Mind you, the power bumped and the air conditioner stopped working.

But it rained and the heat dome over France has collapsed for which everyone is thankful. There is the threat of another one in a week or so.

Aside from trying to be and to stay cool, we have been doing some mundane stuff. Nothing exciting unless you call shopping for major appliances exciting. We went to Toulouse and ordered a fridge, oven, and washing machine. Would have ordered a dishwasher too, but we want to recheck the measurements for the hole it will go into.

But didn’t we say we were renting this apartment?

Well yes, we did. But in France and many other parts of Europe, the only appliance that stays is the cook top. I suspect that stays only because you need an electrician to uninstall and install them. Renting an unfurnished apartment means exactly that… unfurnished.

We were in Nimes last week for an Apero, hosted by a group called BritsNimes. This is an association that supports social activities amongst expatriates living in the Nimes area. Has over four-hundred active members. Our strategy is to join groups like this to make friends in the community who can help us as we figure stuff out

What is an Apero you ask. An Apero is a before dinner drink. An aperitif. It is also a large spritz that June found and enjoyed at one of Toulouse’s Italian restaurants. Thirst quenching and colourful at the same time.

In the case of the Apero hosted by BritsNimes, it is a monthly get together at a restaurant near the Arena in Nimes. An opportunity to enjoy a drink while chatting up friends.

We had a wonderful evening and were invited to join a group of members as they sat down for dinner. Food was great, conversation even better. If this is an indication of the friendliness and support we can get from the local community, then we should find Nimes a great place to call home.

There was a crescent moon above the Arena as we walked back to our hotel room.

Meanwhile, back in Lavaur, there was the usual Saturday Market. Mountains of produce: carrots; radishes; lettuce. Lots of photo opportunities.

Then, on Sunday, there was a big car meetup. Liddy wasn’t terribly interested in the vintage Volkswagen.

I’m not sure what this big white beast is called. Nonetheless, a very pretty roadster. Perhaps someone who does know could put a note in the comments.

As I said in my opening, it has been hot. I thought the idea of attaching a parasol over the driver of this delivery tricycle was brilliant. We frequently see these vehicles in the downtown areas where auto traffic is discouraged or not allowed.

We are fast approaching the end of our stay in Lavaur. I can’t say I will be disappointed to leave as this small city doesn’t provide the services and social opportunities that we are looking for. It has served its purpose, however, providing a centralized location from which to scout out and find other opportunities.

The next few weeks will be busy. We have doctor appointments to keep, and a cruise sponsored by the BritsNimes community. We are also packing up to move closer to Nimes for a few weeks before moving into our apartment. It will be fun to experience a new town. Liddy and I also hope to get out on some of the cycle paths that are in the area.

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à bientôt

On Sunday the main street and the surrounding streets of Lavaur, were conscripted into the task of hosting a triathlon. An Urban Triathlon to be precise.

For those who don’t know, a triathlon is a multi-sport endurance event. Start with a swim, then bike, then run. I was about to claim that the event started in Hawaii but Wikipedia states it began in France, in 1901. Wikipedia goes on to say that the first modern event was held in San Diego in 1974.

So, why did I think Hawaii? Because for a number of years Penticton, BC, hosted a Triathlon which was a qualifier to the Ironman World Championship. The Ironman proper is held in Kailua-Kona on the big island of Hawaii.

We were living in Penticton when Ironman came to town. As members of the local swim club, we were volunteered to help host the event. We manned an aid station providing water and juice to the athletes.

On this morning, as Liddy and I began our morning constitutional, we found ourselves in the transition area. That place where the athletes trade swim trunks for bicycles for running shoes, it was just outside our door. Have to say, I was hit with a tiny bit of nostalgia.

Now, you need to understand, there is no fear that I will ever show my nose at one of these events as a participant. I am strictly an indoor sports kinda guy, sign me up for the broad jump, or chesterfield rugby anytime, but this kinda thing, you had best be fit. Really fit.

I digress. Triathlon. Swim – Bike – Run. I have no idea where the swim occurred. I suspect the Agout River, it is however, in a ravine that would require the competitors to climb a steep bank and run a few hundred meters to the transition zone. Perhaps I should have found out more, but I was fascinated with all of the bikes. I would also have had to figure out how to ask the questions in French. (I know, such a coward!)

It being Sunday, there was not much else happening, so we went down for a closer look. This, in turn, ended up with us finding a table at the Crystal Café. We enjoyed a coffee and a glass (well maybe two glasses) of wine while the bikers sped by.

Not a bad way to enjoy a sunny Sunday afternoon.

So, today is Friday, the triathlon was a week ago. In my last report I promised an update on our house hunting efforts. Well, we are about to sign a lease on an apartment in the town of Nimes.

Nimes is located about forty kilometers east of Montpellier. Not right on the Mediterranean coast, but close. It has the reputation of being the warmest town in France. This should be interesting as our apartment doesn’t have air-conditioning.

The city has an

from the last century BC. It also boasts a roman coliseum that has managed to survive from the first century AD. It is still used to host bull fights and rock concerts. There are a number of other sights in the area, the Pont du Gard is nearby as is Avignon, home of the Pope’s Palace and that bridge we sang about in grade school French class.

Nimes is a very walkable city, with bus lines rather than trams on rails. The buses have dedicated lanes and traffic priority which makes them on par with trams. Getting around without a car is easy. The bike infrastructure is well developed with many routes around town.

Nimes is on the main TGV (high speed rail) line between Barcelona and Paris, so it is well connected.

Our move in date is August 3^rd. The lease agreement is 130 pages of French legalese. Going to be a long weekend, me thinks.

It was an opportunity to drive over a thousand kilometers to southern Germany and back again.

It was an opportunity to visit and celebrate the accomplishments of family. Something that is definitely worth driving thousands of klicks for.

Our daughter, Leah and her family are returning to the US this summer. Her husband, Greg, has won a promotion back in the States. They had hoped to obtain a better position here in Europe, but it was not to be. The planned five-year posting has been reduced to four. The new position sets Greg up for a better retirement package.

Leah has become heavily involved in the local Boy Scouts of America group. The American armed forces, recognizing that happy homes mean happy service members, goes a long way to support the scouting movement amongst the expat families in the Ramstein area. However, like every volunteer organization, leaders must be found, willing to put in the time and effort to organize the activities of that organization.

Leah volunteered to work with the troop Skylar became a member of. She quickly became a key leader, helping to organize and participate in camps and jamborees in Germany, Croatia, Switzerland and Czechoslovakia. She also received a certification to teach leadership skills to other adults helping with BSA.

But it wasn’t just Leah who had a growth opportunity. Granddaughter Skylar became the troop patrol leader. Her badge sash displays almost every attainable badge and she wears a number of cords on her shoulder signifying senior leadership positions. She will have completed her Eagle Scout Project before returning to the States. Not too shabby for a sixteen-year-old if I do say so as a preening grandfather.

We chose this particular weekend to drive to Waldmhor because the troop was holding a Court of Honour. A Court of Honour is an event where the troop recognizes its members for the accomplishments made during the year. Awards for completing badge work, being promoted within the troop such as to a patrol leader position. It’s a pretty big deal for the members.

We were very happy to have the opportunity to attend and watch the ceremonies which were facilitated by Skylar as senior troop patrol leader. It was gratifying to see Parker, our grandson, presented with a number of awards as was Greg for his role as an assistant troop leader. All of the family were recognized for their support to the Scouting Movement at Ramstein and were presented with parting gifts to recognize that service and remember their time there.

Now, about that drive.

There was a time when driving one-thousand kilometers wasn’t a big deal. Thirteen hours behind the wheel. Throw in a break or two; no problem. Used to do that regularly when I lived and worked in British Columbia. Now, not so much. We broke up the trip north and back with overnights in Dijon. Even so, I was done by the end of each day.

Driving in France, on the Autoroutes is an expensive proposition. Gas is selling at about 2€ per liter right now. From Lavaur, Fr, to Waldmhor, De, costs in the region of 75€ in tolls. If you do the math, it’s almost cheaper to take the train.

We chose to drive so we could collect some small appliances from Leah and Greg, before they return to the US. Small appliances just don’t cross the pond. One-hundred-ten-volt systems stateside, two-hundred-twenty volts here. Managed to snag a good coffee maker and a microwave oven, amongst other things. We left similar prizes in a storage locker for them on their return.

Should you decide to rent or lease a car and tour Europe, I highly recommend avoiding the Autoroutes. Not because of the cost, but because of all of the vistas and villages you will see. Leave a lot of time for breaks. I could easily have doubled the time we took on our trip if I had stopped for all of the photo opportunities. I also recommend using Waze as your navigation tool. Google Maps doesn’t let you know when you’re approaching a speed enforcement zone. The speed cameras are all over the place here.

Now, here we sit, back in Lavaur, reviewing rental opportunities, leasing agreements and financial documents – yuck – would rather be out exploring.

Speaking of rental opportunities, we think we have narrowed our search, having put in an application in what we think will be a nice location. Not going to say anymore until the negotiations are finalized.

Stay tuned…

House hunting is not for the weak. Especially for those unfamiliar with the ritual. After twenty-six years living in the same house, the issues are new. Add to that there are the quirks added by the change in country. France, the land of Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, presents a few unique challenges.

In this case it’s the égalité clause that causes a bit of a speed bump. France is all about looking out for its citizens, especially the less than privileged. Fallen upon hard times; can’t pay the rent? Not to worry, the landlord-tenant relationship is designed to work for the tenant. Seems to work reasonably well. Don’t see many vagrants on the streets like back in Seattle or Vancouver, but…

We are in the market for a rental. A nice living area and kitchen, three or more bedrooms (June has to have a sewing room, or two). Parking would be nice – playing street parking roulette gets old quickly. Being retired septuagenarians, easy access to doctors is a requirement and having a boulangère across the street doesn’t hurt either.

Knowing this adventure was going to be challenging, we engaged what’s known to the Brits as a hand-holding service. We hired one to help secure our resident visas – as an Irish passport holder we have the right to live here, but we still need to be properly registered. They also help get us into the French health care system and provide tax advice. Right now, we are leaning on them to help in our rental search.

Finding a satisfactory rental should be easy – right? Find and advert for a place on the internet, contact the property agent, view it, like it, job done – right?

Not so fast crowed the tricolour rooster 🐓. Remember the égalité clause? The one that says tenants have rights? Here in France, they have great rights. Tenant rights are so good that landlords are very picky about who they will rent to. Your future landlord wants to know you are not a cheapskate. The landlord wants assurance that you will pay the rent. They want your past rental history in France going back three generations. They might even take your first born as collateral. You need to demonstrate you are worthy before they will talk to you.

So… our hand-holders. We made some lists. We gave them our requirements and told them to look at Bordeaux, Toulouse and the Montpellier areas. Bigger cities are friendlier to francophone challenged Anglos from the Pacific Northwest. We sent them a list of possibles discovered by searching SeLoger, and other similar sites. We sat and we wait.

Monday afternoon an email arrives. Can we be in Montpellier by ten tomorrow? There is an address that looks like it fits our needs.

We have been in France for six weeks now. We are starting to think about finding a good barber and perhaps a competent doctor. Of course we can be in Montpellier by ten tomorrow morning. Of course, we were late. I blame it on Waze and weird round-a-bouts. Of course the rental agent would have to re-schedule. It wasn’t a total loss – the local street art indicated that we should find a place with more talented artists. Or perhaps none.

We also learned that our communications plan was not communicated well. We needed some coaching on French telephone numbers. Sometimes you see them with a leading zero, sometimes you don’t. We find we have better success if we punch the zero into the French phone if you want to talk to someone. Isn’t that big an issue though because you usually end up listening to a recording, in French, which I assume is requesting that I should leave a message for the person whom I am trying to connect with.

Ok then. We are now in Montpellier playing email tag with our hand-holder. Really don’t want to drive three hours back to Lavaur to wait some more. The young lady who is assisting us realizes we have WhatsApp accounts. We start playing message tag. She also calls. Smart kid (anyone younger than thirty-five is a kid to me). She has lined up some more viewings. This afternoon in Montpellier, tomorrow, Wednesday in Nimes. Another on Thursday in Montpellier. Two in Nimes on Friday. I’m beginning to feel like a tennis ball on a forty-five-kilometer court 😊. Controlled confusion bordering on chaos. But hey, we signed up for an adventure – right?

Thursday night found us back in Nimes. The hotel desk clerk recognized us right away. Nice cheery sort.

Friday morning, learning from the previous days, we were half an hour early for our first visit. This place is a condo with three bedrooms, a large family room and kitchen. It looks south over a green space. Like living in a park – quiet – nice. Met the owner as well as the agent. Nice guy; knew I was Canadian so expected better French. When I explained we were from Vancouver, over three-thousand miles from Montreal, he laughed with us.

This condo will work. It checks the boxes. Even has a small elevator. We indicated as much to the agent and then asked our young lady friend to put in an application.

A few hours later found us in the center of Nimes looking at another apartment. This one, a three floor walk up, lived up to the brochure. It showed well with good space. Great terrace on the roof that is totally private. A bedroom with a bathroom is accessed from the terrace. Great setup for entertaining guests. Easy walk to the Arena and the Maison Carrée among other sites. Short distance to the train station. We were impressed. It lost points ‘cause there is no parking available, and three floors of stairs gets old pretty quick.

Ok – return to Lavaur and clean clothes. Now we wait. We wait to find out if Nimes will be our new address.

What amazed me about these markets is not the size, but the ways product is displayed. A Food Truck in France is nothing like the taco trucks back in America.

Renting seems like the smart thing to do before committing ourselves to that small house in the country. Rather avoid the maintenance and other costs of ownership while we sample the experience of the community we choose.

Renting also comes with its own set of challenges. Because French law favours the tenant over the landlord, landlords can be quite picky before accepting a tenant. In the US or Canada your credit score gives the landlord a measure of your ability to pay the rent. In France there is no such thing as a credit score. You need a dossier; a file showing proof that you have income and have never been late paying the rent. As a retired immigrant, you have no dossier so renting can be a trick. Fortunately you can buy an insurance policy that guarantees your rent will be paid regardless of circumstance.

We are anxious to identify where our new home will be because we will soon need to restock our pharmacy supplies. This will require prescriptions which, in turn, requires doctors. Access to medical practitioners who understand English is a big requirement. This, more than anything, will drive our decision on where we call home. It is also why we are limiting our search to the larger communities. Once we find those doctors, we don’t want to have to change because we find we don’t like the community.

Community choices? There are a number. Montpellier is the largest then to the south is Béziers and Narbonne and Nimes to the north. There are airports at all of these cities and by next year the highspeed rail line between Montpellier and Paris should extend all the way south to Barcelona.

Montpellier is a nice large city with a great transit system. You can get most anywhere in Montpellier by tram or bus and the cost to city residents is nothing. It’s a perk of living here. Montpellier is also home to the oldest medical school in Europe, if not the world. In addition to the medical school, there are a number of technical colleges that are highly regarded. The result is that Montpellier has become known as a tech hub attracting many young professionals who, coincidentally need a place to live. Finding a rental may be difficult here.

We visited Nimes when we were here in December. Our overall impression of the city was good. Like all of the cities in France, transit is a priority so that checks that box. There are also Roman legacies to visit including the still operating arena. Granted it was two weeks before Christmas, but the town seemed to be hopping while we were out exploring its streets and allies.

South of Montpellier is Béziers and Narbonne. We haven’t been to Narbonne yet, but did visit Béziers at the beginning of the week. An ambitious one day trip by European standards made even more so because the actions of the🍊🤡 have driven up the price of gas. Fortunately the DACIA Jogger we are leasing, a larger hybrid SUV, seems to sip gas from the tank.

According to Wikipedia, Béziers has been a destination since 575 BCE. It is located on the banks of the river Orb, about ten kilometers inland from the Mediterranean. The Canal du Midi crosses the Orb via an aqueduct here. The Canal du Midi, by the way, is part of the waterway that was built to connect the Bay of Biscay, on the Atlantic, to the Mediterranean. The Canal was constructed from 1666 through 1681 and is still in operation today.

So, back to home hunting and checking out Béziers. We drove around and through the city several times getting a feel for the districts and suburbs. Transit looks good, in the downtown core, there is a large park with lots of outdoor cafes under the shade of trees. Even with it being Monday, there was a lot of activity.

One of my requirements of where we call home is the ability to get around without a car. The more we search, the more I realize this is probably not going to be possible. Unless we find ourselves on one of the tram lines in Montpellier, not having a car available is going to be a big inconvenience. Oh well… one can dream can’t one. After getting our health care providers lined up, I guess I will have to line up for driver’s education and take a whack at a French driver’s license.

So… the drive to Béziers provided many opportunities for fantastic landscapes. Lots of churches on the skyline as we drove along roads with no shoulder to allow a quick stop. It was a fantastic day for a drive. The weather was great.

And no. We haven’t decided on where home will be.

I believe that a country should be there for its people, and its people should be there for the country. Today, VE Day, is a hugely important day. A day to remember what could have been, and what might yet be. I’m afraid my disappointment in the country I used to call home is on full display in this post. (Not sorry)

Today is May 8^th, 2026. Eighty-One years ago today, Germany surrendered unconditionally to the Allies. One of the greatest conflicts in history was done but for the clean-up.

Today is a national holiday in France. While there are very few people alive today that remember that time, there are enough reminders to make the history real. The people believe what they have been taught in school because it is easy to look around and see the physical proof.

We have been in Lavaur, France for several weeks now. Across the road from where we are staying is this failed bistro, Les Americains. It is hard not to draw a comparison to the fate of this business and the state of those United States. Sad.

Our Airbnb does not have a true internet connection. We are dependent upon our phone service and while the voice capabilities are good enough, the data connection can be quite frustrating. The silver lining is that it is hard to keep up on the news. It is hard to get a daily dose of bull crap from the likes of Facebook and YouTube. It is forcing us to get out and enjoy the sights and sounds of our new home.

Several years ago, while the Obama administration was trying to get some kind of healthcare program accepted by the US people, my wife and I were in a position where we had been let go. If we had been living in another country this would not have been such a big deal. Unfortunately, we were living in the USA. Healthcare is linked to employment in the USA. Can you say indentured servitude?

While that debate was going on, I asked a friend at the photo club what he thought of the effort to reduce the cost of healthcare. His only thought was that he was afraid that it would break the country because of the expense. He was not in favor. Didn’t matter that countries with far fewer resources than the US have successful universal healthcare, oh no. The US can’t afford it.

When I moved to the US from Canada, I became fast friends with a fellow at work. He was an avid – no – rabid golfer. The game doesn’t interest me so much, but I would join him and his friends on outings from time to time. It wasn’t until we found ourselves in the unemployment line did I learn how much of a right-wing ass (kind description) he was. It was during the healthcare debate that we terminated our friendship. My concern for the continued care of my wife’s eyesight was not something he had the least amount of compassion for. Death to Pelosi was one of his mantras.

Last month, while visiting the photo club for the last time before emigrating, I was chatting with friends about the move when one of them turned the discussion to Britain and the number of Muslims who were being elected mayors there. Didn’t I think that was a problem?

The truth is, I don’t believe that Muslims being elected to office anywhere is a problem. Where the problem is, is when racist bigots get elected to office by people like my former friends. On reflection, I suspect they really don’t know, or think of themselves as racist bigots.

Today, I sit writing these words while looking out across the street at a building that is probably one-hundred-fifty years old. I watch the people in the street, white, black, muslim, catholic, jew, all of them respecting each other and recognizing each other as people. All of them being respectful to each other regardless of their beliefs. All of them mindful of how lucky they are to live in a time and a place where they can think about today, VE Day, and what it means.

I give thanks to the🍊🤡 and his band of buffoons for exposing the US for what it really is.

I wonder how much of the actions of that same🍊🤡contributed to the demise of the bistro in Lavaur formerly known as Les Americans. I certainly believe that his actions have contributed to the demise of the worlds’ opinion of a formerly great nation.

Go south old man

As most of you know, we have been threatening to leave the US for the wilds of Europe. We have made good on that threat, arriving at Paris’s Charles Du Gaule Airport (CDG) in mid-April.

It is now the beginning of May; we have been here almost three weeks.

For the moment, here is the rural town of Lavaur where I rented an Airbnb to act as our base camp while searching for the place we would like to call home.

We are limiting our search to the lowlands between Montpellier and Bordeaux north of Spain, and the Pyrenees Mountains.

Montpellier is located on the Mediterranean Sea, west of Marseille. A city that offers warm winters, hot summers, and easy access to sandy beaches. There are also a number of wildlife refuges in the area. According to Wikipedia, the University of Montpellier was established in 1220. It has a medical school reputed to be the longest operating in the world. The city has become a technology hub attracting a lot of young people with well-paying jobs.

In the west, is Bordeaux. Famous for wines. The city is located at the head of the Garrone River Estuary, putting it about an hours drive from the Atlantic and the Bay of Biscay. Again, a city offering warm winters, not so hot summers and a great historical region to explore.

In the middle, is Toulouse. Toulouse is hard for me to categorize. It feels like a young city. Lots of hustle and bustle. Lots of things to see and do. It’s also home to Airbus and the European Space Program.

Any one of these cities would qualify as a great place to call home. The climate is agreeable, the availability of healthcare is good, transportation is easy.

I think we are leaning into Montpellier. It has the advantage of having easy access to the Mediterranean. It is on a high-speed rail line that can take us north to Paris, or south to Barcelona. There are a lot of Roman artifacts within easy reach.

Rent or Buy

France has a lot of legislation that favors the people over businesses. Renting is a case in point. Once established with a long-term lease on an apartment, it can be quite difficult for a landlord to evict an undesirable tenant. For this reason, obtaining a lease on good property as a newcomer can be a hassle. Much easier to purchase and be done with it.

Except… as we all know, owning a property brings with it maintenance. As a tenant, the maintenance is up to the landlord. At my age, I don’t want to be bothered with the maintenance. I don’t do ladders so well anymore, and we won’t talk about my fading super strength.

An issue with renting, we are told, is that renting doesn’t build equity. When you fold up your tent, what have you got to show for it? Well, just having sold our home of over twenty-five years, I can safely say owning does build equity. We were able to walk away with a nice tidy sum.

On the other hand, when we purchased that home, our time horizon was so far out that it wasn’t considered. Now we don’t have the luxury of a distant time horizon.

As a retiree, my paycheck isn’t going to increase because of promotions, it is dependent on cost-of-living adjustments and the whim of politicians, god help us.

My current thought is that renting is what we should do. We can buy insurance to cover the newcomer issue that a landlord may raise. There are fees to be paid when assuming a lease, so you want to be happy with the place you choose, but those fees are nothing in comparison to the real-estate fees and other hassles involved with flipping a house.

Achieving the Goal

As a retiree, the thought of winning a corner office with a view across the city is long gone. Today I wish to live a simple life that allows me to explore my world. By moving to Europe, I believe I have greatly expanded the size of my world. Destinations are closer, costs are more predictable. Challenges, there are many. Being distant from family is a big one although technology helps reduce distances today. Learning the language and making friends is another. Joining associations and being active in the community will help with this.

Happiness is an elusive creature. I believe contentment is when we experience more happiness than not. I will have arrived when I can look around and see that my wife and I are content with our lot.

I know I can’t live forever, but damn, I’m goanna try. And dammit if I can make other people enjoy life with me, well then that’s the goal achieved.

Fittingly, the weather during our last weekend in Vancouver was a dull grey. Not raining but not one of those bright sunny days that make Vancouver just about the most beautiful place on earth.

My sister and I went for a walk around Capilano Canyon Park. We took our dogs Foster and Liddy.

On climbing up out of the Canyon we were greeted by The Lions standing tall above the lake that is Capilano Reservoir. Some of my earliest memories of Vancouver are of this park. My family home was just down the street very near the spot from which I took this photo.

This was a place where I could come to escape the crap that is put on young prepubescent boys. To me, it was heaven.

Today, over sixty years later I am back again. Not quite as spry as I was then, but all the same, we were here drawn to the quiet beauty that is a temperate rain forest. I was doing what I do; try to capture the beauty of the place where I am at.

This nurse log, or stump, has several notches cut in it where loggers would have placed boards to stand on while they cut down the tree with their swede saw.

Looking at the photo, I see a metaphor of new life rising from the old. Somewhat appropriate as we begin our adventure of moving to France. Our home of 27 years, near Seattle, has been sold and emptied. We are leaving. I have had enough of the crap being distributed throughout the United States.

I look at this image with the hope that what we leave behind fares better than this stump. For the sake of my children and their children I hope that the USA will pull itself out of the self-destructive path it is on.

The skunk cabbage is a pretty, little plant that grows in a most inhospitable location in the bog. One of nature’s examples of beauty being around us everywhere

For the sake of the world I hope for this outcome but if it doesn’t something will survive and new life perhaps better life will rise from the mess.

Today I shake the dust of America from my shoes and begin a new life in the old world of France

I am too old to think that the USA will change in my lifetime. Hell they are still fighting a civil war that should have been decided one hundred fifty years ago.

I plan to enjoy exploring the history of places and things that have survived two thousand years or more.

Much more fun than watching a noble idea born only two hundred and fifty years ago tear itself apart don’t you think?

Now, my partner, June and I plan to move part way around the globe to France. Instead of an eighteen-hour drive, it will be an eighteen-hour day flying across the world when we wish to visit family.

Why Leave

I would like to say it’s because my wanderlust has grown strong these past years, but no. While wanderlust is a contributor, the state of the States is the catalyst.

As legal resident of the USA, I don’t have the right to vote. Wouldn’t have made much difference if I did as the representatives I would vote for get elected without my assistance. We were going to assimilate into the Borg on a number of occasions, but something came up delaying the event.

So, here we are. Early twenty-twenty-six. The Mango Menace is threatening the world just so he can put his name on it.

The republican party is enabling his utter shredding of what was thought was law for fear of losing his favor.

The democrats aren’t much better. They haven’t been able to make life better for the common man even when they have enjoyed a majority.

I fear for the world my children and grandchildren are inheriting.

So… as an immigrant, I will vote with my feet. I will self deport my white, privileged ass out of this not so democratic shit-hole country (beauty is in the eye of the beholder.)

Why France

It would be so much easier to pack a truck and run home to British Columbia except for the price of housing. They are just as stupid expensive there as they are here in Washington.

We could keep our cars and be closer to family and friends right.

Well, not so much. North Vancouver, where my brother and sister live is totally out of the question. Homes cost north of one million. Move up the Fraser Valley, and housing costs decrease, but the distance to family and friends increases as does access to resources. We would gain a saner government, at the expense of long drives - no thanks.

I have an Irish passport through my mother. As Ireland is an EU member country, I have access to anywhere in Western Europe. We have chosen to begin a new adventure in the south of France.

In France we will have access to great medical care without fear of being rung out to dry by some insurance company. In France we will have the opportunity to live in communities where a car is an option, not a necessity. In France we will be able to explore the history of the western world.

In France we will experience Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. Not to say that France or its politics are perfect, but I would hope that a turd like Trump would never make it to Versailles. (Macron has his moments, but nothing like tRump.)

About the culture

We fully expect to have some adjustment issues. The language is the obvious one, but we had culture issues when immigrating to the US. While Canada and the USA are similar, they are not identical. We tripped over many stumbling blocks in our early years. You don’t know what you don’t know.

On the other hand, I think the French culture is the ultimate draw. The easy pace of life. Walkable cities. Regular outdoor markets. Easy and affordable transportation.

I expect to be able to strike up a conversation with a local, have a spirited debate about what stupidity is being put forward by Parliament today, and walk away as friends. I won’t have the fear that I might be shot because we disagree. Refreshing.

When

So, the plan is wheels up in April. Fly to Paris. Drive south to Toulouse and locate our new home somewhere between Montpelier and Bordeaux.

That’s the plan.

More to come…

This photograph speaks to me on a number of levels…

Obviously, it was shot in the autumn. I easily identify with the season as I am also in the autumn of my life.

I love the golden foliage on the trees. Gold suggests wealth and beauty. While I may not be rich, and my good looks may be fading, I feel wealthy for the life I have lived, and for the future years to come.

And then there is the way the aspen wander down the hillside. Their path suggests my own wanderings. They search for water in the soil. I search for the beauty in the world.

Captured in October of 2018, from the side of BC highway 97c, just south of Merritt.

Goodbye to a close friend

I lifted the box out of the back of my car. With mixed emotions I opened the door to the FedEx Office store. My heart was heavy as I placed the box on the counter, passed the shipping documents to the clerk, and wished my camera kit godspeed.

Five years I have enjoyed that Canon R6. Five years of improving my skills as a photographer. Giving it up is hard.

So, how did it come to this? Well, mostly cause my body told me to get real. In the past six months, I have been avoiding my friend. It’s heavy. It takes great photos, but it’s heavy.

A couple of years ago my knees decided my hiking, let alone my backpacking days were done. If I wanted to take banger landscape shots, they would be close to the road. Then I had a valve replacement, and a spark plug for good measure. Something had to change.

So, I bought a bike. The knees don’t complain so much about the rotary action of pedalling like they do with walking. My heart doesn’t complain about the exercise. It’s a good kind of workout. I won’t be joining the Lycra set, however.

When I was out hiking, my camera would be out. Ready to respond at a moment's notice. On the bike however, it’s different. I can’t have the camera bouncing off my body so it has to be in my bag. By the time I pull it out, the moment is gone.

Usually, Liddy and I ride the local rail trails. It’s fun, it’s refreshing, and we love being outdoors. While I’m trying to set a better pace, ten miles per hour is about as good as it gets, especially as Liddy is riding behind in our trailer.

When we are out hiking, I pay attention to the birds, the bees, the flowers, the trees. I get some good shots this way.

When I’m riding, I don’t see them. I don’t see those moments like I do while on foot. If I do see a moment, by the time I get stopped, get the gear out ready to shoot, the moment is gone.

Catalyst for change

We recently travelled to Germany to enjoy Christmas with our daughter’s family. I was thinking that I would be able to get some good photos and videos during our travels. In addition to the Canon and my smartphone, I brought along an action camera.

I have lots of video, lots of photos, but they are a disjointed mess because I couldn’t make up my mind as to what camera I should be using. I have a pretty good story, but I was shooting stills when I should have focused on the video and vice versa.

I’m disgusted with myself for schlepping around fifteen pounds of gear with not much to show for it.

A new beginning

So, is this the end of my photography career? Nope! Don’t think so.

Am I going to buy a smaller, lighter camera? Maybe a Fuji XT something, or a Ricoh GIII? Maybe an Olympus four thirds kit?

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, I’m going to upgrade my phone. I’m going to trade in my Samsung S21 for the latest Samsung S25 Ultra. Don’t think I’m buying an expensive smartphone; I’m buying a reasonably priced camera.

The S21 has a lot of good camera features that I have not taken the time to learn. Why would I when I have the Canon with me. Except when it isn’t.

The good and the bad

The truth is smartphone cameras fall short of what you can do with an interchangeable lens camera. The smartphone’s long lens isn’t long enough and there is no aperture control. Taking advantage of depth of field is challenging.

On the other hand, I always have my phone with me. Upgrading it to the S25 Ultra, the phone becomes my primary camera. As I will be using it all the time, I should be able to figure out how to take some bangers with it.

Another advantage to the smartphone is that they are invisible. Everyone has one. Everyone has them out in hand, so nobody sees them. Shooting locations in a crowded street, you’re not alone. It’s crazy really. Taking environment shots in a museum or restaurant. If you don’t enable your flash, you’re invisible.

I know the tiny sensors won’t enlarge to satisfy a sixteen by twenty print, and that is a shame as I do like a good print. On the other hand, mostly we display our product on these tiny smartphone screens or as wallpaper on our computer.

So. Goodbye old friend. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.”
– Tim Cahill

The world is a beautiful place. Share the beauty. Leave only footsteps.

This story is about me. It’s not about you. How can it be about you? I don’t even know you. So… about me.

A bit self-serving what? Well yes, it is.

But, by sharing my story with you, I want to pass on a few thoughts, a few ideas, that may be of benefit to those who care to listen.

We all know that life is a journey. We know the endpoints, where we began and where we will end. As has been said many times before, it’s what we do along the way that matters. We should make the most of it.

By today’s standards, my journey is not nearly over. Approaching three-quarters of a century with the probability of seeing the meter roll past one hundred. It’s amazing really. Not many years ago reaching sixty was a great milestone.

Mostly, I have enjoyed these past seven decades. I squandered my youth on my girlfriend, my love and my partner of over fifty years. The most important thing to me has been family. I have always put my family first.

It’s time for a midcourse correction. It’s time to put me first.

Well maybe I will keep the family in mind, but I am going to squeeze the most out of these next years and this is how I plan to do it.

The goal is to be happy. I want to be able to enjoy the things that make me happy, so the first order of business is my health. I need to ensure I am fit enough to enjoy this journey. I see my doctors regularly and I am not ashamed to bring my complaints to them. My doctors have responded by providing good solutions, and good guidance.

My stretch goal is to live forever. Probably not going to happen, but hey… dreams can come true.

A year ago, this month, I woke up in a cardiac intensive care unit. Waking up there was not a surprise. It was comforting to find myself back in the land of the living. A few hours earlier I had said goodnight to my partner and my son and went to sleep. My surgeon and her team sliced me open and replaced my Aortic Valve. Today, a simple valve job.

My recovery was on track to be just as simple except for this atrial fibrillation thing I have had going on for years. It became worse. The drugs I was taking to control the afib, were as bad as the problem. Not good. Back to the operating theater. Do they still call it that?

This time, while on the table, I went to sleep to the sound of my heartbeat resonating through a speaker… beep — beep — — beep — beep beep — beep. Totally irregular as I was used to. I woke up a few hours later the speaker reported a rather boring… beep — beep — beep — beep. Boring is good yes?

While I slept the team had pushed a catheter up my leg into my heart. They had sent a small cartridge up the catheter and dropped it into my ventricle. They also burned the electrical connection between the atrium and the ventricles. I will forever be paced by a small spark plug in my heart.

Well for as long as the battery holds out. Ten years I’m told.

Today, about nine months on, I am planning how I will take over the world. I feel great. I can peddle my bicycle twenty to thirty miles in a day and enjoy it. My forty-pound dog enjoys being taxied along in her trailer during those rides. No land speed records. I won’t be riding a century for a while yet, but soon.

The point is that I can plan to conquer the world because I am looking after ME. Selfish bugger that I am, I come first. It’s MY life. I want to enjoy it. I want to be able to love my partner, my dog, my kids and the rest of the world. Well, maybe not the entire world.

I can’t do that unless I’m healthy and neither can you. I don’t care if you’re an axe murderer. I mean really, how can you expect to swing that axe properly if you’re not healthy and fit, so get with the program. Eat better. Stay active. Keep your mind busy. Enjoy the occasional afternoon nap.

But most of all, enjoy your friends and family. (leave the axe in a tree)

Be the person your dog thinks you are. Be a superhero!

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The Way It Was

Once upon a time, like last month, crossing into the United States with your dog was not an issue. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) didn’t care. For the eleven or twelve years we have been travelling with Liddy, I can’t remember being asked for her rabies certificate once. I’ve been hassled about her dogfood, but rabies certificate… not so much.

On our trip to Europe in 2022, we needed export papers signed and sealed by the US Department of Agriculture (USDA) dated no more than a week prior to travel. These export papers were required so we could import her into Germany.

Our vet recommended that we engage a service that would ensure all of Liddy’s documents were in order. Bringing her home… not so much because at that time, CBP didn’t care. Arriving in Seattle, the guys at the desk didn’t want to look at her even though I specifically asked if they needed any documentation.

This contrasts so differently from our arrival in Frankfurt. The customs agent was very helpful getting us processed. But. He was certainly diligent in his inspection of those documents that I had stressed over and paid a few coins for. We were glad to have them and glad to be able to walk out of the custom hall with Liddy at our side.

August 1st and Beyond

I didn’t hear about this until I was chatting with my sister. She lives in Vancouver, BC, Canada. We were going to visit and then take our biannual service dog assessment.

I haven’t heard anything on our local Seattle news about this. It may have come up, but I could have missed it.

What is it, you ask. Well, it is a new directive from the Center for Disease Control (CDC).

The CDC is tasked with keeping the people of the USA safe from… oh Diseases. Things like smallpox, polio, measles, Covid, and rabies.

It’s that last one, rabies, which is pertinent to this discussion.

According to the CDC, as of 2007, the US domestic canine population is rabies-free. Rabies is still alive in the wild, showing up in squirrels, bats, and raccoons, from time to time, but not in our domestic pets.

This situation is credited to the requirement that our domestic pets be vaccinated against rabies with a booster every three years.

The CDC reviewed the US import regulations in 2024 and realized that the risk of introducing a rabid dog is greater from outside the US than inside.

The new directive requires that all dogs imported into the US on or after August 1st must meet some basic requirements. Requirements similar the ones in place to bring a dog into Germany.

What Requirements, and Why do I Care?

Most of my family lives in Vancouver, BC, Canada. A weekend trip to visit my brother or sister will require crossing an international boundary, entering Canada from the US. This has never been a big deal. Canada hasn’t put any policy in place for dogs except you may need to show proof of vaccination.

The kerfuffle will happen on the way home. On the return trip, we will be importing Liddy back into the US, so the new CDC rules apply. We will need:

• A Certification of US-Issued Rabies Vaccination

• A recent photo of our dog, Liddy showing the face and body

• Liddy’s microchip number

• A copy of the CDC Dog Import Form Receipt

The receipt needs to be printed after completing the import form on the CDC website. Note that I said printed. A copy on your phone won’t cut it. The receipt will be emailed to you, so you need access to that account as well.

The complete set of instructions are available on this page on the CDC website: Required Documents for Bringing a Dog into the United States

Note that if you don’t live in the US, or if you travel to one of several countries considered high risk for rabies, there are additional requirements, so read these pages closely.

Your vet may not be aware of these new cross border requirements. When I asked mine, the advice I received was that I should contact the service that we used when taking Liddy to Germany. Not a satisfactory answer to someone who travels to the great white North five or six times a year.

What to do

The CDC forms became available on July 15th. After reading the instructions described on their website, Required Documents for Bringing a Dog into the United States, I don’t think it is as big a deal as it will be if the form isn’t completed. The biggest issue is knowing the port of entry before completing the form. I have a choice of three and I like to use the one with the least traffic. The completed form can be revised, but that damned receipt must be printed. I don’t keep a printer in my car.

So, we are ready. The vet assures me that Liddy’s Rabies Certificate has been registered with the USDA. It has her microchip number on it. I have a photo of Liddy on my phone to upload to the form. I can fill out the CDC form from my phone before we leave our host’s home, or I will find a shop that will print it for me. Check. Ready.

For the moment, I will be happy if this article helps a fellow traveller from being blindsided on returning home from a trip abroad with their canine companion.

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” – Tim Cahill

The world is a beautiful place. Share the beauty. Leave only footsteps.

It’s Sunday morning.

Liddy woke me at 6:45 this morning. Something about a canine snout in your face that makes you take notice.

Get up — get dressed — go downstairs — unlock the kitchen door — she goes out to do her business.

Now she demands her breakfast. I ask her to close the kitchen door while I get her meal, which is quickly dispatched. This is why she got me out of bed so early — she was hungry.

Ok, now it’s my turn.

First coffee. I haven’t had a coffee for a couple of days because of a bout with the flu, one of the gifts my partner brought home from a sewing conference in San Francisco last week.

Cappuccino made. Put some frozen blueberries in a bowl. Add yogurt. Top the bowl with Cheerios. Toss some Cheerios at Liddy — God help me if she doesn’t get hers.

Sit. Enjoy the view of the garden with breakfast. It’s a wonderful time to meditate about the joys of the morning.

A hummingbird flits by, sampling the crocosmia lucifers in the garden.

Time to move on. Go fetch the pharmacy drawer from the bathroom. Portion out the pills for each day of the week. This is one ritual I could do without. Oh well. They have kept me going this long. The other option isn’t really an option.

Second Cappuccino. It’s a bit bitter. I’ll have to fix that. Not right now though, my four-legged friend is demanding attention. She wants to go for a run. She has been cooped up in the house while my partner and I struggled through this damned flu. Oh yeah, she was also doped up because of the July fourth Armageddon this week. She is really freaked by the explosions made by fireworks.

Enough.

It’s time we indulge ourselves with a ride.

Lord knows, with Liddy being 13, and me at 72, I’m going to indulge us as much as we can.

Life is meant to be lived, so live it well!

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Some Background

It was early — five thirty in the morning I think — I hadn’t slept well. Too excited.

I was excited about finally loading up the Brompton and heading out on an overnight adventure. An adventure that had been in the making for over a year.

Plan A was to go to France and cycle EuroVelo 17, the ViaRhôna. We would join the route in Geneva and follow it down to the Mediterranean Sea.

Unfortunately, life got in the way and the trip didn’t happen.

Nine months later, health issues are under control. My cardiologist doesn’t want to see me till next year.

Looking for a New Challenge

Not ten minutes from our house is the Foothills Trail in Pierce County. I can’t think of a better exercise program than riding this. It’s wide, it’s paved, and it has some reasonably steep grades. I mean it’s perfect and as my fitness level improved, the challenges it presents… well they are no longer challenges.

When training for the ViaRhôna, I searched for local cycle paths that might be comparable to it. Here in the Puget Sound region of Washington, there are plenty of suitable trails. We cycled around the south end of Lake Washington. Up the west side to I-90, crossing the lake on the floating bridge, then back to Tukwila on the east side. Cycling around Lake Sammamish was also a good ride. We also cycled twenty-five kilometers out and back along the Snoqualmie Valley Trail.

These are great rides but … They are, shall we say, too good. By that I mean that the surface is well packed if not paved. I question if these are good trails to measure one’s abilities. How well will we do on a looser surface? Oh, and there are no places to camp overnight. Another requirement when training for longer bikepacking trips.

I was looking for a new challenge. A rougher trail and an overnight camp.

Ride the Willapa

I have been searching the web for rides which would be fun. A sponsored ride with a twenty-five-to-thirty-kilometre distance. With a campout being involved, at the beginning or during the ride, didn’t matter. Oh, and because I tour with Liddy and our trailer, being off busy roads was also a requirement.

I found quite a few opportunities. Unfortunately, the local ones are one-day affairs, or are intended for the Lycra set. Something Liddy and I, on our Brompton, are not.

It showed up in my Facebook Feed. Ride the Willapa, only an hour’s drive from home. It checked all the boxes. Long ride for the endurance nuts, shorter rides for the casual types, and the opportunity to camp out. Perfect! I signed up for the ride with the campout option.

The Willapa Hills Trail is an abandoned railroad right of way that follows the Chehalis River from the town of Chehalis to Pe Ell and then along the Willapa River into Raymond and South Bend. This is a Washington State Park. The section from Chehalis to Pe Ell is ok for most bikes, from Pe Ell to Raymond is considered unimproved.

Should you choose to take part in this event, the organizers provide drayage services (courtesy of the local UPS office) to take your camping equipment from the Chehalis trailhead to Rainbow Falls State Park and back. For an added small fee, dinner and breakfast are included.

Self-Contained

As I was looking to test myself and my equipment, I chose to forgo the drayage service, packing all my equipment, and Liddy, on the Brompton and Chubby Trailer.

Liddy shared the trailer with our tent and a small chair. My sleeping gear, change of clothes, and food were packed in a thirty-liter drybag supported between the saddle and the rear rack of the Brompton. The front bag held my Canon R6, a stove with fuel, rain gear, water, and snacks.

Who travels without electronics these days? My cell phone and a GoPro were mounted on the handlebars connected to a power brick in the front bag.

Add Liddy’s twenty-kilos and my hundred … a substantial load for our Brompton, methinks.

Pedaling to Rainbow Falls

As I said previously, Rainbow Falls State Park was our destination, twenty-five or so kilometers (16 miles) from Chehalis as the bicycle wheel turns.

The first nine kilometers (5 miles) are paved with the steepest climb being the one to the top of the highway six overpass at Steams Road, about five kilometers. This is a nice bridge that makes crossing the highway so much safer.

After the Adna Trailhead, we cross the Chehalis once again. The Chehalis wanders back and forth across the valley. We cross the river three times. The second time, just west of Adana, the pavement ends, and the crushed gravel surface begins. They call it compacted gravel, but I would call it sharp marbles on hard pan. I’m sure this was done to make you want wider tires on the bike.

From Adna, we began a long, slow, steady climb. No huge elevation gain here, just a constant push against the pea gravel under the tires. The rest stop at Ceres Hill was a welcome respite.

Lest you think that the rest stop is at the top of the climb, not so. The trail continues north until finally swinging west where we get to enjoy the daisies in farmers' fields along a long straight stretch. Truly, this is a flat ride. The total elevation gain to the park is only seventy meters (230 feet).

Twenty-five kilometers (16 miles) done, and we arrive at the ride’s welcome center at Rainbow Falls State Park. Liddy helped me set up our tent and then she went swimming in the Chehalis River just below the falls. I didn’t pack a swimsuit, was too weary to pack the camera along to the river, so no images (that’s my excuse anyway)

I’ve included a photo that I took of our rig while on the Foothills Trail so you can get an idea. Not shown in this photo, there was a drybag hung between the saddle and the rear rack.

Dinner was good. Fresh cooked bratwurst with sauerkraut on a bun. Dessert was some brownie bites with mixed berries.

Because Liddy is a house dog, she wore a heavy sweater in lieu of a sleeping bag. She also claimed the foot of my — our air mattress. Seems she had had enough of the pad in the trailer thank you very much. Even so, I slept well. On waking at midnight to use the facilities it struck me how coordinated the snoring was in the surrounding tents.

Returning to Chehalis

We struck camp early. It had rained during the night and was still raining lightly so the tent was packed wet before loading into the trailer.

A breakfast of pancakes, sausage patties and scrambled eggs was enjoyed with a young family from Centralia. Some good conversation and several cups of coffee later, it was time to take our leave. We found our way to the trail leading out of the park, back to the Willapa Trail. The park’s connecting trail is quite pretty.

On reaching the trail, we turned east, looking forward to an easy downhill run back to Chehalis. The sky promised more rain and a few miles later it was delivered, but not too much, just enough to be annoying.

On the previous day, I noticed this spot as a possible photo opportunity. I tried to capture the tiger lilies with the rapids behind. I don’t think it works as well as I wanted. It was raining as we crossed the first bridge over the Chehalis. This view down the river was softened courtesy of raindrops on the lens.

That’s a Wrap

When I look at videos people have taken while touring Europe by bike and compare their reports to what we can experience here in the northwest the first thing I think of is campsites and services. Their cycle tourism support industry is huge. Here, not so much. There were over 300 people participating in the Ride the Willapa event. According to the ride organizer, over 100 of those stopped in and bought an ice cream from a shop in Doty, halfway to Pe Ell from Rainbow Falls. Nice sales courtesy of a bunch of silly cyclists.

Well, I think I accomplished what I wanted. We journeyed fifty kilometres (32 miles) with a fully loaded bike. The pace was slower than expected because of the trail surface. The Brompton’s rear tire is done, the sidewall is bulging, ready to pop. Probably coarse gravel and the load caused it as there is only about one thousand kilometers (600 miles) on the bike. It didn’t break, so we were able to ride all of the way back, but it was close.

So, met great people, learned some things for the future and had a great ride.

Liddy was pretty happy with the weekend too.

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.”

– Tim Cahill

The world is a beautiful place. Share the beauty. Leave only footsteps.

I recently had the opportunity to come to grips with my mortality. Open heart surgery and inserting a pacemaker will do that to you.

I will start with the valve job. My aortic valve was done. Calcified. Needed to be replaced. My partner and I consulted and decided full open-heart surgery was the way to go. Crack open the chest, snip out the old valve, then insert a shiny carbon-titanium one. Month or so of recovery, then done. Less trauma to get one of the newer pig skin valves, but they only last a bit over ten years. Mine is good for thirty or more.

Prior to the valve, there was the permanent Atrial Fibrillation. A-Fib is a condition where your heart won’t keep to a regular rhythm. Just forgot how to dance. Twenty years ago, they didn’t know many of the things they know today, so the treatment was drugs. Better living through chemistry.

My cardiologist prescribed channel blockers and beta blockers. These things have horrid side effects. They cause dizziness, lightheadedness, weakness, nausea, flushing, constipation, headache, depression, and mood swings, to name a few. But these horrid pills have kept my ticker running at close to a normal rate.

Cardio rehab is an exclusive gym membership made available after cardiac surgery. You go to a supervised work out twice a week. A trainer is assigned to help you work out properly and to make sure you aren’t straining your heart. You will wear a portable electro cardio monitor allowing the trainer to keep an eye on your heart rhythm. Did I mention that I hate treadmills?

When experiencing A-Fib, the heart doesn’t behave like normal. A normal resting heart rate is considered to be between 60 to 100 beats per minute (bpm). My resting heart rate was usually around 80 bpm. Start a workout and that rate could jump up to 180 or higher. After a workout, the rate is expected to drop below 100 fairly quickly. For me, not so much.

One morning, after walking across the parking lot to the gym, my heart rate was over 100 bpm. The trainers were a wee bit concerned and didn’t want to let me work out without first being cleared by a cardiologist. They escorted me downstairs to consult with one. A full electrocardiogram (ECG) was ordered. Come back next week and repeat the ECG. Based on the observations from the ECGs I was referred to a Cardio Electrophysiologist — who makes up these names — really. Let’s just use CEP.

On visiting the CEP, he was ready to drop a pacemaker into my heart, then burn the electrical connection between the atria and the ventricles. This would free the ventricles from the misbehaving atria. I would still have a-fib, but it wouldn’t matter because the ventricles, the bigger chambers, would be paced by the pacemaker at a controlled rate.

This solution is a one-way street. Once on the pacemaker, always on the pacemaker. A door is closed. I chose to see if we could bring things back under control with more drugs. Ok, we can try that. Double the dose of beta blocker and get back on the treadmill. After a month, it was obvious that chemistry wasn’t going to do the job.

So, back to the operating room. I lay down on the table and was hooked up to the “Machine That Goes Ping” [1]. This was my heartbeat being repeated over a speaker. My “Ping” was more like… Ping — Ping — — — PingPingPing — Ping. And that is what I heard as I fell asleep.

While I was sleeping, the CEP and his team inserted a catheter into my leg, pushing it up and into my heart. The pacemaker was pushed up through the catheter and dropped into my heart. The same magic was used to ablate my AV node, divorcing my atria from my ventricles forever.

On waking up, the “Ping” was very regular. Ping — Ping — Ping — Ping … quite boring, really. The fact that I was awake, and the regularity of the “Ping”, I’ll take boring, thank you.

Ok, the drugs. On discharge from the hospital the next day, I was instructed to stop taking my blockers. That beta blocker and the channel blocker with all those side effects. Didn’t have to tell me twice.

First couple of days were good. Then the withdrawal began. Lots of chest pain, lots of just plain feeling shitty. I was wondering if the cure was worse than the disease.

A bit of research and I learned I should not have gone off these drugs cold turkey. Even after three weeks, the withdrawal symptoms were there, being annoying. Just not fun!

I’m cool now, right? Well, yes and no. The valve job and new spark plug are working fine, so physically, yes, I’m cool.

However, just as I was thinking about getting on with life — to get out and train on my bicycle — Liddy decides to have issues with her hind legs. She started having trouble jumping on the couch, climbing the stairs, and let’s not ask her to jump on the bed.

Off to the Vet. Full set of X-Rays of her rear legs. Vet found nothing he could say was the problem. We went home with arthritis medication and angst. It would be several days before the X-Ray analysis would come back.

After all the crap I have gone through in these last months, this had to be the worst.

Keeping Liddy from doing things that might make her condition worse was easy because I was moping on the couch beside her. I recognized that I was a depressed wreck. Not pretty.

Meanwhile, as I was experiencing how much she means to me, she was healing and getting over it. She was more or less back to her normal self before we received the X-Ray analysis. We don’t know what the problem was. The X-Rays came back with no obvious issues.

We were out on the Foothills Trail a week later and she was trotting along at better than eight miles an hour. Kept it up for half a mile or so before I had her jump into her trailer. So, Liddy is fine.

I guess I am too. Life goes on. When it’s time, it’s not about the one who left, it’s about the heartbreak of those left behind. I’m ready for the time when the fates snip my strings, but damn! It’s going to be hell when they take Liddy.

[1] Reference to Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life

The world is a beautiful place. Share the beauty. Leave only footsteps.

It was a glorious Sunday; mid-April as Liddy and I began an adventure into the wilds of Seattle. Daffodils and tulips are popping out in all their glory.

The past six months have been a wee bit of a challenge because of health issues. I managed to survive the Pandemic only to experience a valve job in November and the insertion of a small spark plug this month. No roving expeditions to the wilds of Montana or Utah for me this spring. While this old bag of bones gets used to its new parts, Liddy and I will be enjoying places closer to home.

This past weekend, for example, Liddy and I left the Prius at the SeaTac Park and Ride. We jumped on a Link Light Rail train, taking it north to Westlake Station. Westlake is in the heart of Seattle and is a convenient place to begin wandering. Lots of shops if you are into that. The monorail terminal is part of Westlake Center and can be ridden to Seattle Center where the Space Needle, Experience Music Project and Climate Pledge Arena are located.

I had already decided to go down to the waterfront. Armed with my Canon R6, sporting a 35 mm lens, I was looking for some interesting subjects. Perhaps some street photography, or simply photos for a travel essay.

From Westlake, we strolled west along Pine and on reaching 1st, turned south towards Metsker Maps, located between Pine and Pike Streets on 1st Avenue. I have been wanting to explore the shop to see how extensive their collections of maps and other products they offer. I found they have an extensive array of travel books as well as maps for most anywhere in the world.

Liddy was noticed and spoiled by the staff (owners?) with biscuits and attention. She loves to go shopping. (I don’t wonder why.)

Pike Market Entrance

From Metsker Maps we continued south on 1st, restraining the urge to enjoy a snack at The Crumpet Shop. Taking a few steps further and rounding the corner onto Pike Street, we arrived at the Iconic Pike Place Market.

Just inside the market entrance, on the left, is the Pike Place Fish Market. This is the home of the famous flying fish. When things get a bit slow, market staff will pick up a salmon, shout and fling that salmon across the shop to another associate. Not quite like a basketball game, but close. Some poor salmon might fly across the shop several times. This, of course, causes excitement and cheers from the spectators which, in turn, draws in more potential customers. Usually, some members of the crowd will purchase a slightly abused (tenderized?) salmon.

Not The Pike Place Fish Market, but another one of the number of fishmongers in the market. I really like stuffed salmon cooked on the bar-b-que. Perhaps I will pick one up for a celebration this summer. I’m drooling just thinking about it.

This day was, as I said, in mid-April. A bit early for the crush of crowds you may find at the market, but just right for the spring flowers. Like myself, many people were capturing the dizzying display of colours. Some even walked away with pretty bouquets in their hand.

It was hard not to notice this well-dressed young lady and her companion enjoying the display of flowers. I’m always interested in other people with cameras and how they take advantage of a situation for good shots. Can you say Instagram? I’m quite happy with this shot of the couple chimping their camera. Engrossed in their shots and discussing how to improve them no doubt. I like the way I caught them framed between two ladies strolling up the aisle.

Liddy and I crossed through the market to the west side where we were able to view some of the construction happening along Alaskan Way.

As you can see big changes are happening here. Back in 2019, the Alaskan Way Viaduct was removed as the Highway 99 Tunnel had recently opened and now takes the Viaduct traffic under the Seattle Waterfront. There is going to be huge amounts of open space with great views of the Olympic Mountains and Puget Sound. Exciting.

Liddy and I found our way down to the stairs of the Pike Street Hill Climb.

The Pike Street Coffee Shop is tucked in under the stairs and Liddy was telling me it was time for a drink so we went in.

An interesting gentleman was sitting in a corner of the shop. He was neatly framed by the windowpane in front of him. I couldn’t bring myself to shoot him and capture the moment because I felt I would be intruding on his moment.

In retrospect, I should have taken the shot and then used that as an excuse to introduce myself and perhaps strike up a conversation. Until I can figure out how I want to deal with these opportunities — build up my confidence — I will not feel that I am an accomplished street photographer.

A portrait of Liddy will have to do.

Having enjoyed our refreshments at the coffee shop, we ambled down to Alaskan Way. There is so much construction activity here.

In addition to creating new pedestrian causeways, connecting Pike Place Market to the waterfront, the city has had to replace the pier that was Waterfront Park. This park is located between the Seattle Aquarium and Seattle’s Great Wheel. It is a popular place on days like today. On a sunny summer day, you might be musicians or other entertainers performing here. Hopefully, the rebuilt park will be ready to go before the tourist season gets into full swing.

Looking south you will see the arches over Lumen Field and the Marion Street pedestrian causeway. The causeway is located at the Coleman Docks Ferry Terminal. You can take a sea cruise from here across Puget Sound to Bainbridge Island, or Bremerton, on a Washington State Ferry.

Turn around and look north, you see the construction along the waterfront and the causeways that will connect Pike Place Market to the wide promenade that Alaskan Way is becoming.

I am very excited about the changes to the Seattle Waterfront. There are so many interesting sites to see, and world-class restaurants to enjoy. So much space has been provided for people to walk along the waterfront. We chose to use the Marion Street Causeway to cross Alaskan Way so that I could take advantage of the view.

I think the changes we saw on our wander are great. I think they will improve Seattle’s reputation as a walkable city, making it a world-class place to visit.

The world is a beautiful place. Share the beauty. Leave only footsteps.

Sometimes, just like a prepubescent teen, our planet shows signs of acne. You remember that horrid period of your life when you would look at your face in the mirror and find new boils popping up on your nose. Horrid memories…

The earth has many hot boils across its surface. We usually refer to them as volcanoes and rather than being repulsed by them, they hold us in awe.

Here in Washington State, we have a collection of dormant volcanoes, including Mt. Baker, in the north, Mt. Rainier, southeast of Seattle and Mt. Adams further southeast near Yakima. Mt. St Helens sits south of Mt. Rainier and west of Mt. Adams. As St Helens erupted within the last fifty years, I don’t believe it is considered dormant.

The thing about volcanos is that they are beautiful. Put volcano into a conversation and we immediately envision snow-covered, cone-shaped mountains reaching up into the sky. It is an iconic vision even if we have never seen one up close. Looking at these photos of our local volcanos, I trust you understand what I mean.

The other thing that attracts us to volcanos is their absolute power. Before exploding, Mt. St Helens had a cone shape similar to Rainier and Adams. The top of the mountain exploded outward and fell into the valley below. Lakes and streams were diverted or created.

When Mt. St Helens erupted, we lived in Kamloops, BC, over five hundred miles north of the mountain. I remember the volcanic ash that was deposited on our streets and driveways. There was a constant fallout of ash onto the cities of Yakima and Portland which was a major safety issue. It was an amazing display of the power that lies beneath our feet.

Currently living within thirty miles of Mt. Rainier, my mind frequently wanders to the question of when it will become active again and erupt. I am always speculating about what the impact would be on the Puget Sound Region.

When we visit the island of Hawaii, I always like to check the status of the Kilauea Volcano, southeast of Kona. I want to know if it is active, and where the show is.

A word of caution, sulphur dioxide, ok, two words. Kilauea Volcano and the others surrounding it have high concentrations of sulphur dioxide emissions. This gas is very toxic. If you will be observing eruptions, please consult the Hawai’i Volcanos National Park website for current conditions before you go.

In 2009, we hiked over a mile across fresh lava fields to see the amazing site of hot lava reaching the Pacific Ocean from the Puʻu ʻŌʻō crater. According to Wikipedia, the flow was through tubes just below the surface.

As the night grew darker, the pyrotechnics became brighter and brighter. An awesome sight caused by the lava flowing into the Pacific Ocean.

I find the resilience of life simply amazing. So much of the forest knocked flat by the eruption of Mt. St Helens has since regrown.

In Hawai’i, where you might walk out onto the relatively fresh lava fields, you will find plants putting roots into the cracks and clinging so hard to survive. Mosses and ferns and in Hawai’i, the ohia lehua, one of the first trees to take root in the lava fields.

Don’t pluck the red Lehua, if you wish for weather fair

Tis Pele’s sacred flower, which she guards with jealous care

Her Akuas all are watching, and to her they will complain

For surely as you do it, she sends down the rain

Our last visit to Hawai’i was in February of 2021. This photo on the US Geological Service, shows the lava lake in Halema‘uma‘u Caldera from the western rim of the crater, looking eastward. The public viewing area, managed by the National Park Service, is on the northern edge of the Halema’uma’u Caldera.

We were prevented from getting close enough to the caldera’s edge to look down into the crater for fairly obvious safety reasons. What we did do, was wait. We waited until after the sun had set and the glow from the lava lake 1600 feet below lit up the clouds of smoke and ash venting out of the earth.

Gazing at this it is hard not to feel that one is not standing on the edge of oblivion.

Other articles in Globetrotters about Volcanos:

Shelley Rohm

That Time Pele Smote Me
You don’t mess around with the fire goddess.medium.com

M T Sutphin

Visit Mountain Saint Helens
The story of America’s most violent volcano.medium.com

The world is a beautiful place. Share the beauty. Leave only footsteps.

Have you ever had the occasion to encourage someone to take a long walk off a short pier? I kinda like the phrase and have used it in jest more than once when someone has been a little irritating.

Some of my readers will know that I recently underwent surgery to replace my aortic valve. The operation was a success, but the patient has been a bit of a mess. Nothing like a little heart surgery to get you thinking about the end game. Thinking thoughts that take you into some deep and dark places. Thoughts that are not fun or helpful. I have refused to write woe-is-me stories.

So… What about this pier then?

This is a pier in Kitsap County, the Harper Fishing Pier. Seattle is on the other side of the sound, way past the end of the pier.

I like this shot. It is a long exposure so the ripples on the water have been smoothed away. Restful. This image is in the collection of wallpaper that graces my computer screens. I was in one of those reflective moments and I thought about that long walk off a short pier saying. Turning it around, I thought, we could wish for someone to enjoy a long walk to the end of a long pier.

Another shot I like is this one of Oceanside Pier in Oceanside, California. A very popular holiday destination.

Again, I used long exposure to calm the waters making a more restful image.

Oceanside Pier has a shop and restaurant at its end. A destination beckoning visitors to enjoy their walk to the end of this pier.

I didn’t take photos of the view from either of these piers beyond the end because… well there isn’t much of a view, just a broad horizon way out in the distance.

I did, however, take photos looking back down the pier. A view of where we came from.

So… this is my metaphor. Comparing life to a walk down a pier.

We don’t know when we will reach the end, but we know we will. We should enjoy turning and looking back along the way we have come. We should savour our defeats and our victories. Celebrate the many accomplishments and friendships we have made along the way. I pray we can accumulate many more before reaching the end of our pier.

I know, given my age, that I am approaching the end of my pier. But I haven’t reached a railing limiting my journey or a sign not to enter. That is still shrouded in the foggy mystery that is the future. To be honest, the end of the pier is not exciting to me. It’s all about the long walk to get there.

There is still roving to be done!

The world is a beautiful place. Share the beauty. Leave only footsteps.

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