Monday 6 June 2016

Blog posts from 2013 adventure: Vancouver to Sonoma

I got chills, they're multiplying. . .

I used to think Ireland was the only place where, if you didn't like the weather, you only had to wait 10 minutes for it to be different. . . .  This morning I discovered Ireland was not unique.
Heading out this morning, the temperature was 60F.  I knew I had a tough climb ahead (2500 feet summit) so I dressed lightly (3 layers) knowing the effort of the climb would warm me up.
Yeah right.
By the top of the (tough) climb, the temperature had risen to 100F.  Yes - a 40 degree increase in the space of a few short miles.  I was saturated with the effort - through all three layers.
Normally you need to be careful with a steep descent as it is all too easy to get cold from the rushing wind at high speed.  Given it was 100F I thought "This won't be a problem".
Wrong.
To my utter amazement, the fog rolled in as I descended and the temperature fell right back to 60F again.
John Travolta eat your heart out!

31 varieties of cheese!

Those who know me, know I love France - especially for its wine and for its cheese.  Regarding the latter, French President Charles de Gaulle was famously quoted, in 1962, as saying "Comment voulez-vous gouverner un pays qui a deux cent quarante-six variétés de fromage?" ("How can you govern a country which has two hundred and forty-six varieties of cheese?")  (Today it's over 1,000).  Heaven.
So when the sign said 'Loleta Cheese Factory' I thought "Why not?" and turned off Highway 101 into a tiny town.  The store was big and bright and full of cheese.
"31 varieties" an assistant with an appropriate cheesy smile assured me.
Fantastic - unusual but, hey, don't look a gift horse in the mouth.  I was thinking Bleu d'Auvergne, Cabecou, Camembert de Normandie, Chevrotin, Comté, Crottin de Chavignol, Emmental, Gruyère, Livarot, Pont-l'Évêque, Reblochon, Rocamadour, Roquefort, Saint-Nectaire, Tomme de Savoie, Vacherin . . . the possibilities were almost endless.
Eager to taste I brandished the proffered cocktail stick and examined the counter enthusiastically.  Cheddar.  Cheddar with chives.  Cheddar with peppers.  Red Cheddar.  Cheddar with . . . you get the picture.
I repaired to the coffee shop and consoled myself with a slice of carrot cake.

Things I like, and things I don't. . .

Let's get the dislikes out of the way first:
  • Soulless B&Bs - I think I have undervalued the warmth of an Irish welcome.  Over here, it just ain't the same.
  • Soulless towns - yes, Ireland has its share, but there are some towns here that you'd just prefer to close your eyes to
  • Logging trucks and RVs - I know the logging trucks have to do their transporting business, but are they ever scary? 18 wheels at a minimum, sometimes towing a trailer as big again, these monsters leave a definite impression as they fly by at 65mph.  As for RVs? As big as inter-city buses and towing behind them a flatbed truck, a motor boat or both.  Monsters.
  • Dogs - I rest my case
  • Hills, hills, hills - yes they're the variation that takes the boredom from 'same same' cycling.  But they can go on - and on - and on. Two days ago I ascended 4500 feet - that's sea level to the top of Carrantuohill and 1,100 feet beyond.
  • People not listening (more of that later too)
And the likes?
  • the road surface - oh my God! hundreds of miles of it.  Smooth.  Even. Predictable. Cyclists will tell you just how magical it is to cycle on such a surface.
  • breaking surf - miles and miles and miles of crashing surf.  From Washington to Oregon to California.  And they're deserted.
  • hard shoulders - no, not cold shoulders.  Often as wide as a traffic lane - lots of space to cycle and feel safe (notwithstanding the logging trucks and RVs)
  • Redwoods - stunning - simply stunning.
  • Cycle Shops - to die for! Huge.  Airy.  Fabulously stocked.  With repair guys who know bicycles inside out.
  • The Hospital System (as experienced) - I know you should not generalise from the particular, but my one encounter (and only one, I hope) was courteous, efficient, friendly and effective
  • time - to Think.  Reflect. Ponder. Be.
More to follow I am sure.

Oh Deer!

Continuing in the risk management theme, I have accumulated a few more risks:
  • first, the 'Cascadia Subduction' - it seems that 'Pacific' is an entirely inappropriate title.  Coming from the Latin Pax, Pacis meaning 'peace', the reason this title in inappropriate is very simple: the north Pacific Coast is at risk of a tectonic plate shift (due to the 'Cascadia Subduction', similar to the much better known 'San Andreas fault').  The last big earthquake caused by this occurred in 1700 - resulting in a 50' tsunami off the coast of Oregon.  My pal David reassured me that I'd have time to hear about any such event on the news and to move on the 'Tsunami route' to higher ground.  Except I don't listen to local radio when I 'm cycling. . .
  • Coronal Mass Ejection - in 1859, the so-called Carrington Event recorded a massive Coronal Mass Ejection (basically, a huge expulsion of material from the surface of the sun).  This caused a massive geomagnetic storm (the most visible effect of which was the appearance of the Aurora Borealis not just at very northern latitudes but over a hugely increased area.
    More recently, a similar event took out the entire power grid in Eastern Canada.  The practical impact of one of these in today's highly electronic-dependent world has been speculated to be massively disruptive (losing, as we would, satellites, GPS, cellular communications, power supplies and more).  I never did mind about the little things. . . ?
  • and then, the simple deer.  Today, as I careered down a sharp descent at over 40mnph, a little grey squirrel darted out across the road in front of me.  I thought "Keep going sunshine - I don't want to hit you!".  Whereupon he obviously sensed the rapid descent of BigBadBob and immediately retraced his steps towards the ditch.  Uh-oh!  Hitting even a little critter like a squirrel at over 40mph and I could find myself in the ditch.  Somehow, he managed to avoid my wheels and I careered on, oblivious.
    Except that a deer would have been entirely different.  In fact, a conversation at a coffee stop the day before revealed the case of a motorcyclist who hit a deer - killed it, completely wrecked his motorbike and landed him in a coma for 3 days.  Oh dear, indeed.
  • . . . and just to 'up the ante', I told my squirrel/deer story to a waiter at a lunch stop and he looked at me, gravely serious, and said "yeah, another of you cyclers, an English guy, came across that trail you just did - last month - and met a bear".  Having clarified that I was Irish, not English (let's deal with the important stuff first) I enquired if that was typical.  "Oh yeah, you meet lots of animals on that trail - the trickier one is a mountain lion".
    Think I'll stick to the main road in future?

Tips for cyclists

So, if you're not a cyclist, you might find this of limited interest.
On the other hand, a broad mind is a wonderful thing.
The best tips:
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Before you start:
- make sure your gears are right:  a triple on the front and a super granny on the back (mine is a 32) gives you capacity for even the biggest hill
- take precautions to avoid on-the-road calamities: in my case, a robust back wheel (a 36 spoke 4-cross build) and a triple Kevlar tyre help a lot
- get a Garmin Edge cycle computer.  No questions.  Just get it.
- get the detailed maps for the area you are visiting (in my case the American Cycling Association maps for the west coast were priceless)
- get bull horns and a handlebar grip with a 'heel' for comfortable riding - I cannot overstate what a huge difference this made to comfort every day (ask your bike guy - he'll know exactly what to recommend)
- use a handlebar bag (doesn't fit in with a macho image but it is immensely practical: map, phone, nibbles for grazing and lots more)
- balance your front and back panniers carefully (with more weight behind)
On the road:
- be careful reassembling the bike - I got my cables crossed.  Not a big deal but its better to have them moving freely.
- get your spokes tuned in the local bike shop (air transport and more can upset even the best maintained bike)
- check into every bike shop you can along the route - even if only to get your tyre pressure checked with a foot pump or compressor (I discovered I was on only 60psi against a 110psi rated tyre - that adds huge effort to your daily efforts not to mention greatly increasing the chances of  a puncture.  On another occasion I needed an adjustment to the front derailleur that only the bike shop was able to do properly)
- listen to every sound! if you hear something different that's because something has changed (and might turn into a catastrophe - early on in my trip, a changed sound announced a front spoke that had loosened completely.  On another occasion, an annoying 'click click' was caused by a front derailleur alignment problem.)
- check the bike from top to toe every few days: loose screws, spokes, brake cables, brake pads, tyre condition - all the usual stuff.  Just do it.
- change the display on your Garmin to show: Cadence, Heartrate and Grade.  That's all.  Look after these and everything looks after itself. Aim for a minimum cadence of 80 rpm - it's hard but it really pays off if you can keep this up.
And the running repairs so far:
  • one puncture (in 950 miles)
  • derailleur (front and back)
  • spoke tension
  • burst seams on panniers
  • lost strap from pannier
  • replaced iPhone headphones (mangled in front wheel)
  • replaced bungee (lost)
Not bad, all told.


I may amend this over the rest of the trip - I'm still learning.

First Impressions?

Coffee and an oatmeal cookie seemed like such a good idea.
A nice Coffee Shop in Eureka, a pleasant assistant, a free table. All set.
"So, are your goin' far?"  I looked up to an older version of me, bearded, smiling. Much greyer (honestly, it is possible). Propping up his bike, similarly loaded with panniers.
In the midst of conversing, another customer joined in.  He had a Dalai Lama smile and a round belly that would test the Buddha himself.  We chatted about this and that and they both ooh-ed and aah-ed at the long distance I was cycling.
BuddhaMan then asked OlderBob "What's that knife you're carrying?".
"Oh, it's a little beauty.  Has this here serrated edge - the latest model"
"You should take a look at this one" (Will men ever stop showing off their toys?)
In one slick move he retrieved the weapon from his pocket and flicked the 9" blade open.
"Now, that's what you want"
I tried not to flinch.  This looked like something from the set of Rambo - or Crocadile Dundee.
"Mutilator II" he intoned, with some reverence.  "That sucker will pierce a leather jacket and make sure a trip to hospital is necessary".
I tried to look appropriately impressed.  He pocketed the knife and I pushed my cookie around the plate a while.  Dalai Lama my eye!
Later I got this description of the knife:
9" The Mutilator II Action Assisted Knife - Black. This is "Edged for the Enemy" Our Mutilator is back and updated for a sequel. This 9" monster is something you need in your arsenal. Like it's predecessor, the blade is German surgical steel and was designed in the USA by Retired Col. George Covey. Made by our own Tiger USA. Complete with a skull crusher/window breaker, your Mutilator is ready to do what it's made to do: Mutilate! Includes belt clip. Get yours today.

Reflectin' on Ridin'

Cycling is so much about finding a rhythm - the steady pulse of connection between rider and road.  Here are a few lines I put together yesterday that try to capture that rhythm (with apologies to poets everywhere!)
Before you read, close your eyes, put yourself on the saddle and imagine that beating, pulsating rhythm.
Reflectin' on Ridin'
There's a rumble in the rollin',
there's a rhythm in the ridin',
and my legs just keep on strokin';
hard, hard miles, they keep on flyin'
Ocean breeze it starts a blowin'
and my legs begin to harden.
Garmin readout states it starkly:
"Why! you're goin', oh so slowly!"
But this Road is not for endin',
murmurs softly, so seducin':
"Set your wheel in my direction.
I shall promise my protection.
Take your time, I'll know you're comin'.
Just remember, keep on pumpin'.
Don't let distance damp your yearnin',
don't you know it's worth the turnin'?"
I drop a gear, I drop my head.
I steel myself: "My legs ain't lead!"
I drop another, curse and swear,
why? why? do I accept the dare?
A hill presents, its slope so steep.
I know I only want to sleep.
But Granny helps, I dig down deep
and push and push until I weep.
This Siren fair, she will not stop.
She's pushin' me until I drop.
But "Wait!", I think, "I set the bar - 
she cannot push me oh so far!"
I check my bearings, check the map
and quickly calculate the gap.
Five miles it seems and then I'm there
It's more than I had hoped to dare.
This Siren call will have to wait
Her lure today no more shall bait.
Her appetite she well may sate, 
tomorrow's ride will seal my fate.
So why this torture? Why this pain?
Is all the effort just in vain?
"No, this is life", I'll say again
"It's in the effort - there's the gain".

Flying the Flag!

I arrived in Astoria, having traversed a 4.1 mile bridge .  The early part was easy enough, followed by a long flat section.  The last piece (to accommodate passing tankers et all underneath) was a beast: sharp gradient, unforgiving.
I followed my instructions to a friend's house with some trepidation.  He had told me he lived on the second steepest street in Astoria - and that steep meant he had never seen a cyclist outside his house.
I duly found the offending street (in truth, offensive is a much better, more visceral description - a gradient of over 15%!).  I was damned if it was going to get the better of me so I just kept dropping gears until I was in Super-Granny mode and then pushed and pushed and pushed. Half way up the damn hill, I dared look up to check my progress (always a questionable tactic lest the remaining section of the hill totally crushes your resolve).  And lo! there was a Tricolor in the near distance (as promised by my host).  It gave me heart to push on, notwithstanding the heart rate climbing well above 170.
The next day I was asked about 'flying the flag' at home.  I had to confess it was not something that we do in Ireland.  It made me wonder then, why not?  We are quick enough to claim our Irishness in all sorts of situations (international rugby matches, holidays abroad, and such like). Why do we not fly the flag? We surely recognize the symbolism (especially in Northern Ireland in terms of the Union Jack).
Perhaps I need more time to think about what being Irish really means and whether we need to rethink our willingness or reluctance to nail our colours to our national mast?
By the by, my old friends in Astoria were the perfect hosts and really showed just how hospitable the US of A can be.  Thanks D/S.

Mace, or a .38?

For the first time in over 400 miles, I found myself chatting to a fellow cyclist.  He was English, a doctor, and just finished an overnight shift.
Naturally, he was on a racing bike, unencumbered with any panniers. We chatted about this and that and he oooh-ed and aaah-ed appropriately when I described my pacific coast highway journey.  The 'dog incident' bubbled up into conversation and he looked over when I had told the story and asked "do you have mace?"
When I said I didn't, he pointed to a small canister attached to his crossbar with Velcro: "that's to sort out the farm boys" he asserted with a knowing nod.  "Of course, my pal Jim, another Brit relies on a 38".  He said it nonchalantly, as you would comment on who won the game last night or what you had for dessert.  I had to enquire "you mean a gun?".  He looked at me, po-faced, and said "Of course: you get inland here and you're in farm country and those farm boys just love messing with cyclists.  The only answer is a credible deterrent"  Before I had time to react, he started to describe a long hill ahead and with that he was away.
I dropped a gear and resolved not to travel through farm territory, the strains of Deliverance echoing through my head.

Cycling statistics

Uploading data from the cycle computer reveals the following statistics to date:
Highest heart rate (beats per minute)      169
Highest calories consumed                   4,261
Longest distance (miles)                            74
Largest number of strokes per day     21,605

Photo Gallery - 2

Random scenes along the cycling route:
DCIM100GOPRO  DCIM100GOPRO
Pretty nice riding . . .

Risk management - a personal case study

So you'd expect a risk management practitioner to have risks well sussed for an adventurous trip like this: unfamiliar territory, ambitious distances, travelling solo, wild animals in the woods, long stretches with no signs of civilization.
Let's take yesterday: after my Seattle cycling guru had analysed my proposed route (using the American Bicycling Association recommended route with detailed map etc), he suggested 'a much more interesting possibility'.  Instead of heading south and then west along the Columbia River, go West to the coast and then head south along the 101.  Seemed like a good idea.
We duly mapped the alternative course in detail on the computer, checked distances and elevations and, satisfied, downloaded it to the Garmin cycling computer for my bike.  So far, so good.
Out the road then on this new route (the American Bicycling Association maps now rendered completely irrelevant) and settling down into a rhythm.  Until the Garmin device went blank.  Battery dead.  I am in the middle of nowhere and I have suddenly lost all navigation.  No paper map.  Nothing.  Just a vague idea that I should head West and South.
Contingency plan A - go to Google maps on my iPhone. Phew!  Glad I thought that one through. I pull the phone out to get a message "No coverage".  Well, I am in the middle of nowhere.  Hmmm.
Plan B.  I retrieve a rechargeable battery - a multi-purpose device to recharge just about any electrical device you have.  Plugged it in - Bingo! my Garmin woke up and resumed its important navigational instructions.
After a little while, I noticed a rhythmic noise from the front wheel.  Preliminary investigation did not reveal the source of the noise.  I resumed cycling.
After a while I decided to stop and conduct a more thorough investigation.  A loose spoke.  That can be tricky - if you don't correct it, the wheel buckles and then you are in real trouble.  "No problem", I thought, "I have a spoke key that will fix it".
Except the key did not have the right size for the spokes in question.  (I had used the key before on my racing bike but - guess what - different size spokes.  Lesson: never assume, always check).
I had no choice but to tighten it by hand and then check it every few miles.  Eventually I came into a town and bought a small wrench to fix the problem.
The miles clocked up steadily and I eventually made it to 101.  Great!  I took a photo of the sign and then, as I was getting back on the bike noticed that the sole of my right shoe had parted company from the rest of the shoe.  Press on, Bob - this is one for fixing after arriving at South Bend (I knew I had glue in my pannier).
And then I realized I was out of water.  Well, the Western Hospitality entry tells that tale.
Despite best preparations, stuff still went pear shaped.  Planning helped but it still needed some improvisation. Sounds like a good analog for life?

Western Hospitality - with a bite

From earlier posts, it will be obvious that the people I have met over here are lovely.  Warm, friendly, hospitable.
So today brought another dimension to this hospitality.
After cycling about 55 miles, I realized I was out of water completely.  Notably, today's route was very far removed from civilization - long roads between dense forest for miles and miles.  So a refill was not a simple matter.
I thought about holding off until I got to my destination, South Bend, but then reconsidered.  It was very hot and I knew I was getting dehydrated.  Spinning down the 101, I espied a lady outside her house just off the highway.  I thought to myself 'I'll ask her to refill my bottles'.
I turned into her property, a wide opening on black tarmacadam leading down to the substantial house. Just as I was about to call out to her, 3 of the largest dogs you have ever seen appeared from behind the house in a ball of barking, fangs and hair - canine teeth bared, lupine instincts salivating at the prospect of this fresh meat on wheels.
As a cyclist I had dealt with this sort of things many times before.  You have a choice - drop a gear and get to hell out of the way, or, go aggressive and shout at the dogs to STOP!.  My beloved commuter bike, laden down with so much weight made the former choice irrelevant.  So I put on my most authoritative voice and bellowed loudly at the incoming attack.
Two of the dogs stopped like they had been slapped across the snout.  Grand.  Unfortunately, the third fellow seemed to be hard of hearing.  He pressed on and eyed my generously endowed thigh with anticipation.
The next obvious step is to place a carefully timed kick to stun the would-be attacker.  But that assumes, of course, that you have free movement of your leg.  Tricky, when your foot is attached through a stiff cleat to your pedal.  In the time it took me to twist my foot to release it from the pedal, Jaws had already closed the distance and picked the area of my thigh he thought most appealing.  When he sank his jaw into my leg, my reaction was simple shock.
By now, the lady of my original interest had shouted various recall signals to the dogs and they retreated reluctantly.  I was left with three bleeding teeth wounds on my leg.
She quickly apologized, assuring me that all the dogs had had their shots (oh! how comforting!) and that 'they never did THAT before' (even more comforting!).
Hydrogen peroxide was produced to clean the now pumping wound and a plaster was hastily applied. (Oh, and I got my water bottles filled too.)  And then I was off on the 101 again.
The only benefit was that the adrenalin in my system from the attack made the last 13 miles a lot easier.
In South Bend, I checked in quickly and immediately decamped to the local hospital.  Swift attention from the triage nurse, Bill, led me to Dr Bill who promptly recommended a booster shot and some antibiotics.  By the time I got back to the motel, Sgt R Davis was waiting for me to take a statement and to visit the property concerned.
Western hospitality - with a bite.
I never did mind about the little things. . . .

Cycling so far

Things I have liked so far:
- the road surfaces are incredible - not a pothole to be seen in the 300+ miles travelled so far)
- drivers are courteous - I can recall hearing an irate horn blow only twice so far
- signs are reasonably good (although they tend not to go for the 'fingerposts' with miles on them )
- the long meandering roads that go for miles with little traffic - a dream for the wandering cyclist

Things I don't like
- speed on the freeways: an 18-wheeler passing at speed is scary; not far behind is a truck or RV with a long trailer.  Best to stay off these busy roads.
- large vehicles (especially those towing something much wider than the vehicle towing it - makes for a scary cyclist experience)
- open entrances (see the next blog entry)

Sleepless in Seattle?

What a great city this is!  Sleepless? no way!
Of course, the city is one thing but it's the people that really make it special - and I sure got to meet some special people.
The cycle across the islands was great but I did get lost at least once - and that meant a later finish than planned.  Not that I needed to worry.  A good friend had issued the diktat from Dublin to his poor sister in Seattle that a mad Irish cyclist was passing through and needed some TLC.  Whereupon said sister's husband was at the docks to greet me from the ferry (with jeep and cycle holder), and took me immediately to an Irish pub for two of the most wonderful pints of Guinness. (Consumed only for their nutritional value, of course - vitamin B6, B12 and all that).  And then to 'base' for a wonderful repast, chat and more.
Saturday morning saw me in 'an experimental plane' - a tiny 2-seater stunt plane with more instruments that you could shake a stick at.  We took off from Paine airfield (home of the Boeing 787 Dreamliners) on a 10,000 feet runway (that's verrrry long). The trip was fantastic - we headed over the Seattle area and landed some distance away for breakfast before returning to base - flying both manually and then completely on instruments.  The sensation of passing through clouds - with zero visibility and with the plane flying itself - was quite something.
It turned out that my host was an even bigger tech-nerd than myself.  So when it came to sorting out my Garmin cycle-computer and to getting a local SIM for my phone, he was in his element. In no time, we had everything sorted - and I was set to being able to navigate properly - and to keep in touch with home without incurring horrendous roaming charges.  Saturday evening saw us taking in a few pints (Guinness of course) and - get this - a Tequila, before dinner. Why, I do that all the time!  Loads of chat around the table concluded a hectic and most enjoyable day.
A quick visit to Greg's Cycles on Sunday, voted the best cycle shop in Washington (with good reason), to attend to noisy gears (a great investment of time) and I was all set to progress on my odyssey.
All in all, a fantastic few days and outstanding hospitality - I cannot thank my hosts enough.

Thank God for Grannies . . .

Just before I left, someone suggested I change the back cassette (gears) - to introduce some Grannies (a.k.a. gears that will let you cycle up a wall).
So, a vote of thanks to John at the Bike Rack in Cabinteely - did I ever need them today! Carting around 17k of kit on an already not so light bike means these nastier gradients pose a real challenge. I could not have coped without these specially 'easy' gears.  Thanks John

Why segregation is a good thing. . .

No, this is not an insensitive comment designed to outrage.  It is a vote of approval for the smart people in Vancouver who, in their wisdom, have segregated cyclists not once, but twice! First, from road drivers, and second, from pedestrians.
DCIM100GOPRO
All around the beautiful Bay area, cyclists and pedestrians alike can enjoy the view without any worries of collisions.
Dublin Councillors, take note!

Photo Gallery 1

First photos from the GoPro camera (the one mounted on my helmet) - and yes, I do have to get better at taking photos with this new toy:
A seriously long and high suspension bridge (making cyclists feel very vulnerable - at least there was a separate cycle lane)
DCIM100GOPRO
Rolling countryside - you could be at home
DCIM100GOPRO
Deception Pass - what was once thought to be a peninsula was discovered to be an island when someone scouted the perimeter and found this sharp canyon (look closely and you will see the impressive bridge that now straddles mainland and island)
DCIM100GOPRO
Here are two shots from on top of the bridge:
DCIM100GOPRODCIM100GOPRO
And finally, a bit of random countryside (rather like the lakes of Killarney?) DCIM100GOPRO

Photo Gallery 0

First glimpse of the Rockies: 
0
Day 1 - heading out - with 17.5kg of kit (why did I pack so much?)photo (2)
And for those whose just love jellyfish, imagine swimming among these. . . (courtesy of Vancouver Aquarium)
photo (4)

Letting go . . .

On the long flights across the Atlantic and then across Canada, I recollected some advice I got many years ago: my pottery teacher asked me what I intended to do with a newly glazed bowl (a rather nice one, if I say so myself).  Originally I had thrown 8 bowls in wet clay, only for Peter to dismiss 4 of them ('a mean lip', a full hip', ' a lack of form' among the sharply observed criticisms). The next week, in the first firing, he dismissed another 2; and when 2 emerged from the second firing in the kiln, another was rejected.
"So, what will you do with the sole survivor?", he asked.
Before I could answer, he gave me his advice: let it go - give it away.  Why? Because holding onto it would only distract from throwing the next pot, from 'living in the moment'.
Sister Stan expresses a similar sentiment: 'The real measure of life is not whether we have lived the length of our days, but whether we have lived the breadth and depth of our days - whether we have lived life to the full'  Holding on to the past and fretting about the future distracts from living life to the fullest in the present.
Now, what pots can I let go of today?

No more time sheets!

Time sheet posted. Room cleared (amazingly). Thank You cards sent. ID card returned. Name removed from the notepaper.
Finally, it has happened.  After 36 years, I am now a PwC alumnus. Chapter 3 has begun.
I have been overwhelmed by the notes and cards and generous presents (even the pair of slippers and a pipe - thanks C/P!).  Most of all I have been touched by the recollections, by so many, of past moments - those things of every day, of kindness, of high emotion, of connection - that we all too quickly forget.  Thank you all.
Bike boxed. Panniers packed. Flight confirmed. Route traced. Weather reviewed. Final checks completed.  Excitement contained.  (Well, nearly).
Vancouver, here I come!

"Plans are useless - planning is everything" - Winston Churchill

I reckon Churchill got a few things right - so, detailed planning for me!
I spent a few hours today setting up a Garmin Edge 810 - for the uninitiated (like me, up to a couple of weeks ago), this beauty delivers just about everything: current location (on a nice colour map), heart rate, speed, cadence, elevation, lotto numbers . . . (ok, no lotto numbers).  It also has an app for the iPhone.
And - an indulgence, I know - a GoPro camera.  Mounted on top of my helmet, this tiny camera takes 12megapixel photos and videos using a remote control (or you can pre-program it to take photos every second, 5 seconds, minute etc - or take a burst of 30 photos in one second - and on and on)
check out the gopro site for cool videos:  www.gopro.com

Chapter 3

Why Chapter 3? I liked a bestseller called “Younger Next Year”  (it has the alluring sub-title of "Live Strong, Fit and Sexy - until you're 80 and beyond".  OK, I'll settle for the first 2 of these).
It suggests that many people think of their life in thirds: the first being born and educated, the second about the job(s), family, house and all that; and the third, a slow decline to a box six feet under.  The authors protest that, far from anticipating gradual decline, the third chapter should be the best.  I’m with them.
So this blog is dedicated to Chapter 3 – post my retirement from PwC on 30 June 2013 - to everything that can be.