Growing up I used to hear the term one horse town and I figured that pretty much described where I lived and I owned that horse.
Cloverdale, British Columbia was a small community part of the district of Surrey, about 30 miles from the big city of Vancouver. The main street was about 4 blocks long, part of the Pacific Highway, and big semi trucks rattled through town, using this route to get to the US/Canada truck crossing at the border.
Cloverdale Elementary School was about one mile from out house and a huge hill, Broadway Road, was part of my walk to and from school each day. One mile is a long way for a six year old girl to walk, but walk I did both ways for the seven years I went there, rain or shine, and mostly rain in this part of the country. I sometimes rode my bike, but pushing it up that huge hill was exhausting.
I remember a lot of snow when I was a kid and we’d all go to Broadway with our sleds and toboggans. No car was going to attempt that hill in the snow and icy conditions. Especially not confronted with a couple of dozen kids careening down the hill. But again, only one or two trips down and the walk back up in the snow was enough to call it quits. And the local cow fields would flood over in the fall and freeze in the winter and we’d all go ice skating out there. The worst thing that could happen if the ice was too thin and we’d break through standing ankle or shin deep in water.
Friday after school was my favourite time and I’d accompany my mother grocery shopping at the Co-op. This was a two story building with groceries on the first floor and a flight of stairs up the second floor for the hardware and clothing. And the building behind was the Co-op’s feed store where I’d buy oats for my horses when I got a little older.
A typical little sixties town with assorted stores: a five and dime, a couple of clothing stores, a couple of shoe stores, a jewellery store, a delicatessen, a few diners, the Clover Inn with a restaurant and lounge, and the Clova Theatre where we often went on Saturday matinees. Dann’s bicycle and appliance store is still operating in Cloverdale, for over fifty years. The Clova is still running too. The five and dime has long since closed as have most of the other business, many replaced by antique stores for awhile, and now assorted other businesses, many that don’t stick around too long. The bowling alley, Clover Lanes, has been there as long as I can remember. In the late 60’s or early 70’s Aaron’s Pizza opened just off the main street. Kind of a competition to the Shakey’s Pizza parlours with its picnic tables and casual dining. Aaron’s is still there, but the picnic tables have been replaced by family seating and they still serve pizzas along with pastas and other meals.
Cloverdale was always known for its rodeo held on the long weekend in May. For a time it was the 2nd largest rodeo in Canada, behind the Calgary Stampede, then it became the 3rd largest. I’m not sure what its status is now. It lost its ranking with the pro circuit because it no longer allows some events, particularly those that deal with tying calves. But every long weekend in May Cloverdale was transformed from a sleepy little town to a whoop hollering party town carnival. It was a good weekend to get out of town.
And then in 1975 the harness horse racing came to town, using the fairgrounds, and Cloverdale no longer was known as a one horse town with hundreds of Standardbreds calling it home. Horse racing was huge back in the 1980’s. Cars lined way out of town on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. And the horses also raced on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. These days with so many casinos around and other entertainment venues horse racing has dwindled to 7 or 8 months a year on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. The racetrack even converted over to a casino, Fraser Downs its now known as. The casino is the main form of revenue.
When I was growing up and a new neighbour moved in the neighbors would all come over with baking and to introduce themselves. When I was going to school I knew almost everybody and their brothers and sisters too, if not by face, then by name. Walking down the main street of Cloverdale always meant banging into someone I knew.
But nobody does that anymore. Cloverdale outgrew itself. But the small town atmosphere still kind of remains. This is home to Smallville and often the TV cameras and crew will have part of a street blocked off for filming. Likewise with other movie and TV projects that want a small town look. A few years ago in August Coca Cola filmed a commercial here that was a snowy Christmas theme and they trucked in snow to the streets and sidewalks. Several semi trucks decked out in Christmas lights are featured driving through town and a boy is racing across the fields yelling the Santa trucks are coming.
And maybe they’ll be back someday. Or maybe they'll find a real small town out there....
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
My Scooter
Two years ago I bought my Suzuki Burgman 400. Its still classified a scooter because its manual transmission, but its a high performance scooter. In order to legally ride one a motorcycle license is required. It goes as fast as any motorbike, which must surprise the heck out of a lot of people.
One day I was riding home from work in a two lane 30mph zone, going the speed limit in the curb lane. I'm not a speed demon and I'm not out to break the law. A small car whizzes past me with 4 teenagers inside and a new driver tag on the back. The driver, a teenage girl, signals into my lane just before coming to the red light. I'm not sure why she did that because the two lanes end just on the other side of the light and the curb lane must merge into the center lane. So I changed lanes into the passing lane and stopped beside her at the light. They were all looking at me and must have figured they'd have no trouble passing a scooter before getting to where the lanes merge. The light changed green and away I go into the 40mph zone. The teenage girl is trying her darnedest to get ahead of me. Frantically changing gears and giving it all her little car would give. She must have used a lot of gas in her sad attempt. I quickly outdistanced her to where the lanes merge and then she was stuck behind me, travelling the speed limit, for the next couple of miles until she turned off. Her teenage friends must have had a good laugh at her because her wimpy car couldn't even beat a scooter off the line.
Another time I'm in a 50mph zone on a two lane highway, stopped at a red light. Several young men on sport bikes stopped in the lane beside me. The light changed and to their great surprise I quickly outdistanced them. However as soon as I reached the speed limit they all went whipping past me.
This happens to me all the time at traffic lights. Some unsuspecting driver gets beside me thinking they'll get ahead of me no problem only to be left in the dust. However any of them who want to speed can quickly catch up and pass. There's a great victory!
The Burgman is a great scooter. It has a glove box that matches the one in my car and 2 extra smaller glove boxs beside it big enough that I can put my keys, cell phone, or glasses. Beneath the seat is a trunk large enough to hold two motorcycle helmets. I've also carried a few bags of groceries in there and one time we bought several garden hoses and brought them home in the trunk. As much as I like riding it I also like being a passenger, and the passenger seat is much more comfortable than the back of Kerry's V-Star. It has a backrest and a seat soft enough for longer rides. And the drivers in the cars beside us are amazed that a scooter, with a passenger aboard, can still beat them off the line.
One day I was riding home from work in a two lane 30mph zone, going the speed limit in the curb lane. I'm not a speed demon and I'm not out to break the law. A small car whizzes past me with 4 teenagers inside and a new driver tag on the back. The driver, a teenage girl, signals into my lane just before coming to the red light. I'm not sure why she did that because the two lanes end just on the other side of the light and the curb lane must merge into the center lane. So I changed lanes into the passing lane and stopped beside her at the light. They were all looking at me and must have figured they'd have no trouble passing a scooter before getting to where the lanes merge. The light changed green and away I go into the 40mph zone. The teenage girl is trying her darnedest to get ahead of me. Frantically changing gears and giving it all her little car would give. She must have used a lot of gas in her sad attempt. I quickly outdistanced her to where the lanes merge and then she was stuck behind me, travelling the speed limit, for the next couple of miles until she turned off. Her teenage friends must have had a good laugh at her because her wimpy car couldn't even beat a scooter off the line.
Another time I'm in a 50mph zone on a two lane highway, stopped at a red light. Several young men on sport bikes stopped in the lane beside me. The light changed and to their great surprise I quickly outdistanced them. However as soon as I reached the speed limit they all went whipping past me.
This happens to me all the time at traffic lights. Some unsuspecting driver gets beside me thinking they'll get ahead of me no problem only to be left in the dust. However any of them who want to speed can quickly catch up and pass. There's a great victory!
The Burgman is a great scooter. It has a glove box that matches the one in my car and 2 extra smaller glove boxs beside it big enough that I can put my keys, cell phone, or glasses. Beneath the seat is a trunk large enough to hold two motorcycle helmets. I've also carried a few bags of groceries in there and one time we bought several garden hoses and brought them home in the trunk. As much as I like riding it I also like being a passenger, and the passenger seat is much more comfortable than the back of Kerry's V-Star. It has a backrest and a seat soft enough for longer rides. And the drivers in the cars beside us are amazed that a scooter, with a passenger aboard, can still beat them off the line.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
I Miss My Little Donkeys
I grew up in a small town that was surrounded by farms, the closest one right across the street. I begged my father to buy a farm so I could get a horse, but unfortunately I was doomed to be a city girl sitting on the wrong side of the country fence. I may have been acreage-challenged but that didn’t stop me from hanging out at friend’s farms, buying horses, and sinking paychecks into a couple of decades worth of horse boarding fees. Finally the day came when my dreams came true and my husband and I moved ourselves and our horses to a leased farm out in the country. Well, make that the outskirts of town as the nearest subdivision is about three blocks away. It wasn’t long before we heard the coyotes howling at night, and this time right below our bedroom window instead of way off somewhere out in the country. Unfortunately we also spotted coyotes running down the fence line into the barn where two mares and newborn foals were stabled.
Solution: insert two female mini donkeys that we picked up at the local horse rescue. While we were driving home with our new long-eared friends my husband admitted he hadn’t asked for the names of the donkeys. Inspiration struck and I named them Laverne and Shirley, aka the coyote posse.
Next came a crash course in Donkey 101. We upgraded the fences so the posse could patrol the entire property with the openings low enough for donkeys, but too high for horses to duck under. The donkeys can access two large shelters and have twenty acres to roam around, but they’re under the false impression that the carport and front door is primarily their new home and secondarily their toilet area. Judging by the deposits they spend a lot of time here. I have to muck out the sidewalk just to get inside the house with clean shoes.
I’m often reminded of the old children’s rhyme: “Sweetly sing the donkeys at the break of day. If you do not feed them this is what they say. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw.” Forget daybreak. Whenever they feel like it, hungry or not, they’ll open their mouths wide and bray at the top of their lungs. These two little donkeys make enough racket to drown out a herd of trumpeting elephants. Sometimes Shirley will get into another field and Laverne can’t figure out how to join her and she’ll bawl about it, long and loud. One night the donkeys kept my husband awake with all their heehawing. He looked out the window and saw one of them running the fence line, so my guess is that once again Shirley managed to give Laverne the slip. Sometimes they bray at dogs walking past on the street. Perhaps they think they’re funny looking coyotes? My husband also claims they bray when visitors come onto the property. Watch donkeys? And yes, in addition to all the other braying, they do “sing” first thing in the morning when they think its time to get their morning grain. They’re more reliable than roosters.
Donkeys are little scavengers and eat everything they can sink their teeth into. I left a bowl of dog food on the lawn and they polished it off. My husband knocked a watermelon off the sundeck – don’t ask – and it exploded on the lawn below. The donkeys gobbled it up, rind and all. Forgotten vegetables and fruit in the fridge? No problem. Toss it outside for the donkeys. I’m still trying to figure out how they eat plum stones. I gave Laverne an unpeeled banana and she gobbled it down whole. When we moved to the farm I was happy to see several mature grape vines in the backyard. Throughout the summer big bunches of green grapes appeared. I watched my bumper crop closely, from time to time testing one but it was always sour. Then one day I saw the green grapes start to turn purple. That explains why those little green grapes were always sour – they hadn’t ripened into sweet purple ones yet. It was only a matter of days until they fully ripened and then I’d be enjoying them by the handful. But it was not meant to be. I arrived home and checked my crop. Gone! Not a single grape left! Donkeys! I got smarter the next year and put a small fence around the little vineyard. Donkeys don’t have discerning tastes. They drag cardboard boxes out of the back of the truck and munch on them. One day I caught Shirley with an envelope in her mouth. Thinking it might be important I wrestled her for it, prying her locked jaws apart, and finally she opened up her snappers. It was just some junk mail she dragged out of the burn barrel.
Laverne and Shirley entertain us as much as the old TV show starring their namesakes. Sometimes they fight and push each other around at dinner time. Shirley is smaller but she pins her ears and leans all her weight into Laverne. Sometimes they get mad at a horse and kick out, never connecting, and then run as fast as their little legs can go before the horse retaliates. They don’t seem to like my dogs too much. I caught Shirley chasing one of my dogs and she put the brakes on real fast when she galloped around the corner and found me standing there with the dog cowering behind my legs.
My husband was told if he fed the donkeys a special meal at six o’clock on Christmas Eve and went back outside at midnight they would talk to him. In a scene reminiscent of Linus waiting for the Great Pumpkin, my husband feeds them their special meal each Christmas Eve and then dutifully returns to the barn at midnight but so far Laverne and Shirley haven’t told him anything he doesn’t already know.
Unfortunately we no longer live on our little home and Laverne and Shirley have moved to a donkey farm upcountry. And I still miss them. Their little legs running as fast as they can. Braying when they're hungry or just because they feel like it. One day I'll have some little donkeys again, but I'll never forget Laverne and Shirley.
Heehaw!
Solution: insert two female mini donkeys that we picked up at the local horse rescue. While we were driving home with our new long-eared friends my husband admitted he hadn’t asked for the names of the donkeys. Inspiration struck and I named them Laverne and Shirley, aka the coyote posse.
Next came a crash course in Donkey 101. We upgraded the fences so the posse could patrol the entire property with the openings low enough for donkeys, but too high for horses to duck under. The donkeys can access two large shelters and have twenty acres to roam around, but they’re under the false impression that the carport and front door is primarily their new home and secondarily their toilet area. Judging by the deposits they spend a lot of time here. I have to muck out the sidewalk just to get inside the house with clean shoes.
I’m often reminded of the old children’s rhyme: “Sweetly sing the donkeys at the break of day. If you do not feed them this is what they say. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw. Hee haw.” Forget daybreak. Whenever they feel like it, hungry or not, they’ll open their mouths wide and bray at the top of their lungs. These two little donkeys make enough racket to drown out a herd of trumpeting elephants. Sometimes Shirley will get into another field and Laverne can’t figure out how to join her and she’ll bawl about it, long and loud. One night the donkeys kept my husband awake with all their heehawing. He looked out the window and saw one of them running the fence line, so my guess is that once again Shirley managed to give Laverne the slip. Sometimes they bray at dogs walking past on the street. Perhaps they think they’re funny looking coyotes? My husband also claims they bray when visitors come onto the property. Watch donkeys? And yes, in addition to all the other braying, they do “sing” first thing in the morning when they think its time to get their morning grain. They’re more reliable than roosters.
Donkeys are little scavengers and eat everything they can sink their teeth into. I left a bowl of dog food on the lawn and they polished it off. My husband knocked a watermelon off the sundeck – don’t ask – and it exploded on the lawn below. The donkeys gobbled it up, rind and all. Forgotten vegetables and fruit in the fridge? No problem. Toss it outside for the donkeys. I’m still trying to figure out how they eat plum stones. I gave Laverne an unpeeled banana and she gobbled it down whole. When we moved to the farm I was happy to see several mature grape vines in the backyard. Throughout the summer big bunches of green grapes appeared. I watched my bumper crop closely, from time to time testing one but it was always sour. Then one day I saw the green grapes start to turn purple. That explains why those little green grapes were always sour – they hadn’t ripened into sweet purple ones yet. It was only a matter of days until they fully ripened and then I’d be enjoying them by the handful. But it was not meant to be. I arrived home and checked my crop. Gone! Not a single grape left! Donkeys! I got smarter the next year and put a small fence around the little vineyard. Donkeys don’t have discerning tastes. They drag cardboard boxes out of the back of the truck and munch on them. One day I caught Shirley with an envelope in her mouth. Thinking it might be important I wrestled her for it, prying her locked jaws apart, and finally she opened up her snappers. It was just some junk mail she dragged out of the burn barrel.
Laverne and Shirley entertain us as much as the old TV show starring their namesakes. Sometimes they fight and push each other around at dinner time. Shirley is smaller but she pins her ears and leans all her weight into Laverne. Sometimes they get mad at a horse and kick out, never connecting, and then run as fast as their little legs can go before the horse retaliates. They don’t seem to like my dogs too much. I caught Shirley chasing one of my dogs and she put the brakes on real fast when she galloped around the corner and found me standing there with the dog cowering behind my legs.
My husband was told if he fed the donkeys a special meal at six o’clock on Christmas Eve and went back outside at midnight they would talk to him. In a scene reminiscent of Linus waiting for the Great Pumpkin, my husband feeds them their special meal each Christmas Eve and then dutifully returns to the barn at midnight but so far Laverne and Shirley haven’t told him anything he doesn’t already know.
Unfortunately we no longer live on our little home and Laverne and Shirley have moved to a donkey farm upcountry. And I still miss them. Their little legs running as fast as they can. Braying when they're hungry or just because they feel like it. One day I'll have some little donkeys again, but I'll never forget Laverne and Shirley.
Heehaw!
Monday, August 11, 2008
Under Apple Attack
We purchased our house a little over a year ago, a corner lot, located in a quiet area. On our side lawn are 2 mature apple trees. As the apples ripened last summer I tried the apples but didn’t like how they tasted so I collect them in buckets and take them out to the farm where I board my horses daily. One is a Transparent apple tree, mush yellow apple that bruises easily when it hits the ground. The other tree I’m not too sure about. It’s a red apple, similar to McIntosh, but doesn’t taste as good as one. This house had been rented for several years and the garden was badly neglected and overgrown, and likewise the 2 apple trees, badly neglected and not pruned for years.
Last summer a neighbour came over with an apple pie for us. She confessed to having picked apples so she could do some baking, and we invited her to help herself. Sad to say the apple pie wasn’t very good. Darned tasteless, mushy Transparents!
Over the winter we hired a gardener to prune the trees and as spring rolled around we put in fruit tree spikes and made sure the trees were well watered and we’re dealing with a bumper crop this year.
A couple of months ago we extended our fence line along the side of our house, putting the apple trees on the street side of the fence. Technically they are on city property but our responsibility. Therefore the apples fall on both sides of the fence. I’m constantly seeing apples with a bite taken out of them or even just the core left dumped on our lawn.
A couple of weeks ago I had just arrived home from work and was getting into my barn clothes when someone came to the front door. I heard Kerry talk to him and then he told me that the man who was pruning the neighbor’s tree saw our apples and asked if he could have some for his horses. Kerry told him to help himself. I was ticked. I hadn’t yet filled a bucket of apples for OUR horses. Not only did he clean us out but I saw him picking apples off the tree too. And those branches are quite high up due to our recent trimming. Nothing too close to the ground but he was a good sized man and was able to reach a branch and pull it down closer for picking range. And here’s the kicker. The man is trailering his tree chipper. One of our apple branches broke off and was lying on the ground right there in front of him. He's got to walk around it to get to the apples. The considerate thing for him to do in exchange for the apples would have been to toss that tree in his truck and then put it through his chipper the next time he was using it. But no, he didn’t. I told Kerry if he comes back wanting apples tell him no.
Today Kerry told me he caught a lady picking the apples off the ground and she told him she was making applesauce. Help yourself he told her. No problem there. I really don’t mind if the neighbor’s help themselves for their own consumption. There’s a bumper crop this year.
On Saturday night at 11pm I heard voices outside on the street. I peeked out the window and saw a group of teenage boys talking loudly and kept an eye on them. One of them stopped off the street onto our lawn and picked up an apple and started eating it. So OK, he’s hungry. Then another boy picked up an apple, took a bite, and apparently didn’t like it too much. He threw it at our house and it made a good thump against the siding. Then he picked up another apple and threw it against the house. Fortunately the siding again and not through a window. Kerry was downstairs and heard the noise and came outside. Ended up getting into a verbal battle and the boys took off down the street and he went back inside. I don’t think that was too smart for him to get into it with the boys because we park our truck on the street, and the car and motorbike in the driveway and those little buggers could have come back and vandalized any of them while we're sleeping. Then I watched the boys come back and the same boy picked up an apple and threw it against our house.
I know the police aren’t going to do anything so no point in calling them, so I grabbed my camera. I know its too dark to get a focused shot but the boys probably wouldn’t know that. All they'd see is the flashbulb going off. Then I heard 2 men down the other street yelling at them and the boys started running. I ran out to the sundeck and started snapping the shutter making the flash go off so the boys would know the camera was taking their pictures. And then one of the men yelled: “Good! They’re taking your picture.” The 2 men caught up with 2 of the boys with me continuing to snap a blurry documentary. I heard one of the boys yell: “Quit taking our picture. It wasn’t us.”
Kerry went back outside again and another neighbour across the street came outside. Apparently the boy(s) were throwing apples against his house too, though I hadn't seen that. One of the other men came back to talk. Apparently the boys had just been done their street and were throwing rocks at his neighbor’s house. As if that wasn’t enough one of them (probably the same apple thrower I observed) punched in the van that was parked on the street. That house/van owner is a biker. He caught up with 2 of them, and I believe he knew at least one of them, and found out who the other boys are, so it looks like he’ll take care of them.
In the meantime I now pick up those apples as soon as I can and do one final sweep before going to bed at night. Just trying to eliminate the ammunition.
Last summer a neighbour came over with an apple pie for us. She confessed to having picked apples so she could do some baking, and we invited her to help herself. Sad to say the apple pie wasn’t very good. Darned tasteless, mushy Transparents!
Over the winter we hired a gardener to prune the trees and as spring rolled around we put in fruit tree spikes and made sure the trees were well watered and we’re dealing with a bumper crop this year.
A couple of months ago we extended our fence line along the side of our house, putting the apple trees on the street side of the fence. Technically they are on city property but our responsibility. Therefore the apples fall on both sides of the fence. I’m constantly seeing apples with a bite taken out of them or even just the core left dumped on our lawn.
A couple of weeks ago I had just arrived home from work and was getting into my barn clothes when someone came to the front door. I heard Kerry talk to him and then he told me that the man who was pruning the neighbor’s tree saw our apples and asked if he could have some for his horses. Kerry told him to help himself. I was ticked. I hadn’t yet filled a bucket of apples for OUR horses. Not only did he clean us out but I saw him picking apples off the tree too. And those branches are quite high up due to our recent trimming. Nothing too close to the ground but he was a good sized man and was able to reach a branch and pull it down closer for picking range. And here’s the kicker. The man is trailering his tree chipper. One of our apple branches broke off and was lying on the ground right there in front of him. He's got to walk around it to get to the apples. The considerate thing for him to do in exchange for the apples would have been to toss that tree in his truck and then put it through his chipper the next time he was using it. But no, he didn’t. I told Kerry if he comes back wanting apples tell him no.
Today Kerry told me he caught a lady picking the apples off the ground and she told him she was making applesauce. Help yourself he told her. No problem there. I really don’t mind if the neighbor’s help themselves for their own consumption. There’s a bumper crop this year.
On Saturday night at 11pm I heard voices outside on the street. I peeked out the window and saw a group of teenage boys talking loudly and kept an eye on them. One of them stopped off the street onto our lawn and picked up an apple and started eating it. So OK, he’s hungry. Then another boy picked up an apple, took a bite, and apparently didn’t like it too much. He threw it at our house and it made a good thump against the siding. Then he picked up another apple and threw it against the house. Fortunately the siding again and not through a window. Kerry was downstairs and heard the noise and came outside. Ended up getting into a verbal battle and the boys took off down the street and he went back inside. I don’t think that was too smart for him to get into it with the boys because we park our truck on the street, and the car and motorbike in the driveway and those little buggers could have come back and vandalized any of them while we're sleeping. Then I watched the boys come back and the same boy picked up an apple and threw it against our house.
I know the police aren’t going to do anything so no point in calling them, so I grabbed my camera. I know its too dark to get a focused shot but the boys probably wouldn’t know that. All they'd see is the flashbulb going off. Then I heard 2 men down the other street yelling at them and the boys started running. I ran out to the sundeck and started snapping the shutter making the flash go off so the boys would know the camera was taking their pictures. And then one of the men yelled: “Good! They’re taking your picture.” The 2 men caught up with 2 of the boys with me continuing to snap a blurry documentary. I heard one of the boys yell: “Quit taking our picture. It wasn’t us.”
Kerry went back outside again and another neighbour across the street came outside. Apparently the boy(s) were throwing apples against his house too, though I hadn't seen that. One of the other men came back to talk. Apparently the boys had just been done their street and were throwing rocks at his neighbor’s house. As if that wasn’t enough one of them (probably the same apple thrower I observed) punched in the van that was parked on the street. That house/van owner is a biker. He caught up with 2 of them, and I believe he knew at least one of them, and found out who the other boys are, so it looks like he’ll take care of them.
In the meantime I now pick up those apples as soon as I can and do one final sweep before going to bed at night. Just trying to eliminate the ammunition.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Movie Under the Stars
Every Friday night my husband and I have date night. Last night we went to a free movie in one of our city parks. Night At The Museum. We already saw this movie once before in the theatre on Christmas Eve 2006, but this event sounded like fun. Bring a chair or a blanket for the ground, bring a picnic, or a concession was available for snacks, and live entertainment before the movie gets underway at dusk.
Although we've been having a hot streak this past week Friday morning was a lot cooler and although sunny was not overbearingly hot like the past few days. So before I left I got into capris and brought a sweater. We filled our cooler with drinks, went to Subway for a couple of sandwiches, stopped at the drugstore for some munchies and headed out to the park to set up our picnic dinner around 7:30. About 100 people were already there many of them enjoying a picnic. A huge inflatable movie screen was set up and we began eating our dinner.
It brought me back to the days when drive in movies were still around. My parents would get us in the car and bring a picnic dinner. Beneath the drive in's screen was a playground and all the kids would play there waiting for it to get dark enough for the movie to start. Most of the kids were running around in their pajamas. The parents got them ready for bed before they left so when they got home it was straight to bed, or I suppose many kids fell asleep in the cars before the movie ended.
And last night there were a couple of kids running around who already had their pj's on. Some unprepared people headed over to a nearby Safeway for snacks, while others walked over to the Starbucks for a hot drink as the evening began to cool down.
As we waited for darkness to fall a park employee greeted the crowd and introduced the first entertainer, a young lady who did a few Indian dances, making her last dance interactive by inviting anyone to join her. About 20 young girls and 1 boy joined her with the final dance called a crow hop. After her a local martial arts studio put on a demonstration. Around that time it started getting colder and I was glad for my sweater, the first time in days I had to wear one. My husband in his shorts and T-shirt hadn't thought ahead. I suggested he go back to the car for a blanket. We have two blankets in the back of our Vibe because that's where the dogs ride. Sure they'd have dog hair on them but at least it would be warm. He returned to the car, hoping to find that he'd left a jacket behind in there, but no luck, and came back with a blanket and wrapped himself up.
Just after 9:00 it was deemed dark enough to start the movie and away it went. We once again enjoyed Ben Stiller's antics while he corralled a host of characters who came to life when the sun went down. I still find it hard to watch kindly Dick Van Dyke in a villain's role.
The movie ended and slowly everyone began gathering up their chairs and coolers. No one was in a big rush to leave. We loaded up the car and headed home. What an enjoyable evening and a low cost date night.
There are a few more night under the stars movies playing throughout August. I'm thinking of going to see Grease except its in a park that's not really in a good part of town and a longer drive from our house. I've seen that movie about a hundred times. I have the video and I still watch it every time it come on TV. And later this month American Graffiti will be playing nearby. Oddly enough not in a park but on a street corner where there are a couple of condominiums with store's on the street level. Mostly I want to go out of curiosity about where they're going to set up a big outdoor movie screen in that area.
Although we've been having a hot streak this past week Friday morning was a lot cooler and although sunny was not overbearingly hot like the past few days. So before I left I got into capris and brought a sweater. We filled our cooler with drinks, went to Subway for a couple of sandwiches, stopped at the drugstore for some munchies and headed out to the park to set up our picnic dinner around 7:30. About 100 people were already there many of them enjoying a picnic. A huge inflatable movie screen was set up and we began eating our dinner.
It brought me back to the days when drive in movies were still around. My parents would get us in the car and bring a picnic dinner. Beneath the drive in's screen was a playground and all the kids would play there waiting for it to get dark enough for the movie to start. Most of the kids were running around in their pajamas. The parents got them ready for bed before they left so when they got home it was straight to bed, or I suppose many kids fell asleep in the cars before the movie ended.
And last night there were a couple of kids running around who already had their pj's on. Some unprepared people headed over to a nearby Safeway for snacks, while others walked over to the Starbucks for a hot drink as the evening began to cool down.
As we waited for darkness to fall a park employee greeted the crowd and introduced the first entertainer, a young lady who did a few Indian dances, making her last dance interactive by inviting anyone to join her. About 20 young girls and 1 boy joined her with the final dance called a crow hop. After her a local martial arts studio put on a demonstration. Around that time it started getting colder and I was glad for my sweater, the first time in days I had to wear one. My husband in his shorts and T-shirt hadn't thought ahead. I suggested he go back to the car for a blanket. We have two blankets in the back of our Vibe because that's where the dogs ride. Sure they'd have dog hair on them but at least it would be warm. He returned to the car, hoping to find that he'd left a jacket behind in there, but no luck, and came back with a blanket and wrapped himself up.
Just after 9:00 it was deemed dark enough to start the movie and away it went. We once again enjoyed Ben Stiller's antics while he corralled a host of characters who came to life when the sun went down. I still find it hard to watch kindly Dick Van Dyke in a villain's role.
The movie ended and slowly everyone began gathering up their chairs and coolers. No one was in a big rush to leave. We loaded up the car and headed home. What an enjoyable evening and a low cost date night.
There are a few more night under the stars movies playing throughout August. I'm thinking of going to see Grease except its in a park that's not really in a good part of town and a longer drive from our house. I've seen that movie about a hundred times. I have the video and I still watch it every time it come on TV. And later this month American Graffiti will be playing nearby. Oddly enough not in a park but on a street corner where there are a couple of condominiums with store's on the street level. Mostly I want to go out of curiosity about where they're going to set up a big outdoor movie screen in that area.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Scooter Safety
I’ve decided to stick with the scooter theme for this blog and cover some safety issues. Riders of 50 cc scooters do not require a motorcycle license, though it is a good idea to take motorcycle lessons and learn the rules of the road from a biker’s point of view. Many motorcycle schools recognize scooters are becoming increasingly popular and are also offering scooter riding lessons.
First off, ride like a biker and own your lane. That means riding near the center line of the road. Too many scooters ride close to the shoulder. Invariably these scooters have a line of cars behind them, being tailgated by the first driver. They’re not trying to tailgate, they’re just trying to pass. They believe the scooter rider has moved closer to the shoulder to allow them room to pass and they’re trying to see around the rider for when its safe to pass. Ride the scooter closer to the center line and there won’t be as many tailgater problems.
Scooters have a top speed of 40 mph, maybe a little faster going downhill. They’re perfect for city driving, but stay off the freeways. Choose routes that can be safely navigated at the scooter’s speed. A scooter travelling 40 mph in a 60 mph zone will not be popular and could cause accidents when faster traffic has to suddenly slow down and pass.
Scooter riders are not invincible. Just because it’s a smaller machine than a motorcycle doesn’t mean it can’t get into an accident. Scooters travel up to 40 mph and a spill at that speed is going to hurt. And yes, scooter riders do take their share of spills. Wear proper motorcycle riding gear. At the very least that means a DOT approved helmet. Buy a good motorcycle jacket with padding to protect elbows and kidneys. Motorcycle pants with padded knees are a good investment. And padded gloves are a must. The bonus is the gear is waterproof. There is nothing worse than getting caught in a rain storm. A cold, wet, tired rider is susceptible for accidents. Wear proper foot gear. This means boots or rubber soled shoes. I can’t tell you how many scooter riders I see wearing open toed sandals. And other summertime gear might consist of shorts and T-shirts. Imagine taking a spill while travelling in city traffic in your beach wear. Road rash will be the least of your problems. Broken bones may be a real possibility. And sadly sometimes death.
If you’re planning to buy a scooter, go to the department of transportation and pick up the book that motorcycle riders get when they are going to write the test for their learner’s license. This book is full of tips that are useful to scooter riders.
Most importantly, ride like you are invisible. A car driver can look right at you and still not see you. Ride that scooter like no one knows you’re there.
Keep safe and riding a scooter will be a blast.
First off, ride like a biker and own your lane. That means riding near the center line of the road. Too many scooters ride close to the shoulder. Invariably these scooters have a line of cars behind them, being tailgated by the first driver. They’re not trying to tailgate, they’re just trying to pass. They believe the scooter rider has moved closer to the shoulder to allow them room to pass and they’re trying to see around the rider for when its safe to pass. Ride the scooter closer to the center line and there won’t be as many tailgater problems.
Scooters have a top speed of 40 mph, maybe a little faster going downhill. They’re perfect for city driving, but stay off the freeways. Choose routes that can be safely navigated at the scooter’s speed. A scooter travelling 40 mph in a 60 mph zone will not be popular and could cause accidents when faster traffic has to suddenly slow down and pass.
Scooter riders are not invincible. Just because it’s a smaller machine than a motorcycle doesn’t mean it can’t get into an accident. Scooters travel up to 40 mph and a spill at that speed is going to hurt. And yes, scooter riders do take their share of spills. Wear proper motorcycle riding gear. At the very least that means a DOT approved helmet. Buy a good motorcycle jacket with padding to protect elbows and kidneys. Motorcycle pants with padded knees are a good investment. And padded gloves are a must. The bonus is the gear is waterproof. There is nothing worse than getting caught in a rain storm. A cold, wet, tired rider is susceptible for accidents. Wear proper foot gear. This means boots or rubber soled shoes. I can’t tell you how many scooter riders I see wearing open toed sandals. And other summertime gear might consist of shorts and T-shirts. Imagine taking a spill while travelling in city traffic in your beach wear. Road rash will be the least of your problems. Broken bones may be a real possibility. And sadly sometimes death.
If you’re planning to buy a scooter, go to the department of transportation and pick up the book that motorcycle riders get when they are going to write the test for their learner’s license. This book is full of tips that are useful to scooter riders.
Most importantly, ride like you are invisible. A car driver can look right at you and still not see you. Ride that scooter like no one knows you’re there.
Keep safe and riding a scooter will be a blast.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Scooter Commuter
During transit strikes and when gas prices skyrocket motorcycle dealers say they sell faster than hotcakes. Scooters! They’re economical, practical, trendy, and automatic transmission. The hidden bonus: no motorbike license required.
Scooters have become popular in big cities where purchases are driven by trends and European influence. Drivers frustrated with traffic jams and elusive parking spots are snapping up scooters and turning their daily commute from a stressful, boring routine into a fun adventure. I went the retro, trendy route and chose a Yamaha scooter with European styling minus the hefty price tag. The salesman showed me how easy it is to operate the scooter and gave me a couple of pointers: “Don’t look down. Don’t drag your feet on the road.” He forgot to tell me not to transport a watermelon in the storage compartment and I learned the hard way how to ride while counterbalancing a heavy, rolling fruit. Motorbike helmets are necessary and I chose one with a face shield, the first defence against hundreds of bugs that are determined to commit suicide on my face.
Scooters are environmentally friendly, quiet, and create less pollution than a car. They average thirty kilometres per litre or nearly two hundred kilometres on a full tank of gas. I stopped driving my car and watched my monthly gas bill drop from two hundred dollars a month to twenty. Spent the savings at a spa.
Daily I hop aboard my scooter for a thirty kilometre ride to work. Part of my route takes me across the Fraser River via the Albion Ferry where motorbikes are guaranteed on the next sailing, bypassing the car line up, and shaving up to an hour off the commute. I often exit the ferry on my tiny red Vino dwarfed by a dozen big guys on big motorbikes. Rain, shine, freezing weather, I’m geared up and on my way. But where are these big guys when the weather turns bad? The motorbike section consists of myself and one other lady riding a scooter. We conclude it must be true that Harleys and Hondas melt in the rain.
Scooters have become popular in big cities where purchases are driven by trends and European influence. Drivers frustrated with traffic jams and elusive parking spots are snapping up scooters and turning their daily commute from a stressful, boring routine into a fun adventure. I went the retro, trendy route and chose a Yamaha scooter with European styling minus the hefty price tag. The salesman showed me how easy it is to operate the scooter and gave me a couple of pointers: “Don’t look down. Don’t drag your feet on the road.” He forgot to tell me not to transport a watermelon in the storage compartment and I learned the hard way how to ride while counterbalancing a heavy, rolling fruit. Motorbike helmets are necessary and I chose one with a face shield, the first defence against hundreds of bugs that are determined to commit suicide on my face.
Scooters are environmentally friendly, quiet, and create less pollution than a car. They average thirty kilometres per litre or nearly two hundred kilometres on a full tank of gas. I stopped driving my car and watched my monthly gas bill drop from two hundred dollars a month to twenty. Spent the savings at a spa.
Daily I hop aboard my scooter for a thirty kilometre ride to work. Part of my route takes me across the Fraser River via the Albion Ferry where motorbikes are guaranteed on the next sailing, bypassing the car line up, and shaving up to an hour off the commute. I often exit the ferry on my tiny red Vino dwarfed by a dozen big guys on big motorbikes. Rain, shine, freezing weather, I’m geared up and on my way. But where are these big guys when the weather turns bad? The motorbike section consists of myself and one other lady riding a scooter. We conclude it must be true that Harleys and Hondas melt in the rain.
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