I'm a little at sea about what to do about this blog. It started as a motivational tool to keep me practicing guitar and soon developed into an exploration of just why I spent so much time playing music when I never got paid, recorded or even played more than two gigs a year. I found an answer to that question and my motivation to write ebbed, as did my desire to play.
I can't really call myself a musician anymore. The band has folded and even if it hadn't I'm on the other side of the world. I don't practice as such, my only playing is strumming for my daughter, singing her #1 favourite: "Yummy Yellow Strap". Our routine is for me to play some simple changes she can shriek along with. Then I tune the guitar to a chord and she has a bash until the yellow strap on the guitar become more interesting, and tasty apparently, than the music. I then sing a couple of rounds of YYS and we move onto something equally fascinating, like chewing on junkmail or bashing empty boxes.
So what do I write about? I'm reluctant to become a daddy blog although that's a subject I have very strong feelings about. I'm not likely to become a cycling blog although that's a passion of mine for the last 20 years. I've never really felt the need to be exclusive in content, to the detriment of my hit count. I guess I'll just carry on as I have been, writing about the things that move me and things that I need to figure out.
In honour of Fritz's kind link here's the state of my cycling life.
I mentioned my dilemma about what I'm going to do for work in this dry, dry land. Since I wrote that post we went to the Victorian government department of small business. They were very encouraging about starting a cycling business. I got a bunch of handouts and have started reading them with an eye to compiling a list of questions for a professional to answer about owning and operating a small business. It's been pretty straightforward so far.
I'm uncharacteristically optimistic about this endeavour. During the day I'd have to describe my mood about it as positively cheery. At 3 in the morning whilst cradling a screaming Em, pacing the hall in a soothing march my doubts gnaw away, digesting all that yummy positivism. "What if I can't get financing?" "What if I get financing and can't make a go of it?" "Will I have to flee back to Canada or will I end up in debtor's prison?" "Will getting the LUC to smuggle me dope and cigarettes keep me from becoming some hairless felon's special friend?" "Will I ever get a decent night's sleep?" and so on.
I've also been wondering if my optimism is coming from somewhere else. You see, the light here is different. It's somehow cleaner, purer, like it's fallen straight from heaven unsullied by common air. I'm not the only one to notice this; I first read about it in Bill Bryson's book "In a Sunburnt Country." Mind you I didn't give it much credence, Bryson's book is as much a love letter to Australia as it is a travelogue, and those in love aren't the best of witnesses. Is this light illuminating things as really are, a celestial arc-lamp of truth? Can it be as easy as making the decision and putting in the work? Or am I being fooled, being sun-addled into risking money that I don't have, risking my daughter's future?
Ah well, self-doubt is a comforter I've had since my bike had 3 wheels and no brakes. Nevermind that it's ragged, faded and in bad need of washing. It's mine, and I won't be parted from it without throwing myself down and screaming until I turn blue.
As to actual cycling, I haven't done much since last September. Let's not talk about how large my waist has become. We brought our Brompton folders but the nearest town is 20k away, not too far to ride but too far to tote a 7 month old baby to. Everytime we go to Melbourne if find myself oggling the cyclists passing by to the point were I feel just a little dirty about it. I've taken to wearing sunglasses all the time and hoping that people assume I'm perving on all the pretty young things walking around. Speaking of which, unless something has changed drastically at home the girls here wear a lot less clothes than I'm used to. I'm terrified of Emlyn's teenage years, terrified.
Now, just in case I actually go through with this mad idea to start my own store I have some questions for you my gentle readers.
What was the worst experience you've had at a local bike store and what's the best?
I have my own ideas about what cycling retailers do right and wrong but a sample of one is pretty paltry.