Well, Well, Wells

Where to start today?  Do I talk about the 143rd Birthday of H.G. Wells or do I talk about the scum-sucking lowlife who stole my bike?

I'm a big fan of H.G. Wells and have been influenced by him in both my reading choices and writing.  I remember reading The First Men on the Moon when I was around 8 or 9.  I thought it was inspired that a rifle club would be the first group to devise a method for getting men on the moon and, as it turns out, it wasn't too far off the mark.  The same guys who designed rocket bombs during WWII were the ones who eventually put men on the moon.   Wells' The Time Machine definitely influenced my own time travel story, The Platinum Ticket.  I remember reading The Invisible Man and thinking how this isn't a science fiction story at all - it was a sociological study all the way.  The Invisible Man talks about what a person would do if they could get away with anything without being seen.  As I recall the main character does all sorts of horrible things including murder and theft.

Speaking of theft, did I mention that my bike - my NEW bike - the one I've grown rather fond of over the summer - was stolen last night?  In the dead of night some lowlife crept into my carport and, using what I must assume were bolt cutters, cut the security cable I kept my bike locked up with.

I went out around noon to get something out of the carport and discovered a big empty space where my bike is supposed to be.  Sitting there on the concrete floor was my severed Raleigh bike lock.  I literally shook my head - I wasn't willing to believe it.  And then I shook with rage.

It's not so much the bike - although I am royally pissed off about the bike, don't get me wrong - but I think what gets me is that whoever this ...cocksucker is the word that I find myself typing - person is, they had no issues with walking into my well-lit carport - destroying my bike lock and then leaving with something that doesn't belong to them.  Earlier today I would have gladly done violence to the thief - visions of smashing his or her face into the concrete floor of my carport danced, sugarplum-like, through my head.

I've calmed.  I am still quite put out, but the red haze at the edge of my vision has subdued.

I reported the bike stolen and had a nice chat with a constable in London, Ontario.  I guess the bike thefts are handled through a central location.  He was glad to hear that I had the serial number but didn't hold out much hope the bike will ever be found.

But hey, Fergus is a small town.  If the thief is stupid enough to ride it around town I may just get it back.  In a way I kind of hope I don't see someone riding it around town - that red haze is only ever seconds away...

There and back again...

Lots of fun and adventure on the family vacation, but there's always something comforting about home.

We got back yesterday in the early evening and things were mostly as we left them. The grass is a little longer, the vegetable garden has exploded with bounty and ... hey, wait a minute! Why is it so easy for me to walk straight through the carport? Didn't there used to be an old, beat-up 12 speed bike in here?

Gone. Evaporated, apparently. The disappeared bike wasn't the new one that I have grown to love - that bike was safely locked in our potting shed. And something told me to throw a chain through the spokes of the wife's and children's bike, so they're all there, but that shitty 12 speed ball-cracker is gone. It isn't so much that I'll miss that bike - I was going to put it at the end of the driveway with a "free" sign on it anyway, but the point is someone (really tall without much respect for his testicles, if he rode it away) came into my carport and stole it.

Man, that pisses me off. I hope whoever took it enjoys it and rides the bike often. That way, maybe, his balls will become so hopelessly crushed (have I mentioned the uncomfortable seat the black bike has?) that he will become insignificant from an evolutionary standpoint and not be able to pass on his thieving genes.

Other than the stolen bike - and really, I don't care that much - the vacation was a lot of fun. There was fishing - brook and rainbow trout and bass, boat rides, hikes through bear-haunted woods (lots of bear sign on this visit - scat - one huge pile crawling with slugs near a pick-clean blueberry patch, torn open trees and smashed apart ant hills). I took the kids on their first atv rides.

In Sault Ste Marie we toured the locks along St Mary's River, explored the museum ship Norgoma and patronized the world's most unfriendly Used Book Store.

We attended a Pow-wow on the local Indian Reserve (and yes, I checked, the Thessalon Native North Americans prefer the term Indian) and what a blast that was. With the Thessalon Pow-wow there's a really strong element of respect for veterans and soldiers (something I believe to be a common thread running through all pow-wows). One of the dancers, a veteran of the Korean War, had a poppy as an integral part of his traditional regalia. It was wonderful for the kids. They were invited to join in many of the dances. The dances ranged from a very dignified and sombre entry dance with 49 drum beats of remembrance for 49 Indian (Native North America) prisoners of war who were executed by Nazis during World War II to the hilariously silly Potato dance where partners dance with a potato held between their foreheads. And that was the flow - sombre to silly and back and forth.

I took my nephew and the French exchange student staying with them golfing. He's here as part of an immersion program to learn conversational English. When he flubbed a short I heard him mutter "Merde.." "No, no, no." I told him. "You're here to learn English. When you fuck up a golf shot here you must say 'Shit'"

My sister-in-law was neither impressed nor surprised.

Yesterday - after a long drive we stopped of a couple of hours at a new visitor's centre at French River. Wonderful place that educates about the fur-route that opened up that part of North America to Europeans. We went on a fairly rugged hike with kids and dog in tow and were rewarded with this sight at the end of the trail (photo courtesy of my son):