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Port Perry for the Day – Execution

I woke early, as seems to be my custom, and after breakfast set off around 6:20, strolling through Ryerson University in the not-so-vain hopes that the Nice Man would have delivered the Toronto Star, which he had, and so was, by 6:29 at least, so instead of dekeing through the Eaton Chelsea for a Globe and Mail and National Post I continued my stroll down Victoria, Yonge and Bay streets.

So far so good.

On Bay street I spotted a most unusual bus shelter with a young man waiting for a bus; I asked if I might take a non-identifying photo and he obliged with the result you see above.

This continues the Toronto Transit Commission’s silly sorry saga of bus shelter provision. It is a miniature bus shelter with room for four people (without bags or luggage) and a bench that sits at right-angles to the street facing AWAY from the direction from which the bus will come.

So if at the end of a working day (or night in my pal’s case) you rest your weary feet, you can’t watch for the bus.

How stupid is that?

It gets worse. I took the photo and went to show him, to assure him that his face wasn’t in it, and as I did his bus zoomed past. I’d caused him to miss his bus. And I didn’t spot another one all my way down to Front Street.

It put quite a damper on my morning and most certainly his.

Until I saw Jupiter and Venus together in the brightening morning sky above the GO Bus terminal.

“It’s a sign!” when you can see these two planets close together.

A sign that the sky is not cloudy.

Into the GO Bus terminal to check that there is no alternative to the train-to-Whitby bus-the-remainder for Port Perry (there isn’t) and I overhear a man asking about a ticket to Owen Sound.

Now we already know you can’t do Bolton for the day , let alone Owen Sound, and Owen Sound is four times the distance from Toronto (and in a direct line!) so I took him to one side and counseled him to try Greyhound, north of Dundas Street. He set off to walk twenty minutes, but I doubt that he would get there in time to start his new job in Owen Sound at mid-day.

And so I cross Bay Street, through the barriers that have been pulled aside to stop THEM stopping us from walking directly into the Union Station instead of trudging back up the hill to join the throngs at Front and Bay streets.

To access York Concourse from here it is necessary to battle up the stairs against the thousands (literally) who are exiting platforms, but I struggle until the top of the stairs when the crowd thins out (natch!) and walk along platform five until I can descend in peace to York Concourse.

I have checked my train time (07:28) and that the little coffee stand with free coffee is no longer present (sad) and availed myself of the washrooms and still found time to take another photo of “Platform three” which is, in effect, the Union Pearson Express , but of course you can’t get to the train from platform three; you are supposed to walk East to the Great Hall, then all this way back West again.

What a truly stupid arrangement.

You can count on at least one young passenger with feet on the seat. Why do I always get the feeling that if I did this in their home on their couch they’d be upset?

And so to Whitby in the lightening sky. I ask a DRT driver where the GO Buses are – behind him – and hop on board the #81 thereby becoming half the passenger population and reducing the status of the other guy from 100% to a mere 50%.

Such Power!

I introduce myself to the driver and offer to buy him a coffee in Beaverton (my technique of making sure that the bus doesn’t leave without me) but he says he has to take the bus to the depot (in Beaverton!) for service.

Service? He has but forty-five minutes. What can you do with a bus in 45 minutes? Top up the fuel tank and let the driver use the kitchenette, apparently.

Does this mean that there is a staff, undoubtedly of two in case one has to use the washroom, stationed in Beaverton for the unlikely event that a bus needs oil. Or a lube job. Or an indicator lamp bulb replaced (“This one keeps going off and on”)?

My driver has been forty-one years in service, mostly on GO buses, but doesn’t have an answer to my question of what happens to the drivers of GO trains once they have pulled the train from Barrie to Union. I refuse to die until I learn the answer to this conundrum

Here we are heading North up what might be Simcoe Street. I thought I recognized the street from consulting trips up to Port Perry twenty years ago, but it turns out I recognized only the style of street layout and buildings – my regular route was north up Lake Ridge Road. Still it brought back memories.

And here we are at Dundas Street. I had forgotten it ran through here. Theory is you could drive from here to Dundas, but there must be a gap somewhere because Dundas Street East (of Yonge) peters out near Woodbine Avenue where it gets swallowed up by Kingston Road, just before reaching Scarborough.

Still and all it might be worth a short day out walking the shopping districts of Whitby on a mild but short winter’s day.

The fall colours have arrived and I took this shot as a building site’s dump of soil zoomed past the bus.

Then a part of the new highway-what? Zoomed under us as we sped north. Is this an extension to highway 407?

I spot a westbound #52 GO bus as we amble through Thickson and Winchester. Could that be a bus out of Oshawa via Durham College?

I am sitting across from the wheelchair-area (“wheelcharea”?) in the seats which have slightly more space than regular seats. You can’s see it in this photo but the seat covers are muted green and gray fabric.

On the skyline little-boxes continue their march away from Lake Ontario across the farming lands.

The stop announcements amuse me. Where else in the world could you be told that you are approaching the intersection of “Highway seven and highway twelve at highway seven-ay”?

We are in the much-flared outskirts of Port Perry. The traditional south-western architecture of Arizona and San Diego has reached this far North. Again.

We stop at Curts and Water streets in Port Perry, but I stay seated. I have decided that today there is plenty of time to “do” Beaverton and all stops North as well as a stay in Port Perry.

This is Sunderland, or at least, an intersection where the bus makes a stop before proceeding, and I take advantage of the opportunity to let auto-focus perform.

We are going to turn left, north, but to our right I catch a glimpse of more shops. More, but not a lot more.

Sunderland is not a place to shop. The main street will be dead. I know, because I spotted a Wal-Mart as we came into town, and Wal-Mart spells the death of Main Street. Always.

I did spot a sign pointing to a Public Library though, so Sunderland can’t be that bad.

The good news is that the sky is clearing up. This is my first view of blue sky since dawn.

From this point on as we trundled along #7E/#12N a steady stream of dump-truck trailer units went past us; I think at about one every three minutes. Where are they going?

We swing into a parking lot in Cannington and swing out again. Cannington is a two-minute jaunt off the main highway, and looks to be very much like Sunderland.

Cannington is home to Brock High School.

I hop off the bus in Beaverton right outside the café which, the driver assures me, is the best breakfast in town.

But we spot the “CLOSED” sign from the bus. Never mind, says the driver, “cross the bridge and there’s another one; I’ll pick you up outside the CIBC”.

He pulls away and on closer inspection I see that the penciled sign says “Closed Tuesdays” but also “Open for coffee”, so I poke my head in the door and yes, the Nice Lady will do me Toast And Jam.

Turns out Tuesdays is the day for cleaning the fryer and doing the paperwork. Also the wait staff get one day off a week.

After breakfast #2 I stroll Beaverton. Took me five minutes. The Town Hall is outside the café and while renovation work is underway it must be admitted that the clock is functioning and keeping good time. That’s more than can be said for some towns. In particular the clock tower on Yonge Street just north of College.

I enter the town hall and avail myself of a library pamphlet ( www.brocklibraries.ca ) and a Durham Trails brochure.

Libraries in Beaverton, Cannington and Sunderland. Closed Mondays and Sundays.

The Durham Trails brochure makes me think. I remember Uxbridge’s proud boast that concerning trails it contained more, or longer, or more urban, or more something than anywhere else somewhere.

Perhaps the day will come when I’ll set off with my shoulder bag packed with lunch and snacks and walk all the trails; a mild winter’s day at short notice would do the trick.

Apart from the café (which technically is closed), Beaverton is basically closed at half-past ten on a Tuesday. I travel on Tuesdays after my trip to Cobourg/Port Hope which (towns) are half-closed on Mondays.

This row of stores is essentially shut up.

The first store is For Rent

The second store is brown-papered out.

The third store is open on weekends only; other times by appointment. The “clearance” sign suggests that it will be permanently closed soon.

The ice-cream store saw me coming.

As did what might be a haberdashery if I decided to haber-dash in and scoop up a bargain. Which I can’t.

Across the street, what looks like a restaurant is closed, although it’s not clear to me whether it will open for lunch, or never again.

Next door is a restaurant, closed, perhaps part of the previous shot. Who knows? No sign of life at any rate.

The take-out is closed AND the curtains drawn; never a good sign.

So much for my switch to traveling on Tuesdays because (Cobourg!) country stores are closed on Mondays.

I make my way to the bridge. Fred and I came here one day thinking to launch “Big Red” but found that the weir gates were open and the creek was a trickle of mud.

I am standing on the left bank immediately below the weir. The town of Beaverton has made an effort to make a historic park with photos of the early days.

Here is a view from the same spot looking downstream from the dam. Not a good canoeing spot, but a great paddling spot if you are a bit older than a toddler.

Upstream of the dam is a spot for canoeing, but who knows how far it stretches?

A zoom shot provides part of the answer. Rapids mean a shallow rocky bottom.

I cross the street and pause to take a photo of the storm that is beginning to blot out the sky. This quite unnerves the Junior Hood who had anticipated that I would step off the foot path when I didn’t hear his silent approach from the rear.

He is wobbling off on his way, almost recovered from his near-tumble from his wheeled weapon of injury.

After that there’s little left to do. I wandered into Foodland and purchased two large Gala Apples for my thirst, wandered out again and took a shot of the mural. Shades of Orangeville and its historic murals.

So. Sit on a bench and wait for the bus to take me back to Port Perry. Roughly half of the vehicles passing through this intersection are utility trucks. There seems to be much activity of a trades nature, yet the town is so quiet. Can this just be farmers visiting each other for coffee?

The sun is out; that large storm cloud is behind me, and ahead of me are more storm clods. We are well and truly into the autumn storms of disturbed weather masses and the heat-exchange cycle continues and the earth tilts its way through the belts of warm and cool air.

And so to Port Perry, minutes before noon. Lunch time!

From the little bus stop at Curts and Water I make my way to the old business district. There are a half dozen places to eat along this newer stretch of store fronts. I could take my pick.

The main street proper starts way to the left of this shot; walk past that large three-(four?) storey building and hang a left.

But what’s this I see? “ The Standard ”. The local newspaper office. Always a good place to visit.

I collect a free local newspaper (last week’s; if I care to wait twenty-four hours the next issue will be out) and am told that Captain George’s Fish and Chips is the best place in town.

I continue my stroll and take a shot across what is almost the southern end of lake Scugog. The lake continues under the bridge/causeway. The tree caught my attention.

Fred and I initiated this ice-cream store; we were the first customers the day it opened ( Saturday, April 25, 2009 ) and I had hoped to re-visit today, but despite the tree notices announcing “NEW FALL FLAVOURS” the other sign announcing “Fall Hours” means it has Fallen (Nice one Chris!) out of favour with me.

Sigh!

And so to Captain George’s where I dined VERY well on a slab of Halibut and French Fries and a Coleslaw Salad that I consumed.

Normally I can’t stand fish-and-chip restaurant coleslaw salad, but enquiries revealed that this salad was made with lemon juice instead of vinegar. It sure made a difference.

Now, when was the last time you got to order Baklava for dessert in a Fish And Chips shop?

I thought so!

As I make my way to the Scugog Memorial Public Library I spot the BOOK warehouse; I remember this place from my several weekend visits here years ago.

But the Library calls. This is a new building but (the history inside the main door tells me) the fifth incarnation. Starting with a Mechanics Institute, then a YWCA library, a 1937(?) opening and a later one (did it say 1975?) followed by this one.

I like towns that keep rebuilding their library. It shows a focus on reading and learning way past the schools level.

The building is geared towards green construction and maintenance and a collection of wall-mounted plaques educate me in the matters of the various efforts made to lower the impact of the building.

Study cubicles of a bond wood lead the mind away from “shelves” and across the calm waters of Lake Scugog.

The blond wood theme continues through the library. I used a reading desk to study my map of Port Perry (pamphlet rack inside the main door) and bus times back to Toronto.

The children’s section is large, and includes a bunch of activities tables – wooden building blocks and the like.

I bought a few books and a large coffee mug (Slogan: “I Read Dead People”) and a bright green bag which I will flaunt at my local branches in Toronto to show that I have visited Scugog Library.

By a divine miracle the mug did not break on any of the occasions when, inside the bag, it got bumped against doorways, seat brackets, subway trains etc all the way home.

So then a visit to the Kent Farndale Gallery and a somewhat modern interpretation of life in Irish coastal villages.

More Green Education. I wonder if the library has a full set of these on its web site; must go look ...

There are links to photos and a virtual tour on our website at the bottom of the history page: http://www.scugoglibrary.ca/about/library-history-photos/ .

I left the library and re-visited “BOOKS” which turned out to be Willow Books – the same store that I visit on Bloor Street near (?) St George. I felt quite at home.

And so off to explore the main street. I began my walk at the far end of this street, left hand side, and walked west, towards where I’m standing taking this shot, but of course, on the far side of the street.

If you can understand that.

The buildings are neat, but the street is quiet. There is very little pedestrian traffic, but I confess that as the wind whips up and the clouds descend I’d rather stay inside with a nice cuppa.

I continue walking eastwards along the southern side. I had previously walked past Lukes and the health store.

I wish now that I had taken some photos of the historic and informative plaques on each building telling the history of ownership and use of the building.

And with a view to catching the 16:02 GO Bus home I stopped off for a coffee (two actually) and a review of my purchased reading material. And mug.

I think I was in Pickles and Olives. Odd name for a coffee bar. Whatever. A large interior, décor is coffee. My cappuccino came in a coffee-themed cup and saucer and was (no hesitation) absolutely the best-tasting cappuccino coffee I’ve had in the past ten years.

I don’t order a lot of cappuccino, but promise to take another one in this coffee shop next time I’m in Port Perry.

The bus came; I left; we rolled into Whitby.

I am still keen on riding the DRT but the nearest bus driver looked around his seat and confessed to not having a paper map; DRT doesn’t return my phone calls or emails. I know that they have sheet maps because one of them is pinned on the wall inside the Whitby GO station.

I boarded the 17:02 GO train exactly sixty minutes after leaving Port Perry, and with sinking heart realized yet again that I’d forgotten to swipe my card.

It’s not my fault. It’s because I have taken mainly GO buses where it is impossible to board without swiping the card. On the rare times I board a train to come home I am tired (but happy) and just don’t get arrested by the sight of the tiny pillars called (by me) swipe-stations.

I make my way back to the conductor but he can do nothing about it.

I am ticked off, not at the possibility of getting caught, but because I am trying to report the cost of travel for these “Day out of Toronto” trips.

At Union Station I adopt my rat-in-a-maze persona and scurry through the ever-rearranged plywood partitions until I am spewed into York Concourse. An intimate chat with another Nice lady and she agrees to fake my trip from Whitby to Union.

My final balance reads $12.92 (but of course this balance amount cannot be printed on the paper slip; it must be reported orally and hand-written!).

$30.08 for the trip. The train each way was just under $10, so the bus trip seems to have consumed $10 all the way to Beaverton and back.

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7092187927 CPRGreaves@gmail.com

Bonavista, Wednesday, June 03, 2020 8:34 AM

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