Indian Summer

Not sure if “Indian summer” is a phrase you’re still allowed in the age of Woke. Regardless, we had the perfect Indian summer Saturday in these parts today. Sunshine all day and T-shirt and shorts temperatures. First weekend in October means it’s Pumpkinfest in Port Elgin. That’s only a hop and a skip from Falling Downs, plus we get to stop off at Tuggies on the Rez for cheap gas and cheap smokes. The Pumpkinfest is allegedly about the giant vegetables that arrive at what was originally the Port Elgin fall fair. Fall fairs are a big deal in rural Ontario. Every two-bit hick-town has one. Even former two-bit hick-towns that have long since become suburbs of Toronto still have them. I’m looking at you, Orangeville and Shelburne. But I digress. We don’t go to Port Elgin for the two-ton pumpkins. We go for the car show. It comes two or three weeks after the Concours at Cobble Beach. That one is ten minutes down the road, and we’ve been a few times. Fifty bucks to get in the gate. A lot of world-class stuff that arrived in hundred thousand dollar trailers with quarter million tow vehicles. Who doesn’t want to spend fifty bucks to see an actual original Bugatti? The Pumpkinfest car show, on the other hand, is all stuff the owners drove there. The town blocks off a few blocks of the downtown for a day. You won’t see any Bugattis, but you’ve got the entire catalogue of North American iron, plus a good sampling of European stuff. And it’s absolutely free! So we wander around downtown Port Elgin for an hour and a half, with Bruno in tow. You can’t imagine how many people want to stop and tell you how beautiful this runt Italian mastiff is. It’s non stop. When Bruno had his fill of strangers wanting to touch him, we motored down the Lake Huron shore to Kincardine, for lunch at the Erie Belle, where they promote themselves as the “House of Fish & Chips.” I was a fan long before the gluten thing reared its ugly head, and I am happy to report the Erie Belle has gluten-free fish & chips that will rival anything you ever had. We’re on the patio with Bruno catching the shade under the table, when a gaggle of millennials comes in and settles into the far end of the patio. There’s eight of them, and they’re engaged in a quite lively conversation. This has no bearing on us whatsoever. We’re at least forty feet away. But about ten minutes in, the Farm Manager remarks that none of them appear to have their phones out. What? How is such a thing even conceivable? I was seated with my back to them, but as we were leaving I went over to check them out. I thought at least a few might have their phones flat on the table in front of them, but no! Who can imagine such a thing?! Eight millennials gathered round a table on a restaurant patio, and not a phone in sight? There is hope for humanity!

Fast cars on Concession 20

Not sure what was going on out at the road today.

The neighbour was over helping re-arrange the scrap vehicles. 

But we couldn't help notice some very fine machinery passing by.    

Lambos and Porsches and the like. In beef country.

I don't need a lot of encouragement to cook up a conspiracy theory, but here's the deal on why fancy cars were going by my house at a good turn of speed today.

The Cobble Beach Concours has been cancelled two years in a row. Fancy folks with fancy cars had made reservations at Cobble Beach well before the Concours was cancelled by covid.

They showed up in style!

Me and Elvis

When I was over at the Cobble Beach Concours last weekend, I tried to take a picture with my phone, a picture with the Farm Manager posed alongside a very pretty 1934 Bentley.

Although I thought I took a couple of dozen pictures, only one turned out, and it featured the torso of the FM alongside that pretty car. Back in the day of real cameras and real film, you wouldn't have claimed that "turned out."

But with the new technology, everything is good all the time, right?

I bring this up only because I miss that old school 35 mm stuff.

The first time I was in rehab they pounded into me the importance of having something to do when they graduated me. You had to have a hobby or an interest or a passion or something, otherwise you'd just fall back into your old ways...

So I took up photography.

It almost became a passion.

There are people who have Neumann photographs on their walls to this day, and not all of them are relatives.

 My photography career peaked when the Bookshelf Cafe offered me their walls for a couple of months. That was the good news.

The bad news was I'd have to share those walls with another photographer.

I was mortified. Share those Bookshelf walls?

No way!

Long story short, it wasn't long before I was taking another crack at rehab.

That's when I found out I wasn't the first repeat customer. According to the old hands at the place, Elvis used to go there all the time!

The golden age of gas fumes

Did you know that in 1927 Cadillac offered 50 different body styles from a variety of coach-builders, and a whopping 500 different colour combos?

I didn't either.

That's just one of many nuggets of automotive miscellany I happened upon while strolling the 18th fairway at Cobble Beach today. It's a little overwhelming to take in so much automobile history at one go. How do you fully appreciate a Cord Speedster when you're already overwhelmed by a Stutz Bearcat and a bevy of vintage Bentleys?

There were a number of cars on view that were over one hundred years old. I can't imagine that anyone is going to be restoring and showing a 2017 Cadillac a hundred years from now, but I suspect the Type 55 will still be going strong two hundred years after it left the factory.

That's because they don't build stuff like they used to. The idea that you took pride in what you built and made it to last has pretty much gone out the window. Guys like Henry Ford and Walter Chrysler and Enzo Ferrari put their actual names on the cars that came out of their factories. They staked their reputations on the quality of their products.

Times have changed, and not for the better.

The winter-beater

Lot's of good stuff in my Globe today. Liz Renzetti kicks things off with a beauty take-down of Facebook on A2.  Also in the first section we see a nice tribute to "The Rock" and how being cut from the Stamps practice squad twenty years ago helped make him the A-list commodity he is today, and a moved-me-to-tears profile of a young actor who inexplicably checked out when everyone around him believed he had it all going on.

Further in we've got Doug Saunders, aka "Mr. Renzetti," with a lengthy polemic on why we need another sixty-million immigrants to properly colonize this great land the Indians so generously gifted us, so lengthy in fact that I've had to put it aside for later while I mollify the Farm Manager with a display of "doing something" around the place. For once I do not begrudge The Korean his $6.30.

Now that summer's over we're finally getting some decent summer weather. Me and the FM spent some quality time on the patio at Dockside Willie's yesterday afternoon, watching the melancholy spectacle of a few die-hard pleasure boaters try to wring the last drops of pleasure from the summer that wasn't.

Picked up an older Subaru last week. I'd set out to find a set of snows for the current ride. For not a lot more money, I got a practically new set of snows with a Subaru attached. Overall I've had good luck with them. Of the three I've owned, two took me well past four hundred thousand clicks. The other one was a lemon. This one has about eighty thousand fewer kilometres on it than the GM product that's been my daily driver for the past few years, so with a little luck I've found a winter-beater that should last for pretty much however many winters I've got left.

Must do something with the summer vehicle situation. The Mustang 50 is a nice enough car, but I'd never have bought it had I known the FM was done her driving days. For a thirty year old car it's impeccable and has lots of jam, but if I'd known, I'd never have bought one with an automatic. For me, a sporty car is just a whole lot sportier with a manual. Also, I've only had one ragtop in my life, a '64 Bonneville with a 348 4bbl and four speed, and I figure it's high time I did that again. There's a very pretty '69 Dart GTS (big block, four speed) convertible at Cars-on-line that's been calling my name, but the Farm Manager swears it's really shouting "denouement."

It's Concours weekend at Cobble Beach, so there's been some inspirational traffic going by Falling Downs today. Maybe we'll check out the show tomorrow.

In the meanwhile, I better get on with "doing something," - re-arranging the parts vehicles behind the barn... and maybe see what I can do about the mirror on the Ninja. If the FM gets into her Netflix, maybe I'll have a shot at a 10k blast around the block.

What to do when your Lamborghini conks out on a country road in Bruce County

True story.

I took the Mustang Fifty out for a spin yesterday, because she hadn't had any road time to speak of for months. So a mile down the road I pass the most amazing sight... an aging Subaru Outback wagon parked behind a Lamborghini. The hood is up on the Sub. The rear cowl is up on the Lambo.

There's a set of jumper cables tying the two together.

I guess the Lambo stopped to give a stalled Subaru a boost?

Nah...

It's one of those moments when you say "why don't I have my camera?"

An hour later me and the Farm Manager are heading off to our wedding adventure. The Subaru is gone, but the Lambo is still parked at the side of the road. Guess the problem was more than a stale battery. The owner was long gone but he left a minder with the car. Otherwise one of the locals would have had those rims and tires on his pickup truck before the day was done.

The FM snapped a picture with her phone as we drove by.

armanaleg

I was sniffing around the Cobble Beach Concours a couple years ago, and for the $45 admission you'd want to be sniffing pretty hard, when I spotted this California Spyder in the Ferrari display right in front of the Cobble Beach Hotel.

The cars all had these little podiums with car and owner info on it.

This particular car had the name of a local young fellow on it, a fellow I knew of vaguely, and who I couldn't quite fathom as the owner of that particular car.

The car sported the personalized license plate, "armanaleg."

So I asked around...

Turns out my young friend with the Ferrari had a horrific motorcycle accident a few years earlier. He lost an arm and a leg.

But he gained a Ferrari Spyder with the insurance money!

I guess I'm thinking about these things due to my recent motorcycle purchase.

I could lose an arm and a leg...

But my new car could be on view at the Cobble Beach Concours next year!

Choosing your weapon at Falling Downs

I bet Junior a hundred bucks that no matter which weapon he chose, I'd beat him around the block.

Let me explain the weapons.

In this corner, there's a twenty year old Kawasaki Ninja.

In the other corner, there's a twenty-five year old Mustang Fifty.

Let me explain the block.

We're in God's country here, and that's on top of living smack dab in the middle of a UNESCO World Heritage site. The "block" takes you through three hamlets; Wolsley, Lake Charles, and Kemble.

Wolsley is a former church, two houses, and a gas station turned bakery turned ghost town.

Lake Charles is a 90 degree hard right turn at Wolsley. It's got a church and five houses.

You take another 90 degree hard right at the church in Lake Charles and you're on a four mile straightaway to the Kemble Mountain Road. You can hit some ungodly speed on that stretch.

Then you've got some twisties and an absolutely divine vista unfolding before you on the other side of the Kemble Rock. Then you hit Kemble after another short straight of a mile or so.

Kemble is a post office, a church, and a couple of dozen houses. You make another hard right and head home. There's another set of twisties just as you're getting to Falling Downs. This is the stretch that sees the annual Porsche parade during the Cobble Beach Concours. If you went straight at Kemble instead of making that hard right, you'd be at Cobble Beach in five minutes and in Owen Sound in fifteen... at least if you were abiding by the speed limits.

So Junior picks the Mustang. I get the Ninja. The Ninja is a recent addition to our fleet, so I've not got around to getting either a helmet or a motorcycle license. Which is why I'm being extra slow and extra careful.

That Mustang can run the quarter in fourteen flat, but nevertheless I blow his doors off. There's no traffic at the Wolsley corner, so I use up all the road and I'm off to Lake Charles before he even shows up in my mirrors. That's a nice straight road and I can wring out the Ninja to a goodly turn of speed.

I spot him in the rear-view just as I'm braking for the turn at the Church in Lake Charles. I never see him again. I'm over the Rock and down the straight into Kemble at 125 mph. There's more in the Ninja but I want to take it easy.

I'm gonna try this flat out after I get a helmet.

Full stop at the Kemble corner, and I dawdle the last couple of miles back to Falling Downs.

Junior shows up five minutes later.

Old guys rule!

Death changes everything...

That's hardly an original observation... just google it and you'll see.

We've been struggling with assorted health issues among the elders in the clan. A spot of Parkinson's here, cancer here and there, dementia all over the place, triple and quadruple by-passes...

Hold on tight Mabel, the ship is goin' down!

Tonight a very pretty Porsche 944 went slinking through the S-bends in front of Falling Downs, east to west.

Last night a 928 sailed by in the opposite direction.

Last summer during the Cobble Beach Concours we had a million dollar Porsche parade blast past the place. Multiple times. That parade was neither slinking nor sailing; it was positively writhing.

My friend Mike took delivery of his new factory-order hemi Challenger this week. Mike's a guy my age. Couldn't afford a hemi Challenger on the first go-round. Been waiting for his chance ever since.

Lost his wife six months ago. He loved his wife. Fully acknowledged that she was smarter than him. Made more money than him. Better looking too.

He could never have bought that hemi Challenger if she was still in the picture.

Death changes everything.

Boats

I noticed the other day that somebody has a 52 foot SeaRay overwintering in the yard at the Wiarton Marina.

That's a million dollar boat.

From time to time, when me and the Farm Manager are feeling optimistic, we'll discuss the possibility of buying a boat. Not a million dollar boat, but enough boat to afford a three or four weeks cruise through the North Channel and back.

Maybe even enough boat to make a summer of it and cruise to Chicago and back. You can do that from the Wiarton Marina.

Just for fun I read up on the specs of that SeaRay. Twin 660 Cummins diesels. At optimum cruising speed she sucks back 35 gallons per hour. That's in the neighborhood of $300 per hour... and you're gonna run her through the North Channel?

For two weeks?

Maybe not.

That's crazy money!

Hell, for $300 an hour you can almost hire a lawyer! What do you want to do with the rest of your life - pay lawyers or cruise the North Channel?

There are ways to pare the bills, of course. When me and Junior were waiting in line to pay the extravagant entry fee to view the classic cars at the Cobble Beach Concours last year, there was a elderly gentleman a couple of places behind us having the most script-worthy conversation on his cell phone.

"Ya, how ya doin'... did ya hear xxx checked out the other night?... ya, fer fucks sakes... only turned 70 last year... had a 23 year old in his bed!... ya, died with a smile on his face, but listen, he has a 47 foot Chrissie up in Lake Simcoe, and listen to this; had brand new Detroit's installed last year... ya she's a beauty... ya, I know, but he spent a hundred grand on the diesels!... and she was appraised at... but I've talked to the executor, and I think you can probably get her for 25, maybe even 20."

Hmm...

I was tempted to put a second mortgage on Falling Downs and scoop up that 47 Chrissie.

Alas, twin Detroits are still gonna run into hundreds per hour. Unless you idle along on one motor. Which would give "floating cottage" a whole new meaning. You'd be drifting through the North Channel at about the same pace that waterfront erosion is pulling all those waterfront properties into the sea.

So for the time being, we're sticking to small craft cruising here at Falling Downs. If you're anywhere along the shore of the North Channel next summer, and you see a 14 foot Lund putting by, loaded down with camping gear and a couple of hounds, that'll be me.

At least we won't have to wait for the bridge to open in Little Current.

Porsches and Ferraris at Falling Downs

I was chilling on the front stoop with the Farm Manager this evening, when I saw something slinky and red coming round the S bends...

Holy shit, a Ferrari Testa Rossa! On Con 20 in Grey County!

How the fuck does that happen?

Well, let me tell you how it happens.

Up here in the upper reaches of Grey County, on Concession Road 20, we don't normally see Ferraris.

In fact, we don't see much of anything. Me and the Farm Manager can sit on the front stoop for three hours in an evening and all that goes by is a couple of cars, a few pick-up trucks, and a tractor or two.

But since the folks down the road at the Cobble Beach golf course started up this Concours shit last year, that's changed.

Last weekend we had heavy duty Porsche caravans snaking through the S bends every couple of hours. I'm talking about a convoy of 911s whistling past the farm at a "brisk" pace. Seems the Porsche people had a couple of trailer loads of new 911s at the Cobble Beach Concours, and I'm guessing that these convoys were test drives for media folks or prospective clients.

I don't fit into either of those categories.

But I did find out an interesting fact not too long ago. Seems that when the township first surveyed these parts, they forgot to register title for the bit of Concession 20 that cuts through the middle of my farm.

That would be the S-bends.

In other words, I own the road.

Ya, the Porsche guys may think they own the road. Buddy in his Testa Rossa no doubt thinks he owns the road too...

Hey folks... I actually own the road! Literally! For real!

I'm putting in a toll both in time for next year's Cobble Beach Concours.

So here's a heads up to all you fancy-pants Porsche and Ferrari types; if you want to pass by my stretch of Concession 20, I'll have a turn at the wheel of your car!