Views from the saddle

The morning and evening commutes are as different as different can be.

This morning's commute was cool, serene.  I took the slow lakeshore route and savored the ride.

The view of the lake shimmering in the early morning sun demanded that I pull into the parking lot just east of the Pointe Claire marina, sneak onto the gravel pedestrian path that leads to the pier and snap a picture to capture the mood.

The evening commute was one of those "shortest A to B affairs".  The headwind was stiff, with lots of buffeting from passing 18 wheelers, everyone hell-bent-for-leather to the burbs for the Canada Day long weekend.

The evolution of Muvbox

"What is a Muvbox?", you ask, and "how does a Muvbox evolve?"

A Muvbox is a restaurant concept that was born in Quebec. Think a combination of a Transformer and a shipping container, with retail ambitions.

The first Muvbox I came across was in the Old Port of Montreal, down in the southernmost part of the city locals know as "Old Montreal".

I posted on this a while back.

Last week at lunchtime I thought "lobster shack". The only real-ish lobster shack in Montreal is the Muvbox in the old port.

When I got there the evolution was evident.
First off, there was a longer line waiting for lobster treats than I was prepared to queue for.

The second thing I noticed was the second Muvbox.




Porchetta serves delicious roast pork sandwiches with some interesting sides like rapini.

A much shorter line made the Porchetta Muvbox an obviously wise choice.




One word: delicious.

Now there are two Muvbox choices in the Old Port.

When I rolled back in to my spot in the underground garage at work, there was more evolution waiting for me.




Yes that's right, there's now a second scooter commuter working in my building.

It only makes sense, because in the past two years there has been a scooter explosion in Montreal. It was only a question of time before another scooter showed up in the garage.

Two's company. I definitely don't want a crowd.

PS: in response to Conchscooter's comment, here is a shot taken from our 6th floor window.

Eight PTWs on a day when I opted for the cage due to my daughter's vehement objection because of rain in the forecast.  Three years ago, there might have been one, on average, on a nice day.

Your ride challenge

Martha (Living among Tourists) proposed a blog challenge earlier this month.  It's an interesting challenge: post images of your commute.

I wanted to use my GoPro to record and upload a timelapse sequence of my commute.  Since timelapse can show things at a frenzied pace, it seemed to me that the best route to show in that way would be the bee-line route I take at the end of the day when I've had enough and I just want to get home.

On those days, I take the expressway.  Even with heavy-ish traffic, it's usually the shortest distance and fastest way home from the office.

It took a while to get this done.  The actual shooting was easy enough.  Getting the timelapse sequence from my GoPro to YouTube via my Mac took far longer than I would have liked.  But as with most tricky things, the good news is now I know how to do rudimentary timelapse video.

How cool is that?  Knowing how to do timelapse is important, because, while it's not appropriate for many things, it's often the only practical way of showing things that normally take too much time to  see in a short period of time.  Like my commute.

So here it is.  My timelapse directorial debut.

Return to normal

This morning's commute was interrupted for café au lait and a croissant at Croissanterie Figaro, a favorite of mine on the Plateau.

After all the excitement that May and early June brought, it feels good to be returning to "normal".

I use the quotation marks, because it's a new "normal" for me.  For 45 years I was in a different space.

The true normal mode for my commute began in 1965.  That's when I started High School in Grade 8.  There was no middle school back then.

I had to take a bus to a train, and the train downtown.  For most of my life I have been primarily a train commuter.  I know that's not the  routine for most North American commuters.  In my case the train just happened to be the most logical choice even though I have moved around the city a fair bit over time.

When I wasn't on a train, I commuted by car.

All that changed in 2010 when the scoot commute began.

For my 30 km urban commute  (at least 60 km a day), my Vespa gets me where I need to be faster, and happier.

Get a life!  Get happy! Get a Vespa!

Another year, more happiness

It's my birthday!

Normally I try to fly under the radar, but when you turn 60, that's hard to do.

My colleagues were determined not to let the moment pass without a celebration.  Silly me, I thought that they might not notice.

So, so, so wrong, I was.

I am very touched, and thankful.

Thanks guys and gals!

Superman had his phonebooth...

It's odd that I haven't posted on this very important aspect of commuting on two wheels.

Whether you commute on a bicycle, a moped, a scooter, a motorcycle or one of those Bombardier Can-Am Spyders, the reality is that street clothes are not a good option.

The bicycle commute will be too sweaty, and, the moped option aside, if you value your skin, armored gear is a necessity.

What to do?

I can only speak for my own situation. It took me a while to get it down to an art, if not a science.

I'm lucky because I have a closed office with blinds on the windows. It would be the perfect changing room, except for the window right next to the door.

The solution I ultimately stumbled on to get the privacy I needed to change my clothing was a very inexpensive temporary pleated blind. They are designed for use when you move into a new home or apartment and haven't got window treatments. You cut them to size with a pair of scissors. There is no hardware, only two plastic clips to hold the blind together when it is not in use.


I simply mounted some self-adhesive hook-and-loop fastener to the ends of the blind and to each side of the window frame. When I arrive in the morning, I put up the blind, remove the plastic clothes peg type clamps, and presto, all the privacy I need to get out of my gear and into the suit I must wear for work.


My riding jacket hangs on a hanger on a hook on my office door. The hook is one of those removable self adhesive hooks that won't damage the door.

My armored pants fit into one of bottom file drawers in the credenza.

My armored boots just sit under the return portion of my extended desktop.

At the beginning of the riding season I bring my suits into the office and leave them hanging in the closet. There's plenty of room and I always have enough suits to change things up.

As you can see, I also have a trenchcoat and scarf handy for when it's nippy in the spring or fall, or for when it's raining during the day and I have to go out for a meeting.

My dress shoes sit under my desk where I keep the riding boots.

My helmet sits on top of one of my bookcases.

And there you have it.

This solution works really well for me. It just needs a little setting up and dismantling at either end of the riding season to ferry the office clothing back and forth in the car.

Vancouver Bloggers Rock & Roll!

The original plan was ambitious, in a modest way.

I was going to be in Vancouver on business, with a weekend layover.  Spend some time with my son and his girlfriend.  Take the Saturday morning; arrange to meet a blogger or two; rent a little 50cc scooter; ride to the meet-up; have a bite; chat; go for a little ride; return the scooter before the cost ran through the roof.  Elegant and understated. A simple little plan.

I knew I had to meet Bob.  We just have too many freaky things in common. Age.  Grey hair.  We ride.  We had red convertible two-seater sports cars. We  are quirky.  Plus other stuff that I won't bore you with.  Then there were the things about Bob I didn't know.  That he was a wizard, for instance.

My first clue came on a Saturday evening in Toronto, of all places, where we were visiting my sister and brother-in-law.  My daughter called me on my cell from home in Montreal .  She sounded the way daughters sound when they find out something weird about you they didn't already know. "Dad? This guy Bob Leong called you from Vancouver? I gave him your cell number".  "Ya, OK, I know who it is, no worries... thanks!"

No sooner did I hang up, and the phone rang. "Dave? It's Bob... Bob Leong." There was a quiet urgency to his voice.  It reminded me of how I imagined Ford Prefect spoke just before the Earth was destroyed by the Vogons in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.  I  instinctively thought he was about to say that he was going to be out of town on the fateful weekend, sinking our plans for the meet-up.

"Dave, I know you're at your sister's, I don't want to disturb you...".  "It's fine Bob, no trouble at all"  I said, waiting for the disappointing shoe to drop.  "Dave, I got you a 200cc scooter.  A Kymco Frost.  It's brand new.  My buddy Gary is going to let you have it when you're here.  It's no trouble.  He's happy to do it.  He's the Kymco dealer here in Vancouver.  It won't cost you anything."

The news came fast. Bob doesn't mince words. It was unexpected.  I was caught off-guard. For more than a moment I was speechless. I must have looked like I was feeling.   My wife was watching this and grew concerned "What's wrong?" she mouthed from across the room, as only a wife can do.  I shook my head to re-assure her.  She went back to her chat with my sister.

"Bob, I don't know what to say!" I finally managed.  "No that's good..." Bob said.  "I'll let you get back to your evening, bye now!"  It took some time for the news to sink in.  I re-joined the Saturday night chatter.  "What's up?" my brother-in-law said.  I explained what had just happened.  They didn't seem to comprehend the enormity. "Wow!" I said to myself "Can you imagine...".  I often speak to myself this way when incredibly good things happen unexpectedly.

Now it's that Saturday morning.  I'm in Vancouver.  At the Fairmont Pacific Rim.  Spectacular place, in a spectacular city.  It's 5:55 a.m.  Dawn is already doing it's magic light show with the city.  My iPhone chimes in a text message.  "if u r up, we will start earlier, I will get there around 7:15am".  "I'll be ready" I reply.

I shower, put on my gear and head down to the indoor garage.  I fumble with the seat lock on the Kymco, cursing, wondering why I didn't pay more attention to Gary when he was showing me around the scoot.  My gear stowed, I hit the starter and wind my way out into the morning light.  It's about 7:18.  Bob is there in front of the hotel, waiting patiently.

"Good, we've got a little more time" he says, pulling on his helmet.  "Let's go".  And we're off.

We take the strange tunnel that runs under the hotel and swing east towards Hastings along the docks.  We stop on an overpass to snap some pictures of the skyline.

While we're there, Bob strikes up a conversation with a passing homeless man.  He gives him some change.  "He's not a bum, just down on his luck" he explains to me.  Bob has a heart of gold.

Now we're moving in earnest, along Hastings, then Cambie, over the bridge, and then I think we're headed east.  We must be because we are going to meet Dave Dixon, Sonja Mager, and her husband Roland for breakfast at the White Spot in Coquitlam at 8:45.

We begin to climb.  Bob swings onto a side street and the hill becomes steeper.  Dead end.  No explanation needed, we turn around, get back on track.   Still climbing.  Bob hangs a left onto Burnaby Mountain Parkway and we move on to Centennial Way.  The park road reminds me of Camilien Houde Parkway on Mount Royal back home.  The climb is substantial now, the road nice and twisty.  The Kymco struggles.  Wide open throttle and my very capable Frost is maxed out.  Bob's V-Strom growls and he sails ahead.  We coast into the parking lot at the summit.  Now I get it.  The view!  It doesn't say 'Beautiful British Columbia' on the license plates for nothing.  Vancouver's high-rises loom in the distance.  

Helmets off.  My Kymco clicks and ticks away, discretely trying to dissipate the heat generated by the climb.  It's the only sound.  Well, yes and no.  You'll soon see.

"Let's walk over there" Bob suggests, pointing to a walkway on the other side of the park.  "Oh my!" more descriptive words fail me.  The other side of the lookout yields the most beautiful view of a fjord, still tinged with morning mist.  Far below, out in the expanse of Burrard Inlet sits a large freighter anchored in the middle of the sound.  "Over there, at the top of the fjord, beyond where you can see, we're headed that way" Bob says.  More pictures.

We chat. Bob offers a photographer's wisdom.  I nod my appreciation.  Time to move on.  Breakfast beckons.  I'm getting hungry.

When we get to the White Spot, three Vespa GTs sit waiting.  Two red, one black.

 I know those bikes.  I've seen them many times before, in blogs.  We enter the restaurant.  It only takes a few seconds to spot Dave, Roland and Sonja patiently awaiting our arrival.  Any awkwardness there may be burns off in the first heated eager minutes of conversation and there is a kinship that rises above it.  This is how friendships are born.

We spend too long chatting, getting to know each other.  Soon Bob and Sonja remind us that we have places to go, and things to see.  To see this meeting from a different set of eyes and ears, read Dave's observations in his excellent post by clicking here.

We gear up, saddle up, and Roland takes the lead, with Bob as the sweep, and we're off to Buntzen Lake.  Suburban Coquitlam yields to a more pastoral scene.  Soon we are riding on a ribbon of perfect asphalt snaking our way through a majestic old-growth rain forest.  Moss covers the massive trunks of the soaring pines and cedars and the heady aroma of the forest wafts into my helmet.  The morning sunlight filters through the canopy to dapple the road in splashes of light.  It just doesn't get better than this.

We reach Buntzen lake and park the bikes to stretch our legs and take in the scene as canoeists and kayakers lay out their gear and prepare for a day on the water.

Bob sets up his tripod and gets us organized for a group shot.  Predictably, he takes one normal one, one peculiar one.

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca

So refreshing.  I love that man's mind.

Bob looks at his watch.  It's time to leave this little blissful corner of the universe and head off to... Belcarra.  As with everything else I'm experiencing, it's all foreign.  I am like a hitchhiker in the galaxy, I have no clue where I'm headed, and I haven't a care in the world.  This is happiness.

It turns out that I have seen this Belcarra before.  From the top of Burnaby Park.  Belcarra  Regional Park is at the end of the fjord I had seen earlier in the morning.  The freighter I saw from the mountain is out in the distance.  Hasn't moved.  Bob and I can't help wondering what it's doing there.

More pictures.  More memories of a perfect ride.

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca

No time for lollygagging, time marches on.  Bob feels that our plan for lunch at the Tomahawk will have to be scrubbed. He shares  his concern with me.  As pleasant as this adventure is, he doesn't want to run past the 1:00 o'clock target for lunch and the end of our ride.  I quickly decide to lift the 1:00 p.m. curfew, wipe the Tomahawk off the slate.  The merry wanderers confer and effortlessly agree to set a course for Horseshoe Bay.  There is an expressway leg involved.  The consensus comes quickly: let's do it.

As we wind our way out of Belcarra, we soon return to urban riding.  Traffic.  Lights.  Heat.  Finally Roland leads us onto the freeway.  Roland and Dave have the least experience, but you'd never know it.  It feels good to open the throttle and get up to speed.  Bob and I switch on the GoPro POV cams.  I am at the back of the pack with Bob still sweeping.  I pull out into the passing lane and gun the Frost moving to the front of the pack to get some video of our little band riding at speed.  [Ed: My GoPro was mismanaged by the production staff (yes, that's me) and the card filled up: no useful video of this bit - curses!  Bob saved the day (not surprisingly). Want excellent video of this adventure? See the link to Bob's blog (that's almost as much fun to say as "Bob Loblaw" if there is such a person) below.]

It doesn't take long before we find the coast and head up Canada's version of the Pacific Coast Highway.  I've done this weeks before in L.A., but now I'm riding.  A Kymco Frost sure beats a Volvo S-60.

We reach our destination.  No one says so, but we know this is the apex.  We've reached the end of a delightful adventure.  All that's left is the ride home.

We settle in for some west coast pub grub on an outdoor terrace (that's the Montreal term, in Toronto it's a patio, I wonder what it is in Horseshoe Bay... oh that's right, it's delightful).

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca

Our tummies full, we wander across the street to take in the harbour sights and Bob does his group shot magic again.

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca/

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca/

All too soon it's time to saddle up once more and begin the ride back to Vancouver.

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca

The ride soon becomes an endless sea of cars as we wend our way through North Vancouver.

The treat and silver lining hidden in the unremitting congestion, is the portion of the route over the Lion's Gate bridge.  This is Canada's answer to the Golden Gate.  In some ways I prefer it.  Stanley Park is every bit as much a prize as Sausalito.

Sonja takes the opportunity offered by the bumper-to-bumper ride to snap some shots of us as we make our way to the Fairmont Pacific Rim.  I particularly like the long-arm self portrait shot that's got me in it.  So I stole it to re-post here.

Copyright - Sonja Mager - Find me on the road

And that's how this story ends.  Under the portico at the Fairmont.  One saddle-sore tuckered-out band of two-wheel humans, now fast friends.

See how easy that was.  A modest little adventure that became a very-big-deal thanks to a light touch of wizardly magic courtesy of Bob Leong.  At least that's the way it is for me.

Here's hoping for many more amazing adventures to come.

EPILOGUE

Bob posted a video compilation on his blog post for this adventure that is the perfect cap for this epic adventure.  You can get there by clicking here.   Thanks Bob, you're the bee's knees!

Friday night madness

On Friday evening, Bob and I returned from our jaunt to Steveston and headed straight to RideAwayMotors where we met up with Bob's scooter friends, whose names I can barely remember, including Gary, Mark, and Andrew.  I am ashamed that I can't summon more names.

What an amazing group.  I have never before had such a warm and friendly welcome.  As a complete stranger, it was very, very touching.

Before there was time to commit all the names to memory, we were saddling up and headed to something called the Richmond Summer Night Market.

I twisted the throttle to the stop and did my level best to keep up, flying over and around the elevated clover leaf at Granville and Marine Drive in a headlong rush that made me feel for fleeting moments that I was really a member of this incredible flying squad.

Bob's friends (Dar mysteriously refers to them as the "RTE Gang") have riding skills that showed me up for the newbie I really am.  If you think you know how to ride, ride with the pros... and try to keep up.  To say that their skills in the mad traffic headed to the night market were amazing is a serious disservice.

At one point, Andrew leaned in at a red light in an effort to coach me on the blocking strategy and group riding objectives.  I think I understood 10% of what I needed to know so as not to embarrass myself.

Bob had sent me a link, but it was impossible to understand this night market phenomenon without experiencing it first hand.

Mind blowing comes close.

Think one part outdoor Asian gourmet feast, one part insane flea market.  You can taste anything here, and buy anything here.

Are we talking standard street meat?  No, no, no, no, no.  The price is reasonable, because the portions are on the small side, so that you get to buy and taste, and buy and taste, and buy and taste.  I had pork dumplings (delicious), corn fresh off the cob (amazing), something called Takoyaki made with octopus (beyond words), and a Taiwan Bun (that was heaven).

Here is how those Takoyaki are prepared. I have never seen any cooking technique quite like this.
My mind and tastebuds were already reeling trying to comprehend this amazing place and my role in it, when Andrew blew me completely away.

You see Andrew and I were among the minority here who didn't have some kind of Asian roots.  Or so I thought.

Andrew took a look at my delicious Taiwan Bun and inquired what I was eating.

I groped in my bewildered mind searching for the name of this incredible delicacy and was very relieved when I finally remembered.

"Taiwan Bun" I said.  It was what Andrew said next that blew my mind.

"......................" he said, in what sounded to my numb brain like perfect Mandarin.  I did a cartoon-like head-swivelling quadruple-take.

"You speak Mandarin?!" I blurted out, incredulous.

Andrew shrugged his shoulders in an unassuming way and said "Yeah, I spent two-and-a-half years teaching English in Taiwan".

"And how did you learn Mandarin?" I said.

"Just picked it up on my own" came the very genuine and casual response.  Now I was well and truly humbled.

Bob managed to snap a picture a precious few minutes after that remarkable exchange.

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca

 Bob capped the evening's festivities at the night market by introducing me to his wife who had driven to the market to meet him.

Later on, in his inimitable, devilishly humorous way, he gently coaxed me into posing holding up some some wild off-the-wall underwear from one of the flea-market stalls.

I think I'd better post that here, for fear of what Bob will do with it on his blog.

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca

He purchased an iPhone case for himself that allows you to take pictures with your phone and convince others you are using an expensive vintage Leica, and he presented me with a shocking pink iPhone cable that nearly matches his trademark pink Crocs.
 "When you use this you will always think of me" he said, after offering me the unusual gift.

Thanks Bob, you know I always will.  [EDIT: to see the evening's festivities from Bob's perspective, click here.]

It was getting late.  We returned to the bikes to set off for home, or so I thought.  By now I should have known better.  Bob simply refuses to waste any time.

You see, somewhere in Richmond, there is a second night market.  Bob wanted to have a look for himself.  These markets only opened for the season the previous weekend and this new market was somewhat of an unknown.

We parked the bikes on a side road leading to the market.  The location of this second night market was on the shore of a body of water.  Bob and Andrew and I chatted while Andrew smoked a cigarette and Bob and I snapped some pictures.

Andrew mentioned that he had to get going.  Bob and I climbed on our bikes and set out once more.

Bob said that we had to stop by his house on the way back to the hotel.  Bob insisted on escorting me all the way back to the hotel.  I was still not quite wise to Bob's ways.

We parked outside his house and Bob asked me to wait while he went to get something.  A few moments later, he came out bearing gifts for me.

Bob had some great Vespa swag left over which he very kindly gave me along with a flashlight that I might use on my two-wheeled travels (I never asked, but I suspect that Bob was a boy scout, because like me, he is a firm believer in preparedness).  Then he proceeded to bungee strap a cardboard box to my bike saying I should open it at the hotel.  I did later on.  I won't say what was in the box, suffice to say that it will decorate my office when I get it home.

At this point in the day, I confess that I was getting tired.  Mercifully there is not much traffic left at 10:45 p.m. on a Friday night in Vancouver so we made light work of the trip towards the waterfront.

But wait, why spoil a jaunt to the waterfront by failing to take a breather on Granville Island.

We parked the bikes by the water at the public market courtyard, hard by the Granville street bridge that towers overhead.  This is a really pretty spot.  Bob snapped some pictures of us using his tripod, remote control for the camera and a long exposure to capture the scene.  Like in the early days of photography, we had to be very still not to spoil the shot.

Copyright - Bobskoot - http://wetcoastscootin.blogspot.ca

We then sat on the bench and chatted about this and that for a good half hour before setting out once more for the hotel, that by now was only a few minutes away.

I thanked Bob for the most incredible evening I have had in recent memory and we parted after making plans to meet at the hotel at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning.

Stay tuned, there is still so much to share.