While not as well known as Bondi Beach its neighbour a couple kilometers down the coast, Coogie Beach turned out to be a fabulous gem. And a great place for my kids and I to spend our Christmas vacation 1997.
Getting there was definitely more than half the fun.
We departed Toronto squeezed into economy seats aboard a 747 for the first 10-hour leg to Honolulu. We arrived around 10 pm and found ourselves ‘trapped’ in the in transit lounge for the 3-hour stop over before boarding our flight to Sydney. Challenging to say the least to keep 3 kids (14, 14, 10) amused for 3 hours late at night, jetlagged after one 10-hour flight about to board a second one.
The longest 10 hours of my life.
Back of the bus experience for the flight to Sydney. Seriously…we were 10 rows from the back of the plane, squeezed four-abreast in the center section. Was going to be a long night. Tetris saved the day…night.
We arrived in Sydney to a glorious summer morning. Even though we were traveling in late December, and we had left behind winter in Toronto, they were entering their ‘hot’ season. Glorious!
We made it through morning rush hour traffic jet lagged and all. Our destination: the Holiday Inn, Coogie Beach.
1 kilometre of powdery, white sand hugging a crescent-shaped shoreline. Bluffs at both ends guarding entry. Big whitecap waves crashing ashore. This was going to be excellent.
The running route I found was heaven itself. Two different routes along the shoreline. My favourite was found heading south.
Ran along the boardwalk past the seawater pool up the head of the southern bluff. Then down the dirt trail sharply. Ocean to the left, craggy rocks to the right. Trail meandered along and around wonderful rock outcroppings that revealed new vistas of the ocean around every turn. Up and down constantly. Squeezing past other runners out for their morning run.
Lots of other runners.
“I could live here”
My route took me about 3 kilometres out to a tiny sand beach where I turned around for the trek back to Coogie. Ocean on the right, rocks on the left. Scenery same but different.
Fantastic finish back on the flats of Coogie Beach.
After a shower and change of clothes, breakfast on the outdoor patio of a café on the beach.
Merry Christmas!!!
Monday, December 22, 2008
Another Corvette Story
1986.
Vancouver.
Expo 86.
Summer in Lotus Land.
Had planned on renting a Ferrari 308 for the day but an unfortunate incident the day before we were due to pick it up put it out of service. Still wanted an exotic drive up to Whistler however and were forced to choose between a convertible Porsche 911 or a Corvette.
Fortunately we chose the Corvette.
Did not however start well.
After removing the ‘easily removable’ glass roof panel (took some effort from two of us) and stowing in the area behind the seat, we realized there was very limited room for our luggage. Oh well, just going up for the day anyway.
Got in. Or make that crawled down into the extremely tight form-fitting seats. Huge drive tunnel and tight foot well dominated the interior. High cowl limited forward visibility.
Once settled in, engaged the clutch and twisted the key. Big V8 thundered to life and settled into a throaty idle. Slipped the lever of the 4-speed manual transmission into first, eased off the clutch and gingerly depressed the accelerator…and promptly stalled it.
Swear Word!!!
Never impressive to stall the car in front of the wife and the rental car rep.
Got ‘er going on the second try however. Gave it gas…left a small patch of rubber.
Driving through downtown Vancouver in traffic on our way through Stanley Park to the highway up to Whistler was not my shining moment behind the wheel of this unruly beast. Uncomfortable with the heavy clutch. Clunky shifts did not help. Heavy steering. “Did this thing really have power steering?”
Lurched from traffic light to traffic light cursing the decision to rent this beast.
All was redeemed however once we escaped city traffic and found the open road from Horseshoe Bay up to Squamish. Once up to highway speed, steering lightened. Found out the true meaning of torque…left it in 4th most times and simply pressed the accelerator.
Along one long uphill stretch we found ourselves behind a couple of slower moving cars. There was a break between them and three more vehicles. Planned to pass the first two and tuck in behind the three before the road curved to the right.
Dropped down to 3rd. Squeezed gas pedal and pulled out.
“Where did those two cars go”?
“Wow”!
Shifted into 4th still on the gas.
Past the second group of three.
Oops…corner coming up fast now.
Pulled back in touched the brakes to set up for the corner, back on the gas to blast around it.
Only took seconds.
Sunny day…ocean on the left…mountains on the right. Perfect!
Vancouver.
Expo 86.
Summer in Lotus Land.
Had planned on renting a Ferrari 308 for the day but an unfortunate incident the day before we were due to pick it up put it out of service. Still wanted an exotic drive up to Whistler however and were forced to choose between a convertible Porsche 911 or a Corvette.
Fortunately we chose the Corvette.
Did not however start well.
After removing the ‘easily removable’ glass roof panel (took some effort from two of us) and stowing in the area behind the seat, we realized there was very limited room for our luggage. Oh well, just going up for the day anyway.
Got in. Or make that crawled down into the extremely tight form-fitting seats. Huge drive tunnel and tight foot well dominated the interior. High cowl limited forward visibility.
Once settled in, engaged the clutch and twisted the key. Big V8 thundered to life and settled into a throaty idle. Slipped the lever of the 4-speed manual transmission into first, eased off the clutch and gingerly depressed the accelerator…and promptly stalled it.
Swear Word!!!
Never impressive to stall the car in front of the wife and the rental car rep.
Got ‘er going on the second try however. Gave it gas…left a small patch of rubber.
Driving through downtown Vancouver in traffic on our way through Stanley Park to the highway up to Whistler was not my shining moment behind the wheel of this unruly beast. Uncomfortable with the heavy clutch. Clunky shifts did not help. Heavy steering. “Did this thing really have power steering?”
Lurched from traffic light to traffic light cursing the decision to rent this beast.
All was redeemed however once we escaped city traffic and found the open road from Horseshoe Bay up to Squamish. Once up to highway speed, steering lightened. Found out the true meaning of torque…left it in 4th most times and simply pressed the accelerator.
Along one long uphill stretch we found ourselves behind a couple of slower moving cars. There was a break between them and three more vehicles. Planned to pass the first two and tuck in behind the three before the road curved to the right.
Dropped down to 3rd. Squeezed gas pedal and pulled out.
“Where did those two cars go”?
“Wow”!
Shifted into 4th still on the gas.
Past the second group of three.
Oops…corner coming up fast now.
Pulled back in touched the brakes to set up for the corner, back on the gas to blast around it.
Only took seconds.
Sunny day…ocean on the left…mountains on the right. Perfect!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tim and Chris run in Tours, France
The plan had been to spend the first day or so quietly relaxing in and around the city of Tours, France with my friend Tim who had been there studying for the past year. Did not happen that way.
Started with me getting on the wrong train at Gare d’Austerlitz in Paris for the hour or so trip to Tours. I checked and double checked the schedules and still got on the wrong train! I had a pre-paid ticket from Paris to Tours but got on the train that was non-stop to Bordeaux bypassing Tours entirely…
Of course I did not find that out until after we had left Paris. The conductor who checked my ticket was not amused.
Turned out to be a good guy though. And although he spoke little English and I spoke no French, we devised a plan to get me off the train.
In the town of Poitiers, about an hour south of Tours, I understood from him that the train would slow to a crawl to make it through the station. I had one chance to ‘disembark’: jump!
Don’t try this. But if you do, plan to land running!
My one piece of luggage and I managed to do this without incident and managed to purchase a ticket back to Tours.
Finally made it. 4 hours late. Great friend that he was, Tim met me at the station. The only way to thank him seemed obvious: go out drinking. But not until after he had whipped up a platter of his famous ‘Stove Top Nachos’. Didn’t want to drink on an empty stomach.
Hit three different establishments that night. From a seriously dark ‘club’ playing loud, angry punk to a dance club heavy on disco.
Stumbled back to his funky apartment in the center of the old section of Tours. Decided before we fell asleep to go for a run later that morning to ‘run it off’.
Alcohol clouds judgment.
Got up around 9 am. This was not going to be fun.
We pulled on our running gear. No talking. Head pounding. Legs: never felt them.
We plodded out through the narrow, cobblestone streets and headed toward the Loire River and the trail that led into the country.
The half hour out was hell. Once into the countryside, we found ourselves on a dusty, quintessentially French country road. They do not tie up their dogs…amazing how fast you can run with a hangover.
The return leg back actually was quite pleasant. By then of course we had exorcised the demon alcohol (a couple of quick stops in the bushes). We ran smoothly along the river, actually started to converse. Finally started to enjoy the scenery: the light really is softer in France.
And of course, had to sprint to the finish.
Observations: Never jump off a moving train, never run after a night of drinking. If you do both, don’t think.
Started with me getting on the wrong train at Gare d’Austerlitz in Paris for the hour or so trip to Tours. I checked and double checked the schedules and still got on the wrong train! I had a pre-paid ticket from Paris to Tours but got on the train that was non-stop to Bordeaux bypassing Tours entirely…
Of course I did not find that out until after we had left Paris. The conductor who checked my ticket was not amused.
Turned out to be a good guy though. And although he spoke little English and I spoke no French, we devised a plan to get me off the train.
In the town of Poitiers, about an hour south of Tours, I understood from him that the train would slow to a crawl to make it through the station. I had one chance to ‘disembark’: jump!
Don’t try this. But if you do, plan to land running!
My one piece of luggage and I managed to do this without incident and managed to purchase a ticket back to Tours.
Finally made it. 4 hours late. Great friend that he was, Tim met me at the station. The only way to thank him seemed obvious: go out drinking. But not until after he had whipped up a platter of his famous ‘Stove Top Nachos’. Didn’t want to drink on an empty stomach.
Hit three different establishments that night. From a seriously dark ‘club’ playing loud, angry punk to a dance club heavy on disco.
Stumbled back to his funky apartment in the center of the old section of Tours. Decided before we fell asleep to go for a run later that morning to ‘run it off’.
Alcohol clouds judgment.
Got up around 9 am. This was not going to be fun.
We pulled on our running gear. No talking. Head pounding. Legs: never felt them.
We plodded out through the narrow, cobblestone streets and headed toward the Loire River and the trail that led into the country.
The half hour out was hell. Once into the countryside, we found ourselves on a dusty, quintessentially French country road. They do not tie up their dogs…amazing how fast you can run with a hangover.
The return leg back actually was quite pleasant. By then of course we had exorcised the demon alcohol (a couple of quick stops in the bushes). We ran smoothly along the river, actually started to converse. Finally started to enjoy the scenery: the light really is softer in France.
And of course, had to sprint to the finish.
Observations: Never jump off a moving train, never run after a night of drinking. If you do both, don’t think.
Milford
This experience took place at a high-security facility in Michigan outside of Detroit known as the Milford Proving Ground. It is the vast 4,000-acre, secure compound guarded with the intensity of a military base that General Motors uses to develop and test new models. It is awesome. And a select group of us had been granted access for a very special day of car driving.
Six of us started out with the short-hop flight from Toronto to Windsor. Less hassle than flying into Detroit’s Metro Airport. Picked up suitable vehicle transportation: a Pearl white Cadillac Sedan De Ville secure in the knowledge we were flying the flag of support. Didn’t realize though that Cadillac’s were reserved for only certain staff levels…made quite the impression at the gate to the compound! Security clearance was surprisingly easy…our chariot must have impressed the guards: they immediately directed us to the test track that was to be our home for the day.
Lost of cars on hand in the paddock of the test track. Chevrolet, Pontiac, Buick and Oldsmobile. Ford and Chrysler. Toyota, Nissan and Honda. BMW and other select European manufacturers. Four hours to drive as many of them as we could over a special road course.
Heaven for a car guy. We were all car guys that day.
First the inevitable briefing in the marquee tent. Rules explained: Keep the cars on the paved surface at all times. One lap each time. Strict 50 mile per hour speed limit. Enforced by GM Police with radar half way along the course. Zero tolerance…one infraction and you parked it for the day. Seemed like a buzz kill at the briefing. Changed our opinion once behind the wheel of our first ride: no one had mentioned acceleration…torque from big engines is a wonderful thing! And as the day wore on we realized that the Radar cop was only interested in maintaining the 50 MPH limit at the halfway point of the track…we learned the brake and acceleration points before and after his zone.
Overall impressions: loved the BMW 5 series on hand for the day. Best balanced of all the 40+ cars assembled. Pontiac Grand Prix an excellent second choice and for the difference in $’s, the clear winner. Honda’s and Toyotas drove well but lacked the special ‘something’ to get the heart racing. We had the Corvette for that.
Rear tires were worn to slicks by the end of the day.
The Corvette. L package. Stick shift. Heavy clutch. Limited forward visibility…forget about the rear. Serious cowl shake upon start up. And with the drive shaft running inches from your right side, you could feel this monster itching to be let out to play. Tons of low-rev torque.
Eased it out of the paddock area to the start of the circuit.
Engaged 1st gear and rolled gently onto the gas. Floored it around 20 MPH and held on…“Whoa…this thing is fast”.
Shifted into 2nd at around 3,500 revs and hit 75 MPH. Lifted and braked hard before the speed trap…engine compression and brakes down to 50 MPH. Pushed forward into the seatbelt harness.
Once safely past, sunk the right foot to the floor and shifted into 3rd. Quick glance to check speed: over 90 MPH!
Did not make it to 4th.
Very hard braking and downshift to 2nd to scrub speed before the entrance to the paddock.
Big grin.
To end a near perfect day, we chose a restaurant in a not-so-good part of downtown Detroit to debrief over steaks, scotch and cigars. Long dinner.
We slept the sleep of the contented on the plane back to Toronto.
Six of us started out with the short-hop flight from Toronto to Windsor. Less hassle than flying into Detroit’s Metro Airport. Picked up suitable vehicle transportation: a Pearl white Cadillac Sedan De Ville secure in the knowledge we were flying the flag of support. Didn’t realize though that Cadillac’s were reserved for only certain staff levels…made quite the impression at the gate to the compound! Security clearance was surprisingly easy…our chariot must have impressed the guards: they immediately directed us to the test track that was to be our home for the day.
Lost of cars on hand in the paddock of the test track. Chevrolet, Pontiac, Buick and Oldsmobile. Ford and Chrysler. Toyota, Nissan and Honda. BMW and other select European manufacturers. Four hours to drive as many of them as we could over a special road course.
Heaven for a car guy. We were all car guys that day.
First the inevitable briefing in the marquee tent. Rules explained: Keep the cars on the paved surface at all times. One lap each time. Strict 50 mile per hour speed limit. Enforced by GM Police with radar half way along the course. Zero tolerance…one infraction and you parked it for the day. Seemed like a buzz kill at the briefing. Changed our opinion once behind the wheel of our first ride: no one had mentioned acceleration…torque from big engines is a wonderful thing! And as the day wore on we realized that the Radar cop was only interested in maintaining the 50 MPH limit at the halfway point of the track…we learned the brake and acceleration points before and after his zone.
Overall impressions: loved the BMW 5 series on hand for the day. Best balanced of all the 40+ cars assembled. Pontiac Grand Prix an excellent second choice and for the difference in $’s, the clear winner. Honda’s and Toyotas drove well but lacked the special ‘something’ to get the heart racing. We had the Corvette for that.
Rear tires were worn to slicks by the end of the day.
The Corvette. L package. Stick shift. Heavy clutch. Limited forward visibility…forget about the rear. Serious cowl shake upon start up. And with the drive shaft running inches from your right side, you could feel this monster itching to be let out to play. Tons of low-rev torque.
Eased it out of the paddock area to the start of the circuit.
Engaged 1st gear and rolled gently onto the gas. Floored it around 20 MPH and held on…“Whoa…this thing is fast”.
Shifted into 2nd at around 3,500 revs and hit 75 MPH. Lifted and braked hard before the speed trap…engine compression and brakes down to 50 MPH. Pushed forward into the seatbelt harness.
Once safely past, sunk the right foot to the floor and shifted into 3rd. Quick glance to check speed: over 90 MPH!
Did not make it to 4th.
Very hard braking and downshift to 2nd to scrub speed before the entrance to the paddock.
Big grin.
To end a near perfect day, we chose a restaurant in a not-so-good part of downtown Detroit to debrief over steaks, scotch and cigars. Long dinner.
We slept the sleep of the contented on the plane back to Toronto.
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