JB's Warehouse & Curio Emporium

Sometimes, while easing myself into a work session, I compose Twitter threads of things discovered while browsing through old newspapers. Sometimes these discoveries are made in the midst of research, sometimes through lazy browsing of online archives. This weekend marks the first time in nearly a year I've spent time in my hometown, Amherstburg. Taking advantage of the beautiful weather the first two days I was down here meant wandering around town and the rest of Essex County. Today is not so lovely, so I've parked myself in my Mom's dining room, where, depending on the angle, I can stare out into the lush greenery of the south end of town along the Detroit River. So, as an easing-into-work-you'll-see-in-a-few-months exercise, I decided to flip through the pages of the Border Cities Star from the second weekend of July a century ago. Instead of throwing this material onto Twitter, it seemed like a good excuse for a blog post where I could expand on some of the storie...

Rather than wrack my brain in an attempt to start this post off by waxing poetic about all things Montreal, I’m going to cut to the chase: Sarah and I recently spent a weekend there and made our stomachs very happy. Disclaimer: Two Montreal food staples we didn’t have or barely sampled on this trip: smoked meat (almost got into line at Schwartz’s, but decided to keep my rough pattern of indulging in their famous sandwiches on every other trip to the city…and I wasn’t really in a smoked meat mood this time around) and bagels (did have one as a morning snack on Saturday, was going to bring a bag home but determined we had enough stuff to lug onto the train). One related amusement: posters around the core for a musical about Schwartz’s . Hey readers: which Toronto culinary landmark deserves a song-and-dance ode?

I have a nasty habit of starting series of entries and never getting around to concluding them. Tales of roadtrips that stop mid-vacation, profile of local streets left hanging for several years…I’m sure I’ve annoyed a few readers over the years waiting for resolutions to cliffhangers that may never arrived. There are no guarantees this won’t happen in the future (I am a busy guy), but maybe a few of the missing pieces can be filled in. Prime example: a roadtrip down south I took with Mom and Amy a few summers ago . We last left the intrepid travellers on the outskirts of Nashville after a leisurely drive along the Natchez Trace Parkway . Someday I promise to tell tales of Music City. Someday. But not yet. Today's tale was inspired by a conversation at a party last week with fellow Torontoist writers about train travel and southern adventures. I mentioned a large event my family had accidentally stumbled upon…

The first few hours I spent in Seattle made me wish I had stayed longer in Portland—call it a combination of fatigue and bad luck. After whizzing up I-5 and dropping my belongings off at the hotel, I drove into the city in search of dinner. I hadn't looked at guidebooks beforehand, figuring I'd stumble upon a secret treasure. Not much caught my eye on the roads between Seatac Airport and downtown. I wound in Belltown, where parking was non-existant. Next try was Pioneer Square, where barely anything appeared to be open and a homeless guy dogged pursued me for spare change. Frustrated (and tired), I picked up some mediocre Mexican takeout on the way back to the hotel. My disposition towards the city improved the next morning, thanks to time Pike Place Market .

Source: National Geographic , March 1955 While I didn't wave at the Cascades like Mr. Jefferson... ...I was able to greet a giant inflatible bear and its catch of the morning as I left Coos Bay to begin my lone full day in Oregon. It was Memorial Day, so I kept my eyes peeled for any potential traffic tie-ups due to parades and related festivies. Luckily most towns kept their marching routes off US 101. Decorated home, Florence, Oregon While in Florence, I passed by a ceremony that saluted the efforts of dogs in foreign wars. The crowd made it difficult to tell if any of the honoured pooches were decorated with medals for their service in Iraq. North of Florence were several spots to observe sea lions. There was one tourist trap that offered a close-up view for a steep admission fee. I ended up at a park called Strawberry Hill , which made up for its lack of fruit with a scenic, craggy landscape and an occasional glimpse of sea lions in the distance. Bo...

My last day in California proved to be the only one during the trip where I made a major miscalculation in terms of distance. The goal was to drive from Ukiah to Coos Bay, Oregon, where I prebooked a room at a casino (it seemed the best option when scouting hotels online). All I had to do was drive back to the coast and be on my merry way northward. Miscalculation #1: the amount of time required to drive to the coast. The highways between Ukiah and Mendocino are scenic (see above for a shot from California 128), but their winding nature took longer than anticipated—just over an hour to the ocean. Once I arrived, I wandered into Mendocino, which was in the midst of Heritage Days . Despite hordes of people, I couldn’t resist the lure of the landscape, even as I couldn’t shake Talk to Me of Mendocino out of my head. It's always important to know where you won't find yogurt in an unfamiliar town. Mendocino was a magnet for unusual vehicles adornments that day... ...