____________________________________________________________________________________

It’s that time of year again and this time, I have to admit, it’s really, really rough.

I’m talking about warm spring days (it was nearly 18 degrees at our house on Saturday afternoon) with the sun shining and, the worst part of all, other bikes on the road. It’s not that I begrudge anyone their first ride of the season, really I don’t. I just want to be out there with them.

It seemed like everywhere I went this weekend, I saw other people riding motorcycles. There was a guy in Chester on Saturday when I stopped for a coffee. Two couples on two bikes drove by our house just after I got home. We drove into Bridgewater to do some shopping and, you guessed it, there were more bikes.

We have a perfectly sensible rule in our house about how long we have to wait to ride after winter ends. At least for most of the year it seems like a perfectly sensible rule. It’s just for three or four weeks each spring when it really matters that it seems like a terrible rule designed only to make us suffer.

The rule is five rains. It has to rain a significant amount, not just a sprinkle, five times after the last salt and sand is dumped on the roads. The salt, Steve tells me, is bad for the bikes. The sand, he so sensibly points out, is potentially dangerous for traction, particularly on curves. The rains wash it all away so we can once again hit the road.

I must admit I’ve always watched with some amusement as Steve looked out the window clearly fretting when the temperature dropped and the salt truck went by after he’d started his count. Until this year, I was always prepared to wait out the weather. But now that I’m no longer just hanging off the back of Steve’s motorcycle but instead riding my own bike, my patience is in very short supply.

And I don’t think I’m the only one. When a bike goes by the house, all three of us look toward the road. Jake then looks at Steve and I as if to say “what are we waiting for?”

Since I can’t very well teach Jake to count five rains and Steve isn’t likely to budge on the rule, I guess we’re both out of luck for now. But if it rained really hard for a day or two, I wonder if that might count as extra?
_________________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________

All this talk of doom and gloom regarding the economy probably has more people thinking about staying close to home this summer when it comes time to take a vacation or at least a long weekend. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from riding around on motorcycles with a dog (other than the locations of a whole lot of Tim Hortons outlets), it’s that there is so much to explore within a few hours’ drive.

Steve and I often ask each other on a Thursday or Friday evening “where do you want to go this weekend?” or even on a Saturday or Sunday morning “where should we ride today?” There’s absolutely no reason people can’t ask themselves the same questions and take off in their cars for the day. It won’t be the same as riding with the wind in your face, but roll down the windows and have a good time. You don’t have to go far to have fun. Just go!

Our usual rule of thumb is to ride for three or four hours from home for a day trip. It’s like going for a hike. Only go until you’re half tired because you have to have enough energy to get back again. In our case, we also have to have enough time to stop and take Jake for a couple of short walks, stop somewhere for coffee and a Timbit, stop and explore along the way, maybe stop again for lunch, you get the idea.

If we’re going to a specific destination where we will then stop and visit for a couple of hours, let’s say Annapolis Royal, we’re obviously not going to drive as far as if we’re just going for a ride to see a particular area, let’s say along the Minas Basin.

Those are both good examples. For anyone who hasn’t been to Annapolis Royal for awhile, what a great place to visit. There’s the Fort Anne National Historic Site (Jake really likes it there, lots of grass and room to run), Bainton’s
Tannery Outlet (what can I say, leather and motorcycles go together), the Historic Gardens (Jake isn’t allowed in there, but I know he’d enjoy smelling all those flowers), lots of unique shops and restaurants, the farmer’s market and one of our favourite places to stop for a bite to eat, Ye Olde Towne Pub.

And for anyone who wants a scenic drive that just keeps on going, a trip along the Minas Basin is a beautiful way to spend a day. We’ve done that route or at least parts of it a few times now and really enjoy it. For the adventurous, it offers tidal bore rafting or those looking for something a little calmer can just watch the tide from the shore. There are a couple of nice lighthouses to explore (we visited a lot of lighthouses last year) and you can see fossils and dinosaur bones from millions of years ago, or comb the shore looking for amethysts. One of our favourite stops is Cheverie, where Jake loves to explore the rocky shoreline.

Our RoadDog loves to travel, but at the end of a long day he really likes to go home and crawl into a familiar bed, either his or ours. For that, there’s nothing like a day trip, so go enjoy.

_______________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________________

Jake’s breed may have Scottish roots, but after this weekend there’s no doubt that our boy is truly Canadian.

Jake has discovered hockey — well, his own version of hockey anyway and it does involve ice.

Steve had Jake out for a walk around the yard Friday evening while I was making dinner. I had just put the steaks on the grill when I heard knocking on the dining room window and looked over to see Steve motioning for me to look outside. There was Jake chasing around after a flat block of ice, batting it back and forth like a hockey puck. It really was too funny and too cute.

I grabbed a camera and my jacket and headed outside, abandoning the steaks to a fate of being served well done. At least I’d made the salad before I put the steaks on to grill.

As I rounded the corner of the house, there was Jake batting his new toy back and forth, back and forth. He’d nudge at it with his nose, then strike at it with his paws again, growling a bit like he sometimes does when he plays. It went on and on. I took a few photos, then headed in to save dinner. Steve finally dragged Jake away a few minutes later with a promise that he could play with his “puck” again later.

And he did — Friday night and again on Saturday. Jake checked on that block of ice every time he went outside all weekend, at least until Sunday afternoon when it slowly disappeared. As glad as I am that our boy discovered a new game and as much as we enjoyed watching him play it, I’m hoping he won’t get to do it again too often until next winter.

Two bikes went by our house Sunday afternoon. Soon. It’s almost time.
_______________________________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________________________________________

So call me foolish, but I’m thinking just maybe Jake can tell time.

I’m not saying he looks at the clock and thinks in his hairy head “Look, it’s 3:15 p.m.,” but somehow he manages to know certain times of day.

As everyone knows, the time changed this weekend. We did that whole spring forward an hour thing where we lose an hour of sleep, but gain an hour of evening daylight so it all supposedly works out in the end.

Weekends are usually a little slack in our house, particularly this time of year when we can’t ride, so unless we have to go somewhere we get up pretty much whenever we feel like it. Jake wakes me up to take him outside when he wants to go and often we go back to bed, so Sunday morning’s 7:30 a.m. wake-up call was no great surprise.

However, our mischievous Cairn threw me for a bit of a loop when he showed up in the kitchen at 5:15 p.m. looking for dinner. No matter how you look at it, that should have been 4:15 in his mind. And before anyone suggests that he must have been hungry, let me first say Jake is always hungry (never forget our boy is all about his tummy) and secondly he’d been snacking on carrots that were supposed to be going in the soup I was making an hour earlier. And he had a doggie biscuit when I had tea. Trust me, he wasn’t starving any more than usual and certainly less than he wanted me to believe.

And he wasn’t just looking for another snack either. When Jake is scavenging, he acts differently than when he expects a meal. As I looked down into those dark eyes and saw that tongue sticking out just a little, I knew exactly what he wanted. I just don’t know how he knew the time had changed.

I made him wait awhile, but eventually I just gave up and fed him so he’d stop looking at me like that.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

You know how sometimes you don’t want to go somewhere or at least you’re pretty much indifferent and then you get there and you have a great time and you’re really glad you went? Come on, admit it, it happens to all of us.

It happened to Steve and I last year on one of our many lighthouse visits. I’ve already written about our bike club’s annual grand tour and how 2008 was the year of the lighthouse. Well after looking at nearly a dozen lighthouses around the province, I’ll admit I was starting to get just a little weary with the idea by mid-August when we decided to photograph a couple more along the shore of the Bay of Fundy.

That changed when we pulled off the highway between Yarmouth and Digby and headed down a dirt road to the Gilbert’s Cove lighthouse. Instead of finding just one more flashing light in a white and red building, we discovered a whole park. Well, maybe it wouldn’t qualify as a park exactly, but it was quite a spot and I’d recommend a visit to anyone passing through the area.

The lighthouse sits on a hill surrounded by green lawn which, of course, made Jake very happy as he romped around. The shoreline is easily accessible on one side, although we decided to keep a safe distance rather than end up with Cairn terrier that smelled like seaweed.

As we headed inside — Steve and I taking turns waiting outside with Jake — we discovered a number of historical displays, a tearoom and an area offering local crafts for sale. Steve found two women working away in a quilting room, where he stopped and had quite a chat about traditional needlework. I missed them because I went inside first and I was too anxious to climb to the top of the tower, where you can look out in all directions and see for miles and miles. Steve and I took turns waving at each other from up there, taking silly photos.

I must say, for a big dog with short legs, Jake really did look pretty small from way up there, but please don’t tell him. He really does believe he’s as big as a German shepherd.

________________________________________________________________________________________