Not that I had ever stopped my virtual challenges.
Even when DW and I were in Portugal, I was counting my steps toward my Appalachian Trail challenge, which I had started on June 30. The bike ride that we took, from Cascais toward Cabo da Roca, also gave me another 20 kilometres. I had figured that I would only cover about 10 kms, maybe 15, while we were on vacation but most days exceeded those distances: a couple were nearly 20K; one day, we surpassed 26.
Even after we returned and came down with COVID-19, I managed to travel a bit—though, only from a half kilometre to two kilometres on the worst days. But every step went toward my virtual challenge.
Last Thursday, I finally finished the Appalachian Trail challenge, completing the 3,167.6-km route in 119 days, at an average of about 26.6 kms a day. I finished the challenge exactly one week earlier than I had given myself to complete it.
Not bad.
I was considering stopping my virtual challenges with this latest route. I've now completed 10 and I still haven't found a suitable space to place the existing nine medals that I've received from The Conqueror. I was going to call it quits but then I reminded myself of how well these challenges have been able to motivate me to be active.
A gym membership wasn't nearly as motivational. The last membership I had cost me way more, each month, than any single challenge has (about $35 per challenge, and most take me more than a month to complete—the last one took me four months!).
These challenges have motivated me to march on the spot while I'm in a video meeting with my work colleagues. I'll also march in one place while watching TV. Not all the time but often. And I'll pace around our kitchen island while I'm waiting for the microwave to finish heating up leftovers.
When the weather prevents me from heading out on my road bike, I climb upon my spin bike in my bedroom. I get some cycling in nearly every day.
And so, as my Appalachian Trail challenge was coming to a close, I sought out a new challenge. It had to be at least 300 kms long, if not more.
At 1,688 kms, the Estrada Real, in Brazil, meets that requirement. The challenge starts at Casa da Gloria, a mansion in Diamantina that is now part of the Geosciences Institute of the Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais. It passes through some interesting towns that have preserved their Baroque architecture and ends in Magé, a district of Rio de Janeiro.
I started this challenge on Friday (no rest for the wicked) and I'm hoping to complete it by December 31. Wish me luck.
So when will I stop participating in these virtual challenges? Maybe when I run out of challenges that are under 300K or maybe when I run out of challenges, altogether.
If the past few days were any indication, winter isn't just around the corner.
Not yet.
Autumn has always been my favourite time of year, with the changing colours in the trees and moderate days. It's hard to believe that on the second-last Sunday of October, I was still wearing shorts.
DW and I were going to remove the rack from the roof of our car, figuring that our days of going somewhere with our kayaks were finished for the season. And yet, on Sunday, we were on Calabogie Lake, sweating.
Not that this was a total surprise: last year, I was taking out my road bike for rides until the second week of November, after we had already put the snow tires on our vehicles. I haven't hung my bike from the ceiling in our garage, yet, and still plan to do more rides. Probably, tomorrow and Sunday, which are shaping up just nicely.
Autumn isn't over yet.
Will we get one final paddle in? Fingers crossed.
Autumn is great, and last weekend and the beginning of the week have proven it. With more mild weather in store this weekend, winter can just hold right off.
(I get the winter tires installed on my vehicles next week, just to be on the safe side.)
A bag of gingersnap cookies has never been safe around me.
Photo source: Google
As a kid, we didn't keep them in the house that often because I would easily devour the bag within a couple of days. I remember setting up an obstacle course around the main floor of our house, where I'd have to jump over broom sticks or crawl under chairs, and bounce my way down the length of our sofa.
The obstacle course would take me through the kitchen, where I'd have a stack of cookies awaiting me. As I passed through the kitchen, I'd grab a cookie, pop it in my mouth (gingersnaps are fairly small, even for a kid), and start another lap around the house.
When I moved out on my own, gingersnap cookies were always on my grocery list. I'd keep the bag next to the chair in the TV room, and I'd snack on the cookies while watching my favourite programs.
I'm older, now, and these addictive cookies go to my belly faster than a pint of beer, so I've sort of given them up, though I do miss them from time to time.
Luckily, the good folks at Spearhead have teamed up with the Society of Beer Drinking Ladies to create an ale that brings back fond memories of gingersnap cookies.
For those of you who don't know, the ladies who drink beer in this organization bring women who work in the beer industry together with like-minded women who love a pint or two. The Society was founded in 2013 by Erica Campbell, who worked full-time at Black Oak Brewery, in Etobicoke, Ontario (GTA), and noticed that she was in a male-dominated industry.
Erica set out to bring more awareness to women beer lovers that they were not alone. Today, the Society of Beer Drinking Ladies is North America's largest women's beer community.
The group has also started working with breweries in collaboration to introduce new brews to beer lovers, and one of their latest collabs, with Spearhead Brewing, is the focus of today's review.
Appearance: a clear, copper-red ale with plenty of effervescence and a foamy, beige head that settles to a fine lace.
Nose: breathing in, I could have sworn that I just opened a bag of gingersnaps. Loads of candied ginger and biscuit hit the nose. The aromas definitely match the name of this brew.
Palate: more ginger and a hint of clove. I was also reminded of pumpkin spice. In subsequent tastes, I could easily imagine that I was drinking a pumpkin ale, though the ginger would just as easily bring me back to my favourite cookie. The finish reinforces the biscuit, and lingers.
Overall impression: Ginger Snap Cookie Golden Ale definitely lives up to its label. This is liquid gingersnap. It's also a perfect autumn brew because it has a kiss of pumpkin spice, which is super-popular at this time of year.
You don't need to be a member of the Society of Beer Drinking Ladies to enjoy this ale. And, like gingersnap cookies, it's not safe around me. (Though, I won't be creating an obstacle course around my house in order to treat myself to a pint.)
Beer O'Clock rating:🍺🍺+
You can find Ginger Snap Cookie Golden Ale at select LCBO stores. As always, you can order it directly from Spearhead and have it shipped to your door for a modest fee.
Honestly, it wasn't much of an effort, though I was prepared to give it my all.
Never before have I followed municipal elections more closely than I did during the recent election, which came to an end last night. And it was an education that made me want to be more involved, next time.
For me, the choice for mayor was obvious. A candidate who had been a councillor for years, who had engaged with their ward and the city as a whole, and who was dedicated toward positive, solid change for our city.
Sadly, more voters saw a radio host with no experience as a better choice, and we'll have to live with that decision for the next four years.
I also researched the candidates in my ward who were running for school-board trustee. Even though my kids have moved on to college and university, and I no longer have any skin in the game, I wanted our area to be represented by someone who had the interest of students, who was inclusive and wanted every kid to reach their potential.
For my own ward, I also saw a candidate for city councillor who shared my values and was, from what I had learned from personal interaction, to be a decent human being. And so I backed him: not just with my vote and a lawn sign (I'm not much into lawn signs), but financially.
Not a lot of money, but more than I've ever given to a political hopeful.
I also volunteered to be a scrutineer for this candidate. This was the first time that I had ever done this and I felt a huge responsibility, even though, in the end, it really didn't take a lot of effort. Usually, I would show up at a polling station, cast my ballot, and then put my feet up, in front of the TV, and watch the results come in.
Not this time.
I told the councillor that I supported that I would show up at the polling station and ensure that the proceedings were done clearly and fairly. What that entailed, in reality, was that I be there for when the polls closed, watch that the procedures for tallying the votes was followed according to regulations, and verify whether my candidate lost or won.
I was also asked to take photos of the result printout and send them to my councillor's campaign manager, which I did. As soon as he saw the results, he texted me to say that I could leave.
Wilson Lo, getting the good news, next to his wife, Amelia.
I then went to the venue where my councillor was eagerly awaiting the election results. I already knew that he had won at the polling station that I was sent to, so it was a matter of seeing which other stations reported his success.
He won by a healthy margin.
My candidate was Wilson Lo, who is now the Councillor-elect of Ward 24, Barrhaven East. I'm proud to stand with him.
Wilson with some goofball.
Will I support him in the next election? Time will tell. But one thing is certain: I will be even more active in the next municipal election. I will volunteer to knock on doors. I will give more money. If asked, I will be a scrutineer again.
Last night was exciting. Though I didn't get everyone I wanted as part of city hall, I was satisfied with the election process.
It's municipal election day in Ontario. Across the province, voters will be choosing who will lead their city, which councillors will represent their wards, and who has been elected as a trustee for their schools.
It's an important day.
You get to have your say about who you think is the best choice for mayor, who will fight for your best interests in your neighbourhood, and who will steer policy in the various school boards. These are issues and policies that affect you the most, can have an almost immediate impact, and sometimes touch your life more than a provincial or federal election.
Get out and vote.
If you need more information about the Ontario municipal elections, go to their Web site. To learn more about your municipality and who is running, go the list of Ontario municipalites.
If you're eligible to vote, vote. It's not just a right: it's a responsibility. As a reminder, only about 18 percent of eligible Ontario voters cast their ballot in the last provincial election. As a result, look who we got stuck with.
Vote.
For myself, I have already voted in an advance poll. This evening, I have volunteered to be a scrutineer at a polling station in my ward. I just wanted to help in any way that I could, even though it's a small way.
It had been a while since DW and I had visited Mud Lake, so last Sunday's outing was long overdue. We had tried to get in the habit of getting out in nature, and Mud Lake is a good place to go.
We usually bring our cameras, as there is plenty of wildlife to capture: all sorts of water fowl and other birds, as well as squirrels, chipmunks, and other critters. But there is one creature that I've seen in other people's social media photos that I have been unsuccessful at capturing, myself.
Until last Sunday.
We've known that the woods surrounding Mud Lake are home to screech owls, yet we had never sighted one ourselves. With much of the autumn leaves on the ground, we hoped that we'd be able to spy one through the bare branches. And so we kept our eyes on the lookout along the trail.
There was a lot to see. At the start of the trail, where it comes close to an opening to the lake, there are always plenty of mallard and wood ducks to photograph. Chickadees approach you on nearby branches, all but begging for seeds.
We usually forget to bring any.
Within a minute of walking on the path, we encountered three turkeys: two males and a female. They were curious about us but we kept a respectful distance from each other. Further in, we spied some wigeons further out on the lake, too far from me to be able to capture any sharp images with my 70–300mm lens.
I even ran into a colleague from work, who I hadn't seen since before the pandemic and who was also taking photos on the trail. What are the chances?
We got as far as the other side of the lake but a fence prevented us from going across a wooden bridge, so we turned around. We had seen all of the wildlife that we were going to see on this hike.
Or so we thought.
As we made our way back toward our car, we could see a few people gathered a short ways ahead of us, looking into the trees. One person had set up a tripod with his camera angled upward.
We approached quietly and followed their gaze.
It was a screech owl, sleeping high up in a dead tree.
We may have never spotted it without those folks, but now that we know where it was, we'll look for it the next time we're out for our walk on Mud Lake.
I have to admit, I had some bizarre hair styles when I was in my teens.
I guess that as a young kid, I was trying to figure myself out and get comfortable with a style that defined who I wanted to be. It probably wasn't until my late 30s or my early 40s that I was truly comfortable with the 'real' me. Now, in my late 50s, I figure that I am who I am: that's not to say that I don't have an open mind for ideas and opinions, but I really don't care to create any new version of myself.
I really don't care much about my appearance, these day: the inside me is more important. Sure, I want to be clean and well-groomed, but I essentially leave my hair alone until it gets long enough that it starts sticking in my ears, and then I get it cut short enough that I don't need to worry about brushing it.
That's how little I care about my hair.
So when I was looking through a photo folder with pictures of me over the decades, I was almost taken aback by a couple of high-school photos. In one, I barely recognized myself; in another, I didn't recognize myself at all.
And maybe, these photos have something to do with why I no longer like plaid.
The first photo (on the left) was taken in 1980. I was 15 and in Grade 9. The other photo was taken the next year. Wow, that hair.
The afro grew until it reached my shoulders. At the end of grade 10, when I was looking through my yearbook, I came across a photo of our high-school band. I was looking for myself, in the back row, among the other trumpet players.
I saw someone I didn't recognize. "Who's that?" I asked a friend who was looking through the yearbook with me. I was pointing to someone who's face was a bit obscured, who had a massive head of long, curly hair. "And why is she wearing my t-shirt?"
It was unmistakably my Led Zeppelin shirt with the artwork from the inside of their fourth album, with an old man, standing on a mountain, holding a lantern and a staff, looking down at a walled town, below.
"That's you," my friend said.
"That's me?"
That summer, I had my hair cut short. I haven't had long hair since.
When DW and I set out for our trip to Portugal, a vacation wasn't all that was on our minds. I can see retirement on the horizon, and we were exploring options as to where we could see ourselves living in the next phase of our lives.
Cascais was a potential option.
We finally had a late start to the morning, sleeping in almost until 8:00. For us, that's a very late start when we're on vacation. We like to get out and do things before the bulk of tourists are on the move. But today, on the tenth day in Portugal, we were going to get a move on at a later hour.
I wanted to capture golden hour, if not sunset, on the west coast.
We walked down Rua do Alecrim to the train station in Cais do Sodré and were lucky to hop a train that was just about to pull out. It followed the Tagus River, past Belém and many other stops before ending at the eastern edge of Cascais but still within the town. Exiting the station, we saw a traffic circle and the starting point to our main destination, a bicycle rental kiosk (it wasn't the destination: it was the starting point).
But because it was the noon hour and we were hungry, we sought out a restaurant. We walked past an Indian restaurant and thought we might check it out, as we love Indian food and had only eaten Portuguese food so far on this vacation. When we turned the corner and passed another Indian restaurant, we knew it was a sign. And this one had a patio, so this was where we had lunch.
Masala Indian Restaurant is located where there's lots of buzz, as shoppers and sightseers alike wander the pedestrian corridors. The food was delicious and reasonably priced, and the service was attentive. DW and I both gave it our thumbs up.
Adequately fed, we returned to the bike rental kiosk. Much like Bixi bikes or Citi Bike, these basic, three-speed touring bikes have a basket on the front and are easy to ride. We were able to rent them for about six euros and we had to return them by 7 pm. That gave us more than five hours.
We consulted a map and plotted out a route. Our destination was Cabo da Roca, about 20 kilometres away. DW thought it would be a challenge, given that the bikes weighed about twice as much as our road bikes, but I assured her that we could do it.
Folks, we couldn't do it.
As we left Cascais and followed the shoreline, the wind became stronger and stronger, blowing from the west and straight at us. Passing beaches, we could see large waves crashing on rocks, sending spray into the air. Sand was beginning to blow across the roadway and our bike path. And as we approached Praia do Guincho, a beach that is popular with surfers, and as we saw the considerable climb ahead of us, we came up with a Plan B.
Praia do Guincho, looking toward Cabo da Roca
Across the street from Fortaleza do Guincho, a hotel next to Praia do Guincho that looks more like a fortress than a five-star resort, we saw a bus stop where many bikes were parked. It looked like we weren't the only ones with the same idea. We were grateful that we had rented a bike lock for an additional euro.
But instead of waiting for the bus, which was due in about a half an hour, we ordered an Uber. For nine euros, we got up to Cabo da Roca in comfort and a lot quicker than a bus could have taken us.
Cabo da Roca is the westernmost point of continental Europe and rises about 150 metres above the Atlantic. The steep cliff drops down to jagged rocks below. And as you look westward, all you see is endless ocean.
It's no wonder that in the days before ocean exploration, this was the end of the world.
As we exited our Uber vehicle, we could hear sirens and deep, raspy horns in the distance. Looking down the road that leads to this spot, we could see a fire engine and an ambulance approaching. By the time that we walked out of the parking area, these vehicles were negotiating the foot paths toward the cliff. I captured some of the moment with my video camera.
Someone, it seemed, had slipped off the cliff beyond the safety zone. Fences and signs warn visitors not to stray beyond but we could see that many failed to heed those warnings. And with the wind blowing even more fiercely up here than where we had abandoned our bikes, there was no way that DW or I would get close to the edge.
A rescue team sprang to action and headed down toward the victim. As soon as they were out of sight, DW and I wished them luck, crossed our fingers for the person who fell, but then continued with our exploration of the site.
There were a lot of tourists, like us, who were vying to have our pictures taken with the marker that indicates where we were. Ahead of us, a Korean family were posing while the rest of us patiently waited in line. As they finished, the mother looked to DW and me as if to say, we're done, your turn.
"Kamsa-habnida," I said, immediately getting a look of surprise. I mean, what were the chances of a westerner recognizing your nationality and being able to say thank you in your language?
We explored the cliffside from within the fenced area and took pictures of the lighthouse before making our way to a trail that headed north. A short way from Cabo da Roca is a beach with striking jagged rocks that I had hoped to capture at sunset, but we knew this wouldn't be the case now. Because the bikes had to be returned by 7, which was before sunset, we would have to leave Cabo da Roca with enough time to get to the bikes and cycle the 10 kms back to the rental kiosk.
"I'd at least like to get as close to the beach as I can to take some photos," I told DW. We agreed that we would see how far we could get, being mindful of the time and accounting for a half-hour wait from the time that we ordered our Uber.
Praia da Ursa is a much further walk than I had anticipated, and we were only able to get about two-thirds of the way to it from the lighthouse before we knew we had to make our way to a spot where the Uber could reach us. And sadly, the path didn't allow me to even see the beach before we had to turn back. This is the last photo I shot before we turned around. The beach was further beyond, out of sight.
The wind hadn't changed direction since we had last cycled, so we had a strong tailwind that almost made pedalling moot. We stopped at a few spots to capture the waves as they slammed along the rocky shore before continuing back to Cascais. We returned the bikes with about 20 minutes to spare.
We were hungry, having worked up an appetite on the bikes, and found a Casa Portuguesa do Pastel de Bacalhau, a food chain that specializes in a popular Portuguese treat, cod cakes. We ordered the cheese-stuffed cakes: they are served in a paper cup with a glass of white port, which you conveniently hold in what looks like a painter's palette so that you have a free hand. Have a look.
We wandered the narrow streets of Cascais, looking for a seaside view of the sunset but were unsuccessful. The town faces southeast. While we were able to sit along the harbourfront, we'd have to look over the buildings in the town, inland, to see the orange glow of sunset.
We also had to fight off aggressive gulls, eventually moving somewhere safer.
DW found that the cheese was too strong and salty, so only got through half of her cod cake. I finished it for her but we had actually purchased two each, figuring that we were hungry enough to eat them. After finishing DW's cake, I was too full to have my second cake. We'd have to carry the box with them back to Lisbon and I would eat them another time.
We returned to the Casa Portuguesa, figuring that they'd want us to return the palette and port glass, but we learned that we could keep the glasses, as they were included in the price of the meal. The person who had served us offered to give us clean glasses and made the swap. We told him that we didn't want to keep the palettes so he took them back. They were in good shape and could be used again.
As blue hour fell on Cascais, we made our way to the train station and back to Lisbon. We wandered the streets between Cais do Sodré and Praça do Comércio, where we were surprised to find many young people approaching us, looking to sell us cocaine and other drugs.
We politely declined.
As we prepared for bed, back at our apartment, I couldn't help but wonder about the fate of the person who had fallen at Cabo da Roca. Was he or she okay? I fell asleep while sending positive vibes out to a total stranger.
And as for Cascais: could we see ourselves retiring there? Maybe, but DW is still convinced that Canada will remain our home and she can't see us leaving family and friends behind, in Ottawa.
It's hard to believe that one month ago, today, DW and I had arrived in Portugal and headed up to Porto.
For me, the trip is still so fresh in my mind that it seems like it was only last week that we were walking across the Luis I Bridge, from Porto to Gaia, to capture the sunset over the Douro River. That we were stomping on grapes at a quinta in port wine country. That we were kayaking off the Algarve coastline. That we were riding on old trams and eating some amazing food in the second-oldest European city.
All that and more are still fresh in my head, and yet we've been home for more than two weeks.
Today, I'm going to share some of the highlights from our time in Lisbon that made memories that we will hang onto for years. I'm not going to talk about the day trips that we took: first, I've already shared one of them while I was in Portugal. There's not much more to add.
I'll share our other day trip tomorrow, and then that just might wrap up our trip. I'll move on to something new on Wednesday.
When DW and I planned our trip, we had planned to purchase a 48-hour Lisboa Card, which gave us either free or reduced admission to several museums in the city, plus unlimited access to the metro system (subways, trains, buses, trams) during that period. We checked the schedule of several museums to make sure that they weren't closed on the days that we'd have these passes and decided that we'd use the passes on the Wednesday and Thursday.
But on Sunday, we had learned that one of the museums was free after 2:00, so we used our Viva cards (think Presto cards for transit in Ottawa and Toronto) to head to the northern end of the town, outside the historic part of Lisbon, to visit the Museu Calouste Gulbenkian. The museum houses about 6,000 pieces of objects that were collected by Calouste Sarkis Gulbenkian, and Armenian oil baron and philanthropist who made Lisbon his home and amassed art as far back as the early Egyptian age to Chinese vases, Middle-Eastern rugs, Renaissance paintings, and more.
The museum is surrounded by a beautiful garden that is always open to the public. It's well worth a visit.
I've already shared Belém and can't stress how important it is to make it out there for the monastery, the tower, the Monument of the Discoveries, the famous Pastéis de Belém, and the National Coach Museum. Free entry to the Torre de Belém, the Mosteiro dos Jerónimos, and the museum are worth the price of the Lisboa Card, alone, including the unlimited transit rides.
You can't visit Lisbon without visiting the castle that sits atop the hill in the Alfama neighbourhood and I recommend that you go there for sunset. Most of the visitors have left by then and you have a great view of the city as the sun drops below the horizon and the lights come on across the other hills and valleys. Pick up some take-away food, bring a bottle of wine (it's legal to drink in public), and enjoy the beauty of the city.
On Saturday, November 1, 1755, the Christian families started their morning celebrating All Saints Day. They lit candles for each deceased member of their family, to honour them. They then headed to church for mass. Many gathered in the massive Carmo Convent, the cathedral in Bairro Alto. It is said that just as mass was beginning, the earthquake struck.
The roof of the cathedral collapsed. Most of the city was levelled. In the houses where candles burned, fires broke out. To escape the blazes, many people ran to the Tagus River, whose water had receded, unexpectedly.
A sign from God? No. A giant, 20-metre tsunami slammed into the city, taking more victims. It is said that as much as 80 percent of Lisbon was destroyed and as many as 50,000 people (60 percent of the population) perished as a result of the devastation.
As a reminder of the earthquake, the Carmo Convent has remained in ruins. It is now a museum that is a must-see.
If you're a wine lover, you must check out the Vinhos de Portugal centre, located in the western building off of Praça do Comércio. Here, you can sample wines from all regions of the country and have a private tasting with one of the knowledgeable staff. You can purchase a card, like the Viva card, and top it up with as much money as you'd like. There are machines that dispense wine into your glass.
DW and I signed up for a private port tasting. Our "guide" talked about the Douro Valley and let us sample four distinct styles of wine. We had a white table wine (better than the one we had from Taylor's, in Gaia), a 2016 Late Bottled Vintage, and two tawneys: a 10-year-old and one from 1980 that was incredible.
When I told our guide that the 1980 tawney was my favourite, she topped up my glass. She then made the mistake of leaving us to finish our glasses, on our own, and she left the bottles with us.
I poured myself a third glass.
Of course, much of our time in Lisbon was spent just wandering the city, checking out the neighbourhoods, trying so many dishes of food that were new to us (I recommend visiting the Time Out Market, in Cais do Sodré, at least twice), meeting the locals and other tourists, and taking lots of photos.
I'm still trying to get through all of my photos and will likely be doing so for weeks to come. But I'll leave you with a few, here.
DW and I have unfinished business with Portugal. We will return. The memories are still fresh in our heads, one month after arriving and more than two weeks after returning. I'm sure these memories will stay with us forever.
Tomorrow, for my final post about our trip (I use "final" loosely, as I'm sure I'll continue to share photos), I'll share our trip to the western coast and the town of Cascais.
