Ode to a winter’s ride

O Lapierre, how I’ve missed you so.

It’s been more than two months since last I stood astride your lithe silhouette.

And though it was cold enough to glaze the streams and sloughs, the sun’s glow and the thought of mounting you warmed me

Preparing for our rendezvous was no small task

A cacaphony of layers pulled from the closet and drawers

Each warmer than the last

First one shirt, then two than three

The booties pulled tightly over my shoes

The flaps of the cap beneath my helmet pulled down over my ears

Heavy gloves formed snugly over my fingers

We clip-clopped to the elevator for our date with destiny

O how I’ve longed for this reunion

however brief it may turn out to be

And so we set out on our sojourn

Legs pumping, out united selves thrusting forward along the chipped and gritty pavement

It’s been dry lo the past three days, but still there is grime and cinder

Lapierre, soiled by the winter's grit

The occasional patch of frost of which to be wary

Nostrils burn

Chest heaves

Eyes tear

Leaden clouds slide in from the western horizon

Could they be bringing snow?

We press on

past familiar shoreline and brush, the leaves brown in their winter crispness

Ducks huddle together

Crows converge of road kill rats

The passing trucks give us wide berth, surprised to see us perhaps?

I can feel you beneath me, yearning to go faster, farther

as we had so often in the blush of summer’s warmth

But the hiatus has not been kind to my thighs

And the cold air is beginning to penetrate my layers

Just shy of 20 kilometres, it’s time to turn around you and I, to retrace the steps of our flirtation

This is how it had started many months ago when first we met

This is how it starts again, our second season together

Who knows where the road will take us…

The envelope please

I saw War Horse the other day, officially bringing to a close my 2011 movie-going season. And while there’s still some 2011 films to be seen, either at the theatre or on blu-ray, I’ve seen enough to compose my annual Top 10 list. For the record, War Horse is not on it; in fact, it would be somewhere near the Bottom 10.

In no particular order, of 51 films seen, here’s The Big Ring’s Top 10:
Hugo
Martin Scorcese does a kid’s movie; who’d have thunk? And he does it so very very well, creating a film that bewonders children and the child in all of us while crafting a wonderful journey to the earliest days of film history. Scorcese has the utmost respect for his craft’s origins and his love for film’s forefathers oozes through every frame of this beautiful, magical movie.

 

 

 

 

Win Win

Paul Giamaitti excels at playing the everyday schlub who ambles through life often in spite of himself. Here he’s a small-town lawyer who volunteers as a coach with the high school wrestling team. Of course, his team is terrible. Until the grandson of one of his clients shows up on his doorstep looking to escape his wigged-out mom; he happens to be a champion wrestler. Giamatti’s inner conflict as to how to help the kid while exploiting his wrestling talent plays out perfectly, with touching and comic moments along the way.

 

 

 

Beginners

Since losing my own father almost eight years ago, i’ve become a bit of a sucker for movies about sons “discovering” their fathers. First it was Big Fish, and now it’s Beginners, in which Ewan McGregor recalls his final years with his late father who came out of the closet when he was 75 years old. Sentimental, funny, irreverent and joyful.

 

 

 
The Devil’s Double

Dominic Cooper is incredible in the dual role of Saddam Hussein’s crazed and misogynistic playboy son Uday, and as the everyday soldier who is recruited to play his body double. A brash, audacious and frightening film.

 

 

 

 
The Debt

An entertaining espionage thriller that reminded me in tone and execution of Munich, another face from a few years ago.

 

 

 

 

 

Midnight in Paris

I do not like Woody Allen films. Full stop. And it’s a tragedy that the beguiling concept of Midnight in Paris in which a Hollywood screenwriter on vacation with his high-maintenance wife in Paris finds himself magically transported to the 1920s when the city was awash with the artistic and literary hoi polo. But it works because all the actors playing roles like Hemmingway, Picasso, Dali, Monet, Cole Porter, F. Scott Fitzgerald, fill their parts with such gusto and verve.

50/50

A story about a young man afflicted with cancer in the prime of his life could easily swamp into Movie-of-the-Week swill, but Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Seth Rogan keep it afloat with just the right amount of dark humor, cynicism, and pathos.

 

 

 

 

 Pearl Jam 20

One of my favourite movies of all time is Cameron Crowe’s Singles, set in Seattle during the early days of its grunge music renaissance. Besides having a great soundtrack that turned me on to Paul Westerberg’s band The Replacements, Singles captured perfectly the zeitgeist of that time and place. In Twenty, Crowe recounts the history of one of that era’s most enduring bands, Pearl Jam, with humor, affection, respect, and a whole lot of previously unseen footage.

The Company Men

Unemployment statistics and corporate downsizings are usually little more than numbers until they touch us directly. The Company Men puts faces and lives to the numbers as a formerly vital shipping company diminishes in a contracting economy, pushing out some of the very men who built it.

Drive

Dark, sinister with a brooding performance by Ryan Gosling that propels this story about a Hollywood stunt driver who makes ends meet by hiring himself out as a getaway driver for criminals.

Lights, camera, action

Oh bike, how I’ve so missed you.

December was a bad month for riding. Not that it’s ever really a good month; but in 2010 I did manage three decent road rides and a couple of evening trail rides.

This December, the Lapierre stayed warm and dry inside, while the Kona did get a couple of opportunities to ride the mud and fallen leaves.

Instead, runs were my exercise salvation, including a spirited sprint of 5.6 ams as plotted by the Princess of Pavement on New Year’s Day. Not a bad way for this non-runner to start the new year, with my longest run ever!

Grimly en route to the longest mile, er 5.6 kms

Oh woh, we're halfway there...

But with this last holiday morning dry and the temperature not too inhospitable, it was time to ride again. And play around with my new toy, a Contour GPS HD video camera, one of those micro units that can be attached to pretty much anything anywhere.

The Big Ring's hi-tech cockpit

As if being a cyclist and photographer at the same time isn’t complicated enough, being a videographer while trying to get in a good ride is truly a multitasking challenge. I’m guessing it will get smoother and quicker as I become more familiar with the equipment and more confident in my storytelling abilities. So here, in all its widescreen glory is my first Big Ring video production, albeit it a little truncated as overestimated the capacity of my memory card:

First ride: 2012

The morning after

All the build-up, all the hype, all the anticipation, all the preparation, all the shopping. And then poof, Christmas has come and gone.

In our years together, Katie and I have developed our own Christmas traditions, a Christmas eve outing, followed by a German dinner of rouladen, potatoes and brusselsprouts, then huddling around our modest tree to exchange gifts. It’s our time together.

This year's Christmas eve outing, to the twinkle lights at Vandusen Gardens.

The festive display at Vandusen Gardens.

I asked for, and received, the Steve Jobs' biography. But Katie knows I don't read, so she also got me the abridged Time magazine version!

Coming soon to The Big Ring, video!

On Christmas day it’s all about family, a raucous ever-growing gathering of Katie’s siblings, their families and whoever else manages to secure an invite to the Fleming’s rural homestead where Katie’s mom and dad put on a magnificently sprawling spread of turkey, ham and all the accompanied fixings that leaves everyone collapsed on the couch or floor because it’s so delicious and we’re so stuffed.

This year we added a new wrinkle’s anticipation of the feast to come, Katie took me on a Christmas morning run, our second in three days. And, sensing my frustration and unrest over the lack of cycling lately, she’s pulling me along for longer distances, up to five kilometres.

A little stair training halfway through our new Christmas tradition.

Of course for her, she of the two marathons and a handful of half-marathons and 10K’s, such a distance is barely worth strapping on her Fuel Belt, but it’s only four or five years ago when she trained and ran her first race, a hilly 5K on a brutally cold and frosty March morning in Mission. Not that I plan to follow in her footsteps to marathon pain and suffering…

Urban renaissance

New West is finally chic.

After languishing for years as an also-ran suburb notable only for its multitude of SkyTrain stops and street crime, the city is undergoing a renaissance. New condo towers are going up aimed at younger, more urban buyers who can no longer afford to live in Vancouver. Tired old businesses are being usurped by funky shops, restaurants are renovating to go a little more upscale, new restaurants are opening.

One of them, Wild Rice, is just up the boardwalk.

When our vagabond trucker friends from New York City hit town, that’s where we took them. Did you make a reservation? they asked panicked. It’s a new restaurant and it’s Friday night, it’ll be packed.

But this is New West; everyone is still at The Boathouse.

Sure enough, we had no trouble getting a table.

Monday, Katie and I went again, this time to learn how to make dim sum.

The menu and fillings for dumplings

To bring customers in on an otherwise slow night, and to spread good word of mouth, the restaurant is offering demo classes in making some of its signature Asian fusion dishes. The chef shows us how it’s done in his gleaming open kitchen, we get to try our hands at making a few things, and then we all retire to a big communal table to enjoy a four course dinner.

The chef shows us his trade secrets

It was a lot of fun, the food was delicious, and it all felt very big city, sophisticated.

Suddenly it's chic to be in New West

Which is great to have within walking distance, rather than having to ride transit into Vancouver.

It’s been a long time coming though.

Since I moved here 20 years ago, i’ve heard stories and done stories about the city’s potential.

New West is BC’s oldest city. In fact, it was the province’s first capital. It was the gateway for explorers and prospectors heading up the Fraser River into the Interior to seek their fortune.

But as Vancouver grew, New West diminished. When the mega-malls went up in neighbouring suburbs, people no longer had a reason to come here. The downtown shopping street once known as The Golden Mile lost its lustre.

When I first did an assignment in New West, I was immediately smitten. The city has a great history, plenty of old buildings and homes with lots of character. And a gritty edge.

For most of the past 20 years that grit got in the way of its potential. Seedy bars took over the downtown, populated with shifty characters. Owners let their buildings fall into disrepair.

When one was converted to an upscale billiard hall, that was supposed to be a catalyst for new development. It never happened.

Then an old Russian submarine was brought to the pier to attract tourists. A few came, but most people just wondered what a Russian submarine had to do with the Fraser River.

Then a casino was built on an old MIssissippi paddlewheel to attract a different kind of tourist. But gamblers weren’t interested in gambolling around town; they just wanted to play the slots or card tables and head home to count their losses or winnings.

Even the world’s tallest tin soldier tarnished.

But now that magic elixir of development, a population of new residents, and businesses to service those residents finally seems to be brewing. There’s people on the streets and energy in the air. New West is finally developing its city vibe, and we’re right in the middle of it.

‘Twas the week before Christmas

We’re a week out from Christmas, and all through the loft

Not a creature was stirring, not even Lapierre

The bike is hung on the wall rack with care

It’s been more than a month since she last left this lair

Sigh.

It’s been a tough month for riding. Oh sure, there have been a couple of evening trail rides, and one or two runs a week, but the nice weather we’ve had on a few Fridays has always coincided with the need to do other things.

Like getting ready for Christmas.

An entry at a fancy gingerbread house display at a downtown hotel.

For the most part, I’m pretty on the ball for seasonal preparations. I start my shopping in October, get most of it done by mid-November, precisely so I can enjoy the freedom of my days off to do things like riding. And avoid the overcrowded mall scene.

But this year there seemed to be a surplus of errands to manage, like getting a haircut, or getting the car in for service.

It’s made for some crabby afternoons of self-loathing, as I reasoned that I could have ridden on those days if I really had the motivation.

It’s a funk I’m going to have to shake, otherwise it’s going to be a long winter.

Into the lights

I love the water. But I don’t do wet.

Where I grew up, Lake Ontario was a constant companion and a go-to destination. When I went off to school in Ottawa, I gravitated towards the Rideau Canal almost daily, walking along it when the weather was warm, skating on it when it had frozen over.

Here, we’re fortunate to live right along the Fraser River. One of the world’s great waterways is just 50 meters from the front door of our condo building.

Though I’m not a runner, putting on the sneakers is a good excuse to spend a little time with the river. Tugs churn up and down, pulling long crooked log booms, huge hoppers filled with wood chips, dredgers and cranes, sometimes other tugs. Birds swoop low over the water. Occasional a frisky salmon will leap to the sky.

Cold nights are especially magical along the river. The boardwalk is sparsely populated by other runners and walkers. The moon pierces the sky like a klieg beacon. The lights from the container docks, and paper mill across and down river double up in the reflection like a Rorschach ink blot test aglow.

The Fraser is a working river; there's always something going on.

This time of year we’re also treated to the colourful twinkle lights decorating the balconies and windows of the condos along the river. There’s even a contest for the best displays. The perfect salve to forget the cold air and get into the holiday spirit.

Christmas twinkle lights along the boardwalk.

Thinking outside the pub

I love the patio scene.

Given the choice of drinking a post-ride beer inside the pub, or outside on its patio, I’ll always open for the open skies. Especially now that many pubs have banned smoking from their outdoor seating areas; it’s about time.

But on Dec. 1? When the temperature is barely above freezing?

Yet that was our only option after a brisk trail ride the other night. And as we were the first customers to take the outside option, the heaters first had to fire up.

Riding buddy Dan, staying warm and getting thirsty on the outdoor patio

But once the beer and nachos arrived, all was good.

Patios in this neck of the woods are hamstrung by a ridiculous array of arcane city bylaws and liquor regulations. They have to conform to certain sizes, they have to have a physical barrier to the adjoining sidewalk, they often have to close early to appease nearby neighbours.

It all adds up to a rather inadequate patio supply, especially when the weather is more conducive. And often those patios are lacking in atmosphere; sure it’s nice to be outside, but who wants to look at a parking lot.

The interaction with the world passing by is one of the best things about the patio scene. It’s one of my favourite things about Europe, where every café, restaurant and pub has tables and chairs spilling onto the sidewalk out front. Sure, the sidewalks are usually wider in cities like Paris, Berlin and Barcelona than standard North American sidewalks, but that hasn’t stopped a city like Portland, Oregon from developing a lively patio culture. There, the Pearl District is alive with outdoor pubs and eateries, and even more established parts of the city, like Nob Hill, have plenty of patios despite narrow sidewalks.

City governments just have to loosen up a bit, realize that an open beer on a sidewalk table isn’t going to turn innocent passersby into raging drunkards.

A reacquaintance

Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

On Friday, it had been six weeks since I last rode the Lapierre. Oh sure, there have been chilly evening trail rides and boardwalk runs in the interim, but the Lapierre’s lithe carbon frame has been gathering dust, her tires flattening.

What can I say? It’s November. It’s dark, it’s cold, it’s often raining.

Runs are fine, but they're not rides.

But when Friday dawned brightly sunny and dry, the siren call of Lapierre’s sexy curves enticed me. At first I resisted. It was still cold, barely beyond freezing. And I had things to do, a movie I wanted to see.

“Do both,” said Katie, who was home sick for the day.

Why not, I thought.

So I layered up, found my warmest cycling socks, retrieved my booties, pumped up the Lapierre’s tires, lightly lubed her chain and shortly after the end of the morning rush hour we were reacquainted.

Bundled up for a cold ride.

It took only a few strokes of the pedal to renew our bond. The chilled air tickled my nostrils, the low, angled sunlight bedazzled my eyes. My legs rejoiced.

There were no great ambitions for this ride, just be home by lunch; 50 kilometers in my legs started to feel the long layoff.

The downside of fall/winter rides; mud, grit and debris on the shoulders.

But there’s always something magical about the first ride after a period away from the bike, a renewed familiarity and comfort like meeting up with an old friend. And after a handful of rides on the heavier, more lumbering mountain bike, the lightness and responsiveness of the road machine fuels the adrenaline rush.

Thank you Lapierre. Thank you sunshine.

Thrill of the chill

Baby, it’s cold outside.

If The Big Ring has seemed a little spare lately, well, that’s because there’s not much riding going on. Oh sure, there’s the odd run here and there, but I’m not a runner, and this isn’t a running blog.

November gloom has settled in. It rains a lot, snows occasionally. And the single-digit temperatures mean lots of layers when the rare opportunity for a ride does present itself.

Lots of layers ease the cold, but don't eliminate it.

Of course, the hardest part of taking advantage of those opportunities is actually getting out the door. Staying inside where it’s warm and dry is awfully tempting.

But the payoff for overcoming that inertia is always worth it.

The chilled air burns the lungs and bites the cheeks. The orange, yellow and red leaves that blanket the trails crackle beneath the tires. As you burn amidst the trees, the world beyond the headlight beam ceases to exist; it’s just you and the ride in the cold.