I'm with the crew
My Dream-Come-True Car
Tires, hoodpins, dirt, love.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Little Enchanted House on the Prairie
I can't remember if I've mentioned this before, but I planted an avocado seed a year or so ago and grew a plant. The interesting part of the story is not that I sprouted an avocado plant, but that some how a pepper plant popped up in the same pot.
The pepper plant (I suspect some kind of jalapeno) produced a pepper, the avocado did not produce anything but some leaves on the end of a spindly stem.
See:
Today I discovered the magic continues because now I have neon yellow mushrooms growing in a planter I had filled with some random green leafy plant and an ivy (also note the dead sapling behind it).
So yes everyone, I apparently live in some kind of enchanted home where stuff that I don't eat (and well, given that alarming colour of the 'shroom, probably shouldn't eat), pops up out of the dirt without me planting it.
The pepper plant (I suspect some kind of jalapeno) produced a pepper, the avocado did not produce anything but some leaves on the end of a spindly stem.
See:
Today I discovered the magic continues because now I have neon yellow mushrooms growing in a planter I had filled with some random green leafy plant and an ivy (also note the dead sapling behind it).
So yes everyone, I apparently live in some kind of enchanted home where stuff that I don't eat (and well, given that alarming colour of the 'shroom, probably shouldn't eat), pops up out of the dirt without me planting it.
Saturday, August 07, 2010
A dream is a wish your heart makes
I was going to tell more story about my long weekend, but it was going to be done more in photos than words (oh yay! A slide show of my summer vacay!). I'll have to post that later because I'm not with Mac right now, who is holding my photos, and I want to tell some other stories before the emotions evaporate from memory. Ready? Okay!
You know that moment when you realize your dream is coming true? You're there and it is just unfolding before you, even more wonderful than you had imagined. It feels as if your heart is rising out of your chest and floating over your head, like a bright balloon. And you're standing there and thinking, how could I possibly communicate this moment of wonderfulness to anyone? This is a dream that I have held in the cells of my body for so long, and probably longer than I even remember because I kind of think that dreams lay dormant in you until you are ready to understand them, accept them and take the path to realizing them.
That's what I felt on Thursday night as I stood on the platform of my dad's friend's racing car hauler, looking at the mound of black dirt that was turn one of the track, the golden wheat fields beyond it and the prairie blue sky above. I'd gone to a lot of car races before, but this time I was on the other side of the show. I was part of the pit crew; it was my dream come true.
When I was a little kid my dad would go help his friend, Len, with his late model stock racing car. My mom wouldn't let me go watch. "You wouldn't like it. It would be too loud for you," she always said. I apparently had sensitive ears and always covered them during fireworks shows, so she might have been on to something there. But I also remember going with my dad to Len's house for some reason or another and seeing The Car, loaded on the back of a hauler and being in complete awe of it. It was blue like my Barbie's Corvette and had the number 72P (P was his last initial) in a bright decal on the door panels. I remember the special tires--wide with shallow treads, the dirt and grease and the engine he had in his basement. We had a program from the Grand Forks Speedway that had a photo of Len's car in it, taken during a race. It was the only clue I had to help me imagine what it would be like to see it in action.
Len gave up racing his car before I ever went to my first race. He bought a boat instead. We went out in it a lot. It was a lot fancier and faster than my dad's. My sister and I would sit on the red carpeted floor where the ride was bumpier. For some reason bumpy was fun. He sold the boat eventually too, and later, he and his wife moved down to Florida.
I didn't even go to my first race with my dad. I went with my junior high best friend and his family. They were into sprints. I don't even think they raced the late model class at that track at that time. I was just getting into NASCAR racing at that time, which is the professional version of the late model class. The sprints are fast but they hardly look like a car, more like a dune buggy with a funny hat. I eventually grew an appreciation for watching them, but they weren't what I wanted to watch.
My friend's family knew a sprint car driver so we went into the pits after the race to see him. My friend's dad was on the driver's crew. Later, when my friend got old enough, he too helped out on the crew. I envied him for his connections.
I wanted so very much a team of my own to be a part of. Dad knew a few guys when we'd go to a race, guys that Len used to race with or the sons of guys he raced with, but those were mostly acquaintances, not enough to earn us a spot on the crew. Dad would talk with them about the old days when he was helping Len out and the good times they had. I heard all the tales numerous times. They were good stories, but when I'd hear them I'd think, Dad needs new stories to tell. He needs a new crew. I started to carry a hope that one day I'd marry into a racing family and satisfy the both of us.
I guess it's been about six or seven years since I started going to the races in Grand Forks with my mom and dad on Friday nights. It used to be the nearest track where you could see the late models race. The Winnipeg track stopped running them for a while because they couldn't afford the payouts. I'd quietly cheer on the Winnipeg guys who ran down there but secretly turned my nose up them too. They had these massive, custom motor homes to pull their custom-made haulers. Big money. If Len was still racing he'd be the scrappy under dog trying to out-run these guys with their latest and greatest equipment. I had no desire to check these guys out with my dad and the other fans in the pits after the race, so I would go back to the motor home with my mom instead, divorcing myself of any dream of ever belonging on the back side of the track. Silly girl.
People often ask me when they find out I'm into racing if I want to be a driver. No. That was never the dream. That space the driver sits in is a tiny pod. The steering wheel is at your knees and close to your chest. The driver has to remove it in order to get in and out of the car, and the only way in and out is through the driver's side window. There's no glass to these windows, just a thick, black net. I couldn't imagine feeling comfortable in that space at all. The car looks small when you stand beside it, but when you're sitting in it, it actually feels big, a lot bigger than I am, and of course incredibly powerful. Half the battle of racing is figuring out the set up so that the car responds and handles the way you want it to. And, out on the track, at any moment, some other guy can plow into, or stop dead in front of you. I couldn't handle not feeling in complete control of things like that. Driving a race car doesn't appeal to me at all.
My dream was about being a part of a team of people, who worked together for fun, to put a car out on a track and watch what our driver could do. I didn't care what my role would be on the team. I would have been content with scraping mud off of the tires or handing over wrenches to the mechanics. There is no small role on a race team. Everything is important because any one small detail can cost you speed. On professional NASCAR teams the crew is made up of engineers. The guy who holds the can that catches the gas that overflows when the gas guy is filling the fuel cell has studied quantum mechanics. The team works together all week--even on their fitness regime--in preparation for race weekend. Sometimes they crash on the first lap. Sometimes the fastest car runs out of gas on the last lap. That's racing.
Len emailed my dad a few months ago to let him know that he was coming up to Winnipeg for the summer. He had a car he'd been racing in Florida and he was bringing it with him. "Is there anyone up there willing to help me out?" he asked. The dormant dream stirred.
It was starting to look like it wasn't going to happen though. Before my uncle had his stroke I had booked a week of vacation for the last week of June/first week of July. We were supposed to meet Len in Grand Forks on the Friday night. Then emergency struck and plans had to be dropped. Weeks went on where schedules didn't match up. Len himself had to take off last week to see his dad in Calgary who had taken ill. Summer was half over. My parents had plans to leave town for the month of September once my dad was finished work. I was worried that it just wasn't going to come together.
Finally, this week it happened. Len was back and ready to go, my dad was available and I even told Lisa, who leaves for Africa on Monday, and who I haven't seen in what seems like a month, that I couldn't get together with her because my dream was coming true and I was going to be pit crew for a night.
I rode with my dad and Len in Len's truck into the pit area of the Winnipeg track. For the first time I saw the track from the other side of the stands. It felt like standing on a stage for the first time. We stopped at a booth to pay and get our pit passes. I signed the waiver and stuck out my arm for the girl to strap on my wristband. It was one of those coated paper ones with the sticky backing. It had pink and white checkers on it and in big black letters it said PIT CREW. It was the most precious bracelet I'd ever worn. I reluctantly cut it off the next morning before heading to work.
I had a few jobs that night. I was the team gofer so I went to the booth and pulled the random number that would assign Len his position in the heat race. I thought 99 sounded like a lucky number, Gretzky's number, but it put Len in the last row. It's more exciting to watch a driver move up from the back though, I think.
I carried a jack. It was super heavy. I helped my dad fill the fuel cell with gas--racing fuel smells sweet but awful. It's the high octane. My favourite and proudest job though was hood pins. These four little clips keep the hood fastened down at high speeds. You have to put them in a certain direction and make sure you DO NOT put them in your pockets or lose them. Before Len went out I ensured the pins were all properly in place--small detail, but a very big deal.
While we waited for the time when the cars were supposed to start lining up, Len sat in his car and Dad leaned into the window. I don't know what they talked about. Frankly, I am amazed Dad even could hear Len's voice, since he seems to be approaching deaf. But that was Dad's job--talk to the driver. I was so proud of him.
Just before Len headed out we gathered around the car--me, Dad, and Len's son, Danny. The team.
"We need a motivational speech," I said.
"Go out there, have fun, finish the race," Dad said.
The modified cars had just come back from their heat races. One of the guys from a team that Len knew came over, banged on the hood and said, "Rod just won his race. Your turn now, Len."
"Let's just try not to wreck so we can make it to the feature race," I said.
"Yeah," Len laughed. "Good idea."
We did not win the heat race. In fact, Len spun out and went off the track before the race finished. It was still better than wrecking though, and we did go into the feature. He didn't win there, or even place in the top ten, but he didn't wreck, and he did a really good job of fighting for positions. His hood did not fly off.
Not really part of the dream was the fact that the night went pretty long. It was a modified class special that night. There was something like 42 cars on the track. Ugh. I hate specials. It takes forever to get through the race because as soon as one car makes an error and slows down, somebody crashes into him and the caution flag comes out. Then they spend the next ten minutes or so lining the cars up only to have another caution, sometimes without even getting another lap in. This goes on until a sufficient number of cars have been eliminated from the field and there is actually enough room for racing. As this is all going on though, night settles in and the temperature drops. I get cold so easily. I thought wearing jeans, a t-shirt, a wool sweater and a windbreaker would be enough on an August night, but no. My body ached from shivering and being clenched into a ball, trying to keep the cold from getting in. It was midnight when we left the track, 12:30 when I got home and had a hot shower before crashing into bed.
I had my camera with me on Thursday night, but the stupid thing died after I'd only taken a couple of pictures, one being of my beautiful, pink Pit Crew wrist band. Last night when I went to download them off my camera though they, along with all the other pictures I'd taken this summer, were gone. It's the weirdest thing--there are six pictures on there that are years old. Dad, Tracy and I were fooling around in the living room at my parents' place. Maybe it was on my Dad's birthday one year or something, I'm not sure. I'm really crushed though that I don't have any pics from Thursday night. Blogging about it at least helps to permanently etch the memories into my mind. There are a few things I want to try to see if those pictures are somewhere on the memory card and it's just the camera that's failing to bring them up. Seriously though, all in favour of Jill getting a new camera so she can again capture these precious moments, say aye, all opposed say, RRSP.
That was my dream realized. I don't know if we'll get back out there before the season is done. I'd love to, but I'm happy I at least got to experience it once, finally. And I know it will never again feel like the first time, although a first victory sure would feel good.
A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you're fast asleep
In dreams you lose your heartaches
Whatever you wish for, you keep
Have faith in your dreams and someday
Your rainbow will come smiling thru
No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true
--From Disney's Cinderella
You know that moment when you realize your dream is coming true? You're there and it is just unfolding before you, even more wonderful than you had imagined. It feels as if your heart is rising out of your chest and floating over your head, like a bright balloon. And you're standing there and thinking, how could I possibly communicate this moment of wonderfulness to anyone? This is a dream that I have held in the cells of my body for so long, and probably longer than I even remember because I kind of think that dreams lay dormant in you until you are ready to understand them, accept them and take the path to realizing them.
That's what I felt on Thursday night as I stood on the platform of my dad's friend's racing car hauler, looking at the mound of black dirt that was turn one of the track, the golden wheat fields beyond it and the prairie blue sky above. I'd gone to a lot of car races before, but this time I was on the other side of the show. I was part of the pit crew; it was my dream come true.
When I was a little kid my dad would go help his friend, Len, with his late model stock racing car. My mom wouldn't let me go watch. "You wouldn't like it. It would be too loud for you," she always said. I apparently had sensitive ears and always covered them during fireworks shows, so she might have been on to something there. But I also remember going with my dad to Len's house for some reason or another and seeing The Car, loaded on the back of a hauler and being in complete awe of it. It was blue like my Barbie's Corvette and had the number 72P (P was his last initial) in a bright decal on the door panels. I remember the special tires--wide with shallow treads, the dirt and grease and the engine he had in his basement. We had a program from the Grand Forks Speedway that had a photo of Len's car in it, taken during a race. It was the only clue I had to help me imagine what it would be like to see it in action.
Len gave up racing his car before I ever went to my first race. He bought a boat instead. We went out in it a lot. It was a lot fancier and faster than my dad's. My sister and I would sit on the red carpeted floor where the ride was bumpier. For some reason bumpy was fun. He sold the boat eventually too, and later, he and his wife moved down to Florida.
I didn't even go to my first race with my dad. I went with my junior high best friend and his family. They were into sprints. I don't even think they raced the late model class at that track at that time. I was just getting into NASCAR racing at that time, which is the professional version of the late model class. The sprints are fast but they hardly look like a car, more like a dune buggy with a funny hat. I eventually grew an appreciation for watching them, but they weren't what I wanted to watch.
My friend's family knew a sprint car driver so we went into the pits after the race to see him. My friend's dad was on the driver's crew. Later, when my friend got old enough, he too helped out on the crew. I envied him for his connections.
I wanted so very much a team of my own to be a part of. Dad knew a few guys when we'd go to a race, guys that Len used to race with or the sons of guys he raced with, but those were mostly acquaintances, not enough to earn us a spot on the crew. Dad would talk with them about the old days when he was helping Len out and the good times they had. I heard all the tales numerous times. They were good stories, but when I'd hear them I'd think, Dad needs new stories to tell. He needs a new crew. I started to carry a hope that one day I'd marry into a racing family and satisfy the both of us.
I guess it's been about six or seven years since I started going to the races in Grand Forks with my mom and dad on Friday nights. It used to be the nearest track where you could see the late models race. The Winnipeg track stopped running them for a while because they couldn't afford the payouts. I'd quietly cheer on the Winnipeg guys who ran down there but secretly turned my nose up them too. They had these massive, custom motor homes to pull their custom-made haulers. Big money. If Len was still racing he'd be the scrappy under dog trying to out-run these guys with their latest and greatest equipment. I had no desire to check these guys out with my dad and the other fans in the pits after the race, so I would go back to the motor home with my mom instead, divorcing myself of any dream of ever belonging on the back side of the track. Silly girl.
"Imagination is more important than knowledge. For while knowledge defines all we currently know and understand, imagination points to all we might yet discover and create."
--Albert Einstein
People often ask me when they find out I'm into racing if I want to be a driver. No. That was never the dream. That space the driver sits in is a tiny pod. The steering wheel is at your knees and close to your chest. The driver has to remove it in order to get in and out of the car, and the only way in and out is through the driver's side window. There's no glass to these windows, just a thick, black net. I couldn't imagine feeling comfortable in that space at all. The car looks small when you stand beside it, but when you're sitting in it, it actually feels big, a lot bigger than I am, and of course incredibly powerful. Half the battle of racing is figuring out the set up so that the car responds and handles the way you want it to. And, out on the track, at any moment, some other guy can plow into, or stop dead in front of you. I couldn't handle not feeling in complete control of things like that. Driving a race car doesn't appeal to me at all.
My dream was about being a part of a team of people, who worked together for fun, to put a car out on a track and watch what our driver could do. I didn't care what my role would be on the team. I would have been content with scraping mud off of the tires or handing over wrenches to the mechanics. There is no small role on a race team. Everything is important because any one small detail can cost you speed. On professional NASCAR teams the crew is made up of engineers. The guy who holds the can that catches the gas that overflows when the gas guy is filling the fuel cell has studied quantum mechanics. The team works together all week--even on their fitness regime--in preparation for race weekend. Sometimes they crash on the first lap. Sometimes the fastest car runs out of gas on the last lap. That's racing.
Len emailed my dad a few months ago to let him know that he was coming up to Winnipeg for the summer. He had a car he'd been racing in Florida and he was bringing it with him. "Is there anyone up there willing to help me out?" he asked. The dormant dream stirred.
It was starting to look like it wasn't going to happen though. Before my uncle had his stroke I had booked a week of vacation for the last week of June/first week of July. We were supposed to meet Len in Grand Forks on the Friday night. Then emergency struck and plans had to be dropped. Weeks went on where schedules didn't match up. Len himself had to take off last week to see his dad in Calgary who had taken ill. Summer was half over. My parents had plans to leave town for the month of September once my dad was finished work. I was worried that it just wasn't going to come together.
Finally, this week it happened. Len was back and ready to go, my dad was available and I even told Lisa, who leaves for Africa on Monday, and who I haven't seen in what seems like a month, that I couldn't get together with her because my dream was coming true and I was going to be pit crew for a night.
I rode with my dad and Len in Len's truck into the pit area of the Winnipeg track. For the first time I saw the track from the other side of the stands. It felt like standing on a stage for the first time. We stopped at a booth to pay and get our pit passes. I signed the waiver and stuck out my arm for the girl to strap on my wristband. It was one of those coated paper ones with the sticky backing. It had pink and white checkers on it and in big black letters it said PIT CREW. It was the most precious bracelet I'd ever worn. I reluctantly cut it off the next morning before heading to work.
I had a few jobs that night. I was the team gofer so I went to the booth and pulled the random number that would assign Len his position in the heat race. I thought 99 sounded like a lucky number, Gretzky's number, but it put Len in the last row. It's more exciting to watch a driver move up from the back though, I think.
I carried a jack. It was super heavy. I helped my dad fill the fuel cell with gas--racing fuel smells sweet but awful. It's the high octane. My favourite and proudest job though was hood pins. These four little clips keep the hood fastened down at high speeds. You have to put them in a certain direction and make sure you DO NOT put them in your pockets or lose them. Before Len went out I ensured the pins were all properly in place--small detail, but a very big deal.
While we waited for the time when the cars were supposed to start lining up, Len sat in his car and Dad leaned into the window. I don't know what they talked about. Frankly, I am amazed Dad even could hear Len's voice, since he seems to be approaching deaf. But that was Dad's job--talk to the driver. I was so proud of him.
Just before Len headed out we gathered around the car--me, Dad, and Len's son, Danny. The team.
"We need a motivational speech," I said.
"Go out there, have fun, finish the race," Dad said.
The modified cars had just come back from their heat races. One of the guys from a team that Len knew came over, banged on the hood and said, "Rod just won his race. Your turn now, Len."
"Let's just try not to wreck so we can make it to the feature race," I said.
"Yeah," Len laughed. "Good idea."
We did not win the heat race. In fact, Len spun out and went off the track before the race finished. It was still better than wrecking though, and we did go into the feature. He didn't win there, or even place in the top ten, but he didn't wreck, and he did a really good job of fighting for positions. His hood did not fly off.
Not really part of the dream was the fact that the night went pretty long. It was a modified class special that night. There was something like 42 cars on the track. Ugh. I hate specials. It takes forever to get through the race because as soon as one car makes an error and slows down, somebody crashes into him and the caution flag comes out. Then they spend the next ten minutes or so lining the cars up only to have another caution, sometimes without even getting another lap in. This goes on until a sufficient number of cars have been eliminated from the field and there is actually enough room for racing. As this is all going on though, night settles in and the temperature drops. I get cold so easily. I thought wearing jeans, a t-shirt, a wool sweater and a windbreaker would be enough on an August night, but no. My body ached from shivering and being clenched into a ball, trying to keep the cold from getting in. It was midnight when we left the track, 12:30 when I got home and had a hot shower before crashing into bed.
I had my camera with me on Thursday night, but the stupid thing died after I'd only taken a couple of pictures, one being of my beautiful, pink Pit Crew wrist band. Last night when I went to download them off my camera though they, along with all the other pictures I'd taken this summer, were gone. It's the weirdest thing--there are six pictures on there that are years old. Dad, Tracy and I were fooling around in the living room at my parents' place. Maybe it was on my Dad's birthday one year or something, I'm not sure. I'm really crushed though that I don't have any pics from Thursday night. Blogging about it at least helps to permanently etch the memories into my mind. There are a few things I want to try to see if those pictures are somewhere on the memory card and it's just the camera that's failing to bring them up. Seriously though, all in favour of Jill getting a new camera so she can again capture these precious moments, say aye, all opposed say, RRSP.
That was my dream realized. I don't know if we'll get back out there before the season is done. I'd love to, but I'm happy I at least got to experience it once, finally. And I know it will never again feel like the first time, although a first victory sure would feel good.
A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you're fast asleep
In dreams you lose your heartaches
Whatever you wish for, you keep
Have faith in your dreams and someday
Your rainbow will come smiling thru
No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true
--From Disney's Cinderella
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Happy Trails
On Friday night after work I pointed Truck in the direction of South to take us across the border into Minnesota where I was to meet my mom and dad. They already secured a spot at Lake Bronson State Park on Thursday--with power, thank heavens, given the heat--and happily awaited my arrival sometime in the early evening.
I was armed with a Garmin GPS device someone had given me. My dad had programmed it for me already and I needed to do was turn it on and say Go! It took me forever to get it turned on--press and hold, hold, hold the button--and even then it didn't seem to work right. First it gave me all the directions from driveway to the perimeter barely before I'd pulled into traffic. Then it didn't seem to know where I was. Oh well, at least I knew where I was going, sort of. I had a vague recollection of my dad saying "straight down highway 59". Eventually I figured out that I hadn't flipped open the receiver piece on the back in order to receive the satellite signals. Stupid technology. Garmin and I were well on our way to a lasting relationship.
I was cruising down the highway with the windows down and the music up when a big dollop of bird poop landed on my windshield. Crap! But I smiled as I thought to myself, bird poop landing on you is supposed to be a lucky thing, so maybe this was a lucky omen of sorts. Later, as I passed the turn off to Steinbach I noticed a DOUBLE rainbow in the sky. Spotting one band of colour in the sky seems lucky enough, but a double one? Divine! Surely if I was to pull off the highway right then and there I would wander into a field of four-leaf clovers and find a unicorn to take me to a magic castle of gold. What a glorious day. What a great start to the August long weekend!
I soon found myself stopped at the end of a line. It took me a moment to realize this was the line for the border because the border crossing was nowhere in site. On the left side of the highway was a sprawling country home. A retriever--type dog came out to the end of its driveway and was wagging its tail at the cars. So cute! I figured I'd have time to take a picture, but first I wanted to take one of this long line I was in. I turned on my camera and pressed the button. The camera beeped at me and turned off. Stupid whiny thing, what do you mean you need new batteries already? You're faking. I tried again. Beep! Shut down. It's sometimes temperamental like that. I tried again and got a picture by accident through my windshield before it really was dead. I don't think it really tells the whole story of the line up, but I will post it here for you anyway:
Can you see a border crossing in there? No? Precisely. This is the crossing at Tolstoi, MB going into Lancaster, MN at 7:00 p.m. Typically this crossing is not very busy at all. Most people cross at Pembina, a 24-hour, 2-4 lane set up, on their way to Grand Forks or Fargo, ND, or Minneapolis, MN. Nobody goes through Tolstoi because there really isn't any shopping on the other side of it, not for many many miles anyway. Just camping and eventually a casino.
So anyway, there I was with my lucky bird crap, a happy dog and a quarter of a venti, iced chai tea latte. I checked out the line forming behind me. The vanity plate on the SUV in my rear view mirror read HLYWOOD. Inside was a big, black football-type dude, a skinny white guy with mirrored aviators, and a young woman, who, when she got out of the vehicle to stretch, looked to me exactly like Nicole Kidman when she did Days of Thunder.
The line moved slowly, which was annoying, but I thought that my destination was within site, just behind a clump of trees. As I inched closer though I saw that I was very mistaken and that the road curved again past the clump of trees and went on further still.
After the first hour I was mildly annoyed and restless. After two hours I was hot and bothered and noticing the mosquitoes. It was nine o'clock and there was probably 16 cars ahead of me yet. The station would close at ten. Things were looking a bit dicey. I looked down and noticed that my Garmin had given up and gone to sleep already.
I got up to the border patrol shortly after 9:30. Two officers had just left to go tell some people that they wouldn't be making it through that night. The mosquitoes were swarming. I reluctantly rolled down the window and handed over my passport.
"Where's home?" the guard asked.
"Winnipeg."
"Where you going?"
"Lake Bronson."
"What kind of food products do you have on board?"
"None," I said.
"No food products at all?" he asked.
"None at all."
"Okay have a nice trip."
I rolled up the window and headed down the highway. It was dusk now. I tried to turn Garmin back on but it wouldn't go. The thing had died on me during the wait. Let's review. It was late and getting dark. I was tired after a long day at work and the 2.5 hours of sitting in a line up. I had only a super big tea latte in my tummy and no rations in the truck. I had no map of any kind with me for my destination, only the directions from my father to "keep on Highway 59" and a fuzzy memory of what the Garmin had drawn out before it unceremoniously died on me. Wait, is that a critter trying to cross the road, OMG IT'S A SKUNK!
I swerved to the right, the skunk scurried left. Imagine if I had hit the thing the stink I would have had to endure? I shuddered.
I kept driving and reached the town of Lancaster in the dark. I asked for directions at the lonely gas station there, thinking there must be some place I need to turn off, some junction I needed to look for. But the man in his overalls eating a slice of pizza just told me to stay on Highway 59 and I'd get there. What I didn't know is that "There" is actually the tiny town of Lake Bronson, and once you get "There" you will then finally see a sign with an arrow pointing left in the direction of the state park. More driving in the dark and feeling lost but I eventually got to the park gates. I drove past the office because A) the signs said the park closes at 10 pm, which was 10 minutes ago, and B) my dad had told me they were camping in the second bay, so I figured I could just look for the second driveway past the office and badda bing I'd be at my destination. No. Sorry. Not like that. I soon found myself at a dead end with an interpretive centre building where I was able to consult this map (I went back to take these pictures in the daylight):
You are Here
And now look way on the other side of the map where the campground is located (I added the directional note for your reference):
The place I needed to go was down the road from a bible camp. You'd think God would have put out a beacon or something to guide his lost flock, but I guess He likes to have his Friday night entertainment too. Anyway, I eventually found my mom and dad, although I didn't want to talk to either of them when I got there. I tried to just crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and let sleep wash away the who mess, but my mom insisted on getting the story from me, which was essentially, the line up was hecka long, the Garmin died, I had a near run-in with a stinky animal, it was dark, I once was lost and now am found. She failed to see what I was all in a huff about, which is usually how it goes when one gets all up in arms about something and then tries to explain it to someone else who's been relaxing in an air-conditioned motor home for the past 24 hours.
Anyway, I may continue the update tomorrow, but that was the lucky start to my Aug long. After a 2.5 hour wait I didn't get turned away from America, I didn't hit a skunk, I didn't become a highway statistic, and I found my way to my destination without the aid of a map or reliable piece of technology. Never a dull moment around here.
I was armed with a Garmin GPS device someone had given me. My dad had programmed it for me already and I needed to do was turn it on and say Go! It took me forever to get it turned on--press and hold, hold, hold the button--and even then it didn't seem to work right. First it gave me all the directions from driveway to the perimeter barely before I'd pulled into traffic. Then it didn't seem to know where I was. Oh well, at least I knew where I was going, sort of. I had a vague recollection of my dad saying "straight down highway 59". Eventually I figured out that I hadn't flipped open the receiver piece on the back in order to receive the satellite signals. Stupid technology. Garmin and I were well on our way to a lasting relationship.
I was cruising down the highway with the windows down and the music up when a big dollop of bird poop landed on my windshield. Crap! But I smiled as I thought to myself, bird poop landing on you is supposed to be a lucky thing, so maybe this was a lucky omen of sorts. Later, as I passed the turn off to Steinbach I noticed a DOUBLE rainbow in the sky. Spotting one band of colour in the sky seems lucky enough, but a double one? Divine! Surely if I was to pull off the highway right then and there I would wander into a field of four-leaf clovers and find a unicorn to take me to a magic castle of gold. What a glorious day. What a great start to the August long weekend!
I soon found myself stopped at the end of a line. It took me a moment to realize this was the line for the border because the border crossing was nowhere in site. On the left side of the highway was a sprawling country home. A retriever--type dog came out to the end of its driveway and was wagging its tail at the cars. So cute! I figured I'd have time to take a picture, but first I wanted to take one of this long line I was in. I turned on my camera and pressed the button. The camera beeped at me and turned off. Stupid whiny thing, what do you mean you need new batteries already? You're faking. I tried again. Beep! Shut down. It's sometimes temperamental like that. I tried again and got a picture by accident through my windshield before it really was dead. I don't think it really tells the whole story of the line up, but I will post it here for you anyway:
Can you see a border crossing in there? No? Precisely. This is the crossing at Tolstoi, MB going into Lancaster, MN at 7:00 p.m. Typically this crossing is not very busy at all. Most people cross at Pembina, a 24-hour, 2-4 lane set up, on their way to Grand Forks or Fargo, ND, or Minneapolis, MN. Nobody goes through Tolstoi because there really isn't any shopping on the other side of it, not for many many miles anyway. Just camping and eventually a casino.
So anyway, there I was with my lucky bird crap, a happy dog and a quarter of a venti, iced chai tea latte. I checked out the line forming behind me. The vanity plate on the SUV in my rear view mirror read HLYWOOD. Inside was a big, black football-type dude, a skinny white guy with mirrored aviators, and a young woman, who, when she got out of the vehicle to stretch, looked to me exactly like Nicole Kidman when she did Days of Thunder.
The line moved slowly, which was annoying, but I thought that my destination was within site, just behind a clump of trees. As I inched closer though I saw that I was very mistaken and that the road curved again past the clump of trees and went on further still.
After the first hour I was mildly annoyed and restless. After two hours I was hot and bothered and noticing the mosquitoes. It was nine o'clock and there was probably 16 cars ahead of me yet. The station would close at ten. Things were looking a bit dicey. I looked down and noticed that my Garmin had given up and gone to sleep already.
I got up to the border patrol shortly after 9:30. Two officers had just left to go tell some people that they wouldn't be making it through that night. The mosquitoes were swarming. I reluctantly rolled down the window and handed over my passport.
"Where's home?" the guard asked.
"Winnipeg."
"Where you going?"
"Lake Bronson."
"What kind of food products do you have on board?"
"None," I said.
"No food products at all?" he asked.
"None at all."
"Okay have a nice trip."
I rolled up the window and headed down the highway. It was dusk now. I tried to turn Garmin back on but it wouldn't go. The thing had died on me during the wait. Let's review. It was late and getting dark. I was tired after a long day at work and the 2.5 hours of sitting in a line up. I had only a super big tea latte in my tummy and no rations in the truck. I had no map of any kind with me for my destination, only the directions from my father to "keep on Highway 59" and a fuzzy memory of what the Garmin had drawn out before it unceremoniously died on me. Wait, is that a critter trying to cross the road, OMG IT'S A SKUNK!
I swerved to the right, the skunk scurried left. Imagine if I had hit the thing the stink I would have had to endure? I shuddered.
I kept driving and reached the town of Lancaster in the dark. I asked for directions at the lonely gas station there, thinking there must be some place I need to turn off, some junction I needed to look for. But the man in his overalls eating a slice of pizza just told me to stay on Highway 59 and I'd get there. What I didn't know is that "There" is actually the tiny town of Lake Bronson, and once you get "There" you will then finally see a sign with an arrow pointing left in the direction of the state park. More driving in the dark and feeling lost but I eventually got to the park gates. I drove past the office because A) the signs said the park closes at 10 pm, which was 10 minutes ago, and B) my dad had told me they were camping in the second bay, so I figured I could just look for the second driveway past the office and badda bing I'd be at my destination. No. Sorry. Not like that. I soon found myself at a dead end with an interpretive centre building where I was able to consult this map (I went back to take these pictures in the daylight):
You are Here
And now look way on the other side of the map where the campground is located (I added the directional note for your reference):
The place I needed to go was down the road from a bible camp. You'd think God would have put out a beacon or something to guide his lost flock, but I guess He likes to have his Friday night entertainment too. Anyway, I eventually found my mom and dad, although I didn't want to talk to either of them when I got there. I tried to just crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and let sleep wash away the who mess, but my mom insisted on getting the story from me, which was essentially, the line up was hecka long, the Garmin died, I had a near run-in with a stinky animal, it was dark, I once was lost and now am found. She failed to see what I was all in a huff about, which is usually how it goes when one gets all up in arms about something and then tries to explain it to someone else who's been relaxing in an air-conditioned motor home for the past 24 hours.
Anyway, I may continue the update tomorrow, but that was the lucky start to my Aug long. After a 2.5 hour wait I didn't get turned away from America, I didn't hit a skunk, I didn't become a highway statistic, and I found my way to my destination without the aid of a map or reliable piece of technology. Never a dull moment around here.
Monday, August 02, 2010
Oh my Kodachrome
Well this is just perfect.
I got home about 15-20 minutes ago. I was in America for the long weekend again. It's Monday night and back to work for me tomorrow and do you know what's going on out there? A big, noisy, wet and windy summer storm. The gall of Mother Nature to save a real raging one for the Monday night of the Aug. long weekend. Every year I wait and hope for a big light show on a night when I don't have to get up in the morning and be functioning so that I can stay up and watch it from my living room. Denied again.
I don't have time tonight to blog about my weekend. Hopefully tomorrow. But I thought I should put something up here as an appetizer...
...and I would have. See, just now I went outside with my colourful umbrella and my Olympus digital camera circa 2006 to take a grainy video of the sky lighting up but gosh darn it all, I can't seem to get Picasa to let me post it on YouTube. I think it is time for an equipment upgrade.
Here's a random video I found on YouTube of a whistling puppy. I can make Elmo do something similar. I'd capture and share that with you but my antique camera doesn't record sound. Bah Humbug.
I got home about 15-20 minutes ago. I was in America for the long weekend again. It's Monday night and back to work for me tomorrow and do you know what's going on out there? A big, noisy, wet and windy summer storm. The gall of Mother Nature to save a real raging one for the Monday night of the Aug. long weekend. Every year I wait and hope for a big light show on a night when I don't have to get up in the morning and be functioning so that I can stay up and watch it from my living room. Denied again.
I don't have time tonight to blog about my weekend. Hopefully tomorrow. But I thought I should put something up here as an appetizer...
...and I would have. See, just now I went outside with my colourful umbrella and my Olympus digital camera circa 2006 to take a grainy video of the sky lighting up but gosh darn it all, I can't seem to get Picasa to let me post it on YouTube. I think it is time for an equipment upgrade.
Here's a random video I found on YouTube of a whistling puppy. I can make Elmo do something similar. I'd capture and share that with you but my antique camera doesn't record sound. Bah Humbug.
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