Rocky the Racoon

I dreamt that Mom added a racoon to her family of pets. It was originally going to be another cat (neighbourhood homeless) and it was in Grandma’s yard, but by the time I found shoes that fit in our basement to go retrieve the cat, it had moved. It had previously been playing with Wagner in Grandma’s front yard. Then Grandma’s house turned into Aunt Sandy’s house (although it still looked like Grandma’s house but moved to lakeshore) complete with a massive partly submerged log moored along the shoreline (reminding me of Deka Lake) which was located where Mom’s/Grandma’s south neighbour is now. We all sat on this huge log while Michelle brought over the racoon which had previously been the homeless cat. As soon as I tried to pick it up, it ran out of my grasp.

Intersections

This morning I witnessed a rare traffic disturbance in Vancouver at Fraser Street and E. 41st Avenue. Or it would have been “rare” had I not witnessed it a previous two times in the last three weeks.

For the first two episodes I was at the intersection of Knight Street and E. 41st Avenue when a police Harley with lights flashing and siren blaring roared up and stopped abruptly in the middle of the intersection. The officer quickly dismounted and directed traffic in all four directions to halt and wait. Then half a dozen or so police motorcycles roared through the intersection following by three or four black SUVs, then half a dozen or so additional police bikes. As soon as the entourage cleared the intersection the initial rider remounted and blasted off to leave the intersection to return to its normal congested state. 

Years and years ago I witnessed a similar incident at the corner of W. 16th Avenue and Granville Street. I’m not sure exactly when it was, but it was in the pre-2010 era (Winter Olympics) when the mint green YVR airport shuttles still regularly travelled the Granville Street route. I must have ancient notes of the event somewhere; I’ve always been in the habit of at least jotting down notes of notable events even if I hadn’t penned an entire blog entry. I remember that day quite clearly as it was such a diversion from normal daily humdrum occurrences. But I can’t remember which dignitary or celebrity I’d guessed it might be at the time. 

Now, however, I think I can pretty accurately guess what’s going on with local traffic patterns. As part of the lead-up to “World Cup” the traffic enforcement division of the VPD is probably practicing for high-security transportation of celebs and dignitaries throughout the city during the big event.

Fuel

This past Friday my self-assigned task was to drop off Shauna’s laptop at the school for an IT update. Since it was such magnificent weather I decided to ride my motorcycle. And also, I’d replied to a FB ad regarding vintage Expo86 literature and I’d arranged to pick it up later in the week, so the two errands coincided with a nice morning’s ride. Or so I thought.

My most previous ride had been about three weeks ago to Chilliwack for a vintage VW parts swap meet. Traffic had been fairly heavy, especially through Langley and Surrey, then heavy again once I got back into Vancouver city limits. And since this had been my first ride of the season, I was quite sore as I approached home. Therefore I decided not to top up the gas tank (foreshadowing) prior to parking the motorcycle at home. And, as I have discovered from past experience, I did not remember to go directly to the gas station prior to embarking on my new trip.

I fired up the bike and headed to my first stop in north Burnaby, remembering mid-route that I hadn’t even checked my fuel level today. I made my purchase and headed off to Stop #2. Again, never once thought of gas. I merged into freeway traffic with no issues and entered the Cassiar tunnel. Halfway through the tunnel someone directly ahead of me absolutely floored their muscle SUV and accelerated in a cannon-shot blast of carbon particles and explosive sound. The hugely amplified sound within the confined space of the tunnel scared the hell out of me.

I was just calming down as I exited the tunnel and was approaching the base of the bridge’s incline when…

…that all-to-familiar mechanical hiccupping began. I can’t think of too much of a worse place for that to happen; except maybe inside the Cassiar tunnel, LOL. Embarrassingly, unexpected fuel drainages have been a bit of a running commentary with this motorcycle (no fuel gauge). I immediately tapped the reserve switch on the fairing. No response whatsoever. I was in the middle lane with traffic merging from the east onramp cloverleaf. The motorcycle started to decelerate to its fuel-starved chug-chug state. The bridge was approaching rapidly, and as I applied more and more throttle the bike slowed correspondingly ever more rapidly.

To my shock and horror the engine died completely while I was still in the centre lane! I could see from my rearview mirrors that the driver right behind me had thankfully turned on his emergency flashers as my motorcycle is not equipped with that feature. I moved over to the curb lane and began to push the bike up the bridge deck incline, partially protected by the vehicle behind me that still had its emergency flashers engaged. I don’t know how long that vehicle remained behind me. Several cars and trucks passed me very close to my left side as I pushed. There's no shoulder lane on the bridge.

Fortunately the Ironworkers Memorial Bridge has three lanes in each direction, plus it was mid-day; not yet rush hour. Despite those conditions I bet my stall backed up traffic into the tunnel during the 15-20 minutes or so that I estimate it took me to push my bike up the incline. I took three or four breaks to catch my breath and two or three passing cars slowed to ask if they could help. One guy driving a pickup even offer to help me load my bike into his pickup bed to get me over the bridge. But I could see that his ramps were short and due to the weight of my motorcycle plus the incline of the bridge I knew we’d never be able to load it. I thanked him and continued pushing. Even a cyclist stopped on the sidewalk to ask if he could help in any way.

Well, if nothing else I guess in fairly telling fashion I proved to myself I’m in pretty good physical condition. Those workouts seem to have been worth their weight in gold. Like I say, I estimated that it took about 15-20 minutes (although probably more) for the bridge deck incline to finally start to flatten out at its apex. After that point I hopped on the seat and started pushing with wide-leg strides to generate momentum. Faster and faster I went watching, the speedometer increase to over 50 km/h by the time I cruised onto the off ramp. Fortunately the momentum continued long enough to propel me into the parking lot of a self-storage facility on Dollarton Highway. From there I had to choose which gas station was closest: east or west. I chose west for its proximity to an A&W. Pushing a 500 lb motorcycle is hungry work! The clerk at the gas station was kind enough to lend me a jerry can (no deposit even!) and also offered me a free Slurpee. Very kind of him.

I dreamt that I was planning to visit Phillip and June and I’d had a grand idea to bring a familiar dog to visit them that they hadn’t seen in a while. It seems like June was a dog groomer, so that was the tie-in. But just to throw a spanner in the works, my initial mode of transport was a bicycle and I didn’t realize until I was some distance from home that I had no method of carrying the dog while cycling. All I could do was walk beside the bike while balancing it with one hand and carry the dog with the other arm. A backpack of some sort would have sufficed 😑 but I’d left it at home. 

Chapter two started with me on a bus (a double-decker even!) with the dog in my lap, asking adjacent passengers for directions to some obscure street in England (I don’t know what town) where Phillip and June lived. I’d only been to their traditional stone-fronted rowhouse once. 

We passed a massive Hogswartsian castle facade that was carved into the side of a tall cliff face across the road from the seashore. A localized cloudburst was precipitating heavily upon us as we had exited the bus at that particular location for some reason. 

Then, suddenly we seemed to be in a big hotel with uneven floors; one winding corridor a step up, the next a step down, etc. I then ran across Phillip and June in a corridor about to enter a suite. They were in full costume with Hollywood-grade face make-up to the point that I almost didn’t physically recognize them (at least Phillip). I played along like I didn’t recognize Phillip; he was portraying Houdini. 

Somehow I sustained some scratches on my arm during the performance and I left to seek first aid which took me to a small restaurant which I seemed to know reasonably well. It seemed that the head waiter was Ian, Phillip’s son. I could see that he was very busy serving tables but I asked him to direct me to their first aid supplies so I could treat my arm. That’s about when I woke up as my arm really was sore, but that was due to a bit of numbness because I’d been sleeping on it. 

 

Something prodded me to experience quite a vivid and abstract dream last night. Maybe it was seeing that black Cybertruck again in our ‘hood. I think it belongs to the general contractor that’s overseeing the build of a new house nearby.

TBH, I find a black Cybertruck with all tinted windows, including even the front side windows which is illegal in BC BTW, somewhat unsettling. Maybe it’s just the recent culture shift south of the border since Notorious IOM (Insufferable Orange Man) took over the reins, but both times I’ve seen that black truck I’ve envisioned it decked out in army camouflage. A further paranoid vision has one parked on every street corner. You know, during and after the Cdn annexation, LOL. Nonsensical, I know.

Anyway, back to my dream where I had seen a TV commercial featuring a massive black pickup truck (it seemed to me it was a Dodge Ram); you know the stereotype, massive lift kit, monstrous tires, and I think it was a crewcab, but that detail has faded. Suddenly it spit out a Mini-Me black pickup from its p/u bed. The semi-complete truck landed on its frame, “born” with no axles, wheels or suspension. Very strange for me to envision a birth analogy.

Then the “parent” truck reared up to expose its engine, and a pair of mechanical horses the size of Clydesdales began to metamorphose underneath the truck. I could even see riveted knee joints on the horses. Once complete they moved forward out of the way and two more were extruded, then another two to make an even half dozen.

In this age of "fake news" I didn’t trust the digital media enough (remember, this is a dream, LOL) to believe this had really occurred so I went to a dealership to get the real story. Turns out we (Shauna came too) weren’t the only ones. Quite a queue had formed to see this spectacle. In fact we had to get tickets from an agent in a tent before we could even line up. The trucks/horses were apparently set up behind the tent so I couldn’t get any sneak-peaks beforehand. The agent however assured me that the whole demonstration was true and would occur live in front of an actual audience very shortly. And again and again after that.

Unfortunately I cannot report on the accuracy of the agent’s assertions as, wouldn’t-cha know it, I awoke before our viewing session began.

Ruminations on Rhubarb

Last night I dreamt about rhubarb (!) I’d parked my car (although it seems like it was perhaps a motorhome) on the front lawn. It seems like maybe it was the front lawn of my inlaws' old house in Winnipeg. I was returning to the vehicle to retrieve something (in the rain) and one of the neighbours had placed large piles of rhubarb stalks across the boulevard as if they’d been discarded as hedge trimmings. And these were no ordinary stalks; they were massive, like tree boughs that might have been brought down in a heavy wind! You’d have needed a handsaw to carve these up for baking needs. Like a rhubarb crisp perhaps? Or a hundred? 😁

I dreamt that we awoke in the house that a childhood friend's family used to own on Parker Place in White Rock. As usual, my first morning task is letting out our dog; I think this is the first time Flynn has featured in one of my dreams. For some reason I released him into the front yard which was unfenced. Fortunately, the street is a cul-de-sac so there was no traffic. I had to rush back into the house to grab a leash, but upon entering I noticed that the bedrooms were gone. A wall now existed where the bedrooms had been only minutes earlier. I was dumbfounded. How could this be? The leash was in the bedroom. Now where had the bedrooms gone? Something told me that the bedrooms were now in the basement but also, where had the basement stairs gone? It's a split level foyer but half the stairs were missing. I'd have to find another way in. I exited the house and went in the attached carport (now an enclosed garage in the Google Maps-supplied photo). Lo and behold, there was a goldish/yellow Beetle parked there covered in dust and clutter. Also, a sheen of surface corrosion had formed on the hood. I had to sidestep all the clutter in order to see the basement door tucked in behind the Bug. However, it looked more like a Hobbit door, being only about 3 to 4 feet tall. That's when I woke up.