Nik vs. Mountain

The Via Rail train rattled us awake just outside Vancouver, the end of the line. It was sunny. This is apparently rare for west coast.

When we parted ways with the train all of the Via Rail staff were there to wave us off wearing smiles. Usually when people say goodbye to me they are not in such a good mood.

I’ve crossed Canada twice now, and this years crossing has taught me a few interesting lessons about train travel and travelling first class.

First class train travel guidelines:

1. Non-stop shaking

Writing, or trying to.

It should come as no surprise that it’s hard to think clearly on a train when you’re being rattled like a tambourine all day. You will eventually get used to it, but don’t expect to find the cure for cancer on a train. There’s a reason why you’ve never heard of any great discoveries being made on a train.

2. Sleeping on a train

There are two things worth mentioning about sleeping on a moving train.

a) Don’t expect to sleep well. If you signed on for sleeper train as a way to catch up on some lost shut-eye you will be very disappointed. Being shook, rattled, and vibrated all night makes a person restless in weird ways.

b) For whatever reason, when you do finally get to sleep you will experience some of the most bizarre bed head when you wake up. I woke up looking like Wolverine. Sure this is cool, but what’s most frustrating is that I can’t get this to happen to my hair in my normal non-moving bed. On a train the forces of physics exert themselves in strange ways, but only on hair.

4. Wolf in sheep’s clothing

I travel first class all the time?

People in first class can sense when someone is amongst them who doesn’t normally travel in luxury. I’m not sure if they can smell it, or if it’s a certain aura that common people give off that only they can see. Either way, they know. While dining (first class travellers don’t eat, they dine) one morning, a woman asked us bluntly, “Have you ever travelled first class before?” I knew my cover was blown. In all fairness, ‘Wolf’ is probably a generous description of myself in the title, I consider myself more of a coyote or large stray dog.

5. “Looks like some people joined us.”

When you’re travelling first class people don’t get on the train or board, they “join you”. Pretty classy, I know. When people join you, they will be sharing an experience of a lifetime. When people board, they are preparing themselves to sit in a seat they hope isn’t beside a crying baby. How horrible.

6. Showering

Showering on a moving train isn’t as much fun as it sounds. Yes, you will get clean, and yes, the water is hot, but when you have to stand with your feet on either side of the stall to stabilize your swaying and soapy body, well it’s just not awesome. Also you can hear the water whistling out of the drain and onto the tracks, which is probably a lot like being whistled at in the prison showers when you’re ‘fresh meat’.

7. Great balance

Mountain Goat

Spend a few days living on a bouncing and wobbly train and you will have the balance of a mountain goat. I can guarantee this the same way infomercials guarantee you can cut through a can with a knife.  Don’t believe me? Try and push me over, I dare you.

In all seriousness, I had a great time on the Via Rail train all the way across Canada. If the sights out the window aren’t enough, the staff will certainly put your experience over the top.

My advice to anyone who happens to find this blog, take the train.

Me and my train.

On day four of the trans Canada train with Via Rail I woke up in Edmonton, and surprise surprise, just like Winnipeg they also have snow. In this expedition across Canada I’m starting to realize that Toronto does not experience much of a winter compared to the rest of the country. As a city we  have few grounds to complain about the weather. This is probably part of the reason why the entire country makes fun of us for calling in the army when we get more snow than we can shovel in one morning.

This is the extent of my visit to Edmonton.

On the Movember front, things were not going so well either. Did my moustache add to my train experience with Via Rail? Not really. In fact I was so afraid to shave on a moving train that the clean-cut lines of my moustache were blurred with stubble. I didn’t look so much like a Movember champion as a man recovering from a fairly vicious weekend bender.

Aside from realizing that Toronto is a city full of complaining wusses, there wasn’t much else to do in Edmonton. It was the furthest north I have ever been and I did not feel particularly different. It was dark, it was cold, and if it was not for oil I had trouble seeing much reason to be living up there. Edmonton does have the world’s biggest mall, The West Edmonton Mall, but I did not get to see that, so I can’t comment on this attraction. I do know that the West Edmonton Mall has more working submarines than the Canadian Navy. This is something the mall should be very proud of, and that the Canadian Navy should be very embarrassed about.

We left Edmonton with the sun chasing behind us and breakfast ahead of us. The meals have become the only thing to set your watch to on the train. It’s refreshing to live with nothing to do but relax, nowhere to go except across the country. Meals have also become the primary topic of conversation among passengers, because aside from being bottle up in a steel torpedo, the food is the only thing we all have in common.

The Via Rail dining car, classy right?

Two things did happened that were noteworthy at breakfast. The first being that I was finally brought a full bottle of ketchup. Up until this point on the train I had always been left to fumble with ketchup packets like a peasant at every meal. Not very first class if you ask me. With a bottle of ketchup I could finally use that red nectar the way every man should, plentifully and uninhibited.

The second occurrence that I could not help but take note of had nothing to do with the food. I overheard (see eavesdrop) a group of well aged travellers in the dining car bragging about how often they frequent the gym. Who knew seniors got such a thrill out of lifting one pound dumbbells? I’ve overheard twenty-year-old men brag about how many times a week they pump iron, but I guess people never change, including seniors.

With the day running on, we rolled out of the prairies and into the Canadian Rockies. It was raining, which is never how anyone pictures the mountains. Mountains should be tucked into a fresh bed of snow, not soggy like a wet homeless man with nowhere to dry off. The mountains didn’t have a shopping cart full of empty wine bottles, but the mountains also didn’t ask for spare change.

I found a mountain goat in Jasper.

The train pulled into Jasper and it rained harder. Jo and I walked around the damp tourist town only to discover that through the fog and clouds you could not actually see even a nibble of a mountain peaking through the thick soup we were swimming through.

The mountains in the rain are a sad and soggy place; like the snow, the magic melts away.This was unfortunate, but I had a plan to bring up my spirits and celebrate walking around for twenty-five minutes. I treated myself to a pile of poutine with enough cheese on it that would leave the lactose intolerant in tears.

I also found the best toy ever in Jasper.

The train left Jasper full of passengers. I left Jasper full of cheese, gravy, and fried potato. With the rain thoroughly set in it seemed that the Rockies were experiencing a little stage fright. As much as I did look forward to seeing those jagged peaks, it would not have ruined my trip if I did not see those mountains that John Denver said were so rocky. For me the train was the trip, and what a trip it had been.

Things change, and in the mountains they change quickly. Only a few minutes on our way out of Jasper and the mountains had a treat for our train. Like a switch had been flicked by some giant hiding behind a mountain, it snowed. What once was a downpour of rain, became a flurry of snow. Sitting in the dome car, we were a bubble in a blizzard.

Rain becomes snow in the Rockies.

We started the day running away from the sun, and we finished the day chasing after the sun as it tucked itself behind the mountains. It was the final night on a train that I had come to love. Not just because there were no dishes to do or meals to cook, which was nice, but because of something intangible about travelling a great distance by means of an antiquated mode of transport. The experience of a lost art.

With flight at our fingertips travel has been cheapened. The world has become a much smaller place than any train conductor could have imagined in the age of steam. We have lost perspective of what lies beyond in the age of instant gratification.

The mystery and the unknown are gone, but I like to think that Via Rail has given me a taste of what once was.

I would say good night, but with the Rockies all around me it was a great night. Although I still had trouble sleeping.

On day 3 of the trans Canada train trip I woke up in Winnipeg. My last trip to Manitoba’s capital didn’t go so well, it went terribly.

The Heart of a Continent? Debatable.

In the summer of 2009, along with two friends, Coop and Kirsten, we decided that it would be fun to bicycle across Canada from Victoria to St. John’s. I never would make it to St. John’s, but that isn’t what this story is about. What this story is about is my disastrous expedition into Winnipeg.

I can’t recall where exactly we had started that day, but to get into Winnipeg we had cycled over 180 km. All three of us were shattered, it was getting dark, and the campground we had set as our destination was nowhere to be found. Things were getting desperate.

We did find the campground, or what was left of it. The front gate was chained up, the grass was waist-high, and there were derelict camping trailers everywhere. If there ever was the perfect spot for a serial killer to hang out, this was it. There were so many good places for him or her to hide, I could be killed at any moment then turned into a lamp shade and no one would be the wiser.

The place was creepy, but it was also abandoned. It was getting late and there weren’t a lot of options for accommodation in the area.

I thought this place was fine, “Guys let’s just stay here, it’s abandoned. Who knows the water might even be running.”

Coop was keen. Camping here meant a free night, he saw the value in that. Looking for a new camp ground meant more biking, and neither of us really wanted to sit on a bike seat anymore.

Would you want to camp here?

Kirsten on the other hand was a little more reluctant, and we should have listened to her. Coop and I dismissed her fears of this creepy camp ground as ungrounded paranoia. You know what Coop and I forgot? That women are usually right, and every now and then you need to camp in a serial killers lair to realize that.

The three of us unpacked our bikes and started to set up shop for the night. There was a payphone that worked, so I used it. This did not set off any alarm bells in my head.

At the conclusion of my phone call Coop and I did a brief survey of the area. What used to be the head office of the camp ground was now an old dilapidated shack. Its roof sagged so low and the walls leaned so sharply that most people wouldn’t feel safe storing their garden tools in there.

I knocked on the door. There was no answer. Things seemed normal for an abandoned campground. At this point things would start to get a little weird.

There was classical music playing faintly. Just loud enough to be heard, and just quiet enough to be as scary as possible. Coop heard it first, but after he pointed it out I couldn’t ignore it.

It got worse. While we were trying to listen for any signs of life in the shack, we noticed that there was a single lamp on in the house. If that wasn’t bad enough the lamp had a sheet draped over it to dull the light. There was a very real possibility that we were dealing with a vampire den. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to wake up missing a few pints of blood.

Coop and I exchanged panicked and confused glances. In silence we acknowledged that Kirsten was right about this place. We didn’t tell her what we had just seen. What we did tell her was that we needed to pack up our shit and get out.

“What’s wrong guys?”
Coop, “Nothing we just need to go, now.”

Serial killer shack? Maybe.

Our escape was cut short. An old blue truck with an even older driver tore into the grounds and drove straight for us. He stopped, I spoke first.

“We thought you guys might be open but I guess no, we’re packing up now.”

His response, “Yep, just letting the grass takeover.”

To me this doesn’t sound like a profitable business model. We got out of their in a hurry, and stayed in a hotel that had heavy doors with good locks. For dinner we had Taco Bell and beer. It was a survivors feast.

This was my first and only experience in Winnipeg.

My second tour went a little bit better in some ways and worse in others.

My first order of business for my second visit to Winnipeg was to break the toilet. It wouldn’t flush anymore, for reasons unknown. I know what you’re thinking, and I didn’t clog it. It was a public toilet, I could have walked away, it could have been the perfect crime. My conscience prevailed. I let the Porter know of my handy work, he thanked me. It was the end of his shift and he was almost free, and I broke the toilet.

Winnipeg

I left the train and the broken toilet in my canvas multipurpose slippers to discover that there was 10cm of fresh snow on the ground. My slippers are good for a lot of things, wading through snow was not one of them. Being a retired boy scout I did bring my winter boots.

I wrote me name in snow. I would have written it in pee, but I didn't drink much water that morning.

Winnipeg was a winter wonderland, therefore the first order of business was to leave my mark on the city. With an untainted patch of snow in a parking lot, I carved my name into the fresh white canvas. I realized after the fact that someone could easily turn my artful, ‘Nik’ into ‘Nik’s stupid.’ There aren’t that many Niks without the ‘c’ tucked in their, so that low brow slander could eventually get back to me.

Winnipeg looked nice with a fresh coat of snow, but everything does. In fairness to Winnipeg, my second visit was much more enjoyable and far less terrifying than my first.

Back on board the train we were making our way through the prairies. I’ve been through the prairies once before on a bicycle and in addition to losing a few pounds, I very nearly lost my sanity. I saw the trains going past me as I pedaled, and I dreamed of a day when I would be on that train. That day has come.

In 2009 I passed through the prairies on a bicycle in the summer, in 2011 I was taking a train in the winter being served three course meals three times a day. Did I mention that they make my bed every day? How times have changed.

My mode of transportation is different to say the least, but the prairies themselves are different as well. Being on a train that powers through a prairie expanse now covered in a dusting of snow seems almost romantic, not that I’m into that kind of stuff. I sit and write in my cabin with a panoramic postcard for a window. I don’t know how I survived this fertile wasteland on a bicycle.

There is something indescribable and exciting about lying down for the day and having a continent whizzing by all around. I sleep surrounded by change. This is in stark contrast to sleeping in my apartment in Parkdale, Toronto. There the only thing that buzzes around me are the hordes of cockroaches that sneak around in my walls.

I spend my day writing, napping, and thinking. This trip is more fun than I could have hoped. I like to think of it as an early taste of retirement, and if this is any indicator of how retirement is gonna go, then I’ll get along just fine.

The train needed some extra muscle.

On the second day of this Trans Canada train adventure I woke up to snow, the last call for breakfast and day 25 of Movember. ‘Wake up’ implies that I was asleep, regretfully this was not the case. To be more accurate, I got out of bed. Over the course of the night I got maybe thirty minutes of sleep, and ALL of those minutes came when I the train stopped occasionally to let another train pass by.

I have never spent a whole night so exhausted in a comfortable bed and been completely unable to sleep one bit. Our porter, Cal, had warned us that the vibration of the train can ‘mess’ with you, which creates a very unique restless feeling. He recommended using the complimentary ear plugs. I had lost mine before I even went to bed. I tried music, but louder noise covering a loud noise isn’t really conducive to a great nights sleep.

No sleep meant that my first full day on the train wasn’t starting well. I was tired and late for breakfast; things could only get better. Breakfast was good, and with two helpings of bacon I was able to muster the strength to write a review of the mornings meal, which I will post later.

My moustache is still well-defined at this point by I fear the worst in a few days. I don’t think I will be able to shave in a train that shakes so violently. Any attempt to do so would probably look like I tried to shave with a cheese grater in a bumper car. With this in mind my moustache will likely lose integrity and definition by the end of this trip. For this I apologies, but I’m not sorry about the two servings of bacon I had at breakfast. That’s what men with moustaches eat.

At breakfast no one looked well rested, and as it would turn out everyone confirmed that they were having a rough time

I replace sleep with breakfast.

sleeping. I imagine that I will eventually become so tired that no train or herd of elephants could keep me away from a late night date with my face and a pillow.

Aside from being unable to sleep, the sights and sounds of the trip were limited pretty exclusively to trees and water. Fortunately for me, I happen to be a big fan of both of these pieces of nature’s furniture.

I did learn one fun fact on my first full day on the train. Via Rail will let you off and pick you up anywhere it has tracks. This includes in the middle of absolute nowhere, which I tested with one of the porters asking, “What about right here?” while being in the absolute middle of nowhere. I like this idea, and look forward to exploring the wilderness in the near future by piggy backing on the train.

With our train about to enter Manitoba, there was a presentation made in the dome car about the history of the province and its capital city, Winnipeg. And you know what I learned Manitoba has a tradition in? Floods. In fact it floods so often and so violently that the natives didn’t even want to settle in the area.

Every senior citizen on the train, and there are a lot of them, chimed in their two cents about the last flood that they remembered. I think I might have even heard someone say that they used to buy Moon Pies for a nickel.

I am now something of an expert on floods. With the power of this expert knowledge, I have decided that I will always live on some sort of hill or high ground, and more specifically, never in Winnipeg.

Our Manitoba information session was flawless, save for one interruption from a radio request for a tooth-brush. Our presenter responded “Get it yourself.” The staff on board the Via Rail are a pretty entertaining bunch, and if I get tired of watching the trees they aren’t a bad secondary source of entertainment. In contrast to flight attendants, it seems like Via Rail staff are allowed to have their own personality.

I’ve learned a few other locomotive facts as well. On the first night of the trip they announced that there would be no smoking on the train, and I thought, “What a great way to quit smoking cold turkey, take a four-day train!” Well scratch that, the train stops for smoke breaks.

Hornepayne RULES!

For our second ‘smoke break’ we stopped into Hornepayne. I have never heard of or seen on this place on a map. Jo and I thought it best to stride into town and breathe in the local culture. Oddly enough, for a town with no sidewalks they sure had a lot of souvenir shops, two to be exact. They also had the biggest LCBO that I have ever seen. I guess the only thing you can count on to keep you warm in the north is hard liquor and souvenirs.

What I’ve written about today does not eat up an entire day, so you’re probably wondering how I kept busy on a train. Let me break down my day.

My Day in Detail:

eat breakfast
write
nap
read
eat lunch
walk around HornePayne
nap
write
nap
played scrabble (and lost)
eat dinner
nap
watch a movie
write
sleep

A read with a view.

With the exception of sleeping, all of these things were done with a view out a window.

As you can tell it was an action packed day, but in all seriousness I had a great day. That being said, if you’re not big on writing, reading, napping, sitting quietly, or staring out windows, I would strongly advise against taking the train across Canada.

The finished product.

Movember has come and passed for another year. My moustache might have started slow this Movember, but I like to think that I finished strong, if not extremely grey.I had some fun, a few laughs, and I‘ve learned a few important lessons over the course of this month.

And so I present to you…

Movember Lessons 2011

1. Like father like son

I will look exactly like my father in 40 years. I’ve know if for a long time, but Movember 2011 has helped me fully appreciate the scope of the similarities between us. It’s not all bad though, one of my friends said that my dad looked like a pirate once, which is cool I guess.

2. My moustache ain’t so hot

I have seen some pretty awesome moustaches over the last thirty days. Not only were these moustaches nowhere near as grey as mine, but some could even be moulded liked the hair on a troll doll. What growth hormone do I need to take to make that happen for me? Either way, I definitely got put in my place.

3. Movember as a teaching tool

For me personally, the biggest thing I learned from Movember is that I need to be writing every day. Now you’ll be relieved to know this doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m sending out a blog every day, so please don’t unsubscribe. As you could probably tell, I was grasping at straws for a while with ideas for Movember related blog posts.

Just getting into the practice of writing something every evening and taking the time to put pen to paper is something I have really come to enjoy and rely on as a part of my daily routine. I hope that the time and energy I put in makes for a better read down the road.

Thanks for hanging with me.

Surprise!

I promised you something special for the last leg of Movember, and so I’ve taken my moustache to the tracks. My moustache and I have decided to enjoy the Trans Canada train from Toronto to Vancouver.

This adventure will combine my two secret passions in life, moustaches and trains. This trip will also deprive me of what has become a necessity in my life, the internet. On average I spend all day on the internet at work. When I come home I write on Google Documents, a completely web based writing service. In fact this is the first time in a while that I have written on a program that isn’t somehow connected to the internet. I feel like I’m cheating on Google, I hope she doesn’t find out.

Giving the internet up cold turkey for four days will, in all likelihood, be a lot like kicking a nasty heroin habit. I will want it all the time, but never have my thirst for blogs or youtube quenched. I won’t be able to sleep, I’ll sweat a lot, and when no one is looking I’ll huddle in the corner and shiver. I don’t have a problem, I can quit whenever I want…I just never have.

Three things ran through my head when I first realized that I wouldn’t be connected to the internet

1. What will happen to my Klout score?

According to Klout I’m an expert in guitar. I may not play the guitar, but I would hate to lose that online credibility.

2. Will my reader abandon me?

There might only be one person who reads my blog, but my god he/she is loyal. I would hate to disappoint someone who has such great taste.

3. Will anyone even notice I’m gone?

This one is the hardest pill to swallow, because the answer to this question is probably not.

So, how did the trip start?

Our sexy train, 'The Canadian'

Surprisingly well actually. When Jo and I got to the train station our gate looked a lot like the greyhound station I slept in in Phoenix. American Greyhound stations are not very nice. I have felt safer sleeping on the side of the road.

We went to check in at the desk and were asked, “Sleeper or seater?” When we informed them that we were in the sleeper section of the train, they smiled at us. This was confusing for me. We were travelling first class, and apparently first class passengers do not get treated like cattle.

I have never travelled by any form other than the lowest possible class. In the past, if there was an option to stay with the livestock I probably would have taken it. Now I was being told that I would be ‘taken care of’? No one has ever taken care of me, and the only time I hear someone say they’ll take care of someone is usually in a gangster film. This is not the nice kind of ‘taken care of’ either where you get chilled beverages. In fact the only time that I’ve been taken care of is when I got kicked out of a truck stop while I was hitch hiking from Flagstaff, Arizona to Windsor, Ontario. It was not friendly and it did not come with a drink.

The Via Rail station was like cheers, except no one knew my name, although they were really excited to learn it. The chipper gentleman that I was dealing with was ironically named Sunny. Which made me wonder if anyone has ever been named overcast, drizzle, or thunderstorm. I would like to meet a happy person named overcast, that would be a real life struggle. Being named Sunny means you are basically born into happiness. In my mind this is cheating.

Under the umbrella of being ‘taken care of’ we didn’t have to wait in the gate with the rest of the peasants; we had our own lounge. I usually stare at these things with envy because they’re filled with nice snacks, beverages, and they do not smell like despair.

Stepping inside we were greeted and informed that there was a fridge full of complimentary beverages. Finally I know, this is how the other half lives. The chairs were padded, not torn and they didn’t have any gum stuck to them (that I could see). Best of all the floors were carpet, the last garnish of sophistication.

Drinking my crispy ginger ale I could not help but notice one very obvious thing, everyone was old. The average age was high enough that almost every male had a moustache. This was disappointing. Worse yet, none of the people in the lounge looked like they would be good euker partners.

I eaves dropped on the conversations around me, and you know what they discussed? Their preferred dining hour, where the train stops, the weather in Ohio, and just about anything else that you can imagine that does not matter. There was a pretty intense debate over whether we could board at 9 or 9:30. I’d like to say it got heated, but I think someone fell asleep.

Are people born this boring or do they grow into it the same way a baby does with its big head?

Then I realized it, this is what it’s like to be retired. The stage of life where the two biggest problems in the day are deciding when to eat and how not to fall asleep in the soup. I’d always wanted to vacation in a retirement home, and now I was getting my chance. The food would be soft, people would remind me when to eat, and there aren’t a lot of stairs. Welcome to the good life.

At this point I also realized my bag has a whistle. This might seem like a strange thing to notice at this moment, but stay with me for a second. My bag is meant for outdoor adventures and the whistle is meant for survival situations, but seniors get in lots of survival situations. For instance if their water is too cold and it hurts their teeth. As you can tell I’m really starting to get into the right head space.

The train boarded and we got the grand tour from our cars attendant Cal. He ran through the ins and outs of train life, including a safety demonstration on how to escape the train through a window. This seemed substantially more light hearted than any in flight safety demonstrations I’ve had to sit through.

To conclude his performance, Cal informed us of the long list of situations that we could call upon him for using or ‘summon’ button. He did not call it the summon button, that is a Nik ‘ism’.

The last scenario he mentioned was falling out of bed in the night, which I suppose is a real issue if you are on your second hip. As an additional reason I suggested, “bad dreams.” I think it might have taken Cal a moment to realize that I was not serious. That being said, I’m half tempted to call him after a night terror to see his reaction.

Walking...and looking good

Having been thoroughly briefed by Cal, Jo and I journeyed to the back of the beast to the highly touted dome car. Before the dome car there was of course the bar, which will no doubt become a popular spot once people spend a few days cooped up in this sardine can. I hope the bar is well stocked with Tom Collins mix.

Then there it was, the dome car. I personally would not call it the dome car, more like skylight car or car with the most windows. That type of advertising does not put asses in seats.

The Dome Car (during the day)

With a view from the top of the train I felt like I was in a James Bond fight scene. In that scene I know that I would probably be one of the nameless extras who falls off or gets hit by a low bridge. I wish my imagination was not so realistic.

The steal snake slithered its way through Toronto. In case you have never taken a train, the experience on board a departing train is much less thrilling than a plane taking off. Ironically, with a view from the dome the train felt more like a space shuttle launch than a plane does though. A really slow spaceship that does not have much of a chance of making orbit unfortunately.

I always fantasize about being an astronaut. Unfortunately, the second thing that comes to mind after space travel is my talent for getting violently motion sick. I went for a stunt flight once, and let’s just say it did not go well. I have first hand experience confirming that this fantasy would become my worst nightmare.

While perched atop the train in the dome car, the conductor or captain made his opening remarks. He informed us that there is a railway tradition that includes no smoking on the train. Which got me to thinking, if train ticket sales are struggling, why wouldn’t they market the Trans Canada train as a retreat for smokers to quit cold turkey?

On second thought, this might not be such a good idea. There could be disastrous results if you stuff a handful of irritable smokers in a train. Once they sucked all the nicotine from under their finger nails someone would surely be murder. At which point the train would turn into a life size version of Clue.

In the last few minutes of being pensive in the dome car I was given hor d’oeuvres in the dark. I was given four different kinds and they all tasted the same. The waiter said the ham and cheese was the best. I could not even tell you which one had ham on it.

I’m done for the day, but the train and my moustache are still going strong. It’s deflating to see almost every man on the train with a moustache, but I suppose I fit in well. I might even have the greyest moustache on the train.

Some of you might be saying, “Hh this doesn’t sound awesome, hanging out on a steel torpedo with handful of geriatrics!” I beg to differ. I want to relax and read, better yet I want to be reminded when to eat.

I can’t wait to see what the Trans Canada train (ie, being temporarily retired) has in store for me next.

I look cross eyed. I am not actually cross eyed.

It’s getting cold that we are deep into this years Movember, and my moustache is doing absolute jack to keep my face warm. Why anyone would choose to have a moustache over a beard is ridiculous from a practicality stand point. The moustache didn’t even kept my top lip warm. It did nothing to contribute to my facial warmth. This is disappointing.

I am cold, and I look creepy. Movember was not kind to me today.

If you want to donate to my Movember team, “The Sloppy Mos”, click HERE.

Movember day 22, done.

My hair is wet because I had a shower with soap.

Would a moustache guy take offense if I commented on a moustache that I thought was a joke, probably. If you have a moustache that isn’t for Movember you’re either a hipster or a real man, and I don’t fight real men.

He also had a dog.

It’s Movember day 20 and I am starting to look a lot like two very different people, my father and Ron Burgundy. Fortunately for me both of these cool cats are pretty suave characters. To my knowledge my dad does not play the jazz flute.

There are the three subtle similarities between these three studs. Don’t feel bad if you couldn’t catch all three on your own, you need a trained eye to catch this stuff. That’s why my friends call me the vulture, I think.

1. Moustaches

Lets get the obvious one out of the way first, we all have moustaches. Might I add that they are great moustaches. Nice one dad and company. I also just noticed that my moustache is just about as grey as my dad’s despite our 40 year age difference. That’s a depressing thing to realize in a blog post, but moving on.

2. Hair Flip

All three of us have the classic hair flip to one degree or another. Granted Burgundy has gone for the flip to the right, while the old man and I have gone for the lefty. It’s hard to admit that you have a very similar hair cut to your dad who’s old enough to get the Zellers seniors discount. I know for a fact that he gets that discount because he was VERY excited about hitting the ‘eligible’ age and we made a special trip.

3. Charisma

Look into those six eyes at the top, are you charmed? If you said no, you’re a liar. Stop lying, it’s not nice. Accept the fact that Ron, Rich and Nik had you at hello.