Today’s sharp, dry cold makes for a nice contrast to yesterday’s Slowly Melting City. As much as you might think a brief return to fall weather, in the midst of winter, might be pleasant, it seems to be the case that once this city is well frozen, it does best to remain that way.
The special hazards of the melting city are the combination of speeding cars with deep, slush-filled pools, as well as wind-blown tiny droplets of water that threaten any lenses or electronic equipment not well stowed in bags. Taking photos in wind-blasted rain or wet snow is nearly impossible, provided you don’t have an assistant to carry around a beach umbrella for you. Walking to work yesterday, there were three points where I had to choose between wading through a sidewalk submerged in ten centimetres of muddy slush water, or jumping the barrier onto the roadway and making a mad dash around the pool while the flow of cars was interrupted by a red light. Each time, I decided to take the rapid roadway approach – a series of decisions which left me with dry feet and a bit more aerobic exercise.
One effect of the bus strike has been to make me much more aware of the weather. Essentially, that is on account of having to spend longer spans outside, and having no transport alternatives to walking when the weather suddenly changes. As such, I have been lugging around enough wool at most points in time that, should the need arise to re-clothe a sheared sheep, I would probably be able to do so.
I hate getting splashed by cars.
This post takes me back. That transit strike was nuts. I was living in Ottawa near Booth and Somerset, walking across the barren and contaminated LeBreton Flats and across a windswept bridge to Gatineau for work, and then walking back across the river and across town for my photojournalism class, carrying the necessary gear all day.