A bit more about Gabriola.

I succeed in getting Yann to read the last post: I find that people are more motivated to read my posts when they know they’ve been mentioned. I don’t think I’ll get the friendly e-biker who said, “Have a good ride!” as he zipped past us. Yann and I had stopped after the climb out of Mill Bay Terminal to remove our jackets.

I turned to Yann and repeated what I thought the guy had said.

Yann looked surprised. “That’s exactly what he said. Word for word.”

My lipreading ability is heavily dependent on context, which brings me to the freshest experience to be filed under, “Just fucking write, please.”

Continue reading “A bit more about Gabriola.”

Return to Gabriola.

Welcome to Greg Minnaar’s Tour of Terror. First stop: my shower.

Technically, he’s been making people shit themselves a little since he arrived at the bike shop two years ago. He didn’t have to try very hard either: he’d just stand there motionless, and people would jump. What talent. Apparently, he can also do backflips on a bike.

Last week, a colleague was about to eliminate him for once and all. As I was about to enter the break room, Greg took a nosedive in front of me from behind the doorway, jolting my heart.

“Wait. You’re getting rid of him? May I have him?” I asked as soon as I realized it was just Greg, and he was on his way into the dumpster.

Continue reading “Return to Gabriola.”