Last night (Canada Day, or should that be Canada Night?) I drove home from a BBQ. Everything on my car was as usual. I parked it on the street outside the house where I live in Vancouver.

This morning, as usual, I walked to work and noticed nothing amiss. On returning home this evening about 7:30pm I noticed something was different. A quick inspection showed that the outside mirror unit on the passenger side of the car was now missing its mirror. I checked on the ground and saw no sign of broken glass. The mirror unit itself had moved forward on its pivot, as though having been hit from the rear. But this was on the sidewalk side of the car, away from traffic, and not in a place where cyclists would likely be travelling.

The only thing I could think of was someone, in need of a replacement mirror for their Honda, had ripped mine off. Does anyone have any other theories? Aliens? Vain seagulls? Ugly sisters?

A mystery

I had no idea what Critical Mass was until a couple of months ago. At least no idea other than the critical mass associated with fissionable material.

This Critical Mass is bike related, a mass of like-minded bike riders gathering to take over the city streets and show their commitment to human-powered travel and to let car based travelers see that bike riders are mainstream.

We gathered at Vancouver Art Gallery, a motley crowd. Everything from Spandex attired, narrow-rimmed tires, graphite-framed ensembles screaming “money, money, money” to the $5 police auction specials held together with faith and some rust. And everything in between – custom made bikes sitting 5ft up in the air, uni-cycles, stretch-limo bikes, you name it, it was there. But that all paled compared with the RIDERS. Oh my, what an interesting crowd. The guy with one leg and a prosthetic who powered up the inclines better than most with two legs, the two guys who rode side by side for most of the outing, sharing a joint (well, several, I guess) and a few beers as they pedaled, the guy who, um, forgot his shorts, well I guess he left all his clothes at home, but was thoughtfully carrying a back-pack – maybe his clothes were in there? I will call him Mr Nuts. Or maybe Mr Dick Nuts. There were little kids riding with parents, gay couples, heterosexual couples, friends and no doubt all other segments of society. This is NOT just a radical group of protesters.

After some confusion with a group of Muslims in front of the Art Gallery, who though we were showing mass support for their particular cause, we set off. Now this is where it got interesting. The idea is that the group, which in this instance was some several hundred strong, maybe even as much as a thousand bikes, takes up one side of the road and stretches out for as many blocks as is appropriate for a group of this size. When the Mass arrives at a traffic light controlled intersection it initially waits for a green light, on green the Mass moves off. “Corkers” spontaneously move to strategic locations at each intersection to block cross traffic from accidentally (or otherwise) trying to drive through the Mass of bikes flowing relentlessly across their path.

The route followed is loosely directed by some unseen force, sometimes vocally prompted by the following Mass when it collectively decides a different direction would be preferable. As the Mass moves it organically stretches out over blocks and blocks. At some point the leading edge of the Mass senses that it is becoming too stretched – think thinning crowd rather than a cohesive Mass – and stops to allow the lengthened caterpillar to become more compacted again and return to its more imposing Mass form.

This is not a silent protest. All manner of noise makers are employed in getting attention along the route, lots of tinkling of bicycle bells at times drowned out by the blast of air-horns or the music blaring from an i-pod fed amplified speaker. And the shouting - “We’re not blocking traffic………..we ARE the traffic!” is a favourite chant. Along with things like “hey guys, there is a no-idling by-law in Vancouver “ – guaranteed to add further stress to the teeth of an SUV-driving teeth-gritter.

We flowed along the streets of Vancouver, taking over, dominating the scene. Drivers of vehicles had little choice but to sit and wait the 10 minutes or so that it took the Mass to pass by. Most were bemused but tolerant, some were supportive, some were amused, some were astonished – particularly some of the female drivers who got a close-up view of Mr Dick Nuts accessories as he pedaled by.

The Mass flowed along the Georgia Viaduct, up Main Street, west along Broadway, pausing briefly before heading north over the Burrard Bridge. The Mass spread out along the bridge incline, reunited at the brow of the bridge and then whooped it up as we sped down the incline into Downtown. West along Robson, crowds of tourists wondering what this was all about, lots of photos being taken; maybe the word will spread when they get home. Heading east along Pacific, one SUV driver who was determined to impose himself and his 5,000lbs of steel into the Mass of bikes gets a rude surprise when he is effectively isolated by a determined group of Corkers. He waits impatiently, at one point trying to drive down the wrong side of the road into oncoming traffic.

At some point the Mass stops expanding from the addition of new riders joining the moving group and we begin to shed numbers as people head off for dinners and other matters. By 8:30pm we have re-crossed the Burrard Bridge and have been heading west along 4th Av, Cornwall Av, Point Grey Road and are about to enter Jericho Beach. My stomach is rumbling, time for me to go find some dinner.

This has been an amazing experience. I am going to make this a part of my monthly routine. Come out and join the Mass, every last Friday of each month at the Georgia Street side of Vancouver Art Gallery. The Mass starts to gather around 5pm and sets off, rain or shine, at 6pm. This is not a fair-weather group, I understand they (we) do this 12 months of the year.

Join the Critical Mass, help make a difference, show people that bikes can help the environment and have a whole lot of fun at the same time! Oh yes, one more thing, costumes and weird get-ups are ENCOURAGED!

See you at the next ride – August 31st, 2007.

We seem to have found some of that magic glue. The stuff which repairs broken relationships but somehow makes them better than they were before they were broken. Now there is no anxiety, where there was confusion there is now understanding.
For now at least this is enough, without thinking about what may or may not be in the future.

I was a bit anxious about meeting RM for coffee yesterday. It was, after all, only a month since things had been falling apart between us.

It was a strange feeling, walking into Starbucks and seeing her sitting there. Even with the different look of her new haircut it almost felt like stepping back in time. It was all I could do to resist hugging her. I was quite moved by the fact that she had ordered me a Latte and had even remembered I like to have some sugar stirred into it.

This was like our relationship had been, before things went astray. She was telling me about some of the things she has been doing and wants to do. Her face was alive and animated, her voice still makes me tingle. We laughed together and I remembered how good we had been together before.

I shouldn't wish for what is not possible, but I wish we could pick up the pieces of our relationship, find some strong glue and stick them back together. This time we would have the advantage of knowing where the weak pieces are and we could be more careful with them.

I was trying so hard to let her go. She once said that if I loved her I would not make life hard for her by trying to capture her young years and then leave her, when I die, to be alone in her older years.

So I made it easy for her to leave me. I hated doing those things, but I knew it was the one way she would be able to leave.

Then, yesterday she sent me a message, would I like to meet for coffee. My heart took a few tumbles, the odd somersault or two, "YES, YES, YES!!!" But my obedient fingers instead typed out "Do you think that is a good idea?".

She replied that she was free from 5 till 6pm. I replied that it was not a good day to meet. "OK fine", she typed.

Now I am wondering, what was in her mind..................?

Random thoughts. One of the biggest problems between us was expectations. I remember she once said something about it being better to not have any expectations then you would not be disappointed.

But my upbringing was very different than that. Duty, committment, expectations were all tightly integrated. If I say "I will see you next Sunday at 6pm" then that is what is expected. To not show up and not even communicate a change of plans was unthinkable. It was insulting and showed a lack of respect for the other person. In spite of everything that was said by RM, that feeling prevailed into our relationship, insult and lack of respect.

I am beginning to understand.

Her approach is completely different. Early in our relationship I said "nothing is until it is, and even then it may not be", to decribe RM's way of doing things. So when she would just disappear and not communicate with me for days on end that was normal behaviour for her, but totally unacceptable for me. That became so stressful I acted largely out of character. RM will never believe this, but she saw a side of me that not one of my friends or family has ever seen. It was a side of me that was dormant and only triggered when I continued to encounter what I saw as insults and a total lack of respect. The sadness of all this is that now I can see RM never intended anything like this, it is just the way she is.

I shouldn't look, I know I shouldn't, it just reopens the wounds I am trying hard to heal. But Simplesimplegal had a new post to her LJ yesterday. It emphasises the fact that I am excluded from her life now. I am trying hard to be reasonable, I have not tried to send her any messages in any form since she asked me to leave her alone.

But I miss her, terribly.

This evening at MPCC (Mount Pleasant Community Centre) I noticed a few things. More specifically, I noticed a few things in the weight room.

Firstly, that place is old, not old on the scale of the Pyramids in the Valley of the Kings but old on the scale of Fitness World. Now, this isn't a bad thing. I am old too and I feel comfortable among things which have been around for as long as I have. You know, things with edges which have been knocked around a bit, the paint is chipped, the shine no longer shines. That takes the pressure off. A bit like when you buy a new car, everything is immaculate, very scary. Day after day you wait, knowing that sooner or later that first dent or scratch is going-to-happen. And it does. And then you can relax, I suspect that Nature gets a bit nervous around perfection.

I could see that among those who were intent on getting through their workouts there were no poseurs. No Spandex, no fashion statements, well, maybe one Spandex-clad, belly bared, boobies lifted woman, but more about her later. On the whole most of the people working out there looked REAL. No posing, at least none of that full-frontal gazing into the wall mirror gazing at the impeccably formed pecs. These were more of quick sideways glances into the wall mirror to check that everything was still in approximately the right place.

The lady with the Spandex. Well, she was gorgeous, and she knew that very well. Snugly fitted Black Capri exercise tights showing off a very finely shaped bum and slender waist, green and white socks, pink top, just low enough to let anyone who wanted to know that she had a very fine set of boobies enclosed in there above the bare and flat stomach. And the final and imposing fashion statement was a tight little bomber jacket in emerald green – to match the socks. As she moved from one piece of equipment to another she tossed her head like a young colt impatient to get out to grass, she looked around each time, presumably to see if she was obtaining the desired effect. Sadly, for her, she wasn't. Most of the guys there looked serious about their workouts, they wanted to get it done and OUT of THERE. So I think I was her only spectator. But I did enjoy the diversion.

Sometimes I look at the people in the gym huffing and sweating on the treadmills. And I wonder. These days we are greatly concerned about the consumption of non-renewable energy, the production of CO2 , the thinning of the atmosphere, global warming. All this time the answer has been right in front of us! All we need to do is hook up all the stair-climbers and treadmills to some electrical generating equipment. Problem solved. I wonder why no-one else has considered this brilliant idea? Hmmmmmmm.

My sister phoned from England just before midnight this evening. I immediately knew why she was calling, my father had passed away a few hours before, at 4:45am UK time.

Hours before, I had been praying that my father would die soon, which is what he had wanted for quite some time, but his body had refused to give up until now. He had been in hospital for 7 weeks and for the last week had refused any liquids or nourishment. He had enough of life, there was nothing left for him to look forward to. Sadly, his wife, my mother, in the past few years had turned into someone he did not know. Dementia had made her aggressive toward him, mean, nasty. My poor father, just when he was approaching the end of his life was thrust into a hostile world in his own home. No wonder he did not want to live, nor return to the torture by the woman he had adored for all those years.

Now I feel a sense of having lost an anchor. We were never really close, there was never a strong father/son bond between us. But I always looked up to him, he was ever thoughtful, usually calm, a man who liked to keep busy in his routines. He was happiest of all in the early years of his retirement when he was fit and strong and reveled in making his vineyard, walking the dogs in the English countryside and visiting the many small country pubs which dot that part of rural England.

Funnily, he was always a bit Victorian in his attitudes. He always dressed properly, smartly, suits freshly pressed and shoes polished. But in retirement he seemed to relax; I remember on one visit he was dressed in old faded jeans and a comfortable worn cotton flannel shirt – while he popped a champagne cork and artfully poured flutes for the gathered family.

Now he is gone. I will miss him, but I will savour those moments we shared and which will live in memory.

Sleep well, dear Dad.

Answer Yes or No.

Rule: You're not allowed to explain any of the answers unless someone replies and asks.

Q: Kissed someone on your friends list?
A: yes

Q: Been arrested?
A: yes

Q: Kissed someone you didn't like?
A: yes

Q: Do you like someone?
A: yes

Q: Held a snake?
A: yes

Q: Been suspended from school?
A: yes

Q: Been fired from a job?
A: yes

Q: Sang karaoke?
A: no

Q: Done something you told yourself you wouldn't?
A: yes

Q: Laughed until you started crying?
A: yes

Q: Caught a snowflake on your tongue?
A: yes

Q: Kissed in the rain?
A: yes

Q: Sang in the shower?
A: yes

Q: Sat on a roof top?
A: yes

Q: Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on?
A: yes

Q: Broken a bone?
A yes

Q: Shaved your head?
A: no

Q: Played a prank on someone?
A: yes

Q: Had/have a gym membership?
A: yes

Q: Made a girlfriend/boyfriend cry?
a: yes

Q: Shot a gun?
A: yes

Q: Donated Blood?
A: no

Q: Had your heart broken?
A: yes

Q: Broken someone's heart?
A: yes

REPLY THEN REPOST AS THE "yes/no game