December 09th, 2020

HAUNTED FOREST

I want to begin this blog with a wish that Carter, my grandson, gets the cast off his leg and can soon be back to one hundred percent. I hope he has plenty of important signatures on his cast.

GHOSTLY HIKER AND CYCLIST

Remember, a few blogs back, when I told the story about taking my truck to the dealership? The poor truck had an electrical problem, which by the way, healed up by itself. Anyway, when I’d parked the truck in the service area a poor little disoriented mouse ran out from under the truck.

ONLY A LOG? MAYBE?

​The diagnosis, after they hooked my truck up to a Truck Cat Scan, was that an animal may have chewed on a wire or moved a wire around. However, they couldn’t locate the problem. The advice I was given was to stuff my truck with Bounce sheets. The fella told me he did that when he was storing his boat and it kept the varmints away. I think it might work like Voodoo.

A HAPPY TREE

Well, let me say this about that. A few days ago I took a gander at my truck and guess what I saw? A ghost. A wee ghost floating and scurrying around under my truck. 

VINCENT STANDING BY BADDECK RIVER

I thought it was a ghost because it was white. I knew it wasn’t a ghost when I realized that a squirrel was carrying it in his mouth. I assume to use for the building of his winter nest.

​This incident wasn’t such a big deal except for two facts. The critter was carrying a Bounce sheet and the critter was under my truck. 

VIEW FROM BALD MOUNTAIN SUMMIT

A few days ago I accepted an invitation to cycle to the Bald Mountain trail-head and then climb the mountain. I quickly found out that the easy part, which I assumed to be the cycling, was actually the hard part.

ROAD

The road to the trail-head was arduous. Potholes full of water surprised us with sudden plunges to depths we hadn’t expected. Branches, logs, and big and small rocks littered this bit-of-a-son-of-a-road. Mud, lots of mud, gummed up the trail and, it seemed, just for a chuckle or two, the trail would surprise us with sudden bits of missing roadside. 

​My hiking buddy and I both took a partial dip, each in our chosen muddy coloured swimming hole.
​

VINCENT AND ME AT SMALLL CABIN ONLY A SHORT DISTANCE FROM TRAIL TO BALD MOUNTAIN

At one point on the trail, it got so narrow that the bushes were poking and grabbing at me and my camera. I finally had to stop and stuff the camera into my saddle bag. Then when I got on my bike I almost fell over into the expectant bush.

​That’s when I came to one of my conclusions. My conclusion being that I do not have as good a balance as I used to have when my hair was brown and the world was my half-eaten

RESTING ON BALD MOUNTAIN SUMMIT

You see, the thing about this stretch of trail was that the ruts were mud-filled and the centre grassy area between the wheel ruts were slippery as heck. So, I chose rut over mound and came to two more conclusions.

SUE AND BUSTER RELAXING

One: cycling through mud is extremely strenuous. Playing three periods of hockey is easier. Granted, much of the trail was uphill.

​Two: I’m getting a tad long in the tooth.

VINCENT READING LOG BOOKS

When we finally got to the trail-head at two-fifteen pm, I was ready to head back. I didn’t want to cycle back in the dark and we still had a mountain to climb.

​My hiking buddy, Vincent, went into his sarge-mode and convinced me that we could do it. So we climbed it and the view was, as always, spectacular. Mist softening the distant hills while the sun teetered dangerously close to the horizon.

VINCENT, TOREY AND ME AT MYLES DOYLE FALLS

We stopped for about fifteen minutes so we could eat a snack and savour the view before we headed back. The Sarge barking out, from time to time, “No pain, no gain.”

We arrived at the bottom of the mountain just before the darkness began to gobble up the remaining light.

​Sarge gave me a wee light, about the size of a toonie and then we set off. Sarge took the lead.

VINCENT, TOREY AND ME AT ST. MARGARET'S OF SCOTLAND CHURCH ON MOUNTAIN

The wee light threw no perceptible illumination. However, Sarge would shout guidance. “Stay to the left of this mud hole.” 

“Watch out for the culvert.”

“Stay in the middle.”

​Anyway, I learned another lesson while I was cycling this darkening trail. The darker it gets the more powerful a tiny light becomes. 

ROAD TO CHURCH

The very last huge mud-hole, before I got to my truck, had a little fun. I thought I’d plough through the middle like I did a lot of the other huge puddles. However, when I got in the middle, the mud sucked my bike’s tires to a halt. I had to step into the muddy water, which was up to my knees, and found my foot stuck in the mud. It took lots of effort to free my boot and then wade my bike to the beckoning shore. They told me at the store that my boots were water resistant. They are, as long as the water isn’t coming in over the top of the wall.

IS HE THE PRIEST CYCLING TO WORK?

But we had fun, right? And Vincent was kind enough to give me the little light as a token of a job well done.
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In case this is the last blog before Christmas, we’d like to say: MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY HOLIDAY!!