After a hectic and stressful week, I am back online speaking to you from my new home in the Garden City of St. Catharines. I know many of you who know me are anxious to hear more details and I’ll post them in the coming days. For now, I am thrilled to be a new St. Cathariner and I look forward to beginning the next phase of my life here.
Touring Winnipeg for one last time today
Only made me wish I had already flown away
The variety of debris on the streets I did not miss
Including broken glass, a condom wrapper and a bottle of piss
Profanity fills the air, it’s all around
Some even take the time to write it on the ground
A bum stands in the middle of traffic using a ski pole like a cane
Another spreads across the trail getting in his push-ups before it does rain
A car with Minnesota plates parks outside a hotel called Mere
For the love of Pete™, what are they doing here?
A cyclist approaching a stop sign neither signals nor stops
If only the city had some real cops
They flaunt their authority to me and you
Their motto is “Do as we say not as we do”
Another hole poorly marked and not well lit
You’ll likely only see the sign after you hit it
Someone digs through a garbage bin hunting for buried treasure
Or a cigarette butt that might give him a few seconds of pleasure
What will I do without seeing any of this ever again?
Rest assured I won’t miss much of this city on the plain
Now that my upcoming move is official, for those of you who are not already aware, I can announce that I will be soon be pulling up stakes and leaving the only city and province I have ever called home.
My reasons for leaving the SPRM are numerous and could fill a novel that would make War and Peace look like a short story. It is a novel I do not wish to write. Rather than belabor the negative, I would instead prefer to focus on the many positive memories and friendships I have made during my time in this part of the world. For those of you who know me, please know that your friendship has meant a great deal to me over the years and it is one of the very few reasons that makes my decision to leave the SPRM difficult.
There are also many sights and places I will miss. Gimli. The bike rides to Lockport and Selkirk. Fraser’s Grove Park. Deacon’s Corner. Headingley. The White Horse. The memory garden at Grace Hospice. The bus trips around Manitoba and to Minneapolis.
Though I am saddened by the prospect of never seeing these places again, I am eagerly looking forward to discovering my new surroundings. Niagara beckons and I will soon be speaking to you from the Garden City of St. Catharines, Ontario. Good bye to my many dear friends and please keep in touch, as I will with you. I will soon have a new title for this blog, where I will continue posting updates as I cover the Niagara Region and surrounding area.
On Wednesday, I was part of a bus tour along with 33 other passengers and passengerettes for what was, in all probability, my last visit to Gimli. Many of you who know me understand the strong emotional tie I have to the little cottage community nestled along the shore of Lake Winnipeg. I was looking forward to going, but I was not looking forward to the return trip.
I arrived early at our pickup point at the Holiday Inn, formerly the Red River Hotel, formerly the Holiday Inn and waited for the bus. While waiting, I was talking with a couple from Mississauga who decided to go on this day trip to Gimli in the midst of their first-ever visit to this part of the world. I was telling them about Gimli and some of the sights they might like to check out and they sounded like lifelong Winnipeggers as they grilled me on how much it cost to get into each of the attractions. I could just hear the flock of birds circling overhead squawking, “cheap, cheap, cheap.”
After the bus came, a couple of health care professionals pulled up nearby.
Following the second pickup, we were on our way north and Al, our driver, took PTH 8 north, the faster of the two major routes. As I learned, Al was short for “All Business.” Most drivers on these trips are very personable and outgoing. Not so with Al. He was, however an outstanding driver. Unlike so many others I’ve had, he kept his eyes on the road and was alert at all times. I would only hope to get him again.
Interlake – Inland Oceans, Infinite Possibilities. This sign appears on all major highways heading into the Interlake region.
The “exits” to Gimli. Seeing this and similar signs elsewhere in the SPRM always make me laugh. I-94 has exits. Pokey two-lane Manitoba highways have turnoffs.
An hour after our departure, we were in Gimli. After a bathroom break at the Lakeview, I set out on my four-hour journey.
A visit to Gimli is not complete without a visit to the Viking Statue, which is due for a refit.
The Icelandic Air Force was patrolling the shoreline.
My first destination was Moonlight Bay, located in South Beach. Given that I was there on a weekday, I had hoped to find it unoccupied, as I often have on past trips, but alas, there was a collection of rowdy teenagers there whooping it up. The fact that dogs are expressly prohibited on the beach didn’t prevent them from bringing theirs. Even though I was far away from Winnipeg, it was yet another reminder that I was still in the SPRM, where the rule of law and common decency are so often flagrantly disregarded.
Moving on, I went west towards PTH 9/Seventh Avenue.
Savage’s Sugar Shack.
South Colonization Road. Not to be confused with North Colonization Road. Or Colonization Road.
The familiar lighthouse near Shelley D’s at the intersection of PTH 9 and South Colonization Road that greets visitors on their way in.
The flags were already up in preparation for the upcoming Islendingadagurinn, the annual Icelandic Festival that I attended last year for the first time.
Welcome to Gimli.
Sounds like a good idea.
Gimli Park Road, which is at the opposite end of town from Gimli Park.
Near the corner of Sixth Avenue and Roddy-S Drive was a Manulife agent offering some terrific rates on a savings account and a GIC. I don’t think any financial institution can beat 245% on a five-year GIC. I’m surprised this agent wasn’t beating off prospective investors with a stick.
“Surley” common sense should include consulting a dictionary.
The old bus stop. The Grey Goose sign is still there, despite the fact that bus service to Gimli has long since been discontinued.
Moving north, I stopped at Gimli High School for a while. As many of you who know me are well aware, this is one of the schools that the late Carli Ward once attended and one of the places she visited during the last months of her life when she was a resident of Grace Hospice.
Before leaving later in the day, I also made sure to go past the office of MLA Peter Bjornson, who was one of Carli’s teachers.
Continuing on, I made my way to Gimli Junction.
I spotted this blue straw in nearby Gimli Park, which is similar to the ones given by P.E.T.R.O.-Canada for their slurpees. Message sent. Message received. You may understand. You may not.
In two weeks time, this tranquil park will become a midway for Islendingadagurinn.
A river of sludge along North Fifth Avenue, not far from the intersection of Fifth Avenue. No, this is not the Love Canal.
Returning south, I decided to take a stroll along the beach. This stroll would prove to be, well, interesting.
For starters, I spotted this guy busily tapping away on his iPad. Why bother coming to the beach if you’re just going to spend the time with your electronic toys?
Care for some “Kool-aide”? How about a “Revele”? Or perhaps some “lemanade”? Top it all off with an ice cream “sandwhich”? Remedial spelling is in order for someone.
As I headed for the boardwalk, I couldn’t help but think of the often grotesque images at PeopleOfWalmart.com as I spotted two examples of beachgoers who should seriously reconsider their decision to put so much of themselves on display.
Cleavage. From the back. Oy.
Is he about to give birth? Twins, maybe?
Mercifully, I made it back to the main dock before taking a tour of the harbor area.
An artistette paints a mural.
Boats in the harbor.
Direct from Artesia.
Since I had a little time to spare, I took a walk down Centre Street for one last time.
Seeds of your future garage sale.
Check out these antique “cateloges.”
With my time in Gimli coming to a rapid conclusion, it was time to re-board the bus. The four hours I had spent on the ground seemed like five minutes. Before leaving, our driver asked for a show of hands if anyone wanted to stop and buy some smoked fish. Three of the 34 passengers raised their hands. He then asked how many people wanted to stop at the Half Moon in Lockport for ice cream. Five people raised their hands.
“Majority rules,” he said. Two vocal people then complained, so he gave in to this NDP-style majority and decided that we’re stopping anyways. Fortunately, we escaped a frivolous stop at the fish place because they had no fresh fish left, but he would take us to the Half Moon against the express wishes of the overwhelming majority of the passengers.
Before leaving Gimli, we were treated to a skateboarding display from some teenager on Centre Street. Of all the streets in town to hone his skills on, this is easily the busiest and the one where he is most likely to get hit. Like so many law- and logic-defying joggers in Winnipeg, however, if he was in a less-travelled location, he wouldn’t be noticed. That’s why he’s out there.
At the Half Moon, I disembarked just to use the washroom and take this picture. The day’s adventure came to an end with our return to Winnipeg shortly thereafter. Gimli is a place I will miss, but I have plenty of fond memories from my many visits over the years to fall back on.
This past weekend, I was one of 30 passengers on a bus tour to the Twin Cities. The official purpose of the tour was to see the Yankees battle the Twins at Target Field, but I took my bike and instead used the time to tour the area once again on two wheels. Despite the sweltering heat, I would put on nearly 85 miles over the two days I was there.
During the four-day adventure, many others on the bus kept asking me if I made it to the games at all. Though there was a time when I was such a passionate baseball fan that I would regularly take a day off work to observe Opening Day, I attended neither game. I haven’t actually watched a baseball game since 2007.
I got on bright and early on Friday morning as the bus made various stops to pick up passengers. At one stop, our tour director had to call a couple of passengers who were late. It turned out they were sitting in the nearby McDonald’s and didn’t see the bus pull up.
I can certainly understand that a bus of this size would be hard to spot.
At the Salisbury House on Pembina Highway, my heart nearly skipped a beat as I saw Dave, our driver, come on board to relive the driver who came from Brandon. He was the driver we had two years earlier who, as loyal readers may recall, put us in mortal peril with his many man-made distractions on the road. This time around, however, he was much more attentive and there were no major incidents.
Speeds were down to 80 km/h for a while as road work was going on north of Morris. PTH 75 is one of the worst highways in the province and badly needs the work, yet the government propaganda sign before the start of the construction reads, “Steady Growth, Good Jobs,” as if this is just a job-creation scheme instead of vital road maintenance.
We picked up the last six passengers in Morris. We first pulled up next to Motown Motors before moving on to Burke’s Restaurant.
Does this mean they take ½ hour off each day or that it will take them 23½ hours to get to you?
Hopefully the six of them enjoyed the “karaokee” while waiting.
With everyone aboard, our tour director gave us his usual spiel, skipping his time-honored line “if I can leave my wife behind, I can leave you behind.” It was likely not a coincidence that his wife was sitting across the aisle from him. Nonetheless, I’m quite familiar with the spiel, having gone with him six times previously. I’m surprised he doesn’t end it with the line, “this has been a recording.”
Once we reached the border, I took note of the new traffic light in front of the duty free store on the Canadian side. I swear there are more traffic lights per capita in the SPRM than anywhere else in the Western world. In a way, I suppose it’s fitting to put another one in as one last reminder of the province travellers about to leave.
Since we were travelling on Independence Day, I was expecting the third degree at U.S. Customs. When crossing the border in 2008, one day after September 11, all of us faced a higher level of scrutiny than normal. Luckily, it turned out to be the exact opposite. For the first time, I wasn’t asked any questions and it seemed like they couldn’t get rid of us fast enough.
Within minutes of crossing the border, our tour director put on his first movie of the trip. This one featured a bunch of older men chasing after young women in bars and strip clubs. I wish I had a better talent for tuning these movies out.
It is a sight I’ve seen countless times, but I still grab a shot of the Crystal Sugar plant north of Drayton.
At the Drayton exit, I made sure to once again catch a glimpse of the sign that used to have the word “CHICKEN” on it. I also thought of former colleague Steve Conner, who lost his wife and three-year-old daughter near this location in a tragic accident this past winter.
As we passed Sucker Town, my eyes drifted far to the east, well beyond the horizon. Those who know me will understand why. Though we had been on the road for over four hours, it felt like it only took us 15 minutes to get to Fargo and West Acres, our lunch stop.
An unwelcome reminder that we’re still too close to the SPRM.
As I’ve said before, anything Snoopy-related is always going to grab my attention. At least one reader was surprised none of these beagles came home with me.
I picked up lunch at Subway and checked my e-mail before getting back on the bus. Following a detour to Happy Harry’s, where everyone but me loaded up on liquor, we headed east and crossed the frontier into the great state of Minnesota, where we spent the bulk of the time on the trip.
On our way, a couple on a motorcycle waved to us as they passed by. Unlike what normally happens in the SPRM, they used all their fingers. It was also a nice sign to see a school bus that actually has the words “SCHOOL BUS” plastered on the front instead of “ECOLIERS.”
I spotted a clever billboard that showed a man sitting on a toilet in obvious agony with the caption, “There’s got to be a better way. Get a colonoscopy.” The first misspelled sign I saw south of the border was a billboard for McDonald’s in Sauk Centre that said RV parking is “availiable.”
Our next stop was Albertville, the black hole of civilization.
Albertville is the home of Albertville Premium Outlets, a massive collection of stores where people get slightly less gouged for brand-name merchandise they likely don’t need and walk away thinking they’re getting a bargain.
Sadly, our tour director gave us two and a half hours at this miserable place. For some, it’s not nearly enough. For me, it’s two and a half hours too long. Before setting us loose, he went inside to pick up some VIP coupon booklets, but not one of them contained a “get out of jail free” card.
It was absolutely sickening to walk around seeing these teenage princesses in groups of three or four with armfuls of bags from the trendiest stores. As a good friend of mine put it, it is a cultural sickness. Perhaps it was only fitting that one of the vanity license plates I spotted was “PRESIUS.”
While stopping to jot down some notes, a couple came up to the drink machine next to the bench where I was seated. They seemed puzzled by how it works and asked me for help.
It wasn’t that complicated, but even with my help, they couldn’t seem to figure it out and moved on.
Trying to kill some time as best I could, I walked around to wear off the bus legs.
In front of Coach New York, there was actually a line waiting to get in. I don’t know what they sell, but I suspect they’d have to pay me to go in there.
A typical Manitoban. This would make for a perfect submission to WpgParkingFail.com if only the site owner had decided to keep it up.
I guess taking your dog for a leak qualifies as “Emergency Stopping.”
Having run out of places to walk to, I returned to the bus an hour early and waited for the rest of the passengers to return. Aside from me, there wasn’t one who didn’t have an armful of bags. After everyone was back on board, the weight of the bus might have been double what it was when we pulled in.
Several of my fellow passengers were showing off their purchases while waiting for the bus to leave. One woman took out a purple leotard with black polka dots that she bought for her daughter. Any self-respecting woman would have been embarrassed to wear it to bed and she likely paid more for it than I spent on the entire trip.
Every time I visit the Twin Cities, I always pay attention to the Pine Point Wood Products sign in Rogers. It has been there ever since my first visit and serves as my unofficial marker that we’re indeed here.
I was incredibly disappointed to see that they replaced their iconic yellow sign with something more generic. Sacrilege.
This time, I’m not seated at the front of the bus and I can’t see many of the signs on the highway, but I’ve been coming here so often over the years that I can tell what suburb we’re in by looking at the street signs.
We got in to our hotel at 7:45 and I saw their much-ballyhooed renovations for the first time. It has easily been the best hotel I’ve stayed at and I wondered why they needed to renovate. I appreciate the modernization, but the color scheme they chose is certainly not a step forward in my opinion.
The following morning, after the complimentary breakfast, it was time to hit the road. Soon after getting to the trail, I made a brief stop to fill out a survey they were taking. I made sure to compliment them on how well they had done and mentioned a few of the horror stories during my many adventures in the degenerate capital of the SPRM.
I made a point of stopping at Lake Calhoun, a scenic area in the western edge of Minneapolis. There is a nice trail that circles the lake as well as nearby Lake Harriet to the south, but since I had bigger fish to fry on this day, I continued east on the Midtown Greenway towards West River Parkway and Saint Paul.
This was one of a few bike repair stations I found along the trail system. In addition to the pump, there are cables where you can raise your bike up and perform any necessary maintenance. The fact that it hasn’t been vandalized, wrecked, used as a toilet or set on fire is another strong indicator that you’re not in the SPRM.
A repair shop and café along the Midtown Greenway.
More scenes along the Midtown Greenway.
Where the Midtown Greenway meets West River Parkway.
While stopping here for some pictures, someone came up to me and asked for directions, which I was happy to be able to do.
I crossed the mighty Mississippi at Lake Street into Saint Paul, the Capital City, as the sign says.
So many people on the trails in the Twin Cities kindly yell “on your left” when passing. Little did I know that it’s a state law.
I proceeded south to Summit Avenue, where I turned east towards downtown Saint Paul in the dedicated bike lane.
I planned to stop for some pictures at Snelling Avenue and get some shots of the MN 51 markers on both the south and north sides of Summit.
After finishing with the pictures, the gentleman at right approached me and asked me why I was taking the shots of the highway signs. After I mentioned my Web site, he told me his father used to work for Mn/DOT and that he is one of a handful of contributors to the informative Minnesota highway pages on Wikipedia. We exchanged some stories that only fellow roadgeeks could appreciate and he invited me to a meet-up they were having in Como Park the next day. I would have loved to have gone, but I only had the two days there, so I had to decline. Nonetheless, this chance encounter was one of the highlights of the trip. This is something that would only happen in friendly Minnesota.
I continued on and got this shot near downtown.
The Cathedral of Saint Paul.
The Xcel Energy Center. The WHA once had two teams in Saint Paul, but today, it is home to a team that plays in another major league.
The former Saint Paul Auditorium, the original home of the first edition of the Minnesota Fighting Saints.
Continuing east through downtown, I stopped at a Subway.
Need a bail bond to go with that sub?
Snoopy in Lafayette Park.
The Mexican consulate.
I turned around at the corner of 7th and Arcade and retraced my steps in making it back. The heat was taking its toll, but I made sure to stop for some badly needed fluids.
A service station at the corner of Grand and Cleveland in Saint Paul.
It’s Hennepin Avenue, not “Hennapin.”
All told, I covered 47.4 miles before putting on a few more after a rest at the hotel to go to a nearby grocery store to pick up some food for the next two days.
Next morning, I was crushed when I looked out the window and saw the rain coming down in buckets. Fortunately, it cleared up quickly and I was on the road again by 8:15, this time headed for downtown Minneapolis via the Kenilworth and Cedar Lake trails.
I exited the trail and made a side trip to the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden.
After a little break, I crossed the foot bridge over I-94 to Loring Park
While in Loring Park, a white squirrel came up to me and posed for a picture.
Message sent. Message received. You may understand. You may not.
Moving on, I made to Nicollet Mall and north to Cancer Survivors Park.
For me, the park is always a must-see on every visit and many of you who know me understand why.
View from the 3rd Avenue Bridge.
The light rail. Real rapid transit.
This is where the once-mighty Metrodome once stood, soon to be replaced by a palatial new stadium for the Vikings. The Metrodome may have not been one of the most legendary sports facilities in the country, but I think many of our tour participants were wishing the Twins were still playing under its air-conditioned, climate-controlled Teflon roof as they roasted in the mid-summer heat.
Oddly, I found more beggars in downtown Saint Paul and Minneapolis than in any past visit, including this one, who was holding up a sign saying she was homeless and needed money. She should consider cutting back on her food bill.
I was hoping to go through the skyway and stop for lunch in the food court at Gaviidae Common, but, curiously, many of the stores weren’t open until noon. I realize it was a Sunday, but it was a Twins game day and Americans are, if nothing else, enterprising entrepreneurs. Where there are prospective customers, corporate America will be there to open their doors. Instead, I found an attitude that I would more expect to find in the SPRM.
When I finally did get through to Gaviidae Common, I was shocked to see that the food court that I had been visiting for years was gone. I had to move on and managed to find one of the few Subways open in the area.
I had been to this Subway once before and their policy of needing to show photo ID to use the washroom was still in force, but I was one of the lucky ones who they evidently trusted with the key without needing to show ID. I felt so blessed.
After a few shots around the Stone Arch Bridge, I got back on the trail and headed back towards the hotel.
Heading underneath Target Field.
On the way back, a couple of teenagers passed me who were talking about sales and profit margins. In spite of Obama’s best efforts, entrepreneurship is still alive and well in the U.S. If I was in Canada, such talk would likely center around government handouts.
I couldn’t resist this shot on 11th Street in Hopkins. Many of my former colleagues will understand the significance as it relates to our former employer.
After getting back to the hotel, I went for a little walk around the area.
The significance is obvious in more than one way.
Manitobans don’t have a monopoly on double-parking.
On the north side of MN 62, I spotted this Caribou Coffee location alongside Einstein Bros. Bagels.
On the other side of the street was another Caribou Coffee location. Canadians aren’t this bad with their addiction to Tim Hortons.
Since this was what is virtually certain to be my final visit to the Twin Cities, it was tough to leave the following morning. I had been going there since the days when I-394 was still Wayzata Boulevard and when the state’s pro sports teams were all playing out of Bloomington. I still remember both the Met Center and Metropolitan Stadium, long before anyone ever thought of the Mall of America. I’ve seen the Twins play at the Met in 1978, 1980 and 1981. Back then, I-494 hadn’t been finished and ended at MN 5, just past the airport. I’ve got a lot of history there, most of it good, and it’s sad to see it come to an end.
In any event, with the Monday morning rush hour traffic going in the opposite direction, we headed northwest and down the familiar path on I-94. Despite having taken that route so often, there seemingly is always something new for me to see. For example, there was a billboard offering laser therapy for arthritis. For pets. Groan.
I thought of a former colleague when we crossed into WRIGHT COUNTY. Most such signs in Minnesota are in mixed case, but this one was in ALL CAPS. I know at least one reader will appreciate the sighting and perhaps more than one. Even though I spent so long there on the way in, I didn’t notice that they finally made an exit from the westbound direction for Albertville until we passed it on the return trip. Oddly, one of the most popular exits in the state was not previously accessible in both directions.
Once again, I noticed an army of white trucks from St. Cloud-based Spee-Dee Delivery Service on I-94. I can’t imagine anyone in the state having more vehicles than Spee-Dee. A truck passed us in the opposite direction with the words “MEAN PEOPLE SUCK” emblazoned on the grill. Luckily for him, he was headed away from the SPRM. Near Fargo, there was a billboard promoting the Fargo Air Museum. It’s so good that they have places like this dedicated to preserving the legacy and heritage of their air.
Once we crossed the Red River and back into North Dakota, I looked out my window and south down University Drive. Feeling especially nostalgic on this trip, I couldn’t help but think of the Bowler, a place my parents and I used to frequent on our trips to Fargo. As its name would suggest, it was primarily a bowling alley, but it also had a popular smorgasbord that we often took advantage of. On one occasion, we sat down and drank some water before getting up to fill our plates. While we were away from the table, one family sat down at our table and unknowingly drank from the same glasses. We didn’t say anything and just moved to another table.
Just before arriving at West Acres, our tour director passed out the Je Declare forms for us to fill out for the border. While everyone else was madly totalling up their bills, I had nothing to declare and filled in a big, fat zero under the total value of goods purchased.
Aside from trying to tune out the movie, my last trip along I-29 proved uneventful. I laughed when I saw the billboard near Drayton that said “Be Kind.” It seems pointless to say such a thing to people headed back into North America’s toilet.
Our last U.S. stop came in Pembina, famous for the Duty Free shop.
As you’d expect, I was the only one who wasn’t in line to buy booze or smokes. I’m proud of that. Oddly, while outside taking pictures, a GO bus whizzed by. For those of you not familiar with GO, it is a major transit system in the Center of the Universe and surrounding area. As for why it was there, Pembina is not just home to the Duty Free store, but to a Motor Coach plant.
At the border, we were served by a guardette who came on board to collect our Je Declare forms. She didn’t search through any of our possessions and was only making sure that all the boxes were ticked on the Je Declare forms. Only a handful of people even had to show their passport. Bureaucracy at its finest. Once again, I feel so much better knowing the security of our borders is in such capable hands.
As always, returning to the SPRM is depressing. Nonetheless, it was another tremendous experience. I want to publicly thank Tony Rinella and his wife Yolanda for all the great memories over the years as well as to all the great people in the Twin Cities who make coming there so pleasurable. I would also like to thank everyone at the Hilton Garden Inn in Eden Prairie for their hospitality.
Of late, I have been paying attention to the embryonic stages of Winnipeg’s mayoralty campaign as prospective candidates and candidateettes jockey for your vote in the hopes of succeeding Slippery Sam Katz at City Hall.
I think many Winnipeggers share my opinion that Katz has more than overstayed his welcome in the mayor’s chair and needs to go. His recent decision not to stand for re-election was perhaps the smartest move he’s made in several years.
The question now remains as who will succeed him. Thus far, the four most prominent contenders don’t look impressive.
For starters, there’s Judy Wasylycia-Leis. Only a dead-red socialist like her could inspire a run to the ballot box to support Sam Katz and it was likely only her candidacy that earned Katz another term. I’ve listened as she’s promised to magically fix all the roads and sewers with her Midas-like touch and put a critter in every pot, all while keeping tax increases modest and predictable.
If you believe that, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.
I used the line in the last civic election that Sam Katz is like a wart on your finger. Voting for Judy is the moral equivalent of cutting off your arm at the shoulder to get rid of it.
I was intrigued by Brian Bowman’s candidacy until I heard him speak at Socialism Illustrated’s so-called “News Café.” He calls himself a conservative, but he sounded every bit like a member of the NDP. I was shocked when he almost seemed to support the recent PST increase and he even had the nerve to suggest that if the province had held a referendum on the PST increase, as was required by law, it would pass. To quote a former friend of mine, “What’s he been smoking?” If he is a member of either the Manitoba PC Party or the federal Conservative Party, I hope he has enough honor to turn in his membership card. I don’t agree with Judy’s leftist leanings, but I at least respect her for being honest and straightforward about them.
Bowman may be new to the political arena, but he is one smooth operator. Too smooth, in fact. Reported connections between him and the Chipman family make me even less inclined to support him. I don’t want Sam Katz, Jr. as the next mayor any more than I want Judy Wasylycia-Leis.
Paula Havixbeck seemed to make the most sense to me and I would probably lean towards supporting her. She’ll probably garner some sympathy votes for being a single mother, but otherwise, I don’t think she has enough name recognition to win the election. She might also be getting in over her head.
When I heard Gord Steeves speak, he reminded me of the line in one of the Peanuts episodes when Lucy was talking about Charlie Brown. Wishy one day, washy the next. I would rather see him in office than either of Judy or Brian Bowman, but I certainly didn’t get much of a positive impression from him. He would probably qualify as the “do nothing, mind the store” candidate, attributes that could potentially make him appealing. Many past mayors and councillors have won elections as the least undesirable option, but I’m not sure he has a high enough profile to pull it off.
I think many in Winnipeg are thrilled that Sam Katz will be gone after this coming election. Who will succeed him, however, may be no better and could very well be worse, perhaps even much worse. Don’t be surprised if Katz’s legacy begins to look much better as the years go by.
A bum spots a bike that looks like an easy hit
Despite the onlooking crowd, he doesn’t hesitate a bit
He tries to pry the lock free
But soon realizes this is not a case for ingenuity
He gives the lock a mighty tug hoping it will break
This guy is lower than a snake
Time and again, he pulls with all his might
He finally gives up and disappears from sight
Disgusted, he returns and yanks on it one more time
But all his work didn’t net him a dime
If he put that kind of effort into finding a job
He wouldn’t need to steal and rob
This morning, I saw a bus pulling out of the Polo Park bus loop. Someone on the sidewalk behind me must have wanted that bus, so he took off in full sprint after it. I got out of his way and watched as he put Jesse Owens to shame while the bus sat and waited at Portage Avenue.
I didn’t think he had much of a chance to catch it, but he completed the 40-yard dash in a time that would make NFL scouts swoon and made it to within spitting distance of the bus.
Then the bus took off.
A knife to the gut that only Winnipeg Transit can deliver.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or both.
Seconds after leaving Deacon’s Corner today, I spotted a curious-looking item lying in middle of the shoulder.
In my travels, I see plenty of junk lying on the road and in the ditch. There are times I think there is more garbage on the side of Manitoba highways than there is in the Brady Road landfill site. Unfortunately, this was no ordinary piece of trash cavalierly discarded out of a motorist’s window.
As you can see, this is a steak knife, deliberately and carefully placed with the blade up, just waiting for an unsuspecting motorist or cyclist to drive over it and Saskatchewanize their tire. As I investigated further, I noticed that someone had kicked enough sand up to the base to keep it upright so the wind wouldn’t blow it over.
Inconsiderate behavior in this part of the world hardly warrants front-page news. This stunt, however, struck me as particularly insidious. The sick-minded individual who planted this booby trap on the highway might call it clever, but other words such as malicious and nasty come to mind. In any event, I foiled this person’s attempt at humor by kicking the knife off the highway.
Another day, another random act of malice in the Socialist People’s Republic of Manitoba.
A bum heads for a dumpster and pokes his head in
He moves on quickly, the pickings must be slim
Another aimlessly wanders across the road not caring where the cars were
Speeding traffic was evidently of little concern to her
An attention-starved jogger illegally runs on the street, this is rude
It’s too bad Winnipeg cops don’t have the balls to ticket this obnoxious dude
Someone is “hireing” a new employee
This place doesn’t see the need to use a dictionary
Moving indoors, a pillar of these great lands
Takes a leak and leaves without washing his hands
Then another stands next to me
Grunting like a stuck pig as he takes a pee
I followed someone whose pants had a large trap door
There was a rip down his leg two feet or more
If you order chicken “shnitzel” at this restaurant when they ring the dinner bell
Hope they can cook better than they can spell
Yet another adventure in the heart of this mecca of socialism
Leaves me only with an increased level of cynicism