|06-20-2013, 07:48 AM||#1051|
Joined: Dec 2008
Location: Behind the Redwood Curtain
"I don't really know, I've been too busy falling down."
|06-20-2013, 08:18 AM||#1052|
Joined: Oct 2003
Location: Peachland B.C. Canada
What a meal these words hath wrung.
No small thoughts are left unsung.
You are looking very well task.
Yes I am quite serious.
|06-20-2013, 10:52 PM||#1053|
Joined: Jul 2012
Ah, Hamlet, so many worries, so many uncertainties. He could kill the King-usurper now, and easily too, but the murderer is praying. So if killed now, won't his soul go up to heaven? That's not right, for when Hamlet's father was murdered where went his soul? He had crimes enough to justify being sent to Hell, but Hamlet cannot know where reposes his father's soul because it's fate is known only to heaven. Thus to kill the King-murderer while he's at prayer would satisfy Hamlet's need for revenge but it might not result in the King's soul going to Hell. It's better, Hamlet thinks, to wait until the King is engaged in sin and kill him then, because then he'll be more likely to be sent to Hell. Once again not knowing what happens after death has kept Hamlet from executing a plan.
I have enjoyed Shakespeare accompanied by Isaac Asimov's "Asimov's Guide to Shakespeare."
My friend this posting hit me hard right between the eyes. Yes, how can we live the fullest life without hurting those nearest and dearest to us? How to live instead of float without falling into the trap of total selfishness? For if we only think of ourselves then who will think of us? Reading. Entering, inhabiting, another world another persona? A sort of unknown country, to live a different life through the pen of another? Interesting. Gedankenexperiment.
Today in the British newspaper "The Guardian" there is a story about a nurse whose job is to care for people during the last 12 weeks of their lives. She has noticed over the years that her patients achieve a special clarity regarding their lives and she has compiled a list of the 5 things most often regretted by these people as they float inexorably to their end:
1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
2. I wish I hadn't worked so hard.
3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.
4. I wish I'd have stayed in touch with my friends.
5. I wish that I'd have let myself be happier.
Ride on, and write on.
Blader54 screwed with this post 06-20-2013 at 11:03 PM Reason: relativistic shift while re-reading Pt.2
|06-24-2013, 09:52 AM||#1054|
Joined: Mar 2006
Location: PNW Inland Empire
Thanks, Tagesk, for your stories.
|06-26-2013, 12:39 PM||#1056|
Joined: Jun 2007
Location: Tuscany, Italy
Sardegna 2013 - Part 2
This is part 3 of 8. You are adviced to start with the
Words in Italian are set cosi. If you find the images to be too small for you liking, click on them.
It is Monday 20. May and we wake up in Cagliari far south on
Sardinia; there is a map at the end of this post. A night starting
with far, far too much to drink does not become an interesting one.
I do not like these ferries. Most of them have all emergency exits on
one single deck. Here they are on deck seven. What I remember best
from the reports I read from the disaster when Estonia sank, and 900
people drowned, was how hundres of people were desperatly trying to
climb the wide main stairs as the boat was capsizing. How do you
climb a three meter wide flight of stairs with no proper railing to
hold on to?
But we survive also this night.
We are, basically, on a small vacation. Once upon a time, when I had
a job that everyone else alsw was willing to call a job, then I really
needed vacation. Three weeks on a warm beach in Thailand was just
what I wanted. To unwind. Now it is nothing but proper to ask: Can
you call a trip vacation if you don't have job? Can I convince myself
that if I go somewhere, it is vacation? Is it possible to construct
the right to call part of your life vacation just be going to a place
where many go for vacation?
Is it no so that things only exist in contrast to something else? If
so, what is the difference that makes a difference between my
"vacation" and a real one? Did I hear Bateson here? Or,
contreversly, if I am not going on vacation, then what am I doing on
Sardegna? Without a proper job, mostly loitering in Toscana, would
not Riding in Sardegna not be yet another drop in the sea of wasted
life? What would Shakespeare have said?
The issue at hand is real and relevan; I spend most of my time Riding
in Tuscany, reading, listning to Bach and Vivaldi, replace a broken
light bulb from time to time, cutting grass, making limoncello.
And emptying the waste baskets around the house.
Or, if you like to hear me admit it: I think I need a job. A proper
one. If for nothing else: I want to have my vacations back. Noth
beats that feeling of closing the door to your office, and head for
vacation. To bad vacation wasn't invented four hundred years ago, or
I would have had a nice Shakespearean quote to offer at this point.
We ride top the airport in Cagliari to meet the ladies, my Mother and
Edel (you'll get to know Edel in a day or two). I park Tryggve next
to a brother of his, lest he be bored by waiting. The brother's owner
lives in Verona, he explains to us, but he works here on Sardegna.
His GS has done 150.000 km without any major repairs. I advice him to
replace the rubber brake-lines.
We wait for the ladies and I look at the reflection of myself in a
window. I think about the self-portrait in the mirror taken in Roma.
The main problem with self portraits are techincal. You don't get to
see anything (before it is too late). Portraits of others are twice
as difficult as there are two problems and not just one: It is hard to
take a good portrait, and it is beyond me to ask a stranger if I might
take a photo of him/her. I walk the streets, sit in trains, and often
long for taking aportrait when the light is favorable. But, alas, it
does not happen.
The most stunning effort I know of in this respect is
Humans of New York. In his own words:
My name is Brandon and I began Humans of New York in theI find it hard to ask even my own guests, let alone a random stranger
on the street. But I am getting better at talking to prople. I do
try introduce myself as often as possible, and I do try very hard to
overcome the obstacles I put in front of myself. Knowing all that,
Humans of New York conveys a very strong message to me: Talk to
The portrait of Anne in my kitchen is the only one I have taken this
year that I like. And, if I may: A friend flattered me beyond what is
reasonable to expect by saying it reminded him of Het Meisje med de Parel.
I gave our "Riding in Tuscany"-business card to the owner of the other
GS. It features a stupid picture of both fo us with helmets on, our
Adventure-email address and a link to our Adventure-page.
It is a 120 km ride from Cagliari to Putzu Idu outside Oristano. We
will stay at Riva del Mare.
The page is in Norwegian, but if the west coast of Sardegna is for
you, and it should be!, then send me a message. Anyway, the Ladies
will stroll on the beach while I keep a low profile by riding.
The Ladies have rented a Fiat Panda. They trail along as Tryggve and
I run down the highway, heading north.
As this is vacation it seens natural that my mind strays into tht
ereal of work, "work", and having (and not having) a job. Technically
speaking I do indeed work, and
SiToscana would not stay afloat
without me. But where is the line dividing "work" from work? In
there dire times, complaining that I get my income from merely
"working" instead of working seems gross. But complaining is the
result of understanding the need for change; let me hope I am able to
actually change things, not just complaining.
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,With Toscana as measuring stick, Sardegna seems to be dry and poor.
If you, as I as a complete novise do, measure economic activity in
factories you see, the number of trucks on the road, and so no, it is
obvious that there is less going on in Sardegna than in Toscana. On
the other hand, the water is crystal clear and Oristano is blissfully
free from large hotels (as far as I can determine).
Needless to say, the 120 km passes without hitch. We arrive at our
hose, and I do what I have to do: pennichella
When I wake up the house is empty and a note tells me the Ladies have
gone "shopping". I look outside and, believe it or not, it is
raining! Raining on Sardegna in May? It doesn't last long, but long
enough for the Ladies to return and fill the house to the rim with
talk. I am unable to escape unnoticed and my plans follow the
remaining puddles down the drain.
Instead I get to enjoy watching a pizzaiolo. Obviously, quite
a few things are more satisfying than watching a pizzaiolo, but
watching a grown man paying attention to making pizza is quite nice.
By the way: I have bought an oven like that one; it will be installed
in my garden during summer. I hope to be able to offer pizza to all
of you in the fall.
The pizza is quite nice. Not outstanding, but above average (and
average, mind you, is Italian average for pizza not some foreign
country average!). Then, a star-shaped dolce, filled with
ricotta, served with honey and oragen; it is hard to imagine a more
high-octane food. I try to avoid the thought of gaining (even) more
weight and look upon it as a energy reserve for tomorrows ride.
Efter yesterdays excesses and subsequent sufferent, one beer is (more)
Sardegna is about 260 km "long" and 100 km "wide". The population is
one and a half million.
I get up after a night that felt better than the previous one, in all
respects. Coffee (not "coffee") with milk and one slice of bread with
marmelade. I am good to go.
Overcast and grey, but no signs of rain. The south-west of Sardegna
I rode here last year as well, but today I plan to take as
many trips down tot he ocean as possible.
Spring is late this year and the colours are intense. As I ride the
first kilometers down to Oristano I tell myself that this is not
Another day at the office, this is vacation.
I remember when had a (real) job as a university professor. I was
interested in computer security in general, and privacy in
particular. That was in, um, let us say 1995 - give or take. At that
time few were concerned about their privacy in respect to online
presence. I worked on the gap between trust and trustworthiness,
which is to say the gap bwteen your intentions and your ability. Nice
of you to say that you will protect my secrets, but can you? How do
you know you can? How can you convince me you can? In these days,
belonging to the Honorable Mr. Snowden, it gives me great pleasure to
quote myself from 1997:
represented by some (secret) encryption key and a human that
supposedly controls it. The point we have made emphasizes that this
gap is an abyss.
This is till an abyss.
We live ever larger parts of our lives "on line", while our need and
desire for privacy does not diminish. In fact, is it no so that any
reasonable feeling of freedom does not come selecting one of eleven
types of mustard on your hamburger but rather from the ability to
define the size of your private sphere? Is a feeling of freedom
possible at all wihout a private sphere? A place where you are not
seen and where you are free to do as you want. And in particular:
Free to decide what to include.
Freedom is not only private communication, but not having to explain
why you want it. This is why you sould encypt all you communication,
not only those mesasges you send to the Honourable Mr. Snowden and
your longtime women "friend".
Obviously, as as the Honourable Mr. Snowden has been so kind to tell
us, many governments and political systems prefer you to tilt your
definition of freedom and thus privacy towards selecting mustard.
In any case, last year I rode a mere 19.000 km. The last six months I
was at work (not "work"). Some are still interested in the things I
know beyond the realm of motorcycle riding, cooking and washing
dishes. Maybe I can save enough to be prepared for the sad day when
I haven't been riding for more than, say, forty minutes. But I have
still gotten lost in thought. But I do not miss the sign along the
road saying there is a nuraghe near by, and a beach. I turn
around, and enter the gravel road. The gravel turns to sand. Tryggve
is far, far too heavy to enjoy sand, but I make it. No nuraghe
but I end up at a nice beach.
In moments like these, sitting next to Tryggve on a deserted beach, I
really, really wish I hadn't quit smoking. I can vividly see myself
enjoying a cigarillo here.
Not smoking pushes away thoughts about work and "work". I stopped
smoking to maintain my health. Dying young knowing I could have
posponed it by quitting eariler would have been unberable. So there
was really no choise. A hard one, but never the less unavoidable.
After my (literally!) near-death experience a few year back I feel
fragile. I know how easily my life can end. Even though I feel large
and rubust when meeting others, I have learned an important lesson.
I am not at all afraid to admit I am getting old. I am not (yet)
troubled by those nagging needs of the body, and all that. I feel I
am getting old because of the things I want to do.
I belive that you are young when doing the correct things are
important. Not offending your girl, not failing the examn, not
forgetting the appointment at the dentist, and so on. I have become
old becuase I have become more concerned about missing out on things:
Not riding enough, not spend time with my best friend (which is
complicated for many reasons), not finding time to try GN-72
(Gibraltar - Nordkapp in 72 hours), and so on.
Is that all it takes to become old? Being concerned about missing
out`? Is that really so?
Contrary to common belief, as they say, risk is what you get when you
multiplicate what is at risk (the damage) with probability (of the bad
thing happening). If you double the value, the risk doubles even
thoug the probability remains the same. Or, in this context: As the
value of the things I own increases, the risk invluved with
experiments regaring my own life increases as well.
Our home carries more value than any house we have ever owned. If you
measure in euros, that is. The reality is that I feel it is
disposeable. If I wew to yet another time meet "The love of my life",
the house would not stop me from thowing everything away to go with
her. The value for me is lower than ever even though the
monetary value is higher. This must surely be a sign of gae - not?
The next thing after old age, is death.
To be, or not to be: that is the question:Repeat after me (well, Hamlet):
And makes us rather bear those ills we haveAs I struggle away from the beach I look at the track I made on my way
down. The rear tyre seems to be worn out. Doesn't take much to
I bought it here on Sardegna last year. It took us all the way to
Nordkapp (at 71 degrees north; eat you hart out Prudhoe Bay) and back,
and has covered about 25.000 km. It demonstrates that if you work to
keep it hard, it last longer. The tire, I mean.
I need to find the shop I used last year.
After not having enjoyed a cigarillo I jolt down to Arborea. A new
town on a plain. Utterly boring, surrounded by endless fields.
I mail a letter to a friend; one that I wrote in Roma while thinking
about this ride. A nice way to connect the two. Then to a bar for
As I dress to ride off, an elderly gentlemen approaches me. He tells
me he is 74 years, ten months and to days old. When I am surprised by
the accuracy he says "If you don't know exactly how old you are, how
can you know how long you have lived?" I have no answer.
We agree that BMW makes great motorcycles, but he shows me a large
scar on his head and arm, and advices me to ride with grat care.
He invites me in for coffee, but I decline; two is too much. He is
disappointed and asks if I might take a dolce. I thank him
again, but decline.
I promise to ride carefully, we agree that it has been a pleasent
meeting, that it is unlikely that we will ever meet again, but as long
as there is life there is hope.
I ride across the plain, climb the mountains and arrive at the
surprisingly large town Arbus. Old mining town, I understand. Here,
in Arbus, is the start of one Italy's of the very best roads for
motorcycles. Ride from Arbus towards Ingelesias and you will never
I turn off towards Piscinas for no good reason. The road winds down,
down, down, the tarmac ends as I pass ruins of mining activity.
Complete towns and infrastructure.
12 km later I arrive on a large beach with huge dunes (the largest in
Europa, I later learn from Wikipedia). Just like Sahara. But very
unlike Sahara, it starts to rain. Cold, cold rain. Rain on Sardegna
in May? What is this? We need to do something about these things
that change the climate; now even my "vacation" is affected.
I am saved by Hotel Le Dune.
An Italian bar is a place they serve coffee. At Le Dune they have An
American Bar. I notice several types of both vermuth and gin. The
lounge is spacious, comfortable chairs, a large fire place, and a
soothing view of the terrace (on which it rains....) and the ocean. I
am convinced that to linger here for an afternoon would not require
The others that have lunch are typical beach-dwellers. Non of them
wear esthaetically offending gear as I do. This time of the year we
are supposed to sit outside, in the ocean breeze, listning to the
waves washing the beach.
As I have my lunch the rain stops.
Three things worth saying about the lunch: It was expensive, it was
well above average and the staff was fantastic. Starting with the
ferry the other day, the distance to this lunch is immense.
Even a small bottle of wine is too much when riding so I retain the
cork. After three different pecorino with a composto di
fichi I retreat to the lounge, sleep for a while in a chair, enjoy
a very good coffee, refrain from smoking, and part with 60 euro. The
rain is a faint memory and life is good.
I can either return the 12 km uphill to the main road, or try to
follow the coast a few kilometers north to the next village, from
where I can return to Arbus.
While I consider my options I run into some sand. Note to self: Sand
dunes move, and Tryggve does not handle well in sand.
Now that I am old, more afraid of not getting things done than not
doing the right things done, I feel an urge to use my life. To
experiment. It is not, as it used to be, that life is infinitely long
and spending a week or two on a beach comes without costs, and that
postponing is uncomplicated.
OK, even I understand that if you upgrade from "work" to work, you
end up feeling the need for vacation. What I need is anti-vacation.
Vacation is time and space where you re-charge your batteries after a
year of struggle. Anti-vacation is time and space where you burn off
accumulated energy. Let me tell you this: When your GS falls and you
tumble down the road, and in an effort to get some adrenaline out you
quickly lift it back up while standing on sand, then you really feel
energy being burned. In fact, a typical part of anti.-vacation for a
mature man such as myself.
I refrain from smoking once more.
I ride north along the coast, and then arrive back at Arbus; how awful
that I have to start a on the best road in Italy. I ride and ride the
twisties; I enjoy it a lot. I will show you some videos later.
After 25 kilometers I arrive back to the ocean. Rain? The sun is
shining from Sardegna-blue sky and in front of yet another fantastic
beach I feel the need to photograph myself.
The man from Roma, who used a mechanical watch to make a statement,
poses next to his BMW R1150GS (in other quarters consideres a large
bike) to convey his physical size and, maybe, robustness. The message
is, I think: I'll deal with it! Now, if that isn't pathetic, then I
don't know what is.
It made worse by the fact that the opinion voiced here is sinsere.
There is a very vocal debate raging inside me on riding solo, or not.
To ride with someone—Capa Superiore in particular—is
fantastic without reservation of any kind. To travel with a companion
is to to conduct a journey on many levels. But it is also, always, an
exserise in compromise. Here or there? Left or right? We have well
established routines for making decisions (read: Lines of command),
but to travel alone also have some very important qualities. To know
that compromise is not even part of the solution space is liberating.
Confining, but liberating.
The weather has changed into what it should be at this time of year.
The rain from a few hours ago is a faint memory. I leave Trygge up on
the road as a look-out and walk down to a beach, undress, and swim
naked in the sea. Refreshing, not cold.
In a few weeks these beaches will be full of tourists, and sitting
stark naked and letting the sun dry my skin will not be an option.
This is Italy, after all.
to say that I calmy sit and enjoy the sun will be an outright lie. As
I sit there I wonder: It is so nice to be naked on a beach, why am I
so tense? Why is being naked outdoors so very, very akward? Is it
becuse we are naked when we have sex, and it is impossible to untangle
the two, that I am acutely aware of my nakedness even though there are
noone here to see me?
Shakespeare writes about many aspects of life, but not, alas, about
being naked (as far I have seen).
I get up, stand boldly naked but noone is watching, before I get
dressed, and ride off. Slightly ashamed, but also feeling strangely
I continue south and reach yet another mining town, Buggerru. The
town is in a bay sorrounded by mountains. Silent and nice; in summer
probably bussing with life and tourists. I have coffe while looking
out on the harbour.
After some momntes I spot a couple searching for something along the
road. I have seen many during the day. Now is the opportunity to
stop and ask what they are all harvesting.
It is high season for a particular type of snail; they have a plastic
bag full. You use them as you would cook vongole. With some
tomato and white wine with garlic, on pasta, with parsley. The taste
is vongole but distinctly from terra and not
mare. I decline the offer to take a handfull home.
My time is out, and if I want to be home for dinner (and I do want to
be home for dinner) I need to really focus on riding. No more
My old and venerable Garmin Zumo 500 is getting worse and worse. It
seems that routing gets less and less accurate. In particular, the
"shortest distance" far too often suggest a detour in order to get
onto a highway. Which sort of defeates the whole purpose, no?
But I get home in time. We dine very well in a fish-restaurant in the
I rode 365 km.
You can also study the SPOT track.
Thank you for your attention!
|06-26-2013, 02:44 PM||#1057|
The Energizer Bunny
Joined: Nov 2003
Location: marietta, ga.
Wonderful as usual! Thank you for sharing with the rest of us.
ride till you can't.
Boxer Cup Replika/red-white-blue
|06-26-2013, 06:23 PM||#1058|
Joined: Dec 2008
Location: Behind the Redwood Curtain
Nice report... have you ever thought about coming to North America...
(or have you been here already?)
"I don't really know, I've been too busy falling down."
|06-26-2013, 06:28 PM||#1059|
I ride my own
Joined: Feb 2011
Location: Texas Hill Country
Beautiful, beautiful pictures and wonderful weaving of your story.
Like a good lover, a good rider has balance, judgment, and good timing. ...
Member of Southern Cruisers Riding Club and Chrome Divas
|06-26-2013, 06:28 PM||#1060|
I am innocent ...
Joined: Jun 2013
Location: In a room in a guy's house
Stay the fuck out the autostrada.
Ascoltami e fai il bravo bambino.
Hakuna Matata bitches ....
|06-27-2013, 03:25 AM||#1061|
Joined: Jun 2007
Location: Tuscany, Italy
maintenance, no emergence lanes, speeding and being dangerous in general.
The via Aurelia is much better (or, in this case, less bad)
|06-28-2013, 11:18 AM||#1062|
Being is my doing
Joined: Jun 2011
Location: Wherever I can be
Pondering and Musing
Tagesk, I am touched by your extensive thoughts and their documentation. Hope you will find what you are looking for. Have, and am, enjoying reading your trip reports and (self-) assessments. IMHO anyone can go on vacation, no matter what the employment situation: vacation = a period of suspension of work, study, or other activity, usually used for rest, recreation, or travel. (from dictionary.com). For myself retiring has led to ongoing discussions of what I would really like to do and what I feel I am obliged to do, like being productive in the job-related sense. And I still automatically tend to go with the productive part, but at least now I catch myself and steer the other way, ah, mostly. A learning process. Wishing you very well and looking forward to read more of your thoughts.
|07-06-2013, 11:59 PM||#1064|
Joined: Feb 2006
Location: Gauteng, RSA
Wellcome back Tage !!!
I too am approaching the work vs "work" stage in life, with some trepidation I might add.
|07-21-2013, 02:15 PM||#1065|
Bike & Beer
Joined: Nov 2009
Thank you Tageske, As usualy, I enjoy every singel words of your report.
commute every day on a 1150 GSA, and plan adventurous trip every night
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