Christmas Day Bus Ride

Twas the day of Christmas and all through the bus
Plenty of creatures were stirring, maybe even a mouse

A rotund woman squeezes through the aisle with a great deal of trouble
After getting on, the bus’s weight surely did double

Under her arm, a large box of chocolates she did bring
It had to be empty, ‘cause it looked like she ate the whole thing

The first of a number of bums staggered onto the bus
After sitting down, he flashed his few remaining teeth to us

He soon caused those around him to scatter
Bathing more than once a month does matter

The next one showed that standing on his feet is truly an art
For someone who smelled like he just held up a liquor mart

A scruffy character with an IQ of about five
Had to have picked up his U of M backpack in a dumpster dive

Two teenage hoodlums showed no shame
As they scoped out their next claim

A woman boarded after her holiday eggnog
Inside her stroller was not a baby, but a dog

She didn’t look to have problems with her vision
Being a guide dog was not Rover’s mission

Another day on the bus that saps holiday cheer
It makes me want to get out of here

Moose Flashback: “We’re Not Marketing Fighting”

“We’re not marketing fighting on our hockey team.”

Those were the words of Tim Scott, Vice-President of Sales and Marketing of the Manitoba “Fighting” Moose back in 2000, as told to the Winnipeg Free Press, in response to the instant backlash to an ad that the Moose had placed in the Free Press.

 

Do you remember this infamous ad?

The ad in question was designed like a fight card and couldn’t help but remind hockey fans of the scene in Slap Shot when Reggie Dunlop was in Joe McGrath’s office going over a similar ad with the heading of “Aggressive Hockey is Back in Town.” Dunlop suggested, among other things, putting a picture of a groin injury and a “For Sale” sign on the ad, since the fight-happy Charlestown Chiefs were scheduled to fold at the end of the year.

The Moose were in no less trouble than those fictional Chiefs. Their lease was expiring at the Winnipeg Arena and despite having recently rattled off ten wins in a row and sitting comfortably in first place, attendance and fan interest were bottoming out. Crowds were regularly announced in the 6-7,000 range, but, in reality, there were less than 4,000 actually in the building. Many of the Moose’s fans had apparently doused themselves in some leftover invisible paint that Wile E. Coyote had ordered from the Acme catalog as part of one or more of his futile schemes to catch the Road Runner.

Two weeks earlier, Mel Angelstad, the Moose’s fighter, got into a scrap with Chris Neil of the Grand Rapids Griffins after Neil had tried to pick a fight with Moose captain Brian F. Chapman. Sensing an opportunity to capitalize on a potential rematch between the two heavyweights, the Moose placed this ad and printed off 2,000 posters of Angelstad to be given away that night.

Fighters came and went, but there were none like Mel Angelstad. Known as “Mad Mel” or the “Angler,” Angelstad was unquestionably the biggest “celebrity” fighter in the game at the time. He tracked his fighting numbers the way a sniper would track his goals and would boast with pride about his annual totals of 30-40 fights in a season.

He also understood better than anyone that sports was an entertainment business and there was no bigger showman than Mel Angelstad. After taking care of business on the ice, he would tip his helmet and beam his child-like smile at his admirers on the other side of the glass. While he was with the Moose, most of those admirers were the Moose’s preferred demographic, the 8-12 year old boys who were pounding on the glass yelling, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

As the Moose had hoped, the ad did generate plenty of attention, but, as was commonplace during that era, it was very negative attention. The Moose were forced to hastily backtrack and reworded the ad the following day to instead promote the opposing power plays and penalty killing units.

“We realized right away it wasn’t an accurate reflection of what we’re all about. So we said, ‘Let’s change it,’” said Moose owner/president/general manager/head coach Mark Chipman to the Free Press.

But it was an accurate reflection of what the “Fighting” Moose were all about.

During their five seasons in the IHL, the Moose had more fights than points in the standings and they had led the league in number of fights the previous season. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” was easily the most common chant during those years. By contrast, I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that I heard a “Go Moose Go” chant.

This was but one of many colorful, zany stories from an otherwise forgettable era of hockey history in Winnipeg that few fans saw.

Hmmm, maybe someone should write a book featuring all those stories.

And maybe someone is doing just that.

Dear Jack Ask

This past week, I read an interesting item in the Winnipeg Sun’s new advice column. You can read the column here, including the response from Jackie De Pape Hornick, a.k.a. “Jack Ask.”

For the reader’s convenience, here was the question put to “Jack Ask”:

DEAR JACK ASK: I have breakfast with Ladd and sleep beside Noel. At least that's what it feels like since all my husband does is live and breathe the Winnipeg Jets.

I was pumped, too, when the Jets returned, but now my husband goes to all 45 home games and watches every away game on TV, so the Jets' schedule (stuck on my fridge) serves as the new family calendar. He literally asks me if I've "checked the fridge" if I mention a party we've been invited to — even for away games.

With the holiday season coming, he's refusing to go to my work party and a family gathering because they fall on home game days. I'm starting to feel like a hockey widow and he's not even a player. I don't want to tell him he can't go, but I don't want to spend the holidays alone, either. What can I do?

— Married to the Jets

“Jack” gave a clever response. In this case, however, I think that I can do one better.

Dear Married to the Jets: Your situation is not unique among couples in Winnipeg, where the madness concerning this sorry excuse for a hockey team is still raging.

The end of this honeymoon period, however, is on the horizon, and with every loss that “Thrashers Light” piles up, interest in the team will continue to wane. Even your husband will soon be looking to pawn his tickets.

As long as owner/president/general manager/head coach Mark Chipman is in charge, you need not worry about a miraculous upturn in the team’s fortunes that might re-ignite your husband’s passion. Chipman and his hand-picked cadre of brown-nosers, personal friends and cronies will do little but let a bad team flounder while gleefully pocketing your hard-earned tax money.

Be patient. It won’t be long before your husband and every other hockey fan in Manitoba will grow weary of watching a collection of fourth-liners and waiver-wire pickups that would have had trouble beating the Moose. Ride the wave and be ready to welcome him back when once he realizes that ownership is not nearly as committed to the team’s success as the fan base.

In the meantime, enjoy the time alone. You’ll soon be seeing more of him than you can handle.

Deacon’s Corner Sign-Gate

On the Trans-Canada Highway east of Winnipeg, there is a sign just past Deacon’s Corner that gives the distance in kilometers to Falcon Lake and Kenora. In many respects, it is a sign not unlike many others in the province that gives motorists an idea how far it is to their destination.

This one, however, has a sordid tale behind it.

After the Metric system was imposed upon the Canadian people during Pierre Trudeau’s autocratic reign as the country’s heavy-handed, supreme ruler, many of these signs around the province were changed to reflect the distances in kilometers instead of miles.

This particular sign, likely an original of the Metric era, had served motorists well for many years. Though the posts and perhaps the brackets that were holding it up had seen better days, despite its age, the metal sign itself looked no worse for the wear. However, someone at Manitoba Infrastructure and Transportation still decided that it needed to be replaced. The reasons for this decision escape me.

Two years ago, as part of the much-needed resurfacing of this stretch of highway, this new sign made its unceremonious debut. Not only had Kenora apparently moved two kilometers closer, the first letter of Kenora had been spelled with a small “k” and the “k” in Falcon Lake had been capitalized.

These glaring errors on this three or four-foot high sign could not possibly be any more obvious, yet no one with Signal Industries in Dauphin, where these signs are made, or Infrastructure and Transportation caught them.

This sign clearly should never have left the factory, let alone been put up on the side of a highway. I can’t even hazard a guess as to how many people saw this sign on its way here and failed to notice the mistakes.

Worse still, this sign stood there for over a year until it was finally corrected this summer.

Today, as part of a 41-mile bike ride out that way, I visited the location and got a picture of the corrected sign.

Rather than putting a sticker or a metal plate over each letter, which is commonly done on these signs, they repainted it completely. It is akin to repainting an entire wall of a room in your house to cover up a mark the size of a closed fist.

I can just hear a good friend of mine saying, “Thank you government!”™

Your tax dollars at work.

Cakes, Tags and the Stupid Store

Spotted today at the Real Canadian Superstore was a couple in line at the checkout. Among their items was a cake. The cake had no price tag on it, so the cashier called for a price check.

After a few minutes, someone from the bakery department came back to say that they couldn’t sell the cake. Why? Because the tags weren’t ready yet.

Incredible.

After the dumbfounded couple had left, the cashier said, “They shouldn't have put the cakes out if they didn't have price tags.”

Maybe, just maybe, they should have had the price tags ready before having employees spend countless hours of labor and blow large quantities of perfectly good flour and other ingredients to bake these cakes.

And maybe they could have sold it at their regular price anyways. It might foul up their computer to ring through an unregistered product, but, as any Superstore customer can attest, it's not as though the data in their computers closely matches the prices on the shelf.

That’s why a good friend of mine who used to work there calls it the Stupid Store.

A CUPee Worker

While patching holes on the street in front of my house today
A city worker left something else behind during his stay

He turned towards the house and unzipped his fly
Urinating in broad daylight, discretion he didn’t even try

A big puddle next to the asphalt remains for all to see
We don’t need to see a union card to know that he’s a member of CUPee

To 311, a call has been made to report the offending fellow
“You’ve got to be kidding,” the operator said with a bellow

It’s not just dogs who lift their legs and let loose with a yellow stream
Humans are just as bad, or so it would seem

It’s a story that’s getting old
About how some pigs are growing ever more bold

Westman Reptile Gardens

This past Saturday, I visited Westman Reptile Gardens near Brandon. Having first seen their brochure in a nearby shopping center a couple of years ago, I had been anxious to see their collection of crocodiles, snakes and lizards. Saturday at last presented that opportunity.

En route, as many of you might have expected, I stopped to get a shot of this sign at the junction of PTH 16. This Yellowhead sign with the “16” in the middle is among the last of a dying breed, since every sign on the route has been replaced with Trans-Canada signage. The only other remaining sign like this is in the eastbound direction on the other side of the traffic light. Interestingly, I have seen old signs like this cut in half, turned around and repainted for use elsewhere in this area.

The halfway tree, the unofficial halfway point between Winnipeg and Brandon.

Near Road 77W was the first sign for Pile o’Bones, Saskatchewan’s capital that is currently known as Regina.

 

It would not be a drive in the SPRM without construction.

There is plenty of advance signage for the turnoff at PR 340 north of Douglas that takes you there. As the sign suggests, it is an official Manitoba Star Attraction.

Before going there, however, we had a nice side trip to Brandon, only a few miles to the west.

I took advantage of the light traffic to get a shot of this overhead sign near the P.E.T.R.O.-Canada station. For those of you who are unaware, P.E.T.R.O. unofficially stands for Pierre Elliott Trudeau Rips Off Canada. P.E.T.R.O.-Canada was founded during Trudeau’s autocratic rule over Canada and the Crown corporation remains a sore point in many regions of the country. It is scary to contemplate the fact that Trudeau’s son, a pothead with the maturity of a ten-year-old, leads a major political party today.

This station always evokes memories of a time when I was there with my parents as a young child on our way back from the Farmers’ Republic of Saskatchewan. We had been talking at length with a family with young children who left about a half hour before we did. After getting back on the highway, we saw their car overturned in the ditch. We never found out what became of them, but it certainly didn’t look good. This was in an era before seat belt use and airbags were commonplace.

Grand Valley, west of Brandon. For those of you who have not read Pierre Berton’s book on the settling of the West, the settlement that has become the SPRM’s second-largest city would have been in Grand Valley were it not for the original landowners who had overplayed their hand with the railway.

Back in Brandon for a lunch break at Subway, we had the misfortune of being stuck behind three guys, none of whom spoke much English. It was an entertaining and lengthy game of charades as the three guys and the flustered clerk traded hand gestures to try and get their orders right.

Heading east on PR 457, Veteran’s Way, towards the Reptile Gardens, there was this interesting sight on the road.

This half-wit had stopped to let her big dog run loose amid the heavy traffic in both directions, making no effort to keep the dog contained. Not only could this idiocy have caused an accident and significant damage to a passing car, but the dog was left in mortal peril. It looked as if the dog owner was trying to get someone to euthanize her dog and use an MPI claim to pay the bill.

The Reptile Gardens are well off the beaten path, but there is plenty of signage to direct you there off PR 340.

From the outside, it doesn’t look like much and were it not for the signs, a passer-by could easily mistake it for just another one of the handful of farmhouses in the area.

They hadn’t even swept away the light dusting of overnight snow.

Upon walking in, the pair of disinterested teenagers behind the counter couldn’t even be bothered to greet us. I had to ask as to how much the admission price was and one of then made the supreme sacrifice to get off her stool and accept my money. I haven’t seen such lethargy since I last attended a Fighting Moose game a decade ago. They would make for ideal Mark Chipman employees, but they would have to learn not to give a cursory “thank you” before customers leave, as they did in our case, in order to be considered for employment in a Chipman organization.

I then took out my camera and started capturing digital images of their massive reptile collection.

A turtle near the front entrance. Admittedly, it’s not a great picture, but, considering the circumstances, it’s the best that I could do. The facility was poorly lit and the glass in many of the pens obviously does not get cleaned very often, if ever.

A snake near the front entrance.

A yellow snake shedding its skin.

A lizard sizing up a sludge pond.

This lizard actually had it good by comparison.

Crocodiles were left to soak in shallow pools of murky water and some pens didn’t even have water at all. One turtle was left at the bottom of a dry tub that was clearly too deep for it to be able to crawl out of. Their quarters seemed small and most of the creatures looked like zombies doing hard time in prison. All in all, perhaps the most disappointing part of the visit was to see the poor conditions under which the reptiles are kept.

 

A turtle trying to escape.

Another snake.

Shedded snakeskin.

A turtle.

More crocodiles.

Cockroaches.

And another snake.

It’s a snake, trust me, though it’s hard to tell through the dirty glass.

A bullfrog.

Lizards.

More turtles.

Also included in their collection were scorpions, tarantulas and piranhas. I tried to get some shots of them, but again, the fact that the glass had not likely been cleaned since it left the factory rendered fruitless any attempts at getting good shots of them.

I spent about three-quarters of an hour there and I enjoyed my visit. I had expected a little more, but, overall, I still found it to be a worthwhile trip.

For more information on Westman Reptile Gardens and their location, check their Web site at www.reptilegardens.ca.

The Windows 8.1 Upgrade Experience

Against my better judgment, I decided to take the plunge yesterday and take advantage of Microsoft’s free upgrade from Windows 8.0 to 8.1. I had been perfectly satisfied with Windows 8 on my system, but, keenly aware of Microsoft’s intense desire to shove their most recent offering down your throat until you finally cave in, I opted to take my medicine now rather than later.

Upon clicking the icon in the Windows Store, however, the message told me that I had to be logged in as an administrator. I had instead expected to have a box pop up prompting me for an administrative password, just as I normally get when installing an application. This feature was one of the major benefits of post-XP Windows versions, where you did not have to physically log in as an administrator to perform administrative tasks.

Strike one.

After switching to an administrative account, I began the upgrade procedure. Once the download started, I got a cheerful message telling me that I could continue with other work, so I did. Unfortunately, a couple of hours later, as the upgrade process was “gathering info,” the Windows Store app crashed.

Strike two.

To my relief, after restarting the upgrade, it resumed where it left off and continued to “gather info” for another couple of hours. So much for this “minor” upgrade. It took much less time to upgrade from Windows 7 to 8 on this same system.

Following a handful of reboots, the upgrade eventually finished. Then the real adventure began.

Microsoft now wants you to link your local account with a Microsoft account, ie. Hotmail, Outlook. I kept saying no, but the nag screens kept popping up each time I opened an app. Only after clicking the “Sign in to each app individually” link in small print at the bottom of the screen was I finally rid of this nuisance.

Invariably, there’s always a handful of updates after a major release, so I bit the bullet and ran Windows Update. Surprisingly, there were only five, but the second of the two, a Visual Studio update, hung. I eventually stopped the installation, but even after trying to reboot, it kept trying to install the update. I finally had to power off to stop it.

Upon restarting my system, I checked to make sure my USB devices worked, and they did, including my HP scanner. Unfortunately, each time I plugged in a device, there was the annoying wait while the system was “installing files.” I had already used these devices under Windows 8 and given that this was an upgrade, I thought that this was unnecessary. When using the scanner, the “installing files” box actually hung and I had to close it, but the scanner still worked. I’ll keep my fingers crossed and hope that it still does.

Interestingly, despite all the warning messages in Windows 8 that Office 2003 is not supported and won’t work, it continued to work flawlessly in Windows 8.1.

There are some new apps available for Windows 8.1 users in the Windows Store, including one package curiously called “Essential Apps.” Among the apps was CBC News.

I have never felt that left-wing propaganda was “essential.” Judging from the results of the last federal election, most Canadians feel the same way, in spite of the CBC’s attempts to brainwash Canadian voters.

Perhaps, in future, Microsoft could consider something more politically neutral, such as Al-Jazeera or the North Korean news agency.

Thus far, I haven’t seen much of a benefit from Windows 8.1. I hope that there's some increased stability and security that will make the “upgrade” worthwhile.

A Government With Too Much Money

Some of you who live in Winnipeg may have noticed in recent weeks and months that virtually every route marker and speed zone sign in the city is in the process of being replaced, if it has not already been replaced.

Three of the many new markers on Winnipeg streets. There are many more where they came from.

These new city route markers feature the new Clearview font, which, I am told, is easier to read at high speeds. In addition, the markers also feature a reflective backing so that they can be read easier at night.

That said, these new features hardly justify a city-wide search-and-destroy mission to replace every marker that city workers can get their hands on.

An argument can be made for this wholesale sign replacement on rural highways, where lighting is poor or non-existent and motorists are travelling at higher speeds.

Within Winnipeg, it is a different story. Speeds are much lower than they are on highways and Winnipeg streets are, by and large, very well lit. There are many reasons for the plethora of motor vehicle accidents within Winnipeg, but I doubt that an inability to read a road sign would be one of them.

By all means, if a sign otherwise needs replacement, then these new markers should be used. To hunt down and replace every single marker in the city, however, is simply ludicrous.

To make matters worse, I spotted one of these search-and-destroy sign replacement crews on a recent Sunday morning. No doubt, they were rubbing their hands with glee while fingering the extra cash that they'll be raking in as they bill taxpayers double time for this unnecessary job.

This is yet another indication that this municipal government has too much money on its hands. When your councillor or Mayor Sammy starts talking about snow clearing surcharges and cutting fire services because there's not enough money, you can be rest assured that it's pure bovine excrement.

There's plenty of money. They just choose to blow it elsewhere. Greg Selinger Disease has infected City Hall.

Visit to St. Catharines

This past week, I spent four days in St. Catharines, Ontario. Some of you who know me will know the reason why, but for public consumption, let’s just call it a business trip.

Bright and early on Monday morning, I arrived at the Winnipeg airport ready to board a WestJet flight to the Center of the Universe in the first leg of the journey. The irony of flying WestJet to go east, while using QuebAir to fly west in June was not lost on me.

I had a little trouble at the self-serve kiosk, but a friendly WestJet staffer was there to help and got me on my way quickly. The friendliness of the WestJet staff would be a recurring theme both on the flight to C.U. and on the way back to Winnipeg. I can see why friends have told me that they far prefer WestJet to QuebAir.

Having just gone through the airport security experience recently, I was perhaps a little too cavalier and forgot to remove my necklace and watch. As a result, I got the full body swipe in the circular scanner. It turned up something near my stomach, but after a brief pat-down, they found that it was just some partially-digested food making its way through my system.

Past security with plenty of time to spare, I used the time to unload my bladder and tour the airport.

Airport Hilton?

I was not alone. You may understand. You may not. If you’re getting puzzled by these references, I encourage you to read my second book.

Is it wise to be plying passengers with liquor before boarding an aircraft?

Gate 6 with service to Toronto.

While waiting at Gate 6, one fellow traveller seated across from me lifted himself off his seat to blow off a little exhaust. For the benefit of one reader, yes, I did think of our former colleague and his connection to the postal service. Strangely enough, Mr. Fartman would later accompany me on the same Niagara Airbus shuttle bound for St. Catharines.

Leaving YWG.

The plane was much larger than the dinky contraption that QuebAir had used to take me to Calgary. There were three seats on each side of the aisle and I was thrilled to see the on-board, real-time display showing where we were. I could roughly tell where we were even without the visual aid, but it was nice added touch.

A paper vomitorium.

I was fortunate enough to have a window seat and got some good shots along the way to C.U.

Once we reached our cruising altitude of 39,000 feet and with the plane pointed in the direction of Toronto, I was surprised that they didn’t just turn the engines off and allow the vortex generated by the Center of the Universe to pull the plane into Pearson Airport. Perhaps they did and piped in engine noise just to give the passengers a more natural flight experience. It was another indication as to how far WestJet will go for their customers.

Approaching the Center of the Universe.

Almost immediately after touching down at Pearson Airport, I could definitely tell that I wasn’t on the prairies anymore. The enormity of the GTA is hard to digest for someone like me who has thus far spent his entire life in little old Winnipeg. Welcome to the world.

This really is the Center of the Universe.

During my brief time in the airport, I had hoped to find a place where first-time visitors to Toronto could change a light bulb. Like many of you, I’ve heard the stories about how Torontonians simply reach up, grasp onto a bulb and wait for the world to turn around them. Sadly, I couldn’t find one. Should I end up flying to C.U. again, I’ll have to inquire at an information desk.

I’ll spare you further Toronto jokes for the time being.

I did take note that the baggage claim area at Pearson Airport was in the secured area, unlike Winnipeg, where the carousels are accessible by anyone who walks in off the street. This was yet another grave oversight by the WAA in the design of the new terminal.

The second leg of the journey involved a Niagara Airbus shuttle to St. Catharines.

I quickly found the ground transportation desk next to Door C and within minutes, I was heading out into the labyrinth of concrete that is Southern Ontario’s sophisticated freeway system. If you’re a resident of the GTA and chortle at the term “sophisticated,” I invite you to visit the SPRM and make the comparison for yourself.

The driver was nice enough to let me sit in the front seat and I took full advantage. Many more pictures will soon be appearing on a Web site near you.

Westbound 403 past Hurontario Street.

Fort Erie-bound QEW approaching the Dorval Drive/Kerr Street exit. The alert reader may notice the “ER” initials atop the light standards, which means Elizabeth Regina, Latin for Queen Elizabeth.

Fort Erie-bound QEW approaching the split with 403 in Burlington.

Fort Erie-bound QEW approaching the North Shore Boulevard/Eastport Drive exit in Burlington.

Fort Erie-bound QEW crossing the Burlington Skyway.

The first sign for St. Catharines.

Entering the Regional Municipality of Niagara. At right is the Niagara Escarpment that protects the region from much of the winter snow. The clerk at the front desk of the hotel would later tell me that she had to take her children to Buffalo to go tobogganing last winter because there was so little snow in St. Catharines. During the trip, I would also learn that they have year-round golf courses in the area as well as green grass in the middle of January. My envy was as green as their January grass.

Crossing 40 Mile Creek. I’m surprised that it remains legal in Canada to name anything in Imperial measurements.

This sign certainly got my attention. Then again, every sign gets my attention. Indeed, it is a stiff, but deserved penalty for such reckless driving. I hope that it is enforced, unlike the SPRM, where governments spend their time enacting laws that police choose to ignore.

An encouraging sign.

Passing Jordan Harbor in Lincoln. Despite the fact that the QEW roughly follows the shore of Lake Ontario, it is one of the few views of the lake that motorists get on the route.

Interestingly, Lincoln’s population of approximately 22,000 only qualifies as a town in Ontario. In the SPRM, an urban center of 7,500 or more can be granted city status.

Welcome to St. Catharines.

After checking in at the Capri Inn, I set off on a tour towards the downtown area.

This qualifies as a bus stop in St. Catharines. Most bus stops don’t even have this much. There is a stop down the hill to the right that has only a pole with a sign from St. Catharines Transit where riders must stand off the curb on a piece of unmowed grass.

They have ratmobiles there, too. Oh right, they’re called “food trucks,” or, in this case, a “food trailer.”

This is the sign outside the General Parking lot at the General Motors plant. I took note of the sign saying that all vehicles not made by GM would be towed. I wonder if they would tow my bike away.

Despite the presence of a GM plant in St. Catharines, I would be shocked by the number of Beemers that I spotted during my stay. GM is a major employer in the community and it would almost seem disloyal to drive a foreign-made product.

There was even a “Beamer Avenue” off Niagara Street.

Perhaps there would be the same number of Beemers on Winnipeg streets if Winnipeggers could buy from a dealership that was not owned by the Chipman family. Just saying.

The offices of the Standard, the local paper. Strangely, I would not spot a single paper box anywhere in the city during my extensive travels on foot. Even in little Gimli, I've always noticed many boxes for the free Interlake Enterprise. Perhaps there’s a local ordinance against putting out those paper boxes.

Marker on St. Paul Street.

The Meridian Center, future home of the OHL’s Niagara IceDogs.

Paul on St. Paul.

As they say in Texas, El Paso.

I stopped to take this shot on St. Paul Street. It is the familiar scene that the Standard uses as the cover image on their Web site.

I tend to agree.

 The public library. It’s not open on Monday.

 

 

City Hall.

Returning north, I visited the Fairview Mall.

While there and throughout my stay, I noticed that the majority of St. Cathariners seem to fall into one of two categories: student at Brock University or senior citizen. I was told the next day that St. Catharines recently tied with Vancouver for the highest percentage of seniors per capita in the country.

The sight of anything Snoopy-related is always going to catch my attention.

North Dakota plates are more common in the SPRM than in Southern Ontario.

Um, it’s “St. Catharines.” It would be only one of two misspelled signs that I would spot on the trip. As many of you know, I spot such signs in Winnipeg with frightening regularity.

No, I have no connection to this facility.

The GO bus that runs between Burlington and Niagara Falls.

Tuesday was mainly spent in meetings, but I still had time to explore Port Dalhousie and the areas north of the QEW east of Martindale Pond.

Locally, it’s pronounced da-LOO-zee, not dal-HOW-zee.

Martindale Pond. The seats in the background are to watch the rowing events.

Scenes in Jaycee Park.

An afternoon meeting involved a welcome side trip to nearby Niagara-on-the-Lake.

No, I was not horsing around.

A break at the Little Red Rooster.

Little could my gracious host have known how appropriate the motif was. Then again, maybe she did.

Wednesday was my day to explore the northern part of the city between Port Dalhousie and Port Weller.

The C.U. skyline from across Lake Ontario. I’m surprised that I wasn’t dragged across the lake into that swirling vortex. Before coming, I had half-expected to find a big seawall to protect St. Cathariners from a similar fate.

A ship headed for the Welland Canal.

Scenes along the Waterfront Trail.

This staircase had less stability than a swinging suspension bridge.

I reached Municipal Beach near Port Weller before returning to Lakeshore Road and Lock 1 of the Welland Canal.

Pear trees, I believe.

Goose crossing.

Highway H2O.

The start of the Welland Canals Trail. And yes, it is plural, as this is the fourth Welland Canal. The City of St. Catharines’ logo has four blue stripes to represent the four canals.

Welcome to St. Catharines.

Heading south on Niagara Street, I spotted house number “666.” Message sent. Message received.

 

Badly needing a lunch break, I finally found a Subway. I could have used a break much earlier, but the problem with spending your time in residential neighborhoods is the lack of washrooms and restaurants.

A Starbucks location was also conveniently located next door. Those of you who know me know that I will never patronize a Starbucks as long as I walk the face of the Earth, but I have no problem mooching off their Wi-Fi. My Twitter followers can guess pretty easily which tweet I sent while eating there.

After a much-needed rest and infusion of sustenance, I followed Scott Street east. On the way, a couple stopped and asked me for directions. Naturally, despite only having been in the city for three days, I was able to help them.

After reaching the canal, I headed south on the trail.

 

 Lock 2.

More than one reader may notice the lack of a trademark acknowledgement on the term “Staging Area”™. That’s an inside joke that most of you will not understand.

Approaching the Garden City Skyway.

Feet aching, I made it to the Welland Canals Center and the St. Catharines Museum.

I wanted to tour the museum, but a ship was headed in, so I instead headed out to watch its arrival at Lock 3.

I also captured video of the ship’s arrival.

This is the time-lapse edit, three times normal speed.

While watching the ship, I was talking with someone behind me who was from Windsor. He said that Winnipeg was a “friendly town.” He obviously has a rich sense of humor.

After the ship entered the lock, using reserves of energy that I’m not sure I had, I headed west back towards the Capri Inn.

I wondered about the tastefulness of placing the St. Catharines and District Retirees Association office next to a cemetery.

The surname “Duffus” rang a bell as I harkened back to my years following the IHL. Minnesota hockey “fan” Fiona Quick’s legendary infatuation with former Moose goaltender Parris Duffus will earn a full page in my next book that covers my experiences with the Manitoba Moose, pro hockey’s most unwanted team.

As I said, everything Snoopy-related catches my eye.

They’ve got construction there, too.

A New Brunswick plate. Message sent. Message received. The first three letters are also significant in my household, but I didn't catch it at the time.

The next day was a travel day, though the prospect of returning to the SPRM was not exactly warming the cockles of my heart. I would be miserable and depressed the whole day and that feeling would persist long after touching down in Winnipeg.

Having received a call from Niagara Airbus on Wednesday saying that the pickup would be an hour earlier than previously arranged, I got up bright and early and waited for their arrival. And waited. And waited. After calling to find out where they were, they said that Wednesday’s call was for a different passenger and that I wasn’t scheduled for pickup for another half hour.

So I waited. And waited.

Growing increasingly nervous, I breathed a sigh of relief when the shuttle finally arrived. After getting in, the driver then told us that there had been an accident on the QEW near Stoney Creek that had closed the highway to all C.U.-bound traffic. He said that we were about to get and adventure and we got one.

He exited the QEW at Vineland, then navigated at high speeds through back roads atop the Niagara Escarpment to get us around the accident. Unfortunately, many others had the same idea and we ran into bumper-to-bumper traffic soon after reaching Hamilton.

Westbound on the “Linc” in Hamilton near the 403 interchange.

Fortunately, traffic moved much more swiftly after getting on the 403 and back to the QEW. The driver’s best efforts, however, weren’t enough for one passenger, who kept complaining the entire way to C.U.

“Of course there’s going to be a letter out.”

No doubt, she was talking about a letter of complaint, but given how well the driver had done under the circumstances, she should have instead been talking about a letter of commendation. The only thing that he could be faulted for was driving too fast.

All the while, I was having a friendly chat with the driver as I was taking pictures. It turned out that he lives in St. Catharines and used to write for the Standard. He spoke with pride about once having the opportunity to interview Pierre Berton, author of many outstanding works including the authoritative history of the War of 1812. The Niagara region was a major theater of that conflict and history abounds throughout the area.

There was one scary moment on the drive when someone used the emergency lane next to the median to pass us on the left, but we got to Pearson Airport safely and in plenty of time for the flight back to the SPRM. There was a long wait at security, however, since I was behind the women’s volleyball team from the U.C.U. Varsity Blues. Or would that be the Bluettes? No matter, they were annoying, but, fortunately, they were perfectly well behaved on the plane.

I didn’t have a window seat on the return trip, but since I was so depressed, I’m not sure I would have enjoyed it much anyways. Even the fact that we spent much of the flight over U.S. airspace couldn’t cheer me up.

Nonetheless, it was an extremely productive trip and it was well worth going. No one squeezes more out of a travel dollar than I do and this particular excursion was no exception. It is my hope to return at some point in the future.