Up North

Well, that was a nice break.

I took the train from Kitchener to Toronto last Saturday. The train is quite possibly the most civilized form of travel yet invented. People may be in love with their cars, but from the perspective of this non-driver, that love is frequently unrequited and always irrational. Advertisements for automobiles, without fail, mention or imply freedom...which is great until you find yourself in your first traffic jam, which could happen as soon as you pull out of the dealership. Try to drive the way your car was marketed and there's a good chance the first cop you see will take your car away. (Last weekend, Ontario police got plenty of practice with their shiny new law which allows them to impound a car on the spot if you're clocked at 50 km/hr or more over the speed limit. And impound they did, to the tune of one car every 25 minutes.)

Alternatives to the car are few and almost invariably awful. Bus? You're on the same road as the car (see traffic jam, above), plus you get the extra added bonus of synthetic all-but-unbreatheable "air" and, if you act now, an almost total lack of leg room. Bicycle? Maybe in Europe. Which leaves you with the train. Leg room galore, panoramic views (at least until you get into the cities: both sides are "the wrong side of the track"), and most attractive, you have the right of way no matter what road you cross. The only downside to train travel is its leisurely pace, and I'm one of the more vocal proponents of "slow down" you'll ever meet. Seriously, there were times I could have walked faster than we were clacking along: to my way of thinking, downtown to downtown, a train should always beat a car, given its more direct routing...and the race is never even close.

No matter: I was soon Up North. The capitalization is intentional: ever since I can remember, a trip anywhere north of Barrie brought positive things to mind. When I was a kid, Up North meant imminent spoiling: every meal out, toys, toys and more toys, and neverending excitement. Now that I'm a man grown, the experience has (mostly) changed. Dad's place now means rest and relaxation, peace and quiet.

The whole gang was up there with me to start: my stepsister Brea and her family, my stepbrother Rob and his friend Mihaela, and...shown below...the newest member of the Breadner family, the West Highland Terrier known as Jessie.This little ball of fluff made an impression. He only looks like a lapdog: technically, he fits on a lap and he might even allow himself to be placed on one for a while, but most of the time he's acting much bigger than he is and demanding attention. (And getting it, too, the suck.)

On Thanksgiving Sunday, an entire generation was banished from the house for a couple of hours. We made our way to the Little Britt Inn. I've been here before and never pass up a chance to go. The food is simply incredible. It matters not what you order: casual snacks or upscale (but not frou-frou) cuisine: you'll be drooling over every bite chef Teri McLean prepares. And the atmosphere at Jim Sorrenti's establishment is pure Britt: as he calls it, "a little bit off the high-way, a little bit off the Bay, a little bit off the wall." Perhaps the kids' menu encapsulates the place best:

"Kids? We try to serve them first and fast - please find out what they want and let us know. We have chicken fingers, of course, macaroni and cheese, pogos, grilled cheese, small soup, fish and chips with french fried or mash and a drink-$8. Noisy kids - fried liver, fried onions, broccoli with a side of olives - no ketchup - priced according to noise level. Polite kids - free ice cream."

We all descended on The Lower Deck to be greeted by Jim himself. "The Breadner gang? Sorry, we're full", he intoned sombrely. (We were, of course, the only folks in the place.) A good time was had by all of us, even if I look like I want to run away here:

I think this is where Anthony said his Washington Capitals would win the Stanley Cup this year.

I probably shouldn't have eaten quite as much as I did, considering a huge and tantalizing Thanksgiving spread was waiting for us back at Rose Point. By seven that evening I thought I might explode.

Rob went for a swim in the river that day. October 8, 2007: mark that down. The humidex in Britt was 36 degrees (about 96 F)...a far cry from the -1 (31 F) it reached later in the week.

The rest of the week was mostly spent on my butt, reading and watching the boats go by. We had one quick excursion to Sudbury and Science North. Dad and I saw an IMAX documentary on Hurricane Katrina. Of course, Dad slept right through the hurricane. The elder Breadner can go from fully awake to deep sleep in seconds, and I imagine he's one of the few on earth who could possibly have slept through the real Hurricane Katrina.

On the way back from town, we stopped at the French River Provincial Park and I was reminded, yet again, why I'd love to retire up in this particular neck of the proverbial woods:

Thanks, Dad and Heather, for a lovely time. Dad, you said we didn't do much this time up. Well, that's just what the doctor ordered.

Of course, there's something to be said for the homecoming, too. Tux and Georgia had been missing me terribly, moping all over the place all week. Eva's announcement that Tux was going for a car ride Friday morning was greeted with the usual enthusiasm, but apparently he went really nuts when informed he was going to "go get Daddy".
And finally, seeing my wife again felt great. We hadn't spent more than two consecutive nights apart since--well, since we started dating.

Does it show?