Author: Bob Benz

Drop the puck

Originally uploaded by Suffering the Benz.

I was in Toronto on business this week (great city, swimming in diversity), and it didn’t take long to realize Canadians are thrilled to have the NHL heading back to the ice.

I saw this mural in a parking lot off King Street, and when I walked past the Air Canada Centre on my way to the bay, there were signs everywhere advertising tickets for the upcoming season.

Then I stopped at a Candian Imperial Bank of Commerce branch to withdraw $60 dollars. Scrawled across one of my colorful Canadian 20 dollar bills was the phrase: “Go Habs Go!”

While I suspect Leafs fans would have been miffed by this ode to the hated Canadiens, I got a charge out of it.

As for me, I have the NHL in my mental penalty box. I’m determined to boycott the season and I’m still pissed about the way the league and players insulted fans with that stupid lockout. But I suspect I’ll come around when those toothless Canadians start beating the hell of of each other this season.

I uploaded a few more Toronto photos here …

Boulder Canyon hike

Originally uploaded by Suffering the Benz.

A view of Boulder Creek gushing down through Boulder Canyon.

I hiked up the trail each morning while I was in town. I tend to wake up at 6 a.m. Eastern time no matter where I am, so instead of sitting there and looking at the hotel walls, I got up and walked. It’s been a while since I hiked in the West. Much different from Tennessee. I love that pine smell. And it’s so dry, I’d hardly sweat at all on the trail, but when I got back to my hotel room, I’d suddently get drenched.

I also got a charge out of the cultural differences. When I encounter someone on a Tennessee trail, the encounter bursts into a “How you doin’?” and ends up in a conversation. In Boulder, it took the form of a curt but neighborly nod. Yes, I acknowledge there is another human here in front of me. But I refuse to do so in a way that would compromise my Western cool.

Damn. I do miss the West …

After getting accosted by a group of drunken newspaper publishers who demanded all of my cigars on Tuesday night, I found myself in Boulder without any smokes left on Wednesday. I was on a mission to find more.