More readable version of blogs

I've been looking at my blogs here, and noticed that they are not being converted very well. These are actually poorly transfered copies of my real blog, which is much more readable (and has more entries, too.)

My real blog site is http://sototallybc.blogspot.com

I'll continue to keep a copy here, but the better copy is at that link.

What Boys Like to Do–It Really Hasn’t Changed

Last weekend, we had our fall cub camp at Chilliwack Lake Camp.  I hear a lot of talk about how kids need to get out and get active, and I totally agree.  One reason is to avoid the obesity problem, but another is that children learn by playing.  When you restrict their play, you restrict their learning.  The generation of North American children that was the most creative and achieved some of our greatest experiences was one that had the greatest freedom to roam and explore.

Over this weekend, here are some of the things that we did:

Lighting Fires Without Matches

First off, we took them on a hike of the boundaries of the camp.  The camp covers quite an area with lots of bush, so we were setting limits, but for 8 to 10 year old boys, the limits were pretty expansive!

Once that was out of the way, we had a talk with them about lighting fires without matches.  As we were describing this, the rain kept getting heavier and heavier.  It was getting everything damp, and dripping on everything.  Having explained the concepts, we then went to the fire pit, with each cub holding a fluffed out cotton ball and some tinder, and we proceeded to have them try lighting a fire with their choice of batteries and steel wool or flint stick, cotton and tinder.  The battery was quick and easy. Too much so.  Everyone wanted to use the flint stick. It didn’t help that Kaa (the leader) had lit it in one strike, a stroke of success which he couldn’t duplicate so easily in later attempts.  It took many attempts but finally our littlest cub (who seemed to have a knack – he did it several times) managed to light his tinder in just about 30 seconds.

Capture the Flag

We had a game of capture the flag.  In my days we played cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, or war.  For these guys it was capture the flag.  Lovely diversion, this.

Camp Chairs

We like to get them to do a craft that is something useful that they can take pride in and reuse for a long time, so we had them build folding camp chairs. All the wood was precut, but they had to hammer, screw, hammer, sand, hammer, sand, sand, and sand.  They used the chairs for the campfire and for the chapel service.

Survival Shelters

The next thing we did was a segment on building survival shelters.  Now, there was a bit of an unofficial Star Wars theme going on at the camp.  So instead of a survival shelter it became the building of their ewok home.  They were building a fort, using an old fallen log, sticks propped up against it, and ferns to thatch it.

Star Wars – Darth Rann

My cub leader name is Rann (Now Rann the kite brings home the night that Mang the bat sets free… Opening stanza of the rhyme the starts the Jungle Book).  I already mentioned the star wars theme that was going on.  Well I was conscripted to join the bad guys, so I did, not as Darth Vader, but as Darth Rann.  I think I mentioned the unofficial Star Wars theme? 

Anyways, partway  through, the good guys had captured some of our people and put them in jail so we attacked them in an effort to get them out.  It seems I got hacked into about 12 pieces, all of which were put into the jail.  Shortly after being put in I discovered a window big enough for the pieces to get out.  This precipitated an epic battle in which the remaining functional piece (head, shoulder and arm with light sabre) had the head lopped off.  After that, I was the Ghost of Darth Rann.

It’s been a while since I played that kind of game with the kids.  It was a lot of fun, even if it did stretch my imagination a bit!

World Domination

A bit later, I was checking out some more fire lighting that was going on near the chapel.  While I was ready to film it, I noticed an interesting thing going on with another group of cubs near the water.  They were picking out boulders that were sticking out of the water, and naming them as continents, then bombarding them with rocks until they had “captured” them.  Then they would sing O Canada to claim them.  (I caught this on video).  Later they got a bit strange and for Australia, they sang “O Australia”.  I guess they let it keep its name…

And Much More

We had a campfire and they did skits.

We had a chapel service (called a Cub’s Own) the next morning.  There were more Star Wars episodes than Hollywood ever knew had taken place, and generally, a great time was had by all!

Trick or Treat, Smelly Feet...

When I was a little boy growing up in Burnaby in the 60s, I was almost never allowed out after dark. There were a few exceptions. In the winter when it got dark after 5, I recall being allowed out to go to Cubs and Scouts, and I was always allowed to walk my dog, Prince. But on the whole, I was only allowed out in controlled situations.

So every halloween it was a treat when I was actually allowed to go out trick-or-treating with my friends. I can't recall when I first started being allowed to do this, but I suspect I was about 9 or 10. We'd put our costumes on, and go around the neighborhood, knocking on doors.

There were two things that we commonly said when the door was opened. Or at least there were two that we were "supposed" to say. We were supposed to say "Trick or Treat" or "Halloween Handouts". I'm not sure where that last one came from but I remember us shouting it. Being boys, we got a bit carried away with this, and somewhere we had a version of "trick or treat" that was a full blown rhyme. It went like this:

"Trick or Treat,
Smelly Feet,
Give us something good to eat!"

It had a melody, too, a common one we used for a lot of rhymes, but I don't know its name.

And "Halloween handouts" became "Halloweenian handouts".

These modified versions I seem to recall we saved for houses where we knew who it was, or sang it giggling and laughing as we walked down the street to the next house.

I do recall one house where an older man insisted that we give him a trick or a riddle before he'd give us a treat, and I vaguely recall giving him a knock-knock joke.

The other thing I recall was fireworks. We never had money for fireworks, but I usually had friends who did. I recall one Halloween, when I was 11, we had someone's jack-o-lantern, and we decided to see if filling it full of firecrackers and setting them off would explode the pumpkin.

Well, myth-busted! I was dissappointed in the lack of explosion, but there were very small bits of pumpkin flying everywhere, and a pretty strong burnt pumpkin smell in the air, and it made a lot of noise as it went off, but no explosion.

I'm sure some of the bigger fireworks would have done the trick, but being 11, we weren't allowed access to these without our parents around.

The candy we got was great. There were no mini candy bars like today. Lots of little candies, but when you got a chocolate bar, it was full sized. One of my favourite candies was the ones called rockets (they were called smarties in the US.) I still like them, because they have a strong tangy flavour.

My parents always went through my bag to make sure that everything was in order and looked OK. I don't know how real it was, but there were always stories of apples with razors in them, and other nasty surprises.

We never had a lot of money for costumes, but we always took the time to put something together that would clearly demonstrate that we had some imagination and put some effort into it.

Then, when that one special night was over, it was back to early bed times, and no roaming at night.

Music and Memories

Isn't it interesting how a song can pull back memories? I find this is especially true of those songs that I really enjoyed, and listened to while doing something fun, and then they dropped from the top 40, so you don't hear them often. Then one day, you hear one of them, and wham! The memories come back! Smells, feelings, emotions, sensations that you had forgotten: They all come flooding back!

Here are some of the songs that do it for me:

Beatles - Almost anything early:
One of the first days at school in grade one, I went home with a new friend, Steve, and he put on some Beatles records and started playing them. Once I got over the fact that his parents let him even touch the cabinet stereo, I found that I really liked those Beatles songs. Eleanor Rigby, Taxman, and so many others. Whenever I hear the old Beatles songs, they bring me back to Steve and I enjoying the Beatles.

Monkeys - Last Train to Clarksville:
I was a 7-year-old boy when the monkeys came out on TV, and I loved them! The first episode that I watched, they played this song. I had never seen anything like a music video, so to see them playing their instruments, and hearing those electric guitar sounds, I fell in love with them. It didn't hurt that they had great humour targeted to pre-teens like me. Hearing this song always reminds me why I loved electric guitars so much!

Beatles - Hey Jude:
At about 9 or 10 years old, my best friend Steve and I formed a "rock band". I had my mother's $10.50 American General Supply guitar (like a dollar store special), and Steve had a guitar that he played "lead" on. I made maracas out of two meat pie tins, pidgeon feed and staples for Steve's little brother, and one of our friends had a drum set. At one point I seem to recall having about 8 or 9 of us singing together. One of the songs we did that we thought we were pretty good at, was Hey Jude. Hearing this song reminds me of how much fun it was to play music with friends who love music! Actually, there is a version done by a group from Europe called "Kids will Rock You" that really clicked (because of the kids voices - it somehow really brought it back to me!)

Neil Diamond - Shilo:
I think I primarily liked this song because of the first line, "Young child with dreams..." It seemed like the singer was missing being a child (and I was, for the most part enjoying it so much) that I felt sorry for him. It didn't hurt that he had a great voice and could project emotion with it. I loved this song. When I hear it, I can remember exactly that wistful feeling that it brought when I was little.

Joni Mitchel - Both Sides Now:
This one was in the same category as Shilo. It really works for me, and when occasionally I hear it, it takes me back to being little.

Badfinger- No Matter What:
A couple of years ago, I think it was Jack FM that played this song. I'd almost forgotten it. When I was little growing up, I often didn't pay attention to who the artists were, I just loved the songs. This was one of those bands that snuck past my radar, but I knew all their songs and loved them. The moment I heard it, WHAM! I was an 11 year old in swim shorts, at Lobbly Park, playing in the wading pool with some friends, trying to avoid the scary teenagers, but enjoying their transister radios pumping out Badfinger!

Jefferson Starship - Miracles:
I really loved this song when I was a teenager in Mission, BC. One night I was camping with two Mission Scouts at Weatherhead creek in Davis Lake Provincial Park behind Mission, and we had a little transister radio. We were lying in our sleeping bags on ground sheets with just fly sheets over us. There was a light rain coming down, and the creek about 50 feet below us rushing loudly along. We were chatting and listening to the local rock station and they played this song. Now, on the odd occasion that I hear this, I'll recall the smell of mosquito repellant, sweat and wood smoke. I recall the feel of the damp mountain breeze blowing over my face. The sounds of the mountain and the creek, and the feel of freedom that hiking and camping whereever I chose brought me.

The Tokens - The Lion Sleeps Tonight:
This is another case where I had to look up who wrote the song. My best memory that this song brings back is a Mission Scouts Family Camp that was held at Golden Ears Park Campsite. We were at the campfire with all my friends, Chris & Joan, Gordon and so many others. We decided to try to sing this song with all the after time. I was playing my guitar with it while we got all kinds of aftertime going. We had a good group who could sing and it just came together really well. I think we sang it for about 10 minutes! That was one of my favourite campfires! This version of the song takes me back there every time!

Don McLean - Amercan Pie:
This song was one of our favourites for campfire. We did the shortened for-radio version of the lyrics. It was my friend Gordon's favourite song. When I hear this song, it brings back memories of many campfires, including the one mentioned above. I like Madonna's version, too, but somehow Don McLeans' original feels like the best, to me!

McCartney & Wings - Venus and Mars:
Actually, just about every song on the album with this name has the same effect on me. My sister bought me this album for Christmas when I was 16. In addition to really liking several of the songs, including the title song, I loved the zany lyrics. Magneto and Titanium Man worked for me, as did Spirits of Ancient Egypt. And several of the songs had that driving rock and roll sound, and great guitar parts that just worked for me!

Al Stewart - Year of the Cat:
This song reminds me of my time going to BCIT in Burnaby. I was living with my brother and going through some interesting self-discovery (not exactly thrilled with all I was discovering at that point). But there were also lots of good things happening in my life, and this song seems to just bring back those good things, and leave the bad ones in the dust. That works for me.

So that's my list of top songs for bringing back memories. I probably like other songs more, but these have a nostalgic aspect to them that is pleasant to experience. They seem to be best enjoyed from time-to-time. If you hear them too frequently they stop bring back the memories and become too current. I like to trigger those memories, so I'll just keep them in the back cupboard, and bring them out from time to time, so they keep their edge!

Crazy 14 Year Old Does Marathon Bike Ride

When I was 12 years old, my family moved from Burnaby (a suburb adjacent to Vancouver) to Mission, BC, which is way up the Fraser valley from Vancouver (about an hour drive away.)

I had to leave all my friends behind and because it was long distance, I couldn't even phone them. I did write a couple of letters, but it just wasn't the same.

After two years in Mission, I remember one day when I was 14, deciding that I would ride my bike to Burnaby and visit my best friend Steve Jensen.

It wasn't a snap decision, actually. Mission is built on the side of the valley. I lived on Cedar Valley Street, and it was quite a hill. Ride anywhere in Mission on a bike and you either walked the bike or got strong legs.

I had strong legs and knew it. So I figured I was up to the ride.

Now, at 14, I was still a bit hesitant about this, but after some agonizing, I finally made up my mind one day that I would do this. I made the decision about 9:30 and headed off down the road. Fortunately, I bumped into my sister with her boyfriend and they asked what I was up to, and I told them. This turned out to be a good thing later on.

So off I went. I probably should have left earlier. I mentioned above that Mission was an hour drive from Vancouver. Well that's by car, on the Lougheed highway. I was on a old, girl's CCM bike that I inherited from my sisters. It was old when they got it, but being an old CCM it was nearly indestructable.

So I rode through Ruskin, Maple Ridge, Coquitlam, past the old Essendale, through Port Coquitlam, New Westminster, then up the hill to Rumble and along Rumble to Royal Oak. My friend's house was up there.

I had a few misgivings. I was getting tired as I passed Fraser Mills in Coquitlam, and I knew I still had a ways to go. Also, it was feeling really industrial, and I was getting tired of all the trucks wizzing past, and the wind from them messing with my riding. But I had a quality that stands me in good stead when dealing with difficult software issues. Once I get an idea in my head, I'm nearly impossible to stop! I hate quitting!

The last part was the hill from the river in New Westminster up to Rumble street. That nearly finished me off. I was not one to get off the bike and walk it, but I nearly succumbed on that hill.

When I got to Steve's place I was REALLY LUCKY that he was there. Being 14, and it being long distance, and not being able to get permission beforehand (I kind of knew I wouldn't get it), I didn't have a chance to phone first and clear it with Steve, but there he was!

So, with rubbery legs, I walked up to his front door and rang the doorbell. Actually, I had never been to that house. He had lived on Jubilee street when I last lived in Burnaby, but I had his new address, so I knew where to find him.

His mom and dad were really glad to see me (I think they always liked me - they were really, really sweet people), and his dad actually offered me a glass of wine, which I accepted.

I only spent about an hour, because I knew I had one terrific ride home. Having done the ride one way, I had a pretty good sense of what I was up against. So I told Steve a reluctant goodbye and headed on my way.

Well, the return ride started off nice. I got to go downhill to New Westminster. But once I got to Maple Ridge, things weren't so good. It was 7:00 and the sun was on it's way to the horizon. I hoped my sister would have told my parents where I was so they wouldn't worry too much (she had - phew!) I was still only in Maple Ridge with lots of hills to do, and I was spent!

I stopped at a service station and asked permission to leave my bike there for a few days, which they granted. Then I walked onto the highway and stuck my 14-year-old thumb out. Now, this was a lot less unusual back then. Plenty of kids would thumb a ride. Good kids like me less often, but I kind of needed to get home. I was pretty seriously worried about what my parents would do to me, and so with that nervous nawing in my middle, I stuck out my thumb and hoped for a good ride.

After a few minutes, this young guy with a pickup truck stopped and picked me up. As we drove I told him what I'd done. As soon as he heard about my bike, he turned around and went back for it. He drove me right to my house, which I'm sure was out of his way, and dropped me off with my bike.

I kind of neglected to tell them about the hitch-hiking, but my parents declared me grounded anyways (but they didn't really follow through with it - I wasn't usually one to misbehave).

And that's the story of my marathon bike ride from Mission to Burnaby and back, to see my best friend!

How I Made the Dog My Pet

When I was very little, our family got a dog.

This wasn't our first pet, or even the first one I remember, as we had a cat called Blacky. Like most little children I loved the pets, and loved to take care of them. I'm told, when I was 2 years old, that they let me feed the cat one time. I scooped her food out of the tin can with a big spoon, then being taught not to waste good food, I licked the spoon off! But I digress...

The dog we got was a Cocker Spaniel, named Prince. He was coal black, and he slept next to the coal bin in our basement. I can vaguely recall when we got him, and I do recall that when we moved across the street from the old Jubilee station house that we called the "old brown house" to the big "mansion" rental house across from it, that we had him then, too. I had to sleep in a room in the basement, and being 6 and 7 years younger than my two older brothers (I was about 4 at that time) I had to go to bed a long time before them. The first few nights in that basement were very scary stuff. There were strange sounds, and no one around to call for help. But there was Prince. I could call him, and I'd hear his collar with the tag jangle, so that comforted me.

Being so much younger than my brothers, I was still only about 9 years old when my older brother went to University. He skipped two grades so he was at UBC when he was just 16 years old. At first he lived with us and was picked up by friends, but then, he moved out of the house and in with some of his friends. I don't remember all the details but I know he wasn't there to take care of Prince.

Now, many parents don't like to get pets because at first, the child is all excited about taking care of the critter, but then it becomes old hat, and if the parents aren't disciplined, pretty soon they are the primary caregivers. Even if they are disciplined, the thought of having to constantly harp on a child to care for a pet is not on most parents list of favourite things to do. I was the perfect counter-example to that.

When I realized that Antoon wasn't around to take care of Prince, I got this idea in my head. I figured if I fed, and walked, and played with Prince, eventually I could claim that because I cared for him, he should be mine. So I quickly volunteered to feed him and walk him. Except when I was deathly ill, I always did my duties faithfully.

The funny thing is, I never had to make it a point of declaring him mine or convincing anyone else. By caring for him, he *was* mine, and he knew it and I knew it, and no one could take it from us! Even my family in short order took to referring to Prince as my dog.

When I would walk him, we always left through the big, old basement door. I had a key for it, so I'd lock it behind me, and we'd go for a jaunt. Then, when we got back, I'd let him in, take him off the leash, and then I'd head for the stairs. The stairs to the upstairs part of the house had this really neat curve in it. My friends always got a kick out of my basement because it felt a bit like a castle with a curving stairway, old beams and oak doors, and a big coal furnace. Anyways, I would get on the top curved step, then call Prince. He'd run up and stop two steps above me. Then I'd pat my chest and he'd get up on his hind legs and put his front legs on my chest and I'd pet him, eye-to-eye, and tell him how much I loved him. That was our little ritual that we always did.

I don't seem to have any good pictures of him, but here is a poor one. He's the black lump resting in the right hand side of the picture. I'm the little boy in shorts and I'm standing behind my dad who is about to throw a ball to my sister.



What I learned from this is, if you love something and care for it, it's yours, whether anyone else realizes it or not. And if you care for it long enough, everyone else will know it, too.

My Affinity for Train Stations

I have always loved trains. My earliest recollections are of trains.

When I was about to be born, my mother went into Vancouver General Hospital, and while she was there, the family apparently moved from a house in Vancouver, to a new one in Burnaby. The house we moved to was actually the former BC Electric Railway Jubilee station on the Central Park Interurban line. The link below shows one of the old BC Electric trams at the Jubilee station. I couldn't find an old picture that actually showed the station house itself.

http://www.railpictures.net/viewphoto.php?id=276931



Here is a picture of me (the littlest one) in front of the old station house.



And another one of me with my two sisters, in the yard.

Some of my earliest memories are of the trains coming through. They never moved very fast, when coming through this area, but I still remember the feel of them, so big, impressive and powerful. Rumbling their deep, deisel-electric rumble. I've always found trains so comforting, like a lullabye.

When I was just four years old, our family moved across the street into a house that had a perfect view of the old station house. I think we moved because the building was condemned. I have recollections of buckets catching the rain leaking through the roof when I was still living there.

I still remember watching as my dad and his big friends carried the furniture and other belongings across the street for the move. Shortly after the move the station was torn down. We stayed at the house across the street until we moved to Mission, when I was twelve.

From that house I continued to see and hear the trains coming past. I'd kneel on the couch in the front room and watch them come by. I always loved to watch the trains. I have recollections of walking on the rails, balanced on them. I recall how the hot metal felt on bare feet, and how the hot tyes, with their creosote felt, too. My friends and I would ride our bikes along the right-of-way next to the tracks as a shortcut. You'd think that would be the end of my train experiences, but no, they continued beyond that.

I remember when I was 18, moving from Maple Ridge to some cabins in Albion near the Albion Fort Langley ferry. These were called the Albion Cabins, and were managed by a gentleman named Carlos Hovi (I may have the spelling wrong, but that's roughly his name.) I worked at a spindle factory at the far end of river road, just outside of Haney. To get there, I walked down a trail through a ravine to the tracks and then along the tracks till they came to the east end of river road. Then I'd walk all the way down river road past the ferry terminal. Every morning at least one freight train would come by, and I'd stand at the side of the tracks, just a few feet away, as a fully loaded freight train would race past at about 60MPH. This was a good way to wake yourself up first thing!

Some time later I was visiting an older friend in Mission, named Chris Desjardins. He had been a scoutmaster in Mission, when I had been a junior leader (read: annoying teenager). I was visiting him with another friend of mine, when he got a call from his brother Clive. Clive had taken out a lease on the Matsqui Canadian National Railway Train Station with a friend of his sharing the rent. He had an old Dodge Fargo truck that he wanted to repair. He was trying to hand push it and jockey it into the workshop attached to the train station, but he pushed it too far back and the back wheels went off the platform. The back of the truck was across the tracks and he didn't know when the next train was coming!

We hopped in our cars and raced across the Mission bridge to the train station. We both blew the speed limit right out, but I took it a little easier, so Chris got there first. When I got there with my friend, they had 3 people on the tracks behind the truck. They had jacked the truck up as far as they could go, but it was still about 4 inches shy of getting back on the platform.

Now a 1950's Dodge Fargo was not a modern, fiberglass, crumples-if-you-hit-something affair. Modern cars and trucks are designed to crumple in an accident, so they absorb the shock instead of your body. I think the idea behind the Fargo was, if you hit something, you went through it without noticing it. The thing was solid steel and weighed a ton!

We joined in, and for a good 5 minutes we struggled mightily, getting about an inch shy of putting the truck onto the platform, but it just wouldn't do the last bit. Then, in the distance, we heard the train whistle, as a freight came around the north end of the Sumas mountain range. We knew we had about 2 minutes. Suddenly the adrenaline kicked in, and with a mighty push, the truck went up on the platform!

We pushed it into the workshop and were just about to close the doors when the freight arrived, roaring past at 60 MPH!

We had a bit of a chat, and I found out that they were looking for another person to split the rent. The lease was for $150.00/month. CN provided toilet paper, cleaning supplies, heat, electricity and light bulbs. Clive was responsible for keeping the waiting room clean (they had about 1 passenger stop per week), making sure all the lights on the platform were going, and keeping the outhouses clean with toilet paper. I decided to take Clive up on it. With 3 of us renting, the rent was $50.00/month each, heat and light included! That was a pretty hard deal to beat, so I moved in. We divided up the duties, and I wound up cleaning the waiting room out once a week. I would have done it more if it needed it, but almost no one ever came through there.



Here is a picture of the station as it looked just before it was torn down. Loretta took this picture of me in front of it.







Here is an artist's sketch of it from happier times. I bought this card from Dianna Ponting many years ago.




Now it is still a stop, but it's just a sign indicating a stop.



They were working on a room for me, but it wasn't ready yet, so I spent the first week or so in the ticket office in the front of the station. As you can see from the picture above, the ticket office sticks out onto the platform, and has tall slit windows that face up and down the tracks. The other tenant, Dan, was in the already finished room that faced the tracks. He would wake up with every train that went by, while I typically slept through them, only hearing the ones that went by when I was awake, or half-awake.

When a freight went by a full speed, the house shook so hard, that you couldn't see your reflection in a mirror. All you could see was a blur. Conversations were briefly impossible at anything less than a yell.

While I was still using the ticket office as a room, I had the 12-year-old son of a friend over for a sleepover in the ticket office. At about 5:00 a.m. a freight train came past. As it got nearer and nearer, its headlights shone in through the ticket office's tall windows. The boy lay in his sleeping bag, irrationally convinced that this roaring behemoth was actually going to go right through the ticket office. He told me later that morning that he nearly wet his sleeping bag with fright! (He really enjoyed the experience - a bit like the thrill of a roller coaster ride!)

In September, when the weather cooled off, we discovered one of the downsides to that station house. It had no insulation, and its windows were not well sealed. The heater ran non-stop. Now CN paid for heat so the cost wasn't a problem, but the house temperature dropped to 65 fahrenheit (18 celcius), and it wasn't even that cold outside yet. For reasons of work, I moved back to Albion again, sad to leave the train station, but realizing that from a temperature point-of-view it probably didn't make sense to stay there and freeze as winter came on.

I'm glad we got our picture of the train station before it was torn down. I also have an artist's drawing of the train station that I purchased.

For our 25th wedding anniversary (and Matthew's grad year), we took at trip for 3 1/2 weeks to Europe and the UK. We travelled the whole time on Eurail and Britrail, and really enjoyed the experience.

Yes, I've always loved trains, and I still do!

(Special thanks to http://www.railroadforums.com and http://www.railpictures.net for their excellent libraries of photos.)
Also to Dianna Ponting who did such a nice sketch of the station when it still looked nice.