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fructuyeux · 3 years

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CANADA-20 (xxx) COVID-19

3/13/2020 - 3/22/2020

By: Rayce R. Rayos

This undertaking was planned as a daringly creative escape from mounting internally & externally placed workloads, & was slated to take place during the UNLV 2020 Spring Break. In concurrence with the vacation was the ever-increasing, ever-diversifying socioeconomic fallout, mandates, & obstacles associated with the first global pandemic that I have experienced in my lifetime. I’d be remiss to not admit that the cheapened airline, lodging, & transportation prices were viewed as a silver lining in an otherwise hysteric & strange time in human history. The following account of the trip is intended to recount the experiences & knowledge gained (from what is remembered), and aid in the recollection of the associated photo-documentation conducted during.

DAY 1 - 3/14 - 7.5 miles

The outgoing flight 1224 from McCarran International Airport to the eventual destination of Niagara Falls, New York was delayed, unbeknownst to me, & so the trip began with a frantic drive to the airport with a hastened goodbye to my roommate & lovely daughter (who wanted dearly to join her father in Canada). The flight was delayed by an hour, & I made it on the plane.

A quick stop in Denver, CO was followed by a landing in Fort Lauderdale, FL. Upon landing, the Spirit Airlines attendant notified me that my flight to Niagara Falls had already left (to the complete fault of their flight coordination), & that I’d have to spend the night & following day in Broward County, 15 miles North of Miami. I was frazzled & upset to have started my trip with such a complication, but after the airline was able to change my ticket free of charge, I decided to extend my trip an extra day. So, I asked them to book my returning flight for a day later (3/20 → 3/21), to which they agreed to do for free, utilizing a COVID-19 flight disruption program. I booked a room at the Vacation Inn in the middle of the night, & recalibrated my trip schedule.

The following morning was a beautiful sunny day in South Florida, & after resting my luggage at the motel for the day (for a fee), I skateboarded to SE 17th Street, hung a right, & breezed through a few miles of million-dollar homes & yachts, over the Causeway Bridge, to what would eventually become Fort Lauderdale Beach Park. Full of families & largely free of fear, the beach was warm, sunlit, & vivacious. The locals were out in near-full effect, & I spent the entire day with the rays on my back, the water at my waist, & a respite of relaxation before ensuing madness. I even struck up a conversation with some fellow beachgoers as a result of my Kobe Bryant tattoo, & learned a good deal about quotidian life down there. I got a workout in on the beach equipment, & some peaceful serenity as I stared down the horizon beyond the Atlantic. I returned to my motel to acquire my bags & make my way to the airport en route to New York… Little did I know that a bar, Bimini Bay to be exact, neighbored my motel. I found myself entrenched in an environment eerily similar to that of the Huntridge Tavern, although this spot was half the size with raunchy anal porn playing on multiple screens throughout all of the 5 walls. Throwing brews back & chain-smoking with the locals to country music was a familiar feeling, & instilled in me further the universal nature of letting loose. That being said, I lost track of time & had to hightail it out of there via a gentleman’s Uber to the airport. Another flight ran after & barely boarded in the nick of time… My time in South Florida was as serendipitous as flight disruptions can be. The most lingering aspect of my time spent there was, indubitably, the sunburn that would come to stick with/on me for the remainder of the vacation. Perhaps the worst case of the sun’s kiss I’ve come to bare. Before fully coming to this realization, I’m on a plane to New York.

DAY 2 - 3/15 - 10.47 miles

Upon being alive on arrival in New York state at 2 AM in the morning, I resolved to sleep in the IAG airport for the night, especially considering my phone charger at the time had been severely out of whack. There I lay, curled on an airport bench in Niagara Falls for the night with blistering skin & a scent of fresh tobacco smoke (& ass). I distinctly recall wrestling with the time I should render myself awake, eventually settling upon 9:30 AM. It was at this time that I found myself the only visible individual in the airport terminal; no staff, no bags, no patrons, nothing. The unexpected isolation harkened memories of the film 28 Days Later. Once the drool was free from my chin, I hailed a Lyft to the American-Canadian border, specifically the entrance to the Rainbow Bridge; it was along this ride that my driver informed me that the American dollar was fairly strong against the Canadian dollar to the tune of 1 USD = 1.33 CAD (roughly). This would come to be an extremely welcomed caveat to the remainder of the trip, as most every purchase converted to about 75% of all prices quoted in Canada.

When the border was reached, there I stood as a man with his spirit & belongings intact, & began my trek over the bridge to a foreign land. With frequent pause, the majesty of the falling water on a brisk Spring day will play in my mind for years to come. Pictures were taken, deep thought was attempted, & it was a stark moment of gratefulness for the life I have been given. Next was passing through Canadian Customs at the north end of the bridge, & after being grilled for a moment as to my intentions for entering, the officer pointed me in the direction of the bus stop from which my Greyhound was leaving in less than an hour. From the Rainbow Bridge to the Whistleblower bridge 2.5 miles north, I was blessed with a walk of forced clarity as I hugged Niagara’s riverway with 75+ pounds of much needed possessions. I found myself doubting my ability to invite others with me on trips in the future out of a fear for unintentionally inflicting similar tasks upon them. Nevertheless, I made it to my Greyhound in time and rested on the ride to Toronto.

The recuperation was much needed. When I awoke I found myself in Canada’s largest city (& the 9th-largest in North America), Toronto, Ontario. Excitement coursed through my capillaries & once departing from the bus on foot, it was straight to my ‘Chinatown Guest House’ to set down my things & get on the go… this was not the case. A whole fiasco followed where I was unable to contact the host, thereby unable to access the place I had paid to stay for the night (& the night before, despite Spirit having different plans on DAY 1). The first two Torontonian hours were spent in a Chinatown chicken spot (Gdou’s) where I struggled to gain the cellular abilities necessary to overcome this debacle; I bought a new charger & charger port at the market center across Spadina. I grappled with frustration in a very real sense, but was utterly appeased to find that I had been sent an email containing the entry instructions from Booking.com. Relief rushed over me. I grabbed my bags, & hunkered down in a room with a wooden balcony & stunning view of Downtown Toronto to boot. I showered, shat, & escaped into the city heading South on Spadina. A brief stop at the famed ‘Graffiti Alley’ along with a trip to the marijuana grocer located me in the heart of the Fashion District, a sector largely reminiscent of Williamsburg, BK (as hip, although much smaller). After a lovely skate to the harbourfront I was able to catch the sun set behind a vast array of monolithic condos & headquarters. The sun was able to get quite low, however, after having nestled between two skyscrapers, & that shared scene on the pier between myself & just a handful of individuals was quite a sight. Heading south afterwards, I rolled by the Toronto Music Gardens, through Coronation Park, & through a series of railway tracks amidst arenas (BMO Arena), Centennial Park, Lakeshore Boulevard, & an array educational campuses. Once Dufferin Street was reached, I headed toward Little Portugal. On the way there I stopped short (per the advice of a local) & turned north up King Street. Halfway home I stopped at the restaurant Thai Place Too & enjoyed some steaming seafood Tom Yum fit with stimulating conversation from the waitress. I paid my bill, thanked those there, & pushed onward on King Street traversing a barrage of tunnels, city folk, & shopping centers. At this juncture I recall being bummed by the lack of nighttime activities, & decided to stop at a bar near my place for the night called Wide Open.

What was to begin & end as a night of the all-evasive ‘one brew’ quickly accelerated into a merry time of mutual drunkenness & fun. A couple dental hygienists befriended me at the bar, & not far to follow were a West Indian techy working for Google & an Irishwoman on her way out of town. My memories of what exactly transpired are quite shaky, but an unflinching enjoyment of that particular night at the bar lasts. I got home at an ungodly hour & crash-land in my bed.

DAY 3 - 3/16 - 7.53 miles

Similar to popping out of bed due to a frightening nightmare, “Where’s my fucking board?!” was the thought & simultaneous phrase that opened my eyes that morning. I was still drunk, so a hangover wasn’t an issue, but discovered a damn large lump on my right posterior parietal bone & a pool of blood in the sheets where I slumbered. I racked what was left of my brain as to where/how/why this injury came to be sustained, but to no avail. In hindsight, it’s consistent with braceless backwards fall, & vaguely recall attempting to ride my skateboard back home equipped with a BAC of full-blown ‘no bueno’. Nevertheless, the pain wasn’t of serious concern (although I had plenty of time to reflect on the very real possibility of me now having to operate in a concussed state). What was of concern was my skateboard, my iPod, & my eighth of weed that I had yet to dip into. I began retracing my steps and was welcomed with open arms by my beautiful black, four-wheeled bride waiting for me at the front doorstep- Check 1. I scooped up my board, got dressed & readied for the (likely music-less) day ahead, had a solid conversation with my father, & cleared my stuff from the house just in time to be 4 hours late for checkout.

In one of the more daring tactics employed on the trip, I stashed my big purple duffle bag (containing clothes & other non-essentials) & my backpack (containing my laptop, passport & other very-essentials) in the empty garbage bin to the side of the front door. This was a huge gamble, & one that would weigh somewhat on my conscience for the coming hours, despite heavy medication- re-upped on weed, Check 2. During my second trip to Graffiti Alley I encountered a bum in mid-tweak repeatedly pulling his pants up & down amidst a backdrop of beautiful art, & naturally this struck me as microcosmic of the whole of Toronto. The bar I had chanced upon the night prior didn’t resume service until 4 in the evening, & so I had a few hours to kill which were spent speaking with various loved ones & contemplating last night’s events as I bobbed & weaved a hangover. 4 o’clock rolls around & I walk into the bar greeted by a smiling bartender with an unclaimed red iPod. THIS WAS A PERSONAL WIN OF GREAT PROPORTIONS, & solidified my successful navigation through mindless debauchery abroad- Check 3. I felt the proverbial wind was once again behind my back, & opted to knock out the city’s landmarks North of Spadina Avenue, largely via Adelaide & King Streets until Yonge.

Post-modern magnificence a la architecture kept my chin up as I managed to dodge pedestrian after pothole after Porsche. Sundown was not far off & the gleaming beams reflected softly off the mirrored panels some seventy-five plus stories on all sides. A real embodiment of the term ‘hustle & bustle’ was laid out in front of me, complete with a citizenry whose diversity mimicked that of my own home a world away. The gritty attitude that I’ve come to associate with East coast cities (specifically the colder ones) was alive & well here, evidenced in reluctance to help guide tourists or even tell the time of day. I loved it, & judged it as genuine more so than anything else. It should also be noted that the music playing in my ears throughout my time in the ‘Six’ was exclusive to the stylings of Drake, a rapper native of the city with references to its contents (streets, sides of town where the pretty girls sleep, subpopulations, parks, etc.) found abundantly in his lyrics.

When Yonge was reached, I peered west to a ton of things going on, but elected to go east. This turned out to be a wise decision. After a few blocks I was greeted by the area of town most closely associated with the Toronto skyline & its historical foundations on the illustrious Front Street. Here is where I stood mouth agape with the enormity & incomprehensible complexity of the city on full view. I touched the base of the CN tower & spent a good amount of time in awe as it registered (despite the Stratosphere being superior in my eyes), traversed the Railway museum set just outside of Olympic Park, gazed upon the Rogers Center where the Blue Jays come to bat, & ended at the water of Lake Ontario at the sandy Harbour Square Park where some solid skating took place. After some time, the thought of my possessions having lasted (or not) in the trash receptacle all this time prompted me to retrieve them, & so back to Chinatown I booked it. The moment of truth arrived when I got off my board at 83 W. Sullivan Street, & lo & behold, my stuff was nestled just as I had left it some 5 hours before. Feeling giddy from the travel-savvy risks taken, I was on to grab dinner with an old colleague of mine who happened to be doing her post-baccalaureate studies there. T. & I, a former classmate at Valley High, met at what we would come to find as nothing more than another closed restaurant with a COVID-19 newsletter plastered on the door. We deliberated playfully on what we should now do, & after having happened upon the ‘T O R O N T O’ sign & all of its illuminated glory, a 6-pack of Stella Artois from the rather hidden LCBO in the mega-commercial Eaton Center became the night’s main entree. Polite exchanges with exceedingly conversational locals made for a nice segue as we awaited our second Lyft ride to the Harbourfront.

The Harbourfront Centre was largely uncrowded as temperatures dipped below zero (Celsius, of course), & after a brew-cigarette combo, it was in an instance that snow began falling from the blackened sky & onto everything in sight… including our unsheltered selves. It was as surprising as it was splendid (at least for a desert cactus like me) to have been outdoors somewhere prior to snowfall & then to behold its beginning. A few days prior, I had been notified that the ski lift an hour North of Ottawa whose mountain I intended to shred had been closed, & so, I found myself with a decision to make: stay in the Toronto area an extra night or board the bus I had booked & crashing in a twin-sized bus seat for the night & do who knows what in Ottawa… Motivated by the phrase, “What the hell are you going to do in Ottawa?” I chose the former & began searching for a nearby hotel room. My homegirl, sitting beside me, of course overheard, & more-than-kindly offered a guest room in her condo as a suitable place to rest my head for the evening. I accepted, & we whisked ourselves out of the snow to a 12th-story condo in the 95+% Chinese suburb of Markham, ON. An once-schoolmate was changed into a dear friend after having exhibited flawless hospitality in the form of whiskey, toast, toothpaste, a bed & sublime conversation. We jabbed & joked in Francais (with hers being superior to my own), & this was a much-needed introduction to everyday dialogue in the different tongue of the Quebecois whom I would spend most of the days to follow with.

DAY 4 - 3/17 - 4.38 miles

I awoke early in the morning after not being able to sleep too much due to my skin’s incessant irritation, as well as a pseudo-insomnia I’ve come to expect from myself when on vacation. To fill the time between my awakening & my host’s, I read as much of The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz as I could retain, ending with the last chapter left unread. As a result, the mantras prompted by the book that one is to agree with from within his/herself resonated with me. They are ‘be impeccable with your word,’ ‘don’t take anything personally,’ ‘don’t make any assumptions,’ & ‘always do your best.’ Fondly, I looked to these statements as a source of my second wind around this time, as the physical toll of my endeavors began somewhat to present themselves.

When T awoke, we engaged in parley for another hour or so before trudging to the neighborhood bus/rail station where she purchased my ticket & we ran goofily to make the train before the doors swiftly shut. During the train ride back to Downtown Toronto I was able to sit quietly in my thoughts, as well as get some business dealings out of the way via phone. The walls flanking the tracks were riddled in graffiti of both very high- & very low-quality pieces on fleeting displays. We were headed to Union Station, the hub for all non-automobile commutes in the metropolitan area, & second-largest transportation facility in North America, servicing some seventy-two million humans yearly. A stunning structure of Greco-Roman design with pristine pillars, it was a treat to walk the halls of such an obviously integral establishment. Soon we said our brief farewell & parted ways so that she could go to school & I could purchase a rail ticket to Ottawa, ON- set to leave later in the day.

I purchased my rail ticket to Ottawa for 6:30 PM & stashed my luggage at the bagging station inside the terminal, leaving me with 3 ½ hours to get the last of my rocks off in a city unique to itself. I went straight for Yonge-Dundas square after having caught a glimpse of the scene days prior, & once in the center I felt a likening to Times Square, both personally & perceivably. There was no better wayward idea at the time than to bust off some skate tricks in the center of such commotion, & was able to have a solid 15-20 minutes on the board before security (much like their American counterparts) gave me the good ol’ boot. Onto St. Lawrence Market I dashed, the bayside market most closely associated with Canadian grub. Here I tried peameal for the first time, & was left affirmed of Canadian courtesy, although the meal itself wasn’t anything to write home about. Yet another stop at Tim Horton’s for some pastries seemed in order before heading back to Union Station. Back at the staging port for my bus it was revealed to passengers that there was a 50-minute delay- just the break I needed to step out & smoke a potent bowl. When I did finally step outside after a few lefts & maybe a right, there in front of me stood the Scotiabank Arena where the Toronto Raptors (reigning NBA Champions) play their home games. To be frank, I was at the rear of the practice court, but nevertheless, happy to happen to be there. The train boards, takes off, & a long list of Canadian towns were slept through & bypassed in the dead of night. I hailed a lift from the Ottawa Train Station to my hostel for the night. The place served as the first jail in city, & had since been neatly converted into a hostel with guests sleeping in tight-fitting ‘jail cells.’ I was on floor 6 in cell number 613, the quarters of a long-gone inmate by the name of Angelo Villamino. I relished this opportunity to mix the excitement of historicism with the usually lull nature of lodging. The rest itself was subpar as my skin had begun peeling profusely during the day, & remained red hot during the night.

DAY 5 - 3/18 - 16.24 miles

Morning comes quickly & I am tasked to clear my cell of my things in a playful return to freedom. Breakfast was held in the dining hall of the jailhouse, aptly ascribed the ‘oldest dining hall in Ottawa.’ After replenishing my body, I held my bags at the front desk, & hurled myself into the city; I had a little over one hour to squeeze as much of the country’s capital into my memory banks as possible. I began by searching for the Parliament building (more like a castle) where the bulk of legislation for the world’s second-largest country (in landmass) largely transpires. No Prime Minister Trudeau or politicians in sight, as the effects of the Coronavirus pandemic amplified by the day. I believe this is the day that the Prime Minister of Canada closed the southern border to incoming Americans, followed swiftly by our President’s mutual refusal of incoming foreign travelers at the border. Admittedly, this was not of concern to me, as I figured (& thankfully was later proven correct) that a U.S. citizen would be permitted to come home. In hindsight, I perhaps predicted such measures being taken & allowed them to expedite my plans of getting to Canada before being unable to enter as an American.

Anyway… by Parliament I glided taking whatever pauses necessary to piece together how things came to be as they are up there from an academic perspective, but carefully preserving the right to take the utmost tourist-y photos (much like others do at 1600 Pennsylvania). A breathtaking building it was indeed, & that was just the view from the street! I continued along my path, circumnavigating the center of the city which took me to Victoria Island & into the province of Quebec for a brief moment (although I was not aware of the provincial border at the time). Like my time in Niagara, I elected to skate from a southern bridge to a northern one, the latter being Alexandra bridge over the Ottawa River. What a special moment this turned out to be as my wheels clanked over the wooden boards of the bridge, seemingly to the dismay of the townspeople. I was not the least bit concerned for this harmless transgression, as I had been otherwise captivated by my backside view of Parliament sitting atop its hill. It felt as if I had been transported to Transylvania, & the Victorian edifice gave me a sense of passion for human ingenuity. I made it back to the HI Ottawa Jail Hostel, aligned my belongings, & requested a ride to the Ottawa Greyhound terminal to catch my bus to Montreal. Here is precisely where Francais surpassed English as the primary mode of communication for the foreseeable future. The beloved Quebecois are very proud of their Francophone heritage, as it is the written language on road signs & nearly all signage everywhere (with a distinctive lower regard for English).

Arrival in Montreal occurred after the couple-hour bus ride. Immediately I was made aware of the foothold in normalcy that the French language commanded there, mainly because everything was in French (& not always in English). Outside the bus station, during my coordination with my Airbnb host, multiple homeless individuals approached me in search of loose change or a cigarette. This would be otherwise unworthy of mention had it not been for their guttural requests being in a language outside of English; I remember finding it striking to conceive a natively French-speaking bum whose domain I was now a guest in. My stuff & I made yet another march to the place I would come to call a temporary home- the apartment of Alix & Marion. I was mid-toke when my host, Alix, motioned to me to come to the stairs at the foot of the door & take my entry. A simple ‘bonjour,’ we greeted each other with, & I demonstrated to her that I would prefer to speak in her primary language in an effort to sharpen my own ear & mouth, to which she gladly agreed. The remainder of our exchanges over roughly the next 48 hours took place in Francais, with varying degrees of contextual & vernacular depth. The common Montrealaise person is a French-speaker with a veritable accent when they switch to English. As the old addage goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. I met this challenge to navigate a new cityscape & probe its peoples in an embracing way with occasional angst, constant excitement, & most profoundly with a thirst for knowledge.

My goods were locked away in my room, I had just showered, so I grabbed my board & set sail in search of the city’s lifebloods. Beginning in Chinatown (which usually tends to be either exactly or nearby places I stay in cities), I opted to head west in search of Le Plateau & Mile’s End, sections of the town celebrated for the globality & execution of their cuisinieres. Some poutine boeuf hache from Main Deli on Rue Ste. Laurent seemed the right call, & turned out better than my imagination had guessed. From Mile’s End southward I was bound, seeking to lay eyes upon L’Universite de Montreal. Little did I know it was set atop one of the many tiers of Mt. Royal at the city’s center. Getting there was rather trying, but the views of Quebec’s largest city at night from the campus, coupled with the exhilaration of board-bombing down the occasional hill, left little to be desired & much to be remembered. Further south of the University lied L’Oratoire de St. Joseph (St. Joseph’s Oratory), a Catholic-driven destination featuring towering stained-glass windows, a gathering hall for services that rivaled the most Mormon of Tabernacles, along with a balcony’s viewpoint all its own. After struggling to find the exit from the Oratory, I found it in my best interest to begin the journey back to my bed. A complete encircling of Mt. Royal park was supposed to cap the day’s adventure as night had already befallen hours before. Perhaps fate had other plans in mind.

My phone had been rendered useless at this point, & I had little more than my intelligence to rely on to get me back home. Unfortunately, my mental capacity had waned significantly over the course of the day’s doings, & over the next 2 or 3 hours I could be plainly seen wandering somewhat aimlessly from roadside map to roadside map. The outcome of being well off-track was spectacular, however. I cannot help but feel I got to experience the city in a different & daring light. Half of me wanted to return home, & the other half wanted to investigate each eye-catching facet; more often than not, I let the need to investigate prevail & tacked some formidable mileage onto the invisible odometer of my skateboard throughout the night. After some much-needed guidance from a man walking & a bus driver, I was able to piece together just enough of my surroundings to locate 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth. Before heading home, I stopped into an Indian restaurant called SpiceBoys, where I requested tandoori chicken with curry rolled into naan bread. The only problem was that their card terminal was unable to accept any of my debit or credit cards, & so, with one stroke of effortless Indian-Canadian kindness, I was gifted a hearty dinner for the night free of charge. With the help of daylight, the next day I uncovered that I had thoroughly explored Downtown Montreal (via Rue Ste. Catherine), the Red-Light District, the Quartier Latin (Latin Quarter), & the Quartier des Spectacles (Entertainment District). I crept back into the apartment, which creaked with every floorboard, into my room & resigned to fatigue.

DAY 6 - 3/19 - 8.64 miles

I remained asleep in my quarters for the morning’s entirety, having groveled thirteen hours through the mandatory regeneration of my body & mind. Near this time I had an extended conversation with my hostess in which I requested to place my bags there after check-out the following day & attached reasoning to the request… completely in Francais! She was more than accommodating. Awakened & thoughts of the night prior still scrambling my brain, I showered (peeling skin off myself for the vast majority of time in the water), clothed myself in some hot shit, & set out to cross the St. Lawrence River. The cartographic struggles that were now in the past (plus a charged phone) helped me immensely in getting to my desired destinations in the coming days. I set out southward on Boulevard Rene-Levesque seeking to hit Griffintown & St. Henri before taking the Wellington Street bridge over to the L’isle de Ste. Helene (St. Helen Island). The riverfront at Sq. St. Patrick was an intoxicating mixture of sights & sounds; inlaid with a frozen stream, industrious (sometimes abandoned) infrastructure, & graffiti/street art that seamlessly colorized a scene already full of vibrance made for a quite memorable portion. At the point where most individuals had turned back due to the icy paths & an increasingly disinviting ambience, I progressed under Highway 10. On a route I was positive few or none had taken before, I stood roadside at dusk having to think intensely upon my next move & if it was the correct one. Wrong ones were made, gloves were dropped, but in time & effort I was able to find Avenue Pierre-Dupuy.

For a handful of kilometers, I skated along the shipyard gazing upon the city that I had been so immersed in & with. I was trying to practice kicking & pushing in the ‘goofy’ stance, so that I could face the spectacles & not apartment complexes (to mild avail). Before I knew it, I reached Parc Dieppe (Dieppe Park), a park on the north tip of the Cite du Havre & the starting point of the Pont de la Concorde (Concord Bridge). I would begin crossing without giving myself the time to let fear fester. Cars sped by at a half-meter’s length as my wheels rolled over tidbits of gravel, & more present in my mind, over a large body of water. I recall taking a few moments of pause at the bridge’s midpoint to survey my surroundings, & beautifully dominating they were. Humbled I felt, truly. As if my existence equated to a ripple in the river below, & with my individual ripple I can become a hurricane, or mud. The end of the bridge was a comforting sight.

To reach L’isle de Ste. Helene was the goal for the day & having gotten off the east end of the Pont de la Concorde, I was finally there. A long walk up the eastern coast of the island awaited me & was met with a heart teeming with adventure. Here I had time alone. With no other humans nearby, I let my mind run wild with thoughts of the trip to this point & how, in the grand scheme of things, I felt I was at where I should be; perhaps not geographically as one’s physical station is usually inconsequential. But in my mental state I was home, & home alone at that. Onward & northward I strode through the Parc Jean-Drapeau, laying eyes upon the ‘Biosphere’- a spherical structure on the island meant to champion ecology. Trees & ice accompanied me on the brisk walk to the north end of the island. There, Pont Jacques-Cartier (Jacques Cartier Bridge) awaited me in all of its steel beam splendor. Thankfully, the lanes of traffic & the pedestrian walkway had a divider between them, as well as a protective gate on the side where one might otherwise go overboard. This was all I needed to hop back on my board & skate my weathered boots over the St. Lawrence for the last time. On the bridge there were workers toiling away & the dazzling light sequence of the bridge itself made for a surreal experience. In the distance I could see the bridge, lit in rainbow colors, that I had crossed merely an hour or two before this new bridge that served as my current vantage point. Thoughts on the ephemerality of my existence at large (exemplified by having been way over yonder ‘then’ & here ‘now’) & the absolute need for self-belief against a vacuum of chance pervaded my tiny brain. The Pont Jacques-Cartier provided a special moment in my life that I can attest to having been rarely duplicated before. For reasons beyond me, I shed a tear & smoked a bowl before getting off.

Once off, I felt my way through Gay Village & back down into the Quartier Latin where I stopped for dinner at a quaint, but busy, Napoli Pizzeria. The owner was Italian. The waiter too. Both spoke Italian, English, & French, but after a while a Mexican family of 6 on vacation from Monterrey was seated, & the working duo displayed their aptitude in the Spanish language as well, going so far as to tell jokes anecdotally. I grinned & shared in the aura of the exchange, although I likely resembled a dirty drifter in the corner. Coming from such worldly humans, naturally the smoked salmon pizza topped with capers & onions was not lacking in the least bit. So, I ordered a large box for take-out after munching away the smaller portion & took my leave. On the way home, I stopped at a Second Cup Coffee Co. location & had a brief verbal volley with the barista in request of a cheesecake. He complimented my accent when speaking French, & even likened it to that of a French person (maybe meaning not Quebecois), despite glaring difficulties in my comprehension & rebuttals. Riding an emotional (& literal) high during the descent of a simply remarkable day of jam-packed novelty & sensation in all forms (sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, introspection), I returned to the apartment for my last full night in the region.

DAY 7 - 3/20 - 2.42 miles

My time in Montreal was now nearing an end, & I began to hold thoughts of coming home in high regard. When the sluggishness of sleep washed away in the shower (insert skin peeling of the largest proportions here), I readied my luggage & cleaned my temporary room as best as I could to eliminate all signs of a horrific sunburn & accompanying cranial gash. With the green light from my hostesses to store my luggage in the apartment until the night’s 10:50 bus ride to Plattsburgh, NY, I was intent upon checking off the last few Montreal-bound goals that remained. This came chiefly in the form of a desire to reach the Mt. Royal lookout in order to take in the city-sphere from its namesake mountain. Originally, I had intended to skateboard there from the apartment, but after a few blocks of dousing rain, I called an Uber to scoop me up (after finding out that Lyft doesn’t yet operate in Quebec) & take me. The friendly Uber driver, Vincent, let me out at the drivable point closest to the Chateau Mont Royal, & didn’t hesitate to call me crazy for being there in such ferocious conditions. He pointed me in the proper direction which was aided by a fellow human headed toward the same spot as myself. Precipitation worsened as the half-mile March was underway, but it was worth every goosebump & raindrop once I reached the outlook.

A dreary backdrop of low-hanging, gray clouds & the smell of rain caressed the skyline’s perimeter in a way that rang true & imprinted upon me a stunningly naked Montreal. An intimate version of the city it was, gripped by the unknown like the rest of the world, yet resilient enough for entrepreneurialism to survive in pockets. Having already been to many of the places now set in my sight made the moment all the more fulfilling & full circle. A naive feeling of having ‘conquered’ the city laid bare before me was soon supplanted by the revelation of the realer self-conquest. Half-frozen water panging my face & wind gusts pulling & pushing without cease proved no match for the firmness I had found, in feet & fortitude. This was the quintessential culmination of the week I endured, & one one-hundred percent befitting of such a voyage.

I made my escape of Mount Royal with haste before my inadequate (but stylish) clothing proved a fatal error. Originally, I had the notion to return to Main Deli because my last meal there was so damn good, but in the moment I opted for Schwartz’s Deli across the street in the name of variety. A heaping steak sandwich slatted between two tiny slices of wheat with mustard proved to be the house specialty, & was served less than a minute after being ordered… It was alright. Homeward bound with a full stomach, I decided to walk into a store that I had held in the back of my mind after passing by my first day there, Cul-de-Sac. This place was happening! The owner of the store was gracious in her conversation as I browsed. I eventually confessed my inspiration(s) gained from her shop (& plans to recreate in a respectful, homage-paying manner). We spoke at length about various topics, from our being of parents, to our being of owners of similar retail operations, to her allegiance to Quebec & not the whole of Canada. In fact, she was the foremost messenger of the separatist mentality that the people of the Quebec province displayed, on their countenance & in their conduct. I purchased a few of the items in her shop, she threw me some good stuff for free, & we wished well upon each other at my exit. That was the last recreational stop in Montreal, & soon thereafter I retreated to the Quartier des Spectacles to acquire my things. I was graced with the time to charge my phone & rest my bones for about 45 minutes. It was during this time that a cherished exchange between myself, Alix, & Marion (a hostess with whom I’d only spoken with via Airbnb messaging up to this point) occurred. It had become expected that I was asked what I did with my day, & that is how the chat began. I explained the day’s travels, thanked the duo for being a source of comfort & ease at the beginnings & ends of trying days. I also thanked them for putting up with my butchering of their language (as each inhabitant of the apartment was from France) for the sake of practice, which they met befuddled & were quick to praise my ability to communicate/intonate in their complicated speech. They even went so far as to say that my speaking has a native’s accent & were super appreciative of my having taught myself over the last couple years. A mutual encounter I cannot help but feel it was, & I remain grateful for their pleasant & inviting demeanors. I climbed down the long stairwell of 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth once & for all & signaled for Uber to take me to the Longueil Metro.

I had arrived at the bus station with plenty of time to spare, having somewhat learned the errors of my ways. I was serious about not wanting to cut anything close with such little time left for my returning flight home. I waited patiently at my gate for my bus to arrive & whisk me away back to the states for my 2:59 AM flight out of Plattsburgh, New York (Upstate). Sadly, the bus’s arrival time came & went, & at the mention of the ticketing booth agent, I waited another 45 minutes for it. Having received no notification of cancellation from the bussing company, no accurate updates on the whereabouts of the bus, & minute after minute shaving away from takeoff time, I was forced to call an Uber to pick me up from the metro station & take me to the border- this cost one-hundred Canadian dollars. We stopped at an ATM, grabbed some snacks, & finally Ridaha & I were on our way. A fruitful & insightful chat aided us along the drive, & I was able to disentangle much French from this nice Tunisian man. An hour passed & we arrived at the U.S. border.

As the car pulled up to the border, U.S. Customs agents ordered repeatedly for my driver’s documentation. A brief argument between an unsuspecting Ridaha & an extremely serious officer took place. The very odd circumstances were eventually explained, Ridaha was directed to make a U-turn & head home while I exited the vehicle, grabbed my bags, & headed to the border patrol substation. It was there that I was informed that I would need to call a cab (as Uber wasn’t functioning in this particular location), but to complicate matters drastically, the taxi services weren’t doing the ‘border run’ that night. My heart fell into my stomach, & I had entered a phase of worry that I had yet to reach at any point along the trip. Thankfully, one Officer Burdette walked me to the West Service Road behind the U.S. Border Patrol & Customs Champlain Station & pointed in the direction of the nearest place still open- a Peterbilt truck stop about a half mile down a pitch-black road. He also made it a point to mention that if I attempted to hitchhike on main Highway 87, I would be arrested. This oh so tangible road brought with it intangible emotion after emotion as I grappled with triumph & failure, each still hanging in the balance. It had become very important outside of my own ambitions for me to make the plane & get home, & I was purely keen to not have loved ones worry about my wellbeing any longer. A frantic mixture of skating & speed-walking got me to the Peterbilt stop, & by the grace of God, the taxi company agreed to send out a driver for me & get me to the airport from this largely equidistant pick-up point. While I waited in freezing temperatures in an Eddie Bauer peacoat on the side of the road at the smallest hour, another group of U.S. Customs agents spotted me & sought to question my being there. They asked for identification & reasoning to which I was forthcoming. They wished me well & left.

Thirty minutes later, a portly man of sound intelligence & world view taxied me to the Plattsburgh International Airport (after having stopped at an ATM for cash to pay him). I entered the empty airport at 2:30 AM for my 2:59 AM flight with the driver’s assurance that I’ll be able to get right through TSA & onto the plane. More than sadly, he was mistaken. The Spirit Airlines attendant had vacated his post thirty minutes before takeoff to aid the onboarding crew, as per policy, of course. I rushed up to the barren TSA line & inquired about my chances of getting on the plane. They responded that the flight door had already been closed, & that it was now an impossibility for me to board. Needless to say, it was now impossible for me to get home on time, too. I felt I had fallen just short of a buzzer-beating victory that I had already affirmed to those who had expressed concern. I had begun to list the many variables that could have gone differently to get me on to that flight: 1) why didn’t my bus in Longueil show up or even notify me of cancellation? 2) why didn’t I deem the bus ride a lost cause sooner & get an Uber sooner? 3) why did we have to stop at an ATM so off-route when leaving Montreal? 4) Couldn’t they have held me & my driver up a bit less at the border? 5) Why couldn’t the taxi agency send someone a half-mile further than where they would eventually come to pick me up? 6) Why did this portly man with a good view of the world have to drive the speed limit? Would he have driven faster if I didn’t entertain his subjects? 7) Why the fuck does the agent at the airline counter leave the counter thirty minutes before a flight is scheduled to take off?

When the airline attendant did return, he was sympathetic to my cause & willing to help find a solution. Employing a similar program to the one used at the beginning of the trip, he was able to book the exact flight for the following day free of charge. This eased me greatly. Questions & doubt lingered, but I soon picked my chin up & hopped in another cab headed for the America’s Best Value Inn. This would be my impromptu safe haven on this frigid Friday night, & I checked in at 3:30 AM.

DAY 8 - 3/21 - 0 miles

Today is my sister’s & my aunt’s shared birthday. I wished dearly to be home by now next to my daughter, & to begin decompressing the week’s peaks & valleys. Yet, here I sit in the lobby of the cheap motel I spent last night in. I’ve been in the same chair since 1:15 PM, & it is now 12:49 AM (with the exception of a few bathroom/water breaks & a brief standing up to accept ordered wings & garlic bread). This unexpected & obligation-less window in time was spent formulating this transcript of a vacation I can confidently say will come to prove formative as life presses on. One not soon to be forgotten, nor the lessons gained therein forsaken. My flight to Las Vegas via Fort Lauderdale, Florida & Dallas, Texas is due to leave in a couple hours. With my lack of punctuality deeply ingrained, I resolve to close this memoir in saying that the constant struggle with mortality across Earth & in minds amidst these troubling waters was on full display in every city & each individual’s expression. Death and Disease on the tongues of the media & man the world over, but life itself (outside of the biological & inside of the metaphorical sense) is to be explored & discovered lovingly… never to be shied away from or merely sustained. With our collectively restricted circumstances reaching a fever pitch in what people can & cannot, should & should not, will & will not do, I resolve to digress & remain profoundly thankful for love, safety, health & home.

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wizardsnwookies · 6 years

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POTA 111518 - Below

“Looks like you were right.” Miv blinked at the empty coffin with disinterest, turning away to the other stone sarcophagus within the room. “How much you want to bet the rest are occupied?”

“I don’t gamble, but I believe we should take great care in investigating the others.” Banshae was deadly serious, seemingly unaware of the casual turn of phrase.

“I’m sorry?” Dion turned suddenly.

“It’s a rather unfortunate necessity. This appears to be the most likely source of the Ghouls we encountered on our way here. The laboratory upstairs, now this tomb.”

“No, of course you’re right.” The priest glanced at the great stone vessels with a twinge of reluctance. To desecrate a place of rest, even with justification, was not at all something he relished. His duty was to bring peace to the dead, not disrupt it. Banshae could see the distress in his features and placed a solid hand upon his shoulder.

“If their rest has been disturbed-”

“Yes, I know. Proceed.”

She offered only a single curt nod. Flea needed no prompting and was already standing at the head of the next stone coffin, this one far more mundane than that of Samular Paradoon. Unlike his however, this sarcophagus was indeed occupied.

Sliding away to the floor, the stone lid first revealed a pair of milky white eyes open to all the world. No life lived within them, but something else lurked beneath. An unlife, like a slumbering bear within its cave, filled the room with foreboding. Flea readied himself, gripping his axe firmly, waiting for an attack that would not come. Instead it simply sat there, staring through Flea, past him, towards some unseen oblivion.

“Strange, never known an undead to miss out on a meal.” He waved a meaty paw over its eyes, trying to break its trance. Either his flesh was not as appetizing as he thought it to be, or something else was going on here.

“It may still be under the command of its master. These poor creatures are little more than slaves. Please Flea, grant it mercy and release it from bondage.”

“You’re the boss.” A single swing was enough to cave in its brittle skull, exploding into dust and fragments of bone. He casually jumped off the dais and moved to the next coffin, giving Dion room for his rituals.

It continued in such a manner for what felt like ages. One by one tombs were opened, each one either empty or containing a motionless undead awake to the world around it but powerless to act. One by one Flea sent them back to whatever awaited them on the other side, one by one Dion guided them on their way, bringing them to one final coffin.

Flea stood at the head, axe held aloft at the ready. When Banshae slid the slab aside it’s occupant proved to be far more fresh than the others. His skin was immaculate, intact, almost glowing with life still. Across his chest both arms clasped the hilt of his sword, he was dressed in full regalia, the banner of his station neatly folded and placed upon his lap.

“Hold.” Dion nearly threw himself upon the body, ready to block any blow that might come from an overzealous Flea. He could feel a tingle in the air around the body, a ripple in reality indicating the presence of magic.

“Is that who I think it is?” Elora joined the others, leaning in to catch a better glimpse at the young man inside the stone sarcophagus.

“I believe it may be. Sir Ord Nynn, our missing knight.”

“Is it just me or does he look a bit too...fresh?” That was about as delicately as Miv could think to put it. Ord Nynn had died some time before the Caravan left Mirabar, which had been more than a few weeks ago by now.

“A simple spell, ‘Gentle Repose.’“ Dion gently brushed his fingers against the cold steel of the knights burial armor. It was chilled to the touch, but not nearly as cold as the rest of the room. He had been placed here recently.

“How long does a spell like that typically last?”

“Not this long. Someone had to have recast it since the Caravan ambush.”

“Why?” Banshae leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Curious-er and curious-er. The further they uncovered the more complex the motives seemed to be.

“Why bother taking care of the body? It could not have been the the target of the ambush.” The latter was more a question than a statement. Thinking aloud. A question no one seemed to have the answer to.

---

“I don’t think this is part of the original complex.” Elora lead the group out onto the stone landing. Before them a great chasm opened up into the earth bridged by a perfectly hewn stone bridge. Upon the other side, through the darkness, her sensitive elven eyes glimpsed unnatural shapes. Perfect edges and delicate moldings did not occur with any underwater riverways she knew of and furthermore, no monastery she was familiar with needed this much square-footage. Between that and the subtle shift in craftsmanship of the masonry told her they were emerging into a different world entirely.

“Let’s take it carefully from here. Elora, you lead us and keep your senses sharp. Miv, be ready to extinguish the globe on her word.” None argued with Banshae’s orders, the silence of the massive chamber was pregnant with a strange sense of anxiety. As if something horrible awaited them within even though they had received no resistance up until this point.

Stealthy steps guided them along the expanse of the chasm, the stone beneath their feet covered in disturbed dirt and dust. As with everywhere else so far, this place had been marked by battle. Halfway across they paused over a pair of slain figures, an odd pair that did not seem to match with the rest of bodies they had uncovered. The Teifling had one of the strange serrated swords in her death grip and a collection of trophies tied to each horn. Her companion, a strange creature none were familiar with, was extremely pale with hair as white as a winter snow. Each were covered in wounds, the most grievous being a horrific crushing blow that had caved in their torsos, shattering ribs and exploding the heart.

“So, this is where their assault ended.” Banshae offered the brave warriors a moments pause out of respect. A brief sonnet passed her lips, a sonnet she did not know she even knew. A memory from a previous life, a ritual to honor fallen brothers and sisters.

“The two of them did all this damage?” Flea bobbed his head, impressed.

“If these are our predecessors, there should be one more according to Lady Stormbanner. A Kenku. Perhaps they made it further in?”

“Either way, my guess is this is where we can start expecting company.” Flea readied his axe. Casting his eyes across the bridge he peered into the darkness, and thought he saw the briefest of movements.

“Elora?” Banshae turned to the head of the group, the High elf crouched low, body tense. Listening. Watching.

Her fine tuned ears pricked at a faint rustling. A faint disturbance she could just barely hear over the sounds of the party around her. Whispering. Deep guttural voices in a hushed tone, and the clattering of iron.

“I think we’re blown.”

An arrow shot into the darkness, punctuating her statement. The group scattered, ducked, searching the black void at the other end of the bridge. They knew to stay in such an exposed area would be suicide, so each sprinted forward, unbidden into the unknown.

A great stone plaza met them with finely crafted pillars rising up to the raw ceiling. Flagstones faded in and out of piles of earth and loose pebbles. Several hobgoblins stood at the ready by a modest fire built next a pair of shattered stone doors. The archer was already nocking another arrow, while his companion slammed a fist against a wooden door to the west. But there was something else with them, something far more imposing, menacing.

“What in the hells is that?” Banshae drew her sword and hefted up her shield about two meters from the beast that was just now rising to its feet. A rider clad in stone swung burly legs across its back, this thing that looked like a cross between a bulldog and the predators that swam the depths of the ocean. It’s hide looked to be about as thick as her shield, its pointed snout as sharp as her sword.

“Does it matter? Kill it!” From behind Flea leaped clean over her shoulders landing in the dirt to the creature’s left side. With a single swing his axe blade drove itself between two of the sturdy plates of its back, filling the room with a painful, animalistic bellow.

Light filled the room from Miv’s driftglobe. At this point, he figured, the jig was up and all subterfuge was out the window. Light, would only be an aid to their efforts now. He sent it high into ceiling, illuminating as much of the room as he could before moving in to close the distance between himself and the archer.

Elora and Dion pressed up against one of the pillars for cover, peeking out with precise strikes of arrow and magic. The cries of goblinoid anguish as they died were drowned out from a deep roar from within the broken portal. Although she knew not where or when she recognized it, Banshae had no doubt as to its origins. The horn had been sounded for battle. More would be coming, they needed to end this quickly and steel themselves for the second wave. Lest they meet the fate of those that came before them.

-- Buy Me a Coffee -- Support my work by visiting Ko-Fi dot com/H2H6CCBE

#Dungeons and Dragons #campaign diary #princes of the apocalypse #role playing games

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placesiwannagoto · 3 years

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genesee crossroads park

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canawaugus park

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helmer nature center

oatka creek park

buckland park

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travelonlinetipsofficial · 3 years

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Best Things to Do in Paris

New Post has been published on https://www.travelonlinetips.com/best-things-to-do-in-paris/

Best Things to Do in Paris

As the world once again becomes our playground, many of us feel compelled to enjoy the outdoors as much as possible. Here in Paris, that is a good impetus to follow, since most indoor venues now require you to show a vaccine passport in order to enter. This is true of museums, cafes, restaurants, theaters, cinemas…well, you get the picture. Lucky for us, Paris remains one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Beyond the obvious splendors of the Eiffel Tower and the Sacre-Cœur Basilica, Paris has a wealth of sites and experiences to offer.

And others, like Le Village St.-Paul, and the nearby basketball courts, the Terrain de Sport des Jardins St.-Paul, both in the Marais, make you feel like you’ve discovered a hidden nook of Paris all your own each time you stumble upon them. The Village St. Paul is recently renovated and is now an exquisite labyrinth of quaint shops, casual restaurants and bars and simply just quiet spaces where you can catch your breath underneath the shade of a tree. It was once the private gardens of King Charles V, but that was centuries ago. Likewise historical, and not to miss noticing, is the original old wall of Paris built in the 12th and 13th centuries by France’s then King, Philip Augustus. Today, it still fortifies one side of well-used open-air basketball courts of the Marais. In other words, you can both shoot hoops (or jump rope or stretch or do open-air calisthenics) while taking in one of the oldest exposed monuments of historical Paris.

The Parc Rives de Seine is another popular destination for families and sporty types, or even just people looking for a nice outdoor walk along the Seine or a place to picnic by the river. On warm spring, summer and fall evenings, you’ll find groups of friends enjoying bottles of wine or beer al fresco or ordering a beer at one of the many food stalls there.

New to the Parisian façade is La Samaritaine. Or, I should accurately denote, all things old become new again since this iconic department store in the Chatelet district of the 1st arrondissement is now fully refurbished and open again for business. It’s the LVMH group who undertook this project, which lasted for nearly a decade, and the architecture shows its modern bent. For architecture buffs and shopping enthusiasts, it’s a must-see.

In Paris, it pays to just wander because many Parisian gems and treasures can be found along a meandering path. Some of these treasures, such as the covered passage of Galerie Vivienne, are found right under your nose as you walk the city’s charming streets. Its main entrance is tucked in just behind the Palais Royal and once you enter into this covered passage, you feel yourself instantly transported through time.

One last reassurance when exploring the city: When your feet get tired of walking, there is a boat-bus service, the Batobus, that you can hop on and off. It motors you from the Eiffel Tower to just past the Ile St. Louis by riverway, and back again, if you so choose.

Getting outside these days can feel like something of a privilege. Who would have thought? But here we are. So, in honor of maximizing that privilege, these are outdoor basketball courts open to the public where you can shoot hoops and otherwise do open-air calisthenics. The kids from the high school across the street are often here playing on their sports hour, but there are many hours when there isn’t a single soul inside this expansive sports terrain. It’s a great place to bring your yoga mat and do some stretches, or a jump rope and get a vigorous workout. If you have some buddies you can shoot hoops with, go for it. The baskets are yours for the playing. While you’re here, don’t forget to notice the 12th century wall that holds up one side of the encircling façade.

Recommended for Best Attractions & Activities because: The great outdoors! Even in the heart of the Marais, you find these hidden oases where you can play, sweat and absorb some culture, too.

Paige’s expert tip: Come here for the outdoor exercise venue, stay for the history lesson… Right here on an ancient street in the Marais are these fabulous outdoor basketball courts. The playing field is large enough that if you want to do calisthenics like jump rope there’s plenty of room off to the side without getting in the way of the game. Be sure to notice the ancient wall to your right as you enter. It is one of the only remnants of the historic Paris city wall that once encircled what was then the outer limits of the city. It dates back to the end of the 12th c., beginning of the 13th c and was built by King Philip Augustus to protect against the threat of a pending Richard The Lionheart invasion.

Read more about Terrain de Sport des Jardins St-Paul →

Though not strictly an attraction, the Batobus is more than just river transportation along the Seine. A hop-on, hop-off shuttle between the major Paris monuments that’s easily accessible from the Seine, it’s nice to ride the Batobus for the sheer pleasure of seeing the city from a different perspective. And while the Bateaux-Mouches and the other wonderful dinner and cocktail Seine river cruises are experiences many rave about (rightly so), this little Batobus-that-could offers the same views at a fraction of the price – dinner and cocktails not included, of course. It’s a family friendly transportation option for getting around the city. Its stops are all along the river, of course. These strategic stops are at areas which make visiting the Louvre, St.-Germain des Pres, the Marais and Latin Quarter and the Eiffel Tower/Trocadero areas very convenient by foot.

Recommended for Best Attractions & Activities because: Paris, when seen from the river Seine, is even more beautiful. And that goes for day and night.

Paige’s expert tip: Hop on and hop off all day long. Or buy the 2-day pass and make the River Seine your main method of transportation to see many of Paris’s landmark sights.

Read more about Batobus – Louvre Stop →

The area along the Rive Droite (right bank) riverfront that was once a thoroughfare for cars, stretching from the Tuileries tunnel to the Henri IV tunnel, is now a pedestrian zone. You can either start at Hôtel de Ville and head east toward the Bastille, which is a shorter walk but will take you along the stretch where the eateries are, often packed with people on the weekends. Or you can head west, still along the Seine, towards the Pont des Arts which will take you along some of Paris’ most beautiful sites such as the Conciergerie, the Pont Neuf and Île de la Cité. It’s a win-win and, either way, will leave you refreshed. An equally beautiful walk awaits you on the Left Bank side of the Seine. Optimally, start from the Pont Alexandre III and walk towards the Eiffel Tower, allowing for plenty of pauses along the way.

Recommended for Best Attractions & Activities because: These green spaces and pedestrian areas along the riverbanks are well-loved, especially by the kids. They get packed in the warmer months with fun-loving crowds.

Paige’s expert tip: After big meals and sugary treats, the best thing to do to maintain equilibrium is to take a nice long walk outdoors. Start just under the Hotel de Ville (Paris’ City Hall) where you’ll find a children’s playground, a swing set, some water fountains and the Batobus ticket kiosk. From this point, you can walk West towards the Pont des Arts, or East towards Pont Sully. Either way, you’ll encounter eateries, refreshments, shady places to sit and picnic tables. No cars, the gorgeous River Seine, and some of Paris’ most beautiful landmarks await you on this walk.

Read more about Le Village St Paul →

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michaelharrisformayor · 3 years

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As Mayor, Residential Development will fund and fuel Detroit's future. This city is full of untapped potential, so I plan to partner with Construction Tradesmen such as The Young Detroit Builders, The Job Corporation, and The Northwest Activities Center to rebuild & employ the people of Detroit. This not only keeps Revenue flowing within the city but also house's them also.

Fenkell Avenue & West Parkway St. within the "Brightmoor" neighborhood (District 1) is a great example of an area within the city, with blocks of undeveloped land. As a Brightmoor native Ive watch this neighborhood transform from a "Leave It To Beaver" neighborhood built just off the Rouge Riverway where as a youth I caught Crayfish to a empty blank subdivision of wild grassed fields. Again this is just 1 example of what Must be done in the city of Detroit.

The Small Houses Trend is something that Ive strongly advocated for as many Millennials nolonger have big families as in the past. There is nolonger a need for huge yards. These small house can be built for a fraction of what this city has paid to demolish a condemned home. EVERY DISTRICT WITHIN THE CITY WILL HAVE A SMALL HOUSE CULDASAC DEVELOPMENT SUBDIVISION. THOSE EMPLOYED WILL BE PLACE IN OR AT THE CLOSEST DEVELOPMENT WITHIN THEIR HOME RESIDING DISTRICT.

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crystalline-sanders · 11 months

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hey don't cry (takes your riverway and makes it human)

don't worry pal is there too, he's just in the kitchen cooking dinner for his boys

#art #fanart #bmc squip #be more chill #squip #riverway #west riverway #*gestures vaguely*#i don't know they're kinda just there and they're bouncing around in my brain very aggressively #river is the only one who has a job and he works at olive garden and he hates it bc he Hates customers and customer service #so sometimes he just comes home and is so very drained #this is one of those times #bmc au #au #human squip au

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squareblog408 · 3 years

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Local Camping Resource. Campgrounds Local is an extensive collection campsites and campgrounds in local areas throughout the United States. Our in-depth and comprehensive local camping guides help travelers, campers, hikers, fishers, and outdoors people of all kinds discover new campgrounds, compare camping options and make reservations for campsites easily online. There's nothing better than spending time together as a family. Even mom will love the family memories made while camping at Stand Rock Campground & RV Park in Wisconsin Dells. We offer a variety of campsites from rustic tent sites in the woods to full hook-up sites. We take pride in our cleanliness and well manicured grounds. Campground located on the bank of the Pigeon River; Swimming pool, wi-fi, seasonal convenience shop, private bathrooms; Pavilion; RV – specific: (12) 50 – 60’ back-in sites; 20, 30, and 50 amp hook-ups; Water and sewer hook-ups; Fire ring and picnic table at every site. Friendly, full service, municipal campground with indoor pool complex & marina on Lake Superior. Tent & RV camping; full hookups or electric & water; daily, weekly, monthly, off-season rates. 4 modern bath houses, playground, rec hall, picnic pavilion, nature area: all on Lake Superior & the harbor of downtown Grand Marais. From Green Bay, Wisconsin Head southeast on E Walnut St toward N Madison St 0.2 mi. Turn left at the 2nd cross street onto N Monroe Ave 0.4 miles. Continue onto WI-57 N/University Ave. Continue to follow WI-57 N Pass by Subway (on the left in 2.2 mi) 27.7 miles. Turn left onto Co Rd D/County C (signs for County Road C).

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Yogi Bear's Jellystone Camp-Resort - Bagley, WI Our clean camping facilities and full time campground activities along with the 200+ modern, level campsites, from full hook-ups to rustic tent camping.

Baraboo Hills Campground - Baraboo, WI Our campground is a family-friendly camping experience for the entire family.

Fox Hill RV Park - Baraboo, WI Fox Hill RV Park offers recreational activities, as well as plenty of room for relaxing.

Full Hookup Campgrounds Hartford Windows

Nordic Pines Resort - Baraboo, WI Across the street from beautiful Devil's Lake State Park in Baraboo, Wisconsin.

Lake Joy Campground - Belmont, WI Spacious RV Motorhome sites with water and 50 Amp electric service.

Happy Acres Kampground - Bristol, WI

Full Hookup Campgrounds Hartford Wisconsin

Crazy Horse Campground - Brodhead, WI Camp along the banks of the beautiful Sugar River.

Meadowlark Acres Family Campground - Burlington, WI There are no full-hookups which discourages seasonal camping but emphasizes a simpler camping experience for motorhomes and trailers.

Yogi Bear's Jellystone Camp-Resort - Caledonia, WI With Miller Park, the Harley Davidson Museum and the Jelly Belly Factory all less than 30 miles away (and Six Flags just a tad more), we make a great base for side rv trips that will please the entire family.

Madison KOA - Deforest, WI

Hickory Hills Family Campground - Edgerton, WI Join us for the best in family camping in a beautiful wooded setting.

Jellystone Park of Fort Atkinson - Fort Atkinson, WI Highly rated, award winning family campground and resort located in southern Wisconsin. With 569 sites and 13 cabins distributed over 80 acres, we are sure to accommodate your family for a weekend of fun.

Rustic Barn RV Park - Kieler, WI Just a few miles from the beautiful bluffs of the Mighty Mississippi, we are conveniently located in the tri-state area of Wisconsin, Iowa, and Illinois, where there are endless activities and attractions for motorhomes.

Smokey Hollow Campground - Lodi, WI Whether you are looking for a weekend filled with activities or the quiet relaxation of a secluded campground, Smokey Hollow is the place for you and your family.

Hidden Valley RV Resort - Milton, WI RV camping in the rolling hills and valleys of Southern Wisconsin's countryside.

Full Hookup Campgrounds Hartford Wi Dells

Duck Creek Campground - Pardeeville, WI Family Camping Enjoyment in a Quiet, Friendly Atmosphere

Pride of America Camping Resort - Portage, WI Lake George is a clean spring fed lake ideal for swimming, boating and fishing.

Sky High Camping Resort - Portage, WI Sky High Camping Resort is a family camping destination with a beautiful view high atop the Baraboo Bluffs.

Silver Springs Campsites - Rio, WI We are located on 170 acres with a 10 acre pond in the center of all the campsites.

Bob's Riverside Resort - Spring Green, WI Campground located on the Beautiful Lower Wisconsin State Riverway.

Lake Lenwood Beach & Campground - West Bend, WI There are trailer and tent sites encircling Lake Lenwood, some set back and some on the lakeshore.

Lazy Days Campground - West Bend, WI Campground offers 300 extra large sites in 5 different grassy and wooded areas.

Timber Trail Campground - West Bend, WI RV Park offers spacious campsites providing unusual privacy beneath a canopy of maple and beechwood trees.

Dell Boo Campground - Wisconsin Dells, WI Dell Boo is a great family campground. Our goals are to have our park clean, quiet and friendly.

Dells Timber Land Camping Resort - Wisconsin Dells, WI RV Park located only four miles North of Wisconsin Dells and a short drive from Baraboo Wisconsin.

Holiday Shores Campground & Resort - Wisconsin Dells, WI Relax along the Upper Dells River at our waterfront or wooded campsites, available for tents, trailers & RV's.

Full Hookup Campgrounds Hartford Wi Wisconsin

Point Bluff Resort - Wisconsin Dells, WI Enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of living on the beautiful Wisconsin River.

River Bay Campground & Marina - Wisconsin Dells, WI River Bay Campground and Marina has its own private sheltered bay that is part of the Wisconsin River.

Sherwood Forest Family Camping - Wisconsin Dells, WI From the moment you arrive, you will enjoy the quiet family camping among the pines and oaks of Sherwood Forest.

Southfork Campground - Wisconsin Dells, WI Located in Wisconsin Dells, Minutes from the Downtown Wisconsin Dells Strip.

Stand Rock Campground - Wisconsin Dells, WI We offer a variety of campsites from rustic tent sites in the woods to full hook-up sites with paved pads.

Full Hookup Campgrounds Hartford Winter

Wisconsin Dells KOA Campground - Wisconsin Dells, WI Settle into a site just right for you with accommodations for all RV sizes and camping styles for motor homes and trailers.

Wisconsin State Parks Official State Park Website

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nationalparkposters · 4 years

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Celebrating Redwood National Park's Anniversary

Celebrating Redwood National Park's Anniversary: Redwood National Park is known as the home of the tallest trees on Earth. Redwoods grow from the seeds the size of a tomato seed, yet can weigh 500 tons and stand taller than the Statue of Liberty. Its foot-thick bark makes the tree all but impervious to fire and insects. Redwood National Park also protect vast prairies, oak woodlands, wild riverways, and nearly 40 miles of rugged coastline. For thousands of years people have lived in this verdant landscape. Together, the National Park Service and California State Parks manage these lands for the inspiration, enjoyment, and education of all. Redwood National Park is located along the coast of northern California. Established on October 2, 1968, the park features old-growth temperate rainforests. Along with three California state parks, together they protect 45% of all remaining coast redwood old-growth forests, totaling at least 38,982 acres. These trees are the tallest and one of the most massive tree species on Earth. In addition to the redwood forests, the parks preserve other indigenous flora, fauna, grassland prairie, cultural resources, portions of rivers and other streams, and nearly 40 miles of pristine coastline. In 1850, old-growth redwood forest covered more than 2,000,000 acres of the California coast. The northern portion of that area, originally inhabited by Native Americans, attracted many lumbermen and others turned gold miners when a minor gold rush brought them to the region. Failing in efforts to strike it rich in gold, these men turned toward harvesting the giant trees for booming development in San Francisco and other places on the West Coast. After many decades of unrestricted clear-cut logging, serious efforts toward conservation began. By the 1920s the work of the Save the Redwoods League, founded in 1918 to preserve remaining old-growth redwoods, resulted in the establishment of Prairie Creek, Del Norte Coast, and Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Parks among others. Redwood National Park was created in 1968, by which time nearly 90% of the original redwood trees had been logged. The National Park Service and the California Department of Parks and Recreation administratively combined Redwood National Park with the three abutting Redwood State Parks in 1994 for the purpose of cooperative forest management and stabilization of forests and watersheds as a single unit. The ecosystem preserves a number of threatened animal species such as the tidewater goby, Chinook salmon, northern spotted owl, and Steller's sea lion. In recognition of the rare ecosystem and cultural history found in the parks, the United Nations designated them a World Heritage Site on September 5, 1980 and part of the California Coast Ranges International Biosphere Reserve on June 30, 1983. Click here to see the Redwood National Park poster. Click here to see the Redwood National Park sticker. https://national-park-posters.com/blogs/national-park-posters/celebrating-redwood-national-parks-anniversary?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=Sendible&utm_campaign=RSS

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the-firebird69 · 2 years

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Watch "Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars (Official Video)" on YouTube

youtube

It's not so much hormones that are flowing out of the river there are some in there but those usually dissipate before they get to the mouth of river but the river in fort Myers and a lot of the channels and estuaries forced out tons of tannins they're built up in those riverways and they got expelled into the West Coast now those things are special and unique because only certain plants and things can grow in them trees love it kelp and and algae blue green algae actually and there's a ton of it out there already by tonight it'll be gigantic because the sun came out and they started growing like madness. These tenants have been building up for about 10 years ever since our son came here you guys went flushing it or dredging it and you're using it too for what Jeff is doing and he is the same thing that's found in the rivers and so forth and it's in the city material and it's natural it worked and he's composting his back in business and he's looking at the composted stuff in the bottom of the estuaries and he said how the hell does this happen so there's a certain acid or something that's natural or something it's probably found in the palm tree itself but it takes forever for it to work and you look since it's not working and he checked and figured out what it was he's done it a couple ways and he's doing it now and he had tested a whole bunch on a system made a huge compost that our son suggested it's just a big tower and that's how you do it and he said you open the bottom into a sleuth and into a like a holding tank can you suck it out and you just keep composting that way and when it's ready it turns like liquifies most of it falls into it it's all it makes it more solid but he has to do it fast enough to make sure it doesn't he's getting one loaded day out of a big huge Tower 80 ft high 40x40 and he is taking that pile out of here and it's almost gone and by the end of the day today tomorrow it'll be out of there any small change at 2:00 all day today is mulching and he's going to be mulching all day tomorrow and he's putting these all over so he's competing now and he's growing and he's hiring people a lot of his own people but different plants and different races of his own tons of people are signing up right now and have equipment and want to do it and he's growing like palm trees and other types of local fauna and he tested it on seedlings he said overnight the ceilings were an inch tall from being planted as a seed that's unheard of nothing grows stuff like that and so he noticed out in the Gulf in our sun has to go look well he's trying this stuff and so this is what it does he went out further cuz it's all brown and he saw things like 10 in Long the whole length of the brown cloud and a little pasta and he went out further and it's like 5 ft a little further and it's 20 ft and it's a big garden of Life and that's what he's singing about and he says stop chasing these cars around and grab them and he's saying that kind of stuff I don't know he's a little bit over the top cuz I'll send those what it is but he says we're Farmers by nature and he's smiling and giggling and says it's not what it is I said I think that's what it is giggling again. Your competition you see even in us a little bit so he's mad cuz he probably come in and grab times so I see is Jeff his grab what you want and need for your place and stockpilot and grab as much as you can just grab as much as you're going to use this season so at least be happy with it he says that makes a lot of sense make a whole bunch of fields and grab them in motion and I understand that if I expand expand if not okay so I'm going to go ahead and do that cuz really this stuff needs to leave it's a fire hazard something the woods too it's bad news

Brad says

We're also putting this out there we're now taking pine trees and our son mentions it tons and tons of furniture is made out of pine soft and hard and we have a way of coding the soft pie and makes it harder as a matter of fact tons of cheap furniture even at Walmart it's made out of South pine but down here is mostly White pine and he said that's a decent time use it's a little harder it's not hard pine but there's a hard time down here too there's a lot of it but there's a lot of pine using construction and we can sell it to them too so any tree really just let us know what it is it's like one tree we don't take in a slow it's the bamboo like one other than that we pay you money real money for like a 8-ft length of palm tree that's like 6-in caliber we'll give you 100 bucks you leave your house with like four or five trees and a couple of oak trees and you'll have like $10,000

Thor Freya

Instead of paying someone to take it down that's pretty good deal I'm going to go collect brush like a madman and I see what they're saying it's worth money

Brad

#Youtube

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xtruss · 4 years

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Redwood National Park! Redwood National Park is known for having some of the tallest trees in the world, but it also features oak woodlands, riverways, and coastlines that support a diverse suite of birds. As the park’s climate changes, many of the birds that we commonly see here are likely to fight suitable climate, such as the Great-Horned Owls and other owl species. But the warming climate will likely challenge other birds, including many warbler species that occur in the park, including Nashville, MacGillivray’s, Yellow-rumped, and Townsends Warblers. The park’s climate is projected to worsen for woodpecker species also, including Acorn, Red-bellied Sapsucker, Downy, and Hairy. It is recommended that managers help these and other species by emphasizing habitat restoration and reducing other stressors.

Rocky Mountain National Park! Redwood National Park is known for having some of the tallest trees in the world, but it also features oak woodlands, riverways, and coastlines that support a diverse suite of birds. As the park’s climate changes, many of the birds that we commonly see here are likely to fight suitable climate, such as the Great-Horned Owls and other owl species. But the warming climate will likely challenge other birds, including many warbler species that occur in the park, including Nashville, MacGillivray’s, Yellow-rumped, and Townsends Warblers. The park’s climate is projected to worsen for woodpecker species also, including Acorn, Red-bellied Sapsucker, Downy, and Hairy. It is recommended that managers help these and other species by emphasizing habitat restoration and reducing other stressors.

Saguaro National Park! Saguaro National Park’s two districts outside of Tucson, Arizona are characterized by water features, pine forests, and mountains to the east and protected desert vegetation to the west. Each side of the park is part of its own Important Bird Area—each a diverse ecosystem that supports the desert’s roadrunners, woodpeckers, and quails. As the climate changes, dozens of species could be extirpated from the park or face worsening conditions. These include Harris’s Hawk, Mexican Spotted Owl, and various wren species. It is recommended that park managers emphasize protecting existing habitats and reducing the effects of nonnative species.

Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks! California's Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks are side by side in one of the most dramatic landscapes in the United States, home to deep forests housing the world’s largest trees. The park’s climate may worsen for Steller’s Jays and Clark’s Nutcrackers in the drier seasons to come. However, it might remain suitable for most neotropical migrants in the park, particularly warblers, such as MacGillivray's, Wilson’s, Yellow, and Common Yellowthroat. Key to maintaining bird species in these changing conditions will be preserving habitat and reducing impacts from disturbance and nonnative species

Shenandoah National Park! Forests of various types cover 95 percent of Virginia's Shenandoah National Park, and they invite a variety of birds to visit year-round—whether they breed in summer, migrate through in spring and fall, or spend the winter. As forests warm, a number of birds who breed in Shenandoah at the southern end of their range, including thrushes and warblers, might cease finding suitable climate in the park. In winter, though, the park’s climate may become suitable for 43 species, which could colonize the park. These include 11 birds, like the Common Yellowthroat and Orange-crowned Warbler, that currently breed or migrate through Shenandoah, and may choose to spend the winter, too.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park! Widely known for large mammals, such as bison, elk, and big-horned sheep, North Dakota’s Theodore Roosevelt National Park, boasts much broader biodiversity. The park can be broken down into four ecosystems—flood plains, forest, prairie/grassland, and rivers/streams—and each ecosystem hosts various birds based on the resources they provide during a particular season. Some birds call this park home year-round, such as Golden Eagles, White-breasted Nuthatches, and Great-horned Owls, which are typically found in the forested areas on the flood plain. In the spring and fall seasons, birds like White-throated Sparrows, Sandhill Cranes, and White Pelicans are found around the Little Missouri River.

Voyageurs National Park! Minnesota is one of the fastest warming states in the U.S. Its winters are becoming milder and its snowfall less consistent—and this is especially true in boreal forests like those in Voyageurs National Park. The park’s climate is likely to improve for dozens of bird species which may colonize the park from the south in summer or winter. However, Minnesota’s iconic Common Loon may find less suitable climate in the park by 2050, while other bird species could be extirpated, like Red-breasted Mergansers, Hairy Woodpeckers, Gray Jays, and a number of charismatic warblers. Park managers should track bird populations to determine priority areas for habitat management within the park.

Wind Cave National Park! America’s eighth national park, which gets its name from the sound of wind whistling through a cave opening, is located in southwestern South Dakota. The park splits into three ecosystems: ponderosa pine/aspen forests, riparian woodlands, and a mixed-grass prairie. Meadowlarks and bluebirds live on the mixed-grass prairie, while Black-backed Woodpeckers, Ovenbirds, and tanagers live in the forests.

Wrangell St. Elias National Park ad Preserve! Wrangell St. Elias, America’s largest national park, is home to four major mountain ranges, the second highest peak in the U.S., one of largest active volcanoes in North America, and massive glaciers. The park’s climate could become less suitable for 32 bird species by 2050, for instance the Say’s Phoebe and Smith’s Longspur; the latter could be extirpated in the park over the coming decades. Meanwhile, the park’s climate could become more suitable for 42 species, such as the Sharp-tailed Grouse and the Red-breasted Nuthatch. It is recommended that park managers focus on monitoring programs to identify changes in bird communities.

Yellowstone National Park! Yellowstone National Park is currently home to a plethora of songbird species that nest on willows growing alongside western rivers. Suitable climate is projected to persist for several of these riparian songbirds, such as the Yellow Warbler, Song Sparrow, and Willow Flycatcher, a priority species for the park. But it may grow too dry and hot for others, such as Wilson’s Warbler, Warbling Vireo, and Lincoln’s Sparrow. Because these species are willow-dependent, park managers can continue to protect natural systems—including supporting large carnivores and beavers, both of which promote healthy streamside willows beneficial to riparian songbirds.

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weracetogether · 5 years

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It's only 8 hours to Keokuk Ragbrai, he said... https://ift.tt/2YvauPc

It's only 8 hours to Keokuk Ragbrai, he said... We ate way to much in Memphis and crashed at the hotel. Our idea of sleeping in was 6:00 a.m. Yes, we are bad at vacations. I decided to take care of some work things, and Teresa decided to complete some school items before we got started with our 2nd travel day. It was only going to be an 8 hour drive so we weren't in any hurry. As we debated on whether or not to U-turn and head to the Bass Pro Pyramid, we crossed into Arkansas and decided to save that Pharaoh sized adventure for the next time we were in Memphis. Onward North ish! After about 10 minutes I pulled out my little blue Passport To Your National Parks book and started looking for cancellation stamp locations we could stop at along the way. Sure, we may have to detour a little bit, but YOLO, right? I also took the time to determine the possibility of stamps within the U.S. Forest Service - Mark Twain National Forest. We've noticed that while a lot of National Parks have these stamps, the National Forests may or may not. Given there are many, many visitor and Ranger Stations in any given National Forest, the chances of stumbling on the right one, with the stamp, is really a gamble. Regardless, I made my pick and Poplar Bluff Ranger Station would be our first stop on our way to the Ozark National Scenic Riverways Visitor center. Going off the interstate. 3/4 tank of gas. I chose well from the 20 or so options for Mark Twain National Forest Ranger Stations and the Poplar Bluff location delivered! It ended up being on the outskirts of the forest and the employees were very eager to help with the stamps and provide some additional recommendations for places to stop. I love the US National Parks & U.S. Forest Service employees/Rangers. They really enjoy the outdoors and are eager to share and help! With my book stamped, more maps in hand, and a couple of brochures we were back on the road headed to Ozark National Scenic Riverway. 1/2 tank of gas. Again, the Ranger was extremely helpful. I got my stamps and we walked around the little museum/visitor center. "Someone" wanted to swim so we got a recommendation that was only 5 miles away at Big Spring along the Current River. We headed down the road. 1/4 tank of gas.

The plan was to take a "short" walk and a "quick" swim. We kind of got lost because of a closed bridge, but we found it. Our walk was longer as we were looking for a secluded area to swim. We found a nice spot along the shore and started making out, like teenagers. Aw. Then some boats came so we moved on. Then we found a very romantic overlook viewing the area where the river and the spring met and kind of started necking, again. Aw. Then we realized we were in direct line-of-site of the main (only) road. Cars came so we moved on. We finally jumped in the river and frolicked for a little bit. It was a fun side trip, but we had more to do and headed toward Elephant Rocks State Park. 1/8 tank of gas. So there aren't many options for gas stations in the Mark Twain National Forest. At this point in the day, the low fuel light was on and the needle was reading "E." We're winding through two lane, desolate roads, when we saw a sign: "Highest Point in Missouri." YYYYYAAAAAASSSSS. So I made the turn and we started driving up. Fuel for our vehicle could wait. This impulse stop wasn't even a possibility of a stamp, but how often do you drive by the highest point in Missouri? Pavement ended and we entered the gravel road to the Taum Sauk Mountain State Park. We got out and saw the "marker." It's not a typical peak. We just as quickly jumped back in the car and ventured to a close Taum Sauk Lookout Tower. From the top we could see the Taum Sauk Reservoir. It was pretty cool! Back in the car. Mission Alpha: Find a Gas Station. Low fuel light on for 20+ miles. There is exactly 1 gas station between the highest point in Missouri and the Elephant Rocks State Park and we JUST made it on tank fumes. Breathing a sigh of relieve and realizing it was getting kind of late, we continued to Elephant Rocks State Park. We obeyed the no swimming signs, but it was increasingly harder to keep Teresa from removing clothes and jumping off the big boulders into a spring fed lake. The pink granite rocks were impressive and EVERYWHERE. It as a great stop. When we got back in the car, the GPS indicated we still had 6 hours to Keokuk. I truly thought it was lying. It was not. We were still very much south-west of St. Louis. Kevin Swenson heroically waited up and flagged us down in front of a Middle School Gym. He then showed us the place he and Kelly saved for us to sleep, helped us set up my hammock and Teresa's sleeping bag, and immediately and impressively fell fast asleep on his air mattress. I don't know how Kelly slept through all Teresa's beating and banging. Pro-tip: Sleeping in a gym with a bunch of strangers is not as glamorous as it sounds. I was to sober and my ear plugs didn't help a lot.

Regardless, we had made it to Iowa and that's how an 8 hour driver turned into a 13 hour adventure. As far as the story telling goes, I'm still 2 days away from the actual cycling on our cycling trip! You'll notice there was no mention of a food stop. I don't think we stopped for food. I managed to keep Hangry Patrick at bay with a cooler full of snacks - this was a miracle in and of itself.

If you are able, please help us support the Navy SEAL Foundation.

Patrick's Donation Page for Tampa BayFrogman Swim 2020

Patrick & Teresa are actively raising money for the Navy Seal Foundation. Supporting the Navy Seal Foundation-Frogman Swim

We've been blogging for a while now. If you enjoyed this one, you may enjoy others. Look though the Blog Archive on the right, for more of our experiences and random thoughts.

Thank you for your ongoing support of our adventures.

Please feel free to share our blog.

#IMCHOO #IMTraining #Triathlete #Triathlon

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scurvgirl · 7 years

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The Woods, Part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Uthvir belongs to @feynites

Darevas and Felasel belong to @selenelavellan

Faunalyn belongs to @justanartsysideblog

Warnings for blood and vomit.

Also me taking liberty with ideas about dragons because they’ll always be my fave

It’s interesting to see the difference between her and those who are not accustomed to the woods. Even in parts she does not recognize feel more like home than the walls of the palace. Traveling through Eluvians and the Crossroads had been odd, vaguely reminiscent of older times. Her skin feels like it’s been covered in a dew while the tiny hairs on her neck and arms stand out.

But the woods! Oh the woods with their eerie bird calls, rustle of leaves, and the occasional roar of a beast declaring that this here is its territory and the rest of the wood ought to know. The unaccustomed lords and soldiers place their hands on their swords at the roars, not entirely realizing just how far away the beast is.

“It’s far off, no need to get concerned,” Miriel whispers to Darevas.

“And besides, it’s a territorial call – probably already eaten its fill on a large deer. It only means to make us know, not to harm.”

“It is an impressive sound,” Darevas replies and she chuckles.

“I hear dragons roar even more impressively than that.”

She can feel Felasel side eyeing her from his saddle, but she ignores him as easily as she ignores the roaring beast.

Darevas shrugs, “Dragons need not roar to tell everyone that this is their territory – everyone already knows.”

“Do they? What if the dragon is still growing?”

“Then it hasn’t yet established a true territory yet. Dragons only claim territory when they need to, they’re intelligent creatures. A shame we see so few,” he continues. Miriel furrows her brow and looks up to see a juvenile winged serpent, it hisses at her then takes flight into the trees.

“And how does a dragon claim a territory?” She asks.

“It depends on the species. But generally, all dragons go through a marking period. Fire-breathers rake the ground then scorch it. Frost-breathers create large ice sculptures with their breath and claws. Creatures will live in these sculptures, like ice serpents. Lightning-breathers are interesting because they use their enchanting abilities to create a low level of static in the air to tell anyone entering their territory that they’re there. Poison-spitters have impressive scent glands all over their bodies. Their territories smell like flowers and sulfur. Water dragons are elusive, draconologists have never nailed down any single theory. I am fond of the idea that the river dragons like to create intricate ox-tails and riverways, even flow into cave networks to bring water to those ecosystems. They forge their territories from the very home they’re born in.” Darevas explains.

“You are forgetting the Cloud Runners, brother,” Felasel says in a level voice, “the only dragon species to not have a specified territory.”

Darevas nods and Miriel finds herself curious.

“And where did you learn all of this about dragons? From books?”

“Of course, even if we were foolish enough to try to hunt feral dragons in our youth, we would not learn their long-term habits like draconologists of the past have.” Darevas explains.

Miriel smiles and shifts forward in her saddle, “And I suppose a prince would taste the same as anyone to a dragon.” She teases.

“In that case, it’s a good thing we haven’t gone and hunted dragons. They’d go straight for me,” he plays, shivering for effect.

“Really? Are you that tempting to a dragon?”

“Oh I’m delicious, Felasel though is all stringy, he’d get caught in their teeth.”

“All the more protection then,” Felasel drawls and Miriel laughs.

“If anything, you could tell jokes and avoid death all together,” she plays along. Darevas laughs while Felasel remains silent.

For the rest of the first day, her and Darevas banter back and forth. She tells him about the woods, about the different animals making calls and skittering about. She points at wild growing elfroot and other plants that have various uses. Hunter she may be, but she learned from everyone in the woods.

She spends the night in a warded tent, unable to leave for fear fleeing apparently. She stares at the flaps of the tent, scowling. Darevas had assured everyone that the tent wasn’t needed but he had been vehemently outvoted by not only Uthvir and Faunalyn, but also by his brother.

She can’t be trusted, Darevas, Felasel had whispered to the side. She almost said that if she wanted to do something stupid there many other opportunities to have done so, but she remained quiet, resigned to her tent prison. As far as prisons go, it’s not that bad, if she just forgets about the crippling pain she’ll suffer if she tries to leave.

In the morning, she spends ten minutes calling to be let out so she can relieve herself. One of the more taciturn guards opens the flap and she scurries out and into the woods. When she returns, it’s to glaring eyes.

“Is having to piss an offense now?” She sneers before moving to her things to don her armor.

“You become vulgar when upset,” Darevas says behind her.

“Is that a crime, my lord?”

“And snarky when defensive,” he continues. She straps on the chest piece and begins to pull on her breeches.

“Are you analyzing my behavior now?” She asks, still avoiding his gaze.

“Of course, you’re interesting. A keen-eyed huntress yourself must have made some observations about me.”

“You flatter yourself, my lord.”

“There’s that snark,” he continues, clearly not taking the hint or choosing otherwise to ignore it. He can, he’s a lord, she reminds herself. She inclines her head in a submissive pose then reaches up and starts to pull her hair into a tight braid.

“And what if my observation is not to your liking?” She asks in a soft tone.

“I’ve liked everything else about you so far, I’m sure this will be fine,” he replies, nonchalant.

“There is a first for everything, my lord,” she continues. She feels his hands reach for hers and into her hair, continuing the braid. She freezes and lets him continue. Like a deer caught in a light.

“Please?” He asks and she takes a deep breath. Risk not speaking and upsetting or saying what she thinks and offending him?

Or she could lie. But that would be obvious since it’s about him.

She takes a breath, “You prefer to diffuse tense situations with humor and sweet words.” She pauses but he simply continues with the braid.

“Very astute. Would you like breakfast?” He offers. Just like that. He lets go of her hair and it feels a bit…odd. She feels like a mouse being toyed with by a cat but there’s nothing she can do about it. Darevas, as powerful as he is and how odd it is that he’s taken such an interest in her, is her best ally at the moment. There is a fear that should he no longer find her interesting that all her protection will fall away.

She needs to get to her people, now more than ever.

Breakfast is a quick affair, then they’re up and traveling again.

The part of the forest they’re traveling through now is older growth, full of trees that have weathered longer than even some of the older elves. Moss and vines hang down from the trees with critters of various sizes and diets scampering about. Miriel’s face becomes serious as she pays more attention to her surroundings.

Uthvir and Faunalyn both seem to more alert as well, watching the ground as Miriel guides them through a particularly thick patch of forest. The harts grumble about the maneuvering necessary over the ground, but then a silence falls over the party.

Miriel stands up in her saddle and sniffs at the air.

Hmm.

“So when the Lady Andruil unfortunately met her end, a few of the gifts from her wife got loose. One of them is a particularly smelly beast. It’s not particularly aggressive on its own, but it is large and extremely territorial.”

“I have a bad feeling,” one of the soldiers murmur.

“Good instincts because we’ve wandered into its territory. It’s moved for some reason, it was farther east before, that’s why I was leading you west and then up.” She tilts her head and listens for the beast. It is a large thing – with horns that curve from a spiny snout and a body that resembles the unholy conglomeration of a lion, boar, and rhinoceros.

Uthvir draws their hart next to hers, “Do you know where its den would lie?”

She shakes her head, “Not if it’s moved. It hasn’t moved in twenty years, but I do know how to avoid it otherwise. Make sure to check for claw marks that have a purple hue to them on trees. It often cuts itself when marking territory. If you do see it, don’t make eye contact but don’t turn your head or back on it. That’s asking it to kill you.” She tells the rest of the party.

Miriel scans the trees she can see ahead and chooses a pathway that doesn’t have the claw marks. She’ll lead them more east then, since the west appears to be otherwise occupied.

“Is it possible it bred?” Faunalyn asks and Miriel shrugs.

“We only ever saw one of the creatures, but I suppose…it could be possible that it reproduced in some fashion.” That’s unpleasant thought.

Leading them farther east leads them to the old territory, however, which has become rather swampy. The harts grumble at the water and soft earth, but it beats being in the heart of the territory of the beast.

They travel for an hour before she hears it. Uthvir’s ears twitch and Faunalyn turns her head, quick to pull out her bow.

A low rumbling noise that is barely audible, but she knows these woods and nothing makes that noise that is harmless. She takes out her bow and begins to scan the surroundings for it. A hiss breaks through and Miriel takes a deep breath.

If she was on her own, she’d shift and fly away, but she’s not and these poor bastards would be left to the beast and the swamp. She’d later be killed. Dammit.

Her hart is already tied to another for fear of her running, so Miriel jumps down from her hart into the low water. She can work better like this – tracking and fighting and hiding.

“You should get into a circle facing outward, with the princes given the best escape route. I’ll scout ahead, try to draw it off. Uthvir has an idea of where to go, just in case.” She whispers.

“That’s insanity!” Darevas is the only one to protest.

“Don’t worry, I know how to survive here, let me keep you alive,” she whispers, then disappears into the thicket. Her boots slosh through shallow murky water, making it difficult to hear, but she keeps low and small, listening carefully for the beast.

The thick canopy above blots out most of the light, creating darkness in the middle of the day. The brush itself is tall and hides her well as she stalks forward. Soft fronds shield her from sight, water sloshes around her boots and a humid air clings to her skin.

Another hiss. The beast must be defensive right now. Miriel stalks forward with her bow, arrow ready to be launched if need be. She doesn’t really want to kill the thing. It’s lived here rather peacefully and by itself for as long as her people have. It eats the deer, sits in its land, and otherwise doesn’t cause too much trouble unless threatened.

Her father encountered it once before, and he spoke of how it was easy to escape simply because it was uninterested in fighting an elf. He suggested that it too was scarred from living under Andruil and it simply wanted peace.

Miriel climbs up a tree and scans the area. It can’t get to her here – at least she doesn’t think it can. It’s got hooves on its hind legs, or so her father said, so climbing isn’t going to happen. She looks back towards where the rest of the group is and sees no signs of the beast.

But there goes another rumble. And a low growl, warbled and old sounding. Miriel shifts in her perch to look down to her right to see the beast crouching in the brush. It’s massive and yet it looks thinner than it should. One of its horns has broken off at some point and she thinks it’s missing an ear.

Poor thing. Its remaining ear is pressed flat against its head and it bares its teeth at her, tail whipping against the ground behind it. It scrunches up its body in a defensive position. It’s scared more than anything.

Miriel sighs and stands up on her branch. She sucks in a breath and lets out the best screaming roar she can muster. She shakes the branch, bares her teeth, screams. The beast back up, hissing and growling in fear. But not enough to run.

She leaps from branch to branch, getting closer to it before shooting a couple of arrows down at its feet. She purposefully misses and it sends the message loud and clear. The beast turns and high tails it away. She pursues it for a few minutes before turning and heading back to the group. Strange looks great her when she gets back.

“What? I did what I had to in order to get it to leave us alone. Killing it served no purpose, it was scared and now it won’t get close,” she explains, hopping back up into her saddle.

“Mercy for beasts? Strange woman,” one of the guards murmur. She doesn’t particularly care. As far as she’s concerned, she has more in common with that beast than the guard in his shining armor and fancy saddle.

Darevas is watching her, expression hidden from her, and she can only hope it is something good.

“We need to move forward,” Uthvir says and she couldn’t agree more.

Miriel leads them out of the swampy area and into a dryer wood. They stop only once to eat and allow people to relieve themselves if need be. Miriel is nibbling on a piece of jerky when Darevas approaches her.

He’s quiet for a moment then takes off his mask and begins to eat his own jerky.

“Taking your meals with the strange woods woman who shows mercy to beasts, my lord?” She asks and he smiles.

“Those were some impressive noises – were they all yours?”

She chuckles, “Fancy the shouting, my lord?”

His grin is wicked and he leans down close to her ear, “Of a vastly different sort.” Her eyes widen and she leans back in horror. He couldn’t possibly mean –

His brows furrow in confusion at her face before they relax and he holds his hands up, “Pleasure! Shouting in pleasure, not –

“Oh!” She says and turns beet red, “that’s much better, I mean, that is – I need to crawl into hole now. E-excuse me, my lord.” She turns on her heel and speeds over to her hart where she buries her face into the animal’s thick hide.

That was horrifying, she can’t believe she actually thought he meant – that he didn’t mean – and she actually –

Shit.

“What was that about?” Faunalyn asks, making Miriel startle for a second.

“I um. Didn’t quite understand something the good and noble lord said and it got, well…hm.”

Faunalyn raises an eyebrow at Miriel and Miriel takes a deep breath, “He flited, but I didn’t catch the flirt and well,” she gestures and Faunalyn nods, smiling.

“Ah yes youth, I take it they didn’t teach you flirting in the woods.”

“Not with a lord, no,” Miriel murmurs and Faunalyn’s expression turns serious again.

“Tread carefully with that. What you don’t know can and will end badly for you,” she whispers so only that Miriel can hear. Miriel blinks and nods. Faunalyn moves off and Miriel peers around the hart to see Felasel and Darevas talking. Darevas’s mask is back in place, ruining any chance she has of knowing what he’s thinking now.

Tread lightly. She’s been trying but there are these moments where he doesn’t feel like her lord, just Darevas. And while Uthbora would be gushing about how wonderful that is, how that’s always how it goes in her books about lords and peasants falling in love, Miriel knows better.

He could order her bound, whipped, harmed in any number of ways for insinuating he liked to torture people or anything else unflattering she may have insinuated over the last few days. No one would bat an eye and there would be nothing anyone could do.

She has to remember that at the end of the day, she is still just a strange woods woman to these people. To Darevas.

Miriel climbs back up on her hart and reorients herself. She’s here to help her people, that’s what she’s doing. Darevas is handsome and surprisingly kind but he isn’t the focus. She needs to remain focused.

They head north east, along a path that only Miriel recognizes. She sees the small notches in the branches, the scuffs at the bottoms of the trees, remnants of traps sprung a while ago but now empty. Concerning is the lack of fresh traps. They’re set almost daily in the hopes of finding something. Food’s been getting more and more scarce, requiring riskier hunting.

Maybe they caught a large deer?

They move up the hill to where the camp is, and it is silent. Dread fills Miriel’s belly as they round to the top…to find the camp empty. Her heart sinks and panic begins to enter her.

“Where…” she whispers, hopping quickly off her hart. She checks Varas’s hut, then Uthbora’s, Serendipity’s, her parents…

“What is the meaning of this?”

“She lied.”

“Miriel, what is exactly did you mean to accomplish?”

“Miriel!”

They shout for her but she doesn’t answer. Where are they? They were all here when she left, it’s only been a couple of weeks…

She looks to the ground and sees it – blood and large swathes of mussed dirt. The cauldron knocked over, coals and wood scattered…tents knocked over.

“Stop talking,” Uthvir says and she hears them dismount, “there are signs of a struggle.” Miriel begins to trace the patterns with her body, counting in her head how many there must have been.

“Somebody must have taken them…please, I…I don’t know what happened, they were here,” she murmurs.

Tent flaps fold and snap in the wind but over that she hears a rustling. Animals had the tendency to keep away from the camp because of the fire and the smell of people, and while rustling wasn’t too uncommon, she rushes to it, blindly hopeful.

She is quick, darting behind a tree to find a wounded Serendipity.

“Miriel?” He gasps. She sets to work immediately, finding the bleeding and pressing down to stem it. But the bleeding…it’s everywhere. His clothes are ripped to shreds, soaked through with blood from his belly and chest.

“HELP US!” She cries out towards the group. Uthvir is suddenly there and inspecting the bleeding elf with her. They tear his clothes, finding more wounds. He begins to cry and Miriel coos at him.

“What happened, Serendipity?”

“We thought you were dead! Your parents wouldn’t hear it though, they went out searching but they didn’t come back. And then this morning they came and…and they took everyone, kicking and screaming or knocked out. I barely managed to escape,” he sobs. Sanaste and the others are quick to join Uthvir and Miriel, pouring out healing spells and replacing them at his body.

“Who attacked you?” Uthvir asks but Serendipity just sobs as he’s poked and prodded.

“Monsters!” He cries.

Miriel takes his hand and strokes his hair. Monsters indeed! Who could have done this? Why would they do this? It doesn’t make any sense, how could they –

Serendipity’s sobs turn into full cries as the healers inspect his wounds.

“We need to move him into the camp,” Sanaste says softly.

“No, no, please no, it hurts!”

Miriel pets his hair and winces at his tone, “It’s to help you, Serendipity, we’re going to help you. I know it hurts, but you just need to push through for a little bit, alright?”

Uthvir moves behind him and together they lift the screaming and sobbing Serendipity towards the camp and into Uthbora’s old healing tent. She plays assistant to the healers, wincing and trying not to cry herself as she hears Serendipity’s cries. She hands the healers the herbs and things they need, trying not to look at the apparent mauling Serendipity had been given.

Who could have done this? The barbarism in his wounds…

“You need to leave, Miriel,” Sanaste says.

“No, I can help, I –

“You are poisoning the energy in here with your emotions – it is not a request,” they say again and she bites back a protest.

It goes against everything in her to leave but it’s for him that she’s doing this. She kisses his forehead and bids him to heal before leaving the tent. She has the distinct feeling of being covered in blood and sweat, but it is the persistent knowing that her family is in the hands of people who, who did that to Serendipity.

She stumbles out of the tent and towards the woods, falling to her knees, emptying her stomach in violent nausea. Gasps and sobs leave her in equal measure as her body shakes. They’re all just…gone. She can still hear Serendipity’s cries, in such excruciating pain….

They ran to escape this. Cruel hunters were taking advantage of the chaos – raping and torturing and killing any of those who would fight against them. Factions had developed and those who did not to ally with any either disappeared against their will or on their own terms. Miriel’s parents took the risk and they ran.

Serendipity had been terribly abused by the time he had gotten enough courage to run. They had promised him protection, told him they’d do everything they could to prevent what he had suffered from happening again.

And this happened.

She staggers to her feet, stumbling back.

“Miriel, Miriel are you alright?” Darevas asks, suddenly there, his hands on her arms.

She turns to him, a tumult of emotion in her, “No. How could I be?”

Felasel steps forward, large and looming and she can feel the disappointment rolling off of him. He remains silent as Darevas tries to calm Miriel.

“We’ll find what did this, Miriel, we’ll find your family and friends.”

His promises feel hollow.

“When? I…want to go now but Serendipity, I…” she takes a deep breath and tries to ground herself.

“We will leave first thing in the morning. Pursuing the attackers now after a day of riding and with the sun almost down is unwise,” Faunalyn says. She walks up to Miriel and inclines her head to the lords.

“My lords, you are encouraged to remain with the healers and Serendipity while we investigate these kidnappings.”

Darevas shakes his head and looks back down at Miriel, “No. They’re my people too, I should be there for them.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Faunalyn replies.

“The longer we wait, the likelihood that they’re killed increases, we have to go –

“Miriel, listen to me. You are no good to anyone in the state you are in. Everyone here is tired. Be here for Serendipity, recover as much strength as you can and tomorrow we will fall upon whatever did this with a vengeance.” Faunalyn cups Miriel’s face and looks down at her, eerie cat-like eyes that have a soothing sharpness to them. She understands, she was a hunter, she knows.

“Did you know them? Tassan and Caution,” Miriel asks softly. Faunalyn nods and knot loosens in Miriel.

“They’re good people,” she cries.

“They are, and we will find them,” her voice is quiet but hard. Miriel leans closer to her and Faunalyn guides her away from the masked lords.

“I’m going to find them and kill whatever did this,” Miriel hisses.

#and now we get serious #one or two more parts left - it depends on how writing the next part goes #miriel lavellan #darevas #mirevas #felasel #uthvir #faunalyn #serendipity #fic #twins in arlathan au #selenelavellan #justanartsysideblog #feynites #my writing

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