The Ever Elusive Canadian Hawk-Toad

*** continued from previous post ***


Mom and I walk down to the edge of the lake and the girl, with some alarm in her voice, yells, "Watch out for the toads!"

Mom and I look at each other, scan the parking area, and then look at each other again. I see no toads. Mom sees no toads. There ain't no stinkin' toads around here.

"They're all over the place!", the girl remarks with more than a bit of agitation as she makes a broad sweeping gesture of the parking area, the lake, and the grass beyond, "I don't want any more to die."

Now that's a curious statement, I think to myself. I look again for toads. I even look in the trees. Maybe this is the nesting place of the elusive Canadian Hawk-Toad that I have read so much about in journals of lesser credibility. But no, nary a Hawk-Toad to be seen. However, I have my wits about me, and decide that a gentle approach to this delusional female is the correct response rather than, "WTF are you talking about?".

"Well of course not," I answer gently, ever so gently, and begin to back away slowly, ever so slowly. "Who would?" Still, I see nothing. Nary a toad, nor toad like thing anywhere. Mom looks at me questioningly. I shrug my shoulders, and nod towards the bike intimating it may be time to depart, stage left.

"I don't know what to do, it just makes me so sad.", the girl says.

"And who can blame you?", I say, in what I hope are non-judgmental tones as I tug at Mom's arm, smiling but careful not to show too many teeth in case she interpreters my smile as an act of aggression and strangles me right there in front of God and everybody with her Ipod cord while the last words I hear on this earth are Dave Mathew's singing, 'Everybody asks me how she’s doing, Has she really lost her mind? I said, I couldn’t tell you I’ve lost mine.'

And as we both know, that just ain't right. That's not a warrior's death.

Now believe me, and all kidding aside, (I KNOW there are no Hawk-Toads. That's just a slogan to sell T-Shirts to the tourists), I'm still looking for the toads. I want to believe her. This girl is VERY concerned - very genuine in her dismay, but despite my best efforts I'm seeing nothing. With all my heart and soul I hope to see a toad, just so I can put her at ease. Validate her reality, if you know what I mean. But nada. Zip. The big EL Zero on the toad front.


*** the journey continues tomorrow. Commenters will be eaten. ***

The Ballad of Toad-Splat Curve

*** continued from previous post ***

Where was I?

Oh! The rest stop!

Okay, so we come to the rest stop beside this absolutely GORGEOUS blue-sparkled lake nestled at the base of a particularly spectacular mountain. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, at least I think they are. Canadians like to drive fast. I mean FAST. No, even faster than that! So I can't really hear too much other than an occasional sonic-boom as yet another SUV blows by.

There are two driving speeds in Canada: One; so slow you want to tear your face off, and two; so fast you want to tear their face off. It's like the 'Fast and the Furious' without the 'Furious'. More like the 'Fast and Extremely Cordial'. But I'm from "THE STATES", so, I'm a rebel - an 'Merican. I go any damn speed I want. I shift out of Warp 3, slow, make the turn, and glide down the gently sloping parking lot to the edge of the lake, do a quick "swoosh" of a u-turn, and then point the bike uphill for an easy egress.

There is one other car here, with a young woman that casts furtive and concerned glances in our direction, but relaxes as we de-gear and she hears us talk to each other in loving tones. It would have been great fun if Mom would have jumped off the bike, ripped off her helmet, and back-handed me as she screamed, "Why you stop the bike bitch? Did I TELL you to stop the bike?". But alas, she does not, so we are immediately cast as 'the-cute-older-couple-on-the-motorcycle-that-are-obviously-in-love-and-having-a-great-time-and-will-probably-not-stab-me-in-the-heart'.

I know, it's a curse, but someone has to bear the burden of giving the world hope - might as well be us. The point being, I watched her visibly relax. A little. Although, somehow I had a feeling this girl was in a constant state of flummox.

She is in her twenties. Are all women in Canada in a perpetual state of mid-20s? Probably. Although, on second glance this young lady might have been a bit older. Not more than 35 anyway. Slender, but not with the 'I-just-ate-a-sandwich-and-I'll-be-full-for-a-week-unless-I-throw up' kind of look, but rather a 'I'm-very-active-and-I-like-to-hike-and-listen-to-Dave Mathews-on-my-Ipod-and-I've-had-lattes-named-after-me-in-the-coffee-shop-where-I-play-my-guitar-on-Saturday-afternoons-so-I'm-more-hip-than-you-are' look. More than likely a Vegan. She doesn't have the look of meat about her, if you know what I mean.

Mom and I walk down to the edge of the lake and the girl, with some alarm in her voice, yells, "Watch out for the toads!"



*** the journey continues tomorrow. Those who comment will be eaten. ***