Full Day Grind

20min commute by Volvo. Tunnel FILLED with silica dust.

Sunriser session.

Stash boards in 7^th ave compost.
Drink Gatorade. Seriously.

25km commute by velo with honorable Strava results.
Work and sleep on park bench – Drool and miss alarm kine sleep.
25km commute by velo with less remarkable speed.

Pineapple and a PR.
Sunset session.
Share last piece of free cheese pie from Almondo.
20min commute by Volvo. Tailgate-sized hole now repaired.

Any-way to escape mid 30′s heat with 5 star humidity.

LE Printemps Érable

bien trop sucre

Mordecai and Irving Take a Wrong Turn Down the Right Street

Mordecai and Irving should have known better – they just should have. It seemed there was no escape now. Well, that’s to say, no clean escape. The ice blocks marched down the river like a million Pro-Lifers at the Roe v. Wade trial. They had even missed the island. They never missed that island. Thrashing around on the leeward side of another island, the two eventually made their way to the jump off. But that was of no value either – springtime in Baie James is still springtime in Baie James. Irving suggested to wait it out. It’s probably just a phase. Mordecai considered the idea and laughed absurdly at the thought of passing a summer’s day in the same position; That is with a tall can and shorts, otherwise known as Chinese Brunch.

Meanwhile, the ice continued unabated and toes numbed incrementally. By now, an hour of observation and wishful thinking had passed, but an escape plan had yet to hatch. Increasingly desperate, the duo reached a consensus where they would claw their way down the eddy and attempt a 45 degree cut through current running upwards to 25 km/h. For no apparent reason, Mordecai thought this plan would work. Irving strongly disagreed. But at this point, the struggle for surviving unscathed strong outweighed the dream to keep their respective vessels intact.

Upon reaching the alternative escape route, pessimism mounted to the point where Mordecai and Irving actually stopped laughing at their predicament for a moment. Neither of them had signed up for this. Truth be told, neither of them had even considered this situation. Irving had spent the past two days reveling in the splendid weather and river cruising. Mordecai sat at a desk, observing the splendid weather, dreaming of river cruising. And here they were, stranded in the fog. Did I mention the fog was as thick as a Wendy’s Frosty? It was. But we’ll see how that comes in to play later.

Mordecai mounted a half submerged rock to survey the possibilities of the crossing. Nothing positive to say about it. Minutes passed. Irving didn’t like the thought of the submerged rock posing as a waterfall. The two bantered back and forth, then forth and back. This is why God invented the NSP, Mordecai thought to himself. Finally, they decided to take the plunge. Mordecai went first. Too easy. Irving paddled across. Success. They looked at one another in disbelief.

Through the meat and potatoes of the situation and nothing but cruising back to the shore line. I did mention the fog, didn’t I? Maximum visibility of 15 feet, which is approximately 5 meters for the metrically inclined. There was a general idea where the shore line was, but no one knew for sure. Irving set off at a calm pace and Mordecai trailed behind. Before long, they had completely lost any sense of direction and we actually paddling upstream. They realized this soon enough, based on the difficulty in paddling and revised their tack. Once the current calmed to virtually zero, they lost their last available compass. It must have been 30 minutes by now? The two were stumped. No idea where the shore was, their location and almost zero chance to step aside from drunken pleasure boaters. Warm pee ran down Mordecai’s leg. He had been holding it for this long, but the thought of actually being lost in a fog bank required total calm and an empty bladder.

The slow paddle through the fog bank ensued for another 10 minutes when Irving spotted a boat. The thought escaped them for a moment as the discussion ran from getting lost in the desert to the bleakness of the prairie landscape. Turned out Irving was right. There was a boat and not only that, there was shoreline. And interestingly enough, it was the exact beach they normally exit the water to eat Almando poutine, hit Bronx Books and refuel on Milwaukee Dry. Chanceux en ostie!

Like Last Year, Winter Came Again

Between holding onto the slave reality of working a “real” job, the Rio still doing its best slurpee impression and few and far between weekend swell opportunities, winter caaaaaaaan draaaaaaaaaag onnnnnnnnnnn in this archipelago. There are options, however.

All you really need is a shred tool; XC, DH, crazy carpet, toboggan or surf de neige and a backpack full of goodies. There’s really no limit to what constitutes goodies: cheese fondue, smokies, marshmallows, LSD, Tomme, Gruyere, beef jerky, MDMA, Pep ‘n’ Ched, Jim Beam, Chat Sauvage, toots, PBR for the street cred conscious, PR’s, ipod + speakers, Bach and Bagels, Bialetti + stove and at least one good knife and 3 lighters.

Despite a lacklustre winter thus far, we still manage the best way we can, sans discrimination: No skier vs snowboard gripes, $5 100m vert hills, $90 “1%er” hills like Playa Tremblant or rustique, untrimmed bush whacking at any one of the dozens of closed ski hills in the province. Some are even known to sleep in parking lots, like the ski bums of yesteryear.

Ignoring the horribly fascist fashions of ski and snowboard outerwear, jeans and extra layers are pretty much the best way to go, unless you plan on making a camping trip out of it. If you really must have ‘technical outerwear’ (read: hideous over branded, orangutan camo print vomit) just visit any of the struggling box stores and have your pick from last season’s leftovers at a 40-80% discount. The sales staff surely knows nothing but marketing drivel, so ignore any of the “hey brah, did you know Shaun White scored a perfect 100 in the X Games?” that will inevitably come your way, of course, after the salesperson is done txting their mom’s, updating their facebook status and adjusting their beanie to the perfect angle. I fear the kids aren’t in fact, alright.

In the event that mountain schralping doesn’t suit your palette there are always ponds, swamps and baseball diamonds-turned rinks to skate on. There’s Parc Jarry and Lafontaine for classical music, champagne bubbly influenced skating with a partner or Parc Laurier to test your mettle against the testosterone-charged captains of yesterday’s Juvenile hockey dreams. Rule of thumb: the less you look like a hockey jock(leather gloves, lumberjack quilted top, crunked stick), the less chance you have to be accepted into their circle and the greater chance they will become violent when you commence skating circles around them.

The great outdoors is just that. Great. And there is always delivery beer from the dep, but that’s another type of greatness ain’t it.

fire & brimstone – it’s stew season!

Whilst digging through the digital cache of Senor 40D and still digesting Old Orchard beef stew 13hrs later, I stumbled uponst a most mystical day of unpublished, fair weather schralping – sun and fog combo on the flueve. Then the wheels started turning as morning champagne led to Caesar’s chased by beer and a Sunday arvo cooking mission – a beef stew.

Tools for the task:
Of course, the right vinyl starts off any cooking session. Naturally…JJ Cale <-Songwriter extraordinaire to the stars of the 70's, a bit shy for prime time, according to internet facts, but by far, my favorite accoustic artist.

Ye olde clay pot has been shelved in favor of the Smart Slow Cooker in 2011 – evolution, like getting your 1st cell phone in 2010. So many bells and whistles I didn’t even know where to start, but chanced with the power button. And presto, it worked. Speed reading the booklet, Preset 6 (Slow n Low) seemed appropriate – 10hrs to tenderize. Holla.

Raw materials list:
Caribou, gin, beef, cinnamon, sugar, celery, potato, garlic, oregano, carrots, zucchini, S&P. L’Anglais’ $0.02 on Caribou; “ah, you mean that shit people drink in Quebec City.” Interesting fact and thanks for the history lesson.

The m-e-t-h-o-d mang:
*Betty Crocker advises to brown the beef prior to stewing and I do whatever Betty says, so the beef was browned.
*A stew is no glass house, so the remaining ingredients were chopped and dumped, along with 3 cups of beef stock.
*The slow cooker does the rest and I awake Monday morning, ready to feast like the Dyaks of Borneo.
*Discipline and porridge prevailed and I set the Slow Cooker back on another 10hr, low-heat task and left to do my time as an inmate of the social zoo(Note 1).
*There are a couple more tricks that you’ll have to ask grandma about, in terms of thickening prior to serving, etc… but those are details easily ironed out next time.

All in all the stew was quite splendid. The gin and Caribou add something original and urge sharing this simple 15min of prep recipe with anyone lazy enough to employ the efficiencies of a slow cooker. PS: If you don’t save any Caribou to add, try a splash of port or sherry ya lush.

Note 1: Inmate of the social zoo – living proof of the continuing existence of humanity.

Diver Cite dimanches: tales from the punchbowl du nord

8hrs passed at a beach(sic) only a short distance from a casino, all day picnic electronic and park of colourful characters often reveals a Petri dish of humanity. Sometimes it takes days to recall and process the whole fiasco. So here is July 14′s surf report journal entry. Late, like your teenage gf.

“I rowed into that last one like a dragon boat.” L’Anglais
Four shirtless pingers dance to pulsing techno under the bridge – that’s a first.
Big Rich T aims and fires nothing but over cropped mediocrity. Epic fail the kids might say.
Ma and Pa point-n-shoot nab some keepers to show the grand kids. Prediction for first wave of groms…the year 3030.
The big Dorado receives the hot coat then grass finish. Cutting edge designs or too much bud n clam juice?

“ostie, c’est encore le quartier Rosemount jusqu’au 167th avenue…”
Inebriated cougar asks in passing “is this the way to the cure surfer boys? Ben sur, mademoiselle, ben sur?
Doubly inebriated boyfriend nearly hugs me before gearing down and putting on a different type of shore dance. Zoiks!

“Man, it’s like the good old days today.” Martin Guava
Like the token jean guy at the ski hill, Sunday welcomed at least one running shoe surfer.
Man with life vest and snorkel passes hours in the murky exit eddy. It ain’t the stromatolite views found in the lakes of Ts’kw’aylaxw first nation territory.
A foreign camera crew is all business for about 20 minutes: frantically grabbing angles, shots and generally running amok. For what? The Laird only knows.

People eh.
The heat summons weirdness and I like.

out ov here ……

 

no more bike

no more work

but maybe a lot of that

la saisons de surf en prolongation

lovely cap breton

6H45

just got beat down

drop in

3 shower at the time

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     la cote landaise tire a ca fin . plus que quelques semaine dans le beach break francais . mais la bonne nouvelle c que je vais aterrir dans locean indien pour un bon 2 mois et demi . voila que du bonheur une ou 2 vagues parci  par la et c ca!

nouvelles outre mer extension 24.178

hehehe .. l été est au bord de la fin . le swell a ete on et off  pour toute la saisons .maintenent c septembre qui arrive .about time. les armes du crime sont . un velo de course sans freins avec un rack a surf . une linden 6.0 …un bat fish de bourton 5.10 .. un shorty et un 3.2 . la go pro et  tout c gadgets possible. la riviere me manque un peu . un petit brunch du dimanche en chine serait cool . ya eu un peu de swell ce week end . voilla je travail icit jusqua mi oct et apres ?????? (somewhere warm)