The Chronicles of Nik

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.

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.

My moustache growth so far, pretty great right?

It’s been exactly 46 hours since the beginning of Movember and I can now officially say I have a five o’clock shadow. Did I overstate my moustache growing prowess, possibly, but if it’s written then it must be true?

Regardless of who might have said they were a master of the moustache, there are now more pressing issues at hand. Most importantly, what sort of chiseled lip garnish should I choose for the month. You might laugh, but it’s a pretty big deal. If I choose wrong then ever time I look in the mirror, there sitting on my lip will be a stark reminder of my mistake.

The Sir John A. moustache (maybe my favourite)

Do I go classic dad moustache, handlebars or my personal favourite the Sir John A. My choice of duster could drastically affect the amount of money I raise for Movember…speaking of which if you would like to donate to myself or my team ‘The Sloppy Mos’, then CLICK HERE, every penny counts.

I know that in the first 46 hours my facial hair hasn’t made a lot of progress, but I have a good feeling about the next 24 hours, trust me. Remember, it’s not how you start the race, it’s the moustache that you finish with.

I’ll cut right to the chase, my girlfriend is flying from england in less than forty eight hours.  My Mission, should I choose to accept, is to turn my Parkdale apartment into an English cottage.

When I took this photo I wasn't wearing pants.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

I have been living in this apartment alone for two months.  I know what you’re thinking about the state of my abode and you’re probably not far from the reality of the situation. Rest assured, there is no structural damage.

Problem 1 – Clothing Storage:

Yesterday a women in my office noted that there was a wrinkle on my shirt, so I looked for it.  As it turns out she was joking, because my shirt was just one big wrinkle.  The ladies then asked how I store my clothes.  I think my system is great, they did not.

I have two hampers, a clean hamper and a dirty hamper.  Clean clothes naturally go in the clean hamper, and dirty clothes for the most part go in the dirty hamper.  There is occasionally some cross contamination. I don’t use drawers, and I don’t own any hangers.

When I was finished describing my uber efficient system, one woman, Denita, looked like she had just heard that an asteroid was on a collision course for earth.

This is what adults use to hang clothes with.

As it turns out, women like hangers and are not a fan of the hamper system.  This has been noted and rectified.  I went and bought hangers, and nice ones, no big deal.

Part 1 of the cottagization of my apartment is complete stay tuned for more.

Side note, does it mean that I’m an adult now that I have paid money for wooden hangers?

There are many words for what I am. Thrifty, economical, deal savvy, you can call it what you want, but I’m poor and cheap. Through years of drifting, traveling and working horrible jobs that pay just as horribly I have honed my talents at stretching the almighty dollar. To you I give this gift of knowledge.

Trimming the fat off your grocery bill:
Food is expensive, noodles are not. By no means will you be the fittest fiddle in the shop, but you’re wallet will be plumper for it.  A quick warning, it is advisable to have the occasional vegetable in order to fight off scurvy. There is nothing more embarrassing than being afflicted with what sailors died of in the 18th century.

Furniture:
Plain and simple don’t own much of it.  Couches, armoires, recliners, coffee tables are all expensive.  Naturally you’ll have to own the bare minimum, but if executed properly and kept clean you can sneak out of these purchases by claiming to “not like a cluttered home.” If organized effectively, people may even confuse you for being efficient.

Clothing:
Same as furniture, stay away from it.  If your friends notice that you wear the same clothes a lot…who cares they’re already your friends, so you don’t have to worry about seducing them with your fashion sense.  However, it is important to have a few nice articles of clothing to make for good first impressions with fresh faces.  By the time they realize you only have two t-shirts they’ll hopefully be able to see past this short coming.

Pre-eat:
When you were in University, you pre-drank before you went on a night out to save money. However, this thrifty trick can be used to save money beyond the bar. If you’re on a tight budget you avoid restaurants like it was a robber in a back alley, because they’re both gonna take more money than you can afford to give up. Unfortunately, there’s no bigger tell tale sign that you’re living on a shoe string than to decline an invite to a restaurant. What to do? Eat before you get to the restaurant! You know what is free water and possibly soda if you claim to be the designated driver.  If your friends start to ask questions order a side salad and say you’re on a diet, they’ll admire your will power.

What incredible lengths have you gone to save a dollar?

Mark as Spam

Spam has gotten a lot of bad press.  Nobody is a big fan of the canned meat, and people aren’t a fan of their junk email folder filling up with notifications about viagra. This blog is not about the garbage meat you buy, but the garbage mail you receive for free.

Having my own blog has given me perspective. Since it’s birth I have recieved A LOT of spam comments.  So much that this blog is actually the second version due to technical errors caused by spam on its predecessor, but I’m not angry.

Rest assured the Chronicles of Nik is now secure under a layer of spam filters, but the sneakier ones still get through and boy are they friendly. What was once a complete shit storm of prescription drug sales has become unsolicited encouragement!




Here are the top 6 reasons why I love getting spam comments posted to my blogs:

1.  They never fail to inspire me with their encouraging posts.  A more recent comment said,”Amazing post, honest!” Hard not to feel good with that in my pocket.

2.  These optimistic spammers end fifty percent of their comments on my blog with exclamation marks which makes for an exciting read.

3  Spam comments offer deep insight about what keeps them coming back to my blog.  When I received this comment about my post, “This is why I respect your site.”  I knew that my message was getting across.

4.  The sites that these spam comments represent are personally relevant to my writing, such as a recent note left by http://flashdrivesbulk.net.  This speaks to me.

5.  Based on comments such as, “Great post, truly!” I know for certain that they have actually read my blog.

6.  Finally, it’s nice getting comments(nudge nudge) even if they are from disgustingly positive insightful robots with phenomenal taste.

If you want to subscribe to my blog by email that would be cool, and you should CLICK HERE

I drank 750ml of table syrup, there it is. Boom.

At the age of 20 I had yet to learn the lesson that condiments are not beverages, even worse was that I was willing to do anything for a buck.

I’m proud to say that I had enough dignity to not perform this feat for free. Although I didn’t do it for free, I didn’t do it for much either. Twenty dollars was the price tag on my dignity and I was paid with a handful of loose change.

I drank all 750 ml of that table syrup for twenty dollars and not a penny more.

The next day my efforts were rewarded in full. I felt like I was on the wrong end of month long drinking binge. It was the sugar crash of the century. I had won the battle, but the syrup won the war.

Don’t get me wrong I still throw caution to the wind every now and then. Sometimes I’ll stay up late on a work night and when I’m feeling particularly daring I’ll skip flossing for a day.

These days I stay away from digestive theatrics, but what undignified act have you done for a sock full of quarters?

IMPORTANT NOTE: You can now also subscribe to my blog by email HERE!

For the two dozen or so people who accidentally click on the link to my blog I should probably thank you. In fact, I could probably name most of you in two lines. You know who you are and I appreciate the support.

The home of my mystery reader, maybe?

Unfortunately, I have to make an embarrassing admission… that is that I’m a narcissistic blogger. Using the almighty and powerful Google analytics I’m able to keep a running tally of how few people frequent my blog. I won’t bother to share the stats, but they aren’t high.

Better than this though, I can see what country those people are in when they click on my link. Sneaky I know, but I just can’t help myself. Usually, my loyal readers come disproportionally from Canada and America, then tied for third is my reader (singular) in England, Arab Emirates, and Australia.

I only have two friends in the Emirates, so it’s not a tough guess as to who is reading my garbage in that neck of the woods. Recently though, I had a reader from a country that I am fairly certain I have no connection to whatsoever. This mystery reader from the country in question is in Nepal.

I can’t help but wonder, who in Nepal would want to read what I wrote? Was it a tech savvy Sherpa rocking out on a blackberry in the Himalayas? I certainly hope so.

What I ask then is if my singular Nepalese reader would please come forward, because I need to know who you are for the sake of my own curiosity.

Thanks