Lost Dog Epidemic

As I walk the streets of this snow-covered community in the bitter cold, I am noticing an epidemic of lost dog signs.

In the past, I have noticed occasional signs for a lost dog from time to time, but never anywhere close to the number that I've seen recently. Lost dogs have apparently become such a problem that there’s even a Web site at www.winnipeglostdogalert.com, where dog owners can go for help in finding their lost dogs.

I am not a dog owner, nor do I have any affinity for dogs, but I do feel badly for the dogs in question. Domesticated animals are ill-equipped to live on their own and being outside their homes in this extreme cold can effectively be a death sentence.

Seeing these signs and the desperate pleas from their owners leads me to wonder why these dogs are getting lost in the first place. Certainly, accidents do happen, but there are so many people in this city who take their dogs out and let them roam free with impunity and/or handle their dog’s call of nature by “letting the dog out,” often to do its business in their neighbor’s yard.

These same people will then act so surprised when their dog, set loose from captivity, decides to go for a little adventure around the neighborhood, gets lost or just chooses not to return.

You can hardly blame such an animal. Anyone on the Prairies understands the concept of cabin fever. Most humans, however, know how to get home. Many dogs do not.

Perhaps if these same dog owners spent half the time and effort in keeping their dogs penned up as they did in printing and distributing these signs, their dogs would be safe and sound at home.

A Bus Ride through the Heart of Winnipeg

A bus ride through the city’s toilet
Begins with an evening that a bum would like to forget

He drifts in and out of a conscious state
I don’t want to know what happened last night so late

Someone gets on with a hat from the Witness Protection Program
Does he want to get shot, or is he just being a ham?

A young woman applies her many cosmetics, how much is anyone’s guess
Among this group, who is she trying to impress?

At City Hall, the bus shelter is not just a place to wait
For some it’s a residence with a cheap rate

At the Sutherland Hotel, an ambulance is parked outside
Likely another repeat customer will get a free ride

The Selkirk Avenue clientele fill the bus with an eclectic aroma
The mix of vomit and beer is enough to put anyone into a coma

On the dark street a jogger runs, what the heck?
He’s probably not playing with a full deck

Weirdos abound causing a fuss
And in Winnipeg, they’re all taking the bus

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.

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.

Heartless Vandalism

While on a bike ride recently, I stopped at the bench at the end of the Transcona Trail, a stone’s throw from the Perimeter Highway.

My heart sank after reading the notice posted there.

For those of you not familiar with the story, as the picture suggests, the bench has been dedicated in memory of Ken Stammers. A 51-year-old married father of two, Stammers was tragically killed when he was struck by a snowmobile while walking nearby.

The operation of snowmobiles is illegal within the City of Winnipeg.

As someone who regularly visits the Memory Garden behind Grace Hospice in honor of the late Carli Ward, I can fully appreciate the value of having a place such as this for the grieving family to remember their lost loved one. In many respects, it can be even more personal than a grave site, since it is close to where the person actually passed away.

Unfortunately, there are far too many in Winnipeg who don’t have the heart to appreciate the sanctity of such a site.

In past visits there, I had noticed the potted plants, but I had not seen the lights or garden statues before. Unfortunately, vandals have seen them and have taken full advantage of the privacy that the isolated location offers to maliciously destroy more than just property.

In spite of this heartless vandalism, I hope that Mr. Stammers’ family and friends can at least enjoy the solitude at the bench that bears his name to remember his impact on their lives.

Selinger’s Soliloquy

I’m Greg Selinger, leader of Today’s NDP

Seems like some people aren’t too happy with me

Like a drunken sailor, I’m recklessly spending their cash

Emptying every bit of their private stash

What’s money, old chum

There’s plenty more where that came from

Eventually the public treasury won’t have even a dime

It will be someone else’s problem by that time

They tell me that absolute power corrupts more and more

Absolute nonsense, oh yeah, I’ve said that before

Against their will, I can raise the PST

What do they think this is, a democracy?

You’ll still be gullible folk if history is any sign

At election time, I’ll promise the moon and you’ll buy every line

Manitobans are terrible at math, you see

They don’t understand that for every dollar I give them, it costs them three

I’ll kiss a donkey or a goat

If it meant getting another vote

In the meantime, you can picket or protest, whatever the case may be

It doesn’t mean a thing to me

Ode to the Skywalk

The bums stagger by and accost you most of the time

Buddy, can you spare a dime?

Others walk with their heads down

Married to their phones, texting everyone in town

Meandering in all directions, sun or rain

Showing less awareness than those with a white cane

Merchants crowd the already cramped space

With tables full of everything from purses to lace

It’s all on sale, or so they say

Shop elsewhere, half the price you’ll pay

Modesty has gone out of style and no one wishes to repent

Slutwalk has become a daily event

Filling the airwaves with noise the buskers play

How much to make them go away?

Another day in the skywalk amid many a nut

At least no one thrust a knife in my gut

Camera Shy

While I was out today

I saw someone riding his bike on Sterling Lyon Parkway

Wobbling back and forth and moving from side to side

While juggling all his worldly possessions on his ride

I pulled out my camera to capture this sight

Before he could no longer remain upright

As he saw me ready to snap a shot

He began to swear a lot

Scared of the camera, he turned to cross the street

Nearly his maker he did meet

Pulling in front of a speeding car with no indecision

The driver had to brake to avoid a collision

On his merry way he did go

He came so close to death, you know

All to avoid a camera, no more

I had never thought of it as a weapon before

An Epic Adventure in Sioux Narrows

On Friday, along with 34 other passengers, I set out for my last major bus tour of the season. It would also prove to be the most adventurous tour of the season.

Our destination was Sioux Narrows with stops in Falcon Lake, Rushing River Provincial Park and Rat Portage along the way.

As I approached the waiting bus, I groaned upon spotting our tour guide for the day. I had been with her on tours on two prior occasions and both times, her inexperience and/or ill-preparedness had hampered the tour. Unfortunately, this time would be no exception. For reasons that will become evident as you read on, I will not name her publicly.

I was not surprised in the least to hear that she had never done a tour to Sioux Narrows before. Equally unsurprisingly, I would discover quickly that she had made little effort to find out about our various destinations. Instead, she would rely upon her passengers to do her job for her. Sitting in the front seat, I would do more to point the way than she would. 

Upon our departure from Winnipeg, I was encouraged to hear when she had asked our driver to point out when we were near the GWWD railway crossing and the Aqueduct so that she could read a spiel about it. That slightly encouraging feeling faded once she and the driver became engrossed in an hour-long conversation as we headed east. It was I who interrupted and pointed out the approaching Aqueduct, enabling her to deliver her material at the right time.

In any event, I thoroughly enjoyed the drive and I was almost disappointed when we reached the Whiteshell and arrived at Falcon Lake. Even though I already have the drive filmed on video, this scenery never gets old.

Eschewing the large lot nearby, our driver parked in front of the Falcon Lake Meat and Grocery store and squarely in front of a “No Parking” sign.

Later in the day, he would park in front of another “No Parking” sign at Rushing River.

Noticing that he had done this for the second time today, I jokingly mentioned the new site WPGParkingFail.com to him. He responded by going into an angry tirade about how that site’s operator was “poking his nose into places it shouldn’t be” and “who cares if someone is taking up two parking spots.” He then proudly proclaimed that “he doesn’t pay much attention to that stuff.”

Needless to say, I was quite taken aback at his brazen contempt of parking regulations. I was doubly appalled that he would be so open about it with a customer.

I would also later reflect upon the interesting stories that he had told during his conversation with the tour guide about his year in China teaching English. What impressed him greatly was how much respect his Chinese students showed him as a teacher.

Perhaps it might serve him well to show the same level of respect for those regulations that he flaunted with such apparent pride.

As with the tour guide, I will not name him publicly either.

I didn’t have much to see in Falcon Lake, but I did take a stroll around.

The bakery.

A nearby trail.

Is it “Cottonwood” or “Cotton Wood”?

Shops in the area. 

After our half-hour break, we headed east towards the SPRM/Ontario border. As we passed the weigh station, I looked to my left and spotted our driver writing while driving.

Sadly, this would become a repeat occurrence on our return.

On numerous occasions, he would pull out a small piece of notepaper and jot something down while driving. Each time, his note taking would only last a few seconds, but that’s all it takes to lose control. The risk factor with distracted driving is only multiplied on the two-lane highways through Northwestern Ontario.

Crossing the frontier into Ontario. I made sure to take this shot before Greasy Greg decides to take a page out of Nikita Khrushchev’s playbook and build a wall.

Upon nearing Rat Portage, we took the bypass to the north.

The scenery is even more breathtaking than it is west of Rat Portage. I was in awe of these rock formations and I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to build this highway. Travellers often complain because the highway hasn’t been twinned, but the fact that there is a road at all is remarkable.

East of Rat Portage, we turned south on King’s Highway 71 and headed for Sioux Narrows.

A short time later, we arrived in Sioux Narrows. Or, as the sign says, “SIOUX NARROWS.” I know that at least one reader will appreciate that.

Just on the other side of the Sioux Narrows Bridge was our lunch stop at Big John’s Mine Shaft Tavern. No, I’m not making that up.

I am still wondering what would ever possess a tour company that caters mainly to elderly ladies to book a lunch at Big John’s Mine Shaft Tavern.

Once again, however, it was left to me to point the place out as we went by. Our tour guide was not paying attention and, furthermore, had not bothered to investigate as to where this place was. We might have driven halfway to Nestor Falls by the time she had realized that we missed it.

Inside, I took my place with three others and surveyed my surroundings. It’s about what I would have expected for a hunting lodge in the middle of bush country.

The view behind my seat.

Our meal.

There are those who will eat anything that is put in front of them. I am not one of those people. For the record, that is cream of broccoli and cauliflower soup.

I used the time to get some shots around the Sioux Narrows Bridge.

More shots of Big John’s:

Walking down to the lake:

A little deferred maintenance here.

After the others had devoured their meal, we boarded the bus for a one-block ride south. Naturally, our tour guide had no idea where the gift shop that was on her itinerary was. Once again, it was left to me to point it out.

Later in the day, it would gall me to see a couple of passengers giving her a tip. If they had been sitting near the front, they might have given that tip to me, since I had done more to earn it than she did.

Instead of gathering more items for a future garage sale, I used the opportunity to walk around the town.

The Lazy Loon restaurant. It couldn’t have been any worse than what we had.

Gill’s Trading Post.

You had to know that this was coming. The only King’s Highway marker in town was not going to go unphotographed.

More shops.

The Sioux Narrows Motel. I don’t think that the Hilton chain has too much to worry about as far as competition.

The Northern Lights of Sioux Narrows, where the bus was parked.

In short order, we were headed back north towards our next destination, Rushing River.

Passing by Old Woman Lake.

As we passed Andy Lake, I remembered a former colleague, Lloyd Klassen, who had passed away last year.

During our many conversations at his desk, he had mentioned Andy Lake on occasion. Like me, he was also an avid photographer and I am sure that he had plenty of shots around the area.

I know that he would have been astounded to learn that this was my 746^th shot of the trip this far. He might have shot back with a quip like, “How many more shots of highways can you get?”

Approaching Tower Lake.

We soon arrived at Rushing River Provincial Park for what would become the day’s biggest story.

Prior to our arrival, our tour guide announced that we were limited to only 20 minutes due to limitations imposed by the Province of Ontario.

Huh?

The Province of Ontario will let you stay as long as you want as long as you pay for the privilege, something that the tour company was apparently unwilling to do. She explained that she did have to go in and pay, but that they could get a refund if they left within 20 minutes.

At that moment, I heard a flock of birds flying overhead. They were all singing, “cheap, cheap, cheap, cheap, cheap.”

Ah, but it gets better.

It should come as no shock to any reader at this point to learn that the tour guide had absolutely no idea where within the park we should go. When going inside to pay, they gave her a map, but she instead rolled it up and used it to swat flies. Maps are for sissies.

We came to a fork in the road. I told them to go left. They went right.

Ten minutes later, the driver was earning himself a gold medal in the Bus Driver Olympics trying to extricate us from a narrow one-way trail surrounded by small campsites. One camper had to move her pickup truck to allow us to turn around and, despite my criticisms of his distracted driving, our driver did yeoman work in getting us out of this mess. One false move and we would have been crashing down a hill.

It was only after we had come to the end of this winding trail did it dawn on the tour guide to unroll her map and look at it.

After returning to the main area of the park, having burned up so much time with this senseless maneuvering caused by an ill-prepared and indolent tour guide, she announced that we had only ten minutes in the park.

We had come all the way from the degenerate capital of the SPRM for ten minutes in the park.

Yes, I feel cheated.

I managed to get a couple of pictures and not much else.

Soon, we were back on the road headed for Rat Portage.

We parked near the harbor and I took the opportunity to go and get some shots of Husky the Muskie.

Engraving your name on Husky’s tail is apparently a rite of passage in Rat Portage.

A view of the harborfront from Husky’s perch.

Winkler Harborfront Park? I thought that we were in Ontario, not in the SPRM. For those of you who are not aware, Winkler is a city in the southern part of the SPRM.

Before getting back on the bus, I went to the washroom. Druggies welcome, obviously.

After our half-hour stop, we were rolling west back into the SPRM.

My heart sank after re-crossing the frontier.

After another brief stop in Falcon Lake, we were back on the road. En route to Winnipeg, our driver told us one of his favorite jokes. I’ve heard it before, but it was more appropriate than even he may have realized, given his penchant for note taking while driving on this day.

To summarize, a bus driver and a preacher meet St. Peter after going to Heaven. St. Peter gives the bus driver a palatial mansion on a mountain top, then gives the preacher a small house at the bottom of a hill with smelly sheep nearby. Puzzled at the apparent injustice, the preacher humbly asked St. Peter why the bus driver had received such a nicer home. St. Peter answered that the preacher, though a faithful servant, had put people to sleep during his services. The bus driver, meanwhile, had made people pray.

Normally, our arrival in Winnipeg would wind up the adventure peacefully. Not so in this case. Our tour guide had announced that there was an additional drop-off point at Donwood West, near Polo Park, the same place where they had made a pickup that morning.

This news triggered a backlash from the peanut gallery. Cranky old ladies started yelling, “That’s a crock” and other assorted verbal barbs.

The fact that they were making an additional stop to let people off was not the problem, rather it was that the office had not let passengers know about it in advance. There were people from Charleswood who had travelled across town to avoid having to wait downtown due to safety concerns and would have loved to have been able to be picked up near Polo Park instead.

In this case, the tour guide was completely blameless as this was undoubtedly a matter for the office. Nonetheless, instead of being apologetic and promising to raise the issue with her boss, she shot back with an angry, “That’s just the way it is.”

There was a right way and a wrong way to handle this situation. She chose the latter.

In many respects, it was a fitting way to end the day. The high standard of customer service that I have come to expect from this tour company was not met on this day. Not by a long shot.

Though I was cheated out of some valuable time at Rushing River, I did enjoy the experience. I always like seeing Northwestern Ontario and I got plenty of pictures to show for the day. I wanted an adventure and I got one.