The "Whatever It's Called" Rabbit - July 14, 2018
The “Whatever It’s Called” Rabbit
There are many reasons I appreciate my hubs Laur. Doing dishes, cleaning the apartment, making coffee, and carrying in groceries - to name just a few…
And there is more. He regularly plans and carries out bike hikes – half-days for when I’m volunteering and full days for when I’m not. There is more to this than it sounds. If I’m going to go biking for the day, I don’t want to go less than 80 km. Prefer 100. And if I’m going to be out biking all day, I definitely want to go out for lunch.
Not only does Laur have to find such a bike hike and a restaurant where we can get veggie food, he has to do the driving (which is still easier for him than having me drive) and hoist our bikes into the van. The last part is likely the worst of it. Our old Canadian Tire bikes are our war horses. And they weigh close to it. I chuckle that our Raleighs were likely left behind by Sir Walter himself in the late 1500s.
Anyway, last week Laur said to me, “Saturday is the day. It’s not going to be too hot, it’s not calling for rain. And there won’t be much wind. It’s a perfect day to ride from Port Dover along the rail trail to Brantford and back again. It’s 104 km and we can eat at The Healthy Rabbit.”
“Perfect,” I said. “And can we get veggie food at The Happy Rabbit?” Said he, “It’s The Healthy Rabbit, and yes, they have a vegetarian / vegan menu.” Woo hoo!
Up at 5:30 am on Saturday, left St. Catharines by 7:30 am, on the trail by 9:00 am. And what a beautiful ride is was. Either paved or very packed down gravel. A lovely covering of trees in some places, and wide open farmland in others.
I said to Laur, “I want to stop for our snack when we’re about halfway to The Hungry Rabbit.” He sighed, “It’s The Healthy Rabbit. Halfway should be long about when we reach the Black Bridge in Waterford.
We had the wind at our back and it seemed like no time at all that we were at the hug silos beside the bridge. I stuffed a banana into myself. Laur checked his maps – not that he needed to. It’s pretty hard to go off a rail trail. Or at least normally it is. Somehow, after a few kms more, we missed our turn-off and ended up going a few extra kilometres into Brantford.
By noon I was getting really hungry and was almost out of water. I said to Laur, “You know, I’m perfectly OK if we don’t eat at The Hoppy Rabbit. If we can’t find it, or we see something else…” Laur gently growled, “It’s The Healthy Rabbit and I know exactly where we are…” An hour and a few U-turns later we arrived. “Look Laur, its The Hippy Rabbit.” (“It’s The Healthy Rabbit!!!”)
It’s such a sweet place. You order your food at the till which is also where the kitchen is. You get your water in very cool jars from a trendy water dispenser. There are a variety of places to sit – a few small locations in the house, and two wee patios outside. By the time we sat ourselves down, our food had arrived and it was plentiful and delicious!
Said I to Laur, “I’m definitely going the send the Hearty Rabbit a thank you note.” Laur was about to throw his spoon at me and then the penny dropped… Said he, “Yes, The Wascally Rabbit is a great find.” I responded, “No Laur, it has to be a ‘h’ sound, not a ‘w’ sound.” (Poor man. How does he stand it?!)
“OK,” said he, “Are you going to post about The Hefty Rabbit on Yelp?”
“Oh yes, said I, “And about The Hulking Rabbit on Trip Advisor.”
We went on making “The H______ Rabbit” jokes for a few minutes. I’m sure the couple just down from us – who were trying to plan out a calming yoga class – were ready to bang us on our heads with their laptops.
When we were finished we returned out dishes and cutlery to the appropriate bins, and filled up our water bottles at the outside tap meant for dogs. We’re none too fussy. And off we went. The return trip was made easier by the fact that is was about a 2% grade downhill. Still, by the time we reached our van, we were both truly done. And Laur still had to hoist the bikes into the van and drive us back to St. Cats. (Still easier for him than having me drive.)
When we arrived, I said to Laur, “Let’s just leave our bikes in the van. We (meaning Laur) can get them out in the morning.” But Laur knows there is never a good time to get big honkin’ bikes out of our hot black van. Said he, “I’ll get the bikes out; you get us a snack.” That was a very good deal indeed.
I always get a little maudlin at the end of a big bike ride. In our first summer of marriage some 41 years ago, we biked everywhere together in St. Catharines. OK, it’s not like we had much choice – we didn’t have a car. Still, I have happy memories of it. And I know the time is so quickly coming when biking could be up there with skating. I’d love to do it, but I’m too afraid of injuring myself permanently.
As always, when I get discouraged I look to my elders for inspiration. My mom and dad skated the Rideau Canal in Ottawa in their 60s. And then there is Octavio Orduño. He only took up cycling when the State took away his driving license at the tender age of 100. At 106 he continued to run all his wife’s and his errands riding his bike, though his wife wanted him to get a trike.
Himself a healthy herbivore, he was probably thinking, “This is still less stressful than having my wife drive me.”
There are many reasons I appreciate my hubs Laur. Doing dishes, cleaning the apartment, making coffee, and carrying in groceries - to name just a few…
And there is more. He regularly plans and carries out bike hikes – half-days for when I’m volunteering and full days for when I’m not. There is more to this than it sounds. If I’m going to go biking for the day, I don’t want to go less than 80 km. Prefer 100. And if I’m going to be out biking all day, I definitely want to go out for lunch.
Not only does Laur have to find such a bike hike and a restaurant where we can get veggie food, he has to do the driving (which is still easier for him than having me drive) and hoist our bikes into the van. The last part is likely the worst of it. Our old Canadian Tire bikes are our war horses. And they weigh close to it. I chuckle that our Raleighs were likely left behind by Sir Walter himself in the late 1500s.
Anyway, last week Laur said to me, “Saturday is the day. It’s not going to be too hot, it’s not calling for rain. And there won’t be much wind. It’s a perfect day to ride from Port Dover along the rail trail to Brantford and back again. It’s 104 km and we can eat at The Healthy Rabbit.”
“Perfect,” I said. “And can we get veggie food at The Happy Rabbit?” Said he, “It’s The Healthy Rabbit, and yes, they have a vegetarian / vegan menu.” Woo hoo!
Up at 5:30 am on Saturday, left St. Catharines by 7:30 am, on the trail by 9:00 am. And what a beautiful ride is was. Either paved or very packed down gravel. A lovely covering of trees in some places, and wide open farmland in others.
I said to Laur, “I want to stop for our snack when we’re about halfway to The Hungry Rabbit.” He sighed, “It’s The Healthy Rabbit. Halfway should be long about when we reach the Black Bridge in Waterford.
We had the wind at our back and it seemed like no time at all that we were at the hug silos beside the bridge. I stuffed a banana into myself. Laur checked his maps – not that he needed to. It’s pretty hard to go off a rail trail. Or at least normally it is. Somehow, after a few kms more, we missed our turn-off and ended up going a few extra kilometres into Brantford.
By noon I was getting really hungry and was almost out of water. I said to Laur, “You know, I’m perfectly OK if we don’t eat at The Hoppy Rabbit. If we can’t find it, or we see something else…” Laur gently growled, “It’s The Healthy Rabbit and I know exactly where we are…” An hour and a few U-turns later we arrived. “Look Laur, its The Hippy Rabbit.” (“It’s The Healthy Rabbit!!!”)
It’s such a sweet place. You order your food at the till which is also where the kitchen is. You get your water in very cool jars from a trendy water dispenser. There are a variety of places to sit – a few small locations in the house, and two wee patios outside. By the time we sat ourselves down, our food had arrived and it was plentiful and delicious!
Said I to Laur, “I’m definitely going the send the Hearty Rabbit a thank you note.” Laur was about to throw his spoon at me and then the penny dropped… Said he, “Yes, The Wascally Rabbit is a great find.” I responded, “No Laur, it has to be a ‘h’ sound, not a ‘w’ sound.” (Poor man. How does he stand it?!)
“OK,” said he, “Are you going to post about The Hefty Rabbit on Yelp?”
“Oh yes, said I, “And about The Hulking Rabbit on Trip Advisor.”
We went on making “The H______ Rabbit” jokes for a few minutes. I’m sure the couple just down from us – who were trying to plan out a calming yoga class – were ready to bang us on our heads with their laptops.
When we were finished we returned out dishes and cutlery to the appropriate bins, and filled up our water bottles at the outside tap meant for dogs. We’re none too fussy. And off we went. The return trip was made easier by the fact that is was about a 2% grade downhill. Still, by the time we reached our van, we were both truly done. And Laur still had to hoist the bikes into the van and drive us back to St. Cats. (Still easier for him than having me drive.)
When we arrived, I said to Laur, “Let’s just leave our bikes in the van. We (meaning Laur) can get them out in the morning.” But Laur knows there is never a good time to get big honkin’ bikes out of our hot black van. Said he, “I’ll get the bikes out; you get us a snack.” That was a very good deal indeed.
I always get a little maudlin at the end of a big bike ride. In our first summer of marriage some 41 years ago, we biked everywhere together in St. Catharines. OK, it’s not like we had much choice – we didn’t have a car. Still, I have happy memories of it. And I know the time is so quickly coming when biking could be up there with skating. I’d love to do it, but I’m too afraid of injuring myself permanently.
As always, when I get discouraged I look to my elders for inspiration. My mom and dad skated the Rideau Canal in Ottawa in their 60s. And then there is Octavio Orduño. He only took up cycling when the State took away his driving license at the tender age of 100. At 106 he continued to run all his wife’s and his errands riding his bike, though his wife wanted him to get a trike.
Himself a healthy herbivore, he was probably thinking, “This is still less stressful than having my wife drive me.”