The Biker And The Crow Reunited In Toronto
I said goodbye to my AirBnB host and got into the airport early this morning where I was herded into a chute, verbally prodded, and thoroughly inspected.
A joyless overseer pocketed my threatening little can of chain lube, whereupon I was digitally branded and directed to follow the herd towards Gate C45.
My pondering of the bovine nature of airport life was happily interrupted by a chance encounter. One of my favourite people - my brother in law Michael.
My pondering of the bovine nature of airport life was happily interrupted by a chance encounter. One of my favourite people - my brother in law Michael.
We spent a great few minutes before heading to our respective gates... Me sprinting, as they had already hollered my name twice during cattle call over the bullhorn.
My seat mate, a fleshy dude with random unshaved facial hair, stared dully at me when I said hello. He snored softly all flight, wide awake, reading the same comic book the whole time.
Landed in Toronto in the pouring rain. Ugh. I steeled myself, contemplating hitting rush hour on the 401 in a downpour.
A quick taxi to Cargo and I was told that my bike was ready. Sort of. I walked into the warehouse to find it still on a pallette, festooned with colorful, importanty-looking paper.
My seat mate, a fleshy dude with random unshaved facial hair, stared dully at me when I said hello. He snored softly all flight, wide awake, reading the same comic book the whole time.
Landed in Toronto in the pouring rain. Ugh. I steeled myself, contemplating hitting rush hour on the 401 in a downpour.
A quick taxi to Cargo and I was told that my bike was ready. Sort of. I walked into the warehouse to find it still on a pallette, festooned with colorful, importanty-looking paper.
The cargo guys seemed genuinely eager to get it ready. In the mean time, I learned that this thing is where they confirmed my gas tank level and found the illicit chain lube can back in Vancouver. A big xray machine.
After about 20 minutes I was called back out, given an official day-glo vest and led to the Crow, happily sitting next to a long ramp to the street. No damage. 15 minutes later I had the battery connected and all my luggage back on the bike.
In true southern Ontario style, the rain had stopped. Gratitude.
The 401 was fast and dry and clear. For the next hour I saw only two other riders, both of whom threw up big waves as they zipped by in the oncoming lanes. Maybe Ontarians don't ride if they think it's going to rain or something.
Entering Waterloo was strangely delightful on my motorcycle. Roads I hadn't felt beneath me for so many long years. The setting sun filtered between the familiar brick buildings, each dusty sunbeam a story from a former life. Street corners, full of ghosts all.
My reverie was interrupted by my arrival at my good friend Ken's place. In no time my bike was tarped safely on his back patio. Sitting around a fire with a plate of meat and a glass of Shiraz, surrounded by his delightful family, I was even more grateful for this beautiful day.
The 401 was fast and dry and clear. For the next hour I saw only two other riders, both of whom threw up big waves as they zipped by in the oncoming lanes. Maybe Ontarians don't ride if they think it's going to rain or something.
Entering Waterloo was strangely delightful on my motorcycle. Roads I hadn't felt beneath me for so many long years. The setting sun filtered between the familiar brick buildings, each dusty sunbeam a story from a former life. Street corners, full of ghosts all.
My reverie was interrupted by my arrival at my good friend Ken's place. In no time my bike was tarped safely on his back patio. Sitting around a fire with a plate of meat and a glass of Shiraz, surrounded by his delightful family, I was even more grateful for this beautiful day.
