On the way home, we passed an interesting sculpture chained to the sidewalk:

which reminds me of a fixture of the Lower East Side, The Knit Bike:

(photo courtesy of S. Rice)

Someone recently asked me what I like so much about NYC, and though the answer largely has something to do with car-less living and wide social acceptance from anonymous crowds, the proliferation of art and culture also tends to bend my affections. Especially when a large part of it is accessible curbside.

Oh, and there’s the food.  In one day of my stay I had gluten-free mac ‘n’ cheese (and I’m not talking the normal stuff; this was rice macaroni with rosemary, melted brie, roasted figs & roasted shitake mushrooms), gluten-free cupcakes (vanilla with strawberry topping & carrot cake with cream cheese frosting), and delicious gluten-free pizza. It was a whirl-wind of food my brain said I really really really shouldn’t be eating and though it took me practically until the end of the day to relax and enjoy the meals, I am nonetheless amazed at what is available! We topped off my stay with tacos from a Korean BBQ restaurant (fish and shitake tacos may sound bad but are actually excellent) and episodes from Cowboy Bebop, which I hadn’t seen in ages (not food-relevant, I know, but worth mentioning).

Although I didn’t get to ride Central Park, missed my pilgrimage to the Met, and never actually got to be in the city with Batman (we kept missing each other – he really needs to get a cell phone) I still enjoyed every moment.

Upon returning to Long Island, I intended to go for a ride on the less-traveled roads east of where we stayed, but after my week of what I hope is the closest I will ever come to a rock and roll life style (my sleep schedule upended, my skin inexplicably bruised, my feet scabbed from dancing shoes, my liver exhausted from booze and my lungs gasping from exposure to a city’s worth of second-hand smoke) I felt more than a little under the weather and decided to skip the ride. Plus, since I was staying with family out on Long Island, we had more pressing obligations to consume our time:

(As a family, we have learned that it is essential to find Joy wherever one can. Even occasionally at the expense of small, dignified – and hopefully declawed – animals.)

Before I had time to recover and consider another ride, it was time for me to fly home.  Bye bye New York.  With any luck, I’ll be back soon. Next time, hopefully with Batman.

And in the meanwhile, be sure to wish Bruce Campbell a happy belated birthday the Sci Fi Wire way:

Check out the website for more info, the above images and a link to PDFs you can print up and apply to nearby, unsuspecting soup cans: http://scifiwire.com/2010/06/four-labels-from-the-bruc.php

For Bruce’s more recent fans, commenter “brucefan” pointed out on the Sci Fi Wire page that the can labels should remind consumers to be careful when eating scalding-hot soup. Some kind of warning or perhaps a notice about the danger of getting burned…  (If you look closely, the Gumbo Ho-Tep label does include a health warning, but it bares no relation to a burn notice.)

While crossing the country he needed to maintain a relatively constant power output, but since Dad got to ride the last leg of the race, they told him to give it all he had. As Crew Member Bill liked to say, “We put a quarter in him and let him go.” As I understand, he went around and above 30 mph for much of the last leg, and this after six days of riding cross-country with his teammates, climbing mountains, through high altitudes, across huge plains, along interstates, at night, downhill, on bad roads and amidst bad weather. These guys amaze me. Dad, Dana, JV and Willie: you rock. You can read Dad’s ride report here.

Considering they had just biked across the country, they looked pretty good when they rolled across the finish.  Of course, the official finish line was at a Shell station about 3 1/2 miles away. Upon arrival there, they were given a few minutes to clean up and don new jerseys, which we at the family-and-friends finish line greatly appreciated.

After congratulations and hugs (that were, happily, neither as sweaty nor as smelly as they would have been without the complimentary freshening-up stop), the team members got up on stage for a quick interview about their experience and a photo op, then opened a bottle of champagne with the crew to toast the accomplishment. (We got a picture of Dad holding the glass, but couldn’t catch a clear one of him drinking it. You’ll have to take my word for it.)

Subsequently, bikes and riders were packed into minivans with, of course, the exception of my Corsa – Dad’s borrowed backup bike for the race. In the commotion, I retrieved the beauty (oh baby, have I missed you) and spirited it away to our minivan waiting across the parking lot, then caravaned with the rest to the motel.

We slept a bit then spent Saturday’s remaining daylit hours wandering around Annapolis with two of his amazing crew members, Lonnie and Bill, feeding Dad multiple meals from various eating establishments. The afternoon culminated in a banquet hosted by RAAM where Dad was able to really really refuel himself with all the good, tasty, fresh, solid food he was unable to either get or digest during the race. They also received their plaques at that time.

Back at the motel, Dad, my sister and I sat on the back steps, enjoying the evening and talking with Dana and several crew members, one of whom is an author, researching his next book. His first one – Dead Hand Control – looks pretty awesome (and is currently on it’s way to my house), so I’ll be among those first in line for his next. One of these days I hope to publish something longer than a post, but in the meanwhile it’s neat to have the chance to talk to someone who has already been there.

For now, I want to applaud the riders and crew of the Bent Up Cycles team. You guys and gals did a fantastic job of kicking butt on the road and taking care of my dad. I can’t thank you enough. And to those of you who I got to know, I hope to see you again (and maybe ride with you!) sometime soon.

Oh, and though we didn’t get to spend much of Father’s Day with Dad since they had to get back on the road early Sunday morning to head home, we did give him his Father’s Day gift. Can you guess which one we finally settled on?

and their estimated time of arrival. We just rolled into town, but it looks like we’ll be spending the next 5-6 hours rooting for them while milling about, looking for free things to do.  The good news: I brought my camera.  The bad news: I left home without Batman.

(Photo by Terry Hutt)

And here’s the full team in their recently-arrived team jerseys:

Photo by IDKW

It’s strange to watch him prep for this from afar. I wish there was more I could do to help, but there isn’t. So, instead – since it is also almost Father’s Day – I’ve been spending my time searching for a Father’s Day Gift to give him when we see him at the finish line in Maryland. The problem is narrowing down the selection and that’s where I’m hoping that you, the readers, can help me.

Dad’s a diverse guy. He’s a computer nerd, a cycling geek, a mechanic & handyman, an avid reader, an avid eater, a music lover, a scifi fan and myriad other things, so I’ve tried to find gifts that appeal to these qualities. The categories are as follows:

COMPUTERS/COMPUTING

Binary “Dad” Shirt

Though this is probably the most appropriate of all the gifts for Dad’s Day, it may also be the most (obscurely) clichéd.

xkcd Sudo Shirt

Not particularly relevant to the holiday at hand, but I think it would still make him chuckle. Next category.

CYCLING ACCESSORIES

Universal Gadget Wrist Charger

With as much as he is on the road, this might be an interesting accessory. He’s finally jumped on the cell phone bandwagon, but I don’t know if he uses it enough to warrant an on-the-go charger … but maybe we could rig it up to a charger for this:

Helmet Cam

For all the times he gets run off the road, or nearly run off the road by passing cars, documentation could come in handy.  Plus, we’d get to see what it looks like to pedal a bike really really really fast without having to actually do so.  While brings me to the couch category:

MULTIMEDIA

Star Trek Next Gen Movie Pack

Granted, it’s a low-risk move, but you can’t go wrong with Jean-Luc. “On screen.” They have the set in Blu-Ray, but seeing as my parents don’t own a Blu-Ray player and still have beloved VHS tapes that get regular use I think DVDs are the good, middle-of-the-road solution where entertainment technology is concerned. On the slightly more advanced side, there’s this:

Barnes & Nobles Nook eBook Reader

Dad reads through books like fire consumes paper, so something like this would save him the trouble of carrying all those Bible-sized Neil Stephenson books on the bicycle. But since the Nook looks a little pricey, I checked gifts on the other end of the spectrum, too – the free end.

Hits from the 80s

And who wouldn’t love adding another 80s mix CD to their collection?  Right.

FOOD

Exotic Jerky

So this looked like a nice gift a father might enjoy … Then I came across this:

Bacon Moon Pie

Can anything compare? Marshmallow, caramel, chocolate and BACON. Wow. Four BMPs ship in the US for $33, or nine for $116. Plus, the recipe comes in the box. Now that’s what I’m talking about. Teach a man to fish and he’ll feed on bacon moon pies for a lifetime. A shortened lifetime, but a lifetime nonetheless. But, what’s a life without a little spice?

Jug o’ Tabasco

If the bacon and chocolate aren’t enough to cause some celebratory Father’s Day heartburn, there’s always a Jug of Tabasco to aid the process. Imagine how many eggs this would top! How many nasal passages this could clear! They even offer personalized gallons. Can’t help but think that this would make a wonderful gift for someone… But, I have to admit, Dad might be better off with a gallon of this:

Cane Sweeeet Iced Tea

“Dad, I slaved all day over a hot stove buying this free iced tea. Don’t drink it all in one place. Oh, yeah, Happy Father’s Day.” Perhaps it’s a little half-hearted.  But staring at this gives me a craving for sweet tea. I wonder if they will only hand this out to fathers… “No really, my dad is right around the corner. He sent me here to pick one up. Um, and so did my other dad. Yes, I have two. And they both want a Father’s Day gallon of tea. No they can’t share. Because it’s what they got each other for Father’s Day. It’s in lieu of a card. Yeah, neither of them are crazy about cards. I got them ties.”

Ideally I’d get him a lifetime supply of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (then regularly sneak a few), but in place of that I might try this:

Giant Peanut Butter Cup

Wouldn’t last a lifetime, but I could probably make him one on a quarterly basis for a few years. Supposedly, Reese’s already makes the World’s Largest Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, but it’s nothing Guinness would be interested in.

And the final category:

MISCELLANEOUS

Bendable Mr. Bill Figure

Actually, this should probably go under the Cycling Accessories category. I originally thought it would make for a good family joke – our first cat was named Mr. Bill (and my brother played Mr. Hand) – but on second thought, while riding across America it might be nice to have a companion who knows a thing or two about physical pain. The “Ohh nooooo!” would be appropriate on those long, steep downhill stretches too…

And that ends the list. Direct all comments and votes to me at ks.polk@gmail.com and if you know my dad and have a better suggestion, I welcome it!

Welcome to the living room:

It’s pretty roomy and not too unique, but it leads to the kitchen which has an avacado-green oven, range and venthood!:

The owner even kept the manual for the range:

Attached to the kitchen is the family room which is also roomy and semi-normal:

From there you can see the backyard which has one big oak that has swallowed a metal hook and is home to a strange, huge fern as well as some Spanish moss:

The 2nd bedroom is nothing crazy, but the guest bathroom has some interesting decor to go along with the squash-yellow (or is it “Harvest-Gold”) toilet and sink which are not pictured:

And finally, my coup de coeur, the delightfully gaudy master bedroom & bath:

Not pictured: the avacado-green sink, toilet and tub.

A few friends and contractors have encouraged us to remodel (or “at least take down the wallpaper”) but if we ever do, we’ll have to sell or donate it to something. We can’t simply trash these amusing trends.  In the meanwhile, this house and it’s decor are a blast. =)

Update:  Just heard from a friend that Jano and Carissa are ok, that they got picked up by someone from the US Embassy and are on their way back to Santiago!  Hallelujah!

Thanks to the long weekend, Mom was able to fly to Florida to help crew for the race.  On Friday we met up with some friends to caravan to Sebring:  Dad rode with Matt, his wife Lisa, their son Trevor and Matt’s Aero, while Mom and I toted Dad’s Aero and three beautiful black Corsas: Lisa’s, Trevor’s and mine.

After a quick carpool down from the St. Pete area, we registered for the race at the Sheraton next to the raceway, had some dinner and settled into our motel for a night’s rest.  My alarm when off a little before 4am Saturday morning and I headed straight for the room’s lamentably tiny coffee maker.  Dad – the one of us without the caffeine habit – popped right out of bed and started getting ready.  He hadn’t slept all night, but apparently this is normal for him the night before a race.  Yikes!

We arrived at the track a bit before 5:30 and started prepping our bikes, fuel, water and tailboxes.

We were scheduled to start at 6:30, ride a few laps around the track then head out on the long loop and after completing the track laps and the long loop, we would have ridden 100 miles.

At registration the night before, each rider was given a number to affix to their bike or clothing, a poker chip with their number on it (to toss into a bucket at the long loop turnaround checkpoint), and a little blue timing chip that hangs from the front wheel quick-release skewer and registers the time of each lap:

Everyone lined up at the start after initially registering their timing chip, and in the dark it was quite a flashy show of taillights, headlights, LED blinkies and reflectors:

This was my first race, so I lined up near the back and took a leisurely start.  Supposedly there was a lead vehicle, but I wasn’t anywhere near the front and so can’t comment on that.

Eventually they redirected us out to the open road, and other than the cold, the nasty headwind and an 8 mile wrong-turn detour, it was a wonderful ride.  The route leads out into the countryside and zigzags through cattle ranches and orange orchards so the ambient aromas alternated between the lovely scent of orange zest in the morning dew and that all-too-familiar smell from the Texas roads we’re used to: wet cow poo.

The fast group (which included my Dad!) rolled in from the long loop, finishing that initial 100 miles in about 4 hours and 45 min.  I took a lot longer: about 7 hours 20 minutes (fyi, you can sing a lot of songs to yourself over 7 hours, but it helps if you or at least the cows know the lyrics).

After completing the long loop, we were sent out to do as many short loops (at 11.7 mi each) as we could before 5:45pm, at which time we were redirected onto the raceway to do as many laps on the track as possible (at 3.7 mi each) until 6:30pm for the 12 hour riders, or 6:30am for the 24 hour riders.

During a break between two of the short loops, Mom introduced me to a man named Jim who was crewing for another Bacchetta rider.  He recognized me from this blog, and I don’t think he knew how much it thrilled me to know I have a reader I’m not related to. (Although, Family, I am delighted that you read my stories. And know that I certainly enjoy yours. That means you, Uncle John!) Yesterday Jim emailed me some pictures he took during the event. Hopefully he won’t mind if I repost them here:

Taken by Jim Dibble

Taken by Jim Dibble

He’s got more great photos of the race posted on a Fickr slideshow. Thanks for posting them Jim!

And here are a few from my mom:

After I finished the 12-hour race (I did 154 miles officially and 162 counting the bonus miles), Mom continued to crew for Dad while I hit the awards ceremony then took Matt and Lisa up on the offer to use the shower in their hotel room.   Partially thawed and slightly refreshed I hobbled back over to the pit, helped crew for a couple of Dad’s laps, then passed out on the floor of the minivan for about six hours.  Mom woke me around 2am to trade off – she slept while I crewed for Dad the remainder of the race.

Highlights of the night’s downtime included listening to an Italian rider’s crew yell at him in Italian and listening to nearby Bacchetta crew people joke about the different misnomers they’ve encountered for recumbents: “What’s up with those incumbent bikes?” “Well, the problem is when the party isn’t yours…” and “How about those recombinant bikes?” “It’s that unnatural DNA…” What a great group. =)

Dad hit his goal of 400 miles with plenty of time to spare and only a handful of riders remaining on the track.  He went back out to ride several more laps, came in for a break to thaw his hands in front of a propane-fueled heater, then headed out again. When we could no longer defrost his completely immobile fingers, he finally called it a night. Or morning. Or whatever.  All told he rode about 427 miles.

They held the award ceremony for the 24-hour racers around 7am Sunday. Dad won first in his division (55-59, male, recumbent) and 3rd (we think) overall (the final results haven’t officially been posted online yet, but some unofficial results can be found here).

Especially amazing were all the females riding recumbents in the 24-hour race:  Sarah Kay Carrell, Sandy Earl, Shellene Foster and Peggy Petty were unbelievable! Go ladies, go!

With the race over, the awards distributed and the sun back in the sky, we called to wake up Matt, Lisa and Trevor, then started packing up for the ride home.  While we were prepping for the return trip, Sebring was gearing up for another day of racing:

We eventually got on the road and though Dad and I had the best of intentions to stay awake and help keep our drivers alert, we both passed out shortly into the ride home.  Ah well.

And after unpacking everything upon our return we had the best of intentions to stay awake and do our ride reports, but shortly into our time home we both passed out for a good 8-9 hour nap.  Between 9 and 10pm we managed to crawl out of bed for a few hours before passing out for another full night’s sleep.  Now we are fully rested and working on recovering.  With some tender care to our joints, we’ll be back on the bikes mid-week, ready to do more centuries.

With a lot more training, I hope to log 200+ miles in next year’s 12-hour race, and there’s no telling what Dad will do.  Between now and then we’ll just keep riding as often and as far as possible.

Maybe it’s time to start thinking about that New York trip again…

Oh, and for those of you who are counting, some Quick Stats:

Stampedes: 0 (for local Sebring cows, this bike invasion is annual – nothing surprises them)

Roadside Pees: 1

]]> http://www.ifyouwerewondering.com/wordpress/2010/02/bike-your-heart-out/feed/ 0 http://www.ifyouwerewondering.com/wordpress/2010/01/the-northern-option-part-ii/ http://www.ifyouwerewondering.com/wordpress/2010/01/the-northern-option-part-ii/#comments Thu, 28 Jan 2010 02:46:28 +0000 admin http://www.ifyouwerewondering.com/wordpress/?p=1134 I’ve been riding and working a lot lately, but finally finished Part 2.  It came out a bit more bitter than I would have liked, but for those of you who know French Canada, but don’t call it home, you’ll understand why.

————

My Saturday morning in Montreal started out wonderfully with an hour of training Kali at Philip Gelinas’ school.  The class was great! His technique was fluid and powerful, his instruction interesting and clear, and his students kind and talented.  I wish I could have stayed longer. Hopefully I’ll have the chance to train with him again someday. Unfortunately, my friend and I had other plans to see more of Montreal, so we thanked Phil and his students, got cleaned and changed, then went in search of food.

Someone we met earlier in the trip had recommended one restaurant to my friend.  Supposedly it was nearby, but it was only after half an hour of walking around in the below freezing weather that we finally found the restaurant several blocks away from where we thought it’d be. It turned out to be a breakfast place serving lots of pancakes and bread and fruit and syrup; we had hoped for something more substantial, so we asked for recommendations and set out again into the cold.

We repeated this sequence six or seven times and every restaurant we checked out was either closed or a deli-style sandwich shop.  We added an additional 20 city blocks to our first 8-10 on what we had expected to be a 3 block walk and still hadn’t found what we were looking for.

I had only dressed for a quick downtown stroll – leggings, jeans, undershirt, shirt, sweater, wool coat, wool socks, cotton socks, boots, hat, hood and leather gloves (you’d think that’d be enough) – and the cold, having penetrated my clothes, was working it’s way down to my bones.  My friend (who hadn’t even brought his gloves) was feeling a little frosty too. So with our stomachs growling angrily, we broke down and hailed a cab.

We told the driver what we were looking for and he, of course, knew just the place.  When he began to rave about how the restaurant had signed photos of all the famous people who have eaten there, I started to worry.

He dropped us off at the curb just past Schwartz’s Deli (”World Famous Smoked Meat”).  As we were exiting the cab he proudly said we would probably have to wait in line for a table.  Ok, not a prob–  Wait, that line of people piling up OUTSIDE the building? @&*$.

Let’s recap:  a cabbie picks up two people, obviously – visibly - freezing, talking about how cold they are and how much they want a big plate of hot meat, then takes them to a restaurant where he knows they will have to wait outside.  Probably a good intention, just not really thought through.

Moving on:  once inside the teeny restaurant, we shared an elbow-to-elbow table with four people from Toronto (I think) who actually turned out to be really kind and fun to talk to.  The smoked brisket was nice considering we were still thawing out, and though it tasted alright it was a little dry.  They had mustard and steak sauce available at every table because the meat needed it.  Our tablemates asked us excitedly if we liked the meal, and I said it was good but, unfortunately, I’m a terrible liar.  My friend apologized for me though: “She’s from Texas and I forget that it’s hard to impress her when it comes to beef.”

And that got me dreaming about Lockhart brisket and Elgin sausage. About the tender barbecue brisket of Kreuz Market (”No Sauce, No Forks”). About how the restaurant compromises and offers a seasoning salt (delicious enough to eat on it’s own) meant for those who have never tasted perfect brisket and are in the habit of blindly putting something on their beef before sampling it.  Thankfully, new Kreuz customers usually show up with a friend or family member who’s a returning customer; someone who invariably acts as a guide and who has to remind the newcomers how each person must inevitably wrestle with their own decision of whether to mix the independently perfect tastes of meat and seasoning or eat them separately.  How most of us have to try a little of both.

But back to Montreal and Schwartz’s.  Uh, the fries were excellent.  And the dill pickles were good.  Tasty ketchup, too.

After being shuffled out to make room for those literally standing out in the cold, we realized we weren’t far from the hotel and decided to make the walk back, having warmed up a bit from the body heat of those who had been sitting within inches of us.  The walk, though chilly, proved worth it because we happened upon this:

an amazingly complex, detailed graffiti mural of “Aliens” aliens (and maybe some others mixed in for variety. I’m nerdy, but not that much of a Sci-Fi movie buff. All apologies.) Here’s a closeup:

Beautiful, no?  (And gruesome. I know, I know.)

Naturally, we had to stop to take pictures of Batman:

Ahem. Of BATMAN.

Thank you.

After returning to the hotel, spent most of the rest of the night inside, except for an excursion for Tequila which ended up necessitating 3 cab rides.  Apparently liquor stores close sometime around 5pm or 6pm on Saturday afternoons.  That is not a typo. (Oh Quebec, how I’ve come to loathe you.)

After that, it was an early night.  Thanks to my first stint on Priceline, my flight left at 6:35am, so I was up by 3:30am to be at the airport 2ish hours in advance.  With the low volume of passengers travelling at those pre-dawn hours it would have been plenty of time, however the airport had everyone waiting in a series of six lines.  One line to get bag tags (suddenly carryons aren’t allowed – only one personal item), one line to have your carryons sent downstairs, one line for preliminary ID and boarding pass screening, one line for regular security (metal detector, xray the bags, random screening, etc.), one line for customs (which actually turned out nicely as we didn’t have to deal with it after landing in the States), and another line for more security (full pat-downs and thorough searches of personal items for everyone! yay!).

If you count the lines you had to stand in at security and customs after standing in the big line, it’s actually eight lines total.

Montreal, we need to talk.

After viewing the forecast two weeks ago, a trip to snow-blanketed Montreal sounded more appealing than biking in Lycra in Florida’s below-freezing conditions.  The trip was a short one but it did have a number of highlights.  For instance, the hotel room had a nice view of downtown Montreal – good for guests and crimefighters alike:

and more importantly, the room had a wonderful heater (considering that it got down to around minus 20 C, factoring wind chill, during the daytime.)

I arrived Thursday night and had arranged to participate in a class at Philip Gelinas’ school, The Gelinas Academy of Mixed Martial Arts, Saturday morning.  I have always heard wonderful things about his fighting style as well as his teaching abilities and reveled at the opportunity to meet and train with him.  So the day before the class, my friend and I stopped by the gym to scout out the location and preview the facilities.  After introducing ourselves and promising to return the next day, we headed out to explore more of downtown Montreal and stumbled upon a gem right across the street from the academy.

We walked around the side of the St James United Church then, out of curiosity, decided to peek inside. The interior immediately stunned us.  Numerous stained glass windows lining the side and back walls aided a huge central chandelier in gently lighting the large, deep, vaulted space. Radiating ranks of rich, well-oiled wood shone in the diffused light, each pew polished gradually over the years by the caresses of countless patrons navigating the rows, by grasps stabilizing those devoted bodies politely invited to rise and be seated time and again.  Even the aged cushions – still stuffed with horsehair – whispered hints of endurance and faith.

Without a doubt, however, the focus of the quiescent room was the magnificent pipe organ.

As we wandered around, a professional organist practicing his repertoire floated the huge space with gentle melodies, while slowly flooding the room with imperceptibly crescendoing layers of chords.  We later found out he isn’t the regular organist for the church – his normal church was closed and his organ inaccessible – and that St. James makes a regular habit of offering it’s facilities to musicians like him.

While marveling over the majestic display of pipes, my friend and I got into a disagreement over the mechanics of the organ.  Although I was (partially) wrong I’m glad it happened because to resolve the argument we turned to a nearby docent in a pastor’s beard & sweater who had been strolling up and down the aisles, awaiting just such a circumstance.  Delighted at the question and our interest, he described the organ’s design as well as this particular organ’s history.  He invited us to view it (and the organist) up close while describing it’s functions. The organist paused his performance to demonstrate the instrument’s ability and potential alongside the docent’s descriptions.  Apparently, when they (pardon the pun) pull out all the stops and employ the largest, lowest-toned pipes (which are made of wood rather than metal), the sound literally shakes the plaster off the walls of the sanctuary.

Our docent continued to give us a guided tour of the expansive church.  He showed us the rooms for their myriad charitable programs for the homeless and needy, including an impressively efficacious art and writing program, a soup kitchen, food bank, mission office, and a day lounge where those living on the streets were invited to repose and congregate during Montreal’s days – the temperatures of which are often below freezing.  We thanked our guide while stressing how moving it was to witness a church offer such stable, useful, functional charitable efforts.  Upon exiting, we both agreed, “This is what a church SHOULD be.”

We continued our meandering into the Old Town section of Montreal and stopped by the city’s basilica, Notre Dame:

but found out they charge a fee for entry.  After the experience at St. James, it just didn’t seem worth it.  So we continued our tour of downtown and Old Town:

and after breaking down to buy some warm hats and postcards, we retired to Stash Cafe, a Polish restaurant in Old Town, to warm up with some comforting soup: borsch (beet soup) for me & flaki (tripe soup) for my friend.  The restaurant was in an old building with a number of other businesses which all shared one set of restrooms, reached only by scaling an awesome, gothic staircase:

The rest of the day was spent in the underground tunnels and in the hotel because the temperatures continued to drop.  Not much else to report … until Part II.