Re-Blog: Open Letter by Greg LeMond

Here's a re-blog of my first cycling crush and the only American to win the Tour de France, Greg LeMond's open letter to save the sport of cycling:

Can anyone help me out? I know this sounds kind of lame but I am not well versed in social marketing. I would like to send a message to everyone that really loves cycling. I do not use twitter and do not have an organized way of getting some of my own "rage" out. I want to tell the world of cycling to please join me in telling Pat McQuaid to resign. I have never seen such an abuse of power in cycling's history- resign Pat if you love cycling. Resign even if you hate the sport.

Pat McQuaid, you know dam well what has been going on in cycling, and if you want to deny it, then even more reasons why those who love cycling need to demand that you resign.

I have a file with what I believe is well documented proof that will exonerate Paul.

Pat in my opinion you and Hein are the corrupt part of the sport. I do not want to include everyone at the UCI because I believe that there are many, maybe most that work at the UCI that are dedicated to cycling, they do it out of the love of the sport, but you and your buddy Hein have destroyed the sport.

Pat, I thought you loved cycling? At one time you did and if you did love cycling please dig deep inside and remember that part of your life- allow cycling to grow and flourish- please! It is time to walk away. Walk away if you love cycling.

As a reminder I just want to point out that you recently you accused me of being the cause of USADA's investigation against Lance Armstrong. Why would you be inclined to go straight to me as the "cause"? Why shoot the messenger every time?

Every time you do this I get more and more entrenched. I was in your country over the last two weeks and I asked someone that knows you if you were someone that could be rehabilitated. His answer was very quick and it was not good for you. No was the answer, no, no , no!

The problem for sport is not drugs but corruption. You are the epitome of the word corruption.

You can read all about Webster's definition of corruption. If you want I can re-post my attorney's response to your letter where you threaten to sue me for calling the UCI corrupt. FYI I want to officially reiterate to you and Hien that in my opinion the two of your represent the essence of corruption.

I would encourage anyone that loves cycling to donate and support Paul in his fight against the Pat and Hein and the UCI. Skip lunch and donate the amount that you would have spent towards that Sunday buffet towards changing the sport of cycling.

I donated money for Paul's defense, and I am willing to donate a lot more, but I would like to use it to lobby for dramatic change in cycling. The sport does not need Pat McQuaid or Hein Verbruggen- if this sport is going to change it is now. Not next year, not down the road, now! Now or never!

People that really care about cycling have the power to change cycling- change it now by voicing your thought and donating money towards Paul Kimmage's defense, ( Paul, I want to encourage you to not spend the money that has been donated to your defense fund on defending yourself in Switzerland. In my case, a USA citizen, I could care less if I lost the UCI's bogus lawsuit. Use the money to lobby for real change).

If people really want to clean the sport of cycling up all you have to do is put your money where your mouth is.

Don't buy a USA Cycling license. Give up racing for a year, just long enough to put the UCI and USA cycling out of business. We can then start from scratch and let the real lovers in cycling direct where and how the sport of cycling will go.

Please make a difference.

Greg

For more on Paul Kimmage see http://www.pressgazette.co.uk/paul-kimmage-sued-cycling-governing-body-they-want-try-shut-me

For the Paul Kimmage Defense Fund see: http://nyvelocity.com/content/features/2012/paul-kimmage-defense-fund

She's Lost Control

Not to be out done by My Namasexual Guy, and foolishly encouraged by the studio (their foolishness to encourage me, that is), I just registered to take the Kids Yoga instructor course. In many ways this feels like a most natural progression as they need kid's instructors and I have 8 years experience teaching children and I love to do it. However, that 8 years of experience was gained teaching kids karate. 

Karate has discipline built into the program. There is order. There are push ups. You may recall that at  5'1", by 11 years old the average child is taller than me. Even by 9 many are looking me in the eye. In a gi (karate uniform) I gain about 6 inches or so of cloth to my slender frame and I use my theatre trained big girl voice to control a room. Plus push ups, did I mention the push ups?

Yoga is the antithesis (see what I did there?) to karate. It is free expression, do as you feel and all those wonderful things. Except, children feel like doing some very freaky and often dangerous things. As I prepare to embark on this journey, I think about all of the outrageous child behaviour I have had to bring under control in my years of teaching karate and I worry that when you strip away the belt, the gi and the push ups, and I am left standing with this tiny shell I inhabit, will I still be able to guide the room without my array of dojo tricks? 

Breathe 

Mind the (Generation) Gap

When people find out the age difference between me and My Guy, I usually receive high-fives, mock fawning and bowing or titles like "Queen of the Cougars". On rare occasions, though, I encounter "I could never...", which initially makes me think of a Dylan Moran bit regarding hookers and cocaine in a hotel room. I never see what the big deal is. As has already been established, My Guy is an old soul, or I'm very immature. Possibly it's a combination of both. 

For the most part, we don't notice the difference. I credit my career in fitness and a fabulous gene pool for his lack of awareness. Where I do sometimes feel like we come from entirely different worlds are in my far too numerous pop culture references. I am, after all, a Gen Xer, gratuitous pop culture references is our thing.

Once, early on in our budding relationship I made a joke, in writing, about him waking up with a horse head in his bed. Apparently, if you've never seen The God Father this is an incredibly distressing thing to read in a lively online chat. It also became apparent that he just wasn't raised right! How does one grow up in an English speaking country and not at least hear about one of the most infamous scenes in filmmaking history? And how does one then explain the scene to an already traumatized reader? Particularly when you can no longer type because the laughter has you shaking violently. Obviously he got over the shock, as we're living together (see previous blog "Stealth Cohabitation"). Though it could be a matter of precaution on his part, presuming I would not put a horse head in my own bed (he still hasn't seen the movie). Won't he be surprised when he wakes up!

*Written entirely on my iPhone so do not question any typos or spelling errors. There are no errors because iPhone autocorrect knows better than we....

Re-Blog Plus

A friend of mine just alerted me to this excellent blog post: http://www.danoah.com/2012/10/16-ways-i-blew-my-marriage.html

I have to say that reading it was both heart warming, in that I saw my current relationship in a lot of the positive advice, and chilling in that I see my former self in a lot of the don't columns. I have been ok at admitting my wrongs in the choosing of the wrong partner and staying long after I was continually made unhappy segments, but it takes two to make or break a relationship and I've had some very bad habits I have to own in order to break.

One of my worst habits was the unsolicited advice giving. Naturally I worry about the people I care about, that is a natural and good thing. Thinking that I know better what they should be doing, is not. Telling them what they ought to do instead is not and I was terrible for doing so. Sometimes unrelentingly. When I think back to the fevered email writing, sending 6-7 lengthy messages, one right after the other, I cringe. Sometimes I would feel guilty and then send another 3-4 positive messages, then go right back to the "you ought to know" writing. To the unfortunate recipients, I must have looked like a bi-polar nut job and in some respects, I was. 

Projection. I have been credited with being a very intuitive person. Sometimes I think I am and sometimes I think that when you surround yourself with people who are like you, it is easy to project your own issues onto them and be roughly "correct". A lot of the time and energy I spent trying to "fix" my partner was really an attempt to fix my own problems. By making my problems someone else's, it seemed easier to objectively view the issue from the outside. This is a double lie because, there was zero objectivity behind what I was doing and, what I was doing was not fixing anything. I was merely cataloging a long list of faults, making both me and my partners feel worse about ourselves. It is almost impossible to make changes for the better when you are feeling at your worst.

Having come from a family that turned verbal abuse into an art form, I deluded myself into believing that when I was upset, it was better not to say anything rather than risk repeating the patterns of verbal abuse I was raised in. What I was really doing was using silence as a weapon. It's a tricky situation. Sometimes I was so tired of constantly "talking about the relationship" or telling my partners that I was hurt that I just started to shut down. I withdrew into myself and threw up walls so that I couldn't be hurt further. Sometimes silence was a refuge. Other times, though it was a spiteful attempt to make others feel bad. 

When all is said and done, I have done my share of sabotaging my relationships. I regret the pain my actions caused to those I cared about. However, that is not the same as saying I wish I could go back and do things differently. Each of those relationships were absolutely wrong for me, though I admit my share in their destruction. Hopefully, both sides have learned and grown from the experience.

I have read and heard much lately about not looking to the past as you can not change the things that have already happened. Though I agree that thinking too much about the past, living with constant regret, is detrimental, I also know that failure to deal with past issues always makes them come back larger. With this post I put my past relationships in their final resting place. I have learned what was useful and now it is time to let go of everything else. 

To all the boys I've loved before, I genuinely wish you well, but I shall think on you no more. Adieu

To My Guy, without you I could not have come to this place of acceptance and forgiveness of both myself and the people of my past. You have taught me the true meaning of Love!

My Life As A Letter Writing Crank

Update: Nike responded to my email with a statement of regret regarding their decisions to sever ties with Armstrong. Nothing takes the wind out of your comedic sails like a form letter email that refuses to acknowledge your sarcarsm

I sent an email to Nike head office the day they announced they would stand by Lance Armstrong, suggesting they could use this opportunity to re-brand. Here are some of the slogans I suggested:

Nike - Cheat to Win
Nike - No Needles, No Gain
Nike - Just Do Drugs, Libel, Slander and Perjury
Nike+EPO

It perplexes me that they would change their minds and drop their sponsorship and association with Armstrong rather than use my suggestions.

I've Crea-dated a Monster!

I was very pleased with my initial (resounding, I might add) success in hooking My Guy onto Power Yoga, not your gentle nap time yoga, this style kicks ass. He now regularly attends class with and often without me and tells anyone who will listen how great it is. He's always been rather a one man sales and marketing team but now he's on a mission. Last week he got his first pair of proper yoga pants (yes they make them for men) from a major manufacturer of yoga wear that I can't afford. This week he was asked to come in for a job interview with that very same major - with a capital MA - manufacturer of yoga wear. A sales position of course. His mother, yoga instructor and countless friends have already laid claims on his staff discounts and I'm told to go to the back of the line.

So here I am being out yogied by Mr. Fancy Pants, breathing in his shadow and down dogging my way through life in inferior yoga wear.

Namastuff It!

Messy is the New Black

I love training in a Japanese martial art. The precision, the history and the pageantry are all part of the attraction for me. If you train in a Chinese Art or a Sport version of karate, you are taught that technique is personal expression. Not so much with a Japanese Art, technique is an historical expression performed the same way it was in the beginning and always shall be, anon. I have a Japanese Sensei who has more in common with the strict, "tough love" caricature you see in old movies, berating students for making mistakes, sometimes with his voice, sometimes with a stick across the legs, back, whatever was nearest.

It was only recently that I came to understand that, though his approach had made me a very good karateka indeed, it had severely depressed my ability to try new things that I was not immediately good at. When you get yelled at (and hit) enough for making mistakes, you learn to avoid doing things you may screw up. This caused me tremendous stress when I was mountain biking, taking a new class, and most recently in Yoga. I thought I hid this well (except for the mountain biking, anyone who ever rode with me could tell that it was a very stressful endeavor for me), until a yoga instructor called me on it in my first class saying, "that one got messy on you, you don't like it when things get messy do you."

Since then I've started to focus on these hang ups and change them so I can get back to the more carefree approach to trying new things that I had before karate, and most of all trying to bring that sense of play and adventure back into my method of teaching karate. The more I examine this issue, the more I realize it certainly isn't just me. I notice that many of my friends have hang ups about being witnessed doing anything less than well. Even things that don't seemingly matter. We work hard to do some things tremendously well, but when it comes to something new, if we suck, we are less likely to stick with it. Given that it takes ten thousand hours to master any skill, how any of us could expect a better outcome is incomprehensible.

My challenge to myself and to all of you is to go out and try something new, strange and out of your comfort zone, go into it with an open mind and an "empty head". Quiet (or in my case, muzzle) the inner voice that criticizes you and just have fun learning something new with all the wonder and good nature of a child. Get Messy, its very hip!

Denouement - The Beginng

I planned to have a series of amusing anecdotes to share about my guy's journey from spending all day on the couch watching The Unit (I can get behind a good David Mamet play - Glengarry Glen Ross is oft quoted in my circle - but 6 consecutive hours of soap operas for men gets a little much), to a yoga accepting convert. Instead of I have one and a half.

My guy deliberately stalled and took his time getting to the studio on Saturday, opening day, so he would not have to take the class. He did, however, sign the waiver and watch me pay. Then we went shopping for a yoga mat and towel. Or rather, I shopped for said items while went in to future shop and played with mobile phones. Sunday came and I relentlessly pushed as he attempted the same stall tactics. I was determined to take the class and have huge issues with being late so there was no way I was going to allow a repeat of Saturday. En route to the studio he opined that yoga was "stupid" and that he had "zero interest". We took the class, on the way home he asked if there was one at 5 pm the following day that he could attend after work. Which he did. In fact he's been to a class every day since. Just like that, months worth of writing material is out the window. Don't misunderstand; I am incredibly pleased by his new found love of hot yoga. I cannot help thinking, "well now what?" When one prepares for an epic battle, there is a sad denouement about having victory handed to you.

If I don't having anything to post for a while, blame my yogi guy, it's entirely his fault!

Bicycles, Yoga and Preparing for Battle

I finished the MS Bike Tour Acton-Waterloo 200 km (over two days), despite appalling under training and lived to tell about it! (I also lived to get up and teach a spin class the next morning). Since then I've tried to keep it going with some fabulous night rides under a full and full-to-waning moon with My Guy at my side - magical - another assault on Rattlesnake Point and even a bit of single track on my mountain bike. One cross country ride, in fact, just enough to remind me that I really don't like my Mountain Bike. 

Now, as fall looms and the madness that is teaching 4 beginner karate classes (as well as 2 intermediate and 2 advanced) per week is about to begin anew I take a big breath and prepare for battle. Speaking of battles, I am signing My Guy up for yoga. Not just a class a week, but a full 30 day unlimited yoga package. He knows, he has agreed to go, but he doesn't like it. Only because he's never tried. Likewise, I had dabbled in the odd classes at the community centres where I teach and found it not unenjoyable but nothing that really managed to hook me. Then, finally caving to the constant nagging, goading and pressure from my son, I agreed to try a similar 30 day unlimited offer at a hot yoga studio and I absolutely loved it. So, when I found out my first teacher in there was opening a Power Yoga Canada studio in my city near my work, I was very excited.  When the opportunity to get on board with the Energy Exchange* program came along, I jumped without hesitation. 

I have tried and tried to get My Guy to go to classes (yoga and other) in the past and he has always been reluctant. Fit cyclist that he is, he isn't the most agile and his flexibility is that of a 80 year old man (both my parents, who are in their 70's, have far better flexibility). So the adventure begins, can I turn my reluctant, gun loving, meat eating boyfriend into a yoga loving, flexible as Gumby, Namasexual? In my favour is his cheapness, he hates seeing money wasted so if I pay for it, he'll attend out of obligation to get his (my) money's worth. Working against me is his army training to "hate hippies". I think kick ass flexibility and rising to the challenge of arm balances just might win out over "drop and give me 50 maggot". If not, there's always karate - a little from Column A and a little from Column B...

*For those unfamiliar with Yoga Energy Exchange, most yoga studios have a program for those who cannot afford classes, you work 1 4 hr unpaid shift per week helping to run the studio and you get unlimited free yoga classes plus deals on merchandise. Fantastic opportunity!

In the Neighbourhood

Inspired by one of my fave bloggers David Thorne, and the assurance from my therapist that I am ready to talk about it, I am finally ready to write about my sudden move back in December and the neighbours who drove me to it...

Meet the Cast of Characters:

I should have headed the warning signs on day two of the move in to my new townhouse, when the neighbour across the street yelled at my son (from across the street), "hey, number 24, what's your name." I would like to say that this bellowed greeting from across the way belonged to an adolescent child but it did not. I belonged to a young mother of a fetal alcohol syndrome toddler. A toddler who was wrapped in a durag and being pushed on a push bike by his clingy, polyester, short dress and knee high boot clad mother. I shuddered, decided to keep my distance and closed the door.

The next neighbours I met lived on the other side of my adjoining walls. There were the couple who regularly got drunk in the back yard and lost their own toddler and on the other side, their drinking mates who grew pot in the back yard (of a town house complex, may I remind you), had a confederate flag strung up in their garage and who thought nothing of setting up water slides, Halloween exhibits, projection screens, karaoke machines and all manner of annoyances on my lawn 

The Boyyyz played basketball on the street, and were unable to do so without hollering profanities I could hear in my basement with the windows closed, despite being directly beside a playground filled with children. They could not go 20 minutes without a screaming match and chest bumping erupting though a full fight never happened.

The committees: Everything in the townhouse complex was decided by committee based on how much you partied with the committee members and board of directors. Being a light social drinker and non-smoker who regularly exercised, I was persona non grata. Attending meetings was like was like watching guest selection for the Maury Povich show

Be sure to check back to this blog and follow our cast of characters through just over a year of mayhem, hijinks and poor life choices

There's getting away from it all, and then...

Once again, I attempted a ride myself into shape road cycling bootcamp, this time it was only two days and I had my guy with me. The much anticipated trip turned sour for me about 55 km into our ride when I bonked hard. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. I had been teaching spin all winter, training karate, teaching the new Advanced Circuit Training while my guy was resting on his laurels. I was supposed to rip his legs off and return home triumphantly. Instead I was stopped at the top of the final climb (at least I made it up) feeling nauseous and dizzy and threatening bodily harm if my guy tried to continue with his "work through it" lecture.

Was it under training? Over training? the 40+ Celsius heat? Dehydration? Or am I getting soft, weak and lazy? I really don't have an answer to that (though several signs do point to dehydration). I do know that my last two bike rides have sucked (don't get me wrong, I had a great time, I just didn't perform the way I expected to). Now I'm back home, once again analyzing the situation (read over analyzing) and trying to fill in the gaps. The gaps in my nutrition, the gaps in my training, the gaps in my mental fortitude and trying to repair the breach to get me back where I used to be.

While I'm home putting it all back together, my guy is taking it all apart; reading real estate pages for some truly rural areas and dreaming of a house in the country in his near future. I'm torn. Yes, riding for several hours (and many km's) without a single driver-cyclist altercation was mind blowing. We saw enough examples of effective road cohabitation to determine it was not a fluke. Drivers passed when it was safe, giving cyclists a wide berth and they patiently waited behind when they couldn't. Without the slogans, signs or campaigns these two groups just got along, like any other option had not occurred to them. We didn't encounter a single car horn, hollering, item thrown out the window at us or any other attempt at harassment. It was cycling shangri la, add to that the fact that most hills peak at a 14% gradient and I start dreaming of that country house too.

Then I remember the 1 hr drive to get a real cappuccino, the single decent bike store (and it really is good) that only carries one clothing line, and the Italian restaurant being the closest thing the community has to "ethnic food" and I realize it's a nice place to visit but..... but in my own area I see construction signs for the 407 toll highways expansion that will run right through the supposed green belt and cut of all my safe cycling routes and the balance shifts back to the West.

Maybe,giving up my favourite Indian restaurant is worth not getting killed while out for a bike ride

The Bicycle Cure

Once again I'll be tugging on the lycra and velocroing up the cycling shoes (and of course I always wear my helmet!) for an excellent cause. I have participated in MS Bike Tours on several occasions and have always had a great time supporting this important charity. Like last year, this August I'll be riding the Acton-Waterloo tour, including the "metric century" loop, for a total of 200 rolling, escarpment km's over 2 days. I have the bike, I'm working on the km's, now I need sponsorship from generous friends, family members and other philanthropic types who have been touched by MS.

http://mssoc.convio.net/site/TR/BikeTour/OntarioDivision?px=1353851&pg=personal&fr_id=1208

When Bias Stares You in the Face...From the Mirror

I am recently returned from an international martial arts symposium and world championships where I had the great pleasure, fear and stress of introducing several of my students to the world stage. For the most part, my fears where completely unfounded. My students demonstrated the hard work, determination and adherence to etiquette that I have always known them to possess. In tournament they did fabulously. Six junior (age, not rank) students chose to compete and 3 of those won medals, including a gold! For several days I enjoyed the high of having produced such an accomplished team of young martial artists. I am finished celebrating now, the accolades have stopped coming and it's time to answer some hard questions.

Question 1. Why were all the medalist girls?

As you can imagine, karate is still a fairly male dominated activity and though I am a female Sensei, the majority of my students are female. In kata competition there is no gender bias, males and females compete against the each other as equals. Do I teach my male and female students differently? Am I more encouraging to the girls? Or is it simply a matter of the girls being more able to identify with me and my teaching style because of a couple of common chromosomes?

Question 2. Have I become like the Grown Ups?

One of my favourite books of all time is The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. It contains some harsh criticisms of the absurd priorities and closed mindedness of "grown ups". I pride myself on not being a grown up, yet a spent weeks trying, as indirectly as possible to dissuade one of my students from competing. I thought the pressure would be too great for her, that fear would crack her and that she would perform poorly and then be miserable about it. She won a bronze medal (her classmate won the gold in the same category). Now I am back to wondering what it is I know. Another thing I pride myself on is believing in the potential of my students when others tell me I should lower my expectations because they are "just kids". But I let my student down because I did not believe in her and she deserved to be believed in, they all do.

Summer is upon us, I grade my last group of students tomorrow and then we go on hiatus until September. I will spend the next few months rethinking my position as a Sensei, the role I play in the lives of my students and how I may be affecting their outcomes through my bias.

Mothers Day (Sans Apostrophe)

It is 4:10 pm, Saturday May 12 and soon I need to start getting ready to head across several towns and way out to the "West End" to celebrate a most valued friend's birthday. So far today I have packed a lunch I did not intend to eat, made salsa I only got a mere taste-test of, started a pâté fermentee for tomorrow's bread (also to be enjoyed by others), shopped for two mother's day cards (I only have one) and finally, started the two day process of making "Rich Man's Brioche" for the mother I have and the mother-in-law I don't.

Don't get me wrong, I offered to do the making/cooking/baking/shopping for the mother's in question because I get a sense of accomplishment from tackling difficult recipes "from scratch" and having them turn out. I enjoy the process of making bread products especially. Bread making is scientific, measurements must be exact. You must pay attention to the texture of feel of the bread and to its look, in order to produce a successful loaf. The windowpane is a moment of excitement in my house. I can lose myself in the process and achieve the same Zen like focus as I get when training karate; what is referred to as Mushin or mind of no mind. So, I'm not trying to martyr myself here because, I have, to a certain extent, enjoyed my day - though I could have done without the image of plastic (at least I hope they were) antlers affixed to either side of a pickup truck on my way home from the shops.

As I sit on my kitchen floor typing (all counter/table space being occupied in various states of proofing doughs), I wonder why it is that I have chosen, for I did deliberately choose, to take on the responsibility of gift giving for a woman I have only met thrice? and why that responsibility was so readily handed over to me, as it is to many women in relationships. My brother would never think to have his partner buy for our mother. He is acutely aware that he knows her best. Granted my brother is a Mamma's Boy, though not on the grand scale that others of my acquaintance are.

How did gift giving somehow become a woman's biological imperative? Is the assumption that a woman can know a relative stranger better because they share a gender? Because I know for a fact that I won't be asking leaving the purchase of my dad's Father's Day gift to my guy. Though I am now toying with the idea of requesting it just to see the reaction I get.

Somehow I forgot to mention in the first paragraph that my terrible ex's best friend is expected at tonight's festivities. Perhaps that knowledge unconsciously directed me to the activity that required my focus to the exclusion of other thoughts. I'm sure we'll all have a lovely time, the way we have on so many occasions in the past - wait, that can't be right......

In The Neighbourhood

http://www.durhamregion.com/news/article/1353476--senior-struck-at-busy-oshawa-intersection-dies

Another week, another collision between person and motorized vehicle in my neighbourhood.  This time it was an elderly woman crossing at a busy intersection and a 22 year old driving a pickup truck. I was not on the scene until after the collision occurred, so I cannot say for sure what went down that day, but I can share what I have witnessed and experienced thousands of times. A driver comes to an intersection and signals to turn right. The driver intently watches his or her left to see if there is any motorized traffic coming and as soon as there is a break in the flow the driver guns it. The driver never once looks to his or her right to see if pedestrians at the same intersection might be crossing at the lights. The pedestrian, doing exactly what they are supposed to do and crossing with the light, either gets hit or suddenly has to jump out of the way to avoid a collision. This is no accident, this is a driver failing to perform the proper safety checks to ensure the road is clear of ALL traffic, not just traffic of the motorized variety and it sadly happens hundreds of thousands times per day. Now someone is dead, her family is broken and the driver will never be the same. Was it worth the rush, the distraction, and the inattention? I doubt the 22 year old thinks so now, regardless of what his thoughts were just prior to the collision. Are you going to be the next person dealing with the guilt of having killed someone with your motorized vehicle? Or are you going to slow the %*@# down, realize nothing you have to do today is more important than someone’s life, and pay attention to your surroundings when you drive? Because the alternative is deadly.

My thoughts go out to both the families of the woman who was killed and the of the driver because all their lives are forever changed by one very poor decision.

The Law of the Lane

Bike lanes – useful, cheap, easy, efficient and cost effective (certainly when compared to the cost of roads) and absolutely necessary in our current condition of obesity, weight related health issues, congestion, environmental issues and rising fuel costs.

Motorists and cyclists do not happily co-exist where I live. It is an openly hostile relationship with a lot of finger pointing and blame. Motorists think that bikes belong on the sidewalk and that when they are on the road they are doing something wrong, something illegal even though the website for the Ministry of Transportation in Ontario clearly states:

The Ontario Highway Traffic Act (HTA) defines the bicycle as a vehicle that belongs on the road. Riding on the road means riding with other traffic. This is only safe when all traffic uses the same rules of the road.

A bicycle is a vehicle under the Ontario Highway Traffic Act (HTA). This means that, as a bicyclist, you have the same rights and responsibilities to obey all traffic laws as other road users. Cyclists charged for disobeying traffic laws will be subject to a minimum set fine and a Victim Surcharge fine of $20.00 for most offences (please note set fines below are subject to change).

Yet I even know a cyclist who was stuck by a vehicle while riding through an intersection and the police officer who arrived on the scene told him he should have been “walking” his bike through the intersection. I have read through the sections of the HTA which relate to bicycles and no where have I read that a cyclist must walk their bike through an intersection. In fact, doing so directly contradicts the statement “a bicycle is a vehicle under the Ontario Highway Traffic Act. This meant as a bicyclist you have the same rights and responsibilities…” However even the police seem to accept the urban myth that there are different regulations for cyclists. I believe this is why, in collisions between cyclists and motorists, the motorist is rarely charged. The assumption seems to be that the collision is the cyclist’s fault for being on the road.

In my own experience I have had most of my near misses (thankfully) from drivers breaking the law. The following is a shortlist of the worst and yet most common offenses:

• Passing me on the left and then making a right hand turn directly in front of me
• Making a turn (into me) while I am traveling straight and have the right of way.
• Swerving toward me and then swerving quickly away, in an attempt to intimidate me – this one always puzzles me as, presumably the reason motorists resent my riding is that I am impeding their progress, yet it takes more time and effort to intimidate me than to just pass me.
• Crossing a solid line to pass me on a hill, while unable to see oncoming traffic
• Passing me so close that I have been hit by the vehicles side mirror
• Passing me, while I am stopped for a red light or stop sign, in order to stop directly in front of me (and partially in the intersection).

Everything I have listed is a direct contravention to the Ontario Highway Traffic Act. All of these things happen every time I ride my bike (which is pretty much daily in the summer) and all of my cycling friends report the same or similar experiences and yet when one of these illegal behaviours results in a collision, the assumption is that the cyclist is in the wrong and thus no charges are laid. This is outrageous. This is an assumption that “might equals right” and it is wrong, illegal and short sighted. Cyclists pay taxes, vote, hold high paying positions (let’s face it, cycling is not a cheap hobby) and contribute to the community as much and often more than anyone else. We are not a special interest group; we are citizens with rights and responsibilities under the law. I keep hearing about programs to educate cyclists yet I see nothing being done to educate drivers. Apparently the sentiment is that the entire onus for safety lies with the cyclist.

So why are so many motorists and politicians against bike lanes? It is absurd to state that bikes don't belong on the road and then say you don't want bike lanes, the only safe solution to getting bikes out of the way of motorists. I have heard many excuses "the roads weren't built for bikes", yet bikes and motorized vehicles co-exist in many European cities where the roads are much narrower than they are in North America. "They are too expensive" - Bogota Columbia has a completely integrated network of trails and bike lanes but Oshawa, with some of the highest property taxes in Canada, can't afford it? Dubious. "It's too cold most of the year" - two words; Copenhagen, Ottawa

Recently there was a man in his 50’s riding his bike to work in a neighbouring community, like he did every day, trying to lead a healthier, cleaner lifestyle. Anecdotal reports suggest  he wore a helmet and safety vest and had both front and rear lights on his bike. He was struck by a vehicle and died on his way to hospital. The woman who struck him had seen him cycling to work many times before. No charges were laid. 

Until the day my Utopian Dream of being able to ride safely on bike lanes in my community becomes reality, please remember the “bicycle” in front of you is not an object slowing you down or intentionally trying to provoke you or doing something wrong just by being there. There is a PERSON, a living, breathing person who is somebody’s child, somebody’s parent, somebody’s partner, somebody’s best friend, somebody’s everything. Stop thinking they are making you late, you are late because you are disorganized and didn’t give yourself enough time, not because a cyclist is in front of you for an extra 50 seconds. Stop looking at the object and see a person before you lose your humanity all together and because IT’S THE LAW!

For more information about bicycle friendly initiatives or to help this cause see the following links. Also, write your MP and MPP and let them know that bikes do belong otherwise this issue will never be on the agenda:

http://yieldtolife.org/

http://www.sharetheroad.ca/

http://www.bikesbelong.org/

Ch-ch-ch-changes

An interesting conversation about parallel universes and meeting another version of one's self (which I'm convinced would be disastrous - ever met someone of the same gender who you had everything in common with? How much did you hate them?), and another conversation about life choices have collided in my brain as I started thinking about all the things I wish I could have told younger me at different stages of my life. So here it is, the wisdom of my ages:

At 5'1 you cannot wear anything long or flowing unless you want to look like a frumpy Smurf

Shortcuts ALWAYS lead to more work

If someone truly loves and cares about you, they make you feel good about yourself. Someone who makes you nuts, self-conscious or insecure is doing so on purpose and out of self-interest (not yours)

Believe it or not, 50 lb weakling and last picked for "soccer baseball", you are going to be a black belt one day and a mighty force to be reckoned with

That haircut isn't going to work on you

What is the worst thing that can happen if you fail the test? You have to rewrite it. Yeah, that's it

If you are afraid of losing someone, you don't belong with them

Never stop playing

Don't take yourself so seriously, no one else does

Guard "Me Time" with your life

Don't worry, no one else has any idea either. Everyone is faking it

There is no such thing as a "grown up"

None of this is going to matter in 10 years

It really is NOT the end of the world. It's not a catastrophe or a disaster either. Open a dictionary or watch a documentary on earthquakes, tsunamis, avalanches, war...a little perspective, please

Fear of success is more common than fear of failure

Many of the people at countless wedding receptions asking "when is it going to be your turn?", "when are you finally going to settle down?" or "are you dating anyone?" will end up divorced

Most of the "successful" kids in high school, the one's you hate, are peaking in high school

If you are bored, do something about it

Being creative does not make you "moody" and "deep"; all those actors, guitar players and artists you find so attractive can be placed on the DSM-IV. Creativity is not an excuse for bad behaviour

If someone says to you, "I'm a bad person", listen to them and get the %^*& out of there!!!!

Potato Morality

One of the benefits of being a bicycle commuter and pedestrian is that you are more likely to come across the weird and the wonderful sights that get missed when your view of the world is through a windscreen. Sometimes I think I have an eye for the strange (see post "I Am the Ellis Island of Odd"), and other times I think the strange finds me. 

Last year, I believe it was Easter Weekend; actually, I took a train to visit family. I had hurried to catch the bus which got me to the station minutes after the train had left in a fine example of the excellence that is schedule coordination in my region. With an hour wait and hunger setting in, I went into the station store to find something to eat. It was an odd store with very little of the standard brands the usual variety store carry. I grabbed a bag of chips from a company I had never heard of before, paid and headed to the platform to sit out the hour in the sun. The chips were flaming hot (and I like it spicy) and slightly odd tasting. Out of boredom I turned over the bag and found a diary on the back: 

To think, all those years I spent training in Martial Arts when all I needed to do was  eat potato chips to learn about self-control

I later discovered that every flavour of Ray's chips tells a different story from his past. I can't tell if this is a clever marketing ploy or just plain goofy, but given that I've not been gripped with the urge to buy the other flavours in order to read Ray's entire life, I'll go with goofy.

Bike Love in the Time of Scandal

You knew my not writing much about cycling wasn't going to last forever

I far too briefly alluded to Tom Boonen’s Paris-Roubaix win in my last blog. I also failed to mention his wins in E3 Harelbeke, Gent-Wevelgem and Ronde Van Vlaanderen. We lifted many a Leffe Blond to his honour in this house. Like Philippe Gilbert last year, Tornado Tom seems unstoppable, and that makes me so very nervous. Ever since the 90’s, into the dubious Armstrong era and up until recently, dominance in cycling has usually been followed by scandals or at least implications. Let’s face it, positive results on the bike generally lead to positive results in the lab and that sucks.

I am not trying to mitigate the wonder that has been Tommeke and Phil Gil over the past two seasons. In fact watching these men has given me tremendous pleasure and I like them both as riders and sports personalities. If anything, I am pissed off that an endless parade of cheaters makes me so jaded that a good performance makes me immediately suspicious. The reason I get nervous is that I don’t want all my celebrations of their victories to come crashing down around me like so many have before (you broke my heart, Basso).

I understand that doping in sport is a complex issue, that the indoctrination of the needle starts in the junior ranks with coaches taking advantage of young, impressionable kids (don’t buy that for a second? How mature were your decision making skills at 18, 15, 12…you get the idea) that the pressure to win is crushing and the insular lifestyle of a cyclist, with days away from home and family probably more numerous than any other sport and the grounding elements of having some life away from the bike just doesn’t exist. I know there is no simple solution, that the problem isn’t going to go away even if the UCI adopts every suggestion WADA ever made. Someone who lives and breathes for the sport isn’t going to be convinced that winning isn’t everything – just look at the headlines when they lose.

I don’t know what the answer is. Better supervision in the junior ranks is probably a good start. Not making a sport’s governing body responsible for policing their own might be another. I’d really, really like to enjoy bike races without making wry comments that the results are going to be meaningless is 4 months (though probably good news for all those riders who finished just behind Ballan in each race. Get ready to move up, gentlemen).

Here’s to you, Tommeke. Faith on the line, I complement you on a wonderful spring campaign with cynicism shoved down to the pit of my stomach. I’ll try my best to watch Amstel Gold without a suspicious bone in my body….unless Ballan lines up.

Karma Police in Riot Gear

I do not, as my blog may suggest, get into trouble so I have something to write about. I write because, after years of the odd and the awkward happening to me, I have finally taken my friends advise to "write this $#!+ down!".

Easter weekend, a time to share and celebrate with family. Even better if you can celebrate with the friends you choose to replace your family with. After months of trying to coordinate schedules, I was very excited to have a firm invitation to the home of a dear friend, who happens to be half of one of my favourite married couples. I was especially looking forward to it as it was to be their first meeting with my guy.

In preparation for the day and to alleviate the trouble of cooking for pain-in-the-a$$ vegetarians, I spent all Saturday cooking and prepping. Vegetarian Moroccan stew, always a pleaser, and pre-ferment for fresh French loafs. Up early Sunday morning, take the dough out to lose its chill, coffee on and fire up the laptop to watch Paris-Roubaix, my favourite bike race (Chapeau Tommeka, great to see you back on form!). A fabulous way to spend Sunday morning. Post race, I whipped up some banana and hazelnut crepes, finished the dough and left it to rise and got started on dessert - my first attempt at strawberry and kiwi Pavlova. It was all going fine.

The Pavlova took longer than expected and so the baguettes went in late. I HATE being late, it really, really stresses me out. I composed a very apologetic message and started on the whip cream to top the Pavlova while the bread was baking. That I chose to use the old stand mixer would turn out to be my second error in judgment that day. The problem with kitchen multitasking is in the details. The big detail being that my old stand mixer, though small and so easier to use for tasks like whipping small quantities of cream, sucks and really needs to be babysat. As I turned to wash fruit I heard a shout from my guy. My shaky sunbeam was shooting unwhipped cream all over the kitchen. I thought this, combined with being late was the major disaster of the day, but later would look back on it as the golden period.

Kitchen cleaned, cream whipped, Pavlova topped, bread fresh from the oven and into a bag - we were ready to roll. The now spitting rain posed a bit of an issue with the delicate Pavlova but nothing aluminum foil couldn't save. We hit the highway and cottage country traffic but at least we were on our way. Then the car started to shimmy. This is not standard Subaru behaviour, at least not for this Subaru. My guy quickly navigated us off the highway and to the nearest plaza where the car died almost immediately. Horrible, right? It gets better.

I had to, of course, phone my dear friends and tell them the bad news. There was no possible way for us to get to their home (nearly 60 km from ours). We then had the problem of getting ourselves back home and what to do with the car. My guy called his dad who happened to be around the corner at his brother's house for a big family Easter dinner.

So, instead of barbeque with friends, we sat on the outskirts of a big family dinner with all the trimmings and relatives who I was meeting for the first time. Our hosts were incredibly gracious about welcoming us, particularly me, a complete stranger, into their homes. It was awkward though as we did crash the party uninvited and the family were not very impressed with my guy's new vegetarian lifestyle. Oh, and the fact that a few months ago, one of the members of the family had said some very disparaging things about me, not because of anything particular I had done, but because "I'm warning you, all women are like that." I don't know what I did in some past life that I must endure such retribution. I only hope that I can atone for it and move on soon.

The Ants Go Marching Round and Round

My new abode seems to have an ant infestation. I lamented to my mother, keeper of old wives tales and goofy home remedies, and she suggested I use pepper. "What kind of pepper?" "Any". Now, this seems like a simple, economical and healthy alternative to the harsh chemicals in commercial insect spray, until you come to the application. My particular ant colony seems to live in the laundry room and commute to work in the kitchen...MY kitchen. This means leaving a trail of pepper from one end of the house to the other. And if you just leave a line of pepper along, say, the trim, won't the ants just develop another route?

A few nights later, while watching a movie with my guy, I saw them. The home invaders were casually wandering about my living room, with a stray member occasionally venturing onto our legs. That was the breaking point, I strode purposefully into the kitchen and came back brandishing the pepper shaker. I started by sprinkling pepper near where we assume the nest is, then following their path to the kitchen, As I spread black pepper through my home I reflected on the importance of having a shaker as a back up to a pepper mill. I spread pepper down each side of doorways and across the thresholds. 

Much to my surprise, ants really don't like black pepper. They don't hate it enough to move out and they definitely don't die. What they do is wander aimlessly, sometimes zig-zagging across a patch of un-peppered floor, sometimes in circles. The braver among their numbers will even cross the dreaded pepper line, but most just seem to bump into it, turn and head a different way. As you can probably guess, I spent some time watching their reaction. Ok, I spent a lot of time watching them, waiting for one to escape from the pepper prison, shaker poised to dump a flurry of pepper on any who dared come too close. I may have spoken to them harshly. I may have "sounded like some sinister bad guy in an old movie" and "a little crazy". Whatever, this is my home and my instinct to protect it came to the fore. 

The ants are confined to small patches of unpeppered floor around and just outside the laundry room with only the rarest sighting in the kitchen. Confused ants aside, we now track pepper all through our house whenever we walk and the smell of pepper hits you as soon as you open the front door. We're sneezing a little more than usual and I am on my way out to buy some ant traps.


**Update**
The ants have either built up a resistance to or acquired a taste for the pepper and are marching in greater numbers. I am out-legged. Send help!

Wearing Me Down and Buying Me Off

I've been thinking a lot about the stealth co-habitation maneuver my guy pulled on me and I have come to realize that he has been slowly, steadily working me over for months! He makes jokes and little comments about "our wedding" all the time. Before you go rushing to the mailbox to see if your invitation has arrived I want to assure you there is no wedding plan, or date, or even a rough draft. At first these comments made my heart race and my flight or fight instinct kick. Now they have been occurring for so long and with such regularity that they are the familiar pattern of our patter. Their absence in our conversation would be abnormal and the more detailed the "jokes" get the less I panic.

If you've read all my posts, you know my guy is a younger man. Much younger (it's all very legal in even the most conservative parts of the world). I have a son, he's grown up and on his own. My biological clock moved out the day the boy did. I love my son dearly, I am proud of him and I learn from him constantly, but his fate as an only child was sealed loooong ago. Period. My guy thinks he wants kids. Then other days he might not. So he says, but he makes comments about having kids a lot. Not quite as much as the wedding plans, but enough that I have stopped trying to keep count. To be clear, I don't hate children. I love kids, hence the making a living teaching them karate thing. I love teaching kids. I enjoyed raising mine. I am done now. Move on. Ahhh but dogs, I grew up with them, everyone in my family has at least one and I miss mine dearly (she died in her sleep at 13, the old girl was a puppy to the end of her days). So, my guy is trying to bribe me into a "white picket house" - I insist it will be too drafty - with the promise of puppies. Two to be exact. Shepherds or labs, possibly a mix of the two. Rescued puppies because everyone should rescue an animal rather than buy boutique  pure bred dogs with all their inherent health problems, and bizarre personality traits that excessive inbreeding creates. It's working, I've already picked out names for them.

Jerry Hall once said her mother told her a woman had to be a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom, well I've become a label whore in the kitchen. We'll leave the bedroom for a later blog. This is the opposite to my outlook on fashion. I wear what is a little bit different and what flatters my frame. I refuse to wear something unflattering or outright ugly just because it is "trendy" or some celebrity who was paid to do so, wore it. I believe a sweatshirt, regardless of how expensive it was, is still a sweatshirt and is best suited to the gym (I'm looking at you BENCH), but I will absolutely drool over Kitchen Aid. It is my weakness, and my guy exploits it mercilessly!

Ok, maybe I brought it on myself by not being able to pass the kitchen appliance section of any department store without having a peak. Soon he was ogling with me, comparing stand mixers. I had secret pipe dreams of the Architect but figured it was out of my league. Then on my birthday, there it was, the mother of all stand mixers, the one I had not even dared to consider, the Professional 600. Next he brought over the Kitchen Aid spatula set he won as a tie-in promotion with laundry detergent. This morning I mentioned we needed a pair of kitchen scissors, a new Kitchen Aid knife set, including scissors, now sits on my counter.

And so slowly, using the power of suggestion, endless repetition and Kitchen Aid my acquiescence is being bought, bribed and indoctrinated. I may cave a little. I may even cave a lot, but puppies are the only creatures I'll be raising. Period. 

Domestic Goddess Fire Starter

Once upon a time I was a barely healthy vegetarian, very active but a little lazy in the domestic department. I ate the healthiest pre-packed foods I could find, but alas, they were packaged, processed and all had one flavour - salt. My cooking skills were disastrous. DISASTROUS! Has anyone ever managed to set nachos on fire? I have. Twice.

Don't ask me how I manged either fire, I have no idea. I have prepared nachos thousands of times in my life with little fanfare. Sure, there was an occasional burnt outer layer, but even that was rare. Then one day, flames, smoke and a white stove turned black. Thankfully, what I lacked in kitchen know-how I made up for in emergency response. I calmly wet a few tea towels, opened the oven door just enough and smothered the flames quite easily. I then carried the pan out the back door to smolder and smoke in the back yard and ordered a pizza. I stayed away from nachos for a few months but soon I was back at it and all was fine for a time. The second fire was much like the first and all I can say is that in my incompetent hands, nacho chips are combustible.

Then I met a man who was a little on the traditional side and who criticized my lack of cooking. He criticized a lot of what I did, I tried to improve and impress him, he found more to criticize about. As I said, I'm a slow relationship learner, so I kept trying. Eventually I hit upon cookies. He loved cookies and I was mildly successful in making them so I kept at it even though I don't care for the things. The other irony is I did all this cooking to impress a man who was incapable of eating in public and I, apparently, am a one woman public. Like an idiot I would pack him food to go like I was running a bakery. Eventually I got rid of the bad man (yeah THAT bad man), but I kept up the baking, turning my interest to bread, because boy do I love bread! Eventually I moved to homemade pizza, then homemade everything. 

Now the upside to all this is that my very happy, very wonderful and deserving partner is the benefactor of all my attempts to impress the loser with my kitchen prowess. He thinks I am an amazing cook, that I rarely fail when I touch food. One of his favourite refrains early on in the relationship was, "you sure do know what you're doing in the kitchen". I wonder at how far I've come from the woman who couldn't manage even the simplest of heat up meals without having an emergency plan has managed to impress self-proclaimed "bread people" with a couple of my loafs at a party. A former kitchen hazard has become toast of the town! (ok, I apologize for that appalling pun but I am completely giddy about overcoming my complete lack of belief in myself and actually impressing people with an activity I once feared and dreaded).

So I guess two good things actually came out of that bad relationship - I can cook now! and I met and have maintained an amazing friendship with someone I met through him. Three things, I haven't set fire to my kitchen in ages ;) Oh and now I am a healthy vegetarian.

If You Want My Advice......

Those of you who irregularly read my blog will know that I work in the fitness industry. I am a certified personal trainer, a Spinning (tm) instructor and a karate sensei. Like anyone else who provides a service, I frequently get asked for free advice by friends and acquaintances alike. I don't mind sharing information, in fact, I generally enjoy it. I work in the industry because I have a passion for it, not to make a lot of money (which is a good thing, because, well, I don't). 

What I do mind are the "...yeah, but..." people. We've all met them, they are the people who pretend to be soliciting your expertise but what they actually want is for you to tell them what they want to hear, and what they really want to hear is, "what you are doing at the moment is perfect, you are absolutely right, don't change a thing." Thus, their response to your informed and considered advice is to offer a well rehearsed list of why your solutions won't work for them, because "...yeah, but..." is almost always followed by, "I can't."

My methods for dealing with people like this have ranged from the fake sympathetic - smile and nod saying things I don't mean like "yes, it's a tough one" while my brain screams, "THEN WHY THE HELL DID YOU ASK ME?!?!?", to the patronizing, "naturally, you would know better than me", and on occasion, outright blunt, "look, do you want to be 'right' or do you want to actually learn this?"*. The problem is, I always walk away feeling frustrated that the advice seeker is going to fail when ultimately it is not my problem whether they succeed or not. Why is that? They aren't clients, often they aren't even friends, why is it more important to me that they succeed in improving their fitness than it is to them? Why can't I develop that 'professional detachment' I hear so much about?

Years ago I joked with friends that I was going to write a best selling self-help book and I knew it was going to be a bestseller because I had the perfect self-help formula: take what people are already doing, rephrase it so it sounds different, provide very small easy changes that aren't really changes, because ultimately, that is what advice seekers really want, to find out they are right, but with different phrasing. Now, if only I could get down that not caring part, I'd be rich.....




* This would be the point in the program when my friends would argue, "oh, yeah? What about all those times we gave you relationship advice along the lines of, 'why do you insist on staying with this person who so obviously does not make you happy and is not right for you on any level?' which you completely ignored and continued to whine about how unhappy he was making you for the next year and a half?" And they would be absolutely right. All I can offer is that I am a  slow relationship learner but  I eventually got it right.

Stealth Co-habitation

As I mentioned in my last post, I moved in December and now I finally have the wifi to tell the tale. Like all DIY moves it had challenges, sleeplessness, rain, etc. but we got through it reasonably unscathed. I would like to clarify again that I moved....or so I thought.

It all started innocently enough with a toothbrush and some toothpaste left at my place for the "unplanned" sleepovers. That is both fine and understandable, though as a person whose toothpaste brand is whichever one is on sale, I found the strong toothpaste preference to be a little on the odd side. No matter, there is plenty room in the cabinet for two pastes and as long as we both have clean teeth, I'm happy. 

The occasional sleep over became pluralized and all was good and happy. A laptop was brought over for some practical reason that now escapes me. Then extra clothes, also very practical. Now I am looking at the calendar and I cannot remember the last time he didn't sleep at my place. We never had a conversation about living together; no arrangement of any kind was ever made. Bit by bit his things just started showing up at my place and not leaving again and then one day I realized that we were living together by default. It works and we manage it fairly well despite my protests to friends several months ago that I absolutely did not want to live with anyone. My guy has completely made a liar out of me, because it turns out that I do enjoy living with him. Yes we have our scrimmages and I still love those rare occasions when I come home to an empty house - such a great feeling - but I also like knowing he'll be there with a big hug when I get home. How did this happen?

Perhaps that's the approach to take with a commitmentphobe. Just ease into it gradually, almost imperceptibly and whatever you do, do not "talk" about it!

Sticking it to the Man...err Men...conglomerate?

It's been a long time! First I moved. In a show of rare organization I arranged for my wireless internet to be hooked up at the new place the day of the move. He came, he saw, he couldn't. I was given forms, excuses and a number for re-booking. Two days later, a different "tech" and then his supervisor. More excuses, still no wireless. I was told to solicit permission from new neighbours, in order to let the cable company (yeah "cable company", you know who you are) access their property and told to phone back when I had done so. Have you ever had to sit at home waiting, in a four hour time block, for trades people to come to your home? Imagine if someone you did not know knocked on your door and asked for your schedule and requested you be home during said 4 hr time span to await the return of the cable company and you were not getting anything out of it. EXACTLY! Four months later, I had finally managed the impossible, I was home, neighbours were home, forms were signed and the tech had no idea how to hook up my cable (wireless, don't have TV cable, don't want it). He called a supervisor. Two men wandered around perplexed. Then the supervisor's supervisor showed up. Let's take a count here: 3 trades people, 3 supervisors, approx 3 hrs total. My estimation is that I cost the cable company at least $700-$800 over the course of 4 months just to get service.

I'm up and running now, just as bike racing season goes into full swing! What perfect timing ;)

Next week I promise to write about domestic bliss and other misadventures.....