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):

Northward

Tomorrow the Beynon family heads north. Several times a year we make the trip to the north shore of Lake Huron to visit with the in-law side of my family. Sometimes we camp - sometimes not. Given the colder and wetter than usual conditions so far this year any camping will be done in a trailer already set up at a campground.

The weather forecast is ambivalent but I look forward to daily swims in Lake Huron (cold, yet refreshing), a little golf and a lot of fishing. I discovered a few years ago that Northern Ontario fishermen are a little snobbish when it comes to their fishing. Pike, muskie, pickerel (walleye) and trout appear to be the fish of choice. I was surprised to discover that bass are largely overlooked as a game fish.

My brother-in-law and I went out in his little tin boat - that's the boat up there at the top of the page - up the river that runs right by his front lawn. Over the course of a leisurely two hours we caught dozens of bass and even kept a few to eat. One of the reasons why bass might be over looked as a catch and eat fish might be the parasitic worms they get. The ones we ate after that initial run up the river did indeed have worms, but not many. Some folks painstakingly pull the worms, writhing, from the meat with tweezers. I'm not that patient. The worms cook up just fine in the frying pan. Can't even taste 'em.

Anyway - with the cooler weather this year the parasites should be at a minimum and we're all looking forward to a couple of bass and egg breakfasts.

We are bringing the lovely Willow on the trip and, to make the trip more comfortable, we've decided to rent a larger vehicle for the journey. We had reserved a Ford Flex (a really ugly car from the outside, but surprisingly spacious inside) but, I was informed yesterday, may end up with some sort of Lincoln SUV. As long as it is more spacious than the Impala we should have a decent trip.

A relaxing trip with the whole family - just what the doctor ordered. I may even get some writing done while lounging on the beach.

To the moon, Alice!

Forty years ago today human beings first set foot on the moon. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were the lucky two who got to prance around in 1/6 gravity while Michael Collins had to play taxi driver to give them a ride home.

This is Buzz's footprint.

I was two years old when this happened and I still have a vague recollection of being herded into our neighbour's house (we didn't have a TV) to watch this curiously blue black and white image. I didn't know it at the time but my parents were showing me history.

For the longest time my parents held onto the Toronto Star that featured the photo above. Sadly, I have no idea where that paper might be now. It was a time of high adventure and endless possibilities. Let's face it - they made it to the friggin' moon with less computing power than you find in your average TV remote control.

Over the next three years there were five more moon landings with a total of twelve men setting foot on our closest celestial neighbour.

And then, in 1972, we stopped.

I guess we didn't stop completely. We shifted focus. A reusable spacecraft became a priority and sure it was cool, but it wasn't pushing the limits. It wasn't a trip to Mars.

We also decided that space travel should suddenly become safe, somehow. You need to harness a set of hellish rockets - little more than directed chemical bombs, really, to escape the pull of gravity and this is somehow expected to be safe?

Space travel is not supposed to be safe. It is supposed to be risky. All pioneering efforts have always been risky. Without risk, there is no pay-off. Crossing the Atlantic, by ship or by airplane is now routine - but not always. The same holds true for space travel.

I heard a commentator speaking about a future Mars mission and she said that one of the most difficult things will be the cramped quarters for the journey. I thought to myself - why? Why cramped? We have an international space station up there already - why not haul up a set of rockets and adapt that thing for the journey? All that hardware is already up there and it's not like you need to worry about aerodynamics in the vacuum of space.

Anyway - I am encouraged. Last night Buzz Aldrin - 2nd man on the moon - spoke out about a future mission to mars. He plans to encourage President Obama to once more push the limits and focus on the establishment of a colony on Mars.

Go get 'em, Buzz!