Beer O'Clock: Pub House Ale

Summer's here and I crave a patio.

I'm still a bit shy when it comes to pubs. I'm still not keen on sitting indoors without a mask, nor do I want to be in an enclosed space among strangers who are also mask-free.

To get me into a pub, I need to be at a large patio with lots of space and a mild breeze that is blowing away from me. And in truth, summer is all about sitting on a patio, drinking a refreshing, cool beverage.

When I think of summer beverages, I tend to reach for beer that has a lighter yet flavourful body. I love saisons and session ales, but I really like a good German-style Kölsch.

One very good Kölsch comes from a Peterborough brewing company and begs to be sipped on a patio, on a hot summer day.

Pub House Ale (4.8% ABV, 21.5 IBUs)
Publican House Brewery
Peterborough ON

Appearance: a slightly unfiltered apricot-gold with a fizzy white head that settles to a fine lace and then disappears altogether. Lots of effervescence continues, leaving fine pearls on the sides of the glass.

Nose: minerals and candied apricot.

Palate: flint, mild hops, and subtle, dried fruit. The finish is clean, with very little aftertaste apart from the flint.

Overall impression: for me, this is what I think of when I think Kölsch. It's light, with a mineral and fruit flavour that quenches my thirst and cleans my palate. It's a summer beverage that I could drink all day long.

I just need to find the right patio to make it perfect.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺🍺

I don't know if Pub House Ale is available on tap but if you know of a pub in Ottawa that serves it and has a patio, let me know. You can find this Kölsch at the LCBO, in The Beer Store, and at participating grocery stores (I found it at my local Farm Boy).

Cheers!

Blue Hour at Remic Rapids

The Old Ride

I know nothing about bikes.

Nothing, that is, except how to ride one, how to keep the tires inflated and replace a tube, and how to put the chain back on if it falls off. Anything besides those simple maintenance tasks and I'm lost. I don't even know the proper name of some of the components of my road bike.

A couple of weeks ago, while I was on a long ride, my chain started rubbing against a part that was connected to the front shift mechanism of my bike (wait a second: let me look it up... ah, yes, the front derailleur... I should have known that). I pulled over, manually pulled on the derailleur until the chain was no longer rubbing, and continued.

But a short time later, the chain started rubbing again. I tried switching gears to the small chainring (yes, I had to look up chainring), and that seemed to help, so I continued on my merry way, only using the gears that would accommodate this chainring.

When I arrived home, I was able to move the front derailleur some more and, after circling around my street, shifting back and forth between the large and small chainring without issue, considered the problem solved.

A week ago, I went on another ride. I have a June challenge from Garmin to complete 400 kilometres over the month. Usually, that's not a difficult challenge because last year, I was easily riding at least 150 to 200 kilometres per week. But with our weather this month, with the rain and the gusting winds, I haven't been outside as often as I would like.

I try to keep active by riding on my spin bike, at home, when the weather is disagreeable, but spin rides don't count toward my Garmin challenge. I don't know why my Connect app won't let that happen.

My 56K ride.

Anyway, to make up for the lost time, I had planned to ride about 80K on this ride. But as I approached the 25K mark, my left pedal felt a bit loose, so I pulled over. As I tried to unclip my foot from the pedal, the entire left crank arm (checks Google... yup, that's what it's called) came off.

I almost did a Joe Biden.

Luckily, I carry some small tools with me so I was able to re-attach the arm and continue on my way. However, I only got another 11 kms into my ride when the crank arm felt loose again. I pulled over, in front of The Swan on the Rideau restaurant, and tightened the crank arm again.

My bike is 11 years old and I feared that metal fatigue might be setting in to various parts. I've ridden a lot over the past year or so: moreso than I had ridden in the previous 10 years, combined.

I shortened my ride to only 56K, deciding from The Swan to cycle straight home.

When I got home, I inspected the crank arm and could see no discernable cracks or signs of wear. I had some heavier-duty tools, was able to better-tighten the crank arm, and thought I might have solved the problem. I would go for another ride and see how my bike handled.

Last Friday, I had the day off because I work in Québec and it was Saint-Jean Baptist Day. It was a beautiful day to have off, as it was sunny and the winds were mild. I thought I would do my usual 40K loop, down to Kars and back, passing through Manotick. If my bike seemed fine, I thought I might go even further.

My 61K ride.

When I reached Kars, my bike felt fine and I felt great, so I thought I'd try a new route, continuing south, through Kars, all the way to the Baxter Conservation Area. From there, I took Dilworth Road to Fourth Line Road, up to North Gower, and then back to Kars, along Roger Stevens Drive, up Rideau Valley Drive to Manotick, and then home.

For the record, I don't like Dilworth or Fourth Line, south of North Gower. The pavement is in bad shape, with lots of potholes, and there's no paved shoulder. I won't ride it again, though I may ride to the Baxter Conservation Area, and then just turn around. My bike was shaken badly.

It was between Manotick and home that my crank arm came loose again. But this time, the chain also began to rub against the front derailleur, and my bike automatically shifted from the large chainring to the small. And, when I looked down to assess what was going on and try to shift back to the large chainring, the entire crankset seemed to be sliding out of the frame.

I left the chain in the small ring, and the bike seemed to like that, so I left it there. I was able to make it home in one piece after covering 61 kms.

I don't know anything about repairing bikes so I'll be taking it in to the store where I bought it. I've made an appointment and will be staying off it until it comes back to me, good as new.

In the meantime, I still need to get more than 90 kms under my belt by the end of Thursday, in order to meet my Garmin challenge. So I've dusted off my old bike, a hybrid bike. I've cleaned and oiled the chain. I've pumped up the tires. I've moved my lights, phone holder, and water-bottle cage from my road bike. I've given it a test ride around my block.

It's much heavier than my road bike. I sit higher and the handlebars are upright. It has shock absorbers in the front fork and in the seat stem, so it's a cushier ride. But I had used it the first time that I rode the Rideau Lakes Cycle Tour and I had used it to cycle from Barrhaven to the Champlain Lookout, in Gatineau, and back.

It's a workhorse, so I'm hopeful that it's up to the task.

Wish me luck.

The Long Ride

The end came as a surprise.

Of course, I could see how many kilometres I had ahead of me after each day, when I plugged my numbers into The Conqueror Virtual Challenges app, but I tend to focus on how far I've come, not how far there is to go. But as the percentage of completion hit the mid 90s, I could see that the end was near.

After 136 days and 3,513.1 kilometres (that point-one is important!), I finally crossed the finish line in my virtual Great Wall challenge. This was the second-longest trek that I've taken in these virtual tours but somehow felt like it was the longest. Perhaps it's because there weren't many Google street views along the journey and it would seem like a long period between sites that I could actually see where I was.

It would have been nice to see some of the towns, villages, mountains, and desert landscapes along the way. The satellite images often weren't very clear when I zoomed in and I could rarely see the actual wall from above.

And I thought you could see it from space!

When I learned, on the last day of the challenge, that I only had to complete 32.8 kilometres, I was surprised that it was such a short way. So far, this year, I've been typically riding my bike for 42 kms or longer. For the past few weeks, I've been walking for about eight to 10 kms each day, usually marching on the spot, in front of my desk, during office meetings.

Finishing the final stretch was easy; though, when I finished my walk, after a short spin bike ride, and plugged in my numbers, I found that I was 100 metres shy of the finish line and had to walk some more.

This challenge was my eighth since I started them, in January of 2021. In total, these eight challenges represent 12,773.1 kms (again, the point-one matters!) of travel by bike, on foot, by swimming, and by kayak.

And I'm not done.

The very next day, I started my next virtual challenge. It's a short one, at only 299.4 kms, and is a trail that DW and I have actually taken: the Cabot Trail around Cape Breton Island.

We didn't cycle it but we did hike along a few trails. We also visited the Alexander Graham Bell historic site, which is the starting point for this challenge. For the most part, we drove it in our 1980 Datsun 200SX. On the way, we had to fix a broken muffler, loosen a seized brake, and pull over and wait for an RCMP police car to turn around and catch us (I'll share that story soon. Maybe, when I reach that same point along the virtual trail).

I've also been on part of the Cabot Trail when I was in grade 10, as part of a band trip.

I've planned for 14 days to complete this trek but given the pace that I kept for the Great Wall, I could be done in a week. Stay tuned.

Friday Fiction: Fatal Attraction

The following passage is a rough-draft excerpt from my upcoming novel, Gyeosunim, the sequel to Songsaengnim: A Korea Diary. Be warned that there are spoilers and you may be missing some context. Passages are in no particular order and are subject to change.

Thursday, July 23, 1998

“Hello, Lolan-duh, I am Shin-hye. Do you know my mind? I am thinking of you: do you ever think of me? Give me a sign.”

The soft female voice was prefaced with slow, melodramatic music that carried on for about ten seconds before the message ended. An automated assistant let me know that I had no further messages: “Deo isang mesijiga eobsseubnida.”

It was my student, Yi Shin-hye. All week, she had visited me in my office, mid-morning, before the other teachers and I had ordered lunch. She always brought a box, wrapped in a scented, cloth napkin, with kimbap or some other dish that she had made for me. There was always more than I could eat in a sitting, and she always wanted to watch me take the first bite, to see me smile and hear me say “majhi-sahyo–delicious.” It was not an exaggeration: her cooking was delicious.

But how had she managed to get my pager number?

It didn’t take me long to figure it out. She had obtained it today.

“I have someone who wants to learn English privately,” Ashley said, “but I’m completely booked.” We were sitting at our desks, speaking freely. Unlike when I taught at Kwon’s hagwon, teaching privately, though still illegal and could get you deported, was not a secret among the teachers, and the university didn’t care as long as it didn’t interfere with your work.

“Just don’t get caught by authorities,” Chul-won had once told us. “It takes a lot of time and effort to replace you.”

“Are you available on Tuesday afternoons?" continued Ashley. "This student wants to study during his lunch break. I think he said between 12:30 and 1:30. I’ve asked Raymond but he has a class at one.”

I had no classes between eleven and three, so I told Ashley that I’d meet with the student.

Ashley gathered his books and papers, and started heading out of the office for his next class. “Great. Just put your pager number on a piece of paper and I’ll pass it on.”

“I can do better than that,” I said, producing a business card from my coat pocket and leaving it on his desk.

“Great, I’ll pass it along. Oh, and it looks like your lunch has arrived.” His head nodded just behind me. I turned and found Shin-hye standing behind me, another decorative napkin-wrapped around a lunchbox. Her eyes had fallen on the business card but immediately turned to meet mine as I greeted her.

“I bring you japchae,” she said. Though her spoken English was very good, her grammar sometimes slipped.

“You mean, ‘I brought you japchae,’” I corrected. “Shin-hye, this is very generous of you but you really don’t have to make me lunch every day. You obviously put a lot of work into it and I’m sure your time can be better spent.”

“It is my pleasure,” she said, smiling. “I make japchae for my lunch, too. I make enough for the both of us.”

Again, I corrected her grammar.

“I made it without mushrooms," she repeated. I remembered that you don’t like mushrooms.”

Earlier in the week, we had a lesson about likes and dislikes, where students would practice saying all of the things that they liked and disliked. I like studying English but I dislike studying for exams. I like travelling but I dislike taking long bus rides. I led the class with an example of my own, before going around to each student. “I like pizza but I dislike eating mushrooms on it.”

“Gyeosunim,” said Kim Jung-eun, “you don’t like mushrooms?”

“Correct,” I said. “When I order from Heim Pizza, I like the Supreme pizza but I always have to say, “Possot, beggo. No mushrooms.”

“You can speak Korean and order pizza on the telephone?” That question was followed by gasps and murmurings of approval.

“Yes.” My answer brought applause and I made a grand bow. “Kim Jung-eun, what do you like?”

“I like speaking English with you but I dislike being late for exams.” He still hadn’t forgiven himself for his midterm oral exam fiasco, even though he received a perfect score on the makeup assignment that I had given him, minus the penalty, and he had excelled in the final half of the course. The final exam was coming next week and I was sure that he was prepared. And because the exam was to be held in class, during our regular time, I knew that he wouldn’t be late. He had never missed a single class.

It was nearing the end of July and the end of the term. Students would be away for the month of August, though we teachers would still be working. We would be spending much of the month tutoring Korean teachers, much like I had done, last December, privately and away from the hagwon. This time, however, I would be paid by the university. In September, I would have new students and a new schedule.

Perhaps, in the last week before the final exams, this was what motivated Shin-hye to bring me lunch. Perhaps she was buttering up her teacher to get good grades. But I doubted that was the case. Like Jung-eun, she was one of my top students with perfect grades. No, I could see in her eyes as she presented her lunchbox, as she watched me take my first bites, that there was an infatuation that went beyond teacher-student boundaries.

I had seen her eyes dart toward Ashley’s desk as I unwrapped the lunchbox from the perfumed napkin. It was the same scent that Shin-hye emitted as she walked by my classroom desk every morning. Her eyes returned to Ashley’s desk as I took my first bite of the glass noodles, chicken, and vegetables. No mushrooms, just like I had said in class.

After receiving my compliments and approval, Shin-hye would leave me in peace, so that I could join the other teachers who were eating lunch at the same time. Cathy and Nelson would tease me for a few seconds, often joking that I had to watch myself, that Shin-hye would become my fatal attraction. I was starting to think that it was no joke.

And now, with this message on my pager service, it really wasn’t a joke. Shin-hye always returned to the office later in the afternoon to collect the empty lunchbox. I was usually away when she did it. And now I knew that this time, when she returned, she had glanced at my business card on Ashley’s desk, had taken the number.

Only one more week, I told myself, and the term would be over. By September, she would have a different teacher and will have forgotten all about me.

***

On Friday, as students poured into my classroom, I pulled Shin-hye aside. “I don’t want you to call my pager anymore, okay?” Since the first message, she had left two more, each longer than the first, each starting with the love-ballad music.

“Oh, Lolan-duh, do you know my mind? I think of you always. You are in my dreams and they are sweet. I think of you as soon as I wake and I can’t wait to see you again. I will be sad when our class ends but hope I can still bring you lunch that I make with love. I love you, Lolan-duh. I will always love you. I want to make you love me, too.”

“Those messages are not appropriate. I am your teacher and only your teacher.” I kept my voice low, hoping that none of the other students could hear us. They didn’t seem to pay any attention, so I was keeping my fingers crossed that it just looked like a teacher answering a student’s question.

“I have a special lunch for you today, Gyeosunim.”

“We’ll talk more then, but I would like today’s lunch to be the last, okay?”

Shin-hye’s face looked sad but I couldn’t help it. I was kicking myself for my stupid remarks on our first day, when we were learning adjectives. Why did I ever call her beautiful?

Today was the final day of class and we would be reviewing lessons from the second half of the term. Next Monday, we would have our exam, and on the following Friday, I would submit the results of the exam and we would take up the answers. And that would be it.

One week. I only had to survive one week.

***

More kimbap for lunch. But in the centre of each roll, a piece of ham was cut in the shape of a heart. A huge smile swept across Shin-hye's face and her eyes never left mine. I accepted Shin-hye’s lunchbox but I also escorted her toward the door. “I’m going to eat this outside. Come with me. We need to talk.”

Around the back side of the Languages building was a narrow path that ran the length of the building. A steep slope ran down to a sports field and about midway down the building, stairs led down toward the Student Union building. My office looked out onto the path and a bench that was shaded by a large maple tree. The bench backed onto the slope and faced the path and it also faced toward the windows into my office. I chose this bench so that the teachers could witness my interaction with Shin-hye without being able to hear us. I opened the box of kimbap. I had brought an extra pair of chopsticks–a set of metal sticks from my desk–and offered her the bamboo chopsticks that she had provided in the lunchbox. We were going to share this final lunch.

“Shin-hye, you are a great student and you have worked very hard in my class, but I have no other feelings for you.”

“I love you.”

“What do you think is going to happen between us? I am your teacher for one more week. I won’t see you again during the August break. In September, you’ll have a different teacher. I think you’ll see that it’s the studies that you love, not the teacher.”

“No, I love you. I will always love you. When you go back to Canada, I want you to take me with you. I want you to marry me.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t love you.”

“But you told me I was beautiful.”

And there they were, my words coming back to slap me in the face.

“It was part of the lesson. I’m sorry if you took those words to heart, that you felt there was emotion behind them, but I used them as part of the lesson. I didn’t mean anything by them.”

“I am not beautiful?”

I looked toward my office, tried to determine whether Cathy and Nelson were watching, but the reflection off the glass, mixed with the dancing light through the tree, made it difficult to see inside.

“You are a beautiful young woman, Shin-hye, and you deserve someone who loves you. Someone closer to your own age. I’m not that person.” I held the box of kimbap to her and she took a piece. While she chewed, with her hand shielding her mouth, I could see her eyes turned downward, moving as though she were reading from a page. She was thinking, trying to process my words. I hoped that I was gentle enough, that she would take the rejection with as little hurt as possible.

She swallowed the last bit of food and then turned her eyes to me. “If you will not be my teacher anymore and if you will not marry me, can we have sex?”

“What?”

“I want to do sexy things with you. I never have sex before but I want you to teach me. Be my sex teacher.”

I didn’t bother to take the time in correcting her grammar. “I can’t have sex with you. Never mind that I don’t love you and that you are too young. I’m a teacher. I can’t have sex with a student at the university. It’s against the rules.”

“It can be our secret.”

I handed her the barely eaten lunchbox and stood up. “No, it can’t. This is not appropriate. Good luck with your exams next week, but please do not bring me lunch anymore and do not visit me in the office unless you have any questions about school. I hope I’ve made myself clear, Shin-hye.” Tears welled in her sad eyes but I turned and walked back toward my office without looking back.

I could only hope that she would fall out of love with me as quickly as she had fallen in love.

***

On the weekend, the messages continued: “Do you know my mind? I will never stop loving you. I am a moth and you are my flame. I cannot turn away. I want to be sexy with you. I want to burn up in your embrace. I want you to touch my naked body. I want to touch your naked body. We can go to a motel and make sex all night. I am touching myself now, thinking it is you touching me. Oh, Lolan-duh, do you know my mind?”

I could hear her breathing intensify, could hear her moan, and I pressed the 7 on my phone to end and erase the message. Further pages were deleted as soon as I heard “do you know my mind?” I wished that I could just ignore my pager but because I was expecting a call from the student with whom Ashley had passed on my number, that was out of the question.

Cathy was right. Shin-hye had become a fatal attraction. How far would she go?

Beer O'Clock: Down the Drain

It's rare that I dislike a beer so much that I dump it down the drain. And if I do end up pouring my glass into the sink, I'm certainly not going to review that beer for Beer O'Clock.

I will admit, though, that there are times when I enjoy a beer but cannot finish it, and so I end up wasting some of it down the drain. For example, last week, when I was writing my review of Bellwoods' Jelly King, I was sipping on the contents of my final bottle so that I could ensure that I was getting the right aromas and flavour characteristics that I was detecting (I do this with every beer review) into my blog post.

But because I was planning to go for a bike ride, I didn't want to finish the beer and then hop on my bicycle. With just under half a glass left, I poured the rest into the kitchen sink.

I felt bad but knew that the beer would be flat by the time I would get back to it, so there was no point in keeping it.

But last week, that sour ale wasn't the only thing I dumped that was beer-related. I also got rid of a bunch of beer reviews from my YouTube channel.

For those of you who have been following me for a while, you may remember that a couple of years ago, I stopped writing Beer O'Clock reviews on my blog and started making video reviews for my Brown Knowser vlog. For me, it was fun to sit in front of a camera and crack open a cold brew. Speaking out while I explored the beer almost felt like I wasn't drinking alone.

Over time, however, I learned that viewers weren't going to my video reviews nearly as much as readers went to my written reviews. My kids always told me that my YouTube beer reviews were really goofy, and perhaps the small number of viewers felt that, too.

Fair enough.

On January 16, 2021, I posted my last beer review on YouTube and returned the reviews to my blog. I have no regrets.

But lately, as I've been posting more videos to YouTube, concentrating on my travel and kayaking videos, I noticed how views on those were growing more while the Beer O'Clock videos remained stagnant, garnering no further reviews.

I've learned that videos that don't grow on your channel can actually hurt the overall viewer retention on your channel, thanks to some of the algorithms that YouTube uses. YouTube wants to push viewers to channels that are gaining views, so keeping my beer reviews was hurting my numbers.

And so, last week, I unlisted all of my Beer O'Clock video reviews. Essentially, I poured them down the drain.

Which is kind of a shame, because, like last week's Jelly King review, these are beers worth drinking, not dumping.

I'll have a new review next week.

Random Night

Planning

It really hasn't been that long, in the grand scheme of things. But we still feel out of practice.

The last couple of vacations that DW and I have taken have been pretty simple: we've booked all-inclusive resorts where all we had to do was show up. We stayed in the same place and pretty much did the same thing every day. We'd eat. We'd swim. We'd snorkel. We'd lounge. We'd eat some more.

It may sound boring but it's exactly what we needed. We needed to get away from the house, where we lived and worked, and just forget the stress of the pandemic. That isn't to say we weren't cautious about being near people and not wearing masks when indoors, but we needed to not feel trapped, not feel stuck in limbo.

We felt that we were living again.

Our last time in Europe: Nice, 2014.

But it's been a while since we've taken a trip that required significant planning. The last time that we did that was when we had planned for our trip to Belgium, Germany, and the Netherlands, in 2020. We had booked our airfare, reserved several accommodations, and had planned for rail travel.

We were even going to purchase bikes and cycle from Amsterdam to Bruges, and along the Moselle River, from Koblenz to Trier. When we were done with our rides, we would either sell the bikes or give them away (we had calculated that buying a used bicycle was cheaper than renting for a couple of weeks).

But then the pandemic hit and our plans were postponed indefinitely.

It's only been just over two years since we made those plans but it seems like longer. And now that DW and I are ready to travel to Europe again, we needed to make a checklist of things that needed to get done. It's like for the past two years, our brains have been in a fog and we need to start from scratch.

But we're getting there: flights have been booked. Accommodation has been taken care of. We've researched renting a car versus rail passes and will be purchasing the latter in the next month or so, as we get closer to our departure dates.

We've spent the past month going through myriad YouTube videos of all the places we plan to visit. I've made notes of essential things to do. Because I plan to bring my video cameras and make my own travel vlogs for YouTube, I've started planning shots, locations, and the best time of day to capture images.

Planning is almost complete. There are just a couple of minor day trips and activities that we need to organize. But these are minor and need no reservations.

I can't wait to travel again. Not just going to an all-inclusive resort (oh, we've already made our reservations to do that, again, next January) but a vacation of exploration, to go somewhere to which DW and I have never been.

All we have to do is wait for September to come.

Thicker Than Blood

For the first time in many years, I thought about my dad on Father's Day.

It was mostly, I think, because I saw many posts on social media of people showing old photos of their own dads, sharing special memories with the man who left a lasting, loving impression. Many of the messages that I read indicated that the father in question was no longer with them, and how they were dearly and fondly missed.

I don't really miss my dad.

My dad left my mother, my sisters, and me when I was five years old. My memories back then were of a man who believed that children should be seen and not heard, that he was the one to lay down the law for the entire family, and if my mother didn't like it, he would point to the door.

Eventually, she showed him to the door.

I remember our neighbours, a couple of doors over, who befriended my mom when we first moved into our Parkwood Hills townhouse, in 1968. My mom would often go over to visit Bernice for tea and they would chat while my sister, Holly, and I played outside with our friends. Bernice and her husband Jack would also spend time with us if my mom had to run errands and when she was busy with our newborn sister, Jen.

Bernice even taught me how to play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" on their upright piano.

Their son, Greg, also took an interest in us, even though he was finishing university and tinkering with his automobiles (I still remember his blue Volvo PV 544). Greg taught me how to catch a baseball (he gave me my first glove) and loved building model airplanes with me. When I came home from school, one day, scuffed up from being in a fight, he gave me boxing gloves and taught me some moves so that the next time someone picked on me, I'd be able to hold my own.

Some time after my mother kicked my dad out of the house, she and Greg started seeing one another. Later, he would recall that never in his life, in his mid twenties, had he imagined himself with three kids. But he loved kids, knew that he wanted to be a father, and never looked back.

Meanwhile, my dad was absent so many times that one time, when he showed up on our doorstep, I didn't know who he was right away. He rarely paid child support, would promise to visit my sisters and me but then not show up, and when he did spend time with us, he would bring us to his friends' houses, only to ignore us.

I always called my dad Dad. But even though I've always called Greg by his name, when I spoke about my father with my friends, they knew who I was talking about.

My dad has been gone, for good, for nearly 21 years and it really surprised me that I thought about him yesterday. Because when it comes to Father's Day, there's only one person with whom I've ever celebrated it.

The only father who's ever been there.

Bugs and Breathing

In through the nose: out through the mouth.

It's a breathing technique that always makes me think of the spin classes that DW and I used to attend at the Y, more than 20 years ago, in the Merivale Mall. (Wow, it's hard to believe it was that long ago!)

Our instructor would ask the room, full of sweaty cyclists, how we were doing about halfway through the class. She'd advise us to count our heart rate to ensure we weren't overdoing it. And she'd remind us to control our breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

That breathing technique is even more important when you're on an actual road bike in the summer. With all sorts of wee beasties buzzing around, you want to keep your mouth closed, using it only to exhale.

Sadly, I didn't use that technique on Wednesday's ride.

I almost chose not to go out. When I finished work, I was going to hop on my bike and do a long ride, hoping to get in at least 50 kilometres. But when I saw that the wind was blowing at nearly 30 kph, I decided to wait until after dinner, when the forecast showed that the wind was going to die down.

Dinner came later than we had planned. I was grilling a marinated pork tenderloin and vegetables while DW had put some sweet potatoes in our Instant Pot. By the time dinner was finished, it was 7:00, and I was beginning to think that by the time I had waited to digest my meal, it would be too late to cycle very far. Perhaps, I told myself, I would just get on my spin bike.

But I knew that if I were to wait a sufficient time, I might not even feel like getting on my spin bike. It was better, I told myself, to get on my road bike and take a leisurely pace. I left my family to clean up after dinner (I had, after all, prepared and grilled the tenderloin, as well as the mixed veggies) and changed into riding clothes.

By the time I was in my driveway with my bike, it was just after 7:30. I had about an hour and fifteen minutes until sunset, and an extra half hour before it started to get dark. But I wasn't worried: I had lights on the front and back of my bike and a set of sunglasses with yellow lenses that helped brighten things in low light. They'd protect my eyes and still allow me to see.

I have a new regular route that I take as my 'short' ride. I take the most direct way from my house to Manotick, and then I ride Bridge Street to River Road and head south, all the way to Roger Stevens Drive. I then cross the Rideau River and head north, along Rideau Valley Drive, back to Manotick and onward to Barrhaven.

The ride usually takes me about an hour and 45 minutes, depending on the traffic lights in Manotick and Barrhaven. I had just enough time to cycle the route before it got dark.

By the time I crossed the Rideau River, on Roger Stevens Drive, the sun was close to setting. I don't usually stop to take photos on my ride, but the light was pretty special.

When I return to Barrhaven, I take a varied route from the ride out to add a few more kilometres, making the round trip 42K. On one of these detours, I go down a hill where I really pour on the power and approach a speed marker that shows me how fast I'm going. The limit is 40 kph and I always try to reach that speed, if not slightly exceed it (I think 43 kph is my record on this street).

I saw the bug about a second before I inhaled it.

By sprinting down the hill, I felt that I needed more oxygen than my nostrils can take in. I ignored the rule to breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.

It was a big bug. I'm not sure what it was: a fly, a beetle, or even a bee. But I certainly felt it hit the back of my throat with a solid whack.

I tried to cough it back out but it was too far down my windpipe and it felt as though the critter was fighting to get out. I was worried that it might be a bee and might sting me. I'm allergic to bee stings and a sting to my throat would be really bad news.

I grabbed my water bottle, which was filled with lemonade, and began to chug, hoping to wash my intruder down to my stomach, hoping that it wouldn't go down my windpipe and into my lungs. After several large gulps, I could still feel the bug in my upper esophagus, possibly stuck in the sphincter.

And it was still moving.

I continued riding, continued coughing, continued swallowing, continued drinking.

By the time I reached home, it was about 9:20 and I could still sense something in my throat. I put my bike away, went into the house, and went straight for something to eat. If food couldn't push the bug down, I had a problem.

Fortunately, the Portuguese tart did the trick. It was a tasty way to dislodge the stuck bug. Hopefully, it enjoyed its sugary, final meal.

In through the nose: out through the mouth. I've learned my lesson.

Beer O'Clock: Jelly King

I could have sworn that I had reviewed a sour ale by Bellwoods Brewery before. I distinctly remember drinking their Plum sour ale before (my Untappd account has it logged, on February 13, 2020, complete with a photo that I took) but there is no review.

I also seem to recall drinking a Bellwoods ale that was made with concord grapes, though I can't find any record of that one and I must be thinking of someone else's brew. Maybe someone from the brewery can jog my memory on that one.

Regardless, a review of a sour ale from Bellwoods' Jelly King line is way overdue.

Those of you who know me know that I have an arms-length relationship with sour beer. I'm not keen on beers that get me puckering my cheeks with every mouthful. I don't like to screw up my face with anticipation of my next sip.

At the same time, I do like ales that are jam-packed with tropical-fruit flavours. I love mango, guava, passionfruit, and others in my glass of suds. And in that light, Bellwoods never fails.

Last month, on a trip down to Toronto, I stopped in at an LCBO and my eyes fell on the familiar label from this Toronto brewery (I would have gone to the brewery, directly, but time was not on my side on that trip). I picked up a couple of bottles, in addition to the lager that I reviewed last week, and headed home.

Let's look at this version of Jelly King.

Jelly King (Mango, Guava & Passionfruit: 5.6% ABV)
Bellwood's Brewery
Toronto ON

Appearance: a hazy orange with hues of pink that get captured in low light, with a foamy-white head that quickly settles to a fine lace and dissipates altogether, save for a fine ring around the meniscus that lines the glass. Some minute bubbles come and go on the top.

Nose: the mango leads the aroma, followed by a hint of passionfruit. There's a jam-like quality that tells you that you're in for a fruity treat.

Palate: the sourness punches you right in the mouth. On the first mouthful, I got sour lemons, backed by guava. The fruit is intense. There is strong citrus and as you get to the finish, more passionfruit comes out, as well as a ruby-red grapefruit flavour that seems to cleanse the palate.

Bellwoods' description claims "punchy hop aromatics" but I didn't pick up any hops. They seemed to be drowned out in the sour fruit.

It's really sour: almost too much for my liking.

Overall impression: if you love a good sour ale, this will get you puckering up. It's loaded with fruit, and not just the mango, guava, and passionfruit that's advertised. While this Jelly King is a bit too sour for me, the punch of tropical fruit wins me over.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺.5

While Bellwoods' Web site doesn't currently show this brew available from its shops, I did see a lot of it in the LCBO where I picked mine up. Check out the store nearest you. And if you can't find it, I encourage you to check out the other ales from the Jelly King series.

Cheers!

Backyard Bloomin'

Instapainintheass

A few years ago, I walked away from Facebook for a number of reasons but mostly because I was getting tired of the posts that would show up in my feed that weren't from friends or seemingly related to what I was interested in.

I didn't know how their algorithms worked but they didn't seem to know me at all.

I still have a Facebook account but I never post to it. In fact, I removed all my older posts and shared photos. And I only check on it once every few months or so, just to see how the handful of people that I still 'follow' are doing (though, in truth, DW is connected to them as well and periodically gives me updates).

For years (I suspect, since FB bought them), Instagram has begun adding ads to my feed, and I suppose that's suspected, since the app is free (we are the product, though, aren't we?). But then Instagram started adding other users, who I don't follow, into my feed.

And that irks me. It's like spam in my e-mail inbox.

Previously, I would be able to scroll through my feed and see the photos from people that I specifically followed, and when I had caught up, I could continue scrolling and would be shown images from people that I didn't follow but whom the algorithm had calculated took similar photos and thought I'd be interested.

Fair enough.

Now, complete strangers are showing up in my feed before I've caught up with the work of people I'm following. Sometimes, it takes a lot of scrolling through these random photographers to see the people that I'm interested in. And I can't find a way to stop it.

There doesn't seem to be a setting in the app that lets me block strangers from the first part of my feed. Do you know of such a setting? If so, please let me know in the Comments section.

I find this 'intrusion' so distracting that I feel like it's work to find the folks I follow, and I'm almost tempted to say "screw it, I'm dumping Instagram."

As with Facebook, I would remove the photos that I've taken. With more than 3,900 photos, that's a lot of work. But unlike FB, I wouldn't keep the account around. I'd just close it.

I don't want to do that. I like sharing my photos on the app and have been doing so for years before FB came along and ruined it. Every so often, I scroll back to the first photo that I ever posted to Instagram. It's Kid 2, snuggling with our dearly departed kitty, Edwin.

First Instagram photo.

But if I can't easily see the photos I want to see, if I have to scroll through photos and ads that are more of a distraction than a benefit, I may have to say goodbye to the app I've loved for so many years.

What are your thoughts about Instagram?

Music Monday: Night of the Swallow

Photo source: Google

Last week, in the Twittersphere, I learned that Kate Bush was trending because, in the recent season of Stranger Things, the song "Running Up That Hill" is featured.

Great song.

Tweets surrounding Kate Bush seem to indicate that this British music icon is regaining popularity and I couldn't be happier for her. In the 1970s and 80s, she was a pioneer, being the first female artist to reach number one in the UK with a self-written song. She also produced all of her own albums from 1982, onward.

She is also reportedly the first artist to wear a microphone headset in a live performance so that she could dance, hands-free.

When her album, The Dreaming, was released in 1982, I was already familiar with Kate Bush's musical talent, having heard her sing backup for Peter Gabriel in his song, "Games Without Frontiers," in 1980 (she would also join Gabriel again, in 1986, for his song "Don't Give Up," which has a great video, IMHO). I had heard the title track, "The Dreaming," on the radio, and picked up her album soon thereafter.

I loved it. My parents hated it.

I would have to listen to the album with headphones when my parents were home—they didn't like the screaming (and donkey sounds) in "Get Out of My House" or the high-pitched vocals in "Suspended in Gaffa."

One of my absolute favourite tracks on The Dreaming is "Night of the Swallow." The rise and fall in Bush's voice in the chorus gives me imaginings of a bird in flight and even today, that song stops me in my tracks, makes me want to give it my full attention.

On Saturday, DW, Kid 1, and I invited ourselves to my parents place for dinner. We had bought a bunch of steaks earlier in the day, with fixings for salad. I asked my mom if I could grill the meat on her barbecue if we shared the meal. We also brought beer and wine to share. Mom, in return, made some potato salad and picked up a treat for dessert.

We had a great meal.

While I worked the barbecue on their deck, I admired the birds that visited their feeder. At one point, a sparrow landed on the feeder and sang me a song, and I don't know how it was related but in hearing the song of the sparrow, the song "Night of the Swallow" entered my head.

It remained with me for the rest of the weekend. At the time of writing this post (after 9 last night), the song was still going around in my head. In particular, the chorus was on a continuous loop.

So, for those of you who just discovered Kate Bush from Stranger Things, I give you one of her earlier songs, from 1982. There's no official video; just music, so put on your headphones, close your eyes, and enjoy!

Happy Monday!

Photo Editing with AI

When DW gave me new photo-editing software for Christmas, in 2020, she told me that some things would not be as easy to process with the tool than it is with my trusty old app, PaintShop Pro.

Challenge accepted.

She cautioned me that while Luminar AI was great for landscapes, was great for enhancing photos, it wasn't known to be reliable when it came to portrait touchups. For example, she said, it doesn't have a Makeover Tool, to remove blemishes from skin. It doesn't have a Skin Smoothing feature to iron out any unwanted wrinkles.

But what Luminar AI does have, I told her, are several portrait templates that automatically take care of many steps that I go through with PaintShop Pro. For instance, there is a collection of templates, called Easy Portrait, which automatically apply high key, low key, vignette, and other filters that would take me several steps in PSP.

There are portrait tools, in the editing mode, that specifically help me touch up the face (I could even change the subject's eye colour or apply more light with the click of the mouse), skin, and body. There's a check box that will magically remove skin defects but I find it goes a bit too far and so I don't use it.

But what I do use to remove unwanted blemishes is an erase tool that does as good a job, I find, as PSP's Makeover Tool. You just have to be careful about the size of the erase tool.

What I also like about Luminar is how, at the click of a button, you can have a slider that allows you to easily compare the original photo with your improvements. PSP does have that feature as well but in order to get it, you have to change the layout of your workspace, and I find that I cannot easily find the tools that I use the most, and that slows me down. With Luminar, the layout of my workspace doesn't change.

Before and After views by sliding the bar.

I like playing with the templates in Luminar, sure, I can use them to make my regular editing quicker and easier, but there are also templates that let me get artsy. These templates remind me of some of the filters that I can apply with Snapseed.

Burned Film template from the Experimental collection.

All of the photos in this week's Wordless Wednesday post were edited in Luminar AI, rather than PSP, with one exception: on one photo, I made the Erase tool too large and messed up the shadows on a model's face. I had to go to PSP and use the Makeover Tool to even out the light.

While I will never stop using PSP, I'm finding Luminar AI to be an app that saves me a lot of time with my photo editing. And really, that's the whole point of these apps, isn't it?

Happy Friday!

Beer O'Clock: Marco... Polo!

Man, am I ever ready for a vacation. And I'm dying to travel, to explore places I have not yet visited.

DW and I have been watching travel videos on YouTube for the past few weeks, getting ideas and taking notes. Usually, she's the one who plans our itinerary, leaving me to happily tag along, but this time I've led the charge, making lists of places to see and things to do.

I'm the lead explorer for our next vacation. You can call me the Marco Polo of the family, ready to take us into unexplored territory (for us, anyway).

A few weeks ago, when DW and I moved Kid 2 into her own apartment in Toronto (she's ready to begin her own adventure), I was happy to discover that she was practically across the street from an LCBO. Before DW and I returned home, I decided to explore this store, in search of beer that is not readily available in Ottawa.

I wanted something that was native to the GTA.

I found two very different beers from two different brew houses. They're also styles of beer that I don't generally tend to get, but I was on a mission of discovery and felt I should keep an open mind.

Today, I'm going to share my thoughts on an Italian-style pilsner from a brewery that isn't that far from Kid 2's apartment (relatively speaking, for Toronto).

Marco Polo Italian Style Pilsner (5% ABV)
Indie Alehouse Brewing Co.
Toronto, ON

Appearance: clear, rich gold with a creamy-white foam head that settles to a dense cap. Lots of effervescence.

Nose: lemongrass and biscuit.

Palate: more lemongrass—heavy on the grass—bitter pine, and something that I refer to as "ear wax." (On a dare, as a kid, I dug around my ear and then stuck my finger in my mouth. I'll never forget that taste. Go on, explore. Try it. I double-dare you!) There is a bitter, tangy finish that lasts, thanks to the hops. It came on strong in the first mouthful, like bitter tannins that you get in a very dry red wine (almost like sucking on a dry tea bag) but gradually mellowed, leaving you with just the bitter hops. But that finish really stays with you.

Overall impression: I have to admit, pilsners aren't my favourite style of beer, though I do hold respect for them and know what to expect when I drink one. Granted, I've never had an Italian-style pils, so I don't know the difference between an Italian and a standard, German-style pilsner.

Marco Polo seems more bitter and less easy-drinking that a German pils. There seems to be more body, more hops, and a stronger flavour. Sure, I get the grassy aromas and flavours that I expect with a pilsner, but this is much more complex.

I like this pilsner (apart from the initial, ear-wax flavour in my initial sip). It has set off boldly and seems to be brewed for those who seek adventure from the ordinary.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺

To find Marco Polo, check online at the LCBO. If you live in the M1 to M9 postal-code areas of Toronto, free local delivery is available.

Cheers!

Spring Fling

Dramatic Sky

On Saturday afternoon, I went to my first photography meetup of the year. My photography group (club?) had organized an event at Britannia Beach, called Spring Fling.

A group of photographers and models would perform a series of shots, where models would move about, in various outfits, and the photographers would move from model to model, site to site. The photographers would direct the models but the models would often come up with ideas of their own.

It was a mutual collaboration.

Because the weather, late Saturday afternoon, wasn't great—it was cool and windy—using remote flashes and soft boxes was a challenge to say the least. It was like opening an umbrella in a wind storm: there was no way it wasn't going to send your flash to the ground. I didn't even take mine out of it's case, opting to put a speedlight on my camera's hot shoe, instead.

We all made the best of it.

The event was supposed to run from 5:30 to 8:30 but because of the less-than ideal weather, some of the models left early. By 8:00, the group called it a day. Good thing, too.

As we were gathering our equipment and heading to the parking lot, storm clouds blew in and soaked the beach. I made it into my car just as the rain came down in earnest and I could see a sand storm blowing on the main beach.

Before heading out, I decided to sit for a moment and cull the photos that definitely didn't turn out: when the flash didn't fire and a model would be cast in a silhouette that wasn't flattering; when my finger slipped on the shutter release before I had composed my frame; when the image wasn't properly in focus; when the model's eyes were caught in a blink or her expression wasn't intentional or flattering.

By the time I was ready to roll, the sky was glowing in a bright orange and I could see hues of pink and purple in the clouds. We were going to have a great sunset.

I put one of my cameras away and grabbed the other. With my smartphone in my back pocket, I had a third camera.

The sky was dramatic: one of the best I had seen in a while, and I was in a great location in which to capture it. I walked down one of the rocky breakers along the river and waited.

I took a lot of photos, switching between my D-SLR and my smartphone. When I finally got home, I quickly looked at the photos on my smartphone because they were the easiest to deal with (I was cold, hungry, and tired by the time I walked in the door).

Typically, any photo that I shoot of a sunset requires some post-editing. Either the sun has blown out all of the highlights or there's too much shadow, or the colour saturation isn't quite as vibrant as I remember seeing it with my own eyes. And so I open a photo editor like Snapseed, PaintShop Pro, or Luminar AI.

The first photo that I saw needed no tweaking. It was perfect.

On Sunday night, I finally looked at the photos on my D-SLR. Because I shoot in RAW, which captures a lot of data, there is always some tweaking that is required. But not a lot was required.

Which photo do you prefer?

It paid to hang around after the photo shoot. I would have never seen, let alone captured, this dramatic sky. (I'll share some of my photos from the shoot, tomorrow.)

Happy Tuesday!

On the Fence

I'm too old for this.

About 21 years ago, more than a year after DW and I had moved into our home and just a few months after Kid 1 was born, we met with the four neighbours whose properties bordered on ours to discuss building fences. Our neighbourhood was new and no one had yet set up dividers to mark our territories.

DW and I measured the property lines and calculated how many posts were needed and how much lumber was required to build the fences. We asked our neighbours to do their own calculations to ensure that the numbers were correct. Thankfully, everyone agreed that red cedar wood was the preferred type of fence that we wanted: it made calculations even easier.

When we decided on a design for the fence, DW and I again calculated which types of lumber was needed, roughly how many screws it would take, and other pieces of hardware. When all of our neighbours were in agreement, DW and I ordered the wood and told the neighbours how much each of them owed. We had them sign an agreement to pay their fair share, and we were good to go.

We had a professional company drill the holes for the posts and set the poles into place. After the cement had cured, it was up to us to construct the rest. Over two weekends, Jack, the neighbour directly behind us, and I did the bulk of the construction. It was a lot of fun and not as difficult as I had feared.

The last bit of fence to be put into place was the section between our house and Jack and his wife, Maria's house. Before we put the last panel in place, Jack invited DW and I to his patio, where he an Maria set out a selection of Polish beer (they were Polish) and snacks. We toasted to a job well done and neighbourly friendship.

We also joked about leaving the last panel off so that we could stay in touch. Once the last panel was in place, we would barely be able to see each other. The only way to visit one another would be to walk around the block to the front of each other's homes.

We would continue to chat over the fence, and at one point, DW gave Maria some of our fresh-grown tomatoes—handing them over the fence—only to have Maria, some time later, give us mason jars filled with her homemade salsa.

Good times.

Jack and Maria are gone. In fact, all of the original owners of the houses that border onto ours are gone. (Was it us?)

Last winter, while DW and I were on vacation, a wind storm snapped two posts along one section of the fence and brought two panels to the ground. Because it was winter, we decided to wait until spring to deal with it.

And time went by.

Since then, I've met the latest neighbours who live behind us but are next door to where Jack and Maria lived. We've moved the panels so that they are not laying flat, and I told the young man who is renting the house that I'd figure out the cost of repair and get back to his landlord.

So far, no luck: I've contacted three businesses, all who have told me that they're already booked for the year, and that was before the derecho of two weeks ago. And so, DW and I made the decision that we would affect repairs ourselves.

The first step, we told ourselves, was to pull the remains of the posts and the concrete from the ground. We watched videos for the best way to extract the concrete, which was to dig out around the top of the concrete, secure a strong chain around it, and, by using a high jack, pull it out.

Easy-peasy.

We purchased the jack and took a chain from DW's dad's collection. but when we took a look for the posts, we couldn't find them. It seemed that they had snapped off below ground level and the ground resettled, hiding any evidence of them.

Using a spade, it was easy to locate one of the posts. One panel, to which it had been attached, was still connected to a standing post. All I had to do was line it up and dig.

Almost immediately, I hit some sort of wire that surprised me. In our neighbourhood, all electrical, gas, and other lines run in front of the houses. There aren't supposed to be any wires in the back, especially along the property lines. And this wire had to be there when the post hole was originally dug.

No idea what it is but I was careful when I dug down.

The top of the post was about two inches below the ground. I measured an area around it and kept digging, but because I didn't want the surrounding hole to be too big, I had to switch to a hand trowel to continue.

That's when I hit clay.

It took more than two-and-a-half hours to dig down about 14 or so inches, when I finally reached concrete. By then, my hand was aching from gripping the trowel, so I took a break for a late lunch and to get some easier chores done. But because I had other plans for later in the afternoon into evening, I put off the post hole to the next day.

The next day, my hand was pretty much useless. It hurt to make a fist and grip the trowel and one of the tendons in my wrist was swollen. I worked on the hole for about another half hour or so, with my left hand, slightly widening the hole and going a bit lower (the concrete was only on one side. Not wanting to burn out my other hand, I decided to give up.

New strategy.

Instead of pulling what's left of the posts, I think I'll rent an auger and drill three new holes, turning what was previously a three-panel stretch to a four-panel section. I'll need to get the landlord to agree to the cost of additional wood.

And I'm likely going to have to contact the phone or cable companies to determine what that wire is.

I miss Jack. He and I were a great team. We worked quickly and built a fence that held up for nearly 21 years. It needs a few replacement pieces: some two-by-fours that covered the top; a few trim pieces; some replacement caps for posts. But overall, it's holding.

Only the posts failed.

Wish me luck.

Back to Cuba

Shortly after DW and I returned from Cuba, last December, I made a hyperlapse video of me walking around the resort. Just me, walking from the entrance of our resort, through the grounds, all the way down to the beach, while a song from one of the live performances we saw plays in the background.

No talking. No descriptions. No information, save what passes your eyes at a high speed.

And while that video has seen more than 4,600 views on YouTube, many complained (including family and friends) that it was just too fast.

"Fair enough," I said. Besides, the video was only a single clip, without any cuts. with the live soundtrack played over (I suppose there were two clips, as the beginning of the video shows the band as the song starts up).

And so, since January, I've been leisurely putting together another video that is mostly the same walkaround, slowed down, but with other video clips that I shot over the week of our stay. The new video gives a much better picture of what guests would see while staying at the Paradisus Rio de Oro Resort and Spa.

I really took my time putting this video together and I cut a lot out, though I still think I could have cut more. For months, the video portion was complete and I had written a script for a voiceover commentary, but it took me forever to find the time to record it (our house was pretty noisy with both kids home, in April and most of May, and my post-COVID cough made it hard to talk for more than a sentence without hacking again).

This week, I finally took some time to record the script, and on Wednesday evening, I added the voiceover track to the video (I had to cut a lot of it out to fit, as well).

Yesterday, my video was finally posted on YouTube, more than five months after returning from Cuba. Have a look...

If you like the video, please give it the ol' thumps-up, and I'd be grateful if you subscribed to The Brown Knowser on YouTube.

What do you think?

Happy Friday!

Choose Wisely

It's Election Day in Ontario. If you haven't done so already, please get out and vote.

Choose wisely. Even if that means that you aren't voting for your favourite candidate.

We need a better Ontario.