Flattened at Clearwater! (Part 1)

Gentle readers: all gravel roads are not created equal.

Lord knows this blog has never been intended to serve as any sort of educational endeavour, beyond the trivial or the overshared, but if you learn naught else, I beseech and implore you to realize this one fact: Forestry Service Roads are different.

Thanks to visits to my wife's old stomping grounds around High River, I am completely inured at this point to driving or being a passenger on gravel roads while travelling at speeds in excess of 90 or even 100 km/h. Heck, many of these roads have posted speeds of 80 km/h, suggesting that slightly higher speeds are by no means beyond the pale.

But as we made our way out of the town of Clearwater B.C. on our way to our reserved campsite at Mahood Lake in Wells Gray Provincial Park, Google Maps informed us we would be traveling 63 km over a Forestry Service Road (FSR) for over an hour and a half.

While hardly ideal, we had come out here to camp and get dirty after all, so with Audrey at the wheel we got stuck in. The posted speed limit was 50 km/h, up a steep incline and with multiple segments of washboard or areas strewn with holes ranging in depth from two to six inches, so we were rarely at that speed, and towing the Bride of Frankentrailer to boot. I don't think we saw another vehicle while we were under way either.

It was intermittently scenic, with mountain vistas and dense evergreen forests, and we spotted perhaps two dozen tiny bunnies eating something off the gravel before passing the 23 km marker, which was when we heard the portside trailer tire blow out completely.

Now, what we did not know at that point is that the gravel on FSRs is not the smooth, rounded specimen of your traditional rural routes. Heavens no, these are  jagged and pointy bits of weaponized mineral so spiteful that experienced offroaders will often 'air down' their tires to 20 or even 15 psi before traversing FSRs. And there we were, dodging what my Mum called chuckholes at 50-60 km/h while towing a trailer whose tires were lovingly inflated by Audrey the previous day to the recommended 80 psi.

Honestly, it is a wonder we made it as far as we did.

But there we were, with a shredded tire, 1/3 of the way to our destination. With no other recourse, we unloaded the Lander to access the jack and tire iron, and Audrey got the spare off the back of the trailer while I got the scissor jack situated. Laying down in the dusty gravel while Audrey brushed increasingly large and aggressive horseflies off my back, I painstakingly twisted the scissor jack to a point where it at least met the frame of the trailer, which was no mean feat, given how much lower everything was when compared to, say, a car.

It has probably been a decade since I changed a tire, and the lift points on a 50-year old tent trailer are not nearly as clearly marked (i.e. not discernible at all) as those on the Corolla (or the Lander, presumably). I make no apologies for my ignorance, why have an AMA membership if you aren't going to use it, after all?

I will apologize for forgetting that the lug nuts must be loosened before lifting the vehicle, or the wheel will simply spin as you fruitlessly lean on your tire iron. But after lowering the jack, I realized the fairing or wheelguard or whatever you want to call it made accessing the nuts even more difficult than usual. But this was not the biggest problem. 

The tire iron for the Lander did not fit the lug nuts on the trailer. 

In retrospect, this was predictable, but up until that fateful moment, lug nuts had existed, in my mind, as a universal constant. Somehow I had forgotten the ubiquitous cross bar tire iron of my youth, with its four distinct sizes. 

It quickly became clear that none of our tools were going to fit the bill, and I had already dismissed two helpful loggers in their pickups, so there was naught else to do but to disconnect the trailer and make our way back to Clearwater.

Audrey drove so that once we were back in cellular range I could use data to find the phone number for a towing company to come change the tire for us as I was hot, sweaty, exhausted and running out of daylight. But when I reached them, I learned in rapid succession that 1) no one could get up there before late tomorrow morning and 2) the hourly rate (including travel time) and surcharge for a callout to an FSR meant the last one had cost the forestry company $750. "It's blowout after blowout up there," he told me, "especially after they grade it."

Since this was more than the cost of the trailer itself, I was crestfallen, After some discussion as to the tools I would need in order to get the tire off, and the realization that even if local stores had what I needed, they had all closed over an hour ago, he suggested he could rent me what I needed, and in a strange mixture of hope and desperation, I agreed. 

We drove to the shop where he helped me load up a three-ton floor jack, an 18" breaker bar (a non-ratcheting, long handled socket wrench with a swivel in the middle so you can flip the wrench 180 degrees while keeping it on the nut), a full set of up-scaled sockets and some penetrating spray to loosen the nuts themselves.

We made our way back to marker 23 at a much more reasonable rate of speed, but not before discovering that there were no rooms to be had in town but the Clear Water Country Inn had space for our trailer so we booked a spot. We also grabbed a Subway on our way out of town and my lovely wife fed me as I cautiously navigated the FSR once more.

Once reunited with our stranded Bride, I still struggled to get the breaker bar around the fairing. I got the 3/4" socket seated on one lug and managed to loosen it but with the bar trapped underneath the trailer itself, it was going to be a tedious process as I could only move it a couple of inches before hitting either the trailer or the road. 

Audrey pointed at the tray of sockets, indicating one with some kind of swivel; "would that help you get a better angle on it maybe?"

I looked and shook my head in frustration. "No, it just changes the direction, when what I need is some kind of exten- hello, what's this?"

Very close to the swivel attachment was an extension that added perhaps 6" to the socked itself, already perhaps 5" long...which was enough to clear the fairing!

It was still a laborious endeavour getting all the nuts loosened, but with generous applications of the penetrating spray and an appropriate transfer of furious mass and desperate grip to the breaker bar, we were soon in business.

Audrey got the somewhat enormous jack under the trailer frame and with three large pumps, I had enough space to get the wheel off and the spare back on. We had to lower it, raise it, spin the wheel and lower it once more in order to get all the nuts tightened properly, but we sorted that out pretty quickly with the big jack. 

Dusty, sweaty, exhausted but triumphant, we made our way to the RV park and set up camp. The site was nothing to speak of but it did feature free showers, and I have never been so grateful for an amenity in my entire life. Unfortunately our campsite, in addition to being very close to Hwy 5, was also  situated right next a a 24-hr gas station that had semis rolling in and out all night long, but it was also close to Kal Tire, which we would need the next morning.

The following day, we wasted no time after waking up from a sleep best decribed as restless and headed straight over to Kal Tire where the incredibly helpful and empathetic Dagan explained he could indeed get the tire I needed but not before Friday noon. When I told him I might be back after searching around (as it was only Tuesday), he checked other nearby locations and told me the Kal Tire in Kamloops (90 min away) had six of them in stock.

And so, with bacon & eggers from the local A&W in hand, Audrey and I set out for Kamloops...

(CONTINUED IN PART 2)

The Cup: Half-Empty

Lionel Messi, at 39, played an astonishing 120 minutes of football in the World Cup final tonight. In addition to losing the game 1-0, as team captain he led his Argentinian team and maybe his nation into ignominy.

In an absolutely brutal display, his team was not only outplayed to an embarrassing degree by the Spanish side, but earned the disrespect of much of the global audience by playing in a completely undisciplined and thuggish manner that was not only unsporting but also dangerous.

If you look up the play that earned Enzo Fernández his second yellow card and ejection from the game in the 93rd minute, you will see a man take out another player in a way that suggests that if the rumours of preferential treatment by officials are not true, that at least he believed them.

Brutal fouling, dirty play, and cheap shots that the Argentinian fans describe as ‘passionate’, ‘spirited’, or ‘part of the (South American) game have followed La Albicelestes throughout this tournament, despite having one of the easier pools and even paths to the final, particularly in their match against Egypt.

Even worse, after the final whistle, ARG player Nahuel Molina took a swing at .Spanish captain Rodri as he trotted past to celebrate with his teammates, and I think he connected. Rodri turned around to confront Molina, there were words, then shoves, a scrum formed and then Leandro Paredes jumped in, shoving, throat punching, throwing a second Spanish player down to the ground and got the game’s second red card for his troubles. (Fun fact: if the six red cards doled out at World Cup finals over a near-century, three of them belong to Argentina…)

And then, during the trophy ceremony, the Argentines appeared to turn their backs on Spain as they hoisted the trophy - truly classless.

It’s a sad way to end Messi’s legacy as the dominant player of the last decade and some, but I have no sympathy for the man. On top of him personally riding Jude Bellingham out on the sidelines in a headlock worthy of a steer wrestler at the Calgary Stampede during the semifinal against England, he tried to get Spanish player Marc Cucurella sent off under FIFA’s new rule prohibiting mouth covering during confrontations (a way to punish players trying to conceal racist attacks on opponents).

The video makes it abundantly clear that Cucurella was only pointing to his lips, not covering his mouth, but Messi’s hand shot up in a callous attempt to turn the situation to his advantage, which, blessedly, didn’t work.

Gracias to Spain for playing a great match and restoring some faith in football, if not FIFA.

Messi can cry himself to sleep on a pillow filled with money, and you know what? I kind of hope he does.

The Cup, Half-Full (2026)

My enjoyment of this year's World Cup, like most of the sporting events I bother to follow, is a mass of contradictions.

I hated watching Canada lose to Morocco, a solid, solid team.

I loved Canada not only making it out of group but into the Round of 16 for the first time! 
And playing the best 45 minutes in the history of the CANMNT for the first 45 minutes. This will not be our last World Cup!

I hated watching Canadian mid-fielder, Ismail Koné, get his leg broken after a flawed tackle attempt by a player from Qatar. 

I loved seeing that same player, bereft at the consequences of his action, being consoled by a Canadian player before being eject from the game. (The Qatari player, Qassim Madibo, not only visited the Candian locker room to apologize immediately after the game, but visited Koné in the hospital the following day.)

I hate having 48 teams in the round robin (with the possibility to expand the tournament to 64 teams by 2030).

I loved having Cabo Verde, a tiny group of islands off the coast of Africa with half a million souls and a 40-year-old goalkeeper, make it out of group undefeated and hold the reigning champs, Argentina to only a 3-2 victory in the round of 16.

I hate the corruption of international organized sport, which seems so endemic, being made so blatantly visible by Trump's demand that a red-carded American player be allowed to compete, and FIFA capitulating.

I love that Belgium, a weaker team on paper and not having a great tournament up to that point, beat the USA in a great match, and that the red-carded player made a point of shaking hands with the Belgian coach.

I hate knowing that, of his own free will, English captain Harry Kane played a round of golf with Donald Trump.

I loved seeing Jude Bellingham score a brace of goals in Estadio Azteca, perhaps the most intmidating staidum in the world for a visiting team, leading ENG to a thrilling  victory (seriously, the match to beat for years to come in my eyes). 

(Even better, after the Congo game Bellingham stopped to speak to a disabled reporter from Venezuela that almost everyone else in the tunnel ignored, and in Spanish, sent well wishes to the people there struggling after an earthquake.)

And despite his Norwegian side losing to England yesterday, I loved learning that Erling Haaland exists. 

My Instagram and Threads feeds are filled with this enormous lug, this Shrek-adjacent behemoth who, as near as I can tell, is winning the hearts of millions simply by being a hard-playing, decent human who appears to be one of the few millionaires playing professional football to actually be enjoying himself while respecting others.

And as long as we are talking about Norway, let's give it up for their brilliant team kit, unequalled team photos, and most importantly, their Viking row, hands down the best fan movement since the Mexican wave.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5WUEqEkQZU

In the end, bringing the four corners of the globe together in sport will always be problematic - there is too much money, too many problematic personalities, too much greed for it to be otherwise. But despite this, the positive moments and quality individuals continue to make it a worthwhile endeavour, at least for me.

Still More Monsters of the Manual

Even without comparing it to subsequent editions, the very first Monster Manual for what was then called Advanced Dungeons & Dragons was simply not a very good book. There are some typos and formatting issues and such, but the biggest reason is the art. 

Much of it is just not very good, drawn by seemingly whomever TSR could get to sketch something up by the deadline for the first-ever hardcover D&D book. There are exceptions (nearly everything by David Trampier, for instance), and a lot of entries have no art whatsoever, which is probably (?) worse.

But how many nerds like me did that 1977 book draw in and then never let go? Many of those images are still conjured up behind my eyes by the mere mention of the names of these esoteric creations, regardless of their quality.

And over the four decades I've played D&D, I have always sought to fill in the corners with some of the more iconic monsters and some other personal favourites, many times just because of the evocative memories of the art that accompanied them.

Most recently I added a displacer beast (mentioned in my 2020 post about iconic monsters in miniature) as well as a pair of perytons - harpy-like stags that not only consume human hearts, but whose shadows reveal the silhouette of a man and not a beast (tragically irreproducible in miniature form).

It's been six years now since that monster post, and I have been filling out the corners of my Monster Manual collection:

There are a number of things preventing me from having a truly comprehensive index of MM miniatures (lack of funds, time, storage space and interest to name but a few), but adding a few classics like these has been pretty rewarding - even for someon who only plays D&D in person perhaps a dozen times a year!