Work in Progress (GC)

[nick949]

Hi Folks,
   I'm currently working on number 5 in my series of small, mostly Guzzi motorcycle books. It will be a while yet, but here's a snippet:

At the boundary between Lennox and Addington and Frontenac Counties, a small gravel parking area extends from the road towards the edge of one of the small lakes. I suspect it was made so that snow ploughs could turn around at the county line, but it provides a convenient spot to stop, water the vegetation and see if anything is moving in the lake. Nothing was moving, although I could hear frogs taunting me – going silent as I approached the water then resuming their chirps as I walked away.

Just as I was about to leave again, two white objects caught my eye so I wandered over to take a look. They were the skulls of two small carnivores – probably raccoons – and someone had collected them and placed them on a low bank close to the water’s edge. Why? Who knows?……..People are odd!

I drifted slowly through the little village of Arden (‘A picturesque village nestled in a valley between three lakes’), wondering what people found to do with themselves in these small out-of-the-way communities. The nearest town of any size (Perth, pop 6,000) is forty miles away – a forty-five minute commute - even if you could find some kind of a job there. Only a year ago one of the town’s biggest employers shut down, throwing four hundred people out of work. It’s a familiar tale: the large multi-national chose to move the work south of the border rather than upgrade the existing plant. The incomes, livelihoods and well-being of the employees were sacrificed on the altar of business expediency, with little concern that it was eating the heart out of the town.

Arden’s scattering of mostly small, frame, aluminum-sided  houses certainly doesn’t stir one’s aesthetic senses and is a long way short of the rather over-zealous description on the village’s web site which I quoted above. Many of the houses are square, single level boxes, put together with two-by-four sticks, a bit of plywood or aspenite and the cheapest hardware store materials. Those on the lake side – Big Clear Lake is by far the largest of the ‘three’ – may have started life as seasonal cottages, although there was every appearance that many of them were now year-round dwellings. Those away from the lake simply offered basic shelter.

Perhaps my expectations have been jaundiced by watching too many episodes of ‘Escape to the County’ – a British television show which explores houses for sale in the rural UK. Most of the houses they examine are simply wonderful: up-market, characterful old farmhouses full of ancient beams, massive inglenook fireplaces, with thatched roofs and the resonance of hundreds of years of lives lived comfortably and well. They rarely show the unappealingly cramped hovels which housed farm labourers, unless three or four of them have been knocked together and renovated to produce something more opulent, and they never show the ghastly hillsides of industrial red-brick terraces which are the dirty underbelly of the British landscape. Nevertheless, I’d watched enough that the lens I was viewing Arden through was hardly unprejudiced. Perhaps, once four or five hundred years have passed, and Arden has had the chance to get well and truly established, and some more robust and appealing buildings have been erected, it will have a little more curb appeal. As it was, I was happy to roll on by.

A few miles later, I was humming along the Crow Lake Road when the green, mossy back of a large Snapping Turtle brought me to a standstill. The big old girl had dug her rear end in to the soft, loose gravel at the edge of the road and was in the middle of laying a fine snack for the local skunks and raccoons. Snapping turtles are well known for their feisty attitude, their lightning quick strikes and their amazingly long necks, which allow them to reach almost to their back legs. Woe betide the good Samaritan who tries to rescue one from the road by picking it up at the mid-point of the shell. I had no such intensions, and left her to her business, wondering if any of her eggs would actually escape the furry egg-diggers, hatch, and make it back into the bottom of the swamp. I hope so. It always saddens me to see large snappers killed on the road on their way too or from egg laying. With their slow growth and late sexual maturity, there’s a good chance that any Snapping Turtle you see is at least twenty years old, and the big girls could easily be as old as me.  By the way, while it may be tempting to try and help a turtle across the road by carrying it by its prehistoric-looking tail, please don’t. You’re almost certain to cause it spine damage and accelerate its death. A shovel under the belly, or grabbing it with both hands by the rear of the shell in the hollow just above the rear legs, are the ‘approved’ and safest methods.

At the little hamlet of Crow Lake, I pulled off the road and parked near the public boat dock, ignoring the sign saying it was closed because of --19. The sign made no sense to me – I had no intensions of handling anything and there was nobody around to cough on, even if I had been carrying the infection. Crow Lake is about three miles long and connects to the much larger Bob’s Lake at its southern end. It was a still, perfect June day – sunny, but not too hot, so I sat comfortably looking down the long arm of the lake, enjoying the quiet for a few minutes. Eventually, a slight movement in the shallows attracted my attention to an elegant Water Snake, working his way around the coast, presumably hunting frogs or small fish, his banded brown body fully visible in the clear water.

Some people have an irrational fear of snakes which makes no sense to me. Only a few weeks before, while hiking, I’d met a woman who wouldn’t even look at a perfectly harmless Rat Snake sunning itself on a rock. She was terrified to know that it was even in the vicinity. I can’t grasp what she imagined it might do to her. Launch itself at her throat? Crawl up her leg? Bite her on the backside? As I said – people are odd. 
The little Water Snake was minding his own business and didn’t seem to have any plans to launch himself out of the water at me, so I left him to it, fired up the 750s and headed east.

So far this had turned out to be a bit of a nature day, so I  contentedly ambled along scanning the sky, bushes and meadows for other signs of life. Years ago, while driving the family down this same road, we’d seen a black bear quietly sitting in a field picking wild strawberries, and every time I’ve been along that same stretch of road since, I’ve always harbored the hope that he would be there again. So far I’ve been unlucky, but one of these days………..well, you never know.

Nick

[bikeridertim]

 

[ampm7]

Nick, fantastic!

[geoff in almonte]

Hey Nick

I enjoyed the little snippet about Crow Lake - I had ridden that road just last week - you'll be pleased to know that it has been resurfaced from Sharbot Lake to Crow lake village.  Nice bendy stretch of road.

Cheers!

Geoff

[oldbike54]

 That made me smile Nick old man , thanks 

 Dusty

[Canuck750]

 

[smdl]

Thanks, Nick.  I enjoyed that!

Shaun

[80CX100]

     Nick,     Very well written, I've read it a few times.

     You remind me of John Prine, simple words, vivid pictures.

     You've got such a nice relaxed flow to your voice, not a wasted word. 

     I will burst your serene little bubble on the water snakes though. lol

     I've only been around a few of them, but they can be very territorial if you happen to be sitting on their favorite sunning rock. I've seen them puff right up and hiss and dance around just like the cobras in the movies.

      Tks for sharing

       Kelly

[Motormike]

I enjoy nicks books when I travel on a bike.  They are small enough to toss in my tank bag, and a good read on a two to three day ride. 

[nick949]

Thanks folks, for all the nice comments and support.  It encourages me to keep going.

And if you prefer to listen, rather than read, they're all available in snotty Brit-speak too.

Nick

[Chuck in Indiana]

Attaboy, Nick..