Dexter’s mind doodles

June 12, 2015June 12, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / 3 Comments

Slouching away the miles in relative comfort leaves the real ‘Dood’ plenty of pondering time. And what better to ponder than the foibles of my two traveling companions—the pretend Dude and the Dame.

The thing I find most annoying in the magnification of 24/7 exposure is the way they use me to talk to each other. They don’t seem to get that I only know 3 human words; Dexter, cookie and walk, I choose to ignore the other ones that mean I’m in trouble.

“Dexter, go see pops. He’ll get your dinner this time; take you for a pee this time, yada yada.”

Or “Dexter, I can’t help it if pops is a bad dog owner.”

And what does pops reply?

“Dexter likes me better.”

And so it goes on. And on. And on. I mean, why bring me into their petty squabbles why not do what me and my pals do, work it out with a quick roll in the grass, a few chest bunts, fake snarls and it’s all good.

The Dame should know better on this the 16th year of their marriage. We all know the pretend Duke is narcissistic and totally untrainable. I found that out even as a puppy. And I was a cute puppy, as some of you will remember, all curly and cuddly. Even so, I had to work my life around his schedule.

The Dame? Now that’s a different story. I knew I had her at first bark. Pretty soon she was opening the door on signal whenever I wanted to lift my leg in the orchard. It didn’t take long before I could get her total attention anytime I wanted. I even started sticking my wet nose in her face in the morning to wake her up for my morning stroll. I think she liked it.

Art Linklater had it right when he said people are funny. Or was that the balding guy from Candid Camera. Whatever, they’re both before my time.

When I go for my daily pee strolls with the Dame I can pretty much do as I please. Walk on either side, pull on the leash. It takes maybe four or five real annoyances before the Dame gets harsh. That’s something you don’t want to see, trust me on that, so I generally don’t push it too far.

The rare time the pretend Dude takes me for a pee I have to walk on his left side, at his exact pace. We all know the guy’s obsessive but he takes it to the extreme. Speed up or slow down an inch either way and he’s all over me. How stupid is that? I mean, I like the guy, he’s my pops, but we all know he’s out there a bit.

Its common knowledge The Dame is ‘the Queen of small talk’. She talks to me nonstop. Sometimes I’d like to tell her to put a cork in it, especially when she starts talking down to me in that baby talk voice “Dexter’s such a handsome puppy.” “ Is puppy thirsty?” “Poor puppy couldn’t do his business.” It’s hard to do your business when you’ve got the Dame standing there with bag in hand waiting for a treasure to drop.

Think about it. Here I am a large, middle age dog blessed with considerable physical stature, (I turn seven this week if anyone wants to send along a treat.) and she treats me like a baby. And doesn’t she just love it when the poofter dog people in the RV parks comment on my looks. You’d think they were talking about her.

Don’t get me wrong. I love mumsy to bits. She’s my master’s master.

On those infrequent occasions when the pretend Dude takes me on the RV park rounds he makes me do that stupid walking thing. He rarely speaks to anybody along the way and when we get to a sufficiently secluded area he sits on a picnic bench lights a cigar and stares off into the distance. He could care less whether I’m constipated or not. No baby talk from that guy.

Like Allan Funt the balding guy said. (It just came to me, it’s weird what comes to mind if you have enough time to ponder.) People are funny.

P.S. Don’t forget to send along those birthday treats.

On the Woad to Wawa

June 7, 2015June 7, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / 3 Comments

Thunder Bay in the rear view mirror

One-night stands, hooking up. Salacious phrases that mean something completely different in our world.

After our hasty retreat from Thunder Bay and the “the dead-end incident” we were left without a plan, which in our world is an everyday thing. Seat of the pants would best describe our travel routine.

Why did the bear cross the road?

This is where the one-night stand comes in, no un-hitching the trailer, just park that sucker, pull out the slides and you’re set for the night. No fuss, no muss and in the morning you’re gone. Nipigon, our choice for a one-night stand and a great dinner overlooking the river at the Edgewater, gotta love those Tripadvisor recommendations. We make a quick stop at the Travel Info centre (who knew these things existed!)

Leaving our one night stand in Nipigon

We arrive in Wawa, odd name, nice town and the home of the famous 28-foot metal Goose, unfortunately in a state of decline inspiring fund-raising drives to “buy a feather, save the Goose”. Only in Canada, eh.

Take a gander

At these

Geese

But it’s really the other story of Wawa and Ontario that needs to be told, of the horrors that the guide books don’t tell you about.

Skeeters, mozzies, colourful descriptors for these tiny terrors, but in truth they should be called Demon blood-suckers.

Life in B.C. has left the Maloneys ill-prepared–sipping wine on our deck in summers past, lazily waving off the occasional wasp or black fly, our Prairie visitors sitting in wonder, covered in netting. “Where are the mosquitoes,” they exclaim, “Is this heaven?”

As we set up camp in Wawa, those years of smug complacency come back to haunt us. The Dame is quickly surrounded by a cloud of voracious demons and she begins the skeeter dance. Walk two paces, wave your left hand frantically, walk one pace, wave your right hand frantically, slap at your left leg, then right, and swat at your forehead and the back of your neck several times. Such fun really.

We were eaten alive by mosquitoes

Moquitoes are cunning, open the door a crack and the ten sentinels waiting outside quickly fly in to wreak havoc. Bottles of anti-itch sticks and creams litter the trailer. Spray bottles of OFF and Deep Woods Off fill the cupboards. The Dame has taken to wearing a clip-on OFF personal protector on her belt. A sort-of mosquito repellant condom if you will.

The Dog has other issues, we are in tick country and his rather large head and nose are a magnet for the blood-drinking drillers. At one point a large bubble forms on his back, a tick enjoying prime Golden Doodle snacking.
But other than that things are going well.

The Dog, a Tick Magnet

Anybody need a used Floatplane?

June 7, 2015June 7, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / 2 Comments

Rainbow Lake Park enjoying the view, The Dog is quite the photographer

Travelling Highway 17 along the coastline of Lake Superior you can almost believe the breathless adjectives in the North West Ontario travel brochures. “Epic adventures, fascinating history, outdoor adventures, stunning scenery” Wow, makes you want to get out there doesn’t it.

On the trails near Davey Lake in Ignace before we break for ice cream

Choosing your next stop on a trip like this is a carefully thought out, painstaking process Take Ignace, our first stop in Ontario; Dude, “I’ve got to stop for gas” Dame, “It’s 4 o’clock, there’s a campground here, we may as well stay”.

See, travel magic.

Ignace like other towns we passed since entering Ontario has that whiff of better times gone by. Themes are important in small towns; it’s what makes the tourists stop. You have to have a big egg, or a giant goose or moose or hockey stick or something kitschy for photo ops. The theme here is float planes, one on each side of the highway. This is strange because Davy Lake, beside the campground, doesn’t appear large enough for a float plane.

A strange water pit on the trails where off-roaders prepare for Mad Max, the sequel

Kilometers of trails surround the campsite, many used by off-roaders. This became apparent when we cycled out the next day to explore. The trails were either rutted and sandy or narrow and root-bound. The Dame is a sissy-cyclist; I have a comfort bike for gawd’s sake. I’m all about flat trails, preferably paved and scenic byways. The Dude has cycled from Vancouver to Edmonton, I am the cycling albatross around his neck, but he agrees to cycle in town once the promise of ice cream is raised.

Mmmmmm ice cream

Next stop Thunder Bay. Now that’s a name with some testosterone behind it. It’s a port city, rough around the edges and the scene of every RV’ers nightmare – the dead-end road.

Houston we have a problem

The GPS is a godsend. But our guide let us down, a satellite malfunction that led us down a road with a “Road Closed” sign posted beside a drunken man lying beside it, who helpfully waved and pointed at the sign in case we hadn’t noticed.

The dreaded long back up. It’s how you react that makes the difference, which separates the true RV’er from the weekend warrior with their rental camper. The Dude, cool and efficient, starts the evacuation, ten minutes later, tire tracks crisscrossing the grass the Gray Ghost is free and heading east out of Thunder Bay towards the Terry Fox Memorial. Some days you just need a little inspiration.

Ontario border to Ignace, TB & Nipigon 054

An iconic image of a great man

Head east, old man (and young Dame and Dog), head east

June 5, 2015June 5, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / 2 Comments

I think I was too hard on Winnipeg. Traffic aside, Winnipeg has a bounty of both cultural and historic offerings. We spent a day at the Forks which is eerily similar to Granville Island in Vancouver, without the yuppies and sky-high real estate prices. The Human Rights museum located near the Forks is one of a kind both architecturally and culturally.

The Canadian Human Rights Museum. See Winnipeg has culture and a heart.

I had the best, and I mean ‘the best’ tourtiere pie I have ever eaten there (sorry mom). For you non-French-lapsed Catholics out there, it is a seasoned pork and beef meat pie that our family has every Christmas Eve, after mass. Well actually after mom returns from mass.

Secret home of the world’s best Tourtiere pie

Did I mention the dog park we found. The Dog is still barking about it. Open fields, trails, plenty of other large canines to play with, it was four-legged nirvana.

So my apologies Winnipeg, any city that was home to Louis Riel and The Guess Who can’t be all bad.

I’m telling you, one more day in that trailer and I’m going to lose it!

So what did this foray into Winnipeg teach the Maloneys. Simply – big city bad, small town good. Fortunately we were heading into Ontario where small towns dot the north west side of the province.

Like the transition from Saskatchewan to Manitoba, when you cross over to Ontario the landscape changes. Thickets of pine trees line the highways, the Canadian Shield is the closest I’ve felt to B.C. since we left. If it weren’t for the signs warning of imminent death by moose collision every ten kilometers I’d feel at home.

Wanna feel at home in this part of the province, get yourself a shotgun and a fishing rod my friends. Hunting and fishing is the name of the game. Signboards for camping and fishing resorts line the sides of the highway. Resort being a loosey-goosey term for any campground offering a roof over your head and fish bait in the office.

Isn’t this the home of that city that’s the centre of the universe?

This part of Ontario is like a ten-year-old car. Still runs but the paint jobs a little tattered, the tires are a little worn, the upholstery needs some work. Abandoned businesses–motels, gas stations, restaurants–speak to an area that once thrived.

The Minnow business, still thriving in NW Ontario

We marvel at people’s bravery (foolishness) for starting a business in an area with seemingly nothing to offer but a shot at a moose or a chance to land a speckled walleye.

Our meandering takes us past Kenora with it’s beautiful Lake of the Woods location and seen-better-days downtown, through Dryden with a massive mill dominating it’s industrial landscape, until we arrive in Ignace and idyllic Davey Lake campground.

Ignace Ontario where float planes mysteriously appear on the side of the highway for no apparent reason

Winnipeg – A tale of two cities – Part 2

June 1, 2015June 2, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / 6 Comments

MEANDERING MALONEYS FIND ANCESTORAL CONNECTION

Maloney compares profiles with Louis Riel

It’s easy to dismiss ‘Winterpeg’ as an urban sprawl set amongst a plethora of lakes, rivers and rolling prairie, but that is to discount its unique place in our nation’s history. The city and its surrounding prairie played a pivotal role in the country’s early development.

It is here the French, Scottish and English trappers first ranged for game to fill the Old World fashionistas’ insatiable appetite for animal pelts. These intrepid explorers formed a close association with the First Nation peoples they encountered, taking Indian wives and producing half-breed children by the score. By the time Canada had elected its first Prime Minister, the often-inebriated and at times not-too-honourable Sir John A. MacDonald, the Metis, as they came to be called, had settled the land.

By the time Sir John began pushing the railroad through in an effort to keep the country out of the clutches of our Yankee neighbours to the south, the Metis had established riverside farms to sustain themselves as the buffalo they relied upon for life itself disappeared from the great plains.

The Riel Ancestral home in the centre of urban Winnipeg

The new Canadian government, as indifferent then as it is today, refused to recognize their rightful claims and a leader was born. Louis Riel, hanged as a traitor though he played a central role in quelling the unrest and the subsequent formation of Manitoba as a province, is referred to on official government plaques as a “significant person” in Canada’s history.

Riel was forced to flee south, where he lived a quiet religious life until called back by the Metis to help do the same for the province of Saskatchewan. Half-mad and calling himself a prophet, he none-the-less rallied the Metis, who took up arms in what was to become known as the Red River Rebellion but was actually little more than a bunch of mixed-blood farmers fighting for their land.

It was at this juncture in history that Riel crossed paths with my great grandfather Dan Maloney, who came west with Canadian troops as a volunteer/guide, having previously travelled by Red River cart to the wilds of St. Albert, Alberta, where his name now graces the RCMP headquarters–Maloney Place.

A Maloney at Maloney Place

History has not recorded whether the two men met, but great grandad, not withstanding his morally suspect stand on the side of the federal government, went on to become an upstanding Albertan, fluent in English, French and Cree, and a member of its first legislative body.

Winnipeg, A tale of two cities – Part 1

June 1, 2015June 1, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / Leave a comment

White-knuckling it through Winnipeg traffic

After travelling for a while one thing has become clear; small is good, big is bad.

Take Winnipeg’s traffic.. please. It started off innocently enough, an uneventful drive from Dauphin through farmland dotted with cows. Thousands of cows. Forget Alberta beef, bring on that ‘Friendly Manitoba’ ribeye.

Hello Manitoba ribeye

Our GPS guide, Ms. Funk (Grade 5 teacher, perfect diction and a bun, need I say more), always affable and ever-diligent about finding the shortest route from point A to B, led us on a merry chase from one secondary highway to another. On roads (highways?) that were so narrow and deserted that at one point a kindly Manitoban pulled up beside our truck in the oncoming traffic lane gesticulating madly towards the back of the trailer. As it turned, the sewer hose had escaped its bumper lair and was bumping down the road. It wasn’t the kind heads-up that surprised me but instead the gentleman’s complete faith that he could drive indefinitely in the wrong lane with no expectation of oncoming traffic. Gotta love Manitoba.

So far so good, right? Wrong. Winnipeg like so many of Canada’s major cities is bursting at the seams. Bordered by two rivers and split into North and South quadrants, the growth is outwards to the ‘burbs a vast wasteland of boxy condo’s and tiny Stepford-like homes in neighourhoods surrounded by industry and train tracks.

Apparently road repair and hodge-podge urban development is driving Winnipeg’s economy. Now, we are no traffic sissies. The Dude and Dame are battle-hardened veterans of the Vancouver traffic wars. My left eye still twitches when someone mentions rush hour on the Patella Bridge.Winnipeg traffic is different, planned to cause optimum inconvenience. Like Portage Avenue. Four lanes snaking through Winnipeg, the main through-fare from East to West and my chosen route to meet a friend on the southwest end of town.

An hour should be plenty to get there, I think, programming Ms. Funk. It started innocently enough, I cruised through the north-end of town, an eighties rock station blaring in the truck. As we headed into downtown Winnipeg, the ninth circle of hell begins. Traffic in Winnipeg isn’t worse than Vancouver, it’s that built up wealth of traffic avoidance knowledge that is missing. I don’t know the shortcuts, the secret back roads, the side roads that will lead me out of this nightmare. I am trapped. Even the song stylings of Van Halen can’t lighten my mood.

Downtown Winnipeg an innocent facade at first

And then suddenly it is over. The orange traffic cones and warning signs are gone, four lanes of freedom lie ahead as I rev my engine and head west. Now if they could only get those traffic lights synchronized.

This car was new when the traffic jam started

Dexter speaks his truth

May 28, 2015May 28, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / 3 Comments

A Winnipegosis – small town in Manitoba or medical condition

“If residents of Winnipeg are called Winnipeggers, are the 600-odd people who live in Winnepegosis known as Winnepegosisers? Sounds a bit ‘hoser-ish.’” –the Dude.

The above quote says everything you need to know about the level of conversation as the truck drives itself down straight and flat highways with the Dude occasionally moving the steering wheel a half inch to either side.

I’d like to know how he got top billing on this blog while I, with my legitimate ‘Dood” lineage, am relegated to third banana status, and further humiliated by being labelled simply as The Dog.

Might as well grab a quick snooze while the humans look at stuff

Most of you know me as Dexter, the Meandering Maloney’s sweet-natured companion, affectionate and laid back, always on the lookout for a head scratch or a bum noogie. The oldies’s great adventure is putting my amiable disposition to the test. Sure, I’ve got three dog beds in the truck’s back seat and plenty of food and water, but the Dood does not live on creature comforts alone. I need intellectual stimulation and as I indicated at the beginning, the cab of the truck is a black intellectual void. And what’s worse there’s nothing to see out the windows. Grey fields, grey sky, grey water and a barely discernible grey horizon.

Try looking at this all day

Back in Kaleden I had the run of the neighbourhood, friends who gave me cookies and plenty of deer to bark at. I could sniff the neighbour dog’s bum anytime. No fuss. I put up with ridiculously early morning walks with the Dame and being expected to pee and poo on cue because I knew I could go back home and snooze until mid-morning when the Dude gets up.

The Dude’s natural tendency towards laziness suited me fine at home. His big exertion of the day often amounted to going to the beach to smoke a cigar and knock back and can of Red Bull. I could go for a drink in the lake, chew old deer bones and sniff around while he blew smoke at the water. Now the Dude sometimes gets up as early as 9:30 and the Dame has us both on the go before noon.

What’s with all the churches in Dauphin, was there a sale on minarets?

Yawn…church #2

Fire halls sure are fancy in Dauphin

How many Ukrainian Churches can one dog look at? Maybe they’re better in full colour but I’m here to tell you that from three feet off the ground one grey minaret looks like any other. I don’t get it. These two haven’t set foot inside a church in dog’s years.

Train stations, The Dame is all over these

And railway stations. What’s up with that? Brick piles with tracks running alongside. Of course, it’s not all tedious. I’m keeping in shape on bike ride runs through small town neighbourhoods. Sometimes I get lucky and a yard dog comes snarling at the fence. Lucky for them I’m trained to resist trouble. Still, it’s fun to see them all frustrated as I prance by. In one campsite I got an off-leash shot at a big jack rabbit. That hopping thing generates the closest thing I’ve seen to warp speed. The dratted rabbit’s easy escape left an embarrassing taste and the Dude, not unexpectedly, rubbed it in with a derisive “Nice try, Dexter.”

It’s true I get a lot of attention from the geezers at the RV parks. A dog over six inches stands out in these places. Every night it’s the same thing, the geezers take their precious little poofters for a stroll around the grounds. Try and get up close for a bum sniff and the poofters freak out. Honestly, as if I could be bothered.

Thank Gawd I’ve got my monkey to talk to

Here Moosey, Moosey, Moosey

May 26, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / 4 Comments

Camping near the Dauphin Bayou

Leaving Yorkton, Mean Machine purring like a hyper-caffeinated cougar, we head for Dauphin Manitoba. This is not a planned stop; the trip is a shoot-from-the-hip, dart-on-the-board type of adventure. Not a comforting thought for those who live life with electronic organizer at the ready.

When you think of Manitoba what comes to mind? The Dame’s perception is clouded by childhood memories of family outings in Shilo–Brother #1 screaming as a bloated bloodsucker is carefully removed from his foot by a lighted cigarette, and Brother #1 again (apparently a magnet for childhood drama) being rushed to a clinic to have a tick removed from his belly.

Manitoba is the province of lakes. Forget that “Friendly Manitoba” label. How can you guarantee that anyway? One surly guy at a convenience store can ruin the whole provincial image, calling your province “Mostly Friendly Manitoba” is probably a safer bet.

Come on in the water’s fine!

One thing you don’t expect to see in Manitoba is a mountain. When you live in B.C. you become blasé about mountains, they are just there blocking out the sun in early evening. We are startled when visitors from other countries gush, as if they just sprouted from the earth to become a photo backdrop.

Manitobans celebrate their mountain; the federal government even built a park around it; Riding Mountain National Park, just south of Dauphin. We set out to experience our own mountain moment.

Can you point me in the direction of your mountain

Hmmm, okay, well… perhaps we’re jaded, maybe our definition of mountain and/or hill needs to be adjusted, tweaked a bit to include the broad spectrum of vertical rock formations that Canada has to offer.

The park looms above the waterlogged prairie, a giant bump on the horizon. No white-capped peaks; in fact, no peaks at all. Don’t get me wrong, the park is beautiful. Lakes shimmer and gleam around each corner, a bounty of hiking trails lead off in all directions.

Mountain climbing in Manitoba

Inexplicably, two red Adirondack chairs sit empty atop a bump on the bump. We hike up to discover an amazing prairie panorama. The Town of Clear Lake is a post card, complete with outdoor cafés, tourist shops and rangers walking around in park uniforms.

Clear Lake Resort where Easter lasts all summer

Riding Mountain is also a safe haven for moose. The mighty, comical Canadian icons apparently abound in the park. There are signs dotting the road warning unwary travelers that a moose might dash across the road at any time. The Dame is ecstatic, camera at the ready. A moose sighting in the wild, does it get any better? That bear, crouched in the bush at the side of the road… we can see those at home, in fact three strolled down our road last fall. I’m looking for the money shot,Bullwinkle in the flesh.

Here Moosey, Moosey, Moosey…

Somehow I thought they would be bigger

The Truck Whisperer

May 21, 2015May 26, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / 4 Comments

The sun sets on Golden Pond in Yorkton

The Mean Towing Machine, as the Dude likes to refer to the truck, shrieked and whistled its way across the prairies, its high, attention-demanding pitch warning wayward gophers out of its path. Its need for attention coupled with our eastern trajectory brought us to Yorkton, Sask. where the diesel truck whisperer attends to wounded machines in blue coveralls.

“Help us, we pleaded, this incessant whistling sound is driving us mad.”

“No need to beg,” replied the Truck Whisperer politely after noting our B.C. plates. “We accept B.C. money at par and I am here to help. Come back at four, my work will be done”.

The Truck Whisperer’s secret lair

Set up at the City Campground on the edge of town, we explored on two wheels, (four, actually, if you count both bikes), Dexter in tow on leash. Yorkton exemplifies the changing Saskatchewan. Farming still rules. Huge machines of unknowable purpose, driven by John Deere-hatted men, lumber down the potholed highways sharing space with SUV’s and expensive trucks, fueled by potash and energy money.

The town’s wide, treed streets and neat homes give off a Mayberry aura and one half expects to see young Opie or Beaver Cleaver two-wheeling out of a yard hell-bent on adventure, Yorkton-style, with Aunt Bea or June Cleaver clucking at them motherly from a front porch. The linear park around the city beckons.

Like many small prairie towns, Yorkton has its landmark, and this one is big. It looms above the trees and rooftops like a scaled down concrete version of the CN tower with “Yorkton” in 20 foot letters across its face. It might hold water. During the dirty thirties, Al Capone funneled bootleg whiskey through Saskatchewan. Draw your own conclusions about what the “water” tower actually contains.

Carved Miranda ponders a run for Mayor of Yorkton

“You’re from B.C., what are you doin’ in Saskatchewan?”

We’ve been asked this question numerous times when people learn we’re from God’s country. We stare back at them blankly for a moment before pointing out the obvious blessings we see through new eyes.

Big sky, prairie winds, rolling wheat fields, mournful train whistles in the night, flat biking trails, wetlands dotted with reeds and filled with birdsong, kindly people who offer to park your RV for you, a Diesel shop owner who fits in a needy traveler on short notice. These are a few of our favourite Saskatchewan things.

Oh, and by the way, the high-pitched whistling sound (kaching, kaching) was nothing more than air being forced through the vents of Mean Machine’s new fifth wheel tailgate…

Let me know if you spot a tree

Secrets of Saskatoon

May 18, 2015 / The Meanderers Musings / 7 Comments

The Mighty Saskatchewan river

Okay I admit it, I was wrong. I had pictured Saskatoon as this outpost in the middle of blowing wheat fields, where kindly farm people in green ‘Riders’ jackets roamed the streets, exchanging pleasantries about the weather.

Saskatoon is happening. Split down the middle by the mighty Saskatchewan River, the city has fantastic walk/bike trails running the length of the city and has even installed an all-season outdoor gym in case you get the urge to stop and put in 15 minutes of cross-fit training. The 3 D’s cycled from the “Gordon Howe campground” (no Gordie nicknames here please, he is an icon in these parts) to the downtown center with The Dog happily taking point. Flat trails, water views, funky art installations, where are the wheat fields!!

A Dude and his Dog cycle the trails of Saskatoon

And the food! They have great restaurants and pubs filled with trendy bearded hipsters sipping craft beers with a side of cauliflower fritters and Duck sliders. Where is the meatloaf and mashed potatoes?

Traveling takes a toll on a girl’s toes and The Dog’s famously curly locks. Saskatoon had our backs. A shop downtown specializing in braided cornrows, with a sketchy facade and a collection of mounted wigs everywhere you looked, was the first stop for a pedicure emergency. Job done, toes buffed, painted and sassy-looking, it was The Dog’s turn. A couple of pounds of fur later, his head resembling a gone to seed dandelion stalk, The Dog emerges from the salon.

I’ve got one for every day of the week!

Little secret here, I love museums. I love pulling back the curtain on what was, on how much has changed in a relatively short period of time. We spent an afternoon at the Western Development Museum, a comprehensive look at the Saskatchewan of old and some of the crazy inventions that came out of this province. (Anyone care to drive a wind-powered car that reached 3 km/hour at top speed, or one that has a giant barrel on the roof filled with straw gas?!)

A whiskey for me and water for my horse

I should have known Saskatoon would be cool. My brother, always a trend-setter, has lived here for ten years, coyly down-playing the city, “it’s okay” he always says. Now I know why, it’s been a clever ploy to keep others away, to keep the city his.

Fare thee well Saskatoon, your secrets are safe with us. Now we’re off to find some farmers and wheat fields.

On a clear day you can see forever

The Meandering Maloneys

A little bit of this and that

Dexter’s mind doodles

On the Woad to Wawa

Anybody need a used Floatplane?

Head east, old man (and young Dame and Dog), head east

Winnipeg – A tale of two cities – Part 2

Winnipeg, A tale of two cities – Part 1

Dexter speaks his truth

Here Moosey, Moosey, Moosey

The Truck Whisperer

Secrets of Saskatoon

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