Ladies and Gentlemen ... We have LIFTOFF!

After a whirlwind 48 hours of teeth-gnashing worry over the impending storm rolling across Ontario, the seemingly endless preparations for the service, and some traditional pre-wedding shenanigans, I am thrilled to report that through the benevolence of three heavenly grandfather/papas, the clouds scattered, the sun broke through, and the wind faded to a welcomed on-shore breeze. All of Maddi and Chris' efforts came to fruition to create a delightfully intimate ceremony complete with joyous tears, full on belly laughs, heart-bursting pride, and cascading waves of love. The expressions of sheer joy that graced the faces of the bride and groom were enough to melt the largest of icebergs as they passionately embraced, scant moments after being pronounced husband and wife, immersed in the grandmother's gleeful shower of shimmering orbs of soap like a swirling love potion cast from the Walmart bubble guns rescued from the end of season bargain bins. 

If it weren't great enough fortune to escape the ravages of Mother Nature for the "I do's", the calm lasted just long enough to capture a wide assortment of playful and creative wedding photos, including Father-of-the-groom's pride and joy ... besides his son ... a 1934 Lagonda, looking so much like Disney's Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Almost on cue, as the final photos were snapped, the wind rose, the clouds darkened, and the rain loomed sending everyone scattering for the shelter of the banquet tent.

The reception that followed was a memorable affair, thanks both to the warming shelter of the beachside tent blocking the howling winds and rain that battered its sides, but also to the sincere outpourings of happiness and joy of the intimate number present. Both sides of the aisle made heroic efforts to welcome the others into the fold, sharing cherished family stories in an effort to fortify the blossoming new-found friendships. It really is astounding how quickly those affinities morphed into bonds as common ground is rapidly established. The much anticipated catering effort was most delicious from the inventive hordeurves, to the spectacular chicken/salmon, completed with cannolis, butter tarts and Skor bars. It was the knock out punch for my pancreas after 3 days of feasting. The piece de resistance was an incredible bottle of Macallan (a most delectable Scotch), a Christmas gift that my amazing children bequeathed me last year.

All weddings, regardless of religion or family rites, have their little idiosyncrasies, but they are all more or less similar happenstance. The speeches were full of thoughtful remembrance of significant people or events gone by prompting the anticipated emotional tie with each side's relatives as both Tony and Cheryl Cove offered sincere, eloquent words of appreciation and love. Since I was doing the Father-of-the-bride version off the cuff, I was a little surprised when emotions bubbled to the surface in my toast to my family's notable absences of my father, Terry Porter, and Joyce's father, Jim Foster. It was during the explanation of how each dearly loved their interactions with the then youngish Maddison that my voice cracked, forcing a few momentary pauses to rein in the swell. The only other moment of the night that got the better of me was during the father-daughter dance to Heartland's "I loved her first" where having a personal moment with my now married daughter, and seeing the sparkle in her eye signalling her extreme contentment with the evening, prompted a quiet moment of choked emotion. 

The marathon's mad dash to the finish was epitomized by the next morning's planing of a ceremonial Red Maple that will line the edge of the Cove cottage driveway, a glass jar containing the wedding vows and a Polaroid of the happy couple and their attendants. Par for the course on this weekend, the rain of the morning's clean up dissipated as the planting began, a powerful beam of sunshine breaking through the clouds to illuminate the small little area long enough to get the job done. 

Where there was once the clamour and energy of 23 revellers, there is now a tranquility in the silence that is only interrupted by the clicks of the keyboard.

I'm a slap-happy pappy who just inherited an amazing son-in-law who adores my only daughter. Could it really get any better than that?

I doubt it.

The eagle has landed

Like Neil Armstrong's iconic utterance signifying the landing of the Lunar Module, the Eagle, on the moon's surface in 1969, Sept 23rd marks the beginning of the first of two family weddings (we are hoping that our son Keaton will take the plunge at some point) for Joyce and I with our arrival at the ironically named Eagle Lake for Maddi's massive decision to officially meld her life with her "Boo", Chris Cove.

In my last post, I tried to offer some understanding of the mental/emotional state of invested parties with the impending nuptials of our daughter. With the site being at the Cove family cottage and the need to transport everything wedding related to said remote location, everyone's vehicles are packed to the ceiling. This also means that instead of arriving on the site the day of with perhaps a place to crash for a night after the rousing reception, this version will feature a mini-marathon of revelry as most of the guests will arrive 2-3 days in advance of the big day and likely leave late in the day Sunday.

Joyce and I arrived at Eagle Lake Thursday with our nearly new RAV4 loaded to the hilt, and the buzz of activity as palpable as a bee hive with last minute decorations being hung, lists being double checked, and brows slowly unfurling. A few of Maddi + Chris' friends arrived this morning, adding to the buzz with their glowing smiles and heartfelt excitement, but when Maid of Honour Sara and fiancee Kyle showed up, their arms laden with ingredients for this evening's classic Italian meal they will be preparing, the "s#%& got real", as the saying goes. Even though the event will be small by traditional wedding standards, the emotions are as powerful as any in history. 

Staying with a foodie theme, Friday's rehearsal dinner will be the parent's turn to delight the hoard when we cooperatively offer a cottage-inspired concoction of gastric glory like Beef Wellington, unique but delicious salads, and the famous Porter potatoes called Schwartzies. The caloric waterfall will be topped off with Maddi's childhood favourite of Peanut Butter Pie and Turtle Squares.

If you recall, in my last post I let slip that a caterer was finally secured very recently, meaning I have no idea what the reception meal will look and taste like, but I can tell you that I have zero doubt it will live up to the occasion. True to her father's obsession, Maddi convinced Chris that the much anticipated wedding dessert will be her absolute favourite Maid's Cottage Butter Tarts.

Epic only scratches the surface! Plus there'll be a wedding in there somewhere!

I've stolen a few minutes today to contemplate the position in life that I now find myself with my beautiful daughter's special day looming, my mind dredging up long buried memories from her childhood, cherubic freckled face framed by strawberry blond ringlets and a smile bright enough to light up Las Vegas. Maddi was an active youngster, filling her days with childhood best friends, dressing up, and her favourite Disney entertainment like The Little Mermaid or Beauty and the Beast. To this day, she is the only child I know personally who wore out TWO VHS copies of The Little Mermaid! HaHaHa! Of course, you can pretty much guarantee 100% that Ariel will find her way into the mix on Saturday, in some manner.

As the years slipped by, Disney took a back seat to a host of fictional series ... Team Edward? Katniss Everdeen? ... each grasping tightly to Maddi's attention like some climber scaling Yosemite, consuming both her waking and dream-time minutes, but none had the lasting effect like one young wizard with a lightning bolt scar. Some of the blame for that one lies with this DOD (Dear Old Dad) since the whole family spent many a night curled up together in my bed, listening as I read aloud from the Harry Potter chronicles bastardizing the British names like Hermione until we were jointly educated by the first full length feature film. I pronounced it phonetically HER-mee-own. 

It was right around this time that Maddi outgrew her other athletic experiences, settling on swimming as the preferred choice and it's 5:30 am practices with the Barrie Trojans. I have previously written in posts that I feel I have led a blessed life, and this was just further proof when Maddi opted for mom to be the primary chauffeur leaving Keaton and I to explore our own common interests during daylight's hours. 

Swimming is a horrendous sport to the uninitiated!

If the OMG early practices weren't enough to deter the less hardy, combine that with a second dunking each day after school, racking up the KMs faster than I do on my bike, and battering the body with stresses that only the toughest of minds can endure. Maddi couldn't consume enough calories to keep quality protein surrounding her bones, melting away any much needed post-pubescent adipose tissue, and inflicting wear and tear on her spine and shoulders. This tells you all you need to know about Maddi and swimming; It wasn't enough to go two-fer each day so she was a part of a small group of amphibious crazies who convinced Ron Andrews and myself to restart the BCC Swim Team so that they could get even more swimming in. Ron and I were such great coaches that we enjoyed immediate success at both the association (GBSSA) and provincial (OFSAA) levels, (read that with all its intended sarcasm). While her brother filled his year with a wide variety of activities, Maddi focused solely on going through the water as fast a she was capable, even choosing to continue upon arrival at Waterloo University as a freshman. 

I marvelled at her dedication, commitment, and grit!

Like so many before her, Maddi's priorities altered as her university experience progressed, and swimming was replaced by academic excellence, her focus set upon a career in physiotherapy. On that bright, sunny day of graduation, boasting an undergrad GPA of 87%, I thought that being any prouder of her wasn't possible. She had accomplished so much of what she had set her sights on and had a blossoming relationship with a cute engineer from Oshawa to boot. Unfortunately, life has a way of humbling us, and she rammed straight into the glass ceiling that is physiotherapy entrance standards, and despite her prolific GPA from one of the toughest universities in Ontario, she had to change course. Watching her deal with the disappointment was one of the hardest things I have had to endure as her father, but the universe seems to have a way of balancing things, and her love for Chris was growing faster than a bamboo forest. 

Which leads full circle back to where we are right now. She has her Boo Chris, they own a home, a crazy PWD named Remi, a decent job, and will soon have to decide if it's' Porter-Cove or just Cove. She beams when she's beside him so I know he's the one, and despite having shared their lives for over 4 years already, they're both eager for what is further down life's path. She's had quite the mothering role model in Joyce so I'm pretty sure that grandkids are in the plans ... no pressure though ... and I extremely confident that she will be a tremendous mom. 

For now I will simply bask in the glory of my daughter's wedding.

The final ceremony will be both wonderful and morose at the same time since we couldn't be happier or more proud of both Maddi and Chris, but i'd be lying if I didn't feel there was something missing ... her grandfathers. With my father passing in 2006 and Joyce's father in 2018, our grandparent connection will have to be filled by Maddi's Nana Andrea Porter and Gramma Pearl Foster. You can be sure that a glass of what ails us will be raised in their honour as a testament to the profound love they both so willingly gifted Maddi while still with us. 

A little over 24 hours left ... pray for an improving forecast!

6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

The countdown has begun for Maddi and Chris' huge day! Preparations have dominated almost every waking moment for both families as all of the I's need doting, the T's need crossing. This pandemic has affected almost every facet of living, and weddings are not excluded, life's monumental events now requiring endless compromises to pull them off. 

We're at T minus 6 days (the big day is September 25th) and we just watched the Facebook Live wedding video of Rachel Tough to Ian Brown, the first of 3 daughter's nuptials for our life long friends Trish and Micheal Tough. Trish, Mike, Joyce and I have swapped "war" stories and we're all saddened that the pandemic is preventing our families from celebrating each other's children as they take the plunge. From Joyce and I, congratulations to Trish and Mike, Rachel and Ian for a wonderfully emotional ceremony that left us with tears both from laughing and joy.

Maddi and Chris are celebrating their big day at the Cove family cottage at Eagle Lake in Haliburton region, complete with sandy beach, Haliburton Highlands deciduous forest, and the warm+fuzzy comfort of cottage-type scenery creating an intimate, cozy ceremony for immediate family and closest friends. Chris' parents, Tony and Cheryl Cove, have spent a significant portion of the summer upgrading, enhancing, sprucing and bolstering a wide variety of cottage components, Grampa Mike Cove has been tasked with applying his amazing woodworking skills to a number of Maddi-inspired rustic touches, and Joyce and Maddi have talked/texted almost each and every day, sometimes multiple times, discussing plans ad nauseam. 

The old adage warns potential newlyweds that if they can survive the wedding prep and ceremony, they can survive almost anything that life throws at them. IMHO, that's a valid sentiment, especially after seeing how much stress the entire process has dumped in Maddi and Chris' laps. Besides the excitement that the wedding of your daughter brings, I'm as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning in anticipation of what all of the plans will present when they are finally all gathered in a single place, the whole shebang greater than the sum of its parts. Most importantly, I pray that it all produces that same reaction in Maddi and Chris once the day finally arrives. 

One of the single largest sources of frustrations was securing a caterer for the wedding dinner. When the planning started over 2 years ago, a single company was contracted to cover off 99% of the wedding reception complete with physical set up, food, and drinks, but as plans were forced to change both size and location, those different pieces had to be split, requiring a number of different contracts. After dozens of "Not Available's" and a couple of potential contracts falling through, each bringing a new round of teeth-gnashing, gut wrenching worry, a caterer was confirmed just a couple of weeks ago. 

That's cutting it close!

Despite all of the components of a "Princess" wedding that have to be conceded with a cottage ceremony, there are many things that are enhanced in such surroundings, not the least of which will be the easy comfort that it offers. Once the "I Do's" are finally completed, I anticipate the pure Canadiana feelings of relaxation that only the near-fall surroundings of a Muskoka or Haliburton region can offer. One of the senior citizen super powers that come one inherits with age is the confidence that things will work out the way they will work out, and one can only influence what one can influence. We are fully aware ... and more importantly accept ... that some things will not work out the way they were envisioned.

Try telling that to the "youngins" though.

The best news of all is that come Wednesday, the plans will have gained their own momentum, out-of-town guests will begin arriving ... negative Covid tests in hand UUUGH ... at Eagle Lake, and the grimaces should morph into smiles as we all revel in the wonderment that a wedding brings. From where I stand, Joyce has a gorgeous new dress to compliment her undying beauty, I have my snazzy rental tux and am all trimmed up neat 'n tidy, the weather forecast looks promising, and we're both over the moon that our little girl is taking the big step across the threshold of life to land in the arms of the man that she loves more than life itself. 

What else could any self-respecting father ask for?

Creaky knees and a stiff back!

A while back, I wrote a post about the moving process as it applied to us and our desire to make it as smooth 'n easy as possible by hiring a moving company. A large part of that was due to moving from Barrie to Guelph while another significant part was due to being very ripe old fruits, but the largest part was having moved past the point in our lives where we felt a pizza and a case of beer was worthy reward for the sweat and toil of compatriots we volun-told to help. As a shameless plug for their company, we used Central alum Johnny Rockbrune's family business, Rockbrune Movers, and were thrilled with the job that employees Jason and Donald did for us!

We recently volunteered to help our son Keaton make the move across town when he and his 3 room mates decided to part ways after 4 years together. His new place was a quaint little basement apartment that was owned by a former team mate from his Rugby Ontario days, Kyle Lagasca. Kyle was now a police officer and had recently purchased a new-to-him home with his fiancee. His need for a tenant was jointly satisfied by Keaton's need for a new place, and both were more than happy for a reunion. 

It's always amazing to me how much crap we accumulate over the years. 

Keaton and his room mates have lived at their now former place for maybe 3 years, a 3 bedroom detached house with generous backyard, deck, shed, and single car garage. Once the moving process began, the transfer from the house to the U-Haul truck revealed an astounding collection of how much stuff was his. Between personal items, accumulations due to work, three (yes, three) BBQs, and a variety of fitness implements, it sure seemed like he had the lion's share. We made two trips in the cube van and both were more or less full loads. Once we offloaded the haul at the new place, I once again was gobsmacked by how quickly appeared like far less stuff, especially as the organizing began. Of course, the main advantage was that his buddy Kyle had given him a few places where he could store all of his tools, the consequence of choosing the mechanic's life. I have great confidence that Keaton will quickly make the space his own.

I'm no spring chicken any more but I'm also not really a senior citizen, my sweat-soaked shirt a sign of the work being extended, and my creaking knees later that night reminded me that I don't do that kind of work very often anymore. Keaton's 25 year old joints flung heavy loads here and there with nary a pit stain. Go Figure! The reward for our exertion was a ridiculously tasty Iced Cap from Tim's, compliments of our son, and the parental good vibes that come from helping your kids.

Having said that, I'm sure Keaton won't mind me saying that I'm glad that we're not called on very often to do this! And, even better, there was no need for a workout today!

Yes, indeed, Life is most certainly GOOD!

Encore of to Hell with the bell!

I'm not going to try and pull the wool over anyone's eyes with semi-truths justifying retirement's benefits, but I will tell all who would choose to listen that one of the greatest rewards of stepping out of the educational hamster wheel is that euphoric feeling of freedom that comes with the realization that you're not rushing off to class on the school year's first day, and you're not at the beckon call of the bell. For those who have banished all high school memories to the dusty waste bins of their brains, the bells or e-buzzers are the bane of every teacher's existence, and there's a resolute satisfaction in saying, "To Hell with the Bell!"

If you're either not yet retired, or generally envious of teachers and their "gold-plated" pensions, now would be a good time to hit the BACK button on your browser. You won't like what I've written below. 

However, if you're up for some smiles and giggles, read on.

My great friend Ron Andrews invited me to celebrate my first day of never-school last year (2020) at his cottage on Kushog Lake, and together with dear friends Sue, Fiona and Andy, we sabred the champagne, feasted on breakfast's best delights, golfed in the drizzle, toasted each other's freedom, and generally snubbed our noses at full time employment. In the immortal words of Julia Von Trapp, "... Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good ..." because I was selected for the team again this year!

The main difference between this and last was the nearly 4 hour drive from Guelph to Kushog Lake. I felt a little sad to leave Joyce behind, augmented by the fact that we are now a one-car family meaning she would be stranded at the condo for three days. Pointing north on Labour Day Monday, I was empathetic for the frustration of the cars facing south that were bumper to bumper all the way up the #400 and #11, but buoyed by the impending celebrations, my smile didn't fade in the least. I made a quick pit stop at Maddi's future in-law's cottage (the wedding is in 2 weeks ... yikes!) on Eagle Lake prior to the trip up #35, making me fashionably late.

Joining the party were two of Ron's buddies from his Mac years, Robbie and Lisa, both receiving their workplace pardons last June and biting at the bit to send heavenward their resounding yawp of "The Hell with the Bell!" I had met Robbie previously on a number of occasions, mostly thanks to rugby, but in the truest sense of "six degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon", Robbie turned out to be one of the FAV teachers at Oshawa's O'Neill HS for Callum Cove, the younger brother of Maddi's fiancee Chris. This was my first wonderful experience with Lisa, who it turned out was extremely personable and blessed with a tremendous sense of humour, regularly leaving us all in fits of giggles. 

The pre-celebration started quickly with my arrival at Chez Ronaldo. Some quick catch-up over drinks on the best dock on Kushog Lake were interrupted by the sounds of the Andy + Fiona's boat zooming up the lake to start the shindigs proper, followed by some warm greetings, introductions, and handshakes. It certainly did not take long to become comfortable with the interesting assortment of recently retired educational professionals, and the stories of Mac days were soon being rehashed, prompting wave after wave of belly laughs. Although I was the "Sassinak", to coin a Scottish colloquialism, I quickly felt at ease with the wide array of engaging personalities. 

Snacks and drinks on the dock in a true Muskoka manner were soon replaced with a cottage sauna / lake dip that took us later into the early evening, with the setting sun signalling the adjournment to the cottage for an amazing meal compliments of Ron and Uber-foodie wife Cathy. Again, buckets of chirps, quips, one-liners and sarcastic retorts were the order of the day as we transitioned from the kitchen to great room for a sidesplitting game of Catch Phrase as the curtain closer before the other four had to head back down Kushog for the night.

True to my habitual consistency, my eyes arose with the peeking sun, and a deck side coffee in the misty tranquility only Muskoka can deliver was accompanied by both a deep sigh of contentment and a wide smile of appreciation. Cathy, disheartened by being forced to head out very early in the day because she was still working, made her goodbyes, but Sue's early morning arrival signalled that the day's activities were afoot! She and I had been assigned the breakfast duty, and as the others arrived again from down the lake, the smells of deliciousness were enough to stimulate anyone's saliva glands. The menu offered artisan french toast, Canadian bacon, banana + zucchini loafs, and fresh fruit. The highlight was the same as last year as newly retired Rob and Lisa sabred the champagne for the Mimosas that were raised in a raucous proclamation of freedom that even William Wallace would envy. 

Our morning cravings satisfied, the scheduled event of the midday was a round of golf at Minden's Gull River GC, formerly known as Beaverbrook. One of the quaint peculiarities of Chez Ronaldo is that it is water access only, so once our bodies were cleansed with a leap into Kushog and adorned with appropriate golf wear, we hopped into the "tinnie" to get to the car parking. At this time, Gull River only offers 9 holes, but it most assuredly a challenging layout, especially for someone like me who only had 3 nines notched in his putter this summer. To add to the difficulty, I had to replace my driver after it exploded earlier in the summer, so the swing from the first tee block was a maiden effort that I am proud to say sailed straight and true down the right side of the fairway. 

"How in the hell?" I said as I scratched my noggin.

I was cautiously nervous rounding the 4th hole green as I had posted 3 pars and bogey, but reality set in with a series of golf bloopers that would make even the grumpiest of souls giggle. The silver lining, because there's always one if you choose to look for it, was that with each miss hit, I emerged from the bushes with an extra 3 or 4 balls. However, the comedic highlight was not mine to claim, because Andy hit a drive on the par 3 seventh that screamed along the grass top, struck the ladies tee block, careened straight up maybe 25 m before drifting over the trees lining the fairway. Once we picked ourselves up, brushed off the grass from rolling on the ground, we jointly agreed that it was a sight we'd never seen before. In the end, I uglied it out to a finishing 50 thanks largely to a number of thundering tee shots that sailed deep into OB.

The afternoon's hours were spent on Andy and Fiona's dockside Muskoka chairs, hands full of adult beverages and incredible snacks thanks to Lisa, regaling tails of classrooms long passed that were amazingly similar in nature, given that we all taught in different schools. Unfortunately, the impending storm chased us inside prematurely, but we were treated to a wondrous Caesar and steak meal thanks to our hosts Andy and Fiona, complete with assistance from Robbie and Lisa. A rabble-rousing game of "Sevens", complete with quips and chirps hurled in all directions thanks to our wine-loosened tongues, capped off the night as the rainstorm rattled the windows. 

The only downside of the day was the rain-spattered boat ride back to Ron's cottage, but we were at least spared a soaking thanks to some forethought and the raincoats that were brought down the lake with us. Finally hitting the pillow, I sent a silent pray to whatever powers that be with my thanks and appreciation for blessing my life so tremendously.

The 2021 To Hell with the Bell came to a close the next morning with a quick breakfast of the previous day's left overs, a warm embrace and fond farewell. The long trip home from Kushog to Guelph was delightfully uneventful and I was greeted with one of Joyce's great big kisses upon my arrival.

As my cousin Tim Burtch so often quips, "Life is Good!"

The Great Cycle Challenge 2021

With the close of August 2021, the flip of the calendar page signifies the end of this year's Great Cycle Challenge, it's tugging itch to get out on the cycle each day, and the push to raise both awareness and funds for cancer research at Sick Kids Hospital. I am proud to have been a part of such an impactful, important and endearing event for the 2nd year, and eternally grateful for all of those who opened their hearts and wallets to support the cause. When I checked, over $9 million had been raised this year! Considering the past 20 month's events, the financial upheaval, the social effect of isolation, and the disruption to the norm, it is even more astounding that people make something like this a priority.

It goes without saying that each person in Canada does not require very many degrees of separation to mark the impact cancer has had on their lives. I already wrote in previous posts how it has affected my loved ones and my good friends, and I feel proud that as a nation we have made great efforts to support the battle to research, understand, and eradicate this scourge. It's a leap of faith, but I feel strongly that by supporting the incredible science being thrown cancer's way, discoveries of related understanding will be possible, with potential to significantly impact future prevention, detection, and treatment of a host of maladies. No one person will make a difference, but if we all decide to do a little bit outside of our present comfort zone, the cumulative effect will be astounding. 

Of course, being completely transparent, the impetus for being involved in the GCC is the #bikelife. 

Spurred by the flip of the calendar, I found myself ruminating on the significant change in my attitude toward cycling, and its transformative impact on me on many fronts. As some are aware, I have ridden the roller coaster of body dimensions for my whole life, having both gained and lost 100's of kilos over my time on the planet. My age-old issue is not WHAT passes my lips, but HOW MUCH, with the psychology of satiation being my main trigger. Being active my whole life, I have used the concept of "calories IN vs calories OUT" as my go-to strategy of weight maintenance, even though I know that I should be focussing on alterations in my food intake, but its siren-song is irresistible when splashes of dopamine flood my synapses during a full plate of deliciousness. 

Cycling came about as a bit of a concession.

For many of my transformations in the past, I have used methods like weight training and running because they were comfortable to me thanks to my long history in athletics, and I admit that the cyclists I encountered out on the roads bore the brunt of disparaging thoughts as I vowed never to fall prey to the MAMIL lifestyle. Lo and behold, a minor tear to a meniscus in my knee prompted the need to change my erroneous thinking, urging the substitution of low-impact exercise, and I hopped on my old Legacy hybrid to hit the roads. I've come a LONG way since those days ... I've spent A LOT of money, spent A TON of time, had A MILLION thoughts, and blasted A BOATLOAD of fat cells. With the final ride of the 2021 GCC, a beauty from my mom's place on the water in Barrie, along the Simcoe Rail Trail to Orillia's waterfront, and back to my mom's, I feel like my transformation is nearly complete. I realize that I am pedalling myself to happiness because it's what I choose, not what I feel I have to do, and the liberating feeling that accompanies the decision is fantastic. 

I'll be the first to admit that this entire affair was assisted by my retirement. If I was still immersed in to busy, pulled-in-all-directions lifestyle of education, I am not at all confident that my transformation would have been complete in the timeline it has. Being able to slowly hatch each day, use those available minutes to plan an intriguing route, and have the ability to selfishly invest in myself has made all the difference in the world. I would be remiss if I didn't proclaim my deepest appreciation for my Bestie, the Ying to my Yang, the apple of my eye, my wife Joyce to being so accommodating to my new obsession ... there have been MANY ... because without it, it would never have happened. My family pokes fun at my obsession, labelling it as an addiction with profound eye rolls and dripping sarcasm, but rather than argue, I have capitulated to their assessment, acknowledging my innate "Go Hard or Go Home" makeup. 

The thing is, unless you're a cyclist yourself, you don't really understand the why.

The best way to describe it begs the use of one of my favourite movies, Forrest Gump. The portion of Gump's saga where he decides to start running and ends up traversing the country, experiencing its wondrous offerings, and getting lost in his own thoughts, is the most visual way to describe what cycling now means to me. Sure, I'm not traversing the country ... YET ... but I am seeing the sights and smells of Ontario's rural glory, awash in the meditative sounds of wind, wheels, and wheezing, and revelling in the positive effects it is having on my health. Since that first lung squeezing, thigh burning, crotch grinding, suffer-fest of a ride some 17 months ago, my sojourns have become a highlight of the day, an anticipated upswing in psyche that makes the remaining minutes of the day taste sweeter than fresh baked butter tarts. What I'm trying to point out is that every day without a ride is somehow less of a day, a perceptible missing element, a void never filled, and while scary that I've become that accustomed to it, I'm excited to have found something that revs the motor so completely. If you're up for a ride, give me shout through social media, a call or a text!

Perhaps you too will find something that puts a little hitch in yer giddy'up!