There’s no mistaking Alex Hofstede. Especially on a tennis court.

I first met my best buddy in the early 1980s when I was attending SFU. I would frequently wander down from Burnaby on my Raleigh Special Course 10-speed to the Queen’s Park courts in New Westminster. There were a group of guys there of similar calibre and it was easy to pick up a game without having to arrange ahead of time. On occasion, Alex would venture from his home in Surrey over the Pattullo Bridge to play there too. But he was good. Much better than me.

Eventually I headed off to other places like London, Ont., and Medicine Hat before setting up shop in Winnipeg in 1989. I went looking for a place to play and joined the Winnipeg Lawn Tennis Club. I’d seen a guy that looked like Alex and thought, “Nah, that can’t be him. He lives back home.” Well shortly after I joined I noticed a big left-hander on the next court with the wing span of a condor when he hit ground strokes and instantly I realized there was no mistaking it was him.

Turns out he’d been transferred by Reliable Parts to their Winnipeg operation and he and his wife Lisa have been there ever since. We bonded over tennis, NFL football and Lisa’s lasagna. I spent many a Sunday in their basement watching NFL games. Now when he comes to visit his mom every January I get to return the favour always getting together to watch the NFL playoffs on the 60-inch screen in my condo.

Alex and Lisa are high school sweethearts. Lisa describes herself as a young (she’s 50ish), vivacious redhead.

Every April when I make my annual baseball fantasy auction sojourn to Manitoba – sometimes I’ll bring along a kilo of moons, Alex’s favourite candy, from the Holland Shopping Centre since his family moved to Surrey from The Netherlands when he was 10 – I stay with them while I’m in Winnipeg, which I’m grateful for, especially Lisa’s cooking.

Clive and I rode into the big city last Sunday and dropped around at their place in the early afternoon for heaping helpings of lasagna. I introduced Clive to the family, but it was their mixed breed dog that looks part black lab that introduced herself to him. Abby is extremely friendly (she takes the licence plate slogan Friendly Manitoba to the max), likes to lick everyone and has no clue about how strong she is. Clive has always been a doggy’s best friend so they got along just fine.

Since Alex has been my best friend I can’t wait until the time they abandoned Winnipeg’s wicked winters and move back to the Lower Mainland so we can watch all the NFL together we want, and maybe even play some tennis although it’s hard to compete with that distinctive condor wing span.

Brody update

Brody blew into Winnipeg via VIA late Tuesday night to rejoin us. Although it was raining Wednesday morning when the three of us set out, the wind was with us blowing from the north west. The riding seemed to be smooth and first indications were Brody’s knee was going good. We had originally targeted a campground about 65 kilometres from Winnipeg, even though Clive and I generally go 100 or more everyday. It was closed, though. Brody felt so good he was sure he could go the 100 to a motel that was just off the highway halfway to Kenora in Hadashville.

With a new crank, chain and sprocket, I took off ahead of everybody with the intention of waiting for them at the motel. Well, I got going great guns and finally stopped at the entrance to a campground that I thought maybe was in consideration for the night. I waited about 45 minutes and saw no sign of them, so I kept on going looking for the motel because I really didn’t think I’d gone far enough.

I got waived over by a passing motorist who let me know Brody had stopped about 20 kilometres back and was looking for a ride. So I backtracked about 10 to 15 kilometres but didn’t see either him or Clive. I was drenched by this time and stopped for a bite to eat at a town called Prawda which I’d already been through twice. I decided to keep going to find that motel, but when I saw a sign that said Falcon Lake (which is 136 km from Winnipeg) was just 21 km away I realized I’d gone too far and might as well head there before nightfall to find a motel for myself.

My malfunction at the junction was a bad one. We’d been told the motel was near the Whiteshell River. I didn’t see a sign for that river at all. That’s because there was construction on that bridge and we crossed on the opposite side where I went past the back of the sign for westbound traffic. I looked at Google street view the next day and it turns out while the motel is very visible from the highway it is setback quite a bit while I had my head down trying to get through the rain. But I also missed the motel sign at the side of the road. Although those are the reasons for the confusion, there is no mistaking the fact I blew it.

I met back up with Clive on Thursday morning, but Brody, who managed to get a ride to meet Clive, wasn’t with him. He’s decided to go back to his 60-km-a-day pace while we continue on ahead. Too bad, we’re going to miss him.

Small world

When having breakfast in Prawda on Thursday, Clive and Brody helped a woman change a flat tire. She’d moved to Kenora about a year ago from, believe it or not, Williams Lake. They exchanged names of people they knew in Willie’s Puddle before carrying on, Clive to Kendra and she to a medical appointment in Winnipeg.

Taking the bait

During Wednesday’s wet trip we stopped for lunch at Walker’s Bait Shop, about 50 kilometres east of Winnipeg. The place looked like it was right out of Grumpy Old Men and Grumpier Old Men.

Outside was a vending machine that looked like it was a Pepsi machine but actually dispensed live bait. For $4 you got a varied selection of minnows and night crawlers.

Inside the paraphernalia being sold included typical fishing and hunting signs like:

• Single Female Wanted. Must clean, cook, clean fish and own a boat. Please send picture of the boat; and

• Running out of ammo. Don’t expect a warning shot!

The owner was a big guy who also served up Ukrainian fare from an adjoining drive-in. I ordered a farmer sausage burger and perogies. Pretty darn good stuff. Fortunately, the perogies came with sour cream and not bait.

First for Clive

When we reached the Ontario border Thursday it was the first time Clive had set foot on that province’s soil. Prior to that he’d only been to the Ottawa airport to change planes so he never actually touched the ground.

Company on the road

Just as we were leaving Winnipeg on Wednesday we encountered for the first time other cyclists going our way. Likely like us, they’re a couple of retirees. Blaine is from Invermere, B.C., and Big Dave is from my late 1980s stomping grounds in Medicine Hat., Alta. They’re headed to Sault Ste. Marie, Ont., where they plan to cross the border and travel through Michigan ending up in Chicago where they’ll hop the Amtrak back to Whitefish, Mont.

We leaped frogged them a few times during Wednesday’s rain, and then ended up meeting them again Thursday evening when they stopped at the same eating spot Clive and I were at in Kenora, The Lake of the Woods Brewing Company where Clive, of course, had the sampler of five craft beers.

Great views, pesky caterpillars

Kenora is a picturesque city. That’s an understatement. Although I’ve come into the town twice before I almost fell over a bridge railing gawking at the 360-degree spectacular views. The cottages are just as spectacular, many of them located on the myriad of islands in Lake of the Woods. The boats are pretty sweet too. Our campsite is right across from some beautiful residences, islands and watercraft.

The only downside is Kenora must translate in local First Nations language as City of Caterpillars because they are everywhere. I have probably knocked about 200 off me during the writing of this blog. Wish they’d all turn into butterflies right now!

KILOMETRE COUNT

Day 33: St. Vital to Falcon Lake 153 km; Total: 2,755

Day 34: Falcon Lake to Kenora 69 km; Total: 2,926

Clive

Wednesday: St. VItal to Hadashville 98 km

Thursday: Hadashville to Kenora 114 km