Got him to the station on time today but that is a story for next
message. Back to my hermit monk existence and not minding my solitude
one iota. Fondestos, Love and Cheers, Dad/Patrizzio/Nanny/Chauffeur and
Psychiatrist all rolled into one tasty chocolate
croissant, with a magnum of malt on the side!!!!
Started to worry when I descended onto a concrete ford over a dry stream bed as the crossing here was very rough, more potholes and wash-outs than I'd seen to date. Nevertheless I plugged up the other side, dodging broken pavement, as I went. Didn't help matters that aout half-way up the faily steep grade a mountain biker, a young woman, came hurtling down the lane, such as it was, and gave me a rather strange look as she whizzed by. Soon found out why when I crested the hill as I was now riding on a rough, very rough gravel/sand track that ran through and along the edges of vineyards. While some might think this a very romantic situation, it was not, given my tires. had I been on a mountain bike, I'd have been fine but as it was, I had a very hard time to keep from being stalled by the soft sand or worse, being pitched to the ground as my rear wheel fishtailed whenever I had no alternative but to plough through the loose aggregate. I was immediately reminded of a stretch of the Kettle Valley Railroad I'd cycled with Flamin' and Sarge, a number of years ago. I was not a happy camper and cursed myself, under my breath, for choosing to follow my nose, in this instance.
Still, nothing for it but to plug on so that is what I did. Bit disheartening as I could see no end to the rough path and aside from quite possibly having to dismount, (Horror of Horrors!), I really had no idea where I was. After a nerve wracking eternity I spotted a small car running perpendicular to me so I hoped, prayed, that there was tarmac ahead. It turned out that there was and I was soon on a better surface though this lane was in very rough shape itself. I had to keep my wits about me as tried to avoid gaping pot holes and rotten pieces of tarmac and sometimes washouts filled with nothing but the fine sand I'd dreaded earlier. Still, It was easier going, by and large, and to my surprise I soon found myself in Bassan, the town I was looking for after I had reached Servian.
Stats for today's ride:
How Come You Never Caught This Guy????????????
Former UBC professor escapes hefty fine
►
RAW: Library book 47 years overdue 3:04
|
A former University of British Columbia professor has returned a book 47 years overdue and managed
to avoid a hefty library fine.
"In theory it was a massive bank-balance-breaking fine," John Foster told CBC News.
"When I worked out the fine ... I needed a calculator," he said, estimating the actual fine would
have been in excess of £8,577, or just over $14,000 CAD.
Foster, who taught English at UBC from 1974 to 2002, was in Vancouver this summer and found the book
— The Poems of Arthur Hugh Clough — while clearing out a storage locker.
Hi Patrick
Glad to hear u are breaking all records bike wise (and possibly wine wise?).
Thanks for the e card but Lisa s birthday was in May! Perhaps it was a congratulations card?
Thanks for the e card but Lisa s birthday was in May! Perhaps it was a congratulations card?
Elodie has now left Steve is in downstairs room and Lisa upstairs so never a dull moment.
Went to see film called Rush about James hunt and niki lauda - v good.
See u next month P xx
Went to see film called Rush about James hunt and niki lauda - v good.
See u next month P xx
Poppa you must forward this Jaime picture album to Penny...she will be overjoyed to see them ha ha ha!!
Erich really knows how to write quite the unique obituary. Omg
John Friedrich Vogt
John Vogt died at V.G.H. in Vancouver
after an 18 month battle with lung cancer. He was born in Steinbach,
Manitoba, on June 26, 1946, the youngest of the 6 sons of Peter Vogt
and Susanna Reimer, who have both predeceased him. Three of his
brothers have also predeceased him and he is survived by his
daughter, Ayn Prince in Los Angeles, by her two sons, Pierre and
Alexander, by his brother Peter Vogt in Minneapolis and his brother,
Erich Vogt, in Vancouver.
Most of John’s life was spent in his
native Manitoba. Perhaps the most gifted academically, and the most
well read, of the six brothers, John did not follow the path of his
siblings who, mostly, became successful academics. He could have
succeeded in any profession of his choice. Instead, as a rebel of the
sixties, he chose an independent path which made him eschew family
and took him, on casual labor, to many interesting places. For two
decades he drove a taxi in Winnipeg and became an entrepreneur in
soft drugs. He spent much time, as he later said, in mindless
leisure in beer parlors. Six years ago he gave up substance abuse
completely, except for smoking.
Three and a half years ago he arrived
on the doorstep of his brother Erich, in Vancouver in whose home he
spent his remaining years. He was warmly embraced by Erich’s large
family and came to discover and value family. He even came to
express his affection for his daughter and his stalwart grandsons, of
whom he was always proud, even though his love had eluded expression.
His Vancouver family was lucky to spend a happy week with him at the
wild beaches of Tofino, just two weeks before he died. It was also
fortunate that his daughter, Ayn, and his brother, Peter, were able
to participate in the bedside vigil of his final days.
Michele Darrow-Sutherland
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