Update 37:

Taking off the training wheels.

I learnt at a young age the importance of training wheels. I learnt how to propel myself and used the wheels to look after balance. I did not have brakes figured out though, and careened down one of the steep hills on the homestead. Luckily an apple tree (apple trees are notorious for their not so smooth or forgiving bark) welcomed my face and stopped me from continuing down the hill and into either the pond or another tree at an even higher speed. Hidden under this beard is a rather lovely scar stretching across my chin.

I’m not exactly sure why I told you this, other than this is part of me and my fabric. I remember the experience quite vividly, I remember the fragrance of the lilac bushes, and the bodacious trillium flowers in the orchard. I remember the gold/yellow bike with the banana seat and that I had to stop the pedals to brake, which was likely hard to do as I doubt my feet were any longer on the pedals, as they windmilled around at top speed.

Maybe if I hadn’t used the damned training wheels I wouldn’t have had the balance to smash into the tree. I’m pretty proud of that scar though, chicks dig scars (or so they say).

Damned. I started this off trying to frame a metaphor for what I want to talk about and got carried away in the bliss of memory. So I’ll get to the point.

At each point in my life I attempt to stand more fully on my feet, to be more and more the man that I am and whom I wish to be. This is how I do me. I’m propelled. I have an inner drive that has often been insatiable. As I write that, I reword it, I don’t like how real that is for me. I tell myself that I should relax more, be less driven, chill out bro, smell the roses, float the river. I’m learning to take the time to recharge and fill my bucket.

I’m digressing again. What is going on? First time I can let it slide. Second time… not so easily. I’m pretty excited about how I want to stand more fully on my feet now. And perhaps my excitement is bubbling and it’s coming out of my fingers as I type this.

So here it is.

A dear friend, Karla, texted me last week and said “wanna start another check-in group with me” I said “sure.” About 16 months ago I suggested the idea of creating a check-in group for those of us that had done either/or Phase 1 and 2 at The Haven in the fall of 2012. It ran its course and by the fall of 2013 we weren’t hosting groups anymore. I was a little perplexed about what she was talking about since I had a pretty good sense that something was up. When she called I got it.

What if we create a group where we actually take the time to get to know each other? Where we are given the opportunity to show ourselves and reveal ourselves and show up with who we are right now. I’ve often, and still do, tell myself that if you really knew all of me then you wouldn’t love me. I wrote a post (Update 35) that ties to this quite clearly for me. There are things that I will do that will make it really hard for you to like me. Yet, buried underneath the behaviour, the sanctity of love exists.

In some of my relationships I’ve had what I thought in the moment were the most atrocious acts bestowed on me. And man, did I ever hurt, and 9.9 times out of 10 I exhibited my own behaviour and reaction that was equally as atrocious. This is how I often get stuck, or get in my own way. I have friends and those that I love and those that love me that I connect with and reveal myself to and ask for feedback. Often I like to fool myself into thinking I need to do it all by myself. When I reach out to other, I learn that, holy doodle there are so many more perspectives and options than I had thought of.

What I’ve learnt for me is that often the most loving act someone can offer me, is to have the courage to say the thing that I don’t want to hear. I still rankle at the delivery of the message, and while I don’t always show it in the moment, I am often grateful for their honesty and loving later.  

So, I’m stepping forward without my training wheels (in this moment) with an understanding of how to steer, how to apply my brakes, and how to propel myself. This does not mean that I won’t crash, or tumble. It just means I’m willing to take that risk and explore.

When we talked about how we wanted the invitation to be worded we stumbled around the desire to make the intention sound palatable. I mean, talking about love and loving can sound pretty hoity toity, and come across as righteous and arrogant. As least those would be my judgements. And then, if we’re going to be as direct as calling the group ‘Taking off the training wheels’ we might as well be direct enough to say that we’re here with this intention to foster love and loving and allow for and invite the ways we get in our own way.

Karla and I are about to send an email with an invitation to this group. Please email me if you’re interested in joining and have not received the email from her or I in the next week or so.

If you’d like to learn more about Karla and how she stands forward visit her website, check out her art (and her expression of her soul) and her blog, on how she relates to defending herself from loving.

http://www.artistkarlaosborne.com/

FYI that is actually a picture of my brother on a bike not too different to the one I was on. 

Update 36:

Hmm. What to say today.

Reflecting on my adult life, I’ve noticed I would have said that I didn’t really like who I was. I mean I would have enjoyed whatever I was doing, surfing, skiing, hanging with friends, partying, dancing, travelling, the list goes on… and I wouldn’t have actually liked me as a person in those moments.

There always had to be something more, I had to be better in some way shape or form. Smarter, clearer, better at communication, a better job, or a different girlfriend. I just wasn’t good enough as the person I was in that moment. Not in the sense for another person, more, not good enough for me. I’d set some pretty high standards, and every time I achieved one, I’d set one higher, and if I didn’t achieve one I’d beat myself harder and set it higher still.

I feel tense and my breathing even shallows as I write this. Jesus, I was pushing myself. Striving, achieving, ugh… what a toll my body took in that. From the sports, to work, to stress, I really gave myself a workout for sure.

And now sitting here today after helping facilitate an intensive 25 day program focusing of self identity, self responsibility and self awareness, I am actually walking the talk. Man, I’ve been for one hell of a ride. I can appreciate and love who I am today. I have gratitude for my path thus far journeyed. I have so much compassion and appreciation for who I am and how I walk now.

Seventeen months ago I was a participant in this very program, that’s less than a year half. I was pretty shut down, fragmented, locked away, stuck, armoured and resistant to seeing who I am, how I be. I’ve been quite the asshole from time to time. I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to see my shadow, nor the beasts lurking within.

Since that program I’ve been exploring my darkness, my shadow, and my light, and all the treasures that lay within. I’ve been a rocky road, barren landscapes, battlefields, and wounded soldiers, I haven’t been pretty, I wasn’t clean, I wasn’t linear or predictable. Now I’m wondering if my time in red has come to an end.

Three days ago, and I left after my first internship of that very program I started with. My how things have changed. How much I’ve grown, opened and experienced. I actually love who I am and how I show up these days. Sure I still have days where this isn’t my experience, but they’ve become more the exception than the norm.

The shift has been in my emotional landscapes. The rocky roads now graded, the barren landscapes tilled, sowed and fertile, battlefields commemorated, fallen soldiers grieved, the wars put in the museum. I still have areas I wish to explore, ways to improve, growing to continue; and, I’m with the experience that I actually like who I am today, with growth and learning which have shifted to a desire and want instead of a desperate need.

Update 35:

I might not like you,

in how you are and be,

but I really like you,

even love you for who you are as a person,

a being, a human, a human being.

Update 34:

It’s May, 2013, one in the morning on a beautiful spring evening. All is well in the Universe.

For the first time since I started this process I see another paradigm. I see a new landscape in which to live my life. It seemingly doesn’t actually matter where I am or what I do in this new paradigm. It’s f@#king beautiful. It’s abundant. It’s beautiful (I’m aware I’m repeating myself). It’s nothing like where I’ve been living for the past couple of decades.

I don’t have the answers. I am not all seeing. I can’t even see through my own veils of self and ego, all (or even a portion) of the time. At the same time I have a clearer picture, I see through the murky stew. I realize my soul. In this moment I pop my head up for air, and recognize that, contrary to what I may have thought, I wasn’t drowning. I can/could breathe and live even while in the stew. In that primordial stew I was/am learning and growing and preparing for the becoming of the man I wish to be, the man I actually am but have been hiding from.

Nepo said it well, I’ll paraphrase (sorry dude if I’m not doing you justice, but then in reality is there such thing as justice in this realm?? ;) )… When we are in the stormy seas that is life and we are on a crest to take a look around and survey the scene, acknowledge it, appreciate the experience of the crest and allow for it. Take the memory of the crest to our soul. When we follow the rhythm of our seas whether be crest or trough or anywhere in between we can remain in memory of this experience. Not so much to hold onto it; more remember the duality, or continuum that is life.

I’m being metaphoric and ambiguous. On purpose. This was my awakening. I am barely able to believe that it actually is happening. That there was purpose, meaning and value in this stew that I’ve created. This is a massive shift. I can hardly contain myself. I want to scream to the mountains that I am here! That my presence matters! That I MATTER! TO ME!!!!!!

I can live again!!

Update 33:

It’s been almost a year since my last post. It’s been one heck of a year. Again. This post will be interpreted as it will be, I’m learning I am not as omnipotent as I once thought and can’t actually decide how you will interpret it. The shine that I sometimes exude may not be there, and yet, deeper and more thoroughly it can be found if you look hard enough.

Simply put: I’m struggling. I’m struggling to stay afloat. I’m a boat adrift in an ocean, with waves crashing from each direction attempting vainly to capsize my vessel; the wind is unpredictable and threatens to wrench me from my hold. My rudder is ineffective and I keep trying to use power and it is of no use without the ability to direct myself. It’s almost a lost cause, yet the one thing keeping me from drowning is Faith. Faith that this is a storm in life. Faith that I will get through it. Faith that I am able.

Oh and it’s dark. There is little light and the waves so massive and looming that my sight is diminished. Somehow through it all I recognize that this is not actually a fight to survive, I know I can survive, it’s more than that; it is part of my journey in learning how to live. I have options. I can run. I can get away. I can call in a rescue. I have the money. I have the skills. AND it’s not about that, I do not want to do that.

 I just have to keep telling myself day-by-day, moment-by-moment, that this is my life. That I am learning. That the storm will abate. That I won’t need power. That I can sit in the strength of insecurity, knowing that survival I have down and living is my new challenge.

That being said, I want to tell you what the darkness is like. The intention behind telling you about the darkness is many-fold:

1. I believe that we all experience it at some time in our life, some more than others and that in hearing anothers experience it can perhaps allow some solace in yourself knowing that you are not alone.
2. I want to show you my self-hate, or at least what I know of it to date, perhaps it will give you a better insight into me.
3. In getting it out and expressing it, there is less of it that I repress.
4. To show you the self-compassion side of me when I’m in self-hate, as apparently it’s important not to remain fixated in self-hate, or perhaps in anything…

Self-hate (excuse the profanity, and if you can’t then don’t read further)

I hate my life. I hate being alone. I hate having so many fucking problems and issues to work through. I hate myself. I hate how I’ve let myself down so much, how I’ve minimized myself all to feel the love of another. I hate how I’ll abandon myself in pursuit of an intimate relationship. I hate how I’ll isolate myself in pretence of maintaining an intimate relationship. I fucking hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate everyone and everything. It’s all everyone else’s fault. It couldn’t all be resting on my shoulders could it? I want out. I don’t want to go to work in the morning. I don’t want to ski. I don’t want to surf. I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to worry about food all the time and where I’ll get my next meal. Blah blah blah blah…

Self-compassion

I actually really do love my life. It’s pretty neat. I’ve been really blessed and have some amazing friends and a great family. I’m taking a journey that most don’t understand; I don’t think that even I do at times. I don’t know what lies in store for me around tomorrows corner. I can’t tell you what I’ll be doing in a week, in a month, in a year. I’m more than ok with that. Such is life. I’ve got great health, no aches, and no pains. I have friends that support and care about me. AND I choose this path. I want it. I don’t want to stay stuck in my old paradigms of survival. I’ve done that. They don’t work for life. I understand that pain is part of the pursuit. I accept it.

This is my life. I don’t know how to do it better than I am doing it. I am learning. I have a lot to learn. I am committed to learning, to growing, to conscious evolution. It is my path right now. It is taking a fairly intense toll on me, but no worse than any of the other paths I’ve taken in my varied past.

 I sit here in this moment wondering whether to post this or not. To what purpose will it serve? Am I doing it for others? If so, what is the intention? If I’m doing it for me, then again, what is the intention?

I sit and breathe. I get it. I want to post it for me, so that I can reach out and ask for love; so that I can be reminded from those that read this that they care. That’s it, I’m asking for love. In receiving your messages I have always found or interpreted that what you send is love; that you believe that I am worth it.

I look forward to the day that I deeply and inherently know this and don’t have to so field dependent and have to ask. AND I will also give myself a pat on the back for my awareness and acknowledgement of why I want to send this, for accepting the reason and for posting this with this knowing. YES! YES! YES! AND as importantly, I am letting go of the outcome, and offering space for you to have your reaction and/or response.

Update 32:

What an interesting and hopeful world this is!!! I am so grateful for all of the experiences that it offers me!!!! I want to share this most powerful one with you, but first; business.

I have to fill you in a bit. I have been writing the odd update here and there. But I haven’t posted them. I can’t really explain why, other than they just didn’t feel right. They started to sound more like rants and less helpful or entertaining and I felt there was no real benefit to putting them out to the world.

I am writing this one right now because I feel really good and would love to share that with you. In the past I’ve tried to share the feelings of ice cold showers on the side of a hill in the South of France; of the heat of the Sudanese desert; of the love of the Congolese and experiences in between.

Today I want to try to share the love that courses my veins. Hey, don’t get all lala on me ok. Try it out; hang in there! It’s not all lovey dovey harlequin romance jazz, there is some serious self-love going on too!!! Get your mind out of the gutter.

When I stopped working for MSF, I knew that what I needed to do was re-assimilate into the western world. My time abroad had taught me this super valuable lesson. Experiences in the heart of Africa taught me I had some personal growth to achieve if I was to ever be the man that I wanted to be in this world.

So I set forth on a journey to re-assimilate. I needed to find a job, I needed the security of a stable income and a job that I loved doing; a big part of my identity was tied up in my career. I somehow knew (trusted in the Universe) that when the time was right and I had stabilized myself, re-established friendships, assimilated into a community; that an opportunity would present itself that would enable the growth/personal evolution that I was seeking. I specifically remember telling my mother shortly before moving to Vancouver Island that something big would happen in my life in the next two years.

In a month two years will have come and gone. Something big has happened. A couple things actually.

1. I fell in love; and the lovely lady that I fell in love with somehow felt the same!!!

2. I was presented with personal challenges in this relationship that accelerated/were the catalyst for me returning to my previously mentioned journey of personal evolution.

3. I met an individual (Paul) that had/has the key to the block in personal growth that I’d kept running into and not been able to overcome; and then barrelled headfirst into this path of self-discovery. After all I want to offer this lovely lady and all that I come across my gifts, and not my past survival mechanisms.

So, I went to my first session with Paul two weeks ago. We found some hurt in me, hurt that no one caused. Experiences in my formative years that we all experience; or so I think… But I needed to come to terms with my past. I was tired of who I’d become. I wanted to offer more. I wanted to give my gifts but I kept running into that damned wall and not knowing how to get through it.

Paul helped me reprogram my brain, my synapses and my re-activities. His theory for me is that I’ve got survival down; so shift my raison d’etre from survival to spiritual well-being. So get rid of the past old programs that were helpful getting me to where I am today, but load new programs that I boot up every morning, midday and evening that focus on happiness, positivity, self worth and spiritual well-being.

This is my journey, not necessarily one that everyone can relate to. Perhaps some of this might be a bit hippy trippy for you, and hey man, no worries. It’s what I gots to do for me!!! If you’re interested; read on!

Paul and I quickly traced my 4-phase self-destructive cycle. It was pretty simple.

Phase 1: I liked to think of myself as a saviour. Batman. A Dark Knight. Protecting the good from the evil. Saving those in distress, those that need saving. It turns out it’s really difficult or possibly even impossible to save others from themselves. So I’d burn out and head into Phase 2.

Phase 2: I’d then turn into Daniel without Borders on the work front; since I couldn’t feel loved when Phase 1 didn’t work out the way I wanted it to. So to feel loved and appreciated, needed and wanted I’d say yes to anything at work. Hell yeah the arctic in the winter sounds awesome!!! What? No power, no running water? No worries man!! You need me, I’ll do it!!! Oh, while I’m up there you need me to do this too? Ok, sure. Oh and that as well? Of course, I’d love to… and on and on… until I snap and welcome Phase 3.

Phase 3: Bull in a china shop. Volatility, napalm. Burnt out Cowboy doesn’t feel loved because he isn’t able to set boundaries because he wants to be loved oh so bad… Cowboy didn’t know how to express himself and his feelings and emotions responsibly. Boom, blow up. Feel really guilty about it and head off to Phase 4.

Phase 4: Escapism. Chill out man. You can do this, all you need is love man! Yeah bud, with love you can conquer all right. Hey, just love a bit harder. Love a bit more and it’ll all come together man! Just be love man! Yeah, you’ve chilled out now, you can probably be Batman and save again!!! Enter Phase 1 all over again.

Paul and I both agreed that perhaps I could establish a new cycle that over-rides this old one. Perhaps a cycle could be established that allowed me to find self-worth anchored in myself and not in others interpretations in myself. Perhaps a cycle that has boundaries set within it that helps me value myself more. Perhaps a cycle that allows me to express my feelings and emotions responsibly. A cycle that has no need for escapism. Actually no more cycles.

Paul helped me remove this old cycle, helped me anchor my self-worth within, helped me say goodbye to Batman, Daniel without Borders, the Bull in the China Shop and escapism.

Through the past two weeks I’ve had opportunities that have tested each one of the old phases. While they still want to rear their ugly heads, I am confident in each instance and can respond with love, instead of an unguided reaction. It’s been an awesome and super positive two weeks. I’ve had a lot on my plate and have been able to juggle it all really well. Better than ever before.

And tonight. Well tonight, I was presented with a challenging situation where each element of the outdated cycle had the opportunity to come out and play. And wow, Cowboy, you did it!!! You were the well-rooted tree in the forest with winds that were trying to blow you down, yet you remain in place, unscathed, not a branch missing nor leaf separated from stem.

I am aware that there were still areas to grow, ways to better respond and communication that can improve. But for the first time in my life I walked the line!!! Cowboy Up!!!! Yeah.

I wanted to share this with you, because for me, hearing stories like this help me with hope, with faith. It’s all-attainable. It’s all-doable. Never give up. Persevere and your dreams become your reality. This is a post that I feel worthy of posting. I hope you enjoyed, or reflected, or felt that this was time well wasted!!! Cowboy out.

Update 28:

I’ve been living in Nanaimo for a day more than three weeks now. It seems much longer. I find that the first month in a new local is usually a tricky month. You don’t have true friends there yet. You have a pretty hefty set of expenses. You spend a fair amount of time alone. That gets tricky, especially if you’re a bit of a social individual. I’m not truly complaining though.

I’m not sure if you remember a posting I had from the Congo when I said something to the effect of “I feel as though I have to confront my fears so that they no longer remain my fears.” I haven’t really been calling friends or been letting many people know that I’m feeling a little bit alone here, for that reason. In a somewhat of a perhaps cynical outlook I wonder whether we are alone for the majority of life.

I don’t mean that we won’t be able to share our experiences along the way, and yes one always has their family, their friends, their lovers, their children, but these are all (for a lack of a better word) impermanent. The only permanence in your life is you. So I ponder aloneness. I think about my time here at the moment as a time “meant” to be alone. This period in my life appears to be a lesson in learning to rely on myself for strength and that the only person that can manage times of aloneness as equally as times of sharing is me.

It’s an interesting philosophy. It’s interesting for a number of reasons. Questions like to rear their heads in my brain. I wonder if this is a healthy outlook. I wonder who defines healthy. I wonder if this road that I am so drawn to is getting outdated and that if I went in search of a new map I might seek a different destination? Or whether or not I should ponder the destination?

It’s also interesting because I’ve always been the guy that voices what he’s thinking. I’m not afraid to talk about anything. I don’t dance around the issue. In that regard, keeping quite or attempting to find peace in moments/periods of aloneness is a bit contrary with much of my character. I feel a great inner strength when I can take times when I’m feeling alone and transform my attitude to acceptance and even appreciation.

On the contrary (and I’m not much into horoscopes) but I tend to check out The Globe and Mail’s “If Today Is Your Birthday” horoscope every year. A habit an old flame instilled into me. This years one is a bit intimidating, it says: “No matter how much pressure you find yourself under over the coming year there will always be people close at hand who you can turn to for advice and assistance. There are some big hearts out there, and some of them beat especially for you.”

To be honest here, I don’t really look forward to an amount of pressure that would make me turn to “hearts that beat for me.” I want to say I can do it by myself, but the old adage of taking your car to a mechanic is probably more intelligent than trying to do it yourself rings true again… dammit. In the end I reckon it’s all about balance. Balance in knowing when you can ask for help, and balance in knowing/trusting in yourself when to weather the storm.

Update 27:

Update 27, holy cow. I’ve written a few updates hey! To be 100% honest I’m wondering how long it will take me to write the 28th, if it ever comes. I’ve been making some decisions and opportunities arose, with a pretty dramatic lifestyle change being the result.

Last time I wrote here I was in the process of thinking about going to Haiti. Since then the Olympics came to town, left it’s impression on us, and in some ways I suppose we left our impression on the world :). A small number of volunteers and I were honoured a position driving the celebrities/performers/talent to and from the opening and closing ceremonies.

It started when I got to pick up Donald Sutherland at the airport, take him to what I thought was the best Chinese restaurant in Vancouver, only to pull up in front of the Phnom Penh, a Vietnamese-Cambodian establishment. Apparently, I was the token lumberjack that doesn’t know the difference between a few of the Oriental types of foods. They laughed; I turned red. I also drove a few other awesome celebrities, with the top of the list being Mr. Wayne Gretzky, twice. He was perhaps one of the most down to earth, personable men I have met. I can’t say enough good things about him.

Aside from perhaps confirming the stereotype that many of the rural Canadians have an inability to differentiate cuisine origin, I’d say that the Olympics demonstrated so many of the things that make Canada the country it has evolved into.

I for one had an absolutely fabulous time. I met wonderful people from around the world. I saw firsthand the strength in the Canadian. In many ways I think Canadians showed that it is possible to live without racism, without religious persecution and instead with acceptance. Let us try to not limit this lifestyle to a two week Olympic period.

Post Olympics was when the big decisions were made. I was on track to go to Haiti and then was told there was someone who had more experience than I who would take my place, and could I go to Niger instead and build a hospital in the southern part of the Sahara desert. A week later I was back on track for Haiti and would be leaving in a week. Two weeks later a kidnapping and after the kidnapped nurses returned, activities were to be reduced and I wouldn’t be going to Haiti as I would be one of the non-essential staff, instead would I be willing to head to Niger?

It’s a funny thing how things workout sometimes. Coincidence? I think not. Three days before my flight to Haiti was canceled, I was visiting the engineering company I used to work for before MSF. They said a position had opened up in Nanaimo and should I be interested. At the time, I was focused on the new job in Haiti. Three days later, when the kidnapping occurred, the Nanaimo job looked like a pretty outstanding alternative.

In 10 days I start work again as an engineer, in a new city, in a new apartment, in a new job. Restarting the engineering side of my life. Does it scare me? Yes. Although it sounds goofy “N-day” as I like to call it, the Nanaimo vs. Niger decision wasn’t as simple as it sounds, and just as simple at the same time. This was lifestyle decision time, now with at least two doors open, in perhaps the most disparate directions.

Do I continue on the trail of adventure, of quest, of risk, of excitement or do I hang up the cowboy hat? Forever? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not giving in, or giving up, my life will still be rich in its adventure and excitement, but I’m sure for quite different reasons and in quite a different way. But it won’t be the same as those MSF presented me.

The decision that I have made, is one that I am super happy with. I can’t wait to move to the island, maybe I’ll become an islander :) I can’t wait to be a couple hours from surf. I can’t wait to design again, to engineer! I’m looking forward to living by myself again, with all of my stuff. I’ll miss the roomies and the family though. It’ll be a challenge and a learning curve again. But one that I’ll enjoy tremendously, it’s all in the great plan, and I’m ready :).

Update 26:

Where to start????

I moved back to Vancouver almost 5 months ago. The first month I stayed at my Aunt & Uncles in Coquitlam, 4 months ago I moved to a section of Van’s downtown called Tinseltown. GM Place, home of the Vancouver Canucks, sits just across the tracks of the Skytrain and the street. My room is the smallest one I have ever lived in; a full 4 feet wide by 8 feet long. 32 square feet. My body alone almost fills up the room.

To compensate, there is a 25m pool, a sauna, a hot tub, and a well-equipped gym on the 2nd floor. On top of this, I have two of the best roommates, my cousin (23 years old and has been to more countries than I), and another who is/was? a model. These things make the closet so much more bearable.

I also am working a couple jobs. At one I’m in the ski & marine department of Vancouver’s Mountain Equipment Coop. The other I had when I lived here before is for Mount Seymour (a local ski hill) as one of the snowplow drivers. It’s great. I work Monday thru Wednesday from 5am until 3pm. Unfortunately snow has been in short supply on the local mountains, and because I am trying to balance two jobs, I haven’t been skiing as much as I’d like.

It’s been a very interesting 5 months again. I haven’t written on here for a while. A few people have been wondering what happened. I’ll try to summarize it.:

I drove 3200kms in three days from Montana to Northern Saskatchewan to Vancouver. I met up with great friends from New Brunswick in both Edmonton and Hinton, Alberta on the way back. Was reunited with the Aunt and Uncle, cousins and brother. Got on my motorbike and did a 700km day trip. Went off the road on a corner when I was going too fast, got back on the road, slowed down, went around another corner, slipped on ice, slid 3 feet sideways, re-gained traction, avoided rock-face : Daniel impact, drove slower still, got home and parked motorbike for the winter.

Looked for engineering work, had interviews, no offers, searched more, no nibbles, started dating, a good friend offered me a job, had interview, got job, called old Seymour boss, asked for work, got a job, went to interview, met and dated some really nice girls, got another job, called uncle, asked him what job to take, took job my Uncle told me to take.

Helped two amazing friends renovate their new condo, went to safety training, drove down during lunch, sideways, narrowly avoided two cars (one in the ditch, other one going uphill not slowing down), put winter tires on SUE, dated more girls, started dancing again, went to more trainings, went surfing a lot, went skiing early season (Nov. 11), quit dancing again.

Was offered a couple jobs in the CAR, declined them, worked a lot, dated some more, started slimming the numbers, worked a lot, met a lovely girl electrician, had a lot of fun, worked 90 hrs a week during the two week holiday period, didn’t ski much, didn’t surf much, stopped dancing, got caught up in work, stopped having as much fun, hung out with the electrician more, welcomed the New Year on a Blue Moon in Whistler with great friends, went surfing, went skiing, hung out with brother working on his sled until 4am.

Haiti happened. MSF called, we talked, I wanted to be here for the Olympics, the Olympic people called, they wanted a volunteer driver for the Opening and Closing ceremonies, and parts in-between, called MSF, we talked, about me going to help rebuild post emergency, for probably a year, building a hospital or three, likely in March, pretty stoked, but I’m leaving again, settling down, placing roots once again back-burnered, not dating anyone once more.

Update 25:

More fun at Junior High! I have absolutely no idea where that expression comes from, or why I use it but I do anyway without the foggiest as to it’s meaning.

I’m not a big fan of arguing or having any form of disagreement over a two-way radio. It’s not cool to get berated or berate when the rest of the crew can hear you. I didn’t want to argue with the guy that I got along with the best with everyone else listening in. So when I went to talk to the guy, three seconds in to me opening my mouth, I received the first sucker punch I’ve taken since grade 8. Anthony, buddy thanks for taking that one for me in Gastown a few years back.

It wasn’t a hit worth talking about, no cool scars or broken anythings. Just the actuality of the event is the coolest thing. The last paragraph I mentioned an incident in Gastown, downtown Vancouver. It was my birthday, a bunch of my friends and I were ripping pretty hard all night long at an Irish pub. It was a fun night really, until walking home. An awesome buddy of mine and I (and another guy, won’t mention names here…) were jumped by a bunch of guys. None of us can remember the details. We all remember the after effects. I’ll tell you the full story maybe, later.

Anyway, it was my first fight in which I didn’t even try to fight back. There wasn’t any point, there were probably 6 or so of them, and my buddy was already unconscious in a pool of blood, I was having a hard enough time taking the hits and stay standing (mostly due to it being my birthday). But still I didn’t fight back. The first time in my life! I was pretty proud of myself that night. Well at least until the next morning when I caught heaps of trouble for not taking my concussed friend to the hospital post beatings. Hey, sorry man, I wasn’t in any shape myself.

Well I haven’t been hit since then; I haven’t been in a fight since then. So when I took this last whack to the face I surprised myself by walking away. It made me wonder though. Am I getting too old to brawl? I never even saw it coming, so the answer must be that I just can’t react the way I used to. The Toby Keith country song “Not as good as I once was” seems to relate well to me now. Dammit!

Next item: Friday night roles into town with Saturday bringing nothing but a day off. When I start walking to the bar, I wonder what I would have done if I had known it would end up after hours in a bartenders backyard (that sounds wrong), drinking and smoking with a convicted sexual offender, South Africans and three random girls (wow, reading that again, that sounds terrible). I most probably would still have gone since the night rocked, in between the walk and the after hours party.

It was the second night this summer that I really enjoyed myself. It was awesome. A small town USA bar complete with football paraphernalia, beer girl posters, shuffle board and pool tables. Smoking is still allowed down here, so the bar reeks of beer and stale smoke. There is the typical old guy trying to drown his sorrows at the corner of the bar, uttering profanities indiscriminately. Just as typically, a few larger than life girls are hoping to snare something tonight, and we can’t forget the iconic coolest guy in high school that didn’t go anywhere but this bar on Friday and Saturday nights for the last decade.

And then there was the bartender. Rosanna. From the moment that she served me my first drink I knew that the night was going to be a memory. Rosanna had a Macbook just like mine, she played music from it that definitely was small town USA, hip-hop interspersed with folk and country, almost as eclectic as the mixes you’ll here coming out of my iPod. You know what the best part of being a crush of a cute bartender is? (aside from the obvious being the crush of a cute bartender) Lots and lots of free alcohol and a drinking partner that can keep up like a champion.

Update 24:

I wish that I had my camera with me a couple times in the last few weeks. Put five relatively big guys (for perspective only one other guy weighs less than my 215lbs) in the cab of a pickup. Make sure that these guys have been out in the field all day with no one to talk to, that they have been subject to a deficiency of females for months on end. I know this already sounds like a great combination. But let’s back up a bit.

It would not be a stretch to easily classify theses fellas in the conservative, country lifestyle loving variety who actually on a daily basis check John Deere’s website for the possible unveiling of a new product. So just in case you haven’t yet formed a good picture of these “dudes.” Think 280, 260 and 230 lbs of unharnessed and unrestrained umm… excess.

Think old man worn out cowboy boots with the jeans not tucked in, but not outside the boot either, of wife beaters (by wife beater I mean the type of shirt, since only one guy actually has a wife, let alone a significant other) that haven’t been washed in weeks, shoes that have actually been worn through not only the sides and laces but the soles as well. Add this to a day spent in the fields of dust and dirt and their maybe they did, maybe they didn’t, put deodorant on this morning. Well, hopefully this is enough illumination.

Lets get back to the pickup; it’s midnight or close to it. We’re in a 2009 Dodge ¾ ton crew cab (the smallest cab of the big 3). The guy up front changes the satellite radio to one of the retro stations. To the extreme I rock a mike like a vandal, light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle… Yes. That is correct; Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby is pumping through the speakers. Now back to the “dudes”, these four guys with ages of 54, 36, 29, 28 & 22 all start immaculately rapping the verses. You just can’t paint a picture with this much contrast.

Two days later, today, driving back home early, same guys but in a much more sombre mood, maybe the same radio station but that’s not relevant; 1st batter up: Billy Joel’s Piano Man. Two of the guys start singing, hounding the rest of us to get our “A” game on. Three of us are not “feeling it”; 2nd batter up: Marc Cohn’s Walking in Memphis, 4 out of 5 are bringing our “A” game. I’m not feeling the vibe. The radio station is feeling that I’m not feeling and pulls out I’m as serious as cancer when I say that Rhythm is a Dancer. Snap is the deal closer. Once again all 5 overweight, partial (if not full) rednecks are pretending not to be as white as we are in the safety of full privacy tinted windows. Yeah, my future is so bright I HAVE to wear shades.

Update 23:

America. The United States. What a juxtaposition of people, of attitudes, of beliefs, of scenery and of food.

I have by now probably been in more than 40 of these states, most likely about 39 more than most Americans. It must be interesting to be less than 100kms from the nearby state and never have been there.

It reminds me of growing up in New Brunswick and having neighbours that had never seen a traffic light. Or when in Saint John the mall got the escalator and people actually drove hours to ride on it. Is that normal?

I have to say that I am in the mid-west, an area of the US of A that is well known as having somewhat of a more conservative belief system. It is a far cry from the hippies in North Cali and Oregon, or from the yuppies in the affluent northeast, or from the local yokel rednecks of the deep south.

America cannot, similarly to Canada, be summarized as one unified or united group, people so different from each other yet only miles apart. It’s a beautiful country, full of regular people, great people, not so great people, a country of diversity, and what I have learnt after living here for only two months, a very unhealthy country.

I was at my heaviest weight when I left Vancouver, bound for the prairies. Two months of eating in diners, in all-you-can eat restaurants, eating the only “food” that can be found in a truck stop in Nebraska, or Kansas, or Oklahoma, yields high cholesterol, high fat content, low nutrition value food. Almost every restaurant in Oklahoma and Kansas was an all-you-can eat, something I (and the majority I have seen down here) mistakenly took as a personal challenge. Needless to say, I haven’t weighed myself since Van and am pretty sure I have another 10-15lbs on my dept. weight.

It’s also rather bizarre how financially strapped the population is here. I remember first noticing this on last years motorbike trip, but it’s really hitting home here. I’ve driven through neighbourhoods that would be envious of some developing countries (I’ve also driven through hoods that give West Van a run for her money). The majority though are surprisingly destitute.

Workwise, I’m coming to the end here. Our manager has some issues that he takes out on us, in a lot of ways my conflict with him stems from certain similarities to me, to the way I used to be, from the way I am today. It’s a huge lesson to be learnt, to see how I have managed in the past, how I have grown since then, how much I still have to grow.

Update 22:

I’m not too sure where to start here. There have been a number of reasons why I have chosen not to be writing that much anymore. I won’t discredit being lazy as one of them. Today I’ll talk about one of them that is actually self-imposed.

I put pressure on myself to write these. I don’t want to write about some of the more negative experiences, mostly because I can’t really imagine anyone being interested in coming back to read more posts. Perhaps more importantly I don’t want to write about anything boring. I value my readers; I appreciate the comments, the feedback, and like the thought that you like to read about me since I’m not currently in your neighbourhood.

If I started writing about the less pleasant times, the troublesome times, or the downright boring times, I could easily see my “readership” decreasing. Not that this is about numbers or trying to get the biggest audience. Rather I have over the past 21 posts, received some tremendously humbling comments and emails, and in a way don’t want to disappoint.

Self-pressure comes in when I want to start writing but don’t really believe that what I can write today will be up to the standards that I have put on myself. Yeah, I know, it’s another hang-up and I have to get over. I just wanted to give you a bit of explanation for one of the reasons I haven’t written much.

On to other matters:

Some interesting facts that I forgot to mention about Tisdale, Saskatchewan, not only is it the home of rape and honey. It is the town that Corner Gas is based on. The dude (Brent Butt I think his name is, Buttsy as known locally) is from there. Most of the characters are also based on people that were in the town when Buttsy was growing up. Best portrayal is the lady cop that was based loosely on the actual cop that would, when pulling over young men, would either give them a ticket or force intimate relations. I never speed in Tisdale, just in case.

The other interesting titbit on Tisdale, there was a German reality TV show that was about living in Tisdale (since is it so far from anything Germans can relate to). The show was such a hit, and out of this world (and probably only to a select audience), that there was at least one German family that just had to move there. The guy works on the farm that I work for. All of this information comes from Tisdale natives, and well, could be subject to embellishment, but I like to think not.

I’m in Flagler, Colorado at the moment. We are waiting for the wheat to ripen. We finished the harvests in Oklahoma and Kansas, despite all of the problems we had with our completely brand new equipment. Anyway, some numbers, my combine has harvested about 2500 acres and almost 3 million pounds of wheat in about a month. Cumulatively, between the 4 combines we’ve hacked off about 10,000 acres or 12 million pounds.

Harvesting is pretty fun, I get to listen to audio books, do my Spanish lessons (although driving and reading is pretty hard), and think about my next plans. I never had any idea how big the custom-harvesting scene is. Not many farmers actually own their own combines down here. So when we rolled into Oklahoma a couple days before most of the other harvesters we were greeted by parking lots jammed pack of semi-s, trailers, combines and grain carts. I was quite surprised by how many harvesting companies there were.

Then when the harvests started and the rest of the show came to town I was blown away. Companies with 6o plus combines, 60 plus truck and trailer units, and 20 or so tractor and grain carts, not to mention the trailer parks jammed pack with RV trailers, probably all tallied up the equipment assets alone would be up in the 50 million dollar mark for that one crew. So being on a 4 combine, 4 truck, 1 tractor & grain cart crew that I had thought was a decent size when I started, I realized that in the grand scheme our crew is not so big.

So far no tornado’s despite the broadcasted warnings. When it rains or when we are waiting for the wheat to turn, the crew spends it’s time watching movies, playing video games, playing on the internet looking at the grossest stuff ever. Ahhh, after the all female expat staff in Juba, Sudan, living with 9 other guys is surprisingly very refreshing. Perhaps a bit crude at times, thank God for the tinted windows in the pick-ups, nothing better than 4 or 5 guys rubbernecking for the one girl that was foolish enough to walk downtown while the harvesters are in town.

As I mentioned before I have been thinking about my next steps. So far I have a bunch pretty ok options if I can’t find work. In no particular order;

1. Finish the harvest in November, go do a Masters in Engineering.
2. Find work before the harvest is over and get my P.Eng.
3. Finish the harvest in November, get on a motorbike and head down to Panama and back up in time for the Olympics.
4. Finish the harvest in November, go do another short mission with MSF and be back in time for the Olympics.

Unfortunately internet comes only at hotspots, ie some poor neighbour or house that has unsecured wireless, so looking for work, or at schools for Masters is a bit tricky. Hopefully we’ll find some at our next stop in Montana towards the end of July. That’s all for now folks. I think I should start writing smaller and more frequent posts, judging by the size of this one in particular.

Update 21:

Ever heard of writers block? Well, without trying to claim that I am any kind of writer, I have to admit I have been suffering from either it or lazyness, or perhaps something else. I haven’t wanted to post in a while for a bunch of reasons that I don’t want to get into right now.

Mostly I just want to put up a post saying that I had a great time on a big boat. A cruise actually, that toured the Aegean Sea in somewhat Eastern Europe. It was a cruise masterminded by my Uncle Malcolm who partly wanted to have a family reunion and partly wanted to have a bunch of rowdies help him celebrate his 60th milestone.

So 18 of us, Aunts, Uncles, Brothers, Sisters, Cousins, Ma’s & Pa’s ripped up Costa Serena, complete with the younger generation decked out in black tuxedo t-shirts in the tune of neon green faux shirt and neon pink faux bow tie for the gents, reversed colours for the ladies. I’ll post pic’s & relay some stories later hopefully, but haven’t yet gone thru the 1000’s of photo’s. But don’t worry when we weren’t wandering around lost in Italy, Greece, Turkey or Croatia we were well hydrated.

I am currently in Tisdale, northern Saskatchewan. I drove out here a few days after returning back from the boat & the UK. What can I tell you about it so far? The equipment is gynormous, and more or less newish. We start driving to Oklahoma on Tuesday, something like a 2-3 day drive.

Remember the re-rednecktification that I talked about last time. Well, I can’t imagine a better spot (check out the picture of the sign on the photosite). I am in the heart of Canadian redneckdome. It’s not so bad. I also realized how much I have changed since last time I was on a farm.

I got very upset (internally, not vocally) one night when one of the guys went off on homosexual dudes. I guess I’ve become pretty accepting of just about everything in the past few years. I once probably would have joked along with him, times change. Most of you know that I am not the most kosher, or PC guy out there. Well, I don’t hold a candle in the wind out here.

That’s it for now, I hope you enjoy the photo’s, none of me, sorry or you’re welcome depending on what suits yer fancy. I’ll put a real post out once I have a few things all settled.

Oh Yeah, rape seed is another word for Canola. Just thought it would be an interesting photo. ☺

Update 20:

I woke up thinking about the Tragically Hip song, 38 Years Old. Until a few seconds ago when I turned on my computer I thought that it was 28 Years Old. 28 years old, never kissed a girl. For those of you that read this and aren’t familiar with one of the most popular (within Canada) Canadian bands this reference is lost on you. I apologize for that.

Regardless, I turned 28 years old today; I can’t say that I haven’t kissed a girl. In fact as far as that song goes I have nothing in common with it. My 28th year was a stark opposite, being a whirlwind tour of 3 continents, a pile of countries, close to half a million km’s travelled, friends made, unfriendly’s left behind….

From the way things are looking at this point in time, my life, as a transient will continue. The first month of my 29th year takes me back to Vancouver after being in New Brunswick with family, off to Europe (UK, Italy, Greece, Croatia and Turkey) to help celebrate one of my uncle’s milestone birthdays. Then back to North America for a little while.

I had a completely different idea of how my return to Vancouver would be. I had assumed that I had more than enough skills that would help me find employment even if I couldn’t find something in the engineering domain. I hadn’t counted on this little thing called a recession, hopefully not to become a depression.

After sending out about 40 or 50 job applications to everything from engineering, to driving truck, to operating equipment, to carpentry I had to give up on Vancouver and look for work in another domain, another local. That’s when I decided to go back to “farming,” and back to the prairies.

70-80 years ago Eastern Canadians, many from my community and surrounding areas had to leave home to earn a living to support their families, they headed west to Motown, Detroit City to work in the American motor plants. They headed further west to the prairies to find temp work on the wheat and barley grain threshers. 70-80 years ago.
I don’t think that it is accurate to say that today is anywhere even close to the dirty thirties. I think it is accurate to say that it set off some alarm bells in my head when I couldn’t find work in a once booming economy such as Vancouver. But, I am sure that there could be some similarities made.

Granted I won’t be swinging a pitchfork of barley stems into a thresher, instead I will be sitting in the air conditioned and 6 speaker stereo comfort of one of the most technologically advanced combines yet produced, a 9770 STS John Deere. When I am not harvesting the grains I will be hauling them in an equally luxurious 379 or 378 Peterbuilt semi. No, a comparison between now and then is not accurate at all.

The job is essentially that. I drive to Northern Saskatchewan following my return from Europe. There I will help to finish the spring planting on the farmers 18,000 acre grain farm, then load up a two trailer semi with a combine on the first and a grain trailer behind along with 6 or so other truck-combine combos and head to Oklahoma or Texas.

Basically from June until September I will be combining my way through the Midwest, South to North. Post-Canadian harvest I will be heading back down to South Dakota and Kansas for the corn, with the season ending in November. I will be taking my computer to keep looking for work, with the hope that the recession will be over, with the hope that I can return to an engineering job.

I guess that after spending the last year working for a humanitarian organization I needed to get back some balance in my life, a process that I call re-rednecktifying. I was too hippie and not enough redneck, to still be a rippie. So I’ll redneck it up for a while to restore that fine balance...

I have to admit that I am a bit tired of the transient lifestyle. Meeting awesome people and knowing that we will be saying goodbye shortly is not something that I especially like. And although I have been super fortunate to have met some absolutely fantastic ladies and been able to spend some time getting to know them, the transiency has built a wall between us that I am not yet prepared to scale again.

On the other hand, like I mentioned earlier in this post, I turned 28 years old today. I don’t feel different than I did when I was 27. Other than I am not in the Congo and am with my family for the first time in many years. But I turned 28 years old. It’s not old, but it isn’t exactly too young to be thinking about thinking about settling down a bit, whatever that means...

Update 19:

I’ve been meaning to write this for a couple of weeks. So here goes…

If you can remember Update 11: you’ll know what I am talking about. If you don’t remember, the tabs on the left will help you do so; in short that update talks about the sadness that accompanies leaving a place. So this update is about as polar opposite as I can get.

Leaving Sudan was an interesting experience. Either my experience at leaving locations and people has built up to a point where sadness is no longer an emotion that I feel, or perhaps I have become so callous that my heart is immune to the toils that leaving takes on your soul, or something else.

The worst part of leaving Sudan was that on boarding the flight I felt nothing but elation, relief, pure happiness. I feel quite rotten about saying/thinking/feeling this. It is an absolutely crushing feeling to be so happy to be leaving that place behind.

It sounds appalling, I grant you that. But it pales in comparison to most of what I have written (but not posted) during my time there. I will start by saying that Sudan was a completely unforgettable and wholly worthwhile experience, one that will be cherished for the rest of my life. I want to end by saying that I will not willingly or without serious contemplation ever return.

I am not/do not feel free to explain all of the things that made it such a difficult challenge. I also have not yet decompressed, evaluated, analyzed, absorbed or fully appreciated this period, so to say more than what I have already said is a bit presumptuous. I’ll try and get back to you on this.

On the new notes: I am back in Vancouver. I spent a week in North Germany with a friend that used to work with me in North Van. It was great to hang out with him. To chill out, literally, it was a bit of a shock to the system going from 40 deg to -6 deg, but still lots of fun. I got to meet his family and friends, went to clubs and bars, ate well, saw the North Sea, landmarks and monuments, etc.

I bought a new car a few days ago, well not new, but a car, actually nice little BMW. Without the help of my Uncle Ron this really wouldn’t have been possible, it is absolutely wonderful to have family to spend time with and an added bonus that he’s a great mechanic and has his own shop where I/we can work on the car.

There is no snow, so I haven’t been skiing. I am hoping that will change in the next little bit. I have no real plans though. I don’t really want to be traveling or working abroad for a bit of time. I need to decompress, recuperate, recover and most of all rest.

Update 18:

It has been an interesting week. It was my 11th week here in Sudan. 11 weeks have come and gone out of a 3-month contract. Technically I should be getting in a plane to Geneva in the next few days. In actuality though, I have extended my contract for one month. I will now be leaving South Sudan on the 19th January. 4 months in Sudan!

Next week is Christmas, but to be honest there isn’t the slightest amount of excitement on my part. I can’t really believe that Christmas day is in 4 days. I can’t quite imagine what snow is like anymore, and I certainly can’t fully appreciate Christmas when it’s 40 deg.

I remember the only other Christmas I spent away from New Brunswick, I remember it was even hotter than here. It was 48 deg, a heat wave was again sweeping Sydney, Australia. Wildfires were again threatening the suburbs. Smoke filled the air. Some parallels can be drawn between then and now that’s for sure.

I remember the penthouse in Darling Harbour that I was living in. I remember how much money I was making, selling my soul for a huge credit card company, but nevertheless I was living comfortably. And like right now in Sudan, the week before I had spent only one night sober.

But in Australia it was different, I mean there were things to do and we were doing them. Heading to Manly or Bondi or Coombs or one of the other beaches to soak up the rays, enjoy the topless bathing, barbeques and Bundi&Cola’s. Going to Kings Cross. House parties. Eating good food. Riding a crotch rocket without a helmet the wrong way down the street (they drive on the other side, so turning immediate right at an intersection is a bad idea).

This year though I am Sudan. They drive on either side of the street, depending on how they feel, or if they feel they are in a bigger rush than the oncoming traffic. It’s hotter and dustier than the Dust Bowl. Garbage is strewn everywhere, especially the creeks. It seems to be a well-established pattern of garbage removal throughout much of Africa, put it in the creek for the flash floods to magically make it disappear.

There are some similarities, there are barbeques, there are house parties and there is a pool (but no topless bathing allowed), instead of the beach you can lounge on the bank of the Nile (just keep an eye out for crocodiles the size of a canoe). Yes. A CANOE REFERENCE, I AM CANADIAN. I could get on a motorbike and test my reaction capabilities, but the bikes are bought for $700 brand new and are Chinese made, something breaks before you can even start it. So between their lack of quality and insane driving patterns of the country I stick to the Landcruisers.

The biggest similarity though is missing the family. It sucks to be away from home. To know how well they are eating, to know that my niece and nephew are the center of attention and not me (haha), yet to quantify the thing that I miss the most is impossible. But certainly the company, the family, the walks with or without snowshoes, the arguments, the feeling that you get when you are at home that no matter what; they love you, the snow, the cold, the food, the eggnog, turkey, mashed taters, gravy, enhanced hikes with friends, brothers and sisters, trips to the lookout.

I remember my birthday almost two years ago; I remember how great it was because it was hopefully the most miserable birthday I will have. It was so great because now I value so much company that you love on special days. I expect this Christmas to parallel that day. It sounds funny, but I can’t wait for it, I look forward to this Christmas because in the future I will do my level best not to spend one this far from family. I can only hope to always remember this one so that I will appreciate being home so much more in future times.

I am happy to spend these holidays in Sudan. I will never forget this Christmas, this New Years; it’ll be another interesting experience that lives on in my memory. After all, life is made up from experiences. This will be one of them and I look forward to it, almost as much as I look forward to being back home.

So if it’s possible for you, make sure you can spend this Christmas with someone or at least somewhere you love. Try not to take it for granted that you have the privileged life that you do. Not too many people live the way we do, free from disease, malnourishment, war and insane military and police organisations. When you look at it from a different perspective, the problems that we as Canadians face appear tiny and insignificant. I know, I know one shouldn’t compare ones problems to another’s.

I’ll probably put out another update soon, but if I don’t get one out before Christmas. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Think about a New Years Resolution and aim to fulfill it. Thanks dudes, dudettes, ladies and gentlemen alike.

Update 17:

I wish I could paint this picture with words. Even if most of you might not know what plastic sheeting and shadow nets are, I think you can appreciate it based on what follows.

But imagine parched earth, giant two-inch eggshell pattern cracks in the dirt as far as an eye can see. Think of how a shattered windshield would look to an ant then magnify it to our abilities at perception and you’ll have an idea what I am talking, about well aside from the colour, that is.

Shadow net is exactly what it says, nets tied to poles or trees (if you can find one) that are about 3-5m off the ground, erected to give shadow, to protect us from the unrelenting and scorching sun. Plastic sheeting is essentially just a plastic, rip resistant tarpaulin on a 250m roll. Our compound walls and office roof are made from plastic sheeting and sticks, not the best for any kind of protection but it keeps folks from seeing inside.

I am currently on a field trip. Not like a high school field trip, where alcohol and trouble always ensue (for me, usually in that order). It is more like I am visiting a field project, providing them with support, entertainment, a new face for a week performing (in vain) in all attempts to keep them happy and from dying of heat, boredom, and their seeming frustration that their capital/supervisors (I am unfortunately one of them) don’t seem to understand or respect their problems.

There are the constant pleasant rivalries between the field projects and the capitals (Khartoum and Juba) regarding which is hotter. The closest comparison would be to hockey team rivalries, still friendly but there always exists a bit of animosity.

The temperature competition is a bit closer though, usually 1 or 2 degrees, each location believing it is the hottest. As far as I know it has been between 38 and 42 degrees everyday since my arrival. So one day it’s hotter in Juba, the next it’s hotter in the field. Either way 40 C is hot, that’s 104 F. Even under the shadow net.

But back to the picture: Think of African planes like in the movies, with funny shaped, and very scattered trees. One random tree here one random tree there in a plane of 8ft tall brown grass. Lions; you know they are just lurking in the grass waiting to eat you, no matter what the locals tell you about the army having eaten all of them during the wars. Scorpions. Snakes. Thousands of varieties of insects; and thousands of each variety. Parched earth. Dust. Smoke from people burning the grass (some random annual tradition, or perhaps protection strategy since armies have a hard time concealing themselves in the open).

Think of the not so subtle rumble of diesel generators burning the fossil fuels that are allowing me to write this. Or of having a bunch of Dinka staff that don’t speak English (and I sure don’t speak Dinka) wandering around with their traditional scars on their foreheads, making them resemble skinny Klingons. Wow, a Star Trek reference.

For those of you that know Vernon (lean by our standards) he would be considered well nourished with his 6’3” frame and 160lbs by the Dinka’s standards. The Dinka’s are of a similar height to him and I (6’4”). At my 200lbs, I am called fat. In fact I have since my arrival, been called the white Dinka, the fat Dinka, and the white and fat Dinka.

One day when leaving the field on my last trip and standing in front of the compound waiting for the car to take me to the airstrip, these Dinka’s came running to me as they had been told that there was a white man taller than they were. My resemblance to the Dinka’s is not the biggest stretch, with my once lean frame and buckteeth, I really only have the skin colour that differentiates me.

40kms away is the birthplace and childhood town where Manute Bol grew up, famous Sudanese NBA basketball player, if memory serves me right he used to be the tallest NBA player at a bit over 7’6”. There is also a famous model from Tyra Banks and Naomi Campbell era, named Alek Wek Deng, from this area as well.

To return to the picture: Think of the 8 ready for safari Landcruisers sitting in front of the compound at dusk, with the sun going down over the Intensive Therapeutic Feeding Care clinic in the background. Picture the Doctors and other medical staff sitting fiddling with their short wave radios trying to catch a bit of news from their home countries. Or perhaps of the nationals playing a match of volleyball, donated by either MercyCorps or Shave the Children, as the heat of day subsides and the sun starts to decline into the dust filled sky.

Add to this the men sitting around their shisha/hookah pipes smoking scented tobacco. Always on the alert listening on their HF/two way radios. Are they needed somewhere? Perhaps they can ignore this call? The best parts of the day are mid afternoon where the wind starts blowing a bit, bringing a much-needed cool breeze to the camp.

But, with every good comes bad. The breeze always comes from the East, coincidently so are the latrines. For the new compound currently in construction, the latrines are on the Western wall.

Think of relying on satellite for all communication to the capital and Geneva HQ. Think of talking on a sat phone, knowing you can’t walk and talk, or be inside. Or imagine the frustration when you can’t get through and you need to, or worse when you do and the call drops and you have to repeat the process all over again. Try to dream of living and having your storage in tents, for months. Giant white canvas tents, and even with shadow nets the inside can and usually does reach 50 C.

For me, I love to be in the field, even with the heat, the plastic sheeting and shadow nets. The poor conditions and not exactly gourmet food, the struggle and challenges of it all are the fun parts. The challenges of management that are my day-to-day struggle in Juba are less fun. But to be fair, my attitude has changed. I am more positive, I have to be, I couldn’t last the three-four months here if I didn’t.

Think of all of this, and perhaps you might get to experience a bit of Africa and not have to leave the comfort of home. Ahhh, some days I wish I had done that.

Update 16:

One of the things I don’t have an answer to.

Once upon a time in a land far far but not too far away there was a baby chick trying to get out of its shell. Along came this wonderfully kind and compassionate person who saw the shell starting to crack, vibrating and rocking as the chick was trying to break out.

I will ask you a few questions along the way here.

1st question. If you were that person now, and saw the chick hatching what would you do? Please think about this for a second.

Ok. Now this amazingly kind, compassionate person chose to help the chick hatch, (s)he wanted the chick to breath, to grow, to help alleviate what (s)he interpreted as the suffering the chick was experiencing as it fought to escape its womb.

What the person didn’t know at the time were the consequences of his/her actions. For sure it would be hard to place fault in his/her good intentions. After all (s)he had acted in good faith and was only trying to help!

However the chick will tell you a completely different story. It wasn’t suffering at all. It would have told the person, if it was able or knew it, please don’t help me. I am not strong enough to survive outside my shell, my hormones and chemicals are not balanced enough yet. Once they are, I will be strong enough to get out of my shell and will be able to survive in the cold hard world outside.

But the chick couldn’t communicate this to the person, and neither it nor the person knew the effects. In trying to help this chick, (s)he had actually paralysed it since it wasn’t chemically poised enough yet and essentially condemned the chick to an early death.

I suppose we could ignore this story, perhaps we can adopt the philosophy that there are always more chickens laying more eggs. But perhaps there is something more to be thought about.

2nd question. If you were that person now, and saw the chick hatching what would you do?

Is acting out of compassion without understanding the consequences acceptable? Perhaps acting out of good faith isn’t good enough anymore, or maybe ignorance is perhaps not that blissful after all? It could be possible that action without knowledge or even thinking about the ramifications could actually worse than acting but with knowledge that the outcome will fall short of desirable.

An Ethiopian man that had seen the effects of many instances of aid told this story to me the other night, I will not take credit for thinking it up, but it well illustrates my confusion and internal conflicts that I have had in my mind for some time.

3rd question. Dudes, what do we do?

Update 15:

There is so much to write about, where to start? I did write update 14 and posted it but did not send an email. Since the last email though, much has happened; I rode Yvonne across Canada and around the perimeter of the USA, one of my favorite friends got married, my sister gave birth to her and her husbands second, my father went under the knife and is busy recuperating, two missions in South Sudan have been proposed and accepted, one canceled, and most recently I have flown back to Geneva, and expect to be in Sudan by Saturday.

Let's start with the figures from the bike ride.

20,070kms, 52 days, 40 days on the road, 26 nights in the tent, both oceans seen, one gulf, countless bays, 9 provinces, 22 states, 2 hurricanes, 4 moose, 2 bears, numerous deer and small critters, 1 snapping turtle, over 1100 L of burnt fuel (my carbon footprint this year is the shits), ran out of fuel twice, 2 bird/Daniel impacts at 90mph, 6 tires, 4 oil changes, 1 drive chain replaced, 3 close calls, 4 Gb's of photo's and videos, too many pounds of muscle turned to flab, 2 encounters with the law (both in the US of A), 0 speeding tickets, 1 warning (get this, for failure to stay in seat), no standing on the pegs in the states, and too many tearful departures, but fun times rain and shine.

First of all a big thank you to the folks that put me up in their homes and fed me along the way, particularly those that sheltered me from the two hurricanes (Hanna and then Ike). I am extremely grateful to all of you that helped me along the way, the best parts of the trip were usually at your houses and meeting you!

Now to the stories:

Driving to Cornwall from the other side of Hartford, Connecticut, I got caught in the rains of the the now tropical storm Hanna. I managed to get temporarily orientated challenged, and while now I think I was on the “right” road, at the time it was definitely the wrong road. While riding at about 20-30 mph in 3-5 inches of standing water on a heavily loaded sports touring bike in a bright orange rain suit I soon noticed that I was the only while fella in the area, there were sirens all around, accidents left and right, and men on all corners.

Now it is a bit funny that I was shaking in my boots there, and yet in the Congo I could have a conversation with a fella in fatigues, an AK-47 and bullets on his chest without batting an eye. However, rain soaked shirts sticking to the skin very clearly revealed the outline of what were supposed to be concealed handguns. The first chance I got I did a U-turn and virtually catwalked me and my bike out of that American Ghetto, only to take an hour to find another way around in the relentless downpour.

An hour or so later, soaked to the bone, and another 30 minutes or so left to my destination, with rains just as heavy, I came around a corner about to cross a hydro-dam. I noticed a guaranteed unseating round rock the size of a turkey plate, and a few inches above the water on the road right in the path of my tires. With only feet to react I scooted around it. As I passed it I stole a quick glance at the object that apparently was not a rock at all as it had the head and tail that are unmistakably those of a snapping turtle. I distinctly remember my right leg lifting up off the peg as I made this realization, even though I was well out of snapping distance.

The next adventure was on the border of North Carolina and Tennessee where I had the opportunity to ride the Dragons Tail (if you have high speed you should YouTube it). 318 curves, 11 miles. The bike was never standing straight for the duration. I had a hoot, even if on a loaded 919. I scuffed up both boots cornering. It was here on these 22 miles, infamous for it's wrecks and a few deaths, that I probably burnt 50% of my brakes and 25% of my rubber. Hard riding is damned hard on the bike and for Yvonne's sake I can easily say that after running it twice, I was not tempted to ride it again.

Eight hours after Hurricane Ike hit Galveston I rode through the wake, I was actually only 100 miles or so North. It would seem that I was chasing the tail tp see if I could grab it and giv'er a good ol'shake. In reality I was pressed for time. If you ever get the chance to chase a hurricane, on a motorbike, and you do catch up and grab her tail, take advice from someone that has done it, let go, stop, slow down, turn around, just don't continue, especially at night. For me it was way after dark and I couldn't find a campground or even high ground. If you have been to Louisiana or South East Texas you know very well what a bayou is. For those who are unfamiliar; a bayou is basically a damned big swamp, combine that with hurricane force winds, driving rain, and a storm swell, it means wet, very wet, and not much high ground.

So riding along, watching for telephone polls that had been snapped in half like matchsticks and more importantly their associated possibly decapitating wires, while worrying about taking a flying branch to the head, I found the first place that looked like I wouldn't get shot at for trespassing (not really a joke in Texas). I pitched my tent 10 meters, fighting off the hungry skeeters, battling the winds, all while trying to keep the tent dry before I can get the shell on. When I camp like this I like to be visible from the road so the cops know where I am, in the hopes that they don't think I am hiding. That being said I had a hard time falling asleep in the high heat and humidity, with every branch moving or scratching the side of my tent making me think someone was out there.

Sure enough a couple of hours later my tent is lit up by some kind of spotlight. I hear a lull in the rain, doors slam, footsteps scramble up the loose gravel hill, downpour returns, hurried footsteps heading away now, doors slam again. This repeats a few time as the rain abates and intensifies over the next 30 minutes before a sufficient lull occurs and they can make it too my tent. "Sheriff's office!" Silence on my part, pretending to have been asleep. "Sheriff's office! Is there someone there?" They ask me what am I doing. Answering I indicated that I was just trying to stay out of the rain, their chuckled response was that they were attempting the same thing. They asked me for my ID, then where Vancouver was, then BC, finally they knew about Canada. The fella doing the talking looked at his buddy and asked him "How d'ya reckon we run this one through our system?" Buddy says "Haven't got a clue!" They chuckle again and tell me not to bother the neighbors or go wandering around and to ride safe. I found it hard to fall asleep again, too much excitement and way too hot and humid.

Feel good/inspirational story of the trip. I dropped in on my junior high bus driver while in Texas. I hadn't seen her for a good 10 years, probably more. Her story goes to show that you can do just about anything. This woman, my bus driver, never even completed grade 10. Not to put a date on her age, but just so you have an idea her kids were my current age when I was 15 or so. However, in the last decade, she obtained her GED just for kicks, then went to university and graduated with a Bachelor's, and since that wasn't enough she then completed her Masters not too long ago, all with a perfect GPA of 4.0. I think just recently she became an accredited psychologist or psychotherapist and currently works with young adults that have already had a rough go of it all. To me that is an absolutely amazing and inspiring path that just goes to show what can be achieved if you make it happen.

New Mexico was super cool, and as their slogan states it is the "Land of Enchantment." They were the most friendly folks along the American way, and one family even paid my dinner before they left. Only word of advice should you travel through there, get gas wherever you can. Half the towns on the map are either deserted or too small to have a store let alone a gas station, on top of that they are separated by hundreds of kms. Man did it ever get cold at night though. Teeth chattering and body shaking when riding kind of cold.

I had by the time I got to Bakersfield, California, been carrying a replacement rear tire since Mobile, Alabama. I figured that I would ride this tire until it was finished completely, which I did. Yvonne was almost limping into Bakersfield, with two unsuitable tires, a worn out chain (word of advice: do not use a de-greaser on o-ring chains), and a oil change way overdue. The rear tire was actually cracking and peeling along sections of it. But in Bakersfield she received some much deserved and overdue lovin'.

That day though, riding into Bakersfield was the longest of the trip. On that one day I checked out the Grand Canyon, got my kicks on what was left of Historic Route 66, walked around and over the Hoover Dam, rode up and down the strip in Las Vegas, and rode into Bakersfield over 1000kms after starting the day with a squawking chain and peeling rear tire.

Not much to say about the Pacific Coast, aside from it's outstanding beauty, it's perfect waves, gorgeous girls, and pleasant ambiance, except for that it has inspired my next trip. Well after Sudan that is.