Creeeeeeeeak. My pace quickens as disturbing images crowd my over-active imagination. My mind’s eye picturing a 100 pound black menace rolling back the top of my economy-class Toyota sedan, like it was just a big-box-store sized can of sardines. Its silver(ish) metal overcoat weakened by 12 years of being rode hard and put away wet would probably make it an easier task for a ravenous Ursus americanus americanus to peel back the roof like it's a ripe grape.
Shaking my head at my naïveté, I start walking just a titch faster. I can just imagine the bear’s enthusiasm to reach the delectable lunch he can smell but not see, in the blue, dollar store cooler bag tucked away in the corner of the back seat of my somewhat battered grey import. Assorted fruit and (maybe) a chocolate bar or two add to the smorgasbord of great smells. Bonus! Hmmm, ham or roast beef sandwich?
The day started off innocently enough. My friend, Yvette, up from the Big Smoke for the weekend, visiting the Near North for what turned out to be, at least that day, a glorious but decidedly strange and never-to-be-forgotten jaunt (my favourite pastime). Truth be told, it’s definitely the oddest jaunt I’ve ever had.
Our day started off so normally; the usual foot wiggles to get the circulation ramped up enough to get out of bed and stay upright, accompanied by gentle, old(er) people noises. Bathroom time and then decision making whether to pack a picnic or take the chance of being able to find a place to eat at some point during our jaunt. Picnic won out, as I remember a bunch of times being out in the middle of nowhere, listening to my stomach do the rumble and roll cha-cha from hunger, almost drowning out the radio. The spacious blue cooler bag is packed tight and the non-perishables take up a good part of a grocery bag. Then we hit the road.
A couple of hours later, crisp almost-autumn air hits our lungs as we get out of my car and stretch the pins and needles out of our legs. It’s been a long drive from SCA, made even longer since my Garmin decided that the most direct route took us off the highway and through Orillia. Really? Why? Can’t figure that one out but will try to remember to stay on the highway the next time. Nuvi ‘Jane’ will just have to recalculate.
There’s only one other car in the rough, rutted grass parking area besides mine and my writer’s mind starts to fill in the blanks about the people who belong to it. Shrugging off the distraction, Yvette and I start down the uneven path towards the forest. I mention to Yvette that I’ve got my cell phone in my pocket, my tumbo (a bamboo staff about 2 feet long (61 cm) from my karate training days - it’s good for parting iffy vegetation (poison ivy abounds up here) and fighting off smallish wildlife, if needed, and I’m wearing a bright blue tee-shirt, just in case. Nothing if but thorough, I think. I casually mention to Yvette, that it’s ‘that time of year’ when bears are trying to fatten up for the long, cold winter ahead. Lots of fat = good hibernation.
Yvette takes the information in stride but I think she is just a little apprehensive about bears in the ‘hood and, also, maybe thinks I’m pulling her leg. Did I ever mention that Yvette is a bit of a hot-house flower? She prefers the trendy but genteel streets of Yorkville and, in bad weather, the Eaton Centre. She puts up with my jaunting with patient humour, provided that she stays under the mosquito squadrons’ and black fly battalions’ radar. Apparently, there are no such creatures in London, England, where she hails from and it seems that our indigenous insects think she’s just the thing to quench their thirst.
We amble down the tree-lined path and around the bend and come across the first of many interesting, artistic endeavors, which involves real trees.
Sofie, The Wonder Dog, just has to check out the trees, Hmmm, we think to each other. Interesting. Sofie, a little disappointed, I think, that there isn’t any pee-mail for her today.
The next thing we spot is a rather battered looking piece of plywood, white paint peeling, off all by its lonesome. It is tucked away off the path and if not for the flash of white, we probably would have missed it. There didn’t seem to be a point to it but when you think about it, it is a piece of wood. To state the obvious, wood comes from trees. We are in a tree museum. Hmmm, could that be the point? I’ll probably never know. If I remember correctly, there was no sign near it to explain it.
Shrugging off the strangeness of this one, we return to the main path and meander down, enjoying the sunshine and clean, crispy air, not knowing that in a very short time, our leisurely hike would take a very interesting twist.
Stay tuned for QUART TWO …
