And The Cat Came Back, . . .

Well, that didn't take long.

Exactly 7 days was all my sister could manage.

It seems Aya did not take well to her  new owner, or at least not as well as we had hoped that she would, and so Aya is comfortably and happily back home with me.

My sister will look after Aya for the 6 or 7 weeks that I am away, and I am quite certain that will be chock full of interesting tales, but I am also pretty happy with that.

It was only a week, but I missed the little bug.

Come next March-April I am going to have to revisit the whole new-home-for-Aya thing if I follow through with my travel plans, but until then we are both much happier with Aya being right here at home with me.
I know it's not completely uncommon, but the silly little critter loves playing fetch with me, constantly bringing me something to throw - when she's in the mood, of course.

So, life here at casa-Enberg is back as it should be, and all is once again right in my world.

Let me mention Friday - my retire-from-work day.

It started at St. Pius X High School where I was once again invited to speak to a class of grade 11 Law students. The announced reason for my being a guest speaker has always been the same over the past 8 years: "Joe is going to share with you his experiences with the legal system."

I have never failed to be unexpected. To give the kids more.

This time though, it was off the charts. I don't know if I went in with a different mind-set due to it being an already significant day in my life, or if it was simply the way it was supposed to be, but the engagement with those kids was so close, so life-to-life that it left me a little awestruck. And very, very grateful.

I spent most of my allotted speaking time encouraging this class of bright young future leaders to find someone to talk to.

About the dark places in their lives.
About the stuff they are not talking to anyone about.

And I used my past as the backdrop.
Alcoholism. Drug addiction. Criminal activity. Jails. Homelessness.

Heavy prices to pay for keeping the dark stuff a secret.
For being scared to name the monster - whatever it may look like.

I wish that I could somehow impart to you as you  read this the feelings that I experienced as I saw that glimmer in her eye, or that pique of interest in his face as we engaged in a back and forth of question and answer.

I think I have found something that I am every bit as passionate about as I am about adventure motorcycle riding.

Sharing my story with our youth.

It was such an incredible way to start my last day of work, and I thank God for the continued opportunities.

I left St. Pius X at noon, feeling full and empty at the same time. Both invigorated and exhausted.

I drove to Shepherds, parked my car and knew as I was walking through the parking lot that it was going to be a short and emotional visit.

I spent the next hour making the rounds and saying so-long to the myriad people who have touched and impacted my life in that environment of mixed feelings and conflicting personas.

I will remember my days spent at the Shepherds of Good Hope for the rest of my life. Most of them, quite fondly.

I don't think you can ask for more than that.


Now, a final piece of housekeeping. I am going to be traveling a lot this summer and with my travels come all of the expected - and many unexpected experiences. Which, of course, I will be writing and blogging about.

The problem is, I am currently trying to keep two blogs current! And as you have noted over the years - I suck at it.

So - if I may ask - please make a note of my other blog on the ADVJOE website:

http://advjoe.ca/blog/

I will be keeping that one up-to-date on a regular basis as I travel, and I will be treating it as my blog, not just advjoe's blog. The type of stuff that I write here, I will be writing there. So if you are, for some unknown reason still following me here (and I really hope that you are, my faithful few), well, now you have somewhere else to follow me.

This is starting to sound like a Genesis song. . .(or the best Cineplex ad they have ever come up with - remember the one with the young girl, the snow man and the freezer?)

Ok. It is now the first Wednesday - I can no longer call it hump day - of the season of my contentment. I think that means I have to shower today,. . .or shave, . . or something . . .

Later folks,

There was Darkness. . .

Something happened in the fall of 2015 that I never considered possible.

Something so completely out of my left field that had you told me in August that it was coming, I would have laughed out loud.

It is pretty apparent, I believe, that I am a generally happy guy.

Gregarious, some may say.

And why not? I have a lot to be happy about - and grateful for, after all.

Early one morning in late September of 2015, I noticed it was gone.

The happy, easy-to-get-along-with Joe was nowhere to be found.

I was spending way more time than usual 'taking naps'

My bikes sat in the garage through the entirety of the week, and sometimes all weekend long as well.

The things in my life that used to bring me joy, weren't.

Whaddafuk?

It all came to a glaring point for me at 0635 one morning as I was pulling into the parking lot at work and verbally snapped at a client who was not following my direction.

Like I am some kind of authority or some shit.

15 minutes later I was in the HR office asking for the contact information for our EAP, or Employee Assistance Program.

By the end of the day I had an appointment set up.

By the end of the next day I had been diagnosed as suffering from depression.

I'm sorry, what?

Me? Depression? Not friggen' likely. No way. Uhn uh.

That mysterious ailment afflicts other people. People less happy than I am. But not me.

No way it had hit me.

Boy, had it ever hit me.

And everything that I had ever heard about depression proved true: you do not see it coming, you do not acknowledge that it is here and you do not have the energy to do a fucking thing about it on your own.

At least, those were all true for me.

Thank God that I just followed my gut and contacted EAP that morning.

I ended up having to take some time off work, and I attended therapy regularly and followed all of the suggestions given me by my therapist.

And not too much later I was able to return to work.

What a strange, heavy dark cloud it was that had settled over me for a time.

It seems that I had some unresolved issues surrounding grief.

Feelings that I neglected to talk about or share with the people that I love and trust.

Feelings that I had just tried to stuff, or ignore.

Man, you would think that a guy with my past, with my fairly deep understanding of the benefits of talking about what is going in in my life would have done just that.

It is the centre-point of recovery for gods sake!

But I hadn't. Or at least, not enough.

So the message for me - and maybe for you as well - is that I really do need to talk about the things that are going on in my life. Not just the good stuff, or the exciting stuff.

But the shitty stuff too.

The things that pain my heart deserve to be spoken, and I deserve to heal.

I am one of the truly lucky ones. I mean that. I am really, really fortunate.

My dark cloud lifted, and it did so very quickly. If I had to guess, I would say that I truly suffered for no more than 8 weeks.

I came away from the experience with a deeper understanding of depression, and a much greater understanding of how debilitating it is.

I also came away from the experience reminded of something: it is vital, for my well being, that I try to remain grateful every day of my life. And when I feel like things are going shitty, if I simply remember how grateful I am that I did not have to use today, the shittyness seems less significant.

If you, or someone you love suffers from depression please reach out and speak to someone. As the saying goes, the life you save just may be your own.

Peace,

From There to Here

As I mentioned in the previous post, 2016 brought with it a really good riding season for me.

I explored a lot of familiar territory in Frontenac, Lanark and Renfrew counties and I also explored some new areas in western Quebec.

I even took it a step further and explored the most remote regions of an entirely different country.

On an entirely different continent.

I suffered the usual mishaps: lots of low-to-no speed ‘offs’ (this is what we like to call it when we drop our bikes while moving at less than 10 kilometers an hour.)

The most impressive of those was an evening ice-cream stop in the Byward Market with Ryan. We decided to hooligan-park up on the sidewalk beside the Beavertail shack and I promptly dropped Betty to the sidewalk while hopping the curb. My pride wasn’t too sorely injured though – there were only about a hundred onlookers, hahahaha...

Of course the most dramatic of my mishaps occurred on the above-referenced out-of-country adventure.

Myself and 5 other riders met in Quito, Ecuador to take part in one of the incredible adventure-riding packages offered by Ecuador Freedombike rentals.

On day 3 of a 6 day ride I sent my DR650 into a low-side slide at approximately 50 or 60 km/h, which ended in a spectacular high-side and me flying through the Ecuadorian rain forest like a howler monkey.

The bike took a bit of damage. I took a bit of damage. The adventure continued.

You can read all about that trip, and see some pretty great photos here if you wish.

I took part in the Fundy Adventure Rally for the second year in a row. (and broke my 3^rd rib of the season)

I went to the Horizons Unlimited Ontario event and was given the opportunity to present on my Trans-Lab adventure of the year before.

I traveled to the most remote regions of northern and eastern Quebec, completing one of the most iconic motorcycle adventure rides on the North American continent – the Trans Taiga.

I dipped Big Ethel into the frigid waters of James Bay.

I mean, it was a really great season.

I intend to highlight some of last season’s adventures over the next few posts, but I also want to highlight some of the other bits of life that have happened since August of 2015.

After all, it isn’t all rainbows and puppy dogs. Or motorcycles and good times.

For now, know that I am happy here, behind the keys, sharing some of my life with you. I am learning more and more that it is not what we have, but what we give away – or share – that matters most.

You have the luxury of deciding to stop reading whenever the thought occurs.

I have the luxury of having lived, and enjoying the catharsis of writing.

I have had a wonderful day today, and my hope is that you have as well.

Peace.

Here I go again on my own . . .

Man, time sure does fly. . .

It has been a really long time since I last posted to this blog.

Not because I have had nothing to say. In truth I have said quite a lot.

But I was saying it here, on my other blog. A blog that my friend James and I started in late 2015 as an experiment, or maybe a project is a better term for it.

James was looking to expand his skill set at the time, and website design was something that he thought might be fun.

When asked if I would like to have a website created and maintained, basically for free – his guinea pig, if you will – I readily accepted.  I mean, let’s be honest, even if it didn’t work, I’d lose nothing, and stood to gain, well, a really nice website.

And a really nice website is exactly what James created.

A place to host a new blog, write product and equipment reviews, host a photo and video gallery and so much more.

We had about 10 followers that first week – some of you among them.

By the time we go around to posting the blog and video’s of my Ecuador Adventure, we were up to over a thousand.

James created a truly great site for the adventure-interested motorcycle rider, and also for the aficionado of the Dakar rally.

His in depth background, and personable coverage of the 2016 Dakar is, I dare say, amongst the best to be found on the entirety if the world-wide web.

And then, we went quiet.

The 2016 riding season unveiled itself from beneath the receding snow of a winter that came in softly and gently, and became truly brutal in its longevity.

By late April I was itching to ride, and riding is exactly what I did. 

Some 30,000 kilometers rolled beneath my tires before Mother Nature once again forced my hand, and demanded that my bikes be stored yet again while she threw us into another long, cold season of discontent.

It was another great season of riding for me, and it was a great summer for adventure of a different kind for James.

You see he likes Zodiacs in much the same way as I like bikes.

Which is to say that during the warm-weather months James lives on the water.

And so it was that we let the ADVJOE website gather dust. We were both just having way too much fun pursuing our passions to stop and hunker down over the keyboard.

And now, here I am. Back where I started, and in some ways, back where I belong.

You see, I thought, for a while at least, that it would be really cool to have a world class adventure motorcycling website – and in truth it was.

But it takes a lot of work. I mean, it really, really takes a lot of work. And you kinda need to know something about building, designing, promoting, supporting and maintaining a website.

Of which I know very, very little.

So the ADVJOE website will continue to gather a little dust. Not entirely ignored, mind you. I just have to decide what to do with it. I may pare it way down, and simply use it as my motorcycle adventure-related blog site. I just don’t know yet.

I do not have the skills to maintain the website as it is, with all of it's various plug-ins and radio buttons and grapple grommets and filbert flanges.

But I do know how to write. I can put together a fairly interesting blog post, add some interesting pictures, and in doing so satisfy my need to share some facet of my life and my adventure with the world on a very small scale.

And just maybe, satisfy the craving of the odd reader or two for inspiration. Wanderlust. Adventure. Introspection.

A hell of a lot has happened since I last tapped these keys.

Over the coming weeks, and months I intend to share a lot of those happenings with you.

It feels good to be back.

Joe

Happy Birthday Mom...

There was a lot going on for me today. A myriad of thoughts, and emotions running through my brain and my heart.  

Today is my mom’s birthday. And I really miss her. She headed off on the next stage of her adventure – whatever that may be - a little less than a year ago.

And I have found myself missing her every day since. 

 

See, I am not entirely clear, even in my own thoughts, about what I believe happens after we leave this earthly existence. I just know that I do not believe it’s over.

And with that belief, I am able to feel mom close to me whenever I need her. And that suits me just fine.

So happy birthday mom. Whatever you did today, I hope that you enjoyed it.

But truth be told, my mom was not the only woman on my mind today.

No, this morning and early afternoon was reserved entirely for the new lady in my life, named Suzi (yes, as a tribute to my dear friend, Susie)

I picked her up from the dealership where I get all of my maintenance and repair work done – Motor Sports World – yesterday evening. The mechanics had completed her safety check, installed new rubber, chain and sprockets, and given her a clean bill of health.

And today was the day where we got to know each other a little better.

I spent a few minutes bolting on her Ontario licence plate, as well as an aluminum skid-plate, at 0730 this morning, and by 0815 we were gallivanting down River Road towards the Tim Horton’s in Manotick where I was to meet up with my buddy Jason.

We were going to go out and spend the day in the Limerick Forest, a favorite riding area of mine.

You may recall reading that Big Ethel and I have spent quite a lot of time riding in the Limerick – there are even a couple of videos out there in YouTube land I believe, but in truth they are pretty boring.

Today, however, was anything but.

Now, understand that Jason is a friend of mine. We have ridden together on a several occasions and I have always enjoyed it. Jason is a good rider, but he is not a dangerous rider, so I felt very secure in having him lead the way while my new mount, Suzi and I, followed his track.

Ya, my opinion of Jason began to change rather quickly. I guess he decided that trial-by-fire was the only way to go, because less than 100 meters after entering the Limerick forest on a two-track, atv-type trail Jason had veered off into the woods on a single track rut through trees barely wide enough to allow my handle bars to clear.

Muttering under my breath while doing my best not to lag too far behind, I finally decided to just relax and let Suzi do her thing. She is, after all, a much more nimble – and svelte – machine than Big Ethel is. Almost 200lbs lighter, with an off-road setup and almost 11 inches of ground clearance, Suzi is able to do a whole lot of things that Ethel just can’t. But then, that is why I got her, after all.

I began to get comfortable with the terrain – and Suzi – quite quickly, and before we had completed a second circuit through the bush loop I was able to keep up with Jason quite well. I stopped calling him very rude names under my breath, and began really paying attention to his line and riding style, deciding that the old axiom rings true.

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

Well, approximately 4 hours later, I was done. Wiped. Spent. Exhausted. Wore-the-fuck-out.

I had discovered on a couple of different occasions just how much easier Suzi is to pick up than Big Ethel, and found myself very happy with her mannerisms and capabilities – though let’s be honest, it is my capabilities that need work – I cannot even approach all of the things that Suzi is very capable of doing.

Yet.

Today’s ride was an amazing introduction into the world of true dual-sport riding for me. And I have to say, I absolutely loved it.

I am going to practice as much as I can over the next few weeks, and then Suzi and I are off to the Fundy Adventure Rally where I will attempt to really stretch her legs, and see what she’s got.

Big Ethel, I mean no disrespect. You are still my #1 dance partner – Suzi will never compare to your moves in the twisties.

And mom, I miss you daily, and love you with all of my heart.

Happy Birthday.

             

There have been some changes...

I must apologize for neglecting this blog, and my faithful readers.

I have been focused on a new project - one more centered on the main passions in my life - adventure motorcycle riding and travel.

My friend James decided, about a month ago, to learn a new skill-set. He decided that he wanted to become well versed in the art of website design and development, and subsequently asked if he could use me, and my adventures, as his first project.

Well, I can tell you that the results are nothing short of amazing.

James has created a website for me, http://advjoe.ca/ that is so much more than just a place for me to host my blog.

With James' know-how (and very quickly broadening skill-set) and my passion for writing, this new website is growing into a wonderful new project write before my eyes. (did you catch that-  pretty smooth, huh?)

There are product reviews, posts about my adventures, photos, links to adventure-motorcycle related media and events, and much, much more is yet to come.

But where does that leave my first born, this blog that allowed me - no, invited me, to delve into the arena of writing for readership?

Not to worry. What I've Learned Along The Way will continue to be the place where I post from my heart.

My more personal, close-to-home-and-heart writings about my life, my love's and my continued rambunctious journey through this wonderful second-chance-at-life will be hosted right here, right where they belong.


I will get back to writing more about addiction, and the recovery there-from, and the beauty that resides in an awakening.

My motorcycle-related writings, however, will live in a larger, more welcoming new home that has been designed and built around them, and for them.

I hope that you find something of interest in both places, and will do my best to give you just that.

So thank you, for your continued patience. I invite you now to come along, join me in this adventure that is life. . .

Hello, are we reaching?…

Have I mentioned that wifi is spotty? That in general, the internet service east of Quebec kinda sucks?

Ya, well…it does.

So I have been keeping a hand written journal. And I am now almost 60 pages in…

So, let’s catch up a little, shall we?

When last we spoke, I had just arrived in Cheticamp at The Cornerstone Motel owned by my friends Greg and Cathy. I will continue from there - adjusting the post dates to reflect when these should have gone up...

Greg and Cathy bought the property in Cheticamp 2 years ago after basically selling everything they owned and leaving Ottawa in a leap of faith to pursue their dream.

The motel, and the home that also sits  on the property, were run down and in disrepair. Both were in need of some love and attention.

And from what I saw over the 2 days while I was there, Tripper ‘n Tomboy are exactly the right couple for the job.

Part of the Canadian Motorcycle Cruisers, or CMC, riding family, Greg (Tripper) and Cathy (Tomboy) had a dream of opening a motorcycle-friendly motel somewhere scenic and where the niche existed to be filled.
They looked throughout Ontario and found nothing that made them feel home, or that did not require a minimum half-million dollar investment.

So they thought outside the box.Or at least, outside of Ontario...

If you want to own and operate a niche-market enterprise like a motorcycle-friendly motel, why not look to motorcycle-traveller hotspots?

The Cabot Trail is as hot a motorcycle-traveller location as you are likely to find in Canada, and the Cornerstone Motel was just sitting there, waiting to be found.

The new owners of this beautiful little piece of Cape Breton Island are bikers. Both share a passion for experiencing the open road on 2 wheels, and they will, therefor, no doubt be successful in their endeavour.

 As a matter of fact, though not yet ready to operate at the full capacity of 17 rooms, the 11 rooms that are ready were all sold out both Thursday and Friday nights.

Greg and Cathy both had a smile, and I am sure they shared a moment in private – the realization of a dream – as they hung the No Vacancy sign.

Well done my friends. You deserve the best, and your hard work is bringing it to you.


I encourage you, my few faithful readers, to please stop in at the Cornerstone Motel in Cheticamp should you ever find yourself there. And if you know anyone who is planning on riding the Cabot Trail, there is no better staging location. The motel sits literally 500 meters from the entrance to the park.


And two of the view just as you enter the park, less than 3 minutes from the motel…

Next up…riding the Cabot Trail…

Life, love, death, and where do we go from here?

Seems like I only tap away at the keys anymore when something substantial happens. Not that there is anything wrong with that – it just seems like some of my drive to write has disappeared on me, only surfacing when I have something that I really need to get out.

So here goes.

Today is October 10, 2014. Or, as I will always remember it, 10-10-14. More truthfully, I will always remember it as the day on which the most wonderful woman in my life ventured off on the next stage of her journey.

My mom passed away at 08:55 this morning.

And I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Which may sound odd – harsh even. But consider this. I had the privilege of spending each and every day for 3 months with mom while recuperating from my broken ankles. 3 meals per day. Visits with each-other that many, if not most adult children and their parents do not have the opportunity to experience. And enjoy.
I mentioned to my friend Alex this evening just how fortunate I am to have broken my ankles.

I love the way the universe works. ‘Cause I gotta say if it were not for that accident I would be stricken with guilt right now about how little time I had made for my mom.

Life gets so busy. And we just get so caught up in it all. Never realizing that which we have missed unless some kindred spirit points us towards that which we did not notice.

I am more fortunate than many – I have learned some of these lessons in a manner which resonates so completely with me that I have incorporated safeguards into my daily life that force me to smell the roses, and see the forests.

The most obvious of those is of course my passion for motorcycle riding. I am the first to admit that riding motorcycles is most definitely a form of self-medicating. I am no longer destroying my soul and everything good that comes near to me, but I am most definitely still self-medicating. And that is as much effort as I wish to put towards pondering that little nugget right now.

Anyhow, back on point – it is through this particular form of self-expression that I also find myself closest to my own personal understanding of God. I feel a connection with the world around me, and the universe when I am riding my motorcycle that is unlike anything I have experienced through any other form of seeking or meditation.

There is a oneness that  I am not well able to describe, at least, not at the  moment.

I am of course, on another motorcycle adventure. Just as I did when my father passed away, I packed up my bike and took off to be with mom. With my thoughts. With God.

And this time, with a friend. My buddy Alex and I planned a long weekend adventure several weeks ago.

 Mom would most definitely been upset with me if I had cancelled it due to her dying. “I am already gone for Christ sakes” are the words I would have heard had I decided to wallow in grief in my apartment.

So instead, I am riding through western Quebec, following some of the roads less travelled. Enjoying the fresh fall temperatures. The vibrant autumn foliage. The incredible awe of the world that surrounds me.

And mom is sitting pillion right behind my.
Smiling from ear to ear.

I love you mom. More than words can say.
Peace.

It’s kind of like ‘Misery’, without the sledgehammer……

 

Those are the words that my sister wrote on the cast on my right leg.

Yes. I have been hobbled. And thankfully, that is just my sister’s sense of humour. Because she has been an absolute godsend through this ordeal.

I have to tell you that I have a new found respect and appreciation for anyone suffering a physical disability. Going from fully-abled to having lost the use of my legs – even if only temporary – is a jarring new reality.

The fact that I am able to make the best of it is less a testament to my nature and positive outlook, and more a reliance on the idea that this is in fact, only temporary.

I am not sure where my emotional and mental barometer would be had I lost both of my feet. But I am fairly certain that it would not have me eagerly tapping away on my laptop to furnish you with another post in my blog, feeding my ego and satisfying my urge to write in one fell swoop.

So. Let me try to incorporate a lesson into this, my own one-sided mental discourse with you, my readers.

The lesson that I am going to try to illuminate is one that I feel cannot be taught, spoken of or illustrated enough.

It is the importance, nay, the critical nature, of wearing all of the proper motorcycle gear all of the time.

I was missing one piece of gear when I had my accident. I was not wearing fully armoured leather riding pants. Not even leather chaps. In fact, I was wearing denim jeans. So, lets take a look at what I was, and was not wearing and examine the effects of my choices that morning.

On top of my noggin – brain pan – skull was my Bell Pit Boss helmet. A light-weight helmet designed and manufactured by an industry leading company, it cost about $150.00. .

Certainly not what you might refer to as expensive. And yes, I made the conscious choice to wear a 1/2 lid. DOT approved, this helmet did its job completely. My gray matter remained inside of my skull. In fact, I did not even suffer any bruising, let alone a concussion

On this occasion, circumstance allowed me to save face. Literally.

I will not test the fates in that fashion again, and going forward you will see me in a full face helmet only.

On my torso I was wearing my Scorpion Stinger EXO fully armoured leather motorcycle jacket. Weighing almost 12 kilos, it is anything but lightweight. There is armour in all of the critical locations, including a semi-rigid back plate.

I landed on the asphalt on my upper back / shoulders after colliding broadside with a car at 70 km/h.

My Bell helmet and my Scorpion jacket took all of the impact with the asphalt.

And as I lay here writing this, I want you to know this: the very first thought to go through my head immediately after my body came to rest on the asphalt was – ‘wow, that could have been a lot worse’.

I suffered no bruising to my back or shoulders whatsoever. No concussion. No tenderness to my skull or scalp.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Almost as though I had not been in an accident at all.

As already mentioned, on my legs I was wearing a pair of Jeans. Solid, heavy-weight Levis, but jeans nonetheless.

The left leg of my pants was sliced from knee to shin (as was my left leg) by the top, trailing edge of my windshield.

That is why, dear reader, I will be wearing chaps of fully armoured leather riding pants in the future.

On my feet I was wearing my 3 year old pair of Exustar model E-SBT 120W motorcycle boots. They come about 1/2 way up to my knee, are rigid and very snug. They feel a lot like a downhill ski boot when they are on, which is the way they are designed.

They keep everything in place. So although I suffered multiple fractures in my ankles, there were no green-stick breaks; no torsion breaks; no ligament damage; so ‘shattered’ bones. Just a few clean, aligned fractures that were the result of my ankles hitting my handle-bars at 70 km/h.

Had I been wearing street shoes, or even ankle-high riding boots, I could very well have lost both feet.

I imagine shifting without a left foot is challenging. As challenging as using the back brake pedal without a right foot.

I will wear these boots again. And my next pair of riding boots will be of a similar height, weight and design. No question.

Finally, on my hands I was wearing my fully armoured leather Z1-R Reaper motorcycle gloves. They are far from expensive at only $28.00 / pair, and I admit that after about 18,000 kilometers of riding the stitching was starting to let go on the tip of the thumbs – but they have solid armour on all knuckles and pretty heavy padding on the palms. And in the case of my accident, my hands suffered not even a scratch.

 

I have been guilty, in the past, of riding a short distance in my Nike’s. And only a T-shirt on my torso.

I have taken my jacket off in 30 + degree temperatures and stowed it in my saddle bags while riding through the Laurentians, or down Tatlock road.

I will not do so again.

And I urge you…no, I implore you – please, do not sacrifice safety for comfort. Or worse, for the ‘cool’ factor.

On hot days, if fully armoured leather is just too much for you, then spend a little extra money on a high-quality (and Hi-Viz) convertible, armoured nylon riding jacket.

Joe Rocket, Tour Master, Spartan, Icon, AGV, and Scorpion are just a few of the companies that make a superior product that will help to keep your skin where it belongs – on your body.

The decision to wear tight-fitting, armoured, below-the-knee riding boots is as easy as deciding if you enjoy walking.

We are a class of people who have discovered that we are truly at peace, and truly happy, while pursuing one of the most inherently dangerous forms of self-expression out there. We ride motorcycles. It is in our genes. It is in our blood. It is in our souls.

In this area, we have a single obligation to ourselves, and to our loved ones. To pursue that passion as safely as we can.

Get out there and ride!

Peace.

It’s been awhile…

I have been away for quite sometime.

Hmmmm…

There was a time when that meant one thing, and one thing only.

Thankfully, that is no longer the case. Being arrested, locked up, in custody, in jail, going to court, facing remand, pleading my case….

All things that I remember well. And I remain grateful that today, they are not part of my life.

I am also grateful – believe it or not – that they once were a part of my daily existence. The chaos. The uncertainty. The unbelievable amounts of stress. The pain, and heartache. The darkness.

For they all helped to bring me to where I am today. To shape the man that I am now, and the man that I will become tomorrow. To provide perspective. Contrast. Point of view.

I am looking out of the window of my apartment in Vanier, lamenting the mid-March blizzard that has befallen us. Pining for the warmer weather, the melting of the snow, the cleansing rains of spring – all so that I may once again climb into the saddle of my iron steed and commence yet another season of travels, explorations and discoveries.

God I miss my bike.

Yet neither of these two facets of my life are what brought me back to the keyboard.

No. What brought me back to writing this blog is love.

And my absolute joy about being free to accept it. And to give it. To feel it, and acknowledge it. To learn of it, and grow with it.

Susie brought me back to you, my friends and fellow travelers.

You remember Susie. I introduced you to her on May 30 of 2012, just as I was preparing to head off on my Epic Motorcycle Adventure to the Rockies.

During that trip out west, I made a lot of discoveries. About myself and my life. About travelling the open road. About how infinitesimally small we are in the great big scheme of things. About the things that are important to me. About what friendship means to me.

And it was on that trip that I came to realize that I loved this woman.

Susie underwent 39 chemotherapy sessions between May of 2012 and December of 2013.

In December she was told that the chemo was no longer working.

This is the type of news that can, and often does precede the quick downturn and eventual death of stage 4 cancer victims.

Thankfully, Susie has never considered herself a victim. Nor have any of those who surrounded her and buoyed her through these last 2 years.

Susie and I became very close during this time. I expressed my love, Susie smiled and gave me the ‘I am flattered, but…’, and a friendship began to blossom that is quite unlike any that I have had before.
There is a great amount of information available espousing the undeniable benefits of laughter. And the healing power of love.

Susie and I have shared an inordinate amount of time engaged in belly-clenching, tears-streaming, gut-rolling laughter. And she has been surrounded by love every day. From her parents, her brothers and sister, her cousins, her boyfriend, her aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews – just an incredible number of people took the time to make sure that she knew – and knows – that she is loved.

On Friday, February 28, 2014 Susie underwent 9 hours of surgery.

Surgery that at least one surgeon tried to talk her out of. Because it was, in that surgeon’s words – a waste of time. Because Susie was certain to be filled with cancer – both old and new. According to the surgeon.
We protested. We invited the surgeon to consider quality of life aspects that may have been overlooked.

Having been told that chemo was no longer working, quality of life was Susie’s focus.

Several weeks and 9 hours of surgery later, that same surgeon came to address the family members who were present, as well as Susie’s boyfriend Mike and myself.

And the surgeon looked at each of us. Smiled. And said “it is really quite a miracle, actually.”

It seems that they found no disease, only scar tissue.

Susie’s stage 4 colon cancer – which at one point had metastasized and spread to her lung, liver, abdomen, lymph nodes and ovary – was no where to be seen.

Through 39 chemotherapy sessions this woman kept telling everyone that she was going to be fine.
Through more than half a dozen CT scans. Countless blood tests. Twice weekly visits to the Ottawa Integrative Cancer Center. Hair loss. Weight gain. The never-quite-gone looming darkness and fear of the disease.

Through all of it Susie kept her smile. Shared her laughter. Loved and received love.
There is an undeniable and incredible healing power that comes from within all of us and that is all of us. It is the one thing that can connect us to all that is and all that ever was. For thousands of years we have tried to ascribe ethereal identities and nomenclature to it. We have written rules to be abided by and oaths to be given. We have taught and been taught that it is a power to be deigned upon the deserving. The worthy. The righteous.

It is the power of love.

It is free. Just open your heart.

I discovered on my trip out west in 2012 that I was capable of loving another person as I do myself.
The greatest gift that I have ever received.

Matched very recently by a team of surgeons who said “she is doing great. It looks like she is going to be fine”

“I have always known in my heart that I was going to be okay” Susie said just the other day.

None of us is certain of what tomorrow holds. But today brought the promise of a tomorrow.
That is more than enough.

You are undeniably the strongest person that I have ever met Susie.
I love you. And am so very grateful to have you in my life.
Joe E.

Best Laid Plans, Really Great Roads…and Thanksgiving

I had a plan.

Really.

I did. I formulated it almost two weeks ago.

For the Thanksgiving long weekend, I decided that I was going to go on one last long-distance motorcycle adventure before the season rolled to a stop….drew to a close….came to an end….

You get the picture.

I have not yet gone on a long distance ride in an easterly direction. So, naturally, I decided that I was going to ride to Gaspe. And to the Bay of Fundy. And back. In three days.

I wisely booked the Friday of the long weekend off, allowing me to be back home on Sunday evening, and giving me a full day of rest on Monday before returning to work on Tuesday morning.

I planned on leaving early on Friday morning, and riding all the way to Gaspe – or as close as I could make it – before once again – and for a final time this year – setting up my Hennessy Hammock and sleeping in the great outdoors. I would then spend Saturday touring the area, getting side tracked at every available opportunity, and eventually begin the ride home either late Saturday afternoon, or early on Sunday morning.

The weather forecast, when I originally dreamed up this cockamamie scheme, was lousy. Rain, and highs of 7 or 8 degrees were what I could expect, according to the most maligned of public whipping-posts, the weather forecasters, of two weeks ago.

I was not to be swayed. Every time that a friend or colleague asked me what my plans were for the long weekend, my reply was a grin, and ‘riding to Gaspe – you?’

A ‘good lord’, and a shake of the head was the response that I most often received.

I think that a good many people may perceive me to be slightly crazy.

And that’s okay. Kind of gives me a little leeway to, well, be a little crazy.

The weather forecast, as you are not doubt very well aware, changed. As it sometimes does. And quite drastically, too. Highs of 20, 21, and 23 degrees. And lots of sunshine.

Thank you, oh wise weather sage, for being so wonderfully, beautifully wrong.

So. A good plan. A researched route. Likely fuel and food stops laid out. Weather that was too nice to even wish for. A finely tuned and eager steel steed with a freshly changed oil and filter.

Why, then, are you reading this now? As early as Saturday night?
“He must be blogging from his phone”.
“He decided to bring his laptop and is sitting in a Tim Horton’s somewhere north and east of Quebec City”.
“He decided not to hammock-camp after all”.

No. Nope. And unh-uh.

As is so often true, and as Robert Burns so cleverly penned, the best laid schemes, of mice and men, often go awry…

And though my plans most certainly did change, I cannot say that I am disappointed. Nor left wanting. For I was needed here. To be a friend. And to offer company, distraction, humour and understanding. As the case may be.
You see, Susie continues to valiantly – and successfully – wage her battle against cancer. She has had 36 chemotherapy treatments. Yet she is still able to soldier on, wear a smile, offer a kind word, and quite nonchalantly tell you that she is going to be fine.
All the while, friends who are also suffering from this despicable disease are dying around her.
And so it was that Susie found out, early Friday morning, that she had lost yet another friend and fellow cancer-fighter on Thursday evening.

The Gaspe adventure became very unimportant, very quickly.

I spent all of Friday with Susie. Watching. Listening. Learning. And thanking God that I am able to be ‘that person’ for her.
By days end, we had joined with my other best friend – James – and headed off for that ultimate form of distraction – a Hollywood blockbuster and butter-soaked popcorn.
Tom Hanks does not do bad movies. And ‘Captain Phillips’ is on par with his best. An excellent film, full of tension, that keeps you interested right up until the closing credits.
It was a great end to a wonderful, though at times emotional and heavy day.

Driving home, I figured that I could still squeeze one heck of a long ride out of the long weekend. Maybe just not all the way to Gaspe.

How about Val D’Or?

Yeah. Why not? Seemed logical to me.

And then I received a phone call from another friend, sharing some of her recent good news and asking me what my plans were for Thanksgiving. To which I replied that I had no set plans, other than taking a nice long motorcycle ride.

At which point I was invited to Thanksgiving dinner. On Sunday. In Cornwall.

A pretty lady. Turkey. Stuffing. Need I say more.

Yes – I admit – I am shallow as a puddle at times
.
So I arise bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning, all set to head out on the road to Val D’Or – which, not coincidentally, happens to be the birth place of my father – and I started thinking about all that I have to be thankful for.

An hour later I was on my bike, heading to Chesterville, to be with my mom.

I stayed through lunch, repeatedly bugging mom to eat a little more of this, or finish the last two bites of that, living my childhood all over again, yet in reverse, and realized that this was always going to be part of my Thanksgiving weekend. Even when I did not yet know it.
We had a great visit – and I am going to do something for which I will likely get a smack – and post a pic of my beautiful mom, right…..
….here.I love you mom.

As you have already gathered – my riding plans changed yet again. And this time, I got smart. I did what has always worked for me in the past.
I made no plan. Picked no destination. Checked no maps.
I just filled up the tank, and followed my front tire, allowing the bike, and whimsy, to take me on the adventure that I was meant to ride.

And oh, what a ride it was.

I headed across the river, into Quebec, and followed the 50 to Montee Paiement. I had not travelled this route yet this year, and Montee Paiement always brought a smile to my face and a twist to my wrist last year, so off I went, scooting along her curves, over her hills and through her valleys.

This is a route that is definitely not for the faint-of-heart, or brand-new-to-riding type of motorcycle rider. The asphalt is old and cracked. There are potholes. And bumps. And lots of road-snakes. But man oh man what a ride. Montee Paiement ends at the 366 – a route that I absolutely love, and have written about prior – so it was with a smile from ear to ear, full of anticipation, that I swung left and headed north on Route du Carrefour. The asphalt is smooth. The curves are frequent, but not overly technical, and the hills come at you like whoop-de-doo’s on a motocross track. Add in the blazing colors of the fall foliage, the just perfect temperatures and the warm golden glow of the autumn sunshine and you will begin to understand how easy it is to lose yourself, becoming one with your machine and the road and all that surrounds you, dancing the beautiful dance.

In no time at all I was at the 366 / 307 junction. And this time, instead of heading south on the 307 as I usually do, I headed north yet again. On a route that I had only been on once before. The 307 north, Route Principale, is another wonderful motorcycle road. It will challenge even the most seasoned of riders, and the scenery through which the ride takes place is breathtaking. The one and only time that I had been on this route previously had been during a group ride to Paltimore earlier this season. I vaguely remembered some of the sights along the way, and vividly remembered some of the pucker-inducing curves – yee haaaa!!!
I rode on past Paltimore, all the way up to Val-Des-Bois, stopping intermittently to snap a few pictures, and feeling absolutely at peace again. At Val-Des-Bois I crossed the steel trestle bridge and opted to ride the 309 back down to Gatineau. Which turned out to be a perfect choice, as the 309 is every bit as scenic as the 366 – 307 run is, yet it is far less challenging. The curves are long and sweeping, and the hills are likewise long and shallow, as opposed to the staggered hairpins that are the order of the day on the 307.

I highly recommend this route to everyone who rides. If you love riding your machine and challenging the road, the bike and yourself, then the 366 north to the 307 north to Val-Des-Bois is a must ride. And if you really like ‘em twisty and hilly, get off the 50 at exit 145 and ride Montee Paiement to the 366. You will not be sorry.

In the end, I only racked up about 350 kms – including the ride to see mom – but as it turned out, it was exactly the ride that I needed.

As I am often apt-to-do, I snapped quite a few pictures along the way. Most can be seen right HERE if you are interested.

Now, I have to make my dinner. Pulled pork sandwiches. Home made baked beans (thanks Al). Cole slaw. And bakery apple pie.

That and Netflix sounds like a perfect end to an amazing day.

Oh, and one more thing.

Fuck cancer!

Thanks for riding along,…

Riding, rally, and time travel…

 

Friday morning was so much nicer than Thursday morning. I was up early enough to watch a glorious sunrise over Lake Erie, enjoyed a breakfast of French-toast and coffee at the Sunset restaurant, and leisurely made my way further west along the waterfront trail. The ride from Turkey Point to Long Point is beautiful. A quiet little two-lane full of twisties and small dips and rises, it is a few minutes of pure riding pleasure.

All along the lakeshore, the scenery is beautiful, and one could easily spend a day exploring some of the small towns along the way. Port Rowan, Clear Creek, Port Burwell, Port Royal, Port Stanley, on and on traveling through some of the most scenic and picturesque little towns you are likely to see anywhere.

The locals told me that the ride from Turkey Point to Sarnia is roughly 2 1/2 hours. Being very good at finding the longest distance between two points, it took me closer to six. And I loved each and every minute of the ride.

I finally pulled onto the 402 from Port Stanley and headed toward Sarnia, thinking that if I did not hit the big highway I would surely end up traveling the more scenic waterfront trail until sometime in November, and well, I had to be at work on Tuesday, so...

I headed up the 402 and pulled off when I saw the sign for Grand Bend. A few people had mentioned that this was one spot that I had to stop, the scenery being quite exceptional in the form of bikini wearing sun worshippers. So I decided to make the detour,....

A few minutes of riding up highway 21 brought me up behind another pack-laden rider. Naturally assuming that he too was headed for the CMC Rally, I fell into an easy-paced staggered position to his right and carried on.

When we passed the sign indicating that the town of Forest was a mere 24 kilometers away I realized that my being distracted by thoughts of sun-bronzed beach babes had actually caused me to get off the 402 precisely where I needed too. See, the rally that I am attending, while hosted by the 016 Sarnia chapter, is actually being held in Forest.

And then, synchronicity being what it is and all, I pulled up alongside my fellow traveller at a stoplight and was greeted by the broadly smiling face of ‘Pusher’ – a fellow member of the Ottawa 016 chapter – with whom I had just had dinner at a meet and greet 2 weeks prior.

We cruised into the sleepy little borough of Forest and found our way to the fairgrounds, where perhaps 40 or 50 members were already lounging around fully equipped travel trailers, motor homes, RV’s and a few tents. We registered, shared some traveling stories with new friends, and then took to taking care of our own lodgings for the night. Pusher headed off to Sarnia, and I went to a local pharmacy to introduce myself to Debbie.

See, the CMC is a family oriented riding group of approximately 5,000 members across our great country. And family is always there to help...

In this particular instance, a couple of members from the host-chapter, the 016 Sarnia, opted to open their home to anyone who needed a placed to rest travel-weary bones. And I, being no fool, opted to accept their gracious offer.

Debbie and Ewen were spectacular hosts, offering a warm bed for the night and a hot shower in the morning as well as entirely enjoyable camaraderie and conversation. Ewen rides a beautiful Triumph Bonneville, and we managed to get out for a short scoot together, if only from his house to the fairgrounds where the rally was held. I truly hope to be able to return the hospitality one day!

I went back to the rally for breakfast Saturday morning – mingled with a bunch of my fellow Ottawa 011 members and several new friends from other chapters – and then....yes, it was time to go. I had remained virtually stationary for long enough – and Manitoulin Island was only a few short hours away.

The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind tour through the Georgian Bay – Manitoulin Island area, and I cannot stress this enough: if you have not yet had the opportunity to ride Manitoulin Island and to sail the Chi Cheemaun ferry, find the time to do so. The ferry acts as a sort of time-travel machine, taking you back some 20 years, and allowing a glimpse of what life was like at a slower, less digitally-enhanced pace. Manitoulin Island is the living definition of ‘laid-back’, and visiting her by travelling her arteries on a motorcycle was an experience I shall fondly remember, and repeat as needed.

I spent Saturday night camping in my Hennessey Hammock at a small but extremely well appointed camp ground that is less than a 1000 metres from the ferry landing, staring up at the most brilliant carpet of stars I can remember seeing since I was on the Mediterranean Sea, oh so many years ago. A hot shower at the campground, and a delicious breakfast at a small diner directly across the street set me off on a great start to an amazing day of riding. I covered the island, seeing all of the recommended bays, inlets and overlooks, and then headed north towards Espanola at about 2:30 in the afternoon.

Hennessey hammock camping

The ride home was a sort of ‘remember when’ all of its own, as I had made the same run last year on my way back home from the Rockies. Espanola – Sudbury – North Bay – Deep River – Pembroke – Arnprior – Ottawa, all in a little less than 7 ½ hours.

Some pics from the rally can be found here.

And pics from the journey are found here.

My apologies for taking a week to get this post up – I was riding when I could have been writing...

As always – thank you for riding along...

“Cat’s in The Cradle”, or more aptly titled,……….I love you dad

21:40 on June 21, 2013. That is the time, and the date, upon which my father died.

The end of the first day of summer.
And the end of a protracted period of suffering for a man that I loved.

And at times despised.
Admired. And often resented.
Feared. And respected.

My dad.

For all of his faults – real or perceived, observed or projected – he was the man who shaped much of the man that I was to become. The man who provided me with the foundations to build those parts that were to become my best, as well as my worst.

Let me tell you a little about my dad.

Dad was driven. Driven to succeed. And driven to excess. A self-made millionaire, he perpetuated the ideology of the ‘dream’ of our neighbours to the south. Starting from the hard-scrabble of nothing – and I truly mean nothing, if the stories that I heard as a child are to be believed – he forged his way into the world of business, proving to be a salesman that laid definition to the term, and discovered that he had a talent. And a tenacity. And that when these were combined – drive, talent and tenacity – my dad always succeeded.

In business, dad was virtually golden.

In affairs of family – and being a father – I thought that he failed miserably.

I learned at a very young age that I would never be able to be ‘good enough’ for my dad. To coin Stephen Stills, “I never failed to fail; it was the easiest thing to do”

And that remained true until the moment that I began to truly take responsibility for myself, and who I was, and began to stop blaming others. Mostly, my dad.

When I entered into the realm of recovery from a life of alcoholic drinking and drug addiction, the entire world in which I live began to change. Because I began to accept things as they are, and as they were. Rather than lamenting how I wished they might have been.

When I began to truly examine some of my own inner demons; my personal failings; my shortcomings and character defects, I began to be see them more objectively in my dad.
In beginning to understand myself, I started to understand a little more about the man who helped to raise me. About the man who tried his damnedest to love me, and managed his failings with anger.

I am 46 years old.
I have a work ethic that is second to no one.
My name is my bond. And my bond is golden.
I have a passion for learning that is nigh-on insatiable.
I am a voracious reader, and will devour everything from Whitman to King, Thoreau to Cervantes, Tolstoy to Koontz.
I am good at what I love. And I love what I am good at.
I am as dependable as a Saint Bernard, and as loyal to boot.

And all of these things I owe to my dad.

But that is not the best part.

No, the best part – the part that raises a lump in my throat and brings a tear to my eye as I type - is the other thing that happened when I entered into recovery.

I met my father. The man within the man who had always been my dad. And we talked, and we talked, and we talked……
We laughed. We cried. We hugged and in many ways we began to get to know each other for the very first time. And to love each other as I thought that we never would.

I have so much to be grateful for in my life. And nothing more so than the friendship that I was able to share with a man that I came to begin to know and understand in these last 7 years.
I am so very happy to know that my father loved me, and to have had the chance to let him know just how much his son loved him.

This one will always be ours dad. I love you man.

A loving son,

Peace

On public speaking; whimsy; and dancing the twisties…

The weekend of May 11 and 12 was a rainy, cold, no-riding weekend. We will not talk any more of that.

I did, however, buy mom some mum’s, and I visited with her over lunch of Wendy’s take-out. Mom and dad are both in a retirement residence now. Mom is thriving. Dad is dying. And so the story goes… 

On Wednesday, May 15 I was invited to speak at Algonquin College in front of a class currently studying in the Trauma and Addictions Recovery program. I am currently studying in my final course of this 22 course program, and I have enjoyed it thoroughly. So when one of my past teachers invited me to come and speak in her class I readily accepted.

Boy, I do love to talk, lol.  Starting at 6:00pm,I had planned on speaking for about 45 minutes, then answering questions for another 15 or 20 minutes, and being back home by 7:30pm.

Heather laughingly pointed to her watch when everything appeared to be winding down and chuckled, “see, I told you we would keep you until 9:00pm”
I really do have to focus some energy on turning this whole public speaking thing into a regular part-time gig. I am consistently vitalized by the experience.

This may sound strange – and out of context it would sound rather baffling – but I am so thankful to be an alcoholic and a drug addict. For I have realized gifts, and blessings, that so often go untapped. Un-awakened. Under-utilized. Unnoticed.

We truly are the lucky ones, those of us who have lived to tell the tale.

And then, quickly as that, the weekend was upon us. And a long weekend to boot. The weather forecast for Saturday was brilliant, and that was all that mattered.

A bunch of members from the riding group that I joined two years ago – the Canadian Motorcycle Cruisers, or CMC , Ottawa chapter - the 011 – had organized a ride to Mont Tremblant in the Laurentians for lunch, with a spectacular opportunity to dance the beautiful dance along highway 327 on the way back to Ottawa.

 A ride not to be missed, to be sure. We met at one of our regular points of departure – a Tim Horton’s in Orleans, and by mid-morning we were riding in formation along highway 148 in Gatineau on our way towards an exceptionally great day of riding, camaraderie and laughs. We ate lunch at the resort at Mont Tremblant – a couple of pictures are included below, and a link to the rest on my Photobucket page is HERE – and as always we had a great time, with a couple of really random moments, such as a group of young college girls – one a bride-to-be – approaching our table and asking if someone could get her a blow-job. I am afraid the rest of that story must remain on the mountain.



Ahem.

Sunday was another cool and rainy day. So I did what anyone would do in my situation, and spent 6 hours rendering and editing the video that I shot during our ride the day before.

If you are interested, you can watch it HERE.

Then, having completed that task, and wondering what to do next – it was still pouring rain, you see – I decided to start researching the painting of my bike on the internet. And before long, I was outside shaving the ‘American Classic Edition’ emblems off of my gas tank.

I have a new inspiration.

She is known as FLAT BLACK.

Rattle-canned, no less.
I plan on starting this project in earnest sometime this week. I will post photos and info as I go. I just hope that at no point do I scratch my head wondering what the hell I was thinking on that cold, rainy Sunday afternoon.

And finally, yesterday, the holiday Monday of the Victoria Day long weekend, several members once again got together to ride. We had originally planned on heading out to Westport – always a great ride – but plans changed, as they are so often apt to do, and we instead headed into Gatineau. We rode the 105 up to Wakefield and stopped for lunch before continuing on up to Paltimore. And I have to say, the ride was amazing. I was re-introduced to a dance partner that I had not danced with in two years – Rue Principale 307 and chemin du pont in Paltimore. The curves were many, the twisties just right, and, to coin a song, ‘we danced. Like a wave on the ocean, romanced.’

I managed another 600+ kilometers during 2 days of riding. And writing about it makes me wish I was riding right now.

I will allow you two guesses as to why I am not.

One if you heard that thunder-clap.


Thanks for continuing to ride along. Stay dry, and keep the rubber side down.

I am back, and not a moment too soon….

Hello again. To those of you who are still here, and still reading – thank you. For your patience. And for thinking you may still come across something worthwhile. I hope not to let you down, but let’s be honest. I write for the catharsises of writing. And after the last 6 or 7 weeks, I need to write.

Some of you know me on a personal level. Are familiar with my story – in greater detail than I have written here. And I dare say, a couple of you may have been kind of cringing after my last couple of posts. “What the hell is he thinking?”  - or – “Joe, no. You know you can’t be that guy / do those things”.

I had to go through it. I had to re-learn a few truths. I had to re-visit some old behaviours – live in old patterns – experience old hurts – to remember – no, to be reminded. Reminded of the man, and boy, that I used to be. And to know, again, that I never need be that man, or child. Again.

I spent most of my life – and all of my adult life, seeking relationships with women that I could ‘save’, in one way or another. It was being that knight in shining armour that defined me. That provided me with that all important yet never concrete sense of self.

I allowed myself to live that experience again recently. And it was so not necessary. Or, was it? Yes, in truth, I guess it was absolutely necessary. Because it has allowed me to be who, and where, I am right now – or, write now, if you will, heheheh.

As I wrote in my last post, Mona has always had a very special place in my heart. I love her very, very much.

I forgot that, in truth, that is enough. And I tried to do, and be, so much more. I engaged in all of my old, classic using-behaviours. Well, except for actually using. Thank God.

I put myself in a position where I was vulnerable. That in itself is not a bad thing. It is a part of growth. Getting out of our ‘safe-zone’ and taking a chance or two. It actually felt very liberating to experience that vulnerability again. However, I forgot to keep my eyes as open as my heart. And I completely forgot to pay attention to me. And my own sense of self. My peace. My serenity. I went back to the old belief that I need to have that defined for me by another.

I forgot that loving someone need not involve expectations. As a matter of fact, in my opinion, loving someone means not having expectations. Accept them for who they are. And love them unconditionally.
Mona has accomplished quite a lot over the last 6 weeks. And I am very happy – even honoured – to have played a role in those successes.

So, this one is not all about you Mona. (That’s a bit of an inside joke – some of you will get it – others will think they do)

But it is about how very grateful I am to have gone through this often beautiful, always exciting, sometimes shitty experience with you.

I have come through the other side with a renewed understanding of who I am – and a whole raft of those ever-present ‘remember when’s’.

I have come to truly know that I am not only capable of loving another, but that I am also capable of loving myself. I have learned that I am willing to take those chances of the heart. To allow myself to be vulnerable, and in doing so experience some of life’s most precious moments.

And I have come to know that no matter what – regardless of the crap that may be tossed at us, or the moments of anguish that we may find ourselves experiencing – love does not end. It does not die, and it does not stop merely because life changes.

I have an absolutely amazing friend in a beautiful woman named Mona. A woman who is going through some struggles. Changes. Peaks and valleys.

Our friendship has deepened.

I love you Mo.

And I am very happy to be back in touch with me.

Andre M, I wish to thank you so very much for reaching out to me, and asking me to be of assistance to you. For in truth, you helped me more this morning than you could possibly know. Thanks brother.

My name is Joe. I am a very happy man. With a very good life. And more wonderful people in it than I ever thought that I could deserve.

I merely forgot that for a moment.

Thank you for being there for me. And God Bless.

Wow. What a day.

Peace.

Crepes in the Dark

It sometimes still amazes me how much can happen in as little as a week.

Especially when all of the stuff that normally happens in a week, still happens.

This one is all about surprises. The endearing gratitude that comes from realizing the unimaginable. And ‘who’da thunk-it’ moments.

I first met my friend Mona in the early part of 1998. More than 14 years ago. Two seriously screwed up individuals travelling a similar journey through the hell of addiction and all of the chaos that it entails.
And our paths crossed.

We hit it off pretty good from the beginning. A shared sarcastic, generally unflattering view of humanity. An evil laugh. Strength to roll with whatever life tossed at us. An ability to see trouble coming and generally get out of its way. Not always, but…

I was, shall we say, enamoured with Mona from the moment that I met her. I have always been attracted to a strong female personality, and they don’t come any stronger. It didn’t hurt that she was 5’ 9” of blond-ish bombshell either.

So I did what a lot of half-way intelligent men might have done in my position. I made sure not too piss her off, lol. And we became friends. Over time, really close friends. We shared some experiences that would make most of you cringe. But we also shared a lot of laughter. Something not very common in the living-in-the-sewers-of-life that crack addiction actually convinces us is plush and fabulous.

Then, years later, I gave up on ‘the life’. I was not strong enough to do it any more. I was broken and needed help to be put back together. And I was tired enough to ask for help.

My asking for help was, of course, heard by the Ottawa Drug Treatment Court. It was exactly what I needed in order to have a fighting chance. And I began what has become the most incredible life experience that I knew I could never have. Thankfully, I was wrong about what I believed I could, and could not, ever have. Because believe me when I tell you that I most certainly never believed that I could have the life that I now live to the fullest every day.

So, where is all this going, you ask.

Well. Let me tell you.

Mona, as you know, has begun to reach out for help. And I have also written in past blogs that I consider myself very fortunate to be one of the people that Mona has reached out to.

This woman knows that I love her. And she is okay with that. As a matter of fact, I think that suits her just fine. Because Mona has been hurt and lied to and beaten down before, as any of us familiar with the lifestyle have.

 Trusting is difficult.

But Mona trusts me.

And that is pretty darned special.

When Mona needs peace. When Mona needs quiet. When Mona needs safety, she has it here.

We had no plans yesterday. I asked Mona if she wanted to see her mom.

“She lives all the way in the Laurentian’s” said Mona. “It’s too far” said Mona.

What a fantastic day. I have mentioned in the past about how much I enjoy riding in the Laurentian’s. Now couple that with the joy of watching a mothers’ face light up as the daughter that she has not seen in several months walks into her arms. And the look of pure admiration and gratitude that a woman might then send your way in thanks.

It is moments like these that make everything I have ever been through – every shitty situation – every jail cell – every homeless night – all worth while.

No sooner had we walked in the door than I was instructed to take a seat and enjoy some brunch.
Homemade crepes. Strawberries. Molasses and apricot jelly. Deliciously strong coffee.We spent several hours at a beautiful mountain chalet-style home engaged in conversation and laughter.

Enjoy it I did. Every moment. And so did Mona.

Ghislaine and Phillippe, thank you for opening your home and inviting me in.

I will bring Mona back very soon. Those moments are too valuable to miss.

Mona is a little less stressed recently. She is eating well too. If mom’s crepes at 0400 in the morning can be considered eating well.

Yes, I think so too.

I love you Mona. And I am so very proud of you.

So how was your day?

 

Just about everything can be categorized. Quantified. Evaluated and valued.

Placed into one column or another.

Even good news.

I mean, if your dentist tells you that you have no cavities, well, that is good news.

Your 10 year olds’ teacher gives you no reason to regret having kids – good news.

Your 16 year old daughter really did simply miss her period – good news.

The car salesman really was able to swing you a deal – good news.

You got that long awaited – or better yet – unexpected raise at work – good news.

Each of you probably has a different order of importance to these ‘good news’ items.

Then there is that whole other column. You know, the one were we try to imagine the feeling of “you won the 6/49” kind of good news.

When an Oncologist walks into an interview room smiling.

Yeah – that kind of good news.

I went with Susie to see her Oncologist this morning. I am not even the one fighting cancer and yet I was almost crying with joy over ‘good news’.

It seems that this woman whom I stand in awe before – this woman who can cause me to wonder at her incredible fortitude – this woman whom I love – has a big, brightly shining light at the end of her proverbial tunnel.

Some good news is just better than others.

We spent the rest of the day enjoying each others company. Sharing good food. Shopping for the pure pleasure of buying something nice.

Laughing. And both, in our own, unspoken way, being grateful.

……..and that’s not all………

It has been a week of good news.

I stopped in to see my sister on Wednesday. I wanted to drop off a birthday card and gift for my mom, and touch base to get the latest update on the less-than-enjoyable current family situation that I mentioned in my last post.

Well. Wonder of wonders. As easy as that, my parents have decided that the best ‘next step’ is for them to move into an assisted living residence.

Okay. Maybe not quite as easy as that. Maybe a little more along the lines of mom saying something like “I don’t know what you are planning, but I am going – I want this”, and dad realizing that his life-long partner meant what she was saying. So dad decided that he, too, is going to move.

Of course, if I had to guess, I would bet that to hear dad tell it, this was his idea all along.

Yes dad. Of course it was.

You may think that it is wrong, selfish, inappropriate for a son to be happy that his parents are moving into an assisted living residence. I assure you that this is far and away the best outcome. For mom. For dad. For my sister, who has placed her life on hold for the last 3 years to take care of my dad as he has progressively weakened.

It is sad. It is not easy. But it is most definitely for the best. And therefore it’s very own kind of ‘good news’.

And then there is Mona. My dear, fucked up, confused, scared friend Mona.

Mona is doing alright.

She doesn’t believe it yet. There are still too many unknowns. Too many possible bad outcomes. Too many things to fear. Too many reasons to have to count on others. Too possibly be let down.

Too little faith in herself.

But that is changing. Slowly, Mona is stretching.

“I know I have to start taking charge of my life, and soon” were the words written to me in a text this morning.

This, my friends, is what is known as a starting point. On the ‘wheel of change’ this is referred to as the contemplative stage.

It is also the beginnings of faith.

God bless you Mona. I love you hon – and will be there to help – or kick you in the ass – whichever the case may be.

I have been blessed in so many ways. A job that I love, which in truth is like being paid to do service work; a family that, screwed up as it is, is still able to make it through the shitty stuff without trying to tear each others throats out. And friends who are there for me, and who know that I am there for them.

It is an honour for me to know that I can be counted on. By me. And by others.

 

Wow. What a Monday, huh?

Up’s, down’s….and twisties!

 

I purposely stayed off the blog last week. Just to step back for a minute. Collect my thoughts. And decide just how personal and revealing it needs, or should be.

Still haven’t come up with an answer. So…..

Here we go.

I introduced you to my friend Mona the last time that I wrote. Things are pretty shitty for her right now. That is generally a given for us when we are active in our addictions and wanting to change.

It is not easy. As a matter of fact, it is really, really tough. I mean, imagine for a second, if you will, that someone has told you that the only way that your situation is likely to improve is for you to cut ties with virtually everyone who is currently a part of your life.

All of the people that you associate with on a daily basis – gone.

The people that you have convinced yourself are the only one’s who understand you – that you have come to call friends. Family. Lovers.

History.

The people that you KNOW, and that KNOW you – you have to say goodbye.

Could you do it?

Those of us who have spent our lives in the ever-darkening hell of active addiction generally have no choice but to do so. If we are to have even the barest of chances at survival and then growth into a new-found way of life, we must leave our old lives behind.

Separation anxiety, anyone? You’re damned right there is.

And that is where my friend is now. In the purgatory of desperately wanting to change, yet being stuck in the comfort of the familiar.

Having difficulty understanding this idea. Well consider this.

We are generally only afraid of the unknown. Of that which we do not yet understand. It is why the dark frightens most of us. Because we have no idea what lies in wait, with sharpened claws and dripping teeth, to cause us unbearable pain and torment.

Turn on a light – erase the shadows – show us that the path is clear and safe – and we are once again our happy-go-lucky selves, chuckling with bravado at our momentary lack of reason.

Well, my friends, the idea of recovering from a life-long addiction to drugs, and the associated lifestyles that go with it, often is that darkest of dark places. Because a life without drugs; without booze; without criminal behaviours and constant scamming - that is something that, for people like my friend Mona, and myself not so many years ago, is completely unknown. Something that we are not capable of understanding. Something that is very frightening. Precisely because we do not understand it.

Yet.

So my friend Mona is scared.

And that brings us to my current predicament.

You see, I have that understanding now. I have clawed my way from darkness and despair and I know first hand that it is all possible.

There was a time in my life – most of my life, actually – when I knew, just knew in my heart, that I could never have a ‘normal’ life. That I never would have peace. Quiet. Serenity. Happiness.

Everything that I knew, in the most tightly woven fibres of my being, that I could never have, I have since come to know and experience on a daily basis.

Every good thing that every other person had in their life – I now have in mine.

And I really want to help Mona to see this. To feel this. To believe this. To KNOW this.

I want her to trust that everything will be okay.

But my heart is involved here.I really care about this woman. So I have to ask myself – am I able to be selfless. To stay one step removed. To not fall further for her than I already have over the 14 years that we have known each other.

I don’t know.

And that is kind of scary.

I love you Mona. And I will do what I can. That much I can promise.

In other news………………

My dad is not doing well. He was in the hospital again last week. A fractured elbow suffered after yet another fall – this one resulting in him being found unconscious on the floor.

My brothers and sister and I are discussing next steps. It isn’t easy. Or pleasant.

On the up-side of things, though – Susie is doing really well. I mean, aside from the dozens of mosquito bites that she suffered last week, that continue to drive her out of her mind with their itchiness. Aside from that, things are good for Susie. No more fevers. No more unscheduled trips to the emergency room.

Wait a minute. Is a trip to the emergency room ever scheduled? No, I guess not.

Anyway, the point is that she continues to keep her chin held high, to laugh out loud, and to live life as fully as her situation allows. How could I not love this woman?

I am so proud of you Susie. Crazy about you too, but that is my issue, lol.

Finally, I have become the subject of an amateur photographer friend of mine. He has been experimenting with lenses, lighting and content over the past little while, and recently he snapped off a few of me and my bike.

I have to say, I am pretty happy with the results.

 

This picture comes pretty close to capturing the moment. And the magic.

You have to dance with the road – riding her curves – boogying through her twisties – to really get it. But this is pretty darned close.

I will post again next week. Or as the subject matter develops.

Be good to each other. And get out and RIDE!