I've been getting out of town alot this month.  September began in the Gulf Islands, mid-month was reached at Harrison Lake in the Fraser Valley and now, as summer officially ends and the month draws to a close, I've just spent the weekend in the Okanagan.

A family wedding brought me to Kelowna, four hours northeast of Vancouver.  To get there, it's a tremendously scenic drive no matter which highway you take.  We chose the Coquihalla.  It carries a $10 toll for double-axle vehicles and fortunately payment can be made by debit or credit if you spent all your cash on Twizzlers and rest-stop coffee like we did.

Passing by the town of Hope, a large, roadside sign reminded me of that town's claim to fame: Chainsaw Capital.  If a town called Hope can inspire an environment where chainsaw culture can flourish, I shudder to think what is found in a town called Despair.

Leaving Hope behind, we ascended the Coquihalla highway to its summit at 1244 metres.  Every ear in the car was plugged.  Later, we passed through Merritt, home of the annual Merritt Mountain Music Festival.  Think Woodstock with a twang.  We stopped at the Visitor Information Centre overlooking the town.  Nancy, our Visitor Information Counsellor, helped us find a decent local restaurant called Home (which has another location near Vancouver in Maple Ridge).  The kitchen at Home doesn't rely heavily on tomatoes and that was fine with Nancy who is afflicted with irritable bowel syndrome.  She casually revealed her condition to us as we chatted about where to eat.  There really is something special about small towns.  I've been trying unsuccessfully for years now to get any old Vancouverite to talk to me about their intestinal issues.

If you've been to Europe, then you know it's nothing but castles and churches everywhere you look.  Well, in the Okanagan, wherever you look it's nothing but vineyards and orchards.  So the next time you're at a Vancouver liquor store (the one at Broadway and Maple is open 'til 11pm!) or in the produce section of your grocery store, think about buying BC products.  There's something about actually seeing where this stuff comes from that makes me want to support BC farmers and winemakers.  Plus, the shorter the distance the grape travels from the vine to my liver, the less carbon emissions we will need to neutralize.

Speaking of greenhouse gases, do you know how truckers stay daisy fresh while on the road?  This has long been one of life's great mysteries and a pit stop at the Husky service station in Osoyoos provided me with the answer.

One free shower with every fuel purchase of 200 litres or more.  Or seven bucks.  The things these people go through for us to have 5-10 servings a day.

All this talk of BC farmers leads me to show you pictures of Keremeos.  It's a really tiny town in the southwest corner of the Okanagan, about 3 hours east of Vancouver in the pastoral Similkameen Valley. 

We passed Keremeos on our way back to Vancouver and pulled over at one of the many orchard stands dotting the highway shoulder throughout this entire region.  You can take your pick from a wide variety of fresh fruits, starring in alphabetical order: apples, apricots, cherries, nectarines, peaches, pears and plums.  There are others, but I haven't yet learned the entire alphabet.

If fruits ain't your thang, how 'bout a gourd?  After all, Hallowe'en is only a month away and you'll need something to carve, n'est-ce pas?  Try Keremeos for your supplies.  Here's a look at what you'll find:

Clearly someone has gone out of their gourd in hope of landing a guest spot on Martha.

Keremeos is worth the trip if you can make it.  But... for a Vancouver supplier with a good selection at prices cheaper than buying an ad during a Canucks pre-season game, check out Young Bros. Produce in Kitsilano, a couple blocks down from the Hollywood Theatre.
 

I have a paralyzing fear of quicksand. Just the thought of it freaks the bejesus out of me. In fact, I could barely watch a recent episode of As The World Turns because Carly was nearly sucked into oblivion by quicksand. (The special effects were kind of oatmeal-ish, but that's what you get when network execs chop the daytime drama budget).

As for how my world turns… it does so around an irrational fear of this rare phenomenon which I know is rather unlikely here in Vancouver. But no matter where I live, I'm quite certain I'll always live with it in the back of my mind.

As Franklin D. Roosevelt stated in 1933, "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself" (a timeless remark now heard almost nightly thanks to David Letterman's relentless exposure of George W's speech gaffes).  With FDR's haunting yet sensible words fresh in my mind, I accepted an invitation from my friend Marian to check out the World Championships of Sand Sculpture at Harrison Hot Springs, about an hour and a half east of Vancouver.

Harrison is a small, lake front community in Sasquatch Provincial Park. Hilarious! I had no idea BC was cool enough to name one of our parks after something out of a rerun of the original Bionic Woman series. I guess this province really is the best place on earth after all.

Shortly after our arrival, we were bewildered by the size of a truck parked in front of the Harrison Hot Springs Hotel.

We had a great brunch at the Lakeview Restaurant, a place that tastes and feels like Mom is making your meal and serving it to you. It was packed with locals, always a good sign. Satisfied, we headed to the beach to view the sand sculptures. It was spitting a bit of rain. The thought of walking on an enormous bed of water-soaked sand was enough to launch my quicksand phobia into orbit. I inhaled deeply and sang Kumbaya to myself.

Before you look at pictures of the amazing, remarkable sand sculptures, you gotta check out some photographic evidence of blatant commercial intrusion into the otherwise natural, artistic environment of sand sculpture.

We shook our heads in disbelief and walked away very thirsty.

It's now time to just let the pictures do the talking for how truly great this event is. And keep in mind, all the sculptures in the following images are made of nothing more than sand.

You can see the World Championships of Sand Sculpture until October 8 in Harrison (or, "Harrisand" as the event website is named).

Our stage was covered in luxurious, green shag carpet.  Our sound system was an Electrohome console stereo the size of a container ship in English Bay.  Our stage makeup was applied by my artistic sister.  Our performance was set to the music the legendary rock band KISS.

It was in the shagadelic living room of the suburban bungalow where I grew up that myself, two of my siblings and two of my almost-step siblings performed our KISS airband.  Since there were 5 of us altogether, but only 4 members in the band, we had to improvise a bit.  That's where my sister's cosmetic creativity came in handy.  She re-created on four of our young faces the makeup seen on the four famous faces of KISS band members.  Then, she created a fifth, unique design for my face so all 5 of us could be part of the performance.

Our audience was my Mom and her companion.  They took their front row seats on the couch as the needle landed in the groove of the KISS record we had carefully selected for our performance piece.  With one plastic toy guitar and one pair of drumsticks we launched into our tribute to one of our favorite bands.  We rocked and we rolled until the song faded under the popping and crackling of dust picked up by the needle on the Electrohome turntable.  We'd given every ounce of ourselves to the performance.  Frankly, I don't know how my mother sat through it but she did and that's part of what makes her our Mom.  She did it for the love of her kids and for her kids' love of KISS.

So just imagine how revved up I got when I heard that Gene Simmons from KISS was appearing today in Vancouver.

Gene Simmons appeared at L2, a high-end clothier in Sinclair Centre on West Hastings street.  His new line of clothing "Money Bag" is being launched and he was there to get some buzz going on it.  I took one look at the clothes and decided one look was enough.

As you can see in the picture above, a hardcore fan also showed up to see Gene Simmons.  The girls flanking him are Frank's Energy Drink girls.  Frank's Energy Drink was a sponsor of the event and the girls were dressed as Dutch country maidens because that will cause people to realize they are low on energy and run red lights to the nearest 7-11 to buy the drink.  
Somebody standing next to me was drinking a can of the stuff.  To my nose it carried the same scent as Red Bull.

L2 was crawling with media capturing Simmons' image and comments.  I watched as he was interviewed by a reporter for Much Music who was barely old enough to read the lyrics printed in a KISS CD.  As she interviewed him, the Much videographer moved around them in half-circles while frantically turning his camera back and forth at 45 degree angles.  I realized his constant activity around the interview subject would result in the type of image I often see on Much Music.  It's the raw, unsteady, hand-held style of recording inspired by The Blair Witch Project.  Heaven forbid a stationary image should stay on screen for more than a moment.

When the interview started, I was standing in front of Gene Simmons.  But after a few moments, the videographer got him to face the opposite direction.  Then, I was standing behind him.  As he chatted with the reporter, Simmons put his hands into the front pockets on his jeans.  In doing so, his black blazer was lifted in the back to his waist level.  This allowed not only his denim-clad backside to become visible, but also a gigantic, purple hair comb in his back pocket!  How rocker is that?  It was so 70's.  It was so 80's. 
It was so (insert any decade other than this one, here).

A film crew for Gene Simmons' reality TV show Family Jewels was also there to capture the public event.  The only clip of that show I've ever seen featured his recovery from a face lift surgery.  Looking at the finished product from a distance of less than 10 feet, Gene Simmons face looks pretty natural albeit smoother than normal around the eyes.  Then I noticed his hair.  Wow. 
All I can say is if helmets are made from steel wool, that's what his hair looked like.

Gene Simmons spent several minutes talking with one of his female fans.  Here's a photo of them deep in conversation.

She was pitching him on a business proposal she had conceived earlier in the afternoon.  He listened carefully and very politely counseled her on his position which, in a nutshell, was that he was there to get paid, not to pay out.  While they spoke, another fan answered a call on his cell phone.  Gene Simmons was distracted by this peripheral conversation and asked the fan if he might like Gene and the woman he was talking with to move somewhere else so that he could carry on with his phone call.

I expected Gene Simmons' mouth to open and his legendary tongue to unroll directly toward the guy and snap him away in an instant, like a bored lizard and a never-had-a-chance bug.

If the sight of hot pink bus stops and matching garbage containers isn't enough to convince you to visit Davie street, how does an invitation to Davie Day grab ya?

Today was the 4th annual Davie Day, a community event to celebrate the diverse residents, shops and services in the Davie Village.  Davie street was closed to vehicular traffic which gave everyone there a chance to walk down the middle of the street with careless abandon, much the same way that many Vancouverites actually drive.

Plus, Davie Day allows businesses a chance to set up shop for a day in a spot they don't normally occupy… the middle of the street.  But don't go thinking they got away easily with this in-your-face style of reaching consumers.  No, siree.  Just look at this formidable group of protesters standing strong against commercial interests.  "The Man" will surely have a tough time getting by Strawberry Shortcake and Bart Simpson.

Why go all the way to Pacific Boulevard to set up a Costco membership?  Let the convenience of Davie Day bring it closer to you.  Why go all the way to Fitness World at Davie and Howe when you can hear their pitch at Davie and Burrard?  Davie Day was conceived to be one big sidewalk sale.  It must have been effective as a number of people were observed trying to fit a sidewalk into their shopping bags.

On the other hand, if it wasn't for Davie Day I wouldn't have seen this poor girl who was clearly under attack by hula hoops.

Those horrible, HORRIBLE things.  They're relentless!  The hula hoop is the new terrorist.  Thank goodness VPD members were patrolling nearby.

Overall, I think I kind of missed the thrust of Davie Day.  Even though my arrival was 2 hours prior to its publicly scheduled ending time, all I saw was a mostly empty street where exhibitors were dismantling tents and folding tables faster than Miss South Carolina sealed her own fate at the Miss Teen USA pageant a couple weeks ago.

Despite an early wrap-up by some, I think there was still just enough going on that plans for a 5th annual Davie Day are likely already underway.  And judging by the hoots and hollers coming from the outdoor beer gardens, it just might be re-named: Bevvie Day.

One of the best things about living in Vancouver is leaving Vancouver.  Know what I mean?  Every once in a while you leave for a short while to charge up the 'ol battery.  So I left for a nearby escape to Mayne Island in the southern gulf islands near Vancouver.  It's just a hop, skip and a BC Ferries ride from here.  By the time you arrive at Mayne, only an hour and a half has passed.

Labour Day weekend is a pretty big deal on Mayne Island.  Locals gather for not only the weekly farmers market, but also the Lions Club Salmon Barbecue and the annual Cow Pie 10k.  I didn't see any cows there, but the story goes that this run originated in the fields (hence its name) and now takes place on the roads.  After my gracious host (Doug, a long-time local) collected me from the ferry terminal, we drove beside the Cow Pie 10k finish line and watched as runners finished their, um, big job.

Mayne Island has a family-owned farm in operation since 1872.  It's lorded over by a curmudgeon named Punch, who might deserve just that... a conclusion I've drawn based on the tales I was told of his miserable interaction with neighbours.

But everyone else was nice as pie.  Not cow pie.  I don't know if cow pie is nice or not.  I'm thinking not, considering how my nostrils behave around it, but I can't say for sure.

We headed for the salmon barbeque.  It was held outdoors at Dinner Bay, a fitting place for a community feast.  Pretty much all of the 800 or so people who live on Mayne Island were there, catching up with old friends, introducing newborns to neighbours and eating a lot of salmon. 

A female singer led a duo playing familiar pop songs.  Her musical accompaniment was an electric-sounding piano, much like that heard on early Whitney Houston records, long before she realized that crack really is whack. 

The duo performed under the shelter of two apple trees while children chased enormous bubbles created by a nifty bubble-making toy. 

I'd forgotten that big soap bubbles are a magnet for kids - much the same way that a certain Swedish deli on Arbutus street is for the Sedin twins.

Dinner Bay is just beside Mayne Island's Japanese garden.  A pleasant surprise indeed with magnolia trees, giant rhubarb, lily pads and benches for your long contemplations.

Mayne Island's light house helps to guide vessels through Active Pass.  The lighthouse rises over an intriguing shoreline where sandstone has been eroded to resemble something rather lunar.  Rock-hard barnacles and mussels populate the sandstone and zillions of gorgeous Arbutus trees populate the forests all over Mayne Island.

Hikers enjoy the rugged terrain offered in Mount Parke park, a heavily-forested area with lots of trail options for various skill levels.  My gang chose Old Gulch, a steep trail laced with cedar and fir roots.  20 minutes later my shirt was starting to stick to me, and we reached the top of the island and reveled in a fantastic south view of water bays and other islands.  I guess the clouds didn't want any company up there so they dumped their wet contents on us for a few minutes as a reminder that nature's welcome mat ain't always a red carpet.

After the hike we took a driving tour of Mayne Island in Doug's mint 1972 Mustang painted hot red.  Before we got in the car, I stood beside it in such deep admiration of its beauty that I found myself saying out loud to the car that I liked it so much I wanted to take a bite out of it. 

I admit that it's odd to speak to an automobile.  Little did I know that my evidential loss of grip on reality was casually observed by someone sitting in the truck parked only a few feet away.  My face turned approximately the color of the Mustang.

Our island driving tour revealed that the popular children's entertainer Raffi lives there in a former B&B.  He had a tv show on CBC and countless annoying records and he's written a really cool book about how honoring kids is the sure way to turn this world around.

The driving tour also revealed several wild deer, nibbling on grass at the side of the road and staring with Bambi eyes at us weird humans in our noisy hunk of metal.  They're really cute and, according to Doug, delicious.

Mayne Island was just what I needed to smooth down the edges.  It was the golden lager to my frosty mug.  While I was there I didn't go online, I didn't wear a watch, I didn't carry my cellphone (at least not after my first day there) and I didn't watch TV.  I didn't go to work, I didn't wait for a "Walk" signal to cross the road and I didn't hear a single siren pierce the calm.  Truth is, I didn't stay long enough on Mayne Island. 

On the other hand, Vancouver ain't a half-bad place to come back to.  Ain't half-bad at all.