Thursday, September 20, 2018

Enhanced Port Bruce

iMac Helps Me Turn Blue.

 Photo: Last Sunday, on north shore of Lake Erie.

Port Bruce is a humble lake-side retreat for a very, very slowly-growing number of Canadians. And that's the way I like it.

The water's edge is gravelly and occasionally I have to exit the water by crawling on hands and knees. And that's the way I like it.

 "Come on in. The bright blue water's fine!"

Sometimes I press the "enhance" button on my iMac's iPhoto software program and the colours jump from normal to brighter or darker or both. And that's the way I like it. 

After a short swim on Sunday I ordered "the usual, please". BLT, can of sodee-pop, followed by dessert - Raspberry and Truffles ice cream. And that's the way I like it.

Big lake. Small, humble boat.

The beach is partly covered by long grass. The pier is short and sweet. The channel wall is often host to a healthy gull population. I can walk around snapping pictures and not worry about crowds, busy traffic or nuisance noises. 

That's the way I like it.

More trips to Port Bruce and lovely Lake Erie to follow.

And maybe a visit to St. Marys as well, for an old-timer I know. : )

Photos by GH

Friday, September 7, 2018

photos by prehistoric canadian.

wild majestic turtles swam alone.

"There was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run"

Last night before bed I looked through old photo files from a ways back. Not a long, long, long ways back, but a ways back nonetheless.

oldies but goodies:

 old snapping turtle turns up his nose, at bridge 1984

 as the mud dried, swallows lost two nests (out of 90)
at Crossley-Hunter bridge

 1994 Virago is a champ for prehistoric rider

 ancient rock art: "go west, young man, not to cleveland"

Please link to Motorcycle Miles 8: Vivid Blue Over the North Shore.

Photos GH

Thursday, September 6, 2018

Motorcycle Miles 8: Vivid Blue Over the North Shore.

An Unexpected Bright Canopy

I warmed up the bike at noon in my driveway under large, billowing clouds. But a few minutes after passing south of the 401 highway I noticed the skies were clear. Only one large mass of white - looking like a large rabbit blowing smoke rings - appeared on the gradually approaching horizon, the north shore of Lake Erie.

"The rabbit ears had transformed into a set of wings"

By the time I parked my motorcycle in Port Bruce, the rabbit ears had transformed into a set of wings, wide enough to allow the shape-shifter to hold its glide pattern for almost an hour.

There was no escape from London's mugginess. It had followed me the 57 kilometres south, then enveloped me while I strolled in heavy jeans and black boots to the boat channel and pier. 

Oh, to be a gull, I thought. To float on a breeze, to skim the water's face, to rest and cool upon a wave.

"The shape-shifter held its glide pattern for almost an hour"

Not brave enough to swim in my boxers, I ordered an ice cream cone (Raspberry and Truffles) and sat in the shade. 


Photos GH

Saturday, September 1, 2018

Motorcycle Miles 7: Port Bruce at its Best

Cool, Inside Out and Backwards

["I pulled over on a busy stretch in order to see where I'd been"]

"Where I'd been": I passed through Belmont, home to a significant water tower, motorcycle shop, The (world-famous) Town Restaurant, my favourite house (with significant front porch and old barn) and an antique Case tractor.

"I pulled over": Two miles south of Belmont at the top of the highest gentle incline in the area. I was surrounded by oceans of green soy and corn and stood under crisp blue skies. For a second I trusted that one second was all I would need to catch a photo from the centre of the nearest lane.

A safer spot for roadside photos

As I continued south through Mapleton, I planned my second stop. Bridge 1984.

"It's not too far," I said to myself. "And I haven't snuck up on Mr. Snap for quite a while."

 Dead centre. I think he's there!! Zoom in. Zoom in!

That's Mr. Snap's nose, alright.

That cagey old snapper may have heard me coming, but because my last visit was weeks and weeks before, he likely hung around just long enough to taunt me with a shadow of his presence. No sooner had I snapped the second shot, he submerged like a wary submariner. I waited 15 - 20 minutes to get a third photo but he never reappeared. Oh, he's cagey, that boy.

As I rounded my last curve before dropping down into Port Bruce proper, I felt the moderating affect of Lake Erie on the temperature. Cool. I downshifted to reduce the speed of my bike, and thereby moderated the moderating affect. I smelled French fries from The Sand Castle diner as I passed it and studied the sky and calming colours of the Great Lake. 

"I could live here," I thought. "Maybe, someday."

 My first photo after parking the Yamaha.

My last photo before leaving Port Bruce, sans Key Lime ice cream.

I only noticed the aforementioned antique as I passed through Belmont on the way home. 

Now, Case and I go a long way back. But that story's for another day.

"Are your brakes still working?" I wondered.

Between Belmont and Nilestown the rhythm of the motor resonated in time with the passing flashes of paint down the centre of the highway and my mind conjured a new song, with Pink Floydian melodies - 

Oceans of green
under big skies
Perfect marvels
for seeking eyes... 

Please link to Motorcycle Miles 6: Birds and Boats in Port Burwell.

Photos GH