Read-up, studied, compared and jumped on a barely used '13 Specialized Carve Pro with 29" wheels. Catch you on the trails in Spring on this beauty.
End of an Era
As I age, at calculated moments I tend to enjoy the act of divesting myself of material possessions. Really, stuff is just stuff and more often than not, stuff becomes anchor-y? Anchor-ous? 'The things you own, end up owning you' a wise man once said. (T.D.)
Still, when an asset is taken from you - one that really holds some sentimental value - man, it hurts. The morning after Halloween (perhaps in some quasi-inversion of Devil's night) my '03 red Specialized Rockhopper was stolen from my workplace bikerack. The thieves didn't seem to care that it had a child's seat mounted on it, they just cut the pair of locks and were out in less than 2 minutes.
This was the bike that carried me 3,000 km's around Scotland, and 4,000 km's across Europe and was a beast of a machine. So hopefully it winds up in the hands of someone who take's care of it, perhaps taking them a few clicks across some uncharted territory too. Ciao baby.
Glowride Trifecta
Always fun. Always funner with friends. Already looking forward to next year's rides.
Glowride Part Deux
August installment of the Hamilton Glowride was another great trek through the hammer that brought us along the waterfront from Princes Point to Bayfront Park which had been flooded since early spring.
Met up with some buddies and capped off the night with beverages at the Winking Judge whilst receiving round by round updates of the Mayweather McGregor tilt from a fellow rider.
Dayum I love summertime.
A Week at the Bruce Peninsula
Made a run for cottage country with a new GoPro in tow. An awesome, versatile little camera that's waterproof right out of the box. Put it through a little torture test, including an unexpected wipeout (non-existent treads on the bike - bad move, especially on gravel roads). No kiddies riding shotgun, so no worries.
The air was clean, the water fresh and the company was great..!
Thanks For Your Support Everyone!
It's a surreal experience to have strangers come up to you and ask about something it took you 6 years to create. It's even more humbling to have them buy that creation from you.
Thank you to family, friends and new friends who came out to say 'hi' and for your support. Big thanks to my wife for all her support and Twitter-fications!
Reminder!
Next Saturday is my in-store signing at Stoney Creek's Indigo bookstore.
Grab a friend - heck, grab a bunch and come on by!
Cheers
Glowriders Go Forth!
A buddy of mine told me about a group of cyclists who deck themselves out in neon and phosphorescence and embark on a night ride around the city with tunes bumping and bike bells clinking. I'm glad I went. Good vibes & fun times!
In-store Book Signing at Stoney Creek Indigo
Hey everyone!
Question: Who likes visiting bookstores?
Answer: You do.
So why not swing by Indigo Bookstore at the Heritage Greene Shopping Center at 1783 Stone Church Rd. East, Stoney Creek, ON L8J 0B4 from 1-5pm on Saturday, August 5th to check out some great reading material on the shelves, and at the table where I'll be sitting with my bike and signing copies of my book 180° Around the Antipodes. I'll be hanging out talking bikes, travel, hosteling and books. Mark it on the calendar and I'll hope to see you there!
Happy Canada day, eh!
More from my book, 180° Around The Antipodes:
(subliminal message: yes, lots of cool things you've written Bran, yes I will buy a book Bran;)
A group of guys – hatted, sunburnt with sunken eyes and tired postures – sat with their elbows on a sunlit patio table covered in half-full pitchers and glasses of golden liquid. Words like shit, fuck and piss were casually being worked to death as they smoked and flicked ashes at their feet. The way they leaned towards their drinks imparted a feeding likeness to their purpose; like hummingbirds gathered around nectarous flowers. A few of them looked over at me, the brims of their hats pulled down tightly over their eyes.
“Why do all you Canadians have flags stitched to your backpacks?” came the pointed question, the slanted looks further cluing me into the mood at the table.
“It helps at times.”
“You guys are just the world’s dahlins, awncha?” replied the same guy, taking off his shades revealing a white-around-the-eyes sunglass pinkness.
One of his buddies lit a cigarette while another topped up his beer. This sort of passive-aggressive banter seemed an easy call: a table of Americans probably hitting a rough patch on their little two-week jaunt through NZ on their way to Australia. Getting this sort of vibe from fellow travelers had an air of cannibalism to it; as though their frustrations were now being projected towards those of a similar breed in perhaps similar circumstance – a tactic that maybe now restored some of the mojo that had seeped away since they’d left home. Here and now, the lone cycle traveler – smiling and confident, somehow privy to the secrets that now eluded them – needed to be taken down a notch.
“I’m proud to be Canadian. Where are your flags?” I asked, motioning with a flick of my chin towards the bevy of packs clustered beside the table.
This was met with guffaws and more low-decibel swearing.
“Easy bud,” said the ringleader giving me the stink eye, his agro demeanor perhaps kicked-up by the pack mentality. At this crossroads town, these guys were likely just killing time waiting for their next bus to the next stop on the backpacker circuit and needed a little drama. A waitress flitted by, dropping change off on the table. I took a swig of water.
“See you guys around, eh?” I said, walking out, climbing on the bike and began riding off. In my rear view I could see a few single fingered gestures and contorted red faces. The encounter illustrated this sort of ennobling mechanism, a courage builder that some travelers needed to fall back on from time to time.
(No disrespect intended to my American friends)
So yeah, it was always a point of huge patriotic pride to rock the Canadian flag while I traveled by bike or bus. Recalling my experiences abroad, I can honestly say that very few, if any, countries enjoy such a well-respected and endearing reputation around the world.
When you're thousands of miles from home and someone asks you where you're from, it gives you an even stronger sense of appreciation being able to say, "I'm Canadian."
Happy Canada Day
Happy Father's Day
From my book; 180° Around the Antipodes:
“Happiness makes the world go ‘round, but money greases the axle,” said my dad, grinning as he topped up our glasses one summer evening. I liked the sentiment; it blended the naïve perception that love can pay the bills with the equally absurd notion that money ensures happiness. He and I regularly contemplated the monetary reality of the world that is eventually imposed on people in life. Another night he brought up a point that, although true, seemed biased in some deep-rooted resentment.
“Dad, you're negative.”
He looked at me in a way that told me he'd heard this observation before. “Do you disagree?”
After brief consideration, I found myself drawing the same conclusions, yet I might have ascribed to a more positive bent. “No, I agree, but you just sound…” I fumbled for adjectives, becoming flustered at my inability to put my finger on the point that held the disparaging connotation, “negative.”
“Not negative son,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder in that wise, fatherly way, “pragmatic.”
He didn’t sugar coat things, which maybe ruffled a few of my feathers when I was younger when I wanted to hear things a certain way or not at all. There was a weight to the subtle things he’d shared with me over the years; as though he were imparting knowledge to his son without being blatant; he saw the value in letting me learn things for myself. On other occasions the discourse was more direct; over cans of Pabst we ruminated on travel and his own life-changing odysseys in his mid-twenties.
“Pulling the plug to go travel changes you in ways that aren’t so immediately apparent,” he said. “It also has a way of dropping you out of favor with the working world,” he paused, “sort of jilting the status-quo, nine-to-five existence.”
A resigned sigh escaped his lips, followed by a nearly imperceptible smile. All this seemed plausible; accounting for lost time on a resume had to be craftily disguised. Clever, diversionary excuses had to be concocted for the ‘Why did you leave your last job?’ question that had a pesky way of popping up in interviews. ‘Walked away from life and work and duties to travel, eh? Not exactly the hallmarks of a dependable employee,’ a potential boss would muse while casting my resume aside. My dad’s own solo adventures in Spain and Italy that blew his mind as a young man were no doubt similar to the excitement I was experiencing now. The spirit of place and the buzz one feels by embarking on travel piques the senses with its unfamiliarity.
“By taking yourself out of comfortable, familiar surroundings and into the unknown,” he said, “you learn to embrace different thoughts, feelings and beliefs and eventually, you make them your own.”
These notions raced as I approached the crest of a hill where the tops of trees looked lit with orange flame. His words spoke of revelry tempered with quiet confidence.
“For a while son, you’ll be seen more as a liability,” he continued, “but there will be people out there who, despite their own personal regrets and missed opportunities, will see what you did as the gutsy, self-sufficient vagabonding that it was.”
I thought of him often on my travels; all the adversity, the hardship, the struggle in his youth and adolescence and felt such admiration for him. He’d dug in and fought and worked, somehow remaining positive after an upbringing of hard knocks could have provided him with endless excuses for becoming a bitter man. He never complained about his role as a father or the trappings that came with the territory. Nor did he ever lay any guilt-trip on my sister and I about the life of travel and adventure he’d tasted, and then gave up to become a father. His commitment to family became his sole focus. Withdrawn and private, yes, but still so caring, protective and family-oriented that as the years passed, possessions matter less and less while the ones he loved mattered more and more. “Seek the light, always the light.” he passively said one evening. And in those few simple words, to me, he’d summed up an outlook on life.
Love you always Dad
TOOL
Chris Cornell RIP
In the 90's I grew my hair & played guitar in the style of Alice in Chains & Soundgarden. For awhile, it felt like my life revolved around that music. Those were awesome sounding years.
RIP Chris Cornell & Layne Staley.
Another Mom's Day Shout
More from my book:
They left the following day, and had left behind a large bottle of Blackthorn Cider in the fridge. I lazily drank it throughout the afternoon, ruminating on travel while thinking about Sarah; her fragrant hair and how it fell over her shoulders and how those auburn eyes – mischievous and passionate – drove me crazy. After dating for fourteen months, I wasn’t really sure how she truly felt about new boyfriend bailing on regular life to go travel.
How was it that I’d met this beautiful woman now? Here was the one I could marry and raise kids with, yet I’d met her, what? Ten years too early? Those eyes that shone with a dark sparkle and the way her mouth formed a smile so beautifully it seemed the natural state of her face. I thought myself a complete fool for having left her, reasoning that someone more stable would be more deserving of her affections.
I smiled, recalling her playful jabs about my early climacteric swirled between the temples. She’d given me a mixed CD on the day I’d left. I’d listened to it a few times, but it was the thoughtfully made sleeve that made it one of my best-packed items; a picture of us on a beach with a handwritten caption:
Again, we come across men who have passed through casual love-affairs and realize only from the subsequent effects that they had been passionately in love with the person whom they had apparently regarded lightly.
– S.F.
Happy Mother's Day
An excerpt from my book; 180° Around the Antipodes:
“Hi Mom! I’m in bloody Inverness!”
“Hello dear! So great to hear from you!” she said, the smile on her face conveyed in her words.
“I’m making inroads for the ultimate Scottish souvenir. What clan did we, I mean Popeye hail from?”
She fell silent for a moment. “Well, going back, I remember the old Sahib saying we’d descended from the Anderson Clan.”
I flipped through the book of tartans I’d borrowed. “Hmm, it’s a prominently light blue pattern. Don’t know if I’m big on it.”
“Okay, well, Popeye was part of the Black Watch Territorials before he was posted to India,” said Mom, describing its colours. “The Black Watch tartan looks really sharp.”
I hit the library. In 1725, General George Wade assembled watch patrols from several clans to safeguard the Highlands from bandits. The patrol was named Am Freiceadan Dubh – Gaelic for the ‘The Dark Watch’ or ‘The Black Watch’. Its tartan of dark green, black and navy blue looked awesome. Having my own grandfather enlisted within its ranks lent a cool legitimacy to my big purchase.
As she always did, Mom came through again. I felt so fortunate and proud to have this most wonderful woman as my mother. The amount of positive energy that has always radiated from her defies comprehension; such natural tenderheartedness, class and quiet dignity was summed up in her beautiful smile and aura. Perhaps the subtleties in her personality had a way of imparting desirable attributes upon others while invoking in me a sort of template of how to best conduct myself in any given situation.
Yet, beneath this loving nature lay the underpinnings of such strength and mental toughness more beautifully balanced in her than in than anyone else I’ve ever known. She held down this gritty, resilient Scots fortitude – plainly exhibited over a twenty-year tenure at McMaster University where the only sick days she took were when the onset of Addison’s disease landed her in the hospital for a week for cortisone injections. During all those years of tireless work, there was no complaining about not feeling well, no goofing off or playing up any illness; just an iron-clad work ethic that saw her soldier through all kinds of discomfort she was undoubtedly feeling. When I asked her how she’d not noticed this slow degradation of her own health, there was that ever present smile and an unassuming shrug as she said, “I just thought it was how getting older felt.”
Even during times of personal loss and sadness there was such strength and poise in her disposition; the wellness of her family always her paramount focus. Such inherently wonderful traits; such natural virtues projected from someone who came by them all naturally spoke to her kind and genuine character and by god, how I've always loved her for her heart among many, many things.
Happy Mother's Day to my Mom all the great Mom's out there!
Easter
Wanted to say I really appreciate all the interest about the book and the website. Huge thank-you's to all of you who've bought a copy of the book from me! That kind of support is awesome and I can only hope that you'll enjoy reading it.
Some of you have written about the pictures and vids on the website too. I've chucked a bunch more shots into the 'Bikes' & 'Travels' galleries, so feel free to swing by and check the new ones out. I'll add some more in the coming weeks as well, so check back here and there for some more cool pics from the road.
I'm working on getting the book onto bookstore shelves soon, but, they'll likely charge more than my asking price of 20 bucks. So don't be shy! Drop me a line and go, "Hey Bran, I've got an extra twenty; I want a copy of that thing and I want you to sign & bring it to me." And I'll reply with something like, "Oh man, have you seen gas prices?! I couldn't possibly deliv.. okay, okay, I'll get one to ya." (Sorry - if you're not in the Hamilton area, I'll have to snail mail you one).
Cheers and thanks again for the support!
Brandon
