A Day to Listen

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Low Water at Sunset

I knew that water levels in rivers around the Ottawa River have been lower than normal, due to the lack of rain in May and most of June. But it wasn't until I headed out to the Chaudière Falls and saw such a trickle of water pass through the dam. It would not be a challenge to walk from end to end.

For a comparison, see my blog post from a few years back.

Just imagine how this great set of falls looked like before the dam.

I hope we get more rain soon.

Not My Look

I don't know what made me decide to do it.

It wasn't a conscious decision. I just got lazy and let nature take its course for about a week. When I finally took action, I only did so in a half-assed way.

I'm talking about growing facial hair.

Every few years, on a whim, I decide to grow a beard. It's not a good look for me, as some spots on my face just don't seem to want to grow hair, especially around my sideburn area and where a moustache meets up with the beard.

Also, as each year passes, my beard has changed from a dark brown to a salt-and-pepper grey.

As May was nearing a close, I stopped using my razor as part of my morning routine. It's not uncommon for me to not shave on weekends, as I often get up early and head out, either for a bike ride, kayak paddle, or to hit up a store before it gets busy, and when I get home, I don't tend to want to take the time to shave.

When Monday came around, I woke up later than usual and again, didn't want to take the time to shave, as doing so would have put me off my work routine. On Tuesday, I just got into the habit of not shaving.

After a week without shaving, I finally picked up my razor but kept a goatee. I don't know why I didn't take it all off, but that's what I did.

My parents liked it. One friend said I was rocking it, especially when I wore my expedition hat, as I was when we were kayaking.

I even took a selfie and started using the photo as my image for Twitter and my work profile.

Edited in Prisma.

But the more I looked at that image, with me wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, the less I recognized myself. Who was this guy? What are his interests? Who are his friends?

As with any time that I let facial hair accumulate, it comes to an end as soon as the whiskers in the corners of my mouth are long enough for me to bite them. Hair in my mouth just grosses me out.

Last Monday, I shaved it all off again. I updated my Twitter photo to the guy that I recognized.

As always, I shaved and told myself I'll never grow a beard and moustache again. But even if I do, I'll grow them knowing that they won't last.

Maybe that's why DW has stopped complaining when I do it?

Apparitions

I thought I was done with this topic.

I thought I had shown you the best part about getting up before sunrise to capture a partial solar eclipse, but enjoying the pre-sunrise sky much more.

I thought I had written about how I had blown capturing the eclipse because I didn't use my neutral-density filter, thinking I could use highlight recovery to fix the blown-out sun, in post processing, only to prove myself wrong.

But there was more.

You see, I had my Nikon D750 on a tripod with my 24-70mm lens. And while this setup still didn't capture the eclipse in its full glory, I did have an ultraviolet filter on it, which I use to protect the glass.

It is a $2,000 lens, after all.

That extra layer of glass over the elements does something when the sun is in the camera's frame: it creates an apparition of light.

With a solar eclipse, the apparition shows the eclipse.

Do you see it? Find the Peace Tower on Parliament Hill and look down.

As I said last week, I was able to see the eclipse while I was setting up my shots. It seems my secondary camera was able to see it, too.

Happy Friday!

First Time in Edinburgh

It always terrified my friend, Al, when I handed him my camera to take a photo of me.

I don't know if he was afraid that he was going to drop the camera or mess up the settings or do something that would prevent him from taking the photo. Perhaps it was a combination of these actions.

But I had him put the strap around his neck so that the camera could not fall to the ground. I set up the aperture and shutter speed so that the exposure would be fine, and I focused the lens so that I wouldn't be a blurry blob.

All he had to do was point the camera at me and press the shutter button, which I showed to him. Easy-peasy.

I should have told him to also compose the frame so that as much as me could fill the frame as possible, without cutting off my head. When I finally saw the photo, I could see that he had made sure that my face was in the centre of the frame: lots of sky above me and my lower legs cut off.

Oh well.

At least Al got me, leaning against a cannon, on the outer ramparts of Edinburgh Castle. In the background, just below, you can just make out some of the buildings in New Town, on the northern end of the Scottish capital. Further out, you see the industrial region of Leith.

This was my first time in Edinburgh, in May of 1988. I was visiting my friend, who was taking an exchange program at the University of Glasgow. I was also exploring the country that was home to my newly created fictional character, Roland Axam. On the following day, I would head to Roland's hometown, North Berwick.

In a few days after that, I would take a train, from Glasgow to England, and then onward, across the English Channel, where I would continue, by rail, to Berlin, where I would gather information for my novel, The Spy's The Limit.

I never published that novel but parts of it are included in my upcoming book, Gyeosunim.

I fell in love with Edinburgh on that sunny day in 1988. It's still one of my favourite cities in the whole world.

Happy Thursday!

Sunset at Britannia Beach

Lunch with a Stranger

I was 23 and alone, in Glasgow.

I had never left North America before, let alone on my own. But a friend had travelled to Scotland, in his third year of university, in an exchange program. And when he left Canada, I promised that I would visit him.

Al was staying in a University of Glasgow student residence building to the northwest of the Botanic Gardens. We would walk up Byres Road, up to Great Western Road, cross to the gardens and cut through, and then take some residential streets to his building. His girlfriend was also in this residence, and he would stay in her room, so I had his cluttered room to myself.

Glasgow Botanic Gardens, 1988.

Glasgow University residence, 1988.

He took me to his student cafeteria, once. The special of the day was lasagna, so that's what I ordered. When the plate was passed to me, I noted the mashed potatoes with ground beef, in a brown gravy under a layer of melted Mozzarella cheese.

"What's this?" I asked the woman behind the counter, who served me this dish.

"Lasagna," she said, a puzzled face looking back at me, "isnae that what yeh asked fer?"

"It is," I said, "it just doesn't look like any lasagna I've ever seen before."

"It's no like any lasagna anybody's seen before," a young man standing behind me in line whispered.

I didn't want to meet Al for lunch at his cafeteria again, so on a day where he had no time to stray from campus, I told him that I was going to head downtown, to wander the core streets to shop and look for a place to eat. I would meet him, later, for dinner, when we would find a pub.

Mall near Argyle St, 1988.

I took the tube, as Glaswegians called the underground, from Hillhead Station to St. Enoch Station, just off Argyle Street. As I remember it in 1988 but cannot confirm today, parts of the surrounding streets were covered by a glass canopy and became pedestrian malls. On Google Maps, the canopies seem to be gone, though some streets still appear closed to vehicles.

As lunchtime approached, I saw a restaurant inside the mall and approached its entrance. On the door, a menu was affixed, and I scanned the lunch offerings.

No lasagna. This place looked promising.

As I continued to read the menu, I noticed a young woman, about my age, stand beside me, also checking out the menu. She was pretty: her copper-red hair was straight and stopped at her shoulders. Her green eyes were glowing and she had a few freckles on her pale cheeks. A stereotypical Scottish lass.

When we finished reading the menu, she looked at me and said, "Well, shall we go in?"

"I think so." I held the door and ushered her ahead of me.

A thirty-something man in a shirt and tie greeted us at the door. Even though I had let the woman go ahead of me and I was a few steps behind her, the greeter looked at me and asked, "For two?"

The woman looked at me, smiled, and asked me, "What do you say?"

"Why not?"

We both turned to the greeter and, in unison, said, "Sure."

Her name was Kate. She worked in an office, nearby, and had planned to meet a friend, but that her friend had cancelled at the last minute.

"Lucky for me," I said.

She had taken me for an American, when she first heard my voice, but I told her I was Canadian. I told her that this was my first overseas trip, the first time that I had left my continent. She hadn't even left the western Lowlands, let alone her country.

"You've never even been to Edinburgh?" I asked.

"No," she said, sadly.

"My friend and I are heading there, tomorrow," I said. I explained that I wrote short stories and that I had created a Scottish character, and that I thought I needed to see the Scottish countryside to better-understand where he came from. Later in the week, I would make my way to my character's home town, North Berwick.

"Isn't that beyond Edinburgh?" Kate asked. "Wouldn't it make sense to see both places tomorrow?"

"I want to make a day of each town," I said. "My friend will show me Edinburgh, as he's been there before, and I'll go to North Berwick on my own."

"Someday, I'll get to Canada."

"If you do, and you find yourself in Ottawa, look me up." I gave her one of my business cards, from the camera shop where I was the assistant manager. From my camera bag, I retrieved a pen and wrote my home phone number and address on the back.

I never heard from her.

When the bill came, I insisted on covering all of it. We finished, wished each other a good day, and went our separate ways. It was one hour out of the week that I spent in Glasgow but it was one of the most memorable days of my whole trip.

Fully Vaxxed, Half-Assed Plans

In retrospect, I suppose that going for a 50-kilometre bike ride wasn't the best idea after having received my second vaccination against COVID-19, and yet, on the road I went.

I mean, after my first jab, in which I received the AstraZenica vaccine, I managed to get some chores done around the house, go for a 30-km ride, and grill up some dinner before the side effects kicked in, before the chills, aches, and headache hit me like a ton of bricks and had me in bed from a Saturday night to Monday morning.

When I received my second dose on Saturday—this time, the Pfizer mRNA vaccine—a woman who was in the waiting area, after the dose, told me that her husband had also received mixed doses and had reacted badly, several hours later.

Hearing that, I wanted to get my ride in, lest I be unable to do it later. I was almost 20 percent into my Icelandic virtual Ring Road challenge, and I wanted to log enough distance that, should the vaccine take me out of action for a day or two, I would still be on schedule.

A 50K ride ought to do the trick.

For a couple of weeks, DW and I have ridden part of the Osgoode Trail, heading south from Manotick Station Road until we approached the village of Osgoode, about 25 kilometres south of Ottawa. On our first ride, we took the trail as far as Snake Island Road, before heading toward Nixon Road, crossing over the Rideau River, and following Rideau Valley Drive, north, to Manotick and onward, home. Total distance, 48.5 kms.

The next time that we took this route, we continued on the Osgoode Trail to its end, on the main street of the village. We then headed toward Nixon Road, just a bit further south from where we met it the previous weekend, and headed north and took the rest of the route home. Total distance, 52.21 kms.

When I headed out on Saturday, my plan was to complete the same route but to cut out the part that I usually take at the end of all my rides, where I cut through Longfields-Davidson Heights. That would reduce the distance to an even 50K.

Saturday's ride.

The ride started off well enough. There were steady winds but nothing to complain about. I made it to Manotick, rode along Mitch Owens Road to Manotick Station Road, and got on Osgoode Trail. But as I reached Osgoode, my butt was beginning to ache. This was unusual, as I can generally ride more than 50K before my saddle begins to get to me, and I was only about halfway done my ride.

Making my way to the Rideau River, my lower back was also beginning to ache. The wind had picked up, but again, I knew that I could usually handle it.

Halfway between Kars and Manotick, I started to worry. My shoulders were aching and my lower back was really becoming a problem. I started standing on my pedals, lifting my butt off the seat. And about a kilometre or so south of Manotick, I stopped along the side of the road and called DW.

"How are you feeling?" I asked her. Just a couple of hours before I received my second shot, DW had received her jab. We are now fully vaccinated, both with one shot of AZ and another of Pfizer mRNA.

"Fine," she said, "how are you?"

"Not fine," I said. "I'm getting aches all over. I don't think I can make it home."

"Where are you?"

"I'm just south of Manotick. I'm sure that I can make it there but I don't want to go further. I'll meet you at the Morning Owl Café."

"Is this your way of getting me to come out for a treat?"

By the time I reached the café, they were minutes away from closing. In order to minimize the cleaning they would have to do after serving me, I ordered a lemonade. I sat on one of their picnic tables, outside and next to my bike, and watched for DW's arrival. I was still aching but after being off my bike, I wasn't as sore.

Total ride distance: 40.94 kms.

When we got home, I showered and felt a bit achy, but not too bad. We ordered Chinese food and I watched an episode of The Expanse in my bedroom while DW and the kids watched Drag Race Down Under in our family room. Sometime after the second episode started, I fell asleep.

DW woke me up about a half hour later and suggested we go for a walk. I was feeling better and so far, she felt no effects from the vaccine, apart from a sore arm. I grabbed my camera and we drove to Britannia Beach, where we watched the sunset. (Photos coming for Wordless Wednesday.)

That evening, I went to bed with a sore arm that is still annoying me at the time of writing. But DW didn't fare as well. All night long, she tossed and turned, had chills, aches, and a headache. Several times in the night, she'd accidentally smack me in the face, waking me. But she awoke, Sunday morning, feeling somewhat better.

We're both vaxxed, and that's a load off our minds. Three out of four of us have received both shots, with our oldest kid waiting to be eligible for her next jab (our youngest got her shots because she was volunteering at a dental office).

This doesn't mean we're invincible. We will still want to keep our distance from strangers and wear a mask in public. But it does mean that we can see the light at the end of this very long tunnel.

And I'm back on my bike, later today.

The Next Eclipse

I've already added it to my calendar, with a reminder one week before; another reminder, one day before.

Ottawa, Monday, April 8, 2024.

I didn't put my neutral density (ND) filter on my lens. I wasn't worried about burning out the sensors on my D-SLRs, as I was when I photographed the solar eclipse, in 2017. After all, I've photographed countless sunrises and sunsets, without risk to my cameras. This sunrise was going to be partially blocked by the moon.

When I had used the ND filter, it had turned the blue sky to a night black, and I didn't want that in my photo. I had chosen a spot to shoot it where there was a lovely skyline, with the National Gallery of Canada and Notre Dame Cathedral providing an easily recognizable silhouette.

Shoot the photos, I told myself; edit them later.

I knew that the sun would be blown out, but I could use highlight recovery in post-processing.

I was wrong.

While I've always been able to claw back overexposed regions of RAW files, the sun was just too powerful, even being partially shaded by the moon.

When I composed a photo with my hand-held camera, I'd look through the viewfinder but never at the sun. I'm not stupid. I'd start wide, find the cathedral or the dome of the gallery's great hall, and focus on them. I'd then zoom in and recompose. Even out of the corner of my eye, I could see the clear crescent of the sun, but I wouldn't fix my gaze to it. I'd snap my photo and then lower the camera. I'd close my eye to let it settle down: even though I didn't look at the sun, the brightness in the viewfinder was considerable.

What I should have done was to mount the ND filter onto my D750, which was mounted on my tripod. I could have taken one shot, with the full ND setting. Immediately after, I could dial the variable filter to a clearer setting and then reshot the same scene.

In post-production, I could merge the two shots.

Because no matter what I did, post-production, with my single photo, I could not bring anything back from the sun.

This is the best I could get (which is pretty bad).

At lease I captured some great pre-sunrise shots, which for me were better than the eclipse itself. Like when you go to a concert and the opening act out-shines the headliners.

At least, for myself, I was able to see the eclipse.

The next time, in 2024, I'll do things differently. I'll put the ND filter on the lens and take a series of shots, creating an HDR effect for the final photo. I've got time to work that out.

In the meantime, I have to decide where I'll stand to take the total eclipse shots.

Happy Friday!

Beer O'Clock: Losing Sight of IPAs

I initially planned to make this rant for my Brown Knowser YouTube channel, but I didn't think anyone would want to watch a middle-aged man (almost senior) ramble on about beer without actually reviewing one. Though, I will touch on the subject in an upcoming Beer O'Clock review and I may have more to say in further reviews.

The first India Pale Ale (IPA) that I drank was in The Olde Angel Inn, in Niagara-on-the-Lake, about 25 years ago. My good friend and future brewmaster, Perry Mason, and I were enjoying some beer after a day of volunteering at a wine event—it was our mutual love of wine that brought us together, a couple of years earlier, but beer had been a passion of Perry's for decades before then. Perry ordered beer for both of us, because I knew nothing beyond the pedestrian Labatt's and Molson brews, and they are what had me turn to wine in the first place.

Perry started us off with an English bitter but we then moved on to an IPA. An IPA, Perry said, is what you drink when you don't plan to go to any other style. The bitter hops, he said, will kill your tastebuds for anything else: the same principle as drinking a meaty red shiraz after a gewürztraminer. You'd never be able to taste the fruity white wine.

Perry explained to me that an IPA was developed in the 1700s as a way to preserve a beer in order to survive the long voyage from the UK to the colonies in India. Though the colour is a deep amber or copper, it was paler than stouts and porters.

It was the hops that preserved the beer, Perry explained, and it was also the hops that gave an IPA its bitterness, and its pine and grapefruit-like flavour.

Years later, when Perry created his own microbrewery, the Scotch-Irish Brewing Company, he started with his favourite British-styled ale, a session ale, and then later made his Sgt. Major IPA. It was a huge success for the brewery and became the benchmark for all future IPAs that I've consumed.

Tasty, but not an IPA.

Fast-forward to today, when just about every hopped-up beer is tagged with the famous initials. We have West Coast IPAs; East Coast IPAs; North East IPAs; New England IPAs; session IPAs; black IPAs; milkshake IPAs.

I'm waiting for the day that someone advertises a lagered IPA, and that's when I'll lose it.

IPAs now range in colour, from the traditional, clear copper-amber to hazy, unfiltered versions. There are cloudy versions that look like orange juice. There are IPAs that, mixed with blueberries, have a purple hue. There are cola-coloured IPAs.

The 'pale' element in IPA doesn't seem to fit.

Terms like 'West Coast,' 'East Coast,' and 'New England' make me wonder how India fits into the equation.

Don't get me wrong: I love the flavour profiles of these ales. The tropical aromas and ripe fruity flavours have me craving more. I enjoy the espresso notes of the black ales. I have ordered more of these beers for home delivery, since the pandemic, than any other style of beer.

But they are not IPAs. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I'm sure that they are ales, brewed at room temperature, but the A in IPA is the only thing that these creations can boast. Depending on their colour, they can sometimes claim to be pale. Blueberry and black IPAs aren't pale.

Unfiltered, but otherwise classic.

It's getting to a point that I roll my eyes every time I see a new release from a brewery with IPA stamped on the label. A few months ago, when I ordered an IPA from a west-end brewery, I was pleasantly surprised when I poured a clear, amber ale into my glass and was met by pine and grapefruit rind. It was a classic English IPA.

I shouldn't be surprised this way. I should be surprised when I pour something that is labelled an IPA but looks and tastes like a creamsicle.

(Again, I love ales with added lactose, so I'm not bashing the brews themselves.)

I have an appeal to brewers: please stop calling your creations an IPA if it's not an IPA. Just stop.

Take the I out, at the very least. Leave India out of it. If your ale is hazy, don't call it a pale ale. Call it a 'haze ale' or 'cloud ale.' And, if your ale is black, call it 'black ale' or 'dark ale.' Black and pale are very different.

I'm not one for overregulation, but there needs to be clear distinctions in the styles of beer that we all enjoy. Germany has its clarity law. A sparkling wine cannot be called 'champagne' unless it comes from that French region.

When you make a hoppy beer and call it an IPA, it should resemble that iconic, 18th-century style. I should be able to see IPA on a can and not be surprised when I open it up and pour the contents into my glass.

Because as soon as you call everything an IPA, nothing is an IPA.

Reflections from the Driveway

Mango Mulata

I was sure that we had an unopened bottle of lemonade, one of those giant Kirkland brand that they sell as a two-pack at Costco. I was sure that someone in the family had carried the bottle up from the basement and set it on the kitchen island.

I had already added the ice and alcohol to my glass and would be damned if I let it go to waste. Four ounces of booze was going to be used, somehow.

In the fridge, we had a jug of mango nectar, also from Costco. Would this make a decent substitute for lemonade?

A couple of years ago, I posted a recipe for my version of a cocktail that I had when the family and I were in sunny Cuba. It was a lemon-based drink that featured Kahlua and dark rum, and an 'elixir' that I could never determine. It's called a mulata.

When I tried to replicate the cocktail, I ended up making something different but that captures the essence of the cool summer drink. I ended up calling it the Brownfoot Mulata.

So, here I was, with a 20-ounce pint glass, filled with ice, one ounce of Kahlua, two ounces of dark rum, and another ounce of Malibu coconut rum. All I had to do was add the lemonade and stir; only, I found myself without the lemonade.

So I filled the glass with mango nectar, instead. And a new drink was born: the mango mulata.

Creamy and sweet, with traces of coffee and coconut, this spiked beverage was magical. Give it a try.

I later learned that DD18, who went to an outdoor get-together with her friend (both wore masks and kept a safe distance, even though both are fully vaccinated), took the lemonade with her.

Lemon or mango, both drinks are going to make this summer cooler.

Mango mulata

• 20-oz glass, filled with ice
• 2 oz dark rum
• 1 oz coconut rum
• 1 oz Kahlua
• fill remainder of glass with mango nectar (for a Brownfoot mulata, use lemonade) and stir

Cheers!

Travel Wish List

When I started my latest virtual challenge, the Ring Road in Iceland, I didn't know a lot about this northern country. It was the land of fire and ice, with volcanoes and geysers, snow and icebergs.

A few years ago, there was a now-forgotten airline that offered $99 flights from Montreal to London, UK, with a 24-hour layover in Reykjavik, and I thought that was a tempting offer. Of course, I never took advantage of the offer and Iceland just became one of those places that I though would someday be a nice place to visit.

When the Ring Road virtual challenge had me setting out from Iceland's capital city, I hopped on my spin bike and fired up my television, watching YouTube videos of things to see and do in Reykjavik. After a couple of those, I watched videos where people had actually travelled the Ring Road, renting camper vans and staying at the many camp spots along the way.

DW joined me as I watched these videos and worked out. When a video would end, she would search YouTube for another. She found a video about things to know if you decide to travel the Ring Road and camp. She found a video that promoted a rental company and showed the differences between the various camper vans that were available, and which ones were the best.

We were captivated by Iceland's rugged and varying landscape. Iceland is a beautiful country. We learned that all of the rivers offer potable water, and you can save money on bottled water by simply stopping at a flowing river and taking a drink. We learned that many campsites are close to some of the most beautiful sites in the country and cost very little to stay at.

We've started making a list of places to travel, once the pandemic ends. So far, only the first one is booked, but the second one is already planned for.

• February, 2022: Mexico
• Fall, 2022: Belgium, The Netherlands, and Germany
• 2023: Scotland (possibly, England, too)
• 2024: Italy (Amalfi Coast)
• 2025: Iceland's Ring Road

What about you? What is your travel wish list for when the pandemic is over?

For now, I'll continue my virtual journey, learning as much as I can about Iceland.

Eclipsed

"I've been waiting for this moment my entire life."

I don't know why the television commercial for the Bank of Montreal (BMO) eclipse Visa Infinite card bothers me as much as it does, but it does all the same. I mean, there's this guy and his friend who go to a park to watch a solar eclipse for what appears to be the guy's first time. He's clearly excited to catch this celestial phenomenon.

And out of nowhere, there's a banker behind a desk (played by the funny and talented Lamorne Morris, from New Girl) who tries to interest the couple in a credit card that goes by the name, eclipse (with a lowercase E). And while he distracts them with his sales pitch, the couple miss the solar eclipse.

"You saw the only eclipse you need," is what the banker says, not sorry for depriving the poor man of an event he had been waiting his whole life to see.

Anyway, the ad bugs me. Why can't the banker simply wait for the solar eclipse to pass, and then plug his card?

I wasn't expecting to get up to photograph yesterday's solar eclipse. It was coinciding with the moonrise, which was also happening just before sunrise, in Ottawa, at 5:15. At that hour, I was expecting to be in bed, sound asleep.

I wasn't waiting my whole life for this event. After all, I had captured the last partial eclipse, a few years ago, and while the event was interesting to watch, I wasn't overly impressed with my photos, which show a black sky with a hazy crescent sun.

But when one of my colleagues asked me about it, I thought that at the very least, I should go out and capture a sunrise—something I haven't done since May of last year.

I searched for a spot close to home so that I wouldn't have to get up before 4:30, and I thought of the Vimy Memorial Bridge, which is less than 10 minutes from me. But when I used the Photographer's Ephemeris app to check where the sun would be rising, I didn't think I had the best vantage if I wanted to include the arches of the bridge.

I then thought of somewhere on the Ottawa River, close to downtown, and I considered setting up at the Chaudière Falls, but I was worried that the safety barriers that protect visitors could be a hinderance. I also knew that there has been ongoing construction in the area and wasn't sure if I could safely park my car there.

Next, I considered going to Green Island, between the Rideau Falls, and using the Commonwealth Air Force Memorial statue as a backdrop. But I worried that the trees, which are behind the memorial, might be too close and that by the time the sun cleared them, the maximum point of the eclipse would have been reached.

I went to bed, that night, thinking that I would give Green Island a try, anyway, and see if I could get some good shots. But my doubts kept me awake, and it wasn't until about 1:30 that I thought of the perfect spot: the Portage Bridge.

I awoke at 4:00 and quickly dressed. My camera gear was packed and waiting by the front door. All had looked like I had made it out of the house without waking anyone, until I sat in the car and inadvertently set off the alarm (my sincerest of apologies to any neighbour that I woke up).

When I reached the middle of the bridge, between Victoria Island and the Québec shores, I set up my Nikon D750 on a tripod, with my 24–70mm lens, and composed a view that included Parliament Hill, the National Gallery, and Notre Dame Cathedral, with the Ottawa River below.

Next, I set up my Insta360 One R on a monopod and started recording the whole scene in Time Lapse mode. It would continue to record while I captured stills.

Finally, I had my D7200 with a 70–300 lens, set to a high enough ISO so that I could shoot without a tripod.

I was set up by 4:45, which gave me a half an hour to capture pre-sunrise shots and make any changes to my setup, with plenty of time to kill.

I was glad that I arrived when I did. Clouds hung low in the east and cast a myriad of colours as the sun approached from behind the horizon. For me, this sky eclipsed the main event.

I hadn't waited my whole life for this moment, but I was glad I didn't miss it. I'll share more about the actual eclipse, next week.

Happy Friday!

I Knew She Was Right for Me When...

As a small kid, I could never sit still for a camera. I always wanted to ham it up.

The first time that I introduced DW (then, my girlfriend) to some of my closest friends was at a wedding, in Kingston, in 1991. It was the first time all of us had been together in more than five years, since we graduated from high school, so I wanted to get a group shot. And because my friends had also fallen in love with DW, they insisted that she be included in the shot.

She just couldn't sit still for the camera.

Happy Thursday!

Sunset in May

From Germany to Iceland

Near the end of the road.

I haven't been this active since the mid 90s.

Back then, DW and I worked in the Merivale Mall, where there was a Y gym. In the mornings, before work, we would go for a step class or get on a bike for an hour. Sometimes, we'd join a fitness class after work.

But we wouldn't do it every day or even every other day. At most, we'd hit the gym two or three days a week, and back then, that was enough for our late-twenties–early thirties bodies. We weren't battling any bulges but we were maintaining our slim selves.

Having a gym so close to work was a great motivator to be active. We were either already heading to the mall—we just had to get up a bit earlier—or we were already at the mall and just had to go upstairs, to the gym.

When we moved to Korea for a couple of years, our diet became much healthier and we got plenty of exercise from walking around our city and exploring mountainous temples and other sites on the weekends. It wasn't until our second year, when I spoke enough Korean that I could pick up the phone and order pizzas for delivery that my weight started to pile on.

My belly has been expanding since we've returned to Canada and especially since I've become a craft-beer aficionado. We had returned to the gym for spin classes but that eventually petered out over the years. Before the pandemic, we would swim once or twice each week and would join the odd spin class.

But this year, I've been more active since those days when we were regular members of the Merivale Mall Y. And I owe it to my virtual challenges.

To date, I've completed 2,949.5 kilometres in three challenges: the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage, the Lands End to John o' Groats trek, and the Romantic Road journey. Using The Conqueror Virtual Challenges app, I've been prompted to continue moving, whether by foot, by bike (spin and road), or by kayaking to keep ahead of a virtual pace car. My love of travel allows me to explore these places (Spain, England, Scotland, and Germany) through Google Maps, and make plans to do some real travelling when the pandemic ends.

Today, I start my latest virtual challenge, which takes me to Iceland and the Ring Road trail, which will add another 1,332.5 kms to my activity.

The app keeps me motivated. The routes cost less than a monthly gym membership fee.

I know that these routes are not sustainable. I won't do them all—especially the routes that are shorter than the Romantic Road. I'm looking for longer routes that have a street view on Google Maps. And I'm not interested in visiting the United States, even if it's virtually.

I've suggested that they create a trans-Canada route, and I'll be one of the first to sign up for it. If not, I may create my own, but somehow I think it won't be the same. We'll see.

But for now, I leave my German route and start in Iceland, and from there, who knows?

Spin v. Road

Without a doubt, if given the opportunity to cycle on my road bike or on my spin bike, the choice is very simple: I'd choose the road bike every time.

But this choice brings some pros and cons, and because I've spent a lot of time on both, this year, with my virtual challenges, I've given a lot of thought to each and have started wondering, have I chosen the right exercise vehicle?

Of course, the biggest advantage of the spin bike is that it's an all-weather machine. Snow, rain, wind, and extreme heat and humidity are not a factor. My bedroom is always dry and mild. I don't have to contend with the elements. And, as an added bonus, I can watch TV while I spin.

But on a beautiful day, nothing beats being outdoors. Fresh air, mixed with the beauty of the scenery (living in Ottawa, there's no shortage of scenic beauty). However, with spring cycling, the pollen in the air is the cost of taking in the blossoming beauty, and I have to remember to take allergy meds before I hit the road, lest I suffer for hours afterwards.

(Sadly, I've forgotten the meds far too many times this season.)

I've mapped out a couple of routes that have become my staples, depending on how far I want to peddle. I have a 29-kilometre route (left image, below), which I typically take most mornings when I don't want to spend much more than an hour on the road, before work. I also have a 50-km route (centre image, below), which I take on weekends, when I have a bit more time in the morning. And I've plotted a 40K route (right image, below) for those in-between days, when 29 klicks don't seem like enough and 50 seem too long.

The 40-km route may become my standard route. It's basically my 29K route with an extra 11 kilometres that take me further south, on First Line Road, to Kars, and north, on Rideau Valley Road, back to Manotick.

(Actually, all of my routes include elements of the 29K route.)

These routes take me on country roads to the south and west of my neighbourhood and are very scenic. But in parts, they involve a bit of risk, as some speed limits are 80 km/h and some drivers see that as a minimum. Some of these roads aren't in the best of shape, with either no paved shoulder or where the shoulder is so broken up that I'm forced to cycle on the road.

Some roads have no shoulder and are so broken up on the edge that I have to move out into the middle of the road.

On my spin bike, I never have to make a lane change, never have to check behind me for approaching cars or faster cyclists. I don't have to deal with flat tires (I've had enough of those over the years, with the latest blowout stopping me last week). The biggest risk I face indoors is if a cat gets into the room and tries to get close to me. (I've accidentally hit two of our cats with my pedals, as they've dashed under me faster than I could come to a stop.)

The important thing for me to remember is that no matter whether I use my road bike or my spin bike, I'm getting lots of exercise—more than I've ever had in a six-month period.

Spin bike or road bike. Either way, I'm moving forward.

Parting Shot

When I want to take a sunset photo, there are only a few places that I consider but almost all of them are along the Ottawa River.

Of course, I'd love to be on a tropical beach for sunset, but this Ottawa lad is being realistic.

My go-to place tends to be Andrew Haydon Park, where Holly Acres Road meets Carling Avenue, nestled between the neighbourhoods of Bayshore and Lakeview Park. I always park in the east parking lot, as close to the eastern path as possible. From there, it's a short walk to the eastern pond, where, in my opinion, is the best place to capture sunset.

There are beautiful trees on the opposite banks of this pond, and a wooden windmill turns effortlessly in the breeze that blows in from the river. They cast a perfect silhouette and reflection.

Last Sunday, after dinner, I grabbed my two D-SLRs and headed to this park to capture the sunset. I've barely snapped any sunset photos all year—save for a couple on my smartphone and one evening in January. And, since January, this was the first time that I had specifically set out to capture the sunset.

Expectedly, the park was busy, but not so busy that I could keep my distance from others. And, once off the path, by the side of the pond, no one was near me and I felt I could take my mask off.

Also, as expected, the view was beautiful and the lighting promised for great sunset shots. I'll share those, next Wednesday, as they aren't the focus of my Photo Friday.

As soon as the sun dropped below the treetops across the river, I made my way back to the car. Though I had brought my tripod to the site, I wasn't planning to take any blue-hour photos, especially because the bugs were out and were likely to be hungry.

I'm a mosquito magnet.

As I crossed a small footbridge to get to the parking lot, I looked back toward the fading light and saw the windmill through the dense growth of trees, still glowing in warm light. I took one last parting shot.

Happy Friday!

First Vacation

It's a long way away, but it's our light at the end of the tunnel.

Both DW and I have received our first dose of the vaccine against COVID-19 and I'm hoping that I will soon have my second jab. This is the first step to returning to normalcy, though I imagine that we'll still be maintaining social distancing and wearing face masks around those who have not been fully vaccinated or the vulnerable for some time yet.

But we're hopeful that life will soon return to normal, and that includes travel.

Our 2020 vacation to Belgium, the Netherlands, and Germany was cancelled early into the pandemic, but DW and I are determined to make it happen in the autumn of 2022, preferably with the same destinations and accommodations that we had painstakingly arranged for last year's vacation. But we want to travel as soon as it's safe to do so, and that means looking for another place in the interim.

DW's and my last big vacation, together, was to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary, in 2019, when we headed south, for a week on the Mayan Riviera. It was the best vacation that we had taken in many years, if not a decade.

And it was just the two of us.

We still talk about it with such fondness and we often find ourselves re-watching the video that we made during that trip. For us, it's 10 minutes that puts us back into that restful state that we felt after a day of exploring, when we relaxed near the pool or on the beach, sipping margaritas.

Ahh...

Ever since we've returned from that vacation, DW has been watching for deals in Mexico, hoping to relive the magic of that trip. Of course, COVID got in the way.

But now that we're on the road to being vaccinated, now that a return to normal is moving closer, DW has started looking for deals again. And she's found a few.

And so, next February, if all continues to look like the pandemic will be under control, we're returning to the Mayan Riviera.

At first, DW was looking at a deal for an all-inclusive resort on the island of Cozumel, but I told her that I wanted to be free to explore on the mainland, and that I didn't want to be confined to an island. We did that, in 2017, in Cuba, and I didn't want to do that again, even though Cuba and Mexico are very different countries.

I loved where we stayed in 2019, at the Bahai Principe Luxury Akumal resort. The staff was fabulous, there was so much to do, and we were also able to rent a car so that we could explore on our own. Watch the video to get an idea of our adventures.

I told DW that while I didn't want to do everything that we did in 2019, I did want to explore the Yucatan Peninsula. I wanted to explore more cenotes and I wanted to do a day trip to Chichén Itzá, where I went in 1989 on my very first trip to Mexico. And we both wanted the opportunity to swim with sea turtles again.

So DW found a deal for a highly rated resort in Akumal, on the very beach where we swam with the sea turtles. After showing me some online information about the resort, I said, "Book it!"

We have free cancellation, in case the pandemic gains ground again. But our trip is far enough that we're hoping it won't come to that.

We're looking forward to travelling again and this first vacation since the March 2020 lockdown. Next up, we start rebooking our trip to Europe. I've even looked into 2023, when we may travel the UK, and 2024, when we may return to Italy.

Oh, there's that travel bug again!

Nine-Year-Old Goofball