Incredibly Realistic Strategy for Biking 285km in One Day

I mentioned in a previous post that I signed up for the Biking for Breakfast Challenge, a one-day bike ride across all of this glorious province with all its rolling hills, potholes, and roadkill. I signed up for this with the intention of perhaps doing a relay with a couple of other people or just doing 150-200km. Although, once you already do 200km, what's another 85km? Now I feel pressure to do the whole thing. Pressure from no one in particular, perhaps just the altitude from being waaaay up on the third floor at work.

How to Bike Really Far in One Day
- Weather: Pray to the weather Gods and Goddesses everyday until the event occurs. Such prayers include humidity levels, precipitation amounts, UV index, and, most critically wind direction and speed. In this case, I *think* but have not decided for certain, that winds from the southwest are best. That way the headwinds are done with early in the day.

- Conveyor belt: I will spend the next 1.5 months constructing a conveyor belt in key locations. The belt with go from Borden to Clyde River area. Since round-abouts seem to be "in" this season, in Crapaud I will design a complicated round-about and sell doughnuts to commemorate the event.

- Attachable child's wagon: I will arrange for a fellow rider to attach one of the kiddie-pull wagons to his/her bike. When I tire or wish to take a nap, I will go in the wagon and let the other cyclist pull me along.

- Motor: Some kids passed me on his bike the other day because it had a loud motor that sounded like a motorcycle. I will borrow his bike. for the interior 220km. The first 35km I will do on my own bike, along with the last 30km. No one will ever suspect.

- Hydration: I will link my bike up with a complicated hydration system. It will be linked through a CamelBack/Pack/whatever they are called and offer a variety of drinks. Critical will be: cherry slushy, Coke Light (not Diet Coke - entirely different), a lighter beer - preferably Brahma, water (I guess...), and jagerbombs. It will be heavy to lug this around on my back all day, but it will be worth it.

- Entertainment/Safety: Ideally, children will follow me the whole way blowing bubbles at me and singing songs of encouragement. Two of the children would be riding llamas. One will be crying from having recently been stung by a bee. This child works to attract the bees to herself, instead of me.

- Clothing: I will cleverly arrange in advance for someone to have dry clothing for me at the halfway point. Depending on the temperature, I tend to get a little cold when I take breaks but am in sweaty clothes. Possible solution is to bike in bathing suit, but then threats of chaffing loom.

- Time machine: This may not work as well as I originally thought, as based on the time travel concepts displayed in Back to the Future, you will move through time, but remain in the same locations. X and Y coordinates of displacement = 0. Only 4th dimension coordinates change. In this scenario...

- Displacement machine/Matter transporter: This would take care of the actual changing of location. I would use it to cheat the whole way... just a few select hills or roads with a crappy shoulder would be skipped.

- Protective bubble: this protective bubble would be weightless, extremely aerodynamic, waterproof, windproof, AND a beautiful colour. It would also protect from road debris and the threat of being wiped off the road by a wavering car.

These, and more finely crafted plans, should ensure I don't die.

Oh, that juice is actually wine.

Bonsoir mes amis.

A friend requested a blog update. Here we go my Darlin' Charlin'!

How to tell if your good friend, Jen Maki, has indulged in an adult beverage or two.

- French flows from the mouth like water from the tap.

- "Let's go on an adventure!" - or, in warmer months - "We should go swimming!"

- Why take a cab when you can walk? "Jen, it's snowing with 50 km/hr winds."

- "Wouldn't pizza rock the body that rocks the party?!"

- One eye appears smaller than the other in photos.

- I will tell you within ten minutes of meeting you that, yes, I used to work at Disney World and it was amazing.

- You'll get to hear all about how much I love my new bike and how it's like attaching wings to your feet.

- "We should go somewhere fun! Not Baba's. I don't want to stare at bands and sway."

- Devilish gleam in the eye.

Four more works til the weekend!

Heeeey, Varanasi! *wink*

Ahh, India. I have a deep connection with you; I did a presentation on India in grade 5. We discussed very basic things, ("This is what the flag looks like and the country is very big, but not nearly as big as Canada, but very hot.") but I think you have developed a crush on me! Since the beginning of May this blog has received almost 500 hits from Varanasi, a city sort of north-eastish. Most of he visitors from that city get to this blog by using the link at the upper left "Next blog". Since there is no "Previous Blog" option, I don't know exactly what site they are coming from, but I would like to see it. It know gives me a huge percentage of my traffic. Such a change from the days when Googling random French phrases brought you here. On the plus side, last week I spent some time learning about this previously unknown city in India. Though I must wonder why the sudden traffic... Internet service improved? Google Analytics didn't previously recognize the location? I'm a demi-Goddess?

I signed up for the Biking for Breakfast Challenge. I don't know why. I blame "The Biggest Loser" in which a bunch of overweight people exercise excessively and then vomit. I want to see if biking 285 km in one day will make me vomit, go crazy, and then stumble a la Will Ferrel in Old School after being hit by a tranquilizer dart. I'll ponder this some more as I drift into sleep.

Also, currently reading Text from last night.com in preparation for Friday's wine festival. If the wine gets tricky and makes my brain a little woozy, at least I'll never be as bad as those (highly entertaining) whack jobs.

Good morning, World!!

Dear PEI motorists:

Sorry I flashed you the other day, but I was in a pickle. I know you expected your drive to work to be free of nudity and all things evil, but I have yet to put curtains over my window, despite my window looking over one of the busiest roads in our wee city. But that's okay, I'll assume you're modest and looked away.

You see, I was about to be attacked. I was laying in bed enjoying the last moments of rest before the workday when I noticed a large wasp buzzing close to my window. I felt confident in my safety knowing the screen would keep Wee Waspy out. However, the smile on my face faded when I realised the screen had unattached from the window frame close to wear the wasp was hovering. I didn't have much time to react, but I had to do so quickly as the wasp appeared to be slowly discovering the entry into this new world.

If you know me well you will recall that I'm terrified of bees, wasps, and general stinging things. We shall put the blame on the writers of My Girl. Though, to be fair, the movie was released when I was 8, so obviously something else triggered this deep fear pre-1991. Regardless, if Macaulay Culkin/"Thomas" can't survive a few bee stings, what chance do I have?

I hopped from my bed and quickly made great efforts to fix the screen to keep out the murderer. Standing on my bed, in front of my large window. It occurred to me that perhaps I was giving the sleepy motorists a bit of a show, but my safety was worth it. And I was lucky not to reveal all. Those with foot fetishes would had been disappointed. I was well blocked from the knees down.

In a way, not having my curtains up (they are still in their plastic wrapping from when I bought them ages ago) saved my life. Had the curtains been shielding me from the sun I wouldn't had noticed the Wee Wasp trying to plow into my room. He would have come in, buzzed around a bunch, and then killed me.

In closing, I hope I have not offended you.

Many thanks,
Jen Mac

Conversation from earlier that week about jellyfish stings -
Roommate One from Ontario: I mean, you must have been stung by a jellyfish, right? Does it hurt? Like a bee sting?
Jen: I dunno. I've never been stung by anything.
Roommate One: What? That's impossible? Roommate Two, you've been stung by a bee, right? How have you never been stung by a bee?
Roommate Two: No, actually.
Roommate One: HOW IS THAT EVEN F--KING POSSIBLE?
Jen: I'm observant and good at running away from stinging things.

Please let me give you my money!

Today I bought a new bike from MacQueens. I have yet to take a photo of the bike, seeing as it has been in my possession for about five hours. However, I am eager to share with you what my bike looks like. I could show you the stock photo from Specialized's website, but that's too easy. Instead, I present to you my artist's rendition of what my bike would look like under water.


You will note that there is a mermaid riding the bike. Trying actually. She's actually on an invisible trainer because she has no legs to straddle the bike with and no feet to pedal with. Poor Ariel. She is also holding two candy canes, because it's Christmas (symbolic: today was like Christmas for me!), and she's distributing the candy canes to the fish.

Obviously.

Alors, now I'm a thrilled owner of a Specialized Dolce Elite. I decided the price tag was justified as it was about the same price (before tax) of a scholarship I received in first year university. I won't tell you how much the scholarship was, we will say it was somewhere between $100 - $4000.

My new Lady Friend and I went for a ride this evening, and it was darling fun. Kind of have to get used to the vibrations on the hands though. The first time I rode a road bike in Feb 2009 I wasn't wearing gloves and could hardly stand to touch the lovely thing the next morning my hands were so wonky.

There are two bike shops in my city. The one where I bought my new bike (also where I bought my hybrid a couple of years ago), and the other one. Many people love the other one, but every time I go in there looking to buy something they are just ridiculously unhelpful. It's like I have to pull information from their brains, beg them to tell me more and try to actually sell me the bike. I don't know if they assume I won't buy something because 1) they don't recognize me, 2) I'm a girl, 3) I sound a bit confused, or 4) because I'm not wearing lycra and fancy shoes. I went to both bike shops for both bike purchases. I can't even be bothered going to shop no. 2 anymore. It's also the super simple things that matter, such as at preferred bike shop they hold the door open for customers when they are taking their bikes in and out. Shop no. 2 doesn't, and then I somehow foolishly managed to cut my leg on their door last Friday.

Housemate no. 3 said I should write about our shared crappy customer service experience at Captain Sub from last Sunday. I said I would! I'm pretty sure the girl working there hated us for buying subs. HATED US. Jared asked for sub sauce, some sort of weird Upper Canada thing. The chick basically starred at him and said no. But she didn't bother asking, "What type of sauce is it?" and looking for something similar. Then he asked for his big sub to be cut in three pieces instead of two, and I'm convinced she had flashes of cutting Jared into three pieces (instead of the two she was originally planning!) It was hard to tell whether she hated us (pfft, fooish, everyone LOVES US), hated her job, or just hated everything in the entire world and has a massive chip on her shoulder. I would go with the last option.

On a much more positive note, the people who work at my preferred bike shop are awesome. They note if the bike I'm about to test ride will fit, or if the seat was too high. Kid at the other shop didn't clue in at all.

Maybe he just does too many drugs?

Ahh, bicycle. You and I will be having a very enjoyable summer together. I'm sorry I didn't like your colour scheme at first, but I don't consider black or white to be real colours. I wanted you to be teal and red - like Superman. But now I see your thin strip of purple and approve, and think I should put star stickers on the fork, and maybe some ribbon on the handle bars to give some more splashes of colour. I also find your sexy factor to rise to alarming levels once I actually sit on you. I am also sorry that I had so many thoughts, wondering if you were worth the extra $400 over the lower model. Obviously you were, because I, umm, couldn't reach the brakes very well on the other one.

Yes, mon amie, we will have a good summer together. Now we just need to work some voodoo magic to keep the rain drops to seasonal levels.

Go Maki, Go!

This past Saturday I was one half of a two-person team for the Red Island Relay. Overall, it was tonnes of fun and I'm so glad that I got to go in last minute. The Relay is in five parts: 1) run 7.5 km, 2) road bike 27 km, 3) run 10 km, 4) trail bike 19 km, and 5) two-person canoe or kayak for 6km. I did legs 2, 4, and 5. After a panicked Thursday night, I arranged to borrow a road bike for the road portion (THANK GOD) and would use my usual happy-commuter hybrid on the trail. They said "mountain bike portion", but there is absolutely no need for a mountain bike when the trail is dry - which is was. It was actually probably some of the best portion of the Confederation Trail that I have biked on recently.

Here is how my road bike started:


Excellent. Remember to wear helmet and sport huge, unsporty sunglasses. The ride went very well, and there was a nice tailwind going down a huge hill. The wind also did not seem as bad as originally forecasted to be.

However, this is how my ride ended:


Nice one, Jen Mac. At about kilometre 22 (I'm not completely sure, but I was pretty close to the end) I suffered from a race-ending flat in my back tire. So I walked back down the giant hill I was conquering to some people directing cyclists. We shuffled awkwardly.

"Umm, I have a flat and no spare tube or pump. I usually would bring a tube and pump... but just not today, I guess."
"Huh. Well, that's too bad."
"It is. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now."
"I suppose I could give you and your bike a lift in my truck? Where do you want to go?"
"I guess to the finish line/transition area."
"Okay - off we go!"
"UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH."

We load the bike into the truck and drive off, passing a few cyclists going up the big hill. I wave. Then I note a car ahead of me that looks familiar. My parents' car - they were going to snap some pictures and say hello. They pulled over to let us pass, thinking we were part of some race convoy. We pull up next to them and I knock on the window, smile, and wave.

Mother waves back, also with a big smile, thinking, "That is my daughter, it is nice to see her smiling in that truck with the stranger man!"

Papa looks at me, looks absolutely disgusted, likely thinking, "HOW DO YOU MANAGE TO SCREW UP ALL THE TIME?" or perhaps, "Of course, she crashed, and now she is excited because she hurt her ankle and is secretly thrilled that she'll get to use crutches and have something to laugh about."

The Kind Stranger drove me back close to the transition area and I wheeled/walked across the timer mat. We took a weird route back, I actually probably have a recorded time pretty similar to what my actual time would be.

I stand in the transition area awkwardly, basically saying over and over and over again and again, "I have a flat tire!!!" and was unable to find my team mate. A delightfully eager volunteer sprints over, concerned that I can find my team mate. She asks who he is, and I reply, "He's tall with curly hair and we call him Mike!" and she takes off. Mike comes running over a few moments later, surprised to see me so soon. And off he goes!

I take the hour to do healthy athlete type things: eat chocolate, put on my fleece to keep warm, use the washroom, guzzle some gatorade (red, please), fiddle with my front wheel, and pat a dog I see on the way to the toilet.

Mike comes back from a triumphant run, and I take off for Leg 4. The trail ride went very well, and I think took me about 48 mins. High five for fantastic trail conditions! I even passed a few people, which made me feel smug, particularly as one was decked in hardcore geeky bike gear. Mind you this person was probably doing the whole thing on his own... but anyway.

Coming back down into the transition area was awesome, and you have pedalled hard you could easily hit 45km/hr, even on a hybrid. My nose was getting curiously runny, and it turned out I had what I like to call a "fake" nose bleed. It dripped, like, five drops on my arm, then I rubbed my nose a few times, and it appeared to end.

I sprinted off to the boat area, while Devin captured a wonderful photo of me basically yelping, "I think I have a nose bleed!" to which he responded by looking at me bizarrely. Likely because what I yelped probably sounded like, "I klhejlon mweeeee!"

I hopped into the canoe with Mike and off we went! I would like to say we raced off and won the whole thing, but the wee cyclist of the team had one large drawback: she had never paddled a canoe. She got the hang of it, but didn't want to push too hard for the first bit in fear of burning out for the last bit.

Cyclist = me

Also, something about being in a canoe makes me think "relax!" A kayak I tend to think GO GO GOOOOOOO! So I realised towards the end that I wasn't really trying that hard. I think Mike fell into the same groove a wee bit. Had we both tried harder (particularly the cyclist) I'm sure we could have shaved ten minutes off our time. Alas, perhaps next year. Overall time was 4 hours, twenty-four minutes.

Text to self: Things to do on the moon

I generally have a lot of trouble falling asleep at night but then sleep like a drugged baby until my alarm sings in my ears. Sometimes I think of things that I think would be wonderful to write about, but refrain from powering up Laptop and just hope I remember them in the morning. About a week ago I came up with what seemed like WONDERFUL ideas and text them to myself. The text reads, "Blog: things to do on the moon, bf list half-duck, things my kids can do."

Things to do on the moon is self explanatory and I recall thinking of a few great things (hop!). Boyfriend list half-duck somewhat makes sense as I remember my train of thought about the list (pertains to an email sent long ago), but I'm questioning the half-duck thing. Perhaps I had some sort of boyfriend requirement that the male should not be a half mutated animal, specifically a duck? I even remember laughing as I typed it into my phone.

In a timid attempt to do this week-old brain wave justice, I present to you, Things to do on the Mooon:

- Hop around. Be sure to attach yourself to something sturdy via a strong rope.
- Weight yourself. Moon gravity = stunning weight loss!
- Do the moonwalk. It's only appropriate.
- Search for signs of life. There has to be something there, even if it's only the dead carcass of a june bug.
- Nap.

Like I will do now.

Public Service Announcement

Friends:

I am here today to offer constructive criticism on your choice as consumers.


You may recognize the product featured in this photo. If you have ever consumed this product (and obviously you have otherwise our relationship is quickly spiraling downwards) your brain should have instantly flooded with memories of a delicious, tender chocolate ball sitting on your tongue, the chocolate slowly sweating onto your taste buds with "So Happy Together" playing in the background. The interior holds a careful secret: love. The inside of these chocolate balls were invented when God, Buddha, Allah, and Zeus were having a tea party.

Although my relationship with the Lindt brand has generally always been strong and solid, it did waver when I descending the train in Zurich, Switzerland. I was full of optimism; an innocent lassie with a hop in her step. As much as one can hop when weighed down with a 30-lb backpack... so, heavily stepped, really. Into the train station's visitor centre I go. In my best German I say, "I vould like a map, please," borrowing a friend's method of quickly becoming a linguistic master of any language (say the words in English, but with a stereotyped accent of the local language). I am provided with a map, and an awkward smile. I inquired about the location of the Lindt chocolate factory that had me drooling in my Rough Guide. The kind Svisse-Germhan informed me that the factory and its tours were temporarily closed for renovation, refurb, donkey control, something. I felt overwhelmed with grief; the same grief one feels when she thinks she has one cookie left, but actually has none.

Instead, I had to settle for a large advertisement of Lindt chocolate.


Needless to say, the sign didn't compare to the goodness I expected to come from the actual tour/unlimited tasting session (belly ache factory?), but instead I drank beer with hostel people, explored, enjoyed the sun, and, surprise, went on a long bike ride.

So, based on these preceding ramblings, you should derived that I take my Lindt chocolate quite seriously. Thus, when I came across a knock-off version of Lindt Lindor chocolate balls I as a bit skeptical, almost nervous. Usually I would just snark and buy the brandless substitute... But this is clearly different. The package stated the product was made in Switzerland (+1 point), but the truffles (so said the packaging) were wrapped in blue wrapper instead of red. Not being a fan of blue, particularly light blue, I felt a twitch in my shoulder. A panicked discussion with my co-shopper wasn't comforting. We both felt concern with faulty fakes. Eventually, I decided to take a risk. I bought the fakes, in the name of science, of course. The "buying slightly overpriced but oh-so delicious chocolate with groceries" habit is/was supposed to disappear after leaving France. Success = questionable.

Fake truffles in light blue wrappers were placed in basket, taken to the register, paid for, and ripped open about 100 paces out of the grocery store. Co-muncher had the first truffle. Verdict that we shared: not the same, not bad, an okay substitute in the event you are lacking the extra $.70 for the true taste bud delights.

Conclusion:
Lindt Lindor Truffles: +9,000
President's Choice Milk Chocolate Truffles: +2 (photo to perhaps be added later)

This has been a public service announcement in the stylings of Maki.

The Numbers Game

Once, a long, long time ago, (1995-2004), I was a 'numbers person'. This is mostly evident in school marks, and high school awards that were given nice names but really should have been called, "Science Geek Prize" or "Way to rock finance, Maki!" I'm still a bit of a numbers person, and write many reports involving a plethora of numbers. However, I don't really do anything with numbers anymore. My life is lacking algebraic equations, graphing calculators (kidding! I always hated those), elaborate equations used to determine simple things ("According to this complicated equation, you will die if you chop off your head!"), etc.

It's been so long since I've be able to us pi, dramatic siiiiiigh. Math and physics got even better as teachers/professors insisted that inserting greek characters into equations and results was the right thing to do.

But no one wants to read how I miss math class and wish I could use a geometry set at least once a week. Here are numbers you may enjoy.

The number of...
Times I bought a specific kind of beer because there was an elephant on the can/label/bottle: 2

  elephant-labelled beer that did not taste so good: 1.5

Reports I have written since starting my job in June 2007: approximately 18,742

  Reports I have written that nobody external has read: 17,894

Animals I have contemplated stealing from a zoo: most of them

  Animals I have actually stolen from a zoo: zero

Pennies required to buy a chocolate bar from the University's vending machines last week: 130 (note: machine does not actually accept pennies

  Pennies required to buy a chocolate bar from the uni's vending machines this week: 160.. no more purchases from the vending machine. I'm taking a stance!

Times a week I go to work with wet or still-damp hair: 2 or 3

  Other people who show up with wet hair: zero (this confuses me - hair dryer = ball of frizz, and no one else has frizzy OR wet hair)

Times I've checked the weather today: two

  Times I would check the weather on an average winter workday: 30 million

Seasons of Family Ties owned: two

  Seasons I should own: all of them, but with Baby Andrew scenes magically erased

Blogs written this week: two!

  Blogs that were picked up by my Facebook feed: 0 ... thanks, failing technology

Times today that I thought of ways to make money by blogging: very many!

  Dollars ever made from blogging: $0

Cheers to the Internet for allowing me to share this important information with you.

Fact you may have not known: in French there is no masculine version of the word "esthetician". That means France is sexist. Which is fine, even applaudable, because I would not want a man waxing the lady parts. He just wouldn't know...

Summer's a brewin'...

Signs summer is coming:

• Jewell's Country Market is open, which was my savior at kilometre 55 of what was planned to be a simple 40-km bike ride.


• Boomer, the local weatherman, said winter was ending tonight once the wind died down - and it did die down!


• Sun still gleams on the horizon at 20h45.


• Beer Club is being held outside tomorrow!


• The university feels vacant as profs sneak off for holidays.


• Season finales galore! Highlight being Survivor last night, which I lapped up like a thirsty puppy. Then read all about it online *cough* geek *cough* and then got paranoid the next day that my tribe ("work mates") was strategising against me.


• I'm getting emails about bicycling rides, which I'm too slow to participate in :P


• Not wearing boots, unless it's raining.


• Darling Sparks kids came to my door selling Girl Guide cookies. Having a cold and not feeling well, obviously cookies were a required purchase. Despite the fact I hated Brownies (the pre-Girl Guides) and thought there were too many mean girls enrolled.


• Big movies coming out soon!


• People watering their yards. STOP IT.


• People watering their driveways. STOP IT.

Yes, it turns out I'm quite intolerant of people watering their lawns and cleaning their driveways. It's spring in the Maritimes. If it's not raining today, it probably will tomorrow. Or the day after.

(To be fair it doesn't seem to be raining that much, but often low, moody clouds are taking over the skyline.)

In a lighter note:



I crack up whenever this commercial comes on TV. There is no real explanation for my cackly laughter, but it happens. It also helped last time when one of my roommates squinted at the TV and said, "I still can never see the hippo the first time around..."

The magical world of YouTube lead me to Star Wars Ep I "Duel of the Fates" which made me feel geeky for listening to it. It reminds me of studying for final exams in grade 11, as I used to listen to the Star Wars soundtrack when studying. I had read somewhere that classical music helps studying, and apparently I assumed Star Wars was classical music. In a good note, I aced grade 11 and 12. Thank you, John Williams! Could have used your help in grade 10 "Etudes canadiens", however.

Yesterday evening I sneezed while eating popcorn, all over my arm. Must had been a cursed sneeze as shortly after I felt my head getting a bit stuffy and by evening's end I had developed a cold. Woke up today feeling a smidge less than mediocre and have sneezed approximately 18,752 times today. Sometimes eating, sometimes not, sometimes drinking, sometimes not. I told my cold this afternoon, "Fine, you can stay today, but I am dousing you out with some wicked vitamin C this evening." Then, you know, the cute kids showed up with the cookies.

Cookies are rich in vitamin c, yes?

No.

See you again tomorrow, cold.

Important lists

I haven't written in a wee while because I've been off playing on holiday. On a scale of 1-10 of wonderfulness, after careful consideration and using a coefficient multiplier of the cosecent of pi (3.14159), I have determined this vacation deserves an 11.298. I don't know about you, but I find that to be a pleasing rating.

Now, just because I did not blog while traversing our great neighbour to the south, does not mean I was not thinking about blogging. I think writers tend to always write in their heads. I didn't bring my laptop with me and often found myself narrating my mini adventures in my head in blog style. It's difficult to determine if this is an admirable devotion to my blog and its six readers, or if it is a sad reflection of someone craving attention.

Right now I do not feel like writing a post with proper punctuation and picky grammar rules. I would like to make lists. Although they may be formatted a bit bizarrely as I find blogger defaults lists to be more much spacey than I desire.

Best animals at a zoo
- Sea lions
- Penguins
- Goats
- Elephants
- Any hyper animal under 6mos of age.

Worst animals at a zoo
- The ones that are sleeping waaaaaay in the back of their special animal area. Typically this will be a bear, filling all the bear stereotypes of lazy hibernation. QUESTION: Do zoo bears hibernate in the winter? Probably not. Sorry, bear.

Things that live up to their hype
- Danny Bhoy
- Niagara Falls, Canada portion.
- Golden Gate Bridge
- Earl of Sandwich
- Bahama Breeze
- These two kinds of Milka bars: Caramel and à la mousse praliné. Miam!
- Road-side fruit stands - particularly strawberries
- Goat cheese
- Me. Yes, I live up to the hype.
- *knock on wood* Toy Story 3

Things that aren't as impressive as they are supposed to be
- Chili's margarita chicken, pictured to the right. The only thing you can do is laugh. And build a time machine for a lunch re-do.
- Hershey milk chocolate. Best left for smores.
- Chocolate covered fruit. Don't mess with my strawberries, yo.

Best way to travel to a destination
- Flying carpet; llama

Worst way to travel to a destination
- Ryan Air; sewage pipe

Disappointing ways to start your day
- Waking up on Monday and thinking it's Saturday
- Empty milk jug in fridge after you poured your delicious cereal into its bowl
- Flat bike tire
- Horse poop

Wonderful ways to start your day
- Vodka & tonic with a slice of lime (just kidding... hold the tonic.)
- Sunshine
- Smiling faces
- Free hotel continental breakfast

Things that are awkward
- Eating pasta with tomato-based sauce while wearing a white shirt
- Trying to shimmy into clothes that are too small (thanks FRANCE -- "De rien, Jenny-fair")
- Trying to watch Avatar of the four-inch seat-back tv on an airplane
- Choking
- Promos for Sex and the City 2

When the obvious ties together

In an effort not to lose my dashing French skills, I bought two discounted French novels at the campus bookstore last week. They were used in classes, I suspect, last term or recently and were no longer needed in stock. One is meant for ages 10 and up and the other is a proper adult novel.

I was just about to start the younglings book "Vendredi ou la vie sauvage" this evening when I decided to look up the word "naufrage" on my handy-dandy electronic dictionnaire. I was drawn to this word, used in the description on the back cover, because my province has a region called "Naufrage" along the north shore. Turns out naufrage, when used in context of boats, is a shipwreck. So now I feel a pull to learn about shipwrecks in Naufrage, or PEI in general.

A quick Google searched yielded some poor results (news releases over the past decade - which do have merit but weren't quite what I was looking for) but did point me in the direction of one site: Famous Shipwrecks of the past 400 Years. The only listing for PEI is up in Cavendish, occurring in the summer of 1883. This ship was called the Marco Polo.

Name of one of the main campgrounds in Cavendish? Marco Polo Land. I feel so enlightened, but am disheartened that the campground's website offers no history of the campground or the relevance of the chosen name.

I wonder what obvious factoid I will realise tomorrow? Enlighten me, dear readers!

BTW, you may see this a few days after I wrote this due to Facebook's poor blog feed as of late. But share your obvious information anyway.

Mobile Evolution

Ah, Friday afternoon! Let's discuss something lighthearted yet critical to the development of ones character.

I'm heading off to Florida-land soon to wrestle alligators and save manatees from extinction (hobby in my spare time, of course) and thought to myself, "I should probably look into activating my US cellphone for communication ease." Then I thought how foolish I would look using my US mobile as it's rather antiquated. I purchased it in 2006 and even at that point it was considered to be an older, cheap phone. But before we discuss the Nokia 2115i and its enhanced flashlight feature (oooh!), we shall rewind even further to the first mobile I ever own: the Nokia 3410.



What a sexy phone! Not the traditional black or silver colour. The phone had wonderful features such as: call display, multiple ring tone, texting, minimal web browser capabilities (never figured that out), and GAMES! Including SNAKE, the classic cellphone/grade 9 computer class game of sweat, trauma, and love.

I bought this phone in the UK - the Virgin Store on Princes Street in Edinburgh - for way too much money. Or at least it seemed so at the time because the exchange rate was terrible. I don't remember how much it was exactly, but probably close to $100 CAD including maybe $40 of credit. Maybe more. Maybe less. I don't remember. I don't think this was the cheapest phone available, but I think it was the cheapest once factoring in activation bonus. Shan, Keri, and I (my two flatmates/PEI expats) had the same phone. Like triplets, we could tell them apart by their unique differences. Scratches from being dropped, perhaps a random sticker applied, or what shade of make-up was accidentally smeared on it. This phone lived a good, expat life. It was dropped a few times (shocking in the land of beer and whisky), went on adventures with me, and was eventually passed onto another Islander (and temporary roommate) who used it until she left Scotland about seven months after I did. I'm not sure what she did with it, hopefully passed it on to someone else in need. I think I sold it to her for about 5GBP, which was basically to cover the credit on it. I spent that money on crisps and confectionery in the Glasgow and Belfast Airport, through my sad sniffles. The phone number was about 8,000 digits long: 07981 130 XXX [because I don't remember the last three digits]. I have it written down somewhere though. This phone also developed my love for predictive texting, which was forced upon Keri by Shannon and I.

Next up, the Nokia 2115i/American Phone v2.0:


This is actually the third phone I had. My second one was a different US AT&T pay as you go phone, which died a tragic death after only a couple of months. I was at the gym (at Disney's Boardwalk, for the geeky) and had my phone in my shorts' pocket. As I stood up from using the toilet my phone tumbled in. I fished it out (nae worries folks, it was only a Number 1 toilet use) and tried to turn it on. Lights blinked... and nothing. RIP phone.

Off to the Internet to find a replacement! Virgin had the best price: $20.00 for an older phone that came with $20.00 phone credit. Essentially, a free phone. A simple internet purchase later and the phone was delivered to my delicious, sweaty Disney apartment.

This is the phone I still have as my US phone. It's not activated, but they always happily give me a new phone number every time I feel the need to activate it again and toss on some credit. I haven't used the phone since going to Hawai'i/San Diego a year ago, so I'm hoping when I eventually turn it on it was emit smells of the delicious ocean. Hmm, right.

This phone still had a black and white display and the interface (right word?) was almost the exact same as my UK phone. However, the main upgrade was the FLASHLIGHT feature. You may laugh, until the power goes out or you are rummaging around in a dark hostel dormitory and realise that the wee flashlight is a *very* useful invention.

Onto Canada Phone v1.0: the Nokia 2521i.


We have upgraded to a colour display! I bought this phone in September 2007 right before going to California. I was driving at 1:00am to go to Halifax for an early flight and felt a mobile would be a wise addition to my luggage. It is almost the exact same as my US except the colour display and phone colour. It gave me a source of familiarity, comfort. I believe it was about $60.00, which seemed like a massive rip-off given the free-ness of US mobile. Bonus of being only a slight upgrade to the previous phone is that the phone chargers are the same, and I still have a flashlight which is useful as I don't have a good lamp next to my bed and my room's lightswitch is alllllllllllllllllll the way on the other side of my room, separated by an obstacle course of clothing, books, a random purse... anything really. Could be a snake in there.

My cellphone has not evolved for almost 2.5 years. The phone still works super well. It will randomly shut off once in awhile if I set it down too hard, but that's it. I could upgrade it, but I enjoy the sturdiness of old Nokias. You can drop them and they still work. Unless droppage results in toilet phone, but I think that would kill most phones anyway. I just sometimes feel like a tool using it, but now I like to think it'll only be a couple of more years until it's a cool retro phone. In 2013, pulling out this dandy phone with the flashlight will be like pulling out a Zack Morris phone from Saved by the Bell. Also, you probably have to pay extra to get an flashlight app for your iPhone. Just sayin'...



(Also, let's not even bother getting into the curse of the Blackberry and being 100% accessible to your employer all the time. Fools! Bwa ha haaaa!)

No tengo el tesoro, sólo un sandiwch!

The Internet at my house is wonky and broke. So now when I think of random things to write about I tend to read instead. And the book I'm currently reading makes me think of MORE things to write. Then I fall asleep and forget them all.

I am a bit of a bum for local news and decided last week that I would hate to be the leader of the opposition. Basically her job is to complain about everything the government does. I don't like complaining, I feel guilty when I complain and my head fills with images of starving children or people suffering from incurable diseases. As leader of the opposition, one must never deliver compliments when a success has occurred - even if it is "the best" for citizens. One must find fault with all things. It would not be the job for me - or politics in general. It would be hard to dive into a career path that will lead people to believe you are corrupted, dishonourable, over-paid, under-qualified, and a plethora of other negative adjectives. People expect many public appearances, a perfect background, and that you are secretly a terrible person who likes to kill puppy dogs and set fire to orphanages.

The book I'm reading is a fictional tale about the first king of Canada: King John of Canada (link to Google book if you feel you must read a few pages). I don't really like the narrative style of the book, but perhaps something happens in the end that pieces that together and indirectly hints at why the author chose that style. However, I do like that the book makes me think about the history of Canada, what we've accepted as our norm, and what is accepted because, well, "that's how it is." I suppose books that make us think are good, but I don't feel I'll ever re-read it. I would recommend it selectively, but offer a warning with it. Also, the book has a rather strong anti-Quebecness about it, which I don't so much like.

In news I may have released before, I have recently developed a strong love for goat cheese. Merci, la France! I never really ate it prior to going to France last October. However, on every second street corner in the old town of Aix there was a panini and/or pizza stand/truck/hole-in-a-wall. Having a strong love of sandwiches - particularly TOASTED SANDWICHES, my heart was instantly stolen by the sandwich people after my Euros. On many such sandwiches was goat cheese. A mysterious brand of cheese that I had often heard of, but never tried. Being from PEI, I was well versed in ADL mozzarella and cheddar. In the pub world of the UK I snuck pieces of bree when making paninins for drunk customers. In the happy upscale magicalness of Disney I found myself enjoying the odd sprinkle of blue cheese. Other cheeses were randomly thrown into the mix through the last twenty-plus years (Parmesan, which I don't even know how to spell, swiss, marble, which is hardly worth a mention, and "american cheese"/ew) but the goat cheese still eluded me.

But, oh la France, the changes you have made to me! Not just in my verb conjugation skills, ability to properly composter mon billet, and accidentally rip off the public bus system, but in my appreciation of this delightful soft cheese. Initially I enjoyed only small quantities as it does have a strong taste that somewhat over powers the flimsiness of the accompanying mozza and tomate, but now I so love it. Toasted baguette avec tomate et fromage de chevre. Bien!

Things to get ready for

(Things for which to get ready, if we desire to be grammatically correct.)

1. The Red Island Relay. It's a fundraiser for the Heart and Stroke Foundation consisting of two running legs, two cycling legs, and one canoe/kayak leg. Apparently I am feeling in shape. How misleading I am to myself. The most challenging leg will take place at 7:00am: waking up and being able to function without hissing at people.


2. PEI Biking for Breakfast Challenge. Apparently I think I have the ability to bike 275-ish kilometres in one day. At present, I do not have this ability. There is a good chance I won't have the ability when early August rolls around. However, I have recently seen a few episodes of the Biggest Loser (such a confessional to admit I occasionally watch it) and am intrigued by the prospect of finding my physical limit. The contestants apparently sometimes work out to the point of tears and vomitting. Apparently I want to bike from one end of PEI to the other to see if it will make me cry (very likely) or vomit (very unlikely). This would require a bike upgrade if I even wish to consider reaching and surpassing the halfway point. Another option is to do a portion of the course... we'll see.


3. Closely monitor the most important website ever invented.

After a string of flats and strings of under-the-breath profanity, bicyclette noire got the greatest Easter gift of them all on Saturday: new tires. Front and back. New, skinnier, sexier tires. Eighty kilometres and thirty hours later, still no flats. Amazing.

The screws fell out of one of my toe clips on early in the week. I tried to fixed it using a bobbie pin and a safety pin. Needless to say that failed about 5-km later.

Birds: Pros and Caw-ns

This afternoon I was sitting in a car waiting for someone and watching a crow hop around on a roof across the street. Having a very scientific mind with both a well developed left and right side, I managed to come up with the following list of the pros and cons of being a bird. The bird being observed was a crow (traditional name: it which caws loudly too early in the morning and poops all over everything).

PROS
• The ability to fly.
• No bad hair days.
• Tormenting cats.
• Destroying garbage bags for pure fun.
• "Hunting" for food has been simplified to hanging out in the BK parking lot picking at tossed fries and leftover ketchup packets.
• Living in a tree.
• Being a hot topic in The Guardian AND CBC PEI Online.
• Pooping without even having to stop flying, go to the ground, digging a hole, etc. Go when ya gotta.

CONS
• Not having hands.
• Eyes being on the side of the head so you can't see right in front of you.
• Being hated.
• As a result of not having hands and not being able to see right in front of oneself, all potential food must be touched with mouth. Possibly gross and setting oneself up for disappointment when "food" turns out to be a gum wrapper.
• Being at the very bottom of a "bird watchers' checklist". No one is impressed to know someone who once saw a crow.
• Confusion with a black bird or raven.
• Victims of intimidation tactics of "scarecrows".

After mentally establishing this list in my tired "I just biked 40 km, which isn't a lot, but I ran over something and got a flat in Tea Hill and it was annoying because I wanted to bike further" head, I did a crossworld puzzle and was joined by my friend for patio bevvies. I dared not share this list with her, in fear she would plagiarize and steal this blog post for her own, non-existent blog.

La fin.

(PS ~ I do think of more intelligent things throughout the day, really. Like scientific notation and pi. Merci.)

Super Power of the Day

I woke up this morning to the sound of the rain loudly drumming on the windows. Flashback to last night when the front tire of my bike seemed weak and was likely very slowly deflating. I contemplate how I will get from Point A (my bed) to Point B (my office) without spending the first hour of work looking like I just pulled myself out of a pool.

My first thought was, "Don't go to work!" which was stupid. My second thought was, "Call someone to drive you!" which was almost equally as stupid. (I never claimed to be wise in the morning.) Another thought was, "Take the bus!" which had potential but seemed to admit defeat against the rain, and involved figuring out the awkwardness of the local bus system. The thought was followed with, "Call a taxi!" which was ridiculous. I'd rather straddle a broomstick and wait for it to take flight than to wait for a cab to pick me up -- and pay. That cab fare would be a nice glass of wine, dear reader!

Clearly at 8:15am I am in no good condition to brain storm. I showered and went downstairs to check bicyclette's condition. Initial viewing lead me to believe a miracle had happened and the tire did not deflate much more from the night before, but touching the tire bled the truth into my eyes. Flatter than a bottle of pop left open for two weeks.

I eat breakfast, catching a bit of the news. Flooding in Rhode Island, apparently. After real breakfast, I eat dessert, a cookie. All my best ideas come to me when thoughtfully nibbling a cookie and letting the 8-kg of sucre and 9-lbs of shortening and butter awaken my corpse. I decide the rain will STOP NOW and I will walk to work.

Magically, the rain stopped.

Now, this could have been a coincidence, but I prefer to think my brain is mysteriously connected to precipitating clouds. It certainly makes for better blog ramblings.

No-Go Earth Hour

Despite being a quasi-environmentalist (quasi: having some, but not all of the features of) I did not participate in Earth Hour. The primary reason was 1) I forgot, and 2) I'm scared of flames and candles.

I was watching the Weather Network a couple of days before the event (such quality tv) and a man was discussing what he hopes people get out of Earth Hour: realising that they do not need to rely so much on electricity. He was hoping people would hang out their laundry that day, and not use the dryer. He hoped people would wash their clothes in cold water. They would turn off the lights when they leave a room.

I am the meteorologist's hero, for I already do those things. Therefore, according to him, I did not need to participate in Earth Hour.

But maybe I'm not the norm, and I hope someone who did participate in Earth Hour on Saturday night realised where they were using electricity when it was not necessary.

I'm actually having feelings of catholic guilt for having two lights on in my office a la moment. My usual light is a mini one attached to my desk, above my laptop. It's all I really need until late afternoon unless it's particularly dark and gloomy outside. However, I have the actual lights to my office on because my office is cold, and the lights heat it up. Maybe I'll dash around the building to warm up.

Upon re-reading what I wrote, I sound like a tool. I blame the dark clouds in the sky, they increase my tool factor.

Oh Monday morning. So tired.

Leaky Clouds

And now, a haiku about the rain.

It is raining out
Splashes on my windowsill
Liking my raincoat

What I enjoy about haikus is that they don't really have to make sense, but follow the 5-7-5 rule.

When I went to the market last Saturday I was wearing a short-sleeved sweater and flip-flops. It was a bit chilly on my feet, but doable since I was going to be inside anyway. But even chillier was the dirty, rude look someone gave me feet as she was exiting the building and I was entering. She didn't look at me, only my feet. Unfortunate that my selection in footwear offended her. She will be relieved to know that I will not be wearing the offensive sandals this week for the forecast temperature is a high of -4C.

Please take with food.

I sucked it up and went to the Doctor to whine about my broken ears. Indeed, my whining turned out to be justified and now I have two fancy pill bottles to make my life less awkward. This brings the prescription grand total of the last two years to.. *drumroll* TWO!

Hopefully I'll be able to hear again by Tuesday because that's when I run out of pills. One of them is actually steroids. So now if I'm suddenly drafted for a sports team I will fail the drug test. Tellement tragique.

A big fancy yellow sticker on one bottle tells me to 'take with food'.

Are mini-eggs food? I certainly hope so, because that was the accompaniment of choice. In a related note, I am done with Mini-Eggs. A bientot, mon ami, je ne te mangerai jamais encore (until Easter 2011). Also taking temporary hiatus from red peppers. Apparently I felt the need to eat them excessively recently.

In other food news, I'm also 'over' chicken. I haven't purchased any in ages. A French friend helped me realise why in a random explanation as we strolled the streets of Aix: French restaurants don't serve a lot of chicken, and the French don't eat a lot of chicken, it's considered a cheap meat.

So then I thought about it. I recall reading a stat somewhere about chicken consumption in North America and how much it has increased in the past x years. Basically, North America likes to jump on random healthy wagons (apparently acai berries from the rain forests are the new make-love-to food?) and chicken was cleverly promoted as a great, lean meat and source of protein. There's a bit of a catch though: chicken is boring. To quote a friend, chicken is "unoffensive", which is why you get it at every wedding and every luncheon and ever catered business-y thing you will ever go to. It's true, no one *dislikes* chicken. It's bland on its own. The only way to really enjoy it is too add bunches of other flavours. If you have a chicken veggie stir-fry, it's the sauce and veggies that give it the flavour. When is the last time you bit into a plain chicken breast and said, "Mmmm! So delicious!" Chicken can be good, but I sort of think of it the same as toast: toast on its own is boring, toast with peanut butter is a culinary delight.

My new roommate is a student at the culinary centre and agrees with me, so I must be right, yes? You can eat a relatively plain piece of salmon and it is good. Ground beef ("hamburg", in PEI) is good.

Of course, I may be biased as the last point in my life during which I cooked a lot of chicken was in third year uni when I was living in Ottawa. I guess I was convinced I was going to die from salmonella or something because I would put a chicken breast (because it was healthy and wonderful?!) in a George Foreman grill and basically cook the crap out of it. Ugh. My mind sometimes travels back to cooking class in junior high: why didn't they teach us to make real food? We made muffins, baked potatoes, and in our final exam class: chocolate chip cookies. That famous delicacy that most children assist in the making of when they are four years old.

Why didn't we learn about spices? How to properly cook steak? (Or at least explain that all steak doesn't have to be cooked extra well done a la PEI.) Maybe show us what a sweet potato was. Other bizarre fruits and veggies. To be fair, I don't think the fruit and veggie sections of the local groceries stores were nearly as diverse as they are now, but still.

Unrelated, but I received my first flat of the year yesterday. I noticed it this evening when I suited up for a bike. Ugh. If I have as many flats this year as last year I'm going to have to get a lot more efficient at changing them. Also, I don't have a bike pump. My bike here has schrader valves, and my bike in France had presta valves. My wee pump is apparently good for both, but seemed to commit suicide after trying to use it on my schrader valves at home after using it in France for a few months. So I, naturally, lost my temper and threw the wee pump at a tree when it wouldn't pump my tire post-basement storage retrieval. Eventually I composed myself after fishing out another other pump (first other also was faulty) and did retrieve it, but I don't remember where I put it. I'll probably find it after my unborn (unconceived) child graduates from university and leaves the nest. The entire point of this paragraph is that I had a flat tire and no pump. But my bike desperately needs a tune-up, new cables, and new brake pads, so I'll take it somewhere tomorrow morning and get my darling all shiny and sparkly new-like again. Except the scratches. And the pedals (I broke the originals somehow?!). And the Hawai'i stickers I put on the frame.

Ah, 1:00am. You always come so quick. Happy daylight savings, children.