Peddling my butt around town!

           Yesterday I bought my 5^th bicycle, a fancy e-bike that will transport me to new adventures. Its less expensive predecessors evoke strong emotions and good memories.

At the age of three-and-three-quarters (age accuracy is vitally important to pre-schoolers), my first taste of personal freedom came in the form of a red tricycle, a Christmas gift from my parents. My three older sisters, myself, and our parents lived in Bralorne, a remote mining town located in the coastal mountains of British Columbia.

Dad and Mom 1954

Mom and Dad both worked; my mother was a waitress at the company-owned café, and my father was an underground shift boss in the gold mine. With four growing daughters, they didn’t have the money or the energy to participate in expensive events, yet remarkably, that year, my mother scrimped and saved enough money to purchase a beautiful, midnight-blue, strapless gown for the annual Christmas party. The tight bodice and full skirt were scattered with gauzy golden stars. 

In the photograph, my handsome dad has his arm around my beautiful 35-year-old mom as they beam happy smiles at the camera.

While Mom and Dad were at the Christmas party, my 9-year-old sister Judith was tasked with babysitting me. Presumably, my two older sisters, Valdine and JoAnn, were occupied with their own social activities or their after-school jobs. In any case, they weren’t home that night, and Judith was in charge! Which led to one of her more interesting escapades.

Judith was notoriously nosy about Christmas gifts for anyone in the family. She proceeded to carefully open the wrapping on everyone’s presents, including a large box which, to my delight, contained the bits and pieces for a tricycle. Judith assembled the tricycle, let me ride it around the living room, then disassembled it and repackaged it. All of the gifts that she’d opened were carefully repackaged before anyone returned home.

JoAnn, Judith, Valdine, Lynda

“Don’t you dare tell anyone!” She said, shaking a threatening finger in my face, “And act surprised on Christmas morning!”

I didn’t breathe a word about her antics, and, for a soon-to-be-four-year-old, I put on a credible performance of surprise.

Many years later, I told Mom the story. She thought it was hilarious that Judith had taken the trouble to assemble and then disassemble the tricycle, forcing dear old Dad to spend an hour on Christmas morning putting my tricycle together—for the second time.

~

In 1961, the announcement of the gold mine closing within the year meant both of my parents would soon be jobless. Part of our family moved from Bralorne to Chilliwack, a farm-based city in the Fraser Valley. Dad thought the experience of living in a city, even a small city like Chilliwack, would civilize Judith and me, give us a different perspective, and perhaps tame our tomboy manners.

My two older sisters, Valdine, aged twenty-one, and JoAnn, aged twenty, struck out on their own, moving to Vancouver where they shared an apartment, dated, and worked. By 1961, Judith was a rebellious sixteen-year-old who hated school and wanted to work or hang out with boys. I was ten years old, completely self-sufficient, and happy to spend hours quietly reading. 

Chilliwack was where I first learned to ride a proper bicycle. It was an expensive, green Raleigh, a gift from my mother. I was delighted and puzzled. We weren’t rich. Mom was still a waitress, now working at The Peaks Dinner in Chilliwack and Dad was the underground shift boss at Craigmont Copper Mine in Merritt. Dad commuted every two weeks (before the word was invented) from his job in Merritt to our family home in Chilliwack. He’d spend a few days, then drive back to Merritt.

Lynda 1961

My elementary school in Chilliwack was located only about a mile from our home. In the previous thirteen years, all of my sisters and I had walked a longer distance in the cold mountain temperatures from our house in Bradian to the main townsite of Bralorne to attend school. My mother’s insistence that I now needed a bicycle to get to school in Chilliwack was mystifying, but I wasn’t about to refuse her generous gift.

I loved that shiny green bike. I spent hours exploring roads, ponds, fields, and pathways in Chilliwack, Rosedale, and East Chilliwack. I brought home interesting but very dead birds, wrapping them in plastic and freezing them for later. I had grand ideas of taxidermy. Or displays. (Mom found and tossed my frozen treasures.)

A couple of years later, Mom, Judith, and I relocated to Merritt to be with Dad. The Chilliwack experiment of refining my sister and me wasn’t going well. Judith had become an uncontrollable handful, too much for Mom. And my grade seven city friends were far more advanced than me. The girls had weekly hair appointments. The boys wore shirts and ties. And they all like to play spin-the-bottle. I was completely out of my depth.

Lynda, Stanley, Park, Vancouver, BC

Fortunately, the central part of Merritt is flat and easy for riding, so I frequently rode my Raleigh, with our family dog trotting beside me. Then I entered grade eight, and I was (in my mind) too cool to ride a bicycle.

My cherished bike gathered dust in the basement until Mom informed me, “If you aren’t going to ride your bike. I will.”

“Noooo,” I wailed loudly, in protest. “You can’t do that! Mothers do not ride bicycles. It just isn’t cool.”

Whenever she saw me walking with my high school friends, she’d yell my name and wave vigorously as she pedaled past—on my bicycle.  

I was mortified.

~

My third bicycle was a birthday gift from my husband, Lawrie. It was my first ten-speed and another level of freedom. We were living on Bowen Island, a hilly mountain-top that poked out of the chilly waters of Howe Sound. Seven Hills is a stretch of steep, winding road between Snug Cove and our home at Eaglecliff. It took me several weeks of trying before I could master the long, torturous uphill grind, even with a ten-speed bike. The ride down Seven Hills was gloriously fast and cool!

Lawrie, Stanley Park

When we moved to downtown Vancouver in the mid-1980s, I purchased a ten-speed bike for Lawrie. We frequently cycled with a group of friends from our condo complex, enjoying the Stanley Park seawall while stopping at several pubs on our route. By the end of our ride, a few of the inebriated participants staggered home while pushing their bicycles.

~

The fourth bicycle, I purchased second-hand for $75.00 USD while living in Mexico, on the island of Isla Mujeres, in the Caribbean Sea.

It was a frustrating experience keeping a bicycle operational with the daily onslaught of humid, salty, tropical winds. One or two of the spokes broke daily. I replaced them with aluminum spokes. That didn’t solve the problem; it only slightly slowed the destruction. Brakes, handlebars, tire rims, and pedals. Everything rusted, corroded, or shattered.

Lynda, Isla Mujeres Mexico

I worked on my bike. Lawrie worked on my bike. A local repair shop worked on my bike. Eighteen months later, I gave it to my friend, Javier.

In the meantime, I had circumnavigated the island. Explored and photographed several neighborhoods. Dodged taxis, trucks, cars, motos, and golf carts. Avoided dogs, cats, crabs, baby turtles, iguanas, and a large boa constrictor that likes to roam the island. The boa is still there. Alive and well, and looking for small prey.

The other gringas who ride bikes on Isla are fit and tanned. They casually cycle the island, looking cool and charming, while I am a red-faced, odorous, hot mess of sweat.

It was time to take a break from the fun of cycling in the tropics.

~

My new steed! 

My fifth bicycle is an e-bike, purchased yesterday from the helpful folks at the Bike Barn in Penticton BC.

It costs a lot more than all of my previous bikes added together, but I am hoping the electrical motor will help propel my tired old ass along the many interesting trails in and around the Okanagan Valley. 

And then I’ll need a pet trailer so that Sparky can also enjoy the adventure.

I wonder if we’ll be able to outrun a bear on the e-bike?

Cheers Lynda

Sparky sends his woofs!

Sparky and my newest murder mystery series

Our two island paradises

Isla Mujeres, Mexico

Remember that bad pickup line from the 1980s? “So, what’s your sign?” 

  

We are both Pisces, and that makes us just a little bit different.  

By different, we mean, we love water and have to live within sight of it, hence our love affair with islands. 

Bowen Island, Canada

Our first stab at island life was Bowen Island, just off the coast of British Columbia, Canada, near Vancouver.  It was a small mountainous paradise, about 19 square miles in total land mass. Back in the mid-1970s, when we moved to Bowen Island, the population was only around 1200. The mixed-grade school was so small it was in danger of closing. A student was invented to meet the minimum requirement of six students.

Car & passenger ferry for Bowen Island 

Close to the ferry dock was a small shopping area, with a couple of places to eat and the Snug Cove General Store operated by parents, John & Evy Lock. It featured a butcher shop, fresh produce, cleaning supplies, dry goods, canned goods, and a huge assortment of penny candy for the kids to ponder over.  

The store was taken over by other family members who eventually moved the business to a larger space, and away from the congested ferry dock. Snug Cove General Store is still operating at the second location, but under different owners.

Harvesting cocos from Playa Norte, Isla Mujeres

Fast forward a couple of decades.  As we neared retirement age, we once again thought of living on an island – only this time we wanted to be warm. Our choice was Isla Mujeres, just off the coast near Cancun, yeah - I know, the Las Vegas of the Beach. Cancun is a wonderful vacation spot, just not for us. Founded by the Mexican government in the 1970s on a vacant stretch of white sand, this is where all-inclusive resorts became popular. A great experience for families, at a fixed cost. 

Playa Centro, Isla Mujeres

On Isla Mujeres, life is simpler. Yes, we have our share of tourists, with Cancun being only eighteen minutes away by passenger ferry.  

That’s a good thing; tourism allows the residents to earn a living, and still have the qualities of life and community that make island living so special.  

Cancun provides the benefit of a nearby international airport servicing the world, familiar stores such as Costco, Walmart, Home Depot, and Sam’s Club - making living in paradise easy, a no-brainer.

Yummy mangoes for sale 2 blocks from our casa

And yes, in the beginning we used the benefits of Cancun regularly, but as Isla Mujeres grows, our trips to ‘the big city’ are less often.  

We have become a part of the community, frequenting local stores where the owners now greet us by name, and usually have exactly what we want. 

Should you move to a small island?  Maybe. It helps if you are a Pisces and are patient, but slightly impractical. Life on an island isn’t always about tight time frames and schedules. Sometimes it is a lazy afternoon hiding out from the hot sun and thinking about what you should be accomplishing – mañana.

Hasta Luego, Lynda, Lawrie, Sparky, and Thomas

 We were both Bowen Island volunteer Firefighters.

 

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Bulls - one, Little people - zero! Isla Mujeres, Mexico.



Waiting for the parade to start



The much-advertised bullfight featuring little people and young bulls was apparently a fun-filled event. It was held at the temporary arena, recently installed on the Caribbean side of the island, just past Villa la Bella. I was too chicken to attend, in case the bulls got the worst of the event. However, judging by Life With Beck's video, it was hilarious. Some of the matadors were dressed in devil's costumes, others were dressed in ballerina tutus, and still others wore padded horse costumes covering up their vital parts. The young bulls were teased into butting the matador over. It looks as if the bulls were the victors in this fight.  

http://lifewithbeck.blogspot.com/2011/12/really-big-show.html

The Matador, Osvaldo Hernandez, is a member of Los Enanitos Toreros. They are a group of comedians from the Yucatan that travel to various cities and locations to demonstrate their skills. 

In the week leading up to the bull fight, numerous posters appeared on the island advertising the event to start at 3:30 p.m.  We had a great giggle over that bit of information as we watched the group of horsemen and horsewomen assembling behind the Naval base around 3:30 in the afternoon for the parade to the arena.  Eventually, the dignitaries arrived, and the group did a hoof-clattering circuit of the 'Centro' and then paraded past our house around sunset, approximately two hours later than advertised. 

But it's the norm.  Everyone is so accustomed to events starting late, it becomes a self-perpetuating situation. The participants don't arrive on time because, well, the event will not start on time. And the event will not start on time, because, ah yes, the participants are late.

Anyone seen Clint Eastwood pass by?

As the group of riders paraded past our house, we could almost imagine them riding the dusty, cactus-strewn plains in central Mexico. The traditional clothing and the accompanying bull-fight music featuring brass horns created an atmosphere reminiscent of an old high-plains cowboy movie. 

Hugo Sanchez, Presidente (Mayor) of Isla Mujeres, and Julian Rincalde, Presidente of the Benito Juarez district on the mainland, led the parade. Señor Rincalde was riding the handsome black stallion shown in my photos. The horse was decked out in a hand-tooled silver and black saddle that could have been an antique Charro saddle, but judging by the size of the stallion, it might have been custom-made just for him. 

He was a handsome brute!  (The horse, I mean!) 



Damn, I'm handsome!

When taking photos of the group, I carefully made sure I was well outside the range limit of any hind leg.  

I saw several hooves flash out in annoyance as the horses waited for the parade to begin. 

Having once been kicked in the shin by a horse when I got too close, I have the utmost respect for the pain that a well-placed hoof can cause. I still have a slight dint in my left shin bone, dating back to 1969.

Next time this group comes to the island, we'll be in the grandstands, not too early, though, as they won't start until sundown, no matter what the posters say.

President Rincalde background, and Presidente Sanchez in middle



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Live chickens, auto parts, and sexy lingerie at the Sunday market in Cancun!

Peeling oranges for juice

Last Sunday, following somewhat vague directions from two gringo friends, we caught the early car ferry and headed off to Cancun to explore the Sunday market.  

Holy cow, it's huge. The market takes place only on Sundays, starting early in the morning and ending around two in the afternoon. It is located at the western end of Lopez Portillo Avenue in Cancun near one of the many Chedraui Grocery Stores, and across the street from the bright orange building of a company called Arcelor Mittal. We wandered up and down a mere handful of the dozens of streets encompassing the marketplace. 

We were quickly engulfed in dense crowds of shoppers shuffling past countless tiny impromptu stores, with merchants shouting out inducements to buy their wares. It reminded me of market day in a French village!

Dog kibble and eggs for sale

We meandered past stalls displaying eggs in flats of 30, piled on a table, unrefrigerated, as is the custom here in Mexico, Europe, and South American countries. The reasoning is that people typically buy fresh and eat fresh, and eggs are better at room temperature for baking and cooking. You can purchase one/two/three eggs, and since home refrigerators are so small, or nonexistent, most people do not buy more eggs than what they need for the next meal. In some stores, you can buy eggs that were laid that day.

The eggs occasionally come decorated with little feathers and aromatic chicken poop. Eggs apparently last longer if you don't wash them until just before you use them. I was told that it was because there is a light film on the outside of the egg that helps keep bacteria out. 

One of many stalls selling fresh fish.

These eggs are not date-stamped with a "Fresh Before" date that we see in our manufacturing plant-style eggs that roll off the assembly lines and are trucked to the major North American cities for distribution. The difference in taste between a just-laid egg and a long-distance-market egg is amazing, with bright yellow, firm yolks that hold their shape in the frying pan. Maybe marketplaces like this are the origin of "Buy Fresh Eat Fresh" slogan that marketing gurus like to take credit for inventing.

Other market stalls offered a variety of fresh fish, likely caught the previous night by the large boats that we see in the evenings, fishing just east of our island. Many stalls sold small plastic sacks of dry dog food, scooped from the fifty-pound bags, enough to feed the family dog for a day or two. Keeping open pet food around longer than that is like putting out the welcome mat for cockroaches and their extended families to set up housekeeping.

In between the numerous stalls are tiny restaurants of three or four tables, cooking wonderfully aromatic meals. The big challenge is that there are no public washrooms anywhere in this vast area of private homes and impromptu stores, but for about 30 cents, a number of the homeowners will let you use their bathrooms. Just keep an eye out for the signage.

Flowers and furniture!

Everything imaginable is available for purchase from new and used auto parts, hand-made furniture, fresh flowers, fresh produce, very provocative lingerie in a variety of colours and sizes, shampoo, toys and live chickens. (Er, no thanks! I like fresh, but not that fresh. I'm the person who can't look lobsters in the eye when I see them contained in restaurant display tanks, awaiting their fate.)

Unfortunately, our Sunday market excursion was cut short by the rain. 

We'll return on another Sunday. There is a lot more to see.

Hasta Luego
Lynda and Lawrie

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Lost our marbles …over sea marbles, Isla Mujeres Mexico!

A marble? A perfect black and cobalt-blue marble somehow had made its way to our beach. 

Huh! I asked Google and discovered that there appear to be several theories as to how marbles arrive on beaches.

First of all, there is the obvious reason: kids playing with them. However, we have not actually seen any kids on this island playing with marbles, and marbles in general seem to have lost out to other, more sophisticated toys in the mid to late 60s.

The second possible reason is that house painters have been known to toss a handful of marbles into a paint can to help stir the ingredients while they are working. Back in the “old days,” it was acceptable to dispose of empty cans in the ocean, thereby allowing the ocean currents to work the marbles out of the remaining paint and eventually deposit them on the beach.

The third possible reason is the one that really fascinates me. They were used as ballast in ships’ holds. Cool! Maybe there is a sunken treasure ship just waiting to be discovered.

1983, Lynda Rusty Duck Antiques on Bowen Island BC

In one of our previous incarnations, when we were still working for a living, Lawrie and I owned an antique store on Bowen Island in British Columbia, Canada. (My apologies for using that four-letter word - work.) 

We have always been interested in things antique or classic. Lawrie had an enormously varied collection of classic English and American cars, and a 1959 mahogany Continental Chris Craft speedboat. 

When we travel, we enjoy researching our Irish, Scottish, French, and Canadian genealogies. 

Lawrie fixing my Overlander delivery truck

Before moving to Mexico, we owned a collection of antique furniture, toys, and hand tools. 

When our friend and nearby neighbour, Marcy Watt, loaned me a book, “Pure Sea Glass” by Richard LaMotte, I was hooked.  

I started sorting through all the bits and pieces that I have collected from the beach along this side of the island and have found a few really interesting shapes, colours, and patterns. 

One large fragment had an embossed design. Unfortunately, that photo is hiding somewhere in my vast collection of photographs. 

(I searched my photos and found the image! I still have no idea what the letters or design mean.) 

The marble that I found is in much too perfect a condition to have survived a number of decades, grinding its way from the deeper parts of the ocean, across the reef in front of our house, and onto the beach. 

Interesting book about sea glass

But the romance of a sunken ship somewhere in the deep waters east of our island…well, that’s just too good to let go without a struggle.

Hasta luego

Lynda and Lawrie

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