Single Digit Midgets

 Time to let the pictures do the talking as we make our way across eastern Ontario.

Green.  Very Green.

Lake Ontario.  Best view we had all day.  Damn trees.

I've been having problems with the drive train for going on a couple weeks — skipping if I stand in the tallest gears.  Since I'm not nearly that strong, could only mean one thing:  worn chain.   

We were finally able to find a shop that was a) along our route, and b) open.  Unfortunately, there is this little matter of c) mechanic on site.   All of which is a segue into Susan's stickers:

Yes, I have no stickers.  Or personality.

Susan cruising along an Ontario farm road..

Trying a trail.

Trying a trial.

Third time's the charm:

For those who have both unusually retentive memories, and a sad lack of fulfilling things to do with their lives, we "fixed" a front flat on Susan's bike several days ago.  An essential step along the way to fixing is matching the leak against the tire, finding the offending object, and removing it.

No joy.  Indeed, I was so joyless that when we got to the hotel, I took the front tire off again to find what I had missed.  

Today we found out I had missed what I had missed.  Same hole, same spot.  The picture above shows red inside the tire.  That is a liner that is supposed to be a deflector shield against pointy things.  I have no idea how many punctures we haven't had, but the liners haven't stopped three of them.

Finally, perched on the side of the road not a mile and a half from our Falls View hotel, Now With Late Soviet Era Quality!, we decided three times was plenty, and found Susan had apparently run over the only piece of obsidian in all of Ontario.  And not just the only piece, but the only one of the only one shaped perfectly to disappear in the tire and liner.

It took only about 15 minutes to get it sorted. I have burned nearly as much time spewing about it.

After showers and marveling at the kind of shabbiness that would have been mid-market East Berlin, we became tourists:

Followed up by a delayed anniversary dinner at the restaurant atop the nearby Sheraton.  On account of because reasons so that's why, Susan did not find the SS Badger, nor Ludington, sufficient.

When we were in Sarnia, Canada Day fireworks were a mere half-mile from our hotel.  We got to Niagara Falls in time to see our July 4th display.

America Falls, appropriately lit:

One hundred eighteen kilometers to the eastern end of Ontario.  Seven hundred ninety three remaining to the western end of the Atlantic.

Which makes us Single-Digit Midgets:*  nine days remaining.

* This means nothing, or less, to those who haven't spent time in the military.  One feature of that experience is arriving at a duty station knowing that, while not yet certain, there is a date for leaving.  When orders arrive for the next assignment, one becomes short.  Time, doing its time thing, turns "short" into "midget".  As in, with nine days left, a single-digit midget.  In another week, we will be so short we'll be skydiving off the edges of dimes.