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Pothole season


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That would be handy on Ottawa roads, starting around April, as the frost starts to come out of the ground.

We are in a constant battle with Toronto for the bragging rights as being the Pothole Capital of Canada.

 

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we are a bit off from that seasonally but if the brainerd fishing tournament would not have gone virtual this year we could have seen this in a big way - or they might have cancelled it , generally on hole in the day bay and the place is packed - semis on the ice ....but we dont have much ice this year , not safe 

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The bus to Rochester

My Grandfather was a carpenter. The family lived in Rochester, NY. Sometime during the depression of the 30’s Grandpa got a job offer in Horseheads, NY. This job was short term over the winter months. He elected to leave the family in Rochester, so that the kids could continue in school, and he would ride the 90+ miles by bus to be home on weekends.

 

One Friday afternoon he was seated in the bus at the station when a new driver climbed aboard. The driver announced, “Folks, I’m new to this route and do not know the roads and stops along the way. Does anyone here know the route?” An elderly gentleman spoke up and said, “I’ve ridden this route for several years and I know the stops along the way. I’ll be glad to sit-up front and guide you as we go.” So off they went and the gentleman guided the bus driver along pointing out the stops as they went. Somewhere outside of Rochester the gentleman said, “Well, this is my stop at the top of this hill. There are no more stops until you reach the bus station in town. Just go straight down this hill, make a turn at the signal light and the station will be straight ahead of you down the block.

 

Mission Accomplished. But wait there’s more.

 

Grandpa rode that bus through the winter months. Then as the calendar said that spring was approaching, the bus drew up to allow the same elderly gentleman off at the top of the hill. The bus driver noted a black patch in the middle of the road at the foot of the hill. Turning to the gentleman he asked, “What  is that big black thing in the middle of the road down there?” The old fellow looked down the hill and replied, “Oh, someone must have had their car go through the ice. You will have to drive around the lake from now on. Just follow that line of trees and you will be on the road.”
 

This is a story my Grandpa told me when I was young. Dad confirmed that he did work one winter in Horseheads, NY, and did indeed travel home by bus on weekends. I should note that my Grandpa loved to tell me wild tails and then would laugh when I believed them. However, he always swore this was true and every other time he spun a yarn he always admitted it after I fell for it.

Who knows it might even be true! :D

 

CJ

Edited by Cactus Jack Calder
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