Rain. Persistent, relentless rain. Combined with the warmth, I fear if I sit still for too long I will start to develop mildew. As a consequence, damp clothes remain damp and I am generally feeling permanently claggy.
I realised yesterday that although I am in Sydney, Australia, I am not a tourist. There is just no time to go wander the landmarks, so full of purpose am I. Yesterday was spent at the State Library, reading a book I have previously been unable to source - Andrew Cowan's account of winning the Marathon in 1968, entitled Why Finish Last? Very interesting and many pages of notes were taken. I liked the following quote: "It is a well-known fact that the moment competition numbers are put on the side of the car, things like alternators, flashers and horns stop working. You are there to beat the gremlins". I also found Paddy Hopkirk's children's book about the Marathon (Paddy's car came second), which was a treat. Incredibly, I also discovered that the library held a cinefilm recording of a British film the event, entitled Operation Marathon. Narrated by British stalwart Raymond Baxter, and in flickering, grainy colour, it was yet another fascinating insight. Very hip and jazzy production, very of its time. I have subsequently disovered that London's Imperial War Museum also has a copy, so may try and see if I can view it again. Finally, I spent the remainder of the day trawling scans of Sydney's Daily Telegraph from November and December 1968. The Telegraph co-sponsored the Marathon with the British Daily Express, and while I was expecting a fair amount of coverage, I was quite astonished by how much the Marathon featured everyday. Like the Express, the Telegraph published a colour 32 page 'souvenir' booklet, which people could obtain by sending in a small payment. This sold out almost immediately, and repeated print runs were required, such was the enthusiasm and excitement amongst the Australian public. Furthermore, while at Sid's in Maryland, I got to see the '1968 London to Sydney Marathon Board Game'! We none of us knew how and where this had been produced, but I have now discovered this was created and made available via the pages of the newspaper in Australia. Whomever put the game together knew a thing or two about rallying, timed stages and penalty points, but I suspect it was way too complicated for the average child - reading the instructions took a couple of hours to digest!
Now, me? I like a plan. To achieve all I have set out to do on this trip means I need to have a plan. Currently I don't have plan, and this is making me nervous. On Saturday I will drive 3.5 hours north of Sydney and visit one of the Aussie marathoniers, which is great, and he has brokered a potential number of interviews with other folks along the coast. However, I won't have contact details for these folks until Saturday, plus although I am currently planning to fly up to Gold Coast on Sunday, nothing has been confirmed. To fit in all with whom I wish to meet will mean a slow and long meander back down the coast, but nothing is locked in. And I want to see someone here in Sydney before I leave for Melbourne. Seems silly now to have a rented an apartment here, but had no idea before I came away what would be happening. We shall see...
The shoe saga continues... either men's shoes are incredibly expensive here, or I just can't find a suitable store. Ridiculous! As my boots are showing signs of harbouring some kind of aquatic life forms, I am off to try again shortly, but really am not prepared to pay upwards of £100 for a pair of 'needs must' water-proof boots. That said, Sydney is horrendously expensive in general.
Last evening I had a reunion with someone I first met when I was 18 years old, and who I last saw in 1992. It was so very good to see him but also extremely sad as he is facing huge grief and loss in his life. I believe my sudden appearance in Sydney allowed a little, happy respite, and on of the themes of my trip continued as we recalled events and memories from the early 1980s with much hilarity. It was a strange thing to somehow be closely reconnected with my 18 year old self, not least because he played a hugely significant part in my life back then.
Ah, the rain appears to have ceased and there is even a hint of sun. Must dash to buy boots, obtain mobile broadband for the remainder of my trip and check out of this rather lovely hotel. Next stop, albeit intermittently - Bondi!
Wednesday, 29 February 2012
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
Opera Queen!
After the US, it strikes me how much closer Australian people are to British in terms of personality and attitude, but the geography is so astonishingly different, even in the city. In only one full day here it’s all so obviously different and exotic - the trees, the shrubs and flowers, the birds. In some ways all ‘first world’ cities are similar (or is Australia second world?) – traffic, noise, people, shops and offices, but the difference is in the detail. I love the fact that bird of paradise plants grow like weeds, and wherever you go, noisy parakeets shout at you above your head.
Let 'em, I say!
Still struggling with the dreaded ‘lag’ – managed to last 'til 10.30pm last night but sprang wide awake at 5.00am this morning. Ah well, there’s always the safety net of a nap in the afternoon (and let’s face it, it doesn’t take jet lag for that to happen at home!).
Sitting here in my hotel room (pretty good place, trendy in a dark, muted colours sort of way, and for the most part very quiet), I can hear the rain clattering and splashing down. Apparently this has been the wettest summer in years, and the forecast, though promising 25 degrees every day, also promises more deluges to come. Which means I need to purchase an umbrella and some more appropriate footwear, although given that my boots have reached a point where the only merciful thing to do is burn them, this may not be a bad thing. However, as I plan to spend the day in the State Library, the rain shouldn't be too much of a hindrance. Tomorrow I move on to Bondi, although from Max's suggested itinerary, I won't be seeing much of it in the coming days.
Last evening I arranged to meet up with Kim so she could provide me with an old mobile phone for my newly acquired SIM card. Her suggestion that we meet at the Opera Bar next to the Opera House proved a superb idea - I emerged from the train station at Martin Place, and began to stroll down the street towards the harbour. Suddenly I come across a set of steps leading down to the harbour's edge, and there, in all her glory and majesty sat the Queen Elizabeth, Cunard's stunning flagship. This spectacular scene actually caused me to let out an audible gasp, the enormous, black hulled goliath resting before the Harbour Bridge. By itself, the Bridge is an extraordinary sight to see, at once familiar and magnificent. Yet to then place one of the world's largest, most contemporary and iconic passenger liners in the foreground had me stumbling down the steps and along the harbour side, my mouth open in awe, the familiar green and cream ferries darting and circling around her like pilot fish. Then around the corner to the right and there is the Opera House - I instantly recall looking at Martin's photographs of the '68 Marathon cars, lined up on the Harbour's edge, and in the background, the astonishing image of construction crews busy building this unique, familiar and strange edifice! There aren't too many urban waterfronts that offer up such visual delights as Sydney's, and to see it all close up is a rare privilege and thrill. Too many photographs later, none of which really do the scene any justice, and sitting at a table next to the water's edge and I get a tap on my shoulder. And there's Kim, laughing and looking amazing. Last time I saw her (she reminded me) was in December 2000 when at 24 years old, she was returning to Australia after 2-3 years in London. Now, twelve years on and I am confronted by this elegant, confident and beautiful woman, mother of two young girls, successful business woman and as articulate and funny as they come. We only meant to have a brief meeting so she could hand over a mobile phone handset, but we ended up sitting over (eye-wateringly expensive) glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and nattering for over four hours, raking over the years and swapping stories and memories. Once again I am taken by how easily and swiftly friendships can re-ignite after so many years of absence - I like the sense of continuity and the fact that we may change and grow through the years but the fundamental elements of our personalities remain throughout. Being able to laugh has always been something I value utterly, and I am often baffled and bewildered by those who don't or won't, perhaps viewing unbridled mirth as weak or immature - certainly where I live in our lovely big village/small town in Gloucestershire, Rob and I are constantly puzzled and bemused by people we know who seem to attach vital importance to appearing 'grown up' and serious, as if they are play-acting the part of an adult. There are those who I genuinely cannot imagine surrendering to hilarity and laughing 'til it hurts. All a bit alien and strange in my opinion, though I suspect they would share that view of me.
Last evening I arranged to meet up with Kim so she could provide me with an old mobile phone for my newly acquired SIM card. Her suggestion that we meet at the Opera Bar next to the Opera House proved a superb idea - I emerged from the train station at Martin Place, and began to stroll down the street towards the harbour. Suddenly I come across a set of steps leading down to the harbour's edge, and there, in all her glory and majesty sat the Queen Elizabeth, Cunard's stunning flagship. This spectacular scene actually caused me to let out an audible gasp, the enormous, black hulled goliath resting before the Harbour Bridge. By itself, the Bridge is an extraordinary sight to see, at once familiar and magnificent. Yet to then place one of the world's largest, most contemporary and iconic passenger liners in the foreground had me stumbling down the steps and along the harbour side, my mouth open in awe, the familiar green and cream ferries darting and circling around her like pilot fish. Then around the corner to the right and there is the Opera House - I instantly recall looking at Martin's photographs of the '68 Marathon cars, lined up on the Harbour's edge, and in the background, the astonishing image of construction crews busy building this unique, familiar and strange edifice! There aren't too many urban waterfronts that offer up such visual delights as Sydney's, and to see it all close up is a rare privilege and thrill. Too many photographs later, none of which really do the scene any justice, and sitting at a table next to the water's edge and I get a tap on my shoulder. And there's Kim, laughing and looking amazing. Last time I saw her (she reminded me) was in December 2000 when at 24 years old, she was returning to Australia after 2-3 years in London. Now, twelve years on and I am confronted by this elegant, confident and beautiful woman, mother of two young girls, successful business woman and as articulate and funny as they come. We only meant to have a brief meeting so she could hand over a mobile phone handset, but we ended up sitting over (eye-wateringly expensive) glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and nattering for over four hours, raking over the years and swapping stories and memories. Once again I am taken by how easily and swiftly friendships can re-ignite after so many years of absence - I like the sense of continuity and the fact that we may change and grow through the years but the fundamental elements of our personalities remain throughout. Being able to laugh has always been something I value utterly, and I am often baffled and bewildered by those who don't or won't, perhaps viewing unbridled mirth as weak or immature - certainly where I live in our lovely big village/small town in Gloucestershire, Rob and I are constantly puzzled and bemused by people we know who seem to attach vital importance to appearing 'grown up' and serious, as if they are play-acting the part of an adult. There are those who I genuinely cannot imagine surrendering to hilarity and laughing 'til it hurts. All a bit alien and strange in my opinion, though I suspect they would share that view of me.
Let 'em, I say!
Monday, 27 February 2012
Getting Organised Down Under
Well, after the torture of the past few days (it got worse, and should you ever be considering a long haul carrier, avoid Air New Zealand - lovely cabin crew but shockingly bad organisation, a rather alarming moment when, having had to commission a wide-bodied jet to accommodate passengers from TWO previous cancelled flights, we had to abort take off just before the point of no return, and whoever thought serving fish casserole on a jam-packed 3 hour flight would be a good idea needs their contract reviewed!), I am feeling somewhat refreshed. Booked into a nice hotel for a few days to 'recover' before I move on to a little studio apartment I have rented in Bondi.
Sydney. Very warm, very humid, very exciting to be here. I'd forgotten the parakeets in the trees, sqawking and darting about above my head. Have walked my hind legs off already - went and got a pay-as-you-go mobile sorted by a lovely young woman from Ireland of all places, and I was her first ever customer; went to Emirates Airline to see if I can sort a decent seat for the journey home; went to the Sydney Telegraph office to see how I can access their archive/speak to anyone who might be interested to help. And walked. And walked. Then decided to buy a week's travel pass, as the humidity means I won't be wearing this t-shirt tomorrow!
I need to call the Telegraph's switchboard tomorrow and see if I can get anywhere, but it was also suggested I try the State Library. Which I did - consequently, I am now the proverbial kid in a candy store. Wonderfully helpful staff sorted out a membership card and introduced me to the delights of the reference library and Mitchell Library. They have copies of all local and national newspapers on film, which means access to all the newspaper coverage of the Marathon, both in Sydney and across the country, AND I can save as much as I want to my USB stick. They also have copies of a few books I haven't been able to access before, so I know what I'll doing tomorrow morning! Mind you I also need to procure another pair of shoes or sandals - the problem with only having one pair of shoes means, especially after travelling for 24 hours, it is inadvisable to remove them in company, polite or otherwise, unless one is happy to see all in the immediate environment instantly asphyxiate. Like poison gas!
Also on my 'to do' list is seeing and interviewing various 'marathoniers' - Max Stahl, who was one of the Mercedes Benz crews in '68, has been incredibly helpful and has suggested I expeditiously rent a car and drive up to where he is north of Newcastle, then onwards to the Gold Coast to see a few others before taking the Pacific Highway back to Port Macquarie, Taree, Central Coast for more interviews before returning to Sydney. If all works according to his suggestion (and deft brokering!), I will be able to see approx. ten of the Aussie competitors, which is more than I could have ever expected - and still he has more ideas for Melbourne. Deeply humbling. I therefore need to work out an itinerary pretty sharpish, plus sort out a rental car and accommodations. This is all very exciting, to put it mildly! However, it does look like I'll have to miss Mardi Gras, although given that it took Rob to point out that I would be in Sydney during Mardi Gras (I had no idea), it's a miniscule price to pay to realise my mission - the State Library woman even suggested I try and get a publisher in Australia if England doesn't pan out, and with a twinkle in her eye, pointed out that the Library also accepts unpublished manuscripts!
On a seperate and social note, I had a lovely natter on the phone last evening with an old friend Kim, who I met while at drama school between 1998 and 2000. The plan is to meet for dinner at some point, as apparently there is a tradition that new visitors to Sydney must be given the opportunity to have dinner overlooking the Harbour Bridge and/or Opera House during their stay! It was a real treat to talk with Kim again - amongst a sea of 'drama school lovies', she was a lovely, down-to-earth Aussie who kept me chuckling through a couple of really difficult years.
So, much to do... and how fortunate am I?
Strewth!
Sydney. Very warm, very humid, very exciting to be here. I'd forgotten the parakeets in the trees, sqawking and darting about above my head. Have walked my hind legs off already - went and got a pay-as-you-go mobile sorted by a lovely young woman from Ireland of all places, and I was her first ever customer; went to Emirates Airline to see if I can sort a decent seat for the journey home; went to the Sydney Telegraph office to see how I can access their archive/speak to anyone who might be interested to help. And walked. And walked. Then decided to buy a week's travel pass, as the humidity means I won't be wearing this t-shirt tomorrow!
I need to call the Telegraph's switchboard tomorrow and see if I can get anywhere, but it was also suggested I try the State Library. Which I did - consequently, I am now the proverbial kid in a candy store. Wonderfully helpful staff sorted out a membership card and introduced me to the delights of the reference library and Mitchell Library. They have copies of all local and national newspapers on film, which means access to all the newspaper coverage of the Marathon, both in Sydney and across the country, AND I can save as much as I want to my USB stick. They also have copies of a few books I haven't been able to access before, so I know what I'll doing tomorrow morning! Mind you I also need to procure another pair of shoes or sandals - the problem with only having one pair of shoes means, especially after travelling for 24 hours, it is inadvisable to remove them in company, polite or otherwise, unless one is happy to see all in the immediate environment instantly asphyxiate. Like poison gas!
Also on my 'to do' list is seeing and interviewing various 'marathoniers' - Max Stahl, who was one of the Mercedes Benz crews in '68, has been incredibly helpful and has suggested I expeditiously rent a car and drive up to where he is north of Newcastle, then onwards to the Gold Coast to see a few others before taking the Pacific Highway back to Port Macquarie, Taree, Central Coast for more interviews before returning to Sydney. If all works according to his suggestion (and deft brokering!), I will be able to see approx. ten of the Aussie competitors, which is more than I could have ever expected - and still he has more ideas for Melbourne. Deeply humbling. I therefore need to work out an itinerary pretty sharpish, plus sort out a rental car and accommodations. This is all very exciting, to put it mildly! However, it does look like I'll have to miss Mardi Gras, although given that it took Rob to point out that I would be in Sydney during Mardi Gras (I had no idea), it's a miniscule price to pay to realise my mission - the State Library woman even suggested I try and get a publisher in Australia if England doesn't pan out, and with a twinkle in her eye, pointed out that the Library also accepts unpublished manuscripts!
On a seperate and social note, I had a lovely natter on the phone last evening with an old friend Kim, who I met while at drama school between 1998 and 2000. The plan is to meet for dinner at some point, as apparently there is a tradition that new visitors to Sydney must be given the opportunity to have dinner overlooking the Harbour Bridge and/or Opera House during their stay! It was a real treat to talk with Kim again - amongst a sea of 'drama school lovies', she was a lovely, down-to-earth Aussie who kept me chuckling through a couple of really difficult years.
So, much to do... and how fortunate am I?
Strewth!
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens
Flying long haul is a curious and unsettling affair, especially if you're travelling in 'economy'. For almost 13 hours I have had to surrender to life as a battery chicken, crammed into an unnaturally cramped space, collapsing and refolding my skeleton to try and find a position in which sleep is possible. A periodic intervals, food and water are deposited on a miniature tray, and at more regular intervals the chicken/s in front of you decide to recline the back of their perch, thus ramming your book/coffee/miniature beef stew into your beak. Assorted baby chicks squawk loud and long and their mummies and daddies appear to think we should all take the same delight in their wriggling, wailing offspring as they do.
To add insult to 'steerage' injury, we are all forced to walk through the expensive perches enroute to the cheap seats, as if Air New Zealand want to rub our beaks in it - look, if you weren't such a cheap-skate, you could have had one of these luxury perches! Air New Zealand has also recently introduced their new 'Sky Couches', whereby for a premium of five hundred quid, you can have a row of three seats to yourself, which can then flip up/down/sideways into a sort of bed. Unfortunately, these are located in economy on either side of the cabin, so us penny-pinching fowl are left to gawp enviously to left and right. Generally, flying represents one of the few times I'd rather not be so tall... having a 36 inch inside leg measurement should automatically qualify this old bird for an emergency exit row, if you ask me.
Arrived at Auckland International Airport to discover my connecting flight to Sydney was cancelled, meaning a five hour delay. Armed with a meal voucher, I therefore stock up on coffee, sandwiches etc and hunker down. I can see some rather dramatic coastline from the terminal window, and it's bright and sunny, but given that I have lost February 26th entirely and that my body is 'buffering' in a vain attempt to identify its own internal time, I could be hallucinating. The terminal is pretty swanky though (LAX hang your head in shame!) and there's a smoking terrace, so that's okay. The tv is showing 'Good Morning', which but for the accents might as well be being piped in from anywhere. Currently a rather long-in-the-tooth American woman called Gi Gi is justifying her 'profession' (and fee) as a 'motivational astrologist'. Ah, I think I must be hallucinating still...
At least a later arrival to Sydney and the hotel will mean less time to sit dazed and drooling before bedtime.
Cluck! Or, as they say in these 'ere parts, 'buh-KIRK!'
To add insult to 'steerage' injury, we are all forced to walk through the expensive perches enroute to the cheap seats, as if Air New Zealand want to rub our beaks in it - look, if you weren't such a cheap-skate, you could have had one of these luxury perches! Air New Zealand has also recently introduced their new 'Sky Couches', whereby for a premium of five hundred quid, you can have a row of three seats to yourself, which can then flip up/down/sideways into a sort of bed. Unfortunately, these are located in economy on either side of the cabin, so us penny-pinching fowl are left to gawp enviously to left and right. Generally, flying represents one of the few times I'd rather not be so tall... having a 36 inch inside leg measurement should automatically qualify this old bird for an emergency exit row, if you ask me.
Arrived at Auckland International Airport to discover my connecting flight to Sydney was cancelled, meaning a five hour delay. Armed with a meal voucher, I therefore stock up on coffee, sandwiches etc and hunker down. I can see some rather dramatic coastline from the terminal window, and it's bright and sunny, but given that I have lost February 26th entirely and that my body is 'buffering' in a vain attempt to identify its own internal time, I could be hallucinating. The terminal is pretty swanky though (LAX hang your head in shame!) and there's a smoking terrace, so that's okay. The tv is showing 'Good Morning', which but for the accents might as well be being piped in from anywhere. Currently a rather long-in-the-tooth American woman called Gi Gi is justifying her 'profession' (and fee) as a 'motivational astrologist'. Ah, I think I must be hallucinating still...
At least a later arrival to Sydney and the hotel will mean less time to sit dazed and drooling before bedtime.
Cluck! Or, as they say in these 'ere parts, 'buh-KIRK!'
Saturday, 25 February 2012
Los Angeles 0 Bristol 1
Hmmm… interesting. Have checked my bag at Los Angeles Airport and gone through security. After a lovely ‘bonus’ day in Santa Barbara which saw Tracy and Matthew, and their good friends Dan and Diane (visiting from Seattle) swoop down in their big ol’ Toyota Landcruiser and whisk me off away from the ‘Mexican’ motel and on to a farmer’s market (incredible yellow cala lilies!), followed by lunch in Ojai (pronounced ‘Oh Hi’) up in the Santa Ynez mountain range and an interesting bus ride to LAX (so many evocative names on road signs – Ventura, Santa Monica, Malibu Canyon, San Fernando Valley, Sunset Boulevard!), I am now feeling a bit stressed. Not sure why… no guarantee of an emergency exit seat for my long legs and frankly shockingly inadequate departure lounge, which is about the size and quality of Bristol’s! I have changed money (nice woman who liked me because we share the same birthday), given a disgusted ‘tut’ at the ridiculously expensive ‘duty free’ cigarettes (“give up!” I hear you cry), and consoled myself by purchasing ‘breath mints’ (long flight), neck pillow (long flight), dark chocolate M&Ms (eaten) and a Starbuck’s coffee. Just under three hours until the plane boards… honestly, I was expecting Heathrow Airport standard of air-side services, or Gatwick at least. This is appalling – who should I complain to? It’s definitely not preparing me for the forthcoming 13 hour flight to Auckland. Also, unlike British and mainland European airports, there are no, repeat NO facilities at all on check-in side, just the desks. And a pavement outside. I mean, Baltimore, Philadelphia and Phoenix were better than this! Makes me want to go have a ‘cahktail’… hmm, that’s an idea!
Right, better go put on my support stockings!
It’s been a delight to visit and reconnect with Tracy and Matthew and I am grateful for their boundless hospitality and friendship. Winding our way up through the mountain from the coast, all of us hoping Dan wouldn’t succumb to car sickness, it was fun to natter about movies and books, US vs. European tv, wine, dogs, home lives and home towns. Ojai is a quaint little town nestling between tow ranges and the air was fresh and sparkling like breathable spring water. Lunch in a Mexican restaurant, Tracy and I bucking the trend and ordering alcoholic ‘beverages’ (well, it is wine country – the film ‘Sideways’ was filmed fairly close by) and further discussions about the shortcomings of chardonnay. Apparently, a new generation of chardonnay is gathering speed (the new chard’s!), which are fermented in stainless steel rather than oak casks. These may be interesting.
Everyone fascinated by my ‘project’, and I may have a couple of new ‘blog followers’. Talking of which, I suspect part of my mild irritation has its roots in the plain and simple fact that, Maryland notwithstanding, my US trip has been an effortless, easy and relaxed stretch of time, but now the real ‘work’ begins, both in terms of contracting and meeting the many Aussie marathoniers on my list, and in terms of self-reliance and initiative. From hereon in, it’s up to me to get from A to B, broker personal telecommunications, feed and water myself, entertain and occupy myself etc. Yes there will be a few friends along the way (Kim, Halimah, perhaps Muchsin) but for the most part I am flying solo and how much I achieve is completely on my shoulders. Daunting yes, but also invigorating. And of course, I have a beloved partner who has such unconditional faith in me, and that is more than enough for me to take Australia by the gum-nuts and ‘go play with cars’!
So, repeat after me… “you don’t need a cigarette, you don’t need a cigarette, you don’t need…”.
Hybrids and Humming Birds
And so my time in the USA draws to a close. An extraordinary trip across this continent from the clapboard houses and tiny communities of eastern Maryland to the frozen metropolis that is Minneapolis and finally the warm, intoxicating sparkle of Santa Barbara. It has been a tremendous thrill to spend time with such good friends, catching up on decades of life and change, as well as kicking off my epic adventure with a former 1968 marathonier. Driving that '68, rally-prepared Rambler American, and breathing in its rarified and brutal atmosphere is undoubtedy a highlight of the trip, if not my life.
Have spent the past couple of days wandering the streets and buildings of downtown Santa Barbara, and marvelling at the astonishing architecture, flora and fauna. It's a heady place to be, with vibrant flowers lining the walkways and roads - birds of paradise jostle with lantana, bougainvillea, citrus blossom and jasmine, although a sudden glimpse of daffodils nodding their yellow trumpets in the breeze seemed incongruous and a sweet reminder of home. At one point, standing above the town and gazing at the rooftops through the trees, I was astonished to catch sudden movement in the gardenia bushes and for the first time in my life, encounter a humming bird close up. Apparently two-a-penny here, I was entranced as this beautiful little bird darted and hovered above the deliciously fragant blossoms like some huge, blue moth or insect.
Apparently there is a saying about Santa Barbara - 'newly wed, newly retirered or newly dead' (or words to the effect, Trace couldn't quite recall). Sitting amidst the warm Pacific breeze, I can see why folks visit and never leave. Wealthy and expensive, it has a seductive charm that even in February, lulls you into a relaxed state of warmth and sensory overload. Large brown pelicans waft across the water, and working fisherman boats work their way to and fro, carrying crab and sea bass. My friends here appear relaxed and content after the perma-damp of Seattle, though really they haven't changed a bit since I first met them in the 1980s. Hours have been spent mooching along past white stucco'd buildings and in and out of spectacular municipal buildings, theatres and of course the famous mission and presidio, swapping notes and memories, laughing at the daft things we did and said and generally reconnecting after so long. I shall be very sad to move on and say goodbye for now.
A final treat for me (ever the petrol-head) was to drive Tracy's Toyota hybrid last evening, a curious experience of hustling a car along a busy street with hardly any engine noise and no ignition key. The soft woosh of the electric engine slightly unsettling to my 'petrol engine, stick shift' brain, the thrill of manouvering my way through left-hand-driven, right hand thoroughfares, and stumbling at red lights when right turns are legal (the car behind honking to remind me!).
And so the next leg of the marathon begins - a dauntingly long flight from LA to Sydney via Auckland, the loss of February 26th, and the rude, wrecked arrival into another country, the time zone of which will undoubtedly leave me bewildered and befuddled. And that's where the heart of my research begins with many folks ready to give up there time to meet me and share their memories and stories of forty four years ago, when GPS, internet and mobile phones were but the stuff of science fiction.
Can't wait!
Have spent the past couple of days wandering the streets and buildings of downtown Santa Barbara, and marvelling at the astonishing architecture, flora and fauna. It's a heady place to be, with vibrant flowers lining the walkways and roads - birds of paradise jostle with lantana, bougainvillea, citrus blossom and jasmine, although a sudden glimpse of daffodils nodding their yellow trumpets in the breeze seemed incongruous and a sweet reminder of home. At one point, standing above the town and gazing at the rooftops through the trees, I was astonished to catch sudden movement in the gardenia bushes and for the first time in my life, encounter a humming bird close up. Apparently two-a-penny here, I was entranced as this beautiful little bird darted and hovered above the deliciously fragant blossoms like some huge, blue moth or insect.
Apparently there is a saying about Santa Barbara - 'newly wed, newly retirered or newly dead' (or words to the effect, Trace couldn't quite recall). Sitting amidst the warm Pacific breeze, I can see why folks visit and never leave. Wealthy and expensive, it has a seductive charm that even in February, lulls you into a relaxed state of warmth and sensory overload. Large brown pelicans waft across the water, and working fisherman boats work their way to and fro, carrying crab and sea bass. My friends here appear relaxed and content after the perma-damp of Seattle, though really they haven't changed a bit since I first met them in the 1980s. Hours have been spent mooching along past white stucco'd buildings and in and out of spectacular municipal buildings, theatres and of course the famous mission and presidio, swapping notes and memories, laughing at the daft things we did and said and generally reconnecting after so long. I shall be very sad to move on and say goodbye for now.
A final treat for me (ever the petrol-head) was to drive Tracy's Toyota hybrid last evening, a curious experience of hustling a car along a busy street with hardly any engine noise and no ignition key. The soft woosh of the electric engine slightly unsettling to my 'petrol engine, stick shift' brain, the thrill of manouvering my way through left-hand-driven, right hand thoroughfares, and stumbling at red lights when right turns are legal (the car behind honking to remind me!).
And so the next leg of the marathon begins - a dauntingly long flight from LA to Sydney via Auckland, the loss of February 26th, and the rude, wrecked arrival into another country, the time zone of which will undoubtedly leave me bewildered and befuddled. And that's where the heart of my research begins with many folks ready to give up there time to meet me and share their memories and stories of forty four years ago, when GPS, internet and mobile phones were but the stuff of science fiction.
Can't wait!
Thursday, 23 February 2012
From Frozen Lake to Shimmering Ocean
Travel Tip: should your shampoo bottle leak its contents inside your wash bag, only use dry paper to clean it up. Using anything wet will lead to a national foam crisis in miniature!
And so, after the frozen beauty of the Twin Cities, an early morning ride to the airport and a very sad farewell to Bonnie, I checked my bag and went in search of California. Confronted with hoards of people, and an army of wailing infants at the departure gate, I threw caution to the wind and upgraded to first class. Given that the flight is over 3 hours down to Phoenix, where I was connecting for Santa Barbara, this was a smart if slightly pricey move, and I was able to sit and write my previous blog, sipping white wine and stretching my toes in the glorious extra leg room. I dozed on and off and was quickly landing at Phoenix airport, gazing at the huge red rocks surrounding the city as we descended. Definitely not in the mid-west anymore. A quick hop to Santa Barbara, and we landed to glorious sunshine, the Pacific glinting below as we made our final approach. For anyone who has read any of the Sue Grafton 'Kinsey Millhone' alphabet books (and if not, why?), the fictitious Santa Teresa is based on this beautiful coastal town.
Stepping from the tiny municipal airport building, I was immediately struck by the bright colours brought into sharpness by the mid-day sun. Sun. SUN!! At 26 or 27 degrees C, walking out after 7 hours of travel brought an audible, gasping sigh as I was confronted with palm trees, succulents, vast blue sky and the distant mountain range of Santa Ynez. Saw the familiar profile of my friend Tracy standing and peering at the arrivals board and moments later we were laughing and marvelling at the time past since last we met. Lunch at a beach-side restaurant, and a wander out onto one of those piers you see on tv shows and movies to look across to the Channel Islands, an archipelago running parallel to the coast and apparently where the fossilised remains of a entire woolly mammoth was discovered in recent times!
Back to Tracy's beautiful home set next to the More Mesa wilderness reserve - all huge, light and airy rooms, bougainvillea, Australian bottle brush and orange trees. Oh and crows... flocks and flocks of crows. Seriously, I sat out this morning drinking coffee beneath the pergola, and felt somewhat akin to Tippi Hedren, albeit less coiffed and slightly more beardy, the swirl and echoing calls beyond the lattice-work above my head actually rather disturbing. Apparently, studies have shown that crows make tools with which they can retrieve food from holes and crevices and that they teach their young to recognise danger or menace. Perhaps Daphne Du Maurier was onto something after all!
There's talk of whale watching while I'm here, and a plan to wander downtown Santa Barbara where large quantities of 1920s and 1930s architecture survives. There are few buildings above 2 or 3 stories, and the Spanish-influenced design and construction sits authentically amongst the, for me, exotic terrain and flora. Also, many early silent movies were produced here, making it a prototype 'Hollywood of the North'.
Seeing Tracey and her husband Matthew again is lovely - we worked out that I hadn't seen Matthew for twenty years, when their boys Louis and Vincent were but a hope and an intention. Now 19 and 17 respectively, it's another reminder that the years hurtle past... Louis is away at college, but Vincent and I have already had a few chats about movies. He's a bigger movie fan than I and writes film and music reviews for his high school newspaper. Eager to hear about my marathon to chase the Marathon, I held court over a dinner of Sloppy Joes, which seems to be chilli served over baps - delicious - before retiring off to bed and 8 hours of much needed sleep.
I can see why folks who move to Santa Barbara never leave!
And so, after the frozen beauty of the Twin Cities, an early morning ride to the airport and a very sad farewell to Bonnie, I checked my bag and went in search of California. Confronted with hoards of people, and an army of wailing infants at the departure gate, I threw caution to the wind and upgraded to first class. Given that the flight is over 3 hours down to Phoenix, where I was connecting for Santa Barbara, this was a smart if slightly pricey move, and I was able to sit and write my previous blog, sipping white wine and stretching my toes in the glorious extra leg room. I dozed on and off and was quickly landing at Phoenix airport, gazing at the huge red rocks surrounding the city as we descended. Definitely not in the mid-west anymore. A quick hop to Santa Barbara, and we landed to glorious sunshine, the Pacific glinting below as we made our final approach. For anyone who has read any of the Sue Grafton 'Kinsey Millhone' alphabet books (and if not, why?), the fictitious Santa Teresa is based on this beautiful coastal town.
Stepping from the tiny municipal airport building, I was immediately struck by the bright colours brought into sharpness by the mid-day sun. Sun. SUN!! At 26 or 27 degrees C, walking out after 7 hours of travel brought an audible, gasping sigh as I was confronted with palm trees, succulents, vast blue sky and the distant mountain range of Santa Ynez. Saw the familiar profile of my friend Tracy standing and peering at the arrivals board and moments later we were laughing and marvelling at the time past since last we met. Lunch at a beach-side restaurant, and a wander out onto one of those piers you see on tv shows and movies to look across to the Channel Islands, an archipelago running parallel to the coast and apparently where the fossilised remains of a entire woolly mammoth was discovered in recent times!
Back to Tracy's beautiful home set next to the More Mesa wilderness reserve - all huge, light and airy rooms, bougainvillea, Australian bottle brush and orange trees. Oh and crows... flocks and flocks of crows. Seriously, I sat out this morning drinking coffee beneath the pergola, and felt somewhat akin to Tippi Hedren, albeit less coiffed and slightly more beardy, the swirl and echoing calls beyond the lattice-work above my head actually rather disturbing. Apparently, studies have shown that crows make tools with which they can retrieve food from holes and crevices and that they teach their young to recognise danger or menace. Perhaps Daphne Du Maurier was onto something after all!
There's talk of whale watching while I'm here, and a plan to wander downtown Santa Barbara where large quantities of 1920s and 1930s architecture survives. There are few buildings above 2 or 3 stories, and the Spanish-influenced design and construction sits authentically amongst the, for me, exotic terrain and flora. Also, many early silent movies were produced here, making it a prototype 'Hollywood of the North'.
Seeing Tracey and her husband Matthew again is lovely - we worked out that I hadn't seen Matthew for twenty years, when their boys Louis and Vincent were but a hope and an intention. Now 19 and 17 respectively, it's another reminder that the years hurtle past... Louis is away at college, but Vincent and I have already had a few chats about movies. He's a bigger movie fan than I and writes film and music reviews for his high school newspaper. Eager to hear about my marathon to chase the Marathon, I held court over a dinner of Sloppy Joes, which seems to be chilli served over baps - delicious - before retiring off to bed and 8 hours of much needed sleep.
I can see why folks who move to Santa Barbara never leave!
Crossing A Continent, Crossing A Chasm
So, a question I've been mulling over - if I take a snap-shot of 'who I am' at 48 years old, I can't help wondering how I have come to believe in the things I hold as important. In other words, if we all have sets of values, whether they be political, moral, societal etc, how do they form? Are they always in a state of flux or are some crystallised hard and irreversible?
Navel gazing? Perhaps... I can say that up until a few days ago I didn't spend too much time thinking about any off this. Day-to-day life rarely affords the opportunity or even inclination to ask 'the big questions', and yet... in less than 7 days into my marathon to chase The Marathon I have witnessed and experienced passionately held views and values that have either been as far removed as possible from my own, or have left me feeling apathetic and stale. Don't get me wrong, being far from home, and therefore all that is familiar, comforting and secure, has been riveting and thrilling, and being completely self-reliant after 9 years of not needing to be has been a positive challenge. Yet having listened to so many expressions of personal belief from those I've met and spent time with thus far has ha d a striking effect on me, especially those views have been so extremely juxtaposed. From the deeply conservative, protectionist beliefs of my first host to the liberal, inclusive views of my second hosts and their friends, the gamut has definitely been run. Yet there has been a common thread - Christian faith, a belief in Jesus as the saviour of mankind and a life hereafter. Pretty much all concerned hold these beliefs, and are proud to do so.
I think it's very easy to demonise those with opposing views, and I can say that my advanced state of cynicism and apathy doesn't prevent certain gut reactions. The everyday use of the 'n' word to describe black people; describing women in terms of being physical/sexual objects (and using pretty 'purple' language to do so); dismissing all those who have certain religious beliefs as being blood-thirsty terrorists etc - these things will and do gt my blood pumping. However, intolerance and suspicion of anyone who immediately or quickly appears 'different' to oneself, whether relating to appearance or behaviour... isn't there just a whiff of instinctive behaviour about that? Maybe it's how we decide or learn to manage that instinct that forms the foundation of our values.
"Oh good grief, this is all a bit deep!" I hear you cry. Well, yes it is. But for me, to be immersed, even for two days, in an environment of values and beliefs so alien, even frightening to me was a real jolt, and for a few very simple reasons - if someone holds such views about race, religion or gender, surely they'll have similar views about homosexuality. Also, if a person has such views and in teaching someone (i.e. me!) to shoot a gun, they encourage target visualisation as another human being, surely I should at best challenge these views, and at worst run for the hills! And yet... as I don't think I'm just a sum total of a set of values, so I can' think anyone else is. Also, just by being my usual self, can the chasm of difference be crossed? Yes, I do believe it can. Furthermore, I also find myself in sympathy with some of the views expressed during my first two days in the US, if only on an emotional level, e.g. 'if I have been able to achieve what I have, whether professionally, financially, academically or personally, why can't everyone else?'. Of course I know it's not that simple, and as the spectres of my father and Norman Tebbit fade away, I do understand that we are not all born into the same set of circumstances and opportunities. Yet the emotional responses remain.
But turn it on its head - in terms of my own life, I can see and understand that the economic situation is dire. Through no fault of the vast majority, public monies are very tight and so we are led to believe there is less and less to go around as debts need to be reduced. Accordingly, as I listen to passionate views regarding subsidised arts or healthcare, that emotional response kicks in again - who's paying for this? Still again, it's not and never will be that simple - it's easy to bash the NHS, but alternatives such as the US model just don't bear thinking about, despite what some US politicians and hopefuls will tell us.
So in conclusion, so far I have been dragged kickin' and hollerin' out of my comfort zone on this trip. Hoping this will continue!
PS Having realised the flight from Minneapolis to Phoenix (where I changed planes) was packed and long, I threw caution to the wind and upgraded to first class. A little extravagance that was totally worthwhile - drinking white wine at 9.15 am should only be done when a) on holiday and b) on a plane or ferry, if you ask me!
Navel gazing? Perhaps... I can say that up until a few days ago I didn't spend too much time thinking about any off this. Day-to-day life rarely affords the opportunity or even inclination to ask 'the big questions', and yet... in less than 7 days into my marathon to chase The Marathon I have witnessed and experienced passionately held views and values that have either been as far removed as possible from my own, or have left me feeling apathetic and stale. Don't get me wrong, being far from home, and therefore all that is familiar, comforting and secure, has been riveting and thrilling, and being completely self-reliant after 9 years of not needing to be has been a positive challenge. Yet having listened to so many expressions of personal belief from those I've met and spent time with thus far has ha d a striking effect on me, especially those views have been so extremely juxtaposed. From the deeply conservative, protectionist beliefs of my first host to the liberal, inclusive views of my second hosts and their friends, the gamut has definitely been run. Yet there has been a common thread - Christian faith, a belief in Jesus as the saviour of mankind and a life hereafter. Pretty much all concerned hold these beliefs, and are proud to do so.
I think it's very easy to demonise those with opposing views, and I can say that my advanced state of cynicism and apathy doesn't prevent certain gut reactions. The everyday use of the 'n' word to describe black people; describing women in terms of being physical/sexual objects (and using pretty 'purple' language to do so); dismissing all those who have certain religious beliefs as being blood-thirsty terrorists etc - these things will and do gt my blood pumping. However, intolerance and suspicion of anyone who immediately or quickly appears 'different' to oneself, whether relating to appearance or behaviour... isn't there just a whiff of instinctive behaviour about that? Maybe it's how we decide or learn to manage that instinct that forms the foundation of our values.
"Oh good grief, this is all a bit deep!" I hear you cry. Well, yes it is. But for me, to be immersed, even for two days, in an environment of values and beliefs so alien, even frightening to me was a real jolt, and for a few very simple reasons - if someone holds such views about race, religion or gender, surely they'll have similar views about homosexuality. Also, if a person has such views and in teaching someone (i.e. me!) to shoot a gun, they encourage target visualisation as another human being, surely I should at best challenge these views, and at worst run for the hills! And yet... as I don't think I'm just a sum total of a set of values, so I can' think anyone else is. Also, just by being my usual self, can the chasm of difference be crossed? Yes, I do believe it can. Furthermore, I also find myself in sympathy with some of the views expressed during my first two days in the US, if only on an emotional level, e.g. 'if I have been able to achieve what I have, whether professionally, financially, academically or personally, why can't everyone else?'. Of course I know it's not that simple, and as the spectres of my father and Norman Tebbit fade away, I do understand that we are not all born into the same set of circumstances and opportunities. Yet the emotional responses remain.
But turn it on its head - in terms of my own life, I can see and understand that the economic situation is dire. Through no fault of the vast majority, public monies are very tight and so we are led to believe there is less and less to go around as debts need to be reduced. Accordingly, as I listen to passionate views regarding subsidised arts or healthcare, that emotional response kicks in again - who's paying for this? Still again, it's not and never will be that simple - it's easy to bash the NHS, but alternatives such as the US model just don't bear thinking about, despite what some US politicians and hopefuls will tell us.
So in conclusion, so far I have been dragged kickin' and hollerin' out of my comfort zone on this trip. Hoping this will continue!
PS Having realised the flight from Minneapolis to Phoenix (where I changed planes) was packed and long, I threw caution to the wind and upgraded to first class. A little extravagance that was totally worthwhile - drinking white wine at 9.15 am should only be done when a) on holiday and b) on a plane or ferry, if you ask me!
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
California Dreamin'... On Such A Winter's Day
So, I can write that and actually mean it! Who'd 'a' thought it... There was 2-3 inches of snow last night, which meant 'the guys' went on a beer crawl in a wee bit of a blizzard. Spent last evening quaffing different 'craft' beers in a couple of bars with Marty and two of his friends, Tom and David. As the empties stacked up, an argument broke out over what kind of art should be made accessible to all in the city. When was the last time I sat in my local and had that kind of discussion!
Today was spent with Bonnie doing a spot of shopping and then visiting the new Guthrie Theatre building, a beautiful example of modern architecture located in the until recently derelict area of the city close to the river. Combined with the fascinating Mill City Museum ("the most explosive museum in the world!"), this has rejuvenated an area that for so long has been abandoned buildings and vast parking lots. Minneapolis was the centre of grain-milling in the USA, but times changed during the mid-60s, and by 2003 all milling had ceased. The museum is located in what was the largest flour mill in the world and overlooks the Mississippi and the old Pilsbury Mill on the other side. Quite fascinating to visit and see how the mill operated, and a very affectionate film 'Minneapolis in 19 minutes' was a very funny race through the beginnings of the city, through its history to date. Then on to the Walker Art Gallery, where the various modern/contemporary art exhibitions left me a bit bemused. Sometimes fascinating, such exhibitions can also often be random and theme less. Didn't do anything for me this time! A quick trip to the post office to mail my winter coat and boots home (ridiculously expensive), and back for 'Walleye Thai', Marty's delicious Thai fish dinner. Am now all packed and ready for the off early tomorrow.
California - currently 26 degrees in Santa Barbara, it will be a huge shift from the frozen Twin Cities. However, I'll be really sad to say goodbye to this wonderful city, steeped in history and full of vibrancy, and especially to Bonnie, Marty, Carter and Caroline. I have laughed my way through four lovely days, eaten wonderful food, walked for miles in the icy-cold, marvelled at the architecture, cuddled an Irish Terrier in the snow, drank a small lake of coffee and generally had a glorious mini-vacation with such good friends. I think a return visit for a longer stay may be required in the not-to-distant future.
So it's t-shirts at the ready and a 5 hour flight west tomorrow, to visit my friend Tracey who I've known even longer than Bonnie - 30 years! Now where did I put my sunglasses...
PS Had my first and hopefully last taste of the American Health Care System yesterday. My surgery scar wasn't right, so I went to 'Urgent Care' to have it checked out. Good grief, so many tiers of nursing to wade past, with questions, questions... one nurse actually corrected my pronunciation of the word 'vitamin', while the doctor talked to me like I was about 8 years old ("are we going to put the gown on?"), and again corrected my pronunciation, so I made it quite clear that seeing as I am pushing fifty, and in fact spoke english like a native, she really could talk to me like I was an adult! One surgical consultation later and I was none the wiser, ascertaining only that the wound "may open up" and to put a compress on it if it did. Said surgeon then tried to depart but I put on my best 'scary' voice, stopped him in his tracks and interrogated him until I got some semblance of explanation. I fear neither doctor nor surgeon considered me their favourite patient of the day!
And the whole episode cost $300. Maybe we should all stop moaning about the NHS after all!
Today was spent with Bonnie doing a spot of shopping and then visiting the new Guthrie Theatre building, a beautiful example of modern architecture located in the until recently derelict area of the city close to the river. Combined with the fascinating Mill City Museum ("the most explosive museum in the world!"), this has rejuvenated an area that for so long has been abandoned buildings and vast parking lots. Minneapolis was the centre of grain-milling in the USA, but times changed during the mid-60s, and by 2003 all milling had ceased. The museum is located in what was the largest flour mill in the world and overlooks the Mississippi and the old Pilsbury Mill on the other side. Quite fascinating to visit and see how the mill operated, and a very affectionate film 'Minneapolis in 19 minutes' was a very funny race through the beginnings of the city, through its history to date. Then on to the Walker Art Gallery, where the various modern/contemporary art exhibitions left me a bit bemused. Sometimes fascinating, such exhibitions can also often be random and theme less. Didn't do anything for me this time! A quick trip to the post office to mail my winter coat and boots home (ridiculously expensive), and back for 'Walleye Thai', Marty's delicious Thai fish dinner. Am now all packed and ready for the off early tomorrow.
California - currently 26 degrees in Santa Barbara, it will be a huge shift from the frozen Twin Cities. However, I'll be really sad to say goodbye to this wonderful city, steeped in history and full of vibrancy, and especially to Bonnie, Marty, Carter and Caroline. I have laughed my way through four lovely days, eaten wonderful food, walked for miles in the icy-cold, marvelled at the architecture, cuddled an Irish Terrier in the snow, drank a small lake of coffee and generally had a glorious mini-vacation with such good friends. I think a return visit for a longer stay may be required in the not-to-distant future.
So it's t-shirts at the ready and a 5 hour flight west tomorrow, to visit my friend Tracey who I've known even longer than Bonnie - 30 years! Now where did I put my sunglasses...
PS Had my first and hopefully last taste of the American Health Care System yesterday. My surgery scar wasn't right, so I went to 'Urgent Care' to have it checked out. Good grief, so many tiers of nursing to wade past, with questions, questions... one nurse actually corrected my pronunciation of the word 'vitamin', while the doctor talked to me like I was about 8 years old ("are we going to put the gown on?"), and again corrected my pronunciation, so I made it quite clear that seeing as I am pushing fifty, and in fact spoke english like a native, she really could talk to me like I was an adult! One surgical consultation later and I was none the wiser, ascertaining only that the wound "may open up" and to put a compress on it if it did. Said surgeon then tried to depart but I put on my best 'scary' voice, stopped him in his tracks and interrogated him until I got some semblance of explanation. I fear neither doctor nor surgeon considered me their favourite patient of the day!
And the whole episode cost $300. Maybe we should all stop moaning about the NHS after all!
Monday, 20 February 2012
Do you want Spätzle with that?
And so to Minneapolis, one of America's 'best kept secret' cities (well don't TELL 'em that - Bonnie). After a long-ish and relatively uneventful journey from Baltimore on a series of rather grubby planes, I was met at the airport by my old friends Bonnie and Marty (don't use our REAL names! - Bonnie) and soon we were speeding into St Paul. I have known Bon' since we met at Stuttgart University in 1983 and 29 years later the hilarity and giggling kick right back in. I had the honour of attending their wedding in Atlanta in 1990, and they have been an important part of my life all these years. Now proud parents of a 12 year old and a sixteen year old, their friendship is a testimony to the simple fact that time and absence has no meaning.
After a quick stop for some good coffee, where I nonchalantly swiped the tips jar off the counter, mistaking it for my change (cue further hilarity), we visited the 1968 exhibition at the Minnesota History Centre, underpinning the purpose of my round-the-world trip. Incredible to see this fascinating, illustrated timeline of 1968 and realise how many momentous events occurred the year of the London to Sydney Marathon - see for yourself www.the1968exhibit.org
One of the things I love about this city is the extraordinary architecture of some of the houses - driving down Summit Avenue I rubber-neck at the spectacular display of Victorian-era gingerbread gothic. Past Garrison Keillor's house, on into Dinkytown (no, really!) and a quick stop at a wine and cheese emporium where I pick up a bottle of Irish Whisky to send to Sid (to replace the one confiscated at La Guardia) and we're home. It's a joy to see their house again, beautifully ‘re-modelled’ since my last visit) and an even bigger joy to meet their children, who seem to have inherited their parents' wry sense of humour, not to mention damn good looks. Minneapolis is cold and frozen but not severely so and I'm relieved that my choice of winter jacket will serve just fine.
In honour of my visit, Bonnie makes a fabulous German dinner, and I sit and chat as a menu of Schinken, Kartoffelnsalat, Rote Beete Salat, Spätzle and Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte materialises before my eyes. Friends have been invited over for the dinner so pretty soon we all sit down to the feast, and I am quickly aware of the dramatic arc along which I have journeyed these past few days in the US. After my immersion into the intensity of right wing politics during my visit to Maryland, I am witness to the passionate liberalism of these lovely people... around the table are a gay male couple who in recent times legally adopted a twenty one year old man who after a lifetime in the foster care system was struggling with the resultant damage and vulnerability such a childhood and adolescence has caused, and a woman who works for corporate structures, advising them on promoting and safeguarding diversity in the corporate environment. Sitting and listening to these intelligent and articulate people talk about the need for improved and subsidised healthcare, and how contemporary corporate society has built itself on the politics of 'extraction' (money, human and physical resources) but to what end, I am struck by how my own cynicism, which has reached an advanced state, has bred apathy, and I know I will come away questioning my own set of values - what do I really believe/believe in?
Downton Abbey! I am sitting with a group of folks who are fanatical, and as the ninety minute Christmas episode which brings Season 2 to a close is showing on tv, we all retire to sit and watch. Astonishment ensues as I confess I've never watched it, and I sit and enjoy their reactions, gasping and cheering as story lines and plots are concluded and resolved, trying to keep my own mischievous comments to a minimum! It's embarrassing to sit and repeatedly nod off in polite company however, so as the credits roll, I strongly encourage all to watch the hilarious Comic Relief 'piss take' Upton Downstairs Abbey on Youtube, before retiring to bed - jet lag really does mess up one's sleep cycles!
A footnote - I received an email from one of Sid's friends who I met in Maryland. My eyes were smarting as I read her declaration that my visit had had a profoundly restorative effect on her old friend, and how grateful she was for this. I realise for the umpteenth time in my life that always, behind beliefs and sets of personal values, whether agreeable or unfathomable, there lies an individual, a person like any other. It was a privilege to meet this 75 year old, die hard conservative gun fanatic, and I would return for another visit in a flash.
All too soon my Minnesotan sojourn will come to an end... next stop, California!
After a quick stop for some good coffee, where I nonchalantly swiped the tips jar off the counter, mistaking it for my change (cue further hilarity), we visited the 1968 exhibition at the Minnesota History Centre, underpinning the purpose of my round-the-world trip. Incredible to see this fascinating, illustrated timeline of 1968 and realise how many momentous events occurred the year of the London to Sydney Marathon - see for yourself www.the1968exhibit.org
One of the things I love about this city is the extraordinary architecture of some of the houses - driving down Summit Avenue I rubber-neck at the spectacular display of Victorian-era gingerbread gothic. Past Garrison Keillor's house, on into Dinkytown (no, really!) and a quick stop at a wine and cheese emporium where I pick up a bottle of Irish Whisky to send to Sid (to replace the one confiscated at La Guardia) and we're home. It's a joy to see their house again, beautifully ‘re-modelled’ since my last visit) and an even bigger joy to meet their children, who seem to have inherited their parents' wry sense of humour, not to mention damn good looks. Minneapolis is cold and frozen but not severely so and I'm relieved that my choice of winter jacket will serve just fine.
In honour of my visit, Bonnie makes a fabulous German dinner, and I sit and chat as a menu of Schinken, Kartoffelnsalat, Rote Beete Salat, Spätzle and Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte materialises before my eyes. Friends have been invited over for the dinner so pretty soon we all sit down to the feast, and I am quickly aware of the dramatic arc along which I have journeyed these past few days in the US. After my immersion into the intensity of right wing politics during my visit to Maryland, I am witness to the passionate liberalism of these lovely people... around the table are a gay male couple who in recent times legally adopted a twenty one year old man who after a lifetime in the foster care system was struggling with the resultant damage and vulnerability such a childhood and adolescence has caused, and a woman who works for corporate structures, advising them on promoting and safeguarding diversity in the corporate environment. Sitting and listening to these intelligent and articulate people talk about the need for improved and subsidised healthcare, and how contemporary corporate society has built itself on the politics of 'extraction' (money, human and physical resources) but to what end, I am struck by how my own cynicism, which has reached an advanced state, has bred apathy, and I know I will come away questioning my own set of values - what do I really believe/believe in?
Downton Abbey! I am sitting with a group of folks who are fanatical, and as the ninety minute Christmas episode which brings Season 2 to a close is showing on tv, we all retire to sit and watch. Astonishment ensues as I confess I've never watched it, and I sit and enjoy their reactions, gasping and cheering as story lines and plots are concluded and resolved, trying to keep my own mischievous comments to a minimum! It's embarrassing to sit and repeatedly nod off in polite company however, so as the credits roll, I strongly encourage all to watch the hilarious Comic Relief 'piss take' Upton Downstairs Abbey on Youtube, before retiring to bed - jet lag really does mess up one's sleep cycles!
A footnote - I received an email from one of Sid's friends who I met in Maryland. My eyes were smarting as I read her declaration that my visit had had a profoundly restorative effect on her old friend, and how grateful she was for this. I realise for the umpteenth time in my life that always, behind beliefs and sets of personal values, whether agreeable or unfathomable, there lies an individual, a person like any other. It was a privilege to meet this 75 year old, die hard conservative gun fanatic, and I would return for another visit in a flash.
All too soon my Minnesotan sojourn will come to an end... next stop, California!
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Guns, Ducks, The American Constitution... And Car 53
And so the day dawned when I would have to get behind the wheel and take to the Maryland highways for the 70 mile trip to St Michaels - 'the town that fooled the British' (go look it up!).
As I pretty much planned and booked all flights, accommodations and car rental online, I was able to arrive at the airport car rental 'lot' with my pre-paid voucher. When I made the original booking I chose a 'full-size' car as I fancied a Dodge Charger. Sadly these were all rented and when I staggered out to pick up my car, I was confronted with an acre of cars that in other lives could be put into service as New York taxi cabs or state patrol cars. In other words, ENORMOUS! I confess I chickened out and ran back to the desk, tail between my legs. A little negotiation later and $60 later I was able to drive away in a smaller car - a smaller car, more expensive, go figure, as they way in these 'ere parts.
Before I left I also purchased road maps for the US and Australia for my Sat Nav, so it was somewhat comforting to have a familiar English accent gently but firmly insisting "in 800 yards, bear left!" as I negotiated the junctions and alien traffic signs. At this point I confess to feeling sheepish as having been anxious about driving an automatic, in reality it was ridiculously easy. Much more challenging was sticking to the speed limits - who drives at 55 mph on motorways.
90 minutes later, during which I crossed the astonishing Bay Bridge that spans the Chesapeake Bay, my trusty British sat nav voice guided me onto a narrow side road and on into a forest where I eventually drew up before a beautiful clapboard house, fronted by a circular drive and surrounded by pines and tall cypresses, through which I could see the Bay. Luckily for me my brother-in-law keeps ducks and poultry so I was undaunted when a flock huge Muscovy ducks and rather mean-looking bantam cockerel came spitting and cackling towards me. Nevertheless I kept a beady eye on the bantam and knocked on the large front door. Moments later I was confronted by two beautiful, barking Dalmatians, followed by the subject of and reason for my visit - Sid, the instigator of the only US entry in the '68 Marathon.
What to say about Sid? A big, warm, friendly, funny, opinionated man, blinking away behind yellow-tinted spectacles, and genuinely excited about my mission. I was extended that kind of welcome typical of American folks. Once settled into the guest room, my two-day trip began, two days which would see a dream come true and my personal value system tested to extremes.
As I said, the reason I went to Maryland was to meet the man behind the only US entrant in the Marathon. In 1968 Sid purchased a car and prepared it for a 10,000 mile endurance rally. The alterations and adaptations were extensive and all designed to ensure the car could successfully carry three occupants across rough and unforgiving terrain and take the pounding such a long journey would involve. Sid and his two co-drivers (one of whom was a camera man for CBS television, there to film the entire trip) completed the marathon and while it was no prize-winner, it did extremely well for a privately entered and funded car. Now, 44 years later I was given the opportunity to not only see the car, but actually drive it. I can only begin to describe the thrill, the exhilaration of hurtling down a Maryland country lane behind the wheel of the rally prepared, tried and tested, 44 year old Rambler American - the sound it made when stepping on the accelerator had me whoopin' and hollerin' - not very British, I know. Sid let me drive it all over the place and into the main town near St Michaels (Easton), so I also got to negotiate traffic in this mighty, antique beast. I'll describe the interior of the car another time but suffice to say, it reeked of fuel, mostly because a quarter of the interior is a fuel tank, was still full of Aussie outback dust and offered up a driver's seat belt that may or may not have been a harness from the pilot seat of a DC-3! A combination of this plus watching the aforementioned CBS film, and trawling through the huge archive of photo's and documents and I'm not sure I could possibly have wished or hoped for more.
Now, we've all heard about the kind of American who believes whole-heartedly in the letter of the Constitution, and especially the right to bear arms. Often those same Americans believe in small government, minimal taxes, the need for all to be self-reliant and not receive 'hand-outs', as a well as a host of other, for me, rather unsettling ideas and views involving race, religion etc. Sid is very much one of these Americans and very proud to be. Now, as a house-guest, and basically as someone who was there to gather and soak up information, I decided it was not my role to argue or counter these views, which in turn allowed me to hear the full-flow of his arguments. More on this another time, but if I said that during yesterday afternoon, after ten minutes of tuition, I found myself loading a Smith and Wesson 22 revolver, lining up the sight, cocking the hammer, squeezing the trigger and shooting a large target poster of Osama Bin Laden, while wearing a cap from 'Evil Roy's Gun Shop', well, you get the idea.
So, two days of experience as far removed from my day-to-day as I could imagine. Sid and his friends were kind, gracious, interested, fascinating and very funny hosts, and I was genuinely sad to say goodbye to Sid very early this morning before leaving for the airport and Minneapolis. An old-fashioned adventurer, Sid's life and experiences could fill several volumes.
Sitting at Baltimore Airport and waiting to board another terrifying Dash 8, the perfect antidote presented in the form of striking up a conversation with a woman who works in government-funded third world development and specifically, mother-and-child health. Sort of served as a reset button...
Onwards!
As I pretty much planned and booked all flights, accommodations and car rental online, I was able to arrive at the airport car rental 'lot' with my pre-paid voucher. When I made the original booking I chose a 'full-size' car as I fancied a Dodge Charger. Sadly these were all rented and when I staggered out to pick up my car, I was confronted with an acre of cars that in other lives could be put into service as New York taxi cabs or state patrol cars. In other words, ENORMOUS! I confess I chickened out and ran back to the desk, tail between my legs. A little negotiation later and $60 later I was able to drive away in a smaller car - a smaller car, more expensive, go figure, as they way in these 'ere parts.
Before I left I also purchased road maps for the US and Australia for my Sat Nav, so it was somewhat comforting to have a familiar English accent gently but firmly insisting "in 800 yards, bear left!" as I negotiated the junctions and alien traffic signs. At this point I confess to feeling sheepish as having been anxious about driving an automatic, in reality it was ridiculously easy. Much more challenging was sticking to the speed limits - who drives at 55 mph on motorways.
90 minutes later, during which I crossed the astonishing Bay Bridge that spans the Chesapeake Bay, my trusty British sat nav voice guided me onto a narrow side road and on into a forest where I eventually drew up before a beautiful clapboard house, fronted by a circular drive and surrounded by pines and tall cypresses, through which I could see the Bay. Luckily for me my brother-in-law keeps ducks and poultry so I was undaunted when a flock huge Muscovy ducks and rather mean-looking bantam cockerel came spitting and cackling towards me. Nevertheless I kept a beady eye on the bantam and knocked on the large front door. Moments later I was confronted by two beautiful, barking Dalmatians, followed by the subject of and reason for my visit - Sid, the instigator of the only US entry in the '68 Marathon.
What to say about Sid? A big, warm, friendly, funny, opinionated man, blinking away behind yellow-tinted spectacles, and genuinely excited about my mission. I was extended that kind of welcome typical of American folks. Once settled into the guest room, my two-day trip began, two days which would see a dream come true and my personal value system tested to extremes.
As I said, the reason I went to Maryland was to meet the man behind the only US entrant in the Marathon. In 1968 Sid purchased a car and prepared it for a 10,000 mile endurance rally. The alterations and adaptations were extensive and all designed to ensure the car could successfully carry three occupants across rough and unforgiving terrain and take the pounding such a long journey would involve. Sid and his two co-drivers (one of whom was a camera man for CBS television, there to film the entire trip) completed the marathon and while it was no prize-winner, it did extremely well for a privately entered and funded car. Now, 44 years later I was given the opportunity to not only see the car, but actually drive it. I can only begin to describe the thrill, the exhilaration of hurtling down a Maryland country lane behind the wheel of the rally prepared, tried and tested, 44 year old Rambler American - the sound it made when stepping on the accelerator had me whoopin' and hollerin' - not very British, I know. Sid let me drive it all over the place and into the main town near St Michaels (Easton), so I also got to negotiate traffic in this mighty, antique beast. I'll describe the interior of the car another time but suffice to say, it reeked of fuel, mostly because a quarter of the interior is a fuel tank, was still full of Aussie outback dust and offered up a driver's seat belt that may or may not have been a harness from the pilot seat of a DC-3! A combination of this plus watching the aforementioned CBS film, and trawling through the huge archive of photo's and documents and I'm not sure I could possibly have wished or hoped for more.
Now, we've all heard about the kind of American who believes whole-heartedly in the letter of the Constitution, and especially the right to bear arms. Often those same Americans believe in small government, minimal taxes, the need for all to be self-reliant and not receive 'hand-outs', as a well as a host of other, for me, rather unsettling ideas and views involving race, religion etc. Sid is very much one of these Americans and very proud to be. Now, as a house-guest, and basically as someone who was there to gather and soak up information, I decided it was not my role to argue or counter these views, which in turn allowed me to hear the full-flow of his arguments. More on this another time, but if I said that during yesterday afternoon, after ten minutes of tuition, I found myself loading a Smith and Wesson 22 revolver, lining up the sight, cocking the hammer, squeezing the trigger and shooting a large target poster of Osama Bin Laden, while wearing a cap from 'Evil Roy's Gun Shop', well, you get the idea.
So, two days of experience as far removed from my day-to-day as I could imagine. Sid and his friends were kind, gracious, interested, fascinating and very funny hosts, and I was genuinely sad to say goodbye to Sid very early this morning before leaving for the airport and Minneapolis. An old-fashioned adventurer, Sid's life and experiences could fill several volumes.
Sitting at Baltimore Airport and waiting to board another terrifying Dash 8, the perfect antidote presented in the form of striking up a conversation with a woman who works in government-funded third world development and specifically, mother-and-child health. Sort of served as a reset button...
Onwards!
Wednesday, 15 February 2012
In The Big Ol' US of A!
So I've made it. Starting at 5.30am this morning, it is now gone 11.00pm 'my time' and I am sitting in my cheap-as-chips motel room somewhere near Baltimore Airport, surrounded by what appear to be various 'auto-parts' shops and other airport hotels. The room is lovingly fragranced with a rather pungent air-freshener, but it has free Wi-Fi, a restaurant across the way (via one of the said auto-parts places) and what looks to be a comfortable bed. Okay, so the first room I checked into rather alarmingly contained a man painting the bathroom, but hey... guest services were on hand to find me an alternate, i.e. 'finished' room, so no harm done.
What a journey... 7 hour flight to JFK on squeaky clean and cheerful Aer Lingus (although one had to pay for alcoholic beverages, which is a bit rum!). Watched two and a half movies, all instantly forgetable and generally fudge-brained all the way across the Atlantic. Mind you, there were some astonishingly large people on the flight. There was a couple who could easily have taken up four seats between them. It was quite entertaining to watch them try and squeeze themselves into the toilet from time to time.
I have never flown to the US from Dublin, so got my first taste of US Immigration Pre-Clearance i.e. US Immigration is at Dublin, so the actual flight is viewed as a domestic US flight. The man on the Immigration Desk was terrifying and very grumpy, but I maintained my winning smile and against his obvious better judgement, allowed me into America. He even suggested I was planning to go and live in Australia once I'd finished with the US... the very idea!
Unloaded at JFK, and after a couple of crafty cigarettes, was whisked across to La Guardia by cab (past the World Fair site, which was a treat, plus Flushing Meadow) in double-quick time, which meant I got there five hours before my flight to Baltimore. Clever woman on the check in (Althea) got me onto an earlier flight (and direct, no change) for a small renumeration, so was able to get here much sooner than originally planned. Well, I say sooner, but given the flight from La Guardia was on a decidedly elderly Dash 8, the interior of which looked like it had been designed around 1979, and pretty much sounded like a broken washing machine from the moment it's propellors started up to when it landed, there were moments when I thought perhaps I wouldn't make it at all. Peering out the window, I kept thinking we were awfully high up for such a flimsy plane. The flight attendant gamely did her bit with the beverages trolley however, and in 55 minutes I was once again walking along miles of airport corridors trying to find the baggage retrieval. Hopped on yet another hotel courtesy bus and here I am.
The courteous bus will apparently take me straight to the car rental place in the morning, so I may actually get a bit of a lie in! Maryland be warned... I will be behind the wheel on your highways tomorrow.
Somehow I doubt they purvey Sauvignon Blanc in these here parts... lite beer anyone?
What a journey... 7 hour flight to JFK on squeaky clean and cheerful Aer Lingus (although one had to pay for alcoholic beverages, which is a bit rum!). Watched two and a half movies, all instantly forgetable and generally fudge-brained all the way across the Atlantic. Mind you, there were some astonishingly large people on the flight. There was a couple who could easily have taken up four seats between them. It was quite entertaining to watch them try and squeeze themselves into the toilet from time to time.
I have never flown to the US from Dublin, so got my first taste of US Immigration Pre-Clearance i.e. US Immigration is at Dublin, so the actual flight is viewed as a domestic US flight. The man on the Immigration Desk was terrifying and very grumpy, but I maintained my winning smile and against his obvious better judgement, allowed me into America. He even suggested I was planning to go and live in Australia once I'd finished with the US... the very idea!
Unloaded at JFK, and after a couple of crafty cigarettes, was whisked across to La Guardia by cab (past the World Fair site, which was a treat, plus Flushing Meadow) in double-quick time, which meant I got there five hours before my flight to Baltimore. Clever woman on the check in (Althea) got me onto an earlier flight (and direct, no change) for a small renumeration, so was able to get here much sooner than originally planned. Well, I say sooner, but given the flight from La Guardia was on a decidedly elderly Dash 8, the interior of which looked like it had been designed around 1979, and pretty much sounded like a broken washing machine from the moment it's propellors started up to when it landed, there were moments when I thought perhaps I wouldn't make it at all. Peering out the window, I kept thinking we were awfully high up for such a flimsy plane. The flight attendant gamely did her bit with the beverages trolley however, and in 55 minutes I was once again walking along miles of airport corridors trying to find the baggage retrieval. Hopped on yet another hotel courtesy bus and here I am.
The courteous bus will apparently take me straight to the car rental place in the morning, so I may actually get a bit of a lie in! Maryland be warned... I will be behind the wheel on your highways tomorrow.
Somehow I doubt they purvey Sauvignon Blanc in these here parts... lite beer anyone?
Tuesday, 14 February 2012
Go Go Go!
So after yesterday's nerves and anxiety, a combination of dinner, champagne and Rob's constant support and encouragement saw me wake up this morning feeling 'ready to go'. Rob's idea to stay overnight at a hotel at Birmingham Airport was, as always, brilliant and made saying goodbye for five weeks just a bit easier - it's always more difficult for the one staying behind, especially as departure day coincided with an anniversary... we have been together sharing the highs and lows of life for nine years!
Understandably, one of Rob's main concerns has been my health... barely two weeks since my hernia repair and off I go lugging heavy bags around the world. Am under strict instructions to rely on the kindness of strangers whenever any heavy lifting is required, which will mostly involve baggage check-ins, baggage carousels and such as I weave and stagger my way from Birmingham to Dublin and onwards to the US and Australia.
And so Dublin... the purpose of this visit was to meet one of the few women who competed in the 1968 London to Sydney Marathon. Out of 255 people in 98 cars, only twelve were women. One of those women was Dublin-born Rosemary Smith (go on, Google her!), a hugely successful rally driver in the 1960s - she won innumerous Coupe des Dames on the international rally circuit, and won the 1965 Tulip Rally outright, much to the annoyance of her male rivals. Today I met her for lunch, and in the hotel lobby was confronted by a very beautiful woman, immaculately coiffed and enormously friendly. We were soon ensconced in the hotel restaurant, drinking wine and chatting away - a big challenge of this kind of research is meeting complete strangers and trying to engage with them as quickly as possible. I needn't have worried - a very boozy lunch ensued, and I could have sat and listened to Rosemary's recollections all afternoon. Warm, candid and very, very funny, I'd suggest she should have her own show but in fact... she's been there and done that! Two and a half hours later, and I begrudgingly let her get on with her life. An extraordinary woman, dedicated to driving and teaching, synonymous with the Hillman Imp and a very lovely, mischievious person.
So tomorrow I fly to the US... I just discovered that everytime I check a bag in for a domestic US flight, I have to pay $25! That's SIX flights. Worse than Ryan Air, if you ask me...
PS Note to self - try to resist the urge to run for a bus. It's painful and there 'll be another along in 20 minutes!
Understandably, one of Rob's main concerns has been my health... barely two weeks since my hernia repair and off I go lugging heavy bags around the world. Am under strict instructions to rely on the kindness of strangers whenever any heavy lifting is required, which will mostly involve baggage check-ins, baggage carousels and such as I weave and stagger my way from Birmingham to Dublin and onwards to the US and Australia.
And so Dublin... the purpose of this visit was to meet one of the few women who competed in the 1968 London to Sydney Marathon. Out of 255 people in 98 cars, only twelve were women. One of those women was Dublin-born Rosemary Smith (go on, Google her!), a hugely successful rally driver in the 1960s - she won innumerous Coupe des Dames on the international rally circuit, and won the 1965 Tulip Rally outright, much to the annoyance of her male rivals. Today I met her for lunch, and in the hotel lobby was confronted by a very beautiful woman, immaculately coiffed and enormously friendly. We were soon ensconced in the hotel restaurant, drinking wine and chatting away - a big challenge of this kind of research is meeting complete strangers and trying to engage with them as quickly as possible. I needn't have worried - a very boozy lunch ensued, and I could have sat and listened to Rosemary's recollections all afternoon. Warm, candid and very, very funny, I'd suggest she should have her own show but in fact... she's been there and done that! Two and a half hours later, and I begrudgingly let her get on with her life. An extraordinary woman, dedicated to driving and teaching, synonymous with the Hillman Imp and a very lovely, mischievious person.
So tomorrow I fly to the US... I just discovered that everytime I check a bag in for a domestic US flight, I have to pay $25! That's SIX flights. Worse than Ryan Air, if you ask me...
PS Note to self - try to resist the urge to run for a bus. It's painful and there 'll be another along in 20 minutes!
Thursday, 9 February 2012
A Personal Birmingham to Perth Marathon 2012 (via Ireland and the US)
Between February 14th and March 20th 2012, to continue my research into the 1968 London to Sydney Marathon, I will be embarking on my own 'Birmingham to Perth Marathon', although I won't be driving!
The 1968 London to Sydney Marathon was a speed and endurance race covering 10,000 miles and ran from London to Bombay (via Tehran and Kabul), followed by a cruise ship crossing to Perth before a final dash across the Australian Outback to Sydney. 250 people competed in 98 cars, ranging from thoroughly modern Porsche 911s to a 1930 Bentley Tourer, and entrants combined manufacturer teams (BMC/BL, Ford, Rootes, DAF), commercially sponsored entrants, entrants by the various British Armed Forces, and private entries.
During my trip I will be meeting with a number of folks who competed in this race in 1968, mostly in Australia but also in Dublin and the US. I will also be catching up with a few old friends along the way.
I plan to use this Blog to make notes and report on progress, and I hope you'll enjoy reading about the exploits and adventures of a born petrol-head, chasing a passion he's had since 1969!
The 1968 London to Sydney Marathon was a speed and endurance race covering 10,000 miles and ran from London to Bombay (via Tehran and Kabul), followed by a cruise ship crossing to Perth before a final dash across the Australian Outback to Sydney. 250 people competed in 98 cars, ranging from thoroughly modern Porsche 911s to a 1930 Bentley Tourer, and entrants combined manufacturer teams (BMC/BL, Ford, Rootes, DAF), commercially sponsored entrants, entrants by the various British Armed Forces, and private entries.
During my trip I will be meeting with a number of folks who competed in this race in 1968, mostly in Australia but also in Dublin and the US. I will also be catching up with a few old friends along the way.
I plan to use this Blog to make notes and report on progress, and I hope you'll enjoy reading about the exploits and adventures of a born petrol-head, chasing a passion he's had since 1969!
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