WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood and beyond. When I left the house early this morning, there was just a whisper of a breeze and it was very quiet in the various neighborhoods as I made my way to Council Point Park. Once again, homeowners slept with A/C units turned off and enjoyed the cool air coming through windows and screen doors. The Park was more abuzz with activity today and alot of people were on the perimeter path, mostly walkers, a few moms pushing strollers and a rollerblader. I heard that elusive frog burping again, but soon his loud croaking noises were obliterated by the Wyandotte train sounding its whistle as it neared Emmons Boulevard. There was clover everywhere, and in some places it was so overgrown, all you could see were bobbing bunny heads as they savored the sweet treat. I concluded that the rabbits had been busy this Spring as there were a plethora of baby bunnies, all contentedly munching clover until some big ol’ human came along and then they bounced off for parts unknown. This bench above is one of many blue benches scattered around the edge of the Park. This particular one is situated fairly close to the banks of the Creek, and, as you see above, currently it is sitting amidst an area of white clover. This park bench might seem to be calling out “come over, come over and sit in the clover” yet it didn’t beckon me to stop and break my stride. You see, the bench seat is rather sloped, giving one the illusion that if you plunked down on it, you might slide right off and onto the grass and roll down the bank … it’s best to just carry on. This morning, the water was completely calm, and since it was rain-free yesterday I ambled down along the Creek banks and peered through the reeds, hoping to catch sight of something interesting, maybe that big bullfrog. For my efforts, I saw some bubbles on the top of the water which I studied for a few minutes wondering if they were fish lips nibbling at bugs on the surface, or a frog coming up for air, but nothing materialized. I also saw the mother mallard with her ducklings in tow, paddling along in between the reeds on the opposite side of the Creek. There was no use trying to take a picture of those sweet little ducklings dabbling in the murky water, because the rather drab, ochre-colored feathers of the female and similar mottled plumage on her brood, made them all blend right into the muddy-looking Creek water and boring backdrop of bulrushes. The Park was alive with tweets and twitters from various songbirds and it was so very tranquil to walk amongst them. A red-winged blackbird, high above me in a tall tree, was singing his heart out. They were long, strong sounds which often threatened to drown out the trills of the smaller songbirds. There are many red-winged blackbirds in the tall trees which line the Creek, and they are easy to identify with their glossy black bodies and pretty patches of red and yellow on both wings. As I walked past the tall tree, one of them swooped down close and landed ahead of me where some kindly soul (not me this time) had shared their black-and-white-striped sunflower seeds on the path, and he seized the opportunity to feast on them. He was enjoying this unexpected treat and was so fearless, that I was almost on top of him before he flew away. The songbirds in the Park produce a constant melody, especially delightful on a still morn, and I like responding to them by returning a whistle or two – their singing is so infectious that sometimes I just can’t help myself. I believe that if the birds in the Park were on Twitter, they would all have been tweeting out this trending topic: #anotherbeautifulday. Reluctantly, after two complete laps around Council Point Park, I started for home and as I was walking up my sidewalk, I was still chuckling over the thought of birds using social media to tweet to one another, rather than merely warbling. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a plump baby robin in my garden alongside the house. I hurried over to get a better look, and saw that he was a resin robin with a mischievous smile on his face. I knew instantly that my neighbor Marge had gotten him for me and stood him amongst the mulch and the potted silk flowers to make my day … which it did!

It was a gorgeous morning for a walk. I messed up badly yesterday, as once again I relied on our trusty weather people, who said storms would cross our area in the early a.m. I took their word as gospel … they were wrong, wrong, wrong and so I forfeited my morning stroll. Well, this morning made up for it. I went back to Council Point Park today and I was determined if I heard that croaking bullfrog I was going to seek him out and take his picture. But that froggy fellow was nowhere to be found. As I strolled along the perimeter path, my head turned this way and that looking for a sign of life. Where was everybody – humans included? There were no squirrels, birds, ducks, geese, nor a lowly frog, and just when I was thinking that this morning’s walk was boring, I startled a bunny who was nibbling on some clover and he bolted, his hind legs a blur and his white powder puff tail flashing. When he was far enough away from me, he plopped down to rest, and I am sure his heart was beating a mile a minute as he shot me an especially wide-eyed look. From my vantage point, between two tree branches, I watched this solitary bunny who sat there motionless as he dared not wiggle his pink translucent ears, nor twitch his tiny button nose. I stayed and watched this poor little soul, who was probably petrified to move from his spot, even though I did my best to assure him I meant no harm. I saw him as if he were Peter Rabbit and had come to life from the pages of one of my old Beatrix Potter storybooks I enjoyed as a youngster. Perhaps he was the living, breathing creature that was reminiscent of a pastel rendering from a Marjolein Bastin sketchbook. Well Ol’ Peter finally moved on, either confident I meant no ill will toward him, or perhaps the rumblings in his stomach urged him to move over to the wild rhubarb patch. I stayed there awhile longer, and watched him as he ducked under one of the very large rhubarb leaves, which had to be at least a foot long and wide. Those rhubarb leaves looked like large fans and dwarfed him as he crouched underneath, nibbling away. I left him behind, happy and content, and since there were no other humans around, he was free to move about fearlessly – after all, this was his domain here at the Park … I was merely a visitor.

We sure were blessed with wonderful weather for this second long holiday of the Summer and today was no exception. I was up at the crack of dawn as I needed to divvy my time between a walk and some much-needed yard work, both to be accomplished before the rain, heat and humidity creep back into the weather equation. Once again, it was very still as I meandered through the neighborhoods enroute to the Park. I didn’t see a single soul nor a vehicle until I got to the Park . The sun was high in the sky and on the first leg of loop #1, I was enjoying the peace and solitude of my walk, when I heard a huge noise to my right coming from the Creek. It was the unmistakable croak of a bullfrog. Last year I wrote at great length about how startled I was to hear the loud croaking sound which interrupted the morning ambiance in the Park https://lindaschaubblog.net/2013/07/26/productive/). That deep croaking noise really reminded me of the bull moose calling one another in the woods near a cottage our family rented in Alpena many years ago. Well, this big-mouthed bullfrog was just as noisy as that one and out of the clear blue sky, that big belching noise really surprised me. I wasn’t going to go peer through the reeds or bushes to check it out because it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, and besides, I wanted to stay away from the banks of the Creek due to the mosquitoes. Then I heard another belch and a big splash – did my froggy friend spy a fly or was he chasing after a lady bullfrog? No telling, but before I rounded the bend, I heard him bellowing over and over again. Perhaps he was calling his little ones for breakfast? Soon it was time to head home and out to the backyard to wrestle those wicked prickly thistles and untangle the tendrils of wild ivy and Creeping Charlie from my perennials. Those vines are so invasive, you almost need to keep up with them daily. On my way home, I couldn’t help but notice the contrails which really seemed intensified in the deep blue sky. They were unusual and interesting looking and I wondered how many planes it took to make these marks or was it just one plane doing loop de loops? What do you think? I decided it looked like an “X” or an asterisk put there for my benefit so I wouldn’t conveniently lose my way home to avoid pulling those pesky weeds.

The alarm went off and I groaned. Though I am an early riser, the fireworks in the neighborhood were still going off sporadically after I went to bed at midnight. Last night as I curled up in my bed, wide awake at hour four of the pyrotechnics extravaganza, I know that I crossed my fingers that Meijer would not have a fire sale on fireworks today, thus prompting everyone to scurry back to retrieve another booty of boomers. Well, Independence Day only comes once a year and we have plenty to celebrate in our country don’t we? Despite my lack of sleep, I still managed to get myself up, fed and dressed and on the road by 8:00 a.m. How lucky we are to have still another stellar day smack dab in the middle of our long holiday weekend. On this Saturday morn it was especially quiet and I appreciated the calm and still after the noisy boom, boom, boom last night. As I walked through the neighborhoods, I noted windows or screen doors were open, ushering in the cool, fresh air and giving the A/C a much-needed rest. The only sounds were the warblings of a song bird or two and a downy woodpecker drilling the heck out of a nearby tree. The echoes from his efforts were reverberating throughout the subdivision each time he started anew. As I neared the church on Electric Street, out of the corner of my eye I noticed ants aplenty and they seemed to congregate at about every other sidewalk crack. Well, it’s better they gather here than at your picnic table later on today. Keeping my head down, I carefully picked my way around a score of massive ant hills, and I noticed, with interest, just how many sidewalks were scorched from firecrackers. There must have been quite a show by the church, and there was no doubt that fireworks were the culprit for the black burn marks on the concrete, as spent firecrackers littered the sidewalk and lawn. Canisters, unravelled cardboard tubes and metal pieces were strewn on bushes as well, where they landed after shooting up into the air, exploding, slowly fizzling, then dying, flinging their colorful wrappers everywhere. Hopefully, the embers did not follow suit. I heard many warnings yesterday for sparkler safety which surprised me because as a toddler I clearly remember taking sparkler sticks from my father and holding them almost ‘til they burned to a stub. I was never burned but I would have thought sparklers were pretty harmless.

I wasn’t sure where I wished to have my feet take me this morning, so I planned to walk down to River Drive and there I would decide whether to try Council Point Park again or return to the Detroit River by wending my way all the way down Emmons Boulevard to Wyandotte. Well … eeny, meeny, miny, moe … I opted for Wyandotte. As I crossed the Ecorse Creek bridge, I paused to scan the water for ducks and geese – nope, none to be found. I guess they were waiting especially for me last Monday and that’s it for now. I continued down through Wyandotte, enjoying the peace and quiet and shade from the tree-lined street. By now the sun was warming things up, so I shucked off my long-sleeved shirt, and was more comfortable in just a tee-shirt, enabling me to pick up my pace. No trains in sight, so I tromped over the railroad tracks, and was down at the corner of Emmons and Biddle by 8:30 sharp. I shaded my eyes with my hand and gazed down to the Detroit River as I watched a large power boat with an American flag on the aft end flapping in the breeze. The boat blitzed past a handful of Biddle Avenue backyards and I lost sight of it. I then decided to stroll along Biddle to get a better vantage point of the water. One block later, I found myself in Ecorse, having arrived at the picturesque waterfront scene at the River’s Edge Marina. I stood on the bridge overlooking the marina and watched a long freight train rolling by, high above the many boat wells and adjacent to the nearby residences, and that scene is what is pictured above. The early morning sun was glinting off the water and caused a sparkling effect. Several boat owners were gathered on the docks, their fishing gear loaded on board, and they were readying their boats to just hop in and pull away. A young man in a turquoise paddleboat suddenly appeared from under the bridge I was standing on. I watched him until he became just a speck on the water. He was multi-tasking all the while, with feet furiously working those pedals and drinking from a mug held in one hand while the other hand grasped a fishing pole. All these guys dreamed about lazy mornings on the water just like this day, all through that long, cold Winter. Well, this landlubber stayed ashore enjoying the ambiance of the marina for about a half hour, then the sun got powerfully strong all of a sudden, so I departed to begin my 2 ½-mile trek home.

You must indulge me annually on the Fourth of July when I use the rather archaic term of “constitutional” to define that morning’s walk. That said, I hit the ground running about 7:30 a.m. to embark on my constitutional, having decided my destination was the corner of Emmons Boulevard and Biddle Avenue along the Detroit River. It was only 56 degrees when I left the house and my clothes combo was certainly unique because I was determined not to don a jacket in July, so I layered a tee-shirt over a short-sleeved flowered shirt and topped it off with a plaid long-sleeved shirt. Well, I hope no one studied me too closely but I was comfortable and that’s all that matters. I am loving these temperatures and we are slated for a high of only 76 degrees, which it is as I write this post. Well, that’s a patriotic number for our temperature on this, our nation’s 238th birthday. This is certainly my kind of weather, and though it is silly to say this, I wonder why every Summer day can’t be this beautiful … a sunny, cloudless sky, no humidity and coolish temps. This made walking a real pleasure and I personally congratulated myself on passing mile marker 220 today. I originally hoped to attain 250 miles, or half of my hoped-for 2014 goal of 500 miles, by June 30th, however, abysmal weather in the Winter and Spring spoiled many potential walking days. Rain has plagued me the last few months, and it seems there must be at least one day a week reserved for errands or grocery shopping, albeit with my pedometer clipped to my waistband, but … still the miles didn’t seem to be piling up. At least I have kept ahead of my car mileage so far this year, having driven a mere 130 miles thus far in 2014.

On this Independence Day, there were many homeowners proudly flying Old Glory, or the front of their homes were abundant with bunting. I photographed about ten of the homes and these four were my favorites. For a little fun for “Flashback Friday”, I’ve included a picture of myself in the inset of this collage. The photo was taken in 1975 when I visited the Statue of Liberty during Easter Break from Henry Ford Community College. Five other HFCC students and I were participating in the National Model United Nations Conference at the Statler Hilton Hotel in New York City. It was a week-long event and we had afternoons and evenings free. Our HFCC group spent an uncharacteristically hot-for-April afternoon visiting Liberty Island. I remember climbing up the very narrow staircase, all the way to the crown, in the sweltering heat, almost feeling like I would pass out. It was worth it though and the vantage point gave us an unforgettable panoramic view of the harbor. I do believe Lady Liberty struck a better pose than me however.

In 2014 we celebrate the 100-year anniversary of “The Star-Spangled Banner”. There was a big parade in downtown Wyandotte beginning at 10:00 a.m. today and I saw several bicyclists with collapsible camp chairs tucked neatly into their canvas bag and then slung over their shoulders or back. All of them were pedaling furiously to arrive in advance of the parade to pick a perfect viewing spot. They, like the rest of the parade goers, will pause to reflect on what this day means and place their hands over their hearts when they hear our national anthem.

The cool air was so invigorating that I felt as if I could have kept walking forever with endless energy like the Energizer Bunny. I kept going and going and going, that is, until I hit the dead end which was Biddle and Emmons and I could clearly see the Detroit River sparkling in the background. It is private property at this junction so I had to watch the water and the many pleasure boats from afar. I stayed awhile, then turned around and headed back home. As to miles walked today, well … I put in five on the Fourth.

Have a great Independence Day everyone!

It was not a picture-perfect day like yesterday which I used up running errands and taking advantage of the first of five days off while my boss enjoys a respite at the family cottage in northern Ontario. Well, this morning was deemed “me time” and I set off fairly early to rack up some miles before any rain spoiled my walk. Against my better judgment I headed down to Council Point Park, ever-mindful of the mosquitoes, but thinking the cooler temps would make it okay and I’d give it a try. The neighborhoods along the way were very still and I suspect that since the 4th fell on a Friday, many people used Wednesday as their getaway day to trek up north or parts unknown. At the Park, however, there was much more activity and the place was all abuzz with two-legged people, four-legged fur kids tagging along for a walk with their owners, and mosquitoes galore. I heard the incessant buzzing which preceded that skillful landing and greedy blood draw by these pests. So, I did one loop, carefully skirting the edges of the Creek where the dense bushes are located and tried to thwart those bloodsuckers as best I could. Luckily I had on long pants and a long-sleeved shirt but my neck, hands and face appeared to be fair game to these pesky insects.

Along the way, I saw a woman snapping photos at the edge of the Park perimeter path, and I watched her from afar, her slight body overwhelmed by the long lens attached to her 35mm camera. She was wearing a body harness to steady the camera and that heavy lens. I dabbled in photography back when I travelled extensively in the 70s and early 80s and I’ve never seen such an unwieldy lens. I watched her shooting technique as she planted both feet firmly on the ground and leaned deeply down into the brush. I was curious what piqued her interest, and when I got closer, I saw it was a periwinkle-blue chicory plant. There she stood, engrossed in her subject and crouched close to that plant. She fiddled with the settings and soon I heard the camera shutter click-clicking away. When she finally moved on, I inspected the chicory for myself – hmmmm, nothing special that I could see, but she appeared to be a photo pro and I certainly am not these days as I shoot most pics on automatic. But, I must confess when she was far enough away from me, I stood at that same spot and took the same shot. The photo came out okay … nothing remarkable, but no comparison to her photo I’m sure.

I was within earshot of a woman telling a trio of elderly walkers that she was running late and only had completed two miles of her usual eight miles thus far. She said she walks four complete two-mile loops daily. Well, I felt like such a slacker just mid-way through my first loop. I was fascinated by this woman’s use of two long sticks which looked like ski poles to aid her while walking and made a mental note to find out more about these sticks. I Googled around and discovered that she is using walking poles for “exerstriding” and you get a better cardiovascular workout and tire less easily. I guess so … eight miles a day!

As I walked on the second portion of the perimeter path, I noticed there were fresh paint lines on the soccer field and new goal nets in place since the last time I was here. I guess there is a renewed interest of this sport due to the frenzy of the World Cup matches. Perhaps the revitalized equipment will spur on the young Lincoln Park soccer players to set their sights on becoming future U.S. Soccer Team players. I also took note that the funky park bench slats are still wavy, but now adorned with a splotch of white spray paint. This was a long random slash of paint on the bench seat, but I noticed alot of gang graffiti, all done in white paint, has shown up in several places on the Park perimeter path .

As I neared the end of the entire path, yet another mosquito buzzed by, and, annoyed with batting bugs, I left Council Point Park, electing to go down to Wyandotte to have a looksee at the Creek for waterfowl. Well the Wyandotte/Lincoln Park border was barren, but for a few more mosquitoes, a mayfly or two and some rather murky-looking water. The cottonwood fibers were blowing around everywhere. Yesterday was quite breezy and that cotton had landed on lawns and sidewalks and stuck there as you see in the picture above. The fibers were flying through the air today as well and my clothes were full of wispy cotton filaments. I looked upward trying to see what tree was turning loose all these silky threads and the sky looked like it would open up at any minute. I hurriedly snapped some photos of the fake snow and soon the first rain splat hit me on the arm. I tucked the camera into the case and started walking pretty darn fast, but evidently not fast enough as those splats turned into a fine drizzle and I still had a dozen blocks or so ‘til I was home. The rain put a kibosh on the last mile of my intended five-mile walk, so I guess I shouldn’t have lingered over that cup of coffee at breakfast before I left. As I walked up the driveway, the sprinkles subsided (naturally), though meanwhile Wyandotte’s increasing pile-up of “snow” looked as if the City was celebrating Christmas in July.

I decided another trip to Wyandotte was in order on this especially muggy morn. I had intended to walk down to the railroad tracks then head back because that is the same amount of walking steps as a roundtrip to Council Point Park with one loop … it is 7,000 steps or 3½ miles. But, I left later than usual since I was downstairs washing and drying a heavy woolen blanket which took forever to finish up in the dryer. I figured it was finally Summer and safe to swap the heavy blanket for a lighter one, even though we have officially passed the Summer Solstice and are now headed toward Fall and Winter. What a pessimist I am sometimes! Well, it was warm and I really didn’t want to hurry so I moseyed along on Emmons Boulevard, re-tooling my intended itinerary in my head while I walked, and eventually deciding just to wing it. When I arrived at the bridge that separates Wyandotte and Lincoln Park, and while crossing over the Ecorse Creek, I peered into the water, as I usually do, scanning for a sign of life. It is still a mystery at this venue, just like at “Duck Landing” at Council Point Park, exactly where the waterfowl disappeared to. When I began my walking regimen in the Fall of 2011, this bridge was my favorite go-to destination, partly because the small Creek area was filled with geese and ducks. I always took some bread with me and that Winter of 2011-12 was so mild, I was able to make this 2¼-mile foray on a near-daily basis. So, it was a quick glance to the water, then a double-take … well, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me because tucked near a tree was a small alcove and the dappled water was churning from geese and ducks and their respective broods who were all congregating there. Where did they come from? The geese and ducks used to swim in the Creek and mill about on the grassy banks and backyard of a nearby residence before a huge berm was built last year … then all the geese and ducks disappeared and I’ve not seen them since. I stood on the bridge looking over at the geese, yet I don’t think they could see me as they continued eating, drinking or grooming themselves. There were several pair of geese with the goslings clustered around their respective parents. The goslings are so much bigger than the last time I saw them, even though I could only see the upper part of their body, which was not submerged in the water. Their plumage has darkened substantially and their markings now more closely resemble that of the adults. They were noisy as well, with the occasional half-hearted honk being heard. I watched them follow the lead of their mothers as to what reeds to nibble on, where to dunk their head and dive into the water, and even the basics, like a quick primer on how to preen their feathers. It was both cute and comical to watch how quickly the goslings mimicked what the mother goose did, even if it was accomplished somewhat clumsily. Interestingly, a few small birds swooped down on a pair of geese attending to their youngsters, and the pair quickly reacted by raising out of the water and much hissing and wing flapping ensued. The goslings just took it in stride and stuck close to their folks and those smaller birds took off in a heartbeat. There were several mallards – both males and females. One mother duck kept her offspring in check in a neat row behind her, so now I really understand where the expression “getting all your ducks in a row” originates. The female mallard had six ducklings who followed closely on her tail; if she swam to the left, so did they and it appeared no one dared get out of place. They reminded me of a wooden pull toy I had as a young child … the larger duck and then a string of smaller ducks followed behind; all had tiny wheels and a thin wire tethered them together so they always stayed neatly in a row. Well, this whole scene just warmed my heart and I vowed to return and bring bread in case there is some secret hidey-hole where they congregate or live nearby now. This is by no means the entire group of mallards that I used to see at “Duck Landing”, but perhaps part of that group “migrated” from there to here. I’ll share some more pictures of this idyllic setting down the road, but this one was my favorite – the pair of Canada Geese, their offspring in tow, chasing off the small songbirds that swooped down too close to their little brood.

Whew! It was wicked warm when I departed the house in minimal clothing. The heaviest items I was wearing were my shoes, and, I felt like I was clump, clump, clumping along, like an old horse. I generally like to walk when it is cooler, but today I wanted to check out the Lincoln Park Farmer’s Market and it doesn’t open until 11:00. The LP Farmer’s Market has downsized since the last time I was there about six years ago, and they have moved to a new location. Back when I was a frequent visitor to the Market, it was a hoppin’ place on Sunday mornings and the pickings were best if you arrived early. My mom loved those tiny new potatoes, and she often said she could make a meal out of them, hot out of the pot, opened with a fork and slathered with butter and a shake of salt, so I often picked her up a basket or two of them. She also enjoyed slices of beefsteak tomato piled high on a piece of crispy toast, so come August, rather than drive miles out to the country to the roadside stands, I’d often head over to the Farmer’s Market and load up. Well, it is a new type of market I noticed – different vendors and more crafts for sale than in the past. I was told some of the vendors come as far as Flint or Saline to sell their wares. I guess it is still early in the growing season for fruits or veggies, and, in fact – some of the vendors were still selling veggie plants. If you hesitated to buy your flats or hanging baskets as you thought we might still have another hard freeze, do not despair since you could pick up some deals on some hardy flowers at the Farmer’s Market. There were bottles galore of Sam’s BBQ salsa and even samples of chips and salsa courtesy of Jar Head brand. People were happily dipping their chips into the hot salsa, raising their body temp to “scorching” despite being under the cooling canopy. Homemade zucchini bread, cornbread cake and wedges, sweet potato pie, plus Maggie’s 7-Up Pound Cake seemed to be in abundance so they must be hot items at this venue. The Summer sun glinted off the translucent jars of honey which were lined in neat rows on that vendor’s table making the setting homey and inviting and a quick trip under the canopy was a nice break from that searing sun. Perhaps food is not the reason you want to frequent a local farmer’s market? Well, if crafts are your shtick, there were plenty of items like hand-made jewelry, crocheted wearables, wood items and candles … looks like there was something for everyone, all crowded into one small corner parking lot at Fort and Southfield. I came home empty handed as I really only went there for a destination and a quick look-see. I meandered around City Hall and past the police station and courthouse and took the long, long way home to get me to four miles. Well, I’ve visited all the sights around my fair town over the course of the last few days, so I hope for a return to Council Point Park at the tail end of the week when the stormy weather has subsided and cooler temps are back once again.

… were all words bouncing around in my head as I walked the Lincoln Park portion of Cruisin’ Downriver this morning. The clock was turned back in time as cars cruised incessantly along Fort Street to the delight of onlookers. It was already sticky and hot when I left the house and I was a weary road traveler after walking four miles in the sun. I was ready for a respite and looked for a shady tree near the grandstand in Memorial Park. I slowed down, then slowly merged into the row of rubberneckers who were watching this retro event, now in its 15th year. Heads were swiveling as people didn’t know which classic car to focus on – and near the grandstand, the vehicles, as colorful as peacocks on parade, preened to their onlookers, laying down some rubber, tooting their sometimes odd or bizarre-sounding horns and gunning their motors. The crowd cheered in response or oohed and aahed and often held camera phones high above their respective heads to capture the image of classic cars as they rolled by. It was truly a picture-perfect day, a tad hot, but people had staked out their viewing location in the dawn, or even pre-dawn hours, and brought along canopies, folding chairs and coolers of fluids to stay hydrated. A church group was offering free bottled water to the people that lined the sidewalk by their canopy which was set up in the church parking lot. No one seemed to be complaining about the heat though, as they bopped to the tunes heard blaring from the radios of the cruisin’ cars, and most of the drivers cranked up the radio a few decibels as they whizzed by. Great puffs of exhaust filled the air nearly choking you at times, but people seemed fairly oblivious as they were so caught up in the ambiance of the cruise. I passed umpteen placards and banners advertising oldies station WOMC 104.3 along the cruise route and it seemed everyone was tuned to this station as oldies were pouring out of car radios, boom boxes, bars, restaurants and strategically placed loud speakers. The familiar music beats and songs were infectious, stirring most people to sing, or at least mouth, the lyrics to the featured tunes – me included. In fact, I could sing most of them from heart having listened to oldies station Honey Radio AM 56 for years and most recently to WOMC. There were the usual sights: bright-colored muscle cars with fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror, sleek, long and low-riding Caddys that seemed to stretch forever and many classic Corvettes and T-Birds. Taking advantage of the superb weather to roll back their respective roofs, a multitude of cool-looking convertibles kept zooming by, their proud owners and guests waving like celebs as they drove past us. It is cheap entertainment for the onlookers – not so much for vehicle owners who are paying dearly at the pump for the pleasure of cruising past the crowd that was burgeoning, especially after the event officially got underway at 10:00 a.m. The cars pictured above were my favorites from Cruisin’ Downriver in the 9:00 o’clock hour and the photo will give you a flavor of the various old cars. There were so many retro cars, but those vehicles must drive the speed limit of 35, so it is not always so easy to get a decent shot of them, unless they are at a stoplight or fueling up. I watched the cruise for about 30 minutes after I got to the grandstand at Memorial Park and then I headed home. I stopped to chat with an older gentleman who had parked his pale-yellow classic car at the end of my street. I probably surprised him when I asked if it was a Studebaker and told him I thought I recognized the model from pictures in the old family album of me as a baby sitting atop the hood of my father’s pride and joy, his two-tone blue 1955 Studebaker. Well, I was spot-on because it was indeed a ’55 Studebaker and for my curiosity, I got a tour under the hood, revealing a pristine and gleaming engine and I sure wouldn’t have kicked those tires … they had bright-white whitewalls despite having just travelled 700 miles to compete in cruise events in Elkhart, Indiana and Flint. Since the owner realized he had captured my interest, just like a proud father, he whipped out a packet of photos of his other five classic cars which he exhibits and drives in cruises all through the U.S. As I walked home and up the driveway, finally the smell of exhaust was no longer in the air, and the squeal of tires was just a memory, but that silly song “The Name Game” by Shirley Ellis has lingered in my brain all day long.

Linda, Linda – bo Binda,
Banana, fanna – fo Finda,
Fe, fi – mo Minda – Linda.

On this fine-lookin’ Friday morning, even more classic cars were rollin’ along the cruise route that follows Fort Street from Southfield Road in Lincoln Park to Sibley Road in Riverview. To boost my walking mileage, I decided to travel via foot power to my allergist appointment. That trek took me from my home in Lincoln Park, through Wyandotte and then to the office which is in Southgate. It is a four and one-half mile jaunt roundtrip. I figured the walk along Fort Street would also afford me the opportunity to get a glimpse at more of the cruisin’ cars. Absent was the Model T from yesterday, but, while I walked, I saw many of the cars that my friends owned back in the 70s – compact cars, mostly in the primary colors found in the Crayola carton, without a hint of iridescent paint on any of those vehicles. I saw a bright-yellow Torino, a candy-apple-red Mustang, a grape-colored Gremlin, a dazzling orange Duster and a brilliant green Pinto. I even saw a black original-model VW Beetle sporting flower decals all over the body and the words “Flower Power” embossed on the hood. Well, that cute-as-a-bug-in-a-rug VW Bug reminded me of my first car, a brand-new VW Super Beetle, that my parents bought me just before I started college. My father, who hailed from Germany, insisted that my first car had to be a VW Beetle. I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift, and though he drove one, he would not teach me how to drive it, protesting all the while that I would be stripping his gears in my attempt to learn to drive. I still do not know how to drive a stick shift car to this day. We hi-tailed it to Seaway Motors and settled on an automatic stick with no clutch – you only had to shift to second gear when going over 55 mph. Well, that sounded easy and breezy, and, I fell in love with the Biscay Blue color and later had it jazzed up with wide and narrow white pin stripes at a local detailing shop. I worked at the diner through college and though it was a mere five blocks from home, I insisted on driving the car there. Buying gas sure didn’t break the bank because I could fill the tank for just $3.00 and only purchased gasoline twice a month. Unfortunately, my little buggy was “buggy” from Day #1. We brought it home from Seaway Motors on a Monday night and I parked it in the driveway intending to take it for a spin to show my friends after I finished dinner, however, the neighbors across the street called to announce my car had slid down the driveway on its own and was sitting in the middle of the street and leaking fluid all over. My bubble had burst on this brand-new Beetle and it had to be towed ASAP to the dealership. I didn’t get it back ‘til later in the week. But, while it no longer slid down the driveway on its own, it was prone to stalling out without rhyme or reason, and a trip to Ben’s Foreign Car Service had him shaking his head over what the problem was. The mechanic recommended I park the car backwards in the driveway to ensure it would always start. That puzzled me, but Ben’s theory worked … most of the time, unless it rained or snowed because then the engine got damp and sometimes the car would not start. I was forced to mollycoddle this car, by covering the engine with a baby blanket any time inclement weather was in the forecast, or else I’d be late for school or work in the a.m. or left at the HFCC parking lot waiting for Allstate Motor Club to arrive to give the car a jump at the end of the school day. I kept that car ‘til 1977 after dealing with a string of never-ending fits and foibles. My father decided, despite that great German engineering, the Bug was a dud and not safe for me to drive, so he took it over and I got an AMC Pacer. By then I was attending Wayne State University and getting to and from school by bus. Some things just are unforgettable – especially your first set of wheels, and despite its idiosyncrasies and issues, I still have fond memories of that Beetle. I posed with the car in the background the day I graduated from HFCC with my Associate’s degree – and there it was, with its Bicentennial year license plate and pretty pin striping, but parked backwards as usual.