Uxbridge for the day – Execution

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Off at 5:55, all excited, walk down Bay Street (this is EASY!) in the shade of the towers and so to the Bay Street Go Bus terminal.

As usual I have a question, but as unusual the ticket wickets are closed. Puzzling. Buses are coming and going, in particular disgorging small flocks of travelers, but there is nobody at the service counters.

I sit for a minute to take a photo. The bus to Uxbridge is displayed on the departures board, but has no platform assigned as yet.

I wander over to the rack of timetables and get a couple more for my collection.

The door opens beside me and two GO employees come out from the employees-only area and make a short line-up at the closed wicket. “Its closed” I say; “No! It’s Open!”. “The blinds are down and there’s no one there”. It must be obvious, two feet in front of the first one.

I refuse to stand in line behind two privileged employees and wander off to spend cash on two newspapers for the trip up the Don Valley Parkway.

The bus is announced and I join the lineup outside, outside the parked bus with its door closed.

Only after the driver arrives and we board do I realize that the driver is one of the two privileged employees who was in such a hurry to wait in line at the ticket wicket.

Surely the bus driver doesn’t have to buy a ticket to drive the bus?

We positively scream up the High-Occupancy-Vehicle lanes (HOV) of the Don Valley Parkway non-stop to Unionville, then stop along the way to Stouffville which we reach at 7:35.

My plan is to stopover in Stouffville for 50 minutes, which I do, but this plan was predicated on my purchasing an all-day paper ticket, which being “all-day” permitted me to break my journey (or back-track and repeat) as often as I wanted. Today I am using my new Presto card, so in a sense, the stopover is suddenly meaningless.

None the less I find a coffee shop and treat myself to a coffee and a muffin, stroll the main street, and note the number of restaurants and coffee shops available for supper on the way home, should I chose.

This photo accompanies the previous one; the first looking east, this one looking west. The street is beautiful; someone cares.

The Bagel shop is open. I suppose I could have had a toasted bagel and a sit-down here instead of a muffin and a coffee. Maybe they do a bagel-egg-bacon sandwich; who knows?

There is a (for me) swanky Italian restaurant for supper, should I choose.

And here is where I could have got a bacon-and-egg breakfast, had I spotted it as we trundled past it.

(The driver had the front window blinds down obliterating my view; I hadn’t realized we were AT Stouffville GO station until we were pulling away so I jumped off at the next stop.)

And so into Uxbridge on time at 9:15 via the second bus out of the stable at 7:40. Roughly speaking, at the time I was collecting my coffee and muffin in Stouffville, my bus was leaving Union Station.

Go Transit terminus in Uxbridge is fittingly at the old railway station, the heart and soul of the York-Durham Heritage Railway Association .

They own and possibly run at least two types of passenger coaches and some diesel locomotives.

A rake of operating carriages is drawn up along the tidy wooden platform.

There you go, almost seventy miles from Lake Ontario. What a distance THAT was 150 years ago.

That’s my GO bus catching its breath and building up steam for the trip back to Toronto.

I’m glad I wasn’t here on Sunday, although I had no plans to be. This notice and the one of the library being closed on Monday remind me that it ALWAYS makes sense to phone and check that things I really do want to visit are going to be open, barring tempests and earthquakes.

I wander around the old railway station and walk Brock Street searching for a sign that says “Chris; you can catch the 9:30 community bus here” or words to that effect, but give up after half an hour. A man walking a dog says he has no idea (responses can be summarized as “We have a community bus?”); the library staff don’t know but suggest I visit the travel agency. The travel agency, bless them, do have a 3-ring binder with local stuff, but can’t help me on the DRT 701. And even the lollipop lady at the crosswalk, who surely is a local and sees every vehicle that rolls past here doesn’t seem to know.

Worse, I can’t find the standard North American breakfast diner (bacon/sausage/ham with eggs on toast, jam, coffee) which is so essential to kick-starting my day out of the traces.

A dark grey cloud looms over my head as I contemplate my inability to sit on a bus and tour the city while digesting a starchy fatty meal away from my GP, and then another dark grey cloud looms over my head as I stare westwards.

This afternoon’s thunderstorms are arriving early; perhaps they have to hurry off and do a second engagement somewhere else.

My overall scheme is to research a town in the morning cataloguing bolt-holes where I can retreat from rain, fatigue, hunger, boredom and so on. Hasn’t happened, and here comes a storm.

The library staff are friendly despite being overwhelmed by their task.

OK.

The two piles in the foreground are real work.

The stacks behind are a donation-getting work of art.

How much? “Well”, she says pointing to a slim volume glued in place near the bottom, “for a donation two-fifty you can get your name (embossed in gold leaf) on one of these” and I start pulling my wallet out of my hip pocket. I love libraries.

“Then for five hundred ...” she continues and I start pushing my wallet into my hip pocket. It’s dollars per shot, not the price of a medium choco-latte.

Oops.

With no community bus I will have to walk to the Scott-wossit museum which is situated so far on the west edge of town that I feel I could have walked it from Stouffville.

Since it is a long walk (to 6th Concession for heaven’s sake; it’s not even a named street!) I will be burning a great many calories, so I start planning how to replenish them on my trip back.

Many fascinating sights along Brock Street West, not the least of which is a street sign that heralds “South Balsam Street’

While immediately across Brock street is another sign that heralds Balsam Street North.

Odd, to say the least.

I walk past the schools. Of course, with the growth of these peripheral towns as dormitory towns where people sleep and play but work in Toronto, there is a need for new schools to accommodate the student population. The one-room red brick schoolhouse won’t suffice.

A zoom shot looking over one of the school buildings to reveal the houses that supply the students.

This copper (or –plated) work of art is a work of art. See the shaky movie? Also).

Two vaned wheels rotate in opposite directions, powered by the wind.

I continue my walk west, looking back over the valley of the ? which is embraced in a humid haze, a reminder that we are in for a storm.

Uxbridge is billed as Trail City or similar; the region is home to dozens of hiking/biking trails. This one snakes south from Brock Road and finds itself much closer to the downtown core.

This might be good news. To the north it appears that Udora if not Zephyr will be receiving the first thunderstorm and we will hear but a sound as of a rushing mighty wind.

The valley (zoom shot) shrouded in humidity.

Here I am on the edge of civilization; the sidewalk comes to an end and I will continue my uphill slog through cow pastures into the eye of the storm. All this on a stomach devoid of eggs and bacon, too.

There is the odd craft shop opened in homes along the way, but I want to get into the many buildings of the Scott Museum before the storm breaks.

Here is the welcome centre for the museum reached after a 40-minute hike out of town.

That’s not so bad; Wednesdays I usually walk 40 minutes to get to the lunchtime concert north of St Clair Avenue.

It’s not raining yet; this view shows the farm-like setting of the museum.

(Interlude)

Within five minutes of my arrival the rain poured down; donner und blitzen; trapped in the welcome centre.

The staff were in a meeting, but enthusiastic James offered to take me on a tour of each and any of the buildings I wanted. I said if it was OK with him I’d rather just wander by myself and come back with questions. He said OK and ushered me to the back door where we stood and watched the sheets of rain and listened to the thunder and tried not to flinch at the bolts of lightning, at which point he said “I think all the buildings are locked anyway” which pretty much sealed the deal, so I sat in the lobby and read my newspapers for half an hour.

The rain stopped and I thanked James for the Scott-shelter-from-the-rain-for-stranded-tourists-shelter and walked back to town.

(End of Interlude)

Lunch at Millie’s. Nice. I ordered the haddock and Chips and the waitress said they had a special, same thing but a smaller serve; would I be interested? I would be, and was.

I am a small eater and rather hate leaving piles of food on my plate. Small servings please me.

Then a sign in a window caught my eye.

You would be surprised to hear of an abacus nowadays, am I right?

You would be surprised to see an abacus nowadays, right?

You would be surprised to see abacuses on sale nowadays, right?

You would be surprised to see abacuses on sale in a store in sleepy Uxbridge (population ? and 68 miles from Port Hope)nowadays, right?

So how surprised would you be to find a business that conducted classes in the use of abacuses anywhere in Canada, let alone in sleepy Uxbridge (population ? and 68 miles from Port Hope), right?

I thought as much!

Here is Annie Hardock scooting across the room “No wait, I’ll get a better example”.

Do not be misled. The abacus in Annie’s left hand does NOT have an LED read-out in decimal.

So I spent a pleasant half-hour with Annie (more correctly, Annie spent a half hour of her business time with me) learning why an abacus training centre; we both have backgrounds in mathematics and computing so we touched on number-base systems and the history of early computing.

I know, and told her, that if I lived in Uxbridge I’d attend her classes (if only, but I didn’t tell her this, to push her over the edge with the expression of negative values in a base minus-four number system expressed on an abacus).

She said that Toronto isn’t far.

I fingered my Presto card nervously ...

Here is the storefront at 92 Brock West, I think.

You can’t miss it.

I wandered into the town hall, still searching for the elusive Community Bus; staff there didn’t know about it. By now it is too late; I’ve pretty well sussed out the town on foot and the need for wheeled reconnaissance has passed. This must not, however, happen again on my next day-out.

I left the library wand walked south down Toronto Street because I’d seen a Kawartha Dairy store as we rolled into town six hours ago. And there it was, with the bus-stop right outside, and forty minutes to kill.

So a double-scoop later and a sit under a shady tree and here comes our GO bus right on schedule.

I stroll to the bus stop and wave my hand but the driver doesn’t seem to be slowing.

I wave my Presto card and the driver brakes hard, flings open the door (well actually he fingered a servo-motor lever, but it sure felt like the door was flung open) and let me on.

“This isn’t the bus stop” he explained, and I realized he was right. It wasn’t a GO Transit bus stop. It was Durham Regional Transit stop.

They both are white and green, same shade, for heaven’s sake.

I’d spent all day looking for a bus stop where might pass the Uxbridge Community bus, without seeing one. And now that I am footsore and weary, ready to skip town, I am standing at a DRT bus stop.

Thanks to the GO Transit driver who recognized my situation; it would have been a 60-minute wait in these boon docks for the next bus.

I sat in the middle of the bus in the handicapped seats. There is a wheelchair-loading door here; rather clever idea, I thought.

We positively screamed down the High-Occupancy-Vehicle lanes (HOV) of the Don Valley Parkway non-stop from Unionville to Union Station pulling in just before six, as advertised.

I made some enquiries about the new status of my presto card, and walked outside just in time to miss the #6 Bay Street bus. No matter; peak hour; there’l be another one along in three minutes (you just KNOW what’s going to happen, don’t you!)

On both these trips (Barrie and Uxbridge) I have thought to contain my costs to the day-away, walking to the GO bus and walking back at the end of the day. On both trips I have been lulled (by the comfort of riding in a bus) into thinking that getting home, the last leg, by TTC makes more sense when I am on my last legs.

Of course, this evening we wait about ten minutes for the next bus, and as we struggle up Bay Street I reflect that had I shrugged and walked I’d be home before I’ll be home know, if you know what I mean.

What with right-turning vehicles blocking the lane while pedestrians cross; passengers unable to board because passengers insist on exiting by the front doors in peak hour; cars parked while dropping off a passenger at the kerb and finalizing arrangements for oven temperature for the casserole tomorrow night and cross-traffic blocking the lanes because who knew that the intersection wouldn’t clear in time for me to complete my crossing ...

Where I walked. It doesn’t look like much, but I retraced my steps every inch of the way. Also wandered around that core area for an hour in a futile search for the Community Bus Stop and bacon and eggs!

Conclusion

Every aspect of life has a "worst part” and a “best part” and all parts in between.

Worst Part

What was the worst part of this trip? Not being able to locate and board the DRT 701 Community bus; that left me unaware of the overall structure of the town.

There is no excuse for this failing on my part.

I had downloaded a schedule that told me times at various intersections such as “Toronto and Mill”.

I had downloaded a map that showed me basic intersections such as Toronto and Mill streets.

I had access beforehand to Google Maps, in case I wanted a more detailed idea of streets.

I had not properly read the schedule; I saw 9:30 a.m. and assumed that that would be where the GO Transit bus deposited me, i.e. at the centre of my universe.

Bottom Line: ascertain a real spot and a real time, and then, for heaven’s sake, telephone the transit authority (in this case DRT) to confirm the plan!

Best Part

What was the best part of this trip? I spent a day in the country, hassle free in that I didn’t have to drive, park, and really just walked around where and when I felt like it. That’s a holiday, a break from routine. I ate, drank, and chatted with many local people, strollers, shopkeepers, facilities staff, and didn’t even feel the urge to sit in the library and read a book for half an hour.

What would I do next time?

By the time I reached the end of Toronto Street I was pretty well shagged out. I caught the bus home from the edge of town.

I could have stopped off in Stouffville on the way back and lounged around, had an early supper, but I came straight home.

I could have walked back to Uxbridge centre and lounged around, had an early supper.

It is the same bus fare regardless of what I do. I was home by 6:30, tired and happy, but with daylight hours still left, and had I stayed longer in Uxbridge/Stouffville I’d have met more people ...

My next trip looks like being Peterborough. I shall research local buses in detail, and stay there for supper.

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