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The bike comports itself very well here on Cortes. When Jack volunteered that learning to ride the bike was like sex: practice, practice, practice, it was "check please" time for both of us. He told us his sad bike/hill story punctuated with "Does this look swollen to you?" Then he told us the names of all his girlfriends and how they all rhymed punctuated with, "Man, that bugger packed a wallop." Jack showed us stuff about the bike all the while asking what salve he should apply to his wound. Minutes into his monologue he was stung by a bee. Jack discovered the joys of pedal-assisted transport and then human-on-foot and sweating assisted transport to get back to the summit. The second trip up the hill was not as smooth. It made its first trip up his hill on the back of the dealer's truck. He bought it without doing what a person needs to do to see if that person and that cycle match, whatever the hell that is. Jack had this neat little Chinese bike for sale because he was, ".too big for it." He explained that the hill he lived on was perfectly climbable for the bike. The purchase was the single strangest transaction either of us has ever had. Seeking greener transportation for Lili's daily journey back and forth to work, we have purchased an electric motor bike. * I made that part up so I could create, albeit tenuous at best, a link to the theme of this blog. Rowling who of course will immediately claim it as hers. I suppose if you live in a house with no floors you have to do something about that. No, instead they will waste it on a university education fund or floors for their house or some other useless crap. I tried to convince him that after all Lili and I have done for him he should sell it and put the money in our BC Ferries account.* It seems he did not think I was serious. There are but 4 of these babies known to exist. Mac's dad Russ, ever vigilant to cash in on someone else's stupidity (ask him about the piano), did the research and found that it is worth between $3000 and $5000. It appears that it was their last live performance on North American TV, too. It was a ticket to the Ed Sullivan Show on that Sunday evening when the Beatles - yes, those Beatles - made their final appearance on the program in 1965. This old piece of pasteboard, used by I would think more than one person in more than one book, was much more than any bookmark you and I might use. Anyway, inside this masterpiece of adolescent manipulation and meal ticket for cute little British actors was a bookmark.
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My niece Mac bought a book at a garage sale, Harry Potter and the Horrible Trip to the Orthopedist or something. OK, it'll be a stretch connecting this little nugget to Cortes Island, but it is still worth sharing. Maybe you have more details you'd like to share on some of Mikie and Lili's stories. More than 1,100 people have hit the blog. I'm thinking tunes such as, "For What It's Worth" ("What a field day for the heat"), "With a Little Help From my Friends", or the theme from Smoky and the Bandit.Ĭome up with other appropriate songs and comment on this posting, why doncha? Please note that it is breast and not beast. William Congreve was right: Music hath charms that soothe the savage breast. He/she calls the Cortes Island radio station. well, whom would you contact? Perhaps the illegal merrymakers, right? Not on Cortes. When that person observes law enforcement exiting the ferry, the chain of events begins to unfurl. Armed with a communication device (smoke signals?), the person contacts. Maybe it's a natural extension of the seafaring culture, past and present. Either way, somewhere along the hill that ascends majestically slicing through the forest from the ferry landing the designated spy takes his/her place. Perhaps it's an homage to all the MI5/6, CIA, KGB folks who I am convinced live here. But there is another designated role: spy.
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Wise people employ the designated driver to be safe during nights of frivolity. Still, the people who need to know where and when they might show up need to be vigilant. OK, a limited number of opportunities to come from Quadra Island, their home, to Cortes.
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After all, there are only 6 ferries a day, 5 on Tuesday and Sunday and none on Christmas, Wayne Gretzky's birthday and the anniversary of Gordon Campbell's drunk driving arrest. The RCMP visits the island on what appears to be a fairly predictable schedule.
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The events are of recent vintage it perhaps still goes on. He told the story with a mixture of amusement and bemusement. even though his real name is Officer Something-not-Dan. This story comes from an unimpeachable source.