Start Your Engines

I don't think I've blogged much about my brother's hobby, have I? He races go-karts competitively. I know...cool, huh? He bought a kart (which I always describe as a chassis with a lawn mower engine and a steering wheel) and all the associated gear. He looks kind of impressive when he's all suited up, doesn't he? Funny story: the place where he ordered his shoes turned out to not have the ones he wanted, so they gave him a pair of better shoes for the same price. They're flame retardant. I asked him what the odds are that he would need flame retardant shoes, and he said very small. But in the event that there is some kind of spectacular accident, every part of his body will go up in flames, except for his feet.

This is his first year, so he's "the Rookie". Today was his fourth race. Usually, his friend Calin goes with him when he races, but he's in Romania for two months, so I've been recruited to help him out in the pit. I've already helped him once on Canada Day. While it may sound glamourous (or not), all it really involves is some heavy lifting, and a lot of sitting and waiting. Each weight and engine class (novice, junior light, junior heavy, senior light, senior heavy, junior rotax, senior rotax, and masters) goes through four rounds: practice, qualifying, pre-final, and final. So, you can imagine how uneventful it can be. But today was kind of exciting. I almost got run over by a junior heavy kart. Apparently his brakes malfunctioned during the practice and he came off the track with no way of stopping. He somehow managed to steer his way around everyone standing in the pit before being pulled to a stop by some of the fathers.

It was also "picture day". They had a professional photographer on the track taking pictures of the racers. I told Steve that he probably has some of the best shots in the group because, as opposed to the more experienced drivers who were always going around in a group, he was always by himself at the back of the pack.

But it's all in good fun. He had a good practice, but his qualifying round was pretty poor. Turns out his rear axle had become loose and was shifting around. We didn't realize this until just a few minutes before the pre-final. One of the fathers (also named Steve) helped him out and we were able to get him onto the grid just as they were about to start. That improved his performance drastically, and by the end of the final, he had beaten his previous race's best time by a second. And nobody lapped him. So now he's pretty confident that he'll be able to finish second-last next time. Hopefully he'll be able to race against his new nemesis, #7. He probably would have passed #7 this time if the other guy didn't suffer a setback in the first lap of the race and had to pull out.

Until we meet again...

"He's going the distance, he's going for speed"

Strap On Your Tango Shoes

My taste in music is varied, to say the least. I'll pretty much listen to anything and everything. My brother Steve is very similar, but he experiences waves of interest. He'll like a certain kind of music or artist for several months, and then it will be replaced with something almost completely different. He's gone from Mozart to the Spice Girls to Shania Twain to Diana Krall to Linkin Park to Bond to Stars, from what I can recall. I'm sure there were other flavours in between. Lately, he has developed a taste for tango music. So he asked me if I wanted to join him to see a band called Narcotango, who was playing at a place downtown last night. I said okay.

We got to the venue (a former church, it would seem) a little late, so there were no seats available. We went upstairs and surveyed the scene. The stage was set up where I suppose the altar would have been, and there was a bar in the back. The balcony wrapped around the perimeter, so we had a pretty good view of the dance floor below. There was a DJ spinning some interesting tango music, and people started dancing.

Being a girl, the first thing I noticed was the shoes. All of the ladies had similar looking shoes: high heeled, closed toe, with straps across the middle. Some of the designs were a little different, and although most of them were black, there were some white pairs and even red. These ladies came prepared to dance.

Then there was the dancing. It was fascinating watching these people move. Their legs kept weaving back and forth. A few times there were couples who almost collided, but otherwise everyone continuously moved chaotically around the floor with no problems. There was a boy who was trying to cross the room, and it was like watching a game of Frogger.

The demographics were all over the map, people from all ages and ethnicities. The combinations ranged from professional-looking couples with the women in flowy dresses, to casually dressed couples, to a pair of ladies dancing together, to a single woman twirling around by herself. Every couple was moving to a different rhythm and tempo, despite the fact that they were all listening to the same music. It looked really fun, although I wasn't about to try since I was with Steve and I have no idea how to tango. Plus I'm not entirely sure that I can handle that level of coordination.

"Now I've had the time of my life, no I've never felt this way before"

London Calling

My heart sank this morning as I listened to the news of the bombs in the London transit. Naturally, it stirred up the memories of my trip to London just over a month ago. Looking at the locations of the explosions also made me pause a little, noting that they were all in close proximity to my hotel. I, like almost everyone in the city, took the Underground everywhere every day, and became a pro to the point where I was giving directions to people who asked me. I could still hear the voice of the train's automated announcer, calling out the stations as we approached them.

Edgware Road...
Russell Square...
King's Cross-St. Pancras...
Aldgate...

Of course, my thoughts then went to my cousin. Thankfully, she's fine and was not in the vicinity at the time.

It's a little staggering to think about how one day you can be so deliriously happy, and the next day so profoundly sad. I hope that any and all of your friends and relatives in London are safe tonight.

"London calling to the faraway towns, now that war is declared and battle come down"