Hey, remember theCarnivore Light? Well, thanks to the awesome power of this blog and it's followers (now numbering in the tens!), the flashlight's maker, Gerber, has renamed it! I was just surfing around, following up on some old interests of mine when I foundthis:
A new Carnivore? I was giddy with excitement. Little did I know it would be more of a surprise than I could have dared to dream... the link went tothis:
See what happened? Imade fun of the name of this lightand the company changed the name. I feel drunk with power. I'm sure they would have changed it the day my post came out if they could have, but I understand... you know, inventories, production runs and all that. Flashlight names can't just be changed overnight. What else can I joke about to change the world? This is awesome.
Incidentally, I found it easy to find sites selling Gerber knives and tools (those first links came from one of them), some even kind of representing themselves as the Gerber company, but finding the real Gerber website was a bit of a challenge because they weren't tops in google searches. I don't think they want to be and I think I know why.
Gerber blades, the choice of many hunters, military dudes and outdoors people of all kinds, are a wholly owned brand belonging to a company most famous for their scissors, one of the most trusted names in the hardcore sewing and quilting sector, not to mention being a favourite of xtreme scrapbookers. I'm just guessing here, but I think the people being marketed to with a website likethis, using a poster boy likeBear Grylls, may not want their gear to come from the makers of grandma's good sewing scissors. Like I said, just a crazy notion that popped into my head.
PS - There is a slim chance that I am not responsible for the redesign and renaming of that flashlight, but really, what are the odds? Tiny. It had to be me. Right? Right.
This one bridge near my house seems to be a natural focal point for cool happenings and spray painted messages. I have always liked it, even before the random bridge music. Next, I was sent on a philosophical journey that resulted in me calling it "nihilism bridge" these days. Way back then in early summer, the bridge was being re-built. It has been closed all Summer and may be closed still; I haven't been by lately. At the time I took these photos, it was quite literally shrouded in mystery...
In the near environs of the bridge, spray paint was again at work. First, another message asking me to do stuff:
Unlike "try nihilism", I didn't know how to follow this particular instruction. Since it seemed to involve leaving leaving your shirt behind, I chose not to try too hard to figure it out. I turned my attention to the bridge. That shroud was driving me crazy. What were they doing under there? I wanted to take a closer look, but I found two messages discouraging me from doing so.
Studying these two messages taught me something important. Vertical, hand spray-painted warnings are way more scary than horizontal, prefabricated ones. That's because each type of sign suggests a certain kind of author. The store-bought sign stinks of somebody from Head Office who is mostly concerned about liability and such. If they caught you on the work site, it would probably go down something like this:
If that's the worst that would happen, I just might trespass and take a little look around.
The hand done, vertical sign brings forth images of an entirely different sort. I mean, if I had hopped the fence with the author of "keep out" around, I imagine something like this would have been more likely:
With that image in my head, I decided to just carry on home and stop being so nosey. As I left that neighbourhood, I saw the symbol below painted on the sidewalk. The arrow was pointing into the street. If somebody could tell me what it means, I would appreciate it.
Anyway, that's it for today I guess. Remember, if you want to scare people off with a sign sometime, make the effort to spray-paint it yourself. It works better.
A couple of weekends ago the Rantwick family went for a little hike in Komoka Provincial Park. My brother asked me to take some pictures, so I did. He enjoyed them quite a lot, so I thought I would frame them with a little writing and show them to you as well.
Komoka Provincial Park isn't like lots of other Provincial Parks... it is really just a nice wild area with meadows and trails and trees and no facilities other than a couple of parking lots at the entrances located just outside of London Ontario. It would seem that this unstaffed area was being misused with no consequences by some people, so the man put up a sign to indicate that the party was NOW over:
That should snuff out any monkey business; damn kids. Anyway, because my brother had requested some, we stopped and took family photos. First, kids with Mrs. Rantwick:
Then, with Dad:
Having gotten those pics done, we headed down the path. Almost right away I saw a bush with red berries:
pic source I'm not very knowledgeable about plants or bushes or trees, so I immediately gathered a big handful of the bright red berries and ate them. They tasted awful and made my stomach hurt. I figured the best thing to do was follow them with some mushrooms that looked like they might help:
Well, let me tell you, I forgot about my stomach ache almost right away. Remember how I saw Mother Nature in the city a little while ago? She appeared before me right there in Komoka Provincial Park!
She didn't say anything. She just kind of hovered there for a few seconds and then faded away. It was wild. I immediately felt very much at one with nature; the birds, the grass, the flowers...
The hike had been going great until that point, as you can see. But then things started feeling weird. I started to become afraid of meeting wild animals. I was particularly terrified of meeting a "grumbear". A grumbear is a fictional bear who is angry and crazy and who was invented by my son in construction paper and wool form three or four years ago:
I keep the grumbear in my office at work and use him to scare away co-workers who are annoying me. Anyway, I had become afraid of meeting a real grumbear. Sure enough, one showed up on the trail right next to my kids!
As you can see, since my son was the grumbear's "father", he was not afraid and just gave him a friendly wave. The grumbear, like Mother Nature, vanished with no harm done. I was beginning to think that maybe this hike wasn't so fun as we walked down to the river's edge:
It was at that point that I lost consciousness. When I woke up several hours later, Mrs. Rantwick said I had been acting crazy on our walk, like I was possessed or something. I did a little research, and sure enough, those red berries are bad news!
pic source I bet those cursed berries could have poisoned me or doomed me to some sort of supernatural torture! Thank goodness I found those mushrooms! Anyway, my family had a very nice time out in Komoka, I think. I can't really remember. There's a lesson to be learned from all this, but I just can't put my finger on it. In any case, I'm bringing bear and shark repellant on our next little walk in the bush just to be on the safe side.
Authors note: the following post was supposed to be the last one about my "How's My Driving" sign, but I ended up displaying it again in early 2013... so what was a Final post then isn't anymore, if you know what I mean.
I rode around with a "How's My Driving" sign on my bike for a few months during the summer of 2010. To read about why, read this. I've decided to wrap up my little experiment. For what it is worth, this post includes the small amount of feedback I did get.
On June 29, Dave said:
You're an idiot...plain and simple. Any moron that cycles in the middle of a lane on a busy road slowing rush hour traffic down to a crawl must have brain damage. It's morons like you that lead to motorists despising cyclists. Get your head out of your ass. Bike on the right side of the lane where traffic can safely pass. Taking the entire lane and peddling along at 25 kph is ignorance.
Screw you.
D
To which I replied:
Dave,Thanks for answering to my sign, despite your pretty angry approach. I have two main points I want to make in response.
1 - I am simply a slower vehicle that doesn't want to get hit or squeezed into the gutter. There are lots of things that slow cars down, including other cars, heavy equipment, buses, etc. Why do I get the special angry treatment?
2 - I only take the whole lane when there isn't room for cars to pass me safely, and get out of the way to the right when I can. Remember that even though your car may fit OK at that moment, I have to also think of the moron in a cube van who figures they can squeeze by. Since I'm the one who would pay the price for their bad decision, I have to take away their opportunity to make it in the first place. As much as I would like to, I can't risk my own safety for your convenience. I have kids and stuff who would miss me.
Last thing: I drive a car almost every day too.
Dave responded:
Dear Moron,
Thanks for the garbage response. Addressing my rant as "petty" only tells me the kind of guy you are. You're asking for feedback and I gave you exactly the feedback every single person you slowed down was thinking..."Screw You".
With respect to your points I call BS.
1) You are slow despite your best efforts to squeeze your plump body into spandex. This is something no one of your build or stature should ever try to do. The tight clothes aren't going to reduce drag...they're only displaying things to the world that no man, or woman should ever display. There are slow cars, trucks, vans, ice cream trucks out there...but they avoid downtown during rush hour - as should you.
2) You are a liar. You were happily annoying traffic despite the fact there was a right line next to you that was "under construction". There was a good 2-3 feet of lane you still could of used but instead you chose to ride in the middle of the left lane. I get it - you don't want to get hit. If you can't occupy 3 feet of open lane and avoid getting hit - you shouldn't be riding a bike.
So...I suggest you do one of two things. Either stick to your car, or be considerate of the people you share the road with. That means letting faster traffic pass, and not wearing an outfit that puts your grapes on display for the world. D To which I replied: Dave, Thanks for getting back to me on this. To your points: I did not call your response "petty". I called it "pretty angry" which I think was fair. Yes, I am slow. Slower than I would like to be anyway. I am sorry that you and others had to see me in spandex, but I find it most comfortable to ride in. We all suffer at the hands of other people's clothing choices sometimes; I'm afraid you will just have to get over it. If I had chosen to ride in 2-3 feet of construction zone, how would I have gotten out of that lane when I ran out of room? Would you have graciously waved me in, grapes and all? I have been riding in the street for a long time. My choices (was it York street?) are safer and easier for everybody, believe it or not. Last, I was not aware that slow vehicles avoided downtown.
Dave's 3rd reply is below, with my comments in blue:
To anyone reading this (and i doubt anyone is), let me conclude with this.
I'm all for cyclists. Go ahead and peddle to your hearts content. If you're going to jump on a bike, consider the following: Dave, please know that I am not "cyclists". I am me. As such, I am answering strictly for myself.
1) You can't take the middle of a lane unless there is another lane available for cars to pass. It's ludicrous to think you can/should hold up other commuters. By every law that I know of in North America, I can. What I find ludicrous is that it is a problem to slow down for the short time (usually just seconds) it takes for me to arrive at a place where I can safely get right or where you can safely pass. Please just pretend I am a garbage truck.
Safety is paramount for you guys...In my car I’m bigger, heavier and can do a lot of damage to you - so think!!! Do you really, honestly, think that you understand this fact better than a person who would put a sign like this on his bike?
Take appropriate routes. I do. I only display my "How's My Driving?" sign when I am commuting to work and back. I often choose to take a more busy, direct route in the interest of getting to work or back home on time. Most times I'm on the bike, I am commuting, just like you, and don't have time for the scenic route. Where there isn't a cycle lane, stick to the side and let cars by you safely. While I completely trust you and your judgement about what a safe pass is, Dave, I'm afraid I don't trust everybody else on the road. In the interest of my own safety, I can't do that all the time.
DON'T make cars pass you, and then pull to the front of the line at a light - you're only making us all pass you again. This is the single biggest pet peeve of all motorists when it comes to you and your bikes. I'm a motorist, and I disagree. My biggest pet peeves about cyclists are sidewalk and wrong-way riders. They often dart out in front of you without warning, because they are difficult to see. My sign said "How's My Driving?", not "How's the driving of every cyclist who ever made you mad?". I have spent years becoming a much better bike driver. Displaying that sign has made me an even better one, because I know people might call me on what I do on the road. I used to sneak up to a light on the right of cars, but I almost never do that now. It is called "queue jumping". Strangely, the times I do it now are when I'm in a bike lane. 2) Clothing is important...be comfortable but don't go out looking like Lance Armstrong unless you can pull it off. Wear quick-dry tops if you need to but don't wrap yourself up like Liza Minnelli attending a hot yoga class. Dave, I told you before, get over it.
Thanks for the forum to vent...this has a lot to do with terrible eco-cyclists who have no clue how to ride a bike safely and alot less to to with RANTWICK (aka Moron) himself. His selfish cycling with a sign attached to his back simply let me type this somewhere. Dave, you are welcome. Please remember, however, that I am no more a representative of all cyclists (including the terrible ones) than you are of all motorists (including the terrible ones).
I bid you all adieu.
D (AKA Pretty Angry)
Many days passed without any kind of comment, then this:
Please forgive the redundant info in the video... since it is on youtube I want it to make some sort of sense if people find it there instead of here.
Then, only a few days later, another shoutout on the very same street...
As you can see, it was something of a failed experiment, because I was hoping for some useful discussion of why I ride like I do. Just the same, thanks to those who responded, even Dave.
Arecent postfrom Steve A atdfw point-to-pointwas about stopping and checking out some of the things we cruise past all the time. That post reminded me that I've been sitting on some photos of a roadside wonder here in London Ontario. In his case it was something of historical interest, with a sign and everything. My pictures are of something that is privately owned, but is no doubt cherished by the whole neighbourhood where it is found.
I've never been a big fan of garden gnomes and that kind of thing. I mean, huh?
To each his own I guess. I also don't really dig those leaning cowboy silhouette things, either:And although they don't bother me at all, why am I seeing these stars on so many houses?
Are they the new house butterfly? If so, that's too bad, because I like house butterflies. Mrs. Rantwick thinks my tastes in this regard are somewhat misguided. Ah well. They bring me peace.
Anyway, where was I? I got all blissed out there for a second. Ah yes... outdoor decorations. Well, there are house butterflies (sigh) and all these other things, but what I'm talking about here is something beyond all of that. I'm talking about a front lawn vision. I'm talking about Mother Nature herself. The proud owners of Mother Nature have, naturally, surrounded her with sweet little creatures...
She is deserving of her many followers. Here she is in context:
And here she is on her own (excluding her escort bunny, a turtle, a panting little dog and a tiny toe-sniffing donkey):
I love her. I love knowing that her owners obviously cherish her. I love that people can express themselves any way they want, on their front lawns or otherwise. I'm glad I don't live straight across from her, because, frankly, I would find myself in a constant state of arousal unbecoming a devout worshiper of Mrs. Rantwick. I think I had better stop there.
Given the fact that I often refer to bicycle related road markings as "bike paint", one might imagine that this post is about my love/hate relationship with bike lanes, or, as Kevin was kind enough to make me aware of, the new sharrows that have appeared on Dufferin (on Ridout too, I've now noticed) here in London:
I guess I don't mind a painted reminder that I may co-exist on the roadway with cars, but I don't really need them. Anyway, the real reason for this post has nothing to do with "official" paint, but rather spray painted advice left by unknown philosophers and theologians!
I mentioned this philosophically loaded ride over a week ago, and this is the post that describes the battle for my soul that ensued while I rode it. That particular Friday I had booked the day off and decided to go for a ride, taking the paths leading North that I never take because they have nothing to do with my commute. I avoid these particular paths after work and in the early morning because they are stuffed full of joggers; in general I like joggers because they understand how the path works, but big groups of them slow me down an awful lot despite this fact. On this day, however, I was riding on a weekday, around 9 AM. All those kooky joggers were back at home or arrived at work. Perfect.
As I headed north out of my neighbourhood, I thought I would stop and take a peek at some path/bridge construction that is affecting lots of path riders near downtown:
As you can see I was treated to a pretty cool looking view of some interesting construction in full swing. I could watch this kind of thing all day, and if it weren't for the fact that pudgy middle-aged men wearing spandex aren't among preferred gawkers, I might have. The bridge being worked on is the one featured in this post, which is a big favourite of mine. No stick music until it is back, I guess. As I checked out the scene, I saw the graffiti (highlighted by WAH? above) that would turn my bike ride into a philosophical journey:
Most "Try" statements you read finish with "our new ____" or "Me!" But this "Try" message was so much deeper... Try Nihilism! Wow. I found the fact that the message prompting me to try it was painted on a girder that even under-bridge dwelling weirdos would have trouble finding or seeing if it weren't for the construction very interesting. The fact that I had stumbled upon this message despite its bizarre location made me want to honour it, follow it. I resolved to be a Nihilist until I decided not to be one any more.
What is Nihilism? Although I have a pretty good idea, I'm smart enough not to answer that question without some consultation to protect me from looking like a total moron if I'm wrong... Let's ask Wikipedia!
Nihilism (from the Latin nihil, nothing) is the philosophical doctrine suggesting the negation of one or more meaningful aspects of life. Most commonly, nihilism is presented in the form of existential nihilism which argues that life is without objective meaning, purpose, or intrinsic value. Moral nihilists assert that morality does not inherently exist, and that any established moral values are abstractly contrived.
Now, I ain't no big thinky-man, but it seems to me that a Nihilist thinks that nothing really matters, including being good or nice. That sounds pretty liberating, don't you think? Always open to new ideas and ready to follow the spray painted advice of strangers, I rode on with a new way of perceiving things, starting with stuff that gets in my way; when being good or nice doesn't matter...
Nihilism was proving not only liberating, but fascinating! Geese respond to it. Old Ladies ignore it. Woah. What could that mean? Well, let's think now... Old Ladies go to Church. Geese do not. Was it a God thing? Nietzsche, a big name in the Nihilism game, was famous for the phrase "God is Dead" and St. Peter's Seminary was on my route...
At this point I was thinking Nihilism kind of sucks and involves random acts of construction. But what to do? Now that I was a Nihilist, how would I manage to care enough to change my modus operandi? Nothing really matters, man, and if I am out of luck in the whole philosophy thing, who cares? Another spray paint theologian, that's who!
So there you have it. Birds prefer Love over Nihilism. Also, love of your fellow humans clears Multi-Use Pathways better than a deep sense of meaninglessness. Go and figure! What a ride. I was spiritually bushed, let me tell you. I might show more caution in following the teachings of the spray paint crowd in future... it can wear a person out.
Watch for the Signs, Man.
R A N T W I C K
PS - As much as this was a post-ride mental construction, the painted messages, places and events of this post are from a single ride and are in their real chronological order, if you believe in that whole "reality" thing.
As noted previously, I was away for the last several days. I went home to Thunder Bay to hang out with my Mother. The RANTWICKmothership is doing well, thank you, and we had a good time. I mostly drank beer and watched hockey in the evenings. Mom watched with me but skipped the beer part. In the daytime, we did various kinds of errand-y stuff and on one fine Sunday afternoon we went out to our cottage, walked on a big beach (because the water was low), tossed a stick for a dog and sat in the sun. One rantsister and one rantbrother joined us and it was really nice.
You know what else was nice? Flying. I get a little uptight when I travel, but I always love to fly in airplanes of just about any description. I am blessed, because I only fly every couple of years or so, so it stays kind of ever-new. I love take-off and I love landing. My landing in Thunder Bay was in super strong wind, and the small 80-ish passenger plane was getting kicked around quite a lot. People clapped when we were firmly on the ground. It was scary and fun. Our pilot earned his money that day for sure. My brother-in-law is a pilot, and I stole that "earned his money" thing from my younger sister, his wife, who commented on the wind when she picked me up at the airport. There's one other thing about flying that I really like. I get an inexplicable sense of happiness and/or satisfaction when I spot a golf course or a baseball diamond from the air. I don't why... that's why I used the word inexplicable a moment ago, I think.
Despite the fact that I just relayed such ultra-exciting details about what I've been up to lately, that wasn't the reason for writing this post. While Mom and I were buzzing around town, we swung by the house I grew up in. I noticed that subsequent owners had replaced a normal sized window on the back of the house with a nice new big one:
No stinkin' wonder. Look at what you can see from that window:
That, friends of mine, is known as the Sleeping Giant, because it resembles a man in repose on his back. I took that picture just before heading to the airport to leave town. This picture stinks because on some days the features of the Giant are really clear and he's way more interesting and "lifelike" and even seems much bigger.
Anyway, my Mom reminded me that when I was little I would ask to "Go to the Ships", which meant walk a block towards the lake (Lake Superior, for those who care) in order to get a better view of the big cargo ships that come and go all summer long in Thunder Bay Ontario, loading up on Canadian wheat and taking it all over the globe. Here's the view from that spot (no ships at that moment, sorry):
It is really too bad I didn't take pictures when it was just stunning the day before, but these give you the idea. Click on 'em for pretty big versions.
This post is mostly about the fact that as a child and for much of my youth I had something utterly beautiful just outside my back door, literally. A city spread out beneath the houses on the hill, houses that look out over the largest lake in the world and one of its mythical characters. Of course I didn't think about it that way because it was all I knew. In Southern Ontario, where I live now, a house anywhere near such a view would probably cost a couple million dollars. So, short version: wow, homesick, after 20 years. Crazy.
That's all I suppose. I guess I just wanted to mention that fit of nostalgia before it too became a fading memory. It is very likely that something bike-related will turn up here soon, I think.
I fall in love with the big heavy studded tire monstrosity known as "Mutant Winter" in the Fall. I mean, I can ride over or through just about anything on it. And it has gears, 8 of 'em! It has the2nd sexiest plastic tub in the city. It has pink brake cables. It is caked in road sludge and has rusty fender stays. It is slow-ish. It is perfect.
I also fall in love with a fixed gear commuter known simply as "Summer" each Spring. It is light and practical and fast-ish. It sports panniers of deep philosophical meaning that came from across the sea. It is my best build so far. It needs new bar tape and brake pads. It is perfect.
Once I have switched bikes with the seasons, I don't like going back. I like settling into the clothing and daily packing and riding patterns associated with each commuter bike and staying there. I also like to equip the bike with appropriate tubes and tools and just leave them on board rather than transferring stuff from one bike to another. I've been holding off on switching to "Summer" because there's a chance snow will fly again, but I can't take riding "Mutant Winter" in such fine weather any longer. Plus, MW's bottom bracket has passed well beyond creaking; it sounds like there are broken marbles in it. The whole bike needs a complete tear-down. Thus I have resolved to ride Summer through anything nasty that comes up between now and hot weather.
Anyway, I love them both, but at different times. If they were women, it would be like having two wives I totally adored and lived with exclusively depending on the season; a more solidly built one for winter and a lighter, more athletic one for summer. Both would be practical life-partner types who selflessly support me in getting through my day-to-day existence.
The thing is, I want more. Don't get me wrong, riding for practical reasons through the work week brings me joy every time I do it, but I'm ready for some weekend fun. As some of you may know, I've got a Trek 520 frame I've been meaning to do something with. Unfortunately, there has been little cash and even less time available to apply to my project, and I have not progressed beyond having a frame and wheels. Just the same, my heart (if not my shed) definitely has room for a third bike. This time, the kind of woman she would be changes entirely, since the bike isn't about day-to-day practicality, but rather about a partner for weekend adventures:
Now you can correct me of course, but I'm guessing that "Mutant Winter" and "Summer" might have a problem with my built-for-weekend-fun-bike-woman friend that I will name "Highway":
Yep, it sure would be awful, if it weren't for this staggeringly wonderful fact: They are all bikes. They don't care. In fact, they are not capable of caring, because they are just things. Holy man, do I love bikes. I love them most for what they are, but it would seem that I also love them for what they are not.
I have referred to my customizer a few times on this blog. The first time was when he brought his formidable skills to bear in updating my sunglasses until they were truly cutting edge technology. The second time the customizer worked on my glasses, however, his genius was beyond my grasp and the work he did finished my glasses off entirely, which contributed to me looking silly in public. Believe me, I need no assistance with that kind of thing. It was at that point that I determined, with a heavy heart, that he had gone somewhat mad and I could no longer allow him to work on any of my gear. Months passed in relative peace as the customizer grew more mature. His experiments on household objects came to a near stop.
Recently, however, the tables were turned. My friend had become unkempt and out of control in the grooming department. Drastic action was required and I ended up customizing him. The results were dramatic and his revenge was swift. But enough words. To the Pictures!
Because I am nothing if not a sensitive and considerate person, I immediately starting calling him "Dobby" because, well, he kind of looked like him...
But Dobby the Customizer wasn't going to take this lying down. Oh no. I left a big bag of kitchen garbage within reach (I couldn't have been gone for more than five minutes, I swear) and he customized that thing into oblivion:
That bag of garbage started out on this side of that gate. After some angry yelling, a little deep breathing and a slow count to ten, I cleaned up the mess while the customizer spent a little time outside. Even when he displays his mad proclivities, it is difficult to stay angry with this guy for long. Which is why there is already a sequel to "Customizer III - Revenge of the Customizer"...
R A N T W I C K 
