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The novelty of a warm dry house that doesn’t move and endless hot showers has taken all but a few days to wear off. As is usual with my life Fed-ex has lost my bike, what can go wrong will go. I’m tired, not from doing stuff but from inactivity.  Sitting back behind my desk for three hours a day now feels like a life sentence in prison. I’m scattered and have way too much going on.  all I really want to do is take pictures and write but about what???

My third bike tour in two years and not a scratch on me. its like when I watched the proud new owner of my Harley drive away I was like wow, “I made it through that one alive”. and so the soul searching has begun anew. the age old question of how long can keep this up before I flip my wig.  I’m not a good little worker Bee.

I have money, more than I’ve had in many years but we all know how that goes.  Sookie is an expensive date, to make her even remotely ready to leave the Salish will cost twice what I have saved leaving me broke and that’s  just the bare minimum.  I pull out my magic little note pad and spend the night scribbling furiously, numbers cover dozens of pages and all come up to 00.00 which is exactly what I have to lose, nothing.

I start to wonder if I can fit the bike in her Lazzerette and spend the summer sailing North in search of real wilderness and fresh trails yet to be discovered.  I’ve become a full blown hermit, I need nothing or anybody anymore, just time and a bit of freedom.  On the other had I could buy a pole spear and head south where there is no place for a bike, shit! I don’t have a dinghy.

I’ve been offered a slip in Santa Barbara, its warm there year round, maybe I have enough to ship her there and start over, I love cruising the Channel Islands, throw in great mountain biking and real Mexican food and its starting to sound like a dream come true even if it does kill my budget.

Why am I so reluctant to sell my writing? I ask myself this question day in and day out. if there is an answer I cant find it. I look out the window, its raining sideways but I’m warm by the fire in the lodge, the coffee is brilliant today and in a few hours there will be a box of wine and crackers waiting for me.

All my friends are setting their anchors, that’s what you do in your thirties. Not me, been there done that.  I can set my Rocna anywhere and it will hold fast until I pull it and move on.

I met a girl, cute and free, a bit of a gypsy.  There wont be a second date, I felt like I was being sucked in by Medusa and couldn’t get away fast enough. My definition of free must be pretty big because I cant seem to find it between the pages of any of the books I’ve brushed through lately.

I’m rapidly learning that I am a very willing victim of my own circumstances and happy to finally be finding a bit of meaning in all those lessons the universe has been bashing through my thick sckull.  One is not the loneliest number. I spend an hour staring myself down in the mirror and then I pop the question…

“There is but a plank between a sailor and eternity.” – Thomas Gibbons

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