Under the Bridges

I'd make a crappy spy.  My day started with a pleasant Granville Island excursion as I picked my way across the city toward my evening draw.  On the island under the bridge the crowds were enthusiastic and festively decked out.  There were line-ups for the Swiss Pavillion and for PEI day at the Atlantic Pavillion, but the Francophone House was welcoming and easily accessible.  Their restaurant was active, but not packed, they had a great live show of singers and guitar players and even had a show room with exhibits and palm rubbing, reminding me if trade shows of the eighties.  Free apple ice wine.  mmmm.

After assuring myself that I was not being followed, I took the Bombardier tram  from its loading stop underneath the Granville Bridge, along the east shore of False Creek to the underbelly of the Cambie Bridge near the Olympic Villiage stop.  I strolled along a brand new ashphalt walkway to see what I could see, and what I could see was still very very far away, beyond non-descript industrial parking areas and what appeared to be open commercial space.  I took a picture while the security workers at the gate leered at me.  I started to feel guilty.  Maybe I was.  Gulp.  There was a septic truck roaring and an outside worker wearing a hard hat, orange overalls and a flourescent pinny, who I am convinced was part of an Ultra security team, in drag, watching the gate to the Olympic Villiage.   Next time I try to break into the Oly Village, I'll take the Canada Line.  I'll keep you posted.

Security at the curling venue nabbed me today too.  I am hoping it is random and that they hadn't caught me on survillance while I was sneeking around the edges of the Oly Village.  I wasn't strip searched, but they shook my coffee cup.  "Ma'am.  Is there liquid in here?"  "Uhm, yes.  I stopped at a Starbucks to check my internet.  It is black."  And at the same time he was rifling through my back pack, I was being wanded on the other side of the security tent. "Beep!"  "Oh, sorry, pocket change."  "Beep!"  "Oh, sorry, my ID."  "Beep!"  "Oh, sorry, it must be the zipper!?  There are so many pocket in these darned volunteer jackets.  Maybe it's my touque?  I dunno"  "That's fine ma'am.  You can go."  "Heh heh.... they didn't find my curling pins."

My draw tonight was a well curled game.  The Danes were conquered by the Scots, but it was not a runaway.  The crowds can make me cringe when collectively they pick and underdog and chant relentlessly in their favour, but I guess that is just one of the hazzards of hitting the big time, if you are a compettitive curler.  When the crowds stomp the Queen drum beat intro... 1-2 THREE 1-2 THREE weWill weWill  Yikes, the stands totally shake.  I am thinking of packing a rope and if the temporary stands start to buckle, I'll climb up to the media bench behind me and dangle myself from the I-beam rafters above, and wait for rescue there.  Someone said they saw engineers double checking the bolts yesterday.  I don't think they factored in the thunderous foot stomping.  I kinda wish they'd just stick to the wave.   wwwhhooOOAAAaaaa.

Another gold in speed skating.  Bernard still looks calm.  I hope Martin doesn't start to believe he is unbeatable or again, he will become his own worst enemy.  Tonight against France, they substituted their fifth for Ben Heibert, and still that win came easily.

My final evening draw is tonight and then I go on the day shift until the end of the round robin.  Photos will probably become inside shots of the Nat Bailey Stadium and close-ups of Chicken A-la King.