I rolled down the streets that I taught my oldest daughter to ride her bike on, past Kinsmen Park, where we were one of the last families to play on the old playground and one of the first families to play on the new playground, down past the sewer smell that everybody knows comes out of the dry storm drains towards the University Bridge

Now listen...not everything about traffic is bad. In fact, there is one thing about rush hour in Saskatoon that completely restores my faith in humanity and goodness.

When you're coming on to the 25th Street Bridge in Saskatoon, off of Spadina, people take turns. There is no other city in the world that I can think of that takes one of the busiest central intersections in the urban core, and leaves it completely uncontrolled, relying on public goodness to maintain order. And it works. It's the ultimate example of anarchy at work.
I didn't wait to take turns. I bounced across Spadina without stopping and hit the bridge.

Here's the thing about going uphill against the wind on a bridge. It's a bit of a challenge, and in me it brings out the same thoughts that running does.
I realize that one day I will be unable to bike up a bridge, whether because of weather or age or illness or whateva, and I remind myself that I should be grateful for the moment that I have. The next thing that I think of when tackling a big hill, is that it might be hard today, but if I push myself to the limit and just get through it, my body, my stamina, my will, all of it will be strengthened, and tomorrow that hill will be just a little bit easier because of that.
Then I view it on more of a macrocosmic scale, realizing that I will have other battles in my life that will be uphill, and against the wind. When that day comes I can go into that battle with a mind and spirit trained to submit, or I can go in with a mind and spirit, trained, experienced and adept at tackling a challenge.

In the interest of brevity let's skip ahead. 10 minutes later, and I'm home, having outpaced most of the traffic. I come into my house breathless and thirsty, but enervated, energized, refreshed and happy. My kids and my wife have smiles for me and I have smiles for them. If one were to take an analysis of me, they would find an increased oxygen level, stronger muscles, lower blood pressure, and a higher degree of general well being, not to mention several hundred dollars more in my bank account at the end of the month.

Rush hour is a different kind of rush for me.

The pic is just some random guy, found it on the wurlwhyweb.

Locally Grown

I'm a chef again. I spent a good 10 years of my life working with food, and then left the business for about 5 years to experiment with other jobs.
This time around I've got a far greater appreciation for the culinary arts, and I'm constantly learning about new trends.
It seems these days that there is a strong movement towards returning to the fundamentals. Those that know me well will often here me talking about Auguste Escoffier, the father of modern cuisine. He revolutionized cooking in his day, and to this day we follow almost all of the techniques and systems that he put down at the turn of the last century. One of the basics of his philosophy was the use of locally grown product for maximum freshness.
In Saskatchewan this is difficult, and what I perceived to be a difficulty too great to be overcome has always kept me from even attempting to shop for local foods.
Researching them today however, I've discovered that not only is it possible to source great local product in all seasons in Saskatchewan, but there is a strong and vibrant community devoted to just that! I've posted a link on my links list to "Home for Dinner", another Saskatoon based blog with a focus on great cuisine with locally produced ingredients.
I just discovered it today, and suffice it to say I'll be visiting this site a lot more.
One of the sources that the author mentions is of course the Saskatoon Farmer's Market, which I've always taken great pleasure in visiting. I can always find something new and exciting to bring home and mess around with from the Farmer's Market. The last interesting thing that I brought home from the market was a pile of sunchokes, that I roasted with thyme, olive oil and garlic.

Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out.

Saskatoon is a blues town people. We spawned Wide Mouth Mason and Jordan Cook to drop some names. Big Dave Mclean recorded his album "Muddy Waters for President" at Bud's on Broadway, out of all the blues clubs he could have chosen in Canada. The blues are ingrained as heavily in our streets as the callouses in Buddy Guy's fingertips.
And when I have wandered I have taken the blues with me, and in so doing have always carried a little piece of home with me.
Naturally when I play guitar, I work on blues tunes. One of my all time favorites has always been Eric Clapton, in particular his work from the Unplugged album.
Today I was checking out some online lessons for the song "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out" when I discovered the talent of Bessie Smith. Bessie Smith was known as the Empress of the Blues, and was the original artist of Nobody Knows You. She was a hugely popular blues and jazz singer in the 20s and 30s.
On Sep 26 1937 the Empress of the Blues, Bessie Smith, sustained grave injuries in a traffic accident on US Highway 61. She was taken to a colored hospital in Clarksdale, Mississippi and her arm amputated. Smith died later that day from blood loss. According to legend, Bessie had been refused treatment by a closer, whites-only hospital.
Now folks, for your listening pleasure, I present both versions of Nobody Knows You...

Flat-terranean Homesick Blues.

I was just searching for the video of Forrest Gump running to add to my last blog entry, which I thought would be kind of fun and whimsical, but instead I found myself getting a little bit melancholy.
I was living in BC when I first saw Forrest Gump. I saw it in the theater, and let me tell you people, Vancouver in Autumn is very far from Saskatoon.
I was feeling lonesome and homesick the way that prairie people often do when they're surrounded and shut in by trees and mountains and clouds. The Pacific Coast can wrap you in, and if you're averse to being wrapped it's not necessarily a good thing.

I'll admit that I'm pretty susceptible to outside influences, particularly when it comes to emotions and such. There's a running scene in Forrest Gump in which he runs across America a few times. One of the shots in this scene is a long sweeping panorama of prairie skyline, as Forrest runs along a flatland highway through shimmering wheat fields.

I was sitting in this dark theater, and that big beautiful blue sky in the scene was even more real to me at that time than any sky I could recall. I felt such an incredible wave of homesickness at that point, of complete and utter displacement that it hit me in the stomach like a lost love.

Here's a confession of some teenage silliness for you, that is somewhat related while we're at it.
When I was a teenager I thought I'd seen Saskatchewan for the last time. It turned out that I hadn't, and the day that I came back from living in Britain was one of the best days of my life. The day that I came back I went to the outskirts of the city where the fields start and they don't stop, and I actually ran out into a wheatfield with my walkman blaring John Cougar and I rocked out until I was exhausted (I'd held on to this image of the video for Pink Houses while I'd been in Britain) and after I rocked out and relived the video I just laid there in the freezing November cold, ecstatic and delirious. Here's another little confession, I was actually trying to grow my hair out to look like the album cover of American Fool back then. I so identified with this video that it determined my entire personality. You'll see at the end...Aviators, long hair, white T-shirt, boots. When I was overseas this video defined home for me, and I think that somehow, by emulating him I was holding on to home.

John Mellencamp - Pink Houses
Uploaded by John-Mellencamp

Gettin' my Hardtail on the Trail.

Here's something you didn't know about me. I really like trail riding. Ever since I was a little kid I've been an 'enthusiast'
When I was younger I had a BMX and my friends and I would head out to the riverbank trails and go nuts. It was as much fun as riding a rollercoaster. Most of the time I was behind the rest of the group, I was a little neurotic and overcautious. Since those days I've flirted back and forth with trail riding. I'm a little ashamed to say that the last time that I did anything close to trail riding was probably about 4 years ago in Calgary. I lived a block away from Nose Hill, and I rediscovered the passion for a time there.
But this week I'll be getting my mountain bike out on the road again. It's in the shop right now getting a full tune up and a couple of minor but necessary repairs. And then it's party time! I discovered a great link today. It's a listing of trails in Saskatoon. I was shocked at how many of these trails I wasn't aware of. I'd always considered myself a little bit of an expert on the river trails, but I guess I have a lot to learn.