They're Back!

           

            On the Tuesday evening of June 7^th, when I took my bike ride, it was nice out but much cooler than it had been lately and quite windy. Once I’d built some heat up in my body, the wind was refreshing. There were lots of big, bright, fast-moving clouds overhead. I had to compete with a lot of eastbound bicycle traffic.

            The right-hand lane coming off the Bloor Viaduct leads directly into the exit to the Don Valley Parkway. Up until a year or so ago, cyclists were on their own in getting from the right lane to the inside lane so they could avoid getting caught up in turning traffic heading for the DVP. Now though there is a bright green lane with arrows to guide cyclists out there and to warn motorists to stop for them.

            There was an overweight rider moving pretty slowly on the left side of the green bike lane, so I had to pass him on the right and called out “Passing!” as I did so. In an annoyed voice he shouted back, “Yeah, yeah! I know!”

            I pumped my way to Pape, rode north to Gamble and across to Donlands, then north to Torrens and back to Pape.

            On the way home I went south on Yonge Street and while I was stopped at the Victoria Street light, a thirty-something woman crossed to the west side. She was approached by a man of about the same age. He had a beard, but he was otherwise clean-cut, wearing a white shirt and dress pants. He said, “Excuse me, I’m hoping that maybe you can help me!” She stopped, and showed she was receptive to hearing what he had to say. He proceeded to tell her a story about just arriving in town and all of his luggage having been stolen. My light changed, so I didn’t hear the rest of it, but it sounded like one of the spiels of a professional panhandler. When I was on the street, especially out west, I knew guys that would dress up in suits, tell very similar stories, and make a hundred dollars a day.

            That night I was sitting at the computer and I heard some noise out in the kitchen that was a little too heavy for my cats. I turned and saw a raccoon poking its head into the living room. It saw me and ran, but when I went out to the kitchen, it seemed to be disoriented. It went into the bathroom, but seeing that as a dead end, headed for the far window. I stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen and said, “Hey! What are you doing? Get out! That way!” and pointed to the door. As if it understood, the raccoon left the way it came in. It’s that time of year again!