Strait Road


I sacrificed everything. And this is all I get? Strait Road? It’s not fair. There’s no “g” and there’s no “h”. And that’s just wrong. What in the world’s name are these people doing down here? Nobody lives here. This is a joke.

It’s like that build up of mucous in your throat. It just won’t go away until you cough it up. We need answers. Spit it out. And we’ll be here all night until you do. And all day too and every other thing. I need a coffee.

I’m reminded of, “There is no there, there.” And how right Gertrude was.  In her patented, semi-incoherent style I see she was talking about Oakland, California where she once lived, but for years I thought the remark was about Canada.  Something got confused.  I need to think less.

It’s not as if I really want to go down Strait Rd. I don’t. And I’m not going to. What for? I just want to have the information available. You know, in case I need it. Knowledge is power. Power is often out. I could be doing something else but my curiosity’s engaged. What’s down here? It’s exploring. We’re doing National Geographic here. Everybody’ll enjoy knowing and the photography, oh the photography. I mean Canadian Geographic.

Stay in the moment. Play your position. Whatever’s happening on Strait Road, do it. Do as the Strait Road-ers do. The thing is there is no “Strait Road”. But there’s the sign, and there’s the “road”. It’s an affront to cartography because you won’t find it on any map. Enough is enough.

How did it get named if it doesn’t exist? There’s a lot of things like that. I mean people are begging for answers. Questions are asked, questions are ignored. It all works out. Strait Road is what you call an anomaly. It has to exist and the sign’s the proof. It’s physics. But there’s a world beyond the sign.

All right we get it. Of course we get it. Strait Road Georgia Strait. Because if I go down there I’ll get to the strait. I’ll get there all right in about ten seconds. Boat launch. In the remote past a “road” to the strait is hacked and we launch and get out there and get the fish. The road goes straight to the strait. Is that it? A puzzled child looks up at you sweetly. Such a dear.

I got Georgia on my mind now. Georgia Strait. Strait of Georgia. Strait Road. Life is an accumulation of a vast amount of at first seemingly insignificant events. That’s not happening around here. I can see it. This one’s going to be different. Again, I feel that tension before hitting the beach.

What on earth? What on earth is going on here on Strait Road? It sounds incredible. I can’t believe it myself. No one could have predicted it but there is absolutely nothing going on down Strait Road. And, again, to tell you the truth, there’s hardly anything to it. What kind of a place is this? With a road sign? I need a hug.

David McFadden wrote a book called “A Trip Around Lake Huron”. He thought pretty highly of it so he wrote “A Trip Around Lake Erie” which really got him going and he wrote “A Trip Around Lake Ontario”. Then I think he got bored because there were still two Great Lakes left and he didn’t bother.

But he did bother to write another book called “An Innocent In Scotland” which fired his imagination enough to write “An Innocent In Newfoundland” which could only lead inevitably to “An Innocent In Cuba”.

Strange as it sounds, its kind of like what I’m doing except I’m doing it in miniature because this is a miniature island. I mean, have you seen this island on the TV weather map? The one the nice lady stands next to while she waves her arms all over and gives you the forecast?

This island’s tiny. It’s there on the map but practically infinitesimal. It’s a solitary little piece of stone no one knows about. That’s all I’m doing. David McFadden was a very good writer and I should read him some day.

Splendor Sine Occasu