24/7, 365 days a year. That appears to be the new regime’s expectation.
It doesn’t leave much time or energy to further life’s important goals.
It’s an important factor that needs to be considered in the “stay and suck it up” or “leave” debate.
No matter which way I run the numbers there’s just not enough in the bucket right now to give all the world the middle finger and quit.
There’s enough to give the current corporate the shove and live off savings until another income stream is found [32 months of FU-Fund as of today].
But certainly not enough to totally step off.
And so, what to do?
In past years I would have resigned myself to my fate and bought another expensive toy to ease the pain. Now, I’m willing to work through the pain, willing to battle on, find another way, do whatever it takes to break these golden handcuffs once and for all.”
For now, as much as it pains, it makes sense to suck it up and just say “Yes Sir”, knowing that if push really comes to shove, then I can walk. And in the meantime, take unpaid leave, visit the boat and work on BroadReach!
Markus awakes yet again to the cold sweat of fear.
He finds himself in a long, dark corridor, right at the very end. No matter which way he looks, he can perceive but two options.
Former colleagues, knives out and heads like snakes, block the return to a bright and cheery cubicle hell. Worse still, some advance with malicious intent.
At the dead end, a vast and intimidating fire escape door emblazoned with the words “Exit Only. No Return!”
Unable (or perhaps unwilling) to fight his way back to the light, Markus rests one trembling hand on the door release, sensing full well the turbulent vortex beyond, waiting to suck him out. Its a drastic move he now contemplates, with no turning back once it’s done.
The unknown looms fearfully on the other side. A drop to a grimy sidewalk eleven stories down? A sailboat voyage to tropical paradise? Or something unknown in between?
Uncertain and afraid, Markus pulls the covers up and returns to restless sleep, hoping with all his being the situation might resolve itself, but knowing full well that only he can change things by opening that damn door…….
I nearly died several times on the way home today***.
- Nearly blown off the x300
- Nearly struck by lightning near Grayston.
- Nearly bludgeoned to death by hailstones.
- Nearly drowned just after Grayston.
- Nearly met a taxi coming the wrong way through the open sewer that is Jukskei at Bruma (the other side of the road was flooded).
And then I got home, way, way before all the rest of the clowns in their cars.
Now that was an ideal adventure!
A controlled and short burst of challenge that didn’t drag on for 10 hours.
[And, a superb test of the new foul weather gear.]
*** The gurus that know about these things inform me that my writing should be clear, understandable, unambiguous.
Sometimes I beg to differ because the ‘English Literature’ we were forced to study in high school most definitely didn’t seem, at least to me, to meet that criteria much of the time.
Nevertheless, in deference to the ‘Guru-Instruction‘, the causal event for today’s article, if it can be so termed, was a massive, huge, ginormous and intimidating Highveld thunderstorm, dumping on the x300 and me while we made our way home.
Adventure? How do you define that? What springs to mind? Climbing Everest, free-diving in the open ocean, cycling around the world unsupported?
Yes, those most definitely are adventurous souls out on big adventures but the fact of the matter is that all adventures are relative. If you spend your life chained to the cubicle, a solo 4000km road trip on a little 300cc motorcycle could be termed an adventure. And so it was my personal little adventure, recounted here in all it’s glory…….
The plan, if you can call it that, was simple. Do a return trip from Johannesburg to Cape Town to take care of some ugly tenant-related business and try and have some fun in the process. With a tent and some sleeping gear strapped to the Versys-X the only guideline was “Stay south of the N1 going down, stay north of the N1 on the return”. Depending on progress we’d find a place to camp each night – hopefully, and failing that there was always the option of finding a local guesthouse or B&B.
So what makes an adventure? I think many will scoff at the idea that a ride on the tarmac classifies as such? But, who cares. for me, this certainly classifies. While I’ve ridden motrcycles for years, mostly commuting in the Johannesburg traffic, I’ve never done a long, cross-country trip like this. And, to top it all, and under no illusions, the little x300 is not in the same class as a litre-bike when it comes to eating up the open road. While cruising at 120km/h [9000rpm] is doable, it’s probably as fast as you want to push it and still have the little bike be alive next week for more fun.
Leading up to the weekend, the gear was extracted from the shed, dusted off and checked and rechecked. Travelling on a small bike is an exercise in minimilalism. There is only so much you can fit no matter how hard you try. At the end the luggage consisted of a basic toolkit and spare tubes, a tent, sleeping bag and mattress, a couple of t-shirts and a change of socks and undies. That’s pretty much it.
In no real rush, Saturday 7am saw us leaving behind the familiarity of home for the freedom of the open road. Let the adventure begin, finally.
There’s not much to be said for the 100km or so that is needed to get away from the city freeways and suicidal drivers in the tincans on wheels. I have heard of people putting their bikes on a train and getting off to ride in the Swartberg mountains and fighting the R69 traffic made me think that might have been a better plan but soon, I was out in the rolling grasslands of the northern Free State, the traffic pretty much a thing of the past.
There’s not much to recommend the endless, featureless grasslands of the northern Free State other than the solitude. The scenery is monotonous and each dusty little town is as run down and unwelcoming as the former. Heilbron, Lindley and Senekal for fuel. Then on to Marquad, Lady Brand and finally the Drakensberg and the mountains of Lesotho are starting to improve the experience. There’s boredom in the ability to look down a long, straight road and see into the future. No, much more pleasant when the view is limited by turns, hills and undulations.
The x300 tank holds around 17 liters, nominally good for around 400-450km in econo-mode. Travelling at 120km/h with buffetting cross-winds is most definitely not econo-mode though, and I was finding I’d fill up each 350km or so. Every hour or so I’d also stop the bike in a safe spot, far from the road and take a stretch and a breather. This kind of travel doesn’t work well if you’re on a deadline but with 2-3 days allocated to ride down, what was the problem wit an hourly stop?
The eastern Free State is were the journey finally begins. The foothills of the ‘berg make for stunning scenery and interesting roads. Winding along between Lady Brand and Wepener, I pretty much have the road to myself. Beautiful solitude at last. I’ve settled on Bethulie at Gariep Dam as the overnight stop and to get there from Wepener means a stretch of about 70km on dirt. It starts out smooth enough but after a couple of kms the ruts become a little more agressive. I can see if you’re tired, exhausted even from a long day in the saddle, how a stretch of dirt like this might catch you out. The sand piles up between the vehicle tyre tracks and you have to be very careful crossing those lest you loose the front end.
Bethulie turns out to be a pretty little place on the north-eastern banks of the Gariep Dam. Not as run-down as many Free State towns, but nevertheless small and dusty. By now I’m ready to get off the bike, exhausted in fact and have no intention of delaying setting up camp for the night. The small supermarket doesn’t have much on offer and so I settle on some bananas and a tin of peaches for dinner. A query about possible campsites has the cashier pointing me up the road to Pitch-Up SA, a campsite created in somebody’s back garden. Despite the booming barks of the Great Danes, a peaceful little spot with clean ablutions and me the only one there.
I am cold this morning, so cold! Travelling light means I have my summer jacket, a polo fleece stave less and over that I have my rain gear, a light duty, Quiver inshore jacket. Eventually I stop and double upon my gloves. The morning sun ght is awesome, bathing the endless grassland in a soft warm light that contrasts with the winter chill of late spring.
Reaching Middleburg I take the only eatery on offer, Captain Dorego’s, just to be able to wrap myself around a hot cup of coffee. The breakfast and coffee are possibly the worst I have ever tasted, even the cockroaches avoid this place I’m sure. It’s good to warm up a little before mounting up and heading on down the road though.
Graaf Reinet is really the first town on the journey so far that isn’t dusty, dirty, totally run down. The NG church which dominates the town centre is really magnificent and the surrounding neighbourhoods are awash with B&B’s, all fully booked according to the signage. I stop to take a few snaps of the church, still cold to the core.
Leaving Graaf Reinet there’s only long, straight nothingness. The road stretches relentlessly onward, far into the future. Mercifully free of traffic it ends after a while and winds and turns past the empty Beervlei Dam and into the mountains. The fuel tank decides the next turn, 102km to Derust vs 140k to Uniondale. We lean into the right and follow the endless blacktop ahead.
I don’t stop for the biker, pushing his disabled Triumph. He has his buddies around him and it will serve no purpose that I get involved. A better person than I would probably just have stopped for a brief chat and top encourage them. DeRust, Oudshoorn, Zoar, Barrydale. This is the road I came to ride, twisty, mountainous and devoid of traffic. For a while, despite the discomfort of what is turning into a huge day in the saddle, I’m content.
Arriving late afternoon in Montagu I fuel up for what seems the thousandth time and debate whether I should find a spot for the night? It’s a beautiful little town, definitely a must for a future weekend away, but the sun is still high in the sky and so I opt to push on, to try find an overnight spot in Worcester, closer to my final destination of Glencairn. Stop and Go roadworks delay the journey to Ashton, Robertson and Worcester.
All plans of stopping over in Worcester disolve with the late afternoon sun. If it’s not yet set I still have light and I still have time. I burst out of the tunnel, the sun now set, and its a dark and busy freeway drive in traffic as I wearily make my way home. Finally. 19h30. Twelve hours on the road today. I crash and sleep the sleep of the dead.
I awake to numbness between my shoulder blades. My right knee is fine again and my butt hardly sore, but oh, the numbness of the shoulders. It lingers for 3 to 4 days.
The windy Cape Peninsular roads are why I wanted the bike here. I do the Chapmans drive and stop at the top for breakfast on the way to the yacht club. This wind is going to take some getting used to though. Just when you feel you have a perfect line to carve the turn a gust reminds you who’s Boss.
A week on board, avoiding confrontation with the tenants sees them leaving as desired. Relief! I can’t leave early on Sunday, needing to hang curtains and replace locks. The damn security gate lock just won’t be replaced and I eventually conceed defeat. I’m out of time if I want to still make some progress on the road today! By the time I finally get going it’s already 10h30.
The original plan was to stay north of the N1 but, compared to the R62, it sparsely populated and the direwct routes hav lots of gravel. I change my mind, deciding to return via the R62 again. De Rust, Gariep, Jo’burg for a three-day ride.
Heading back north, barely two hours on the road, and I feel my knee and shoulder already complaining bitterly. Worcester is here and decisions have to be made: take a right to Robertson and Barrydale and endure this discomfort for another three days or head straight up the N1 and get it over with. This adventure is starting to feel hard, too hard. I keep headed north on the N1, traffic be damned.
3566km all told…most of them done at 9-10,000 rpm. I hope the drivetrain noise that plagued me on the entire return journey is solved? It would appear to be a case of poor drivetrain lubrication. We shall see.
Reflecting on what turned out to be quite a tough, arduous journey I can’t but help to think, “What was the point?” Is all adventure this uncomfortable, painful even? It was so with the South Atlantic crossing. Exactly the same with the Hobiecat -based Malawi Marathon. Why is it that on the road, in the midst of the suffering, I’m calling for an end to it and yet now, hardly two days after the end of the ride, I’m already thinking back fondly, actually glad that I finished what I started?
Ultimately it was a pointless, selfish exercise done for no other reason than “I’ve always wanted to.”
Try as I might I seem constrained by the clock, or at least the need to get back to my comfort Zone in the shortest possible time. What was planned as three days was again pushed into two (for reasons already discussed).
Do others experience “adventure” in a similar way? Is it normal to want to do something so badly and then, as soon as the going gets a little tough, to want out?
I am glad to have proven that a tiny capacity bike like the x300 is fully capable. It just reinforces my choice of the Versys over all the liter-class bikes and their quarter-million price tags. Don’t get me wrong – I’m under no illusions that a GS1200 would be more comfortable but the comfort of the journey would already have been replaced by the lingering discomfort of the debt.
The one big question lurking in the shadows is obvious. “Would you do this again?” There is no easy answer. “Yes and No,” I would reply. The next time, I’ ll be based in Glencairn, closer to the roads and mountains that where actually the real inspiration for this adventure. The journey will be shorter, more comfortable and with no objective, no destination, no limited time frame.
Perhaps under those circumstances………?
If I’m totally honest I’ll need to admit to being unsure that I have what it takes to execute the plan. Perhaps I really am just an average sheep and should just confine myself to living the story scripted for the flock?
And then I bump into people, people who have arrived on a boat from Antigua and I ask “why can it work for them but not for me?”
I know the answer and it is simple. What are you prepared to give up, to risk?
It really is as simple as that!
Currently, the rage is “speculative investment” [i.e. gambling] in bitcoins. Mining them, buying/selling them. The “price” has been extremely volatile. In the last year or so it has risen ~800%, once again still compared to the USD.
Had you only got in at the right time…..! And now the mad stampede of the woolly masses gains momentum.
The value of bitcoin? Perhaps as a replacement to cold hard cash or Kruger Rands in the bilge as we sail south? The fundamental problem remains however. You can mine them [getting harder and harder to do], you can hide them [only if you don’t use them]. But, in the current world, there is still an interface in and out into the financial currencies we all need to buy food, fuel, fund daily life. And it’s this interface that governments will watch and tax. And watch very closely they will. And ultimately, even inside the Bitcoin system, your bitcoins and you transactions are, ultimately with a little computing effort it seems, traceable back to you.
The fact that the Bitcoin system takes away central financial control from the ruling elite is a very, very appealing lure to any with even a hint of anarchistic or libetarian thought. But then again, will it really? How likely is it that those with vast financial resources, those that rule the world, have not seen this and are also employing armies of vastly intelligent programmers to further their own agendas?
And then there’s also way, way too much emphasis placed on how transactions are “totally secure” because of the distributed Blockchain. There’s the argument that they are like gold, limited and finite and not inflationary like dollars that can be printed at will. Really? If they are divisable into smaller and smaller units, at will and ad-infinitum? I call BS on that.
Someone, somewhere, is waiting in the shadows, ready to turn on some code and transfer some wealth. You wait and see.
….here’s an interesting extract from an article from Startupboy.com…..
Silicon Valley knows a platform when it sees it, and is aflame with Bitcoin. Teams of brilliant young programmers, entranced by the opportunity, are working on Exchanges (Payward, Buttercoin, Vaurum), Futures Markets (ICBIT), Hardware Wallets (BitCoinCard, Trezor, etc), Payment Processors (bitpay.com), Banks, Escrow companies, Vaults, Mobile Wallets, Remittance Networks (bitinstant.com), Local Trading networks (localbitcoins.com), and more.
Looming over them is how governments view Bitcoin and the entrenched financial powers it threatens. The last few decades have seen a move towards a cashless society, where every transaction is tracked, reported, and controlled. Bitcoin takes powers from the central actors and returns it to merchants and consumers, savers and borrowers. Bitcoin brings back some pseudonymity in the transactions, and can be irrevocably traded like cash. And finally, it points a way towards a single currency – it is a bug, not a feature, that we have multiple global currencies with exchangers and transaction fees in between.
Governments have been cracking down on the bitcoin exchanges, making it harder to obtain and slowing its development. Strict and expensive Money Transmitter regulations, designed to slow terrorist and child porn financing, threaten the next great technological revolution – never mind that terrorists can use cash just fine, the means of terror are cheap, and that they account for an infinitesimal fraction of global commerce. Regulators in the US and UK would be wise to proceed with a light touch, lest they push the development of Bitcoin and its entrepreneurs to places like Canada, Finland, and the Sino-sphere.
The United States has benefited enormously from being home to the majority of global companies driving the Internet revolution. The country that is the home to the Internet of Money could one day end up as the guardian of the new Reserve Currency and the Global Money Supply.
There are so many parts to the future life I dream of, so many things to do, to experience, to enjoy. Think sailing, snorkelling, hiking, 4×4, adventure touring on the motorcycle, mountain biking, boat projects, renovating and flipping, aquaponics, self-sufficiency, ….the list goes on and on.
One of my failings is certainly too many irons in too many fires. I have the 4×4 and now want to put on a RTT. Yet, I know for sure that there’s no time in the present life to actually use and enjoy the investment. Then I speculate that I should trade the 4×4 for the van. Yet, the 4×4 is paid for and the dream of the van is perhaps more a dream than could be made a reality in the present life circumstances.
I have the bike to do the tour and yet I’m too busy [thinking of] building the Shack and working the plan. I keep the ZR7 for fear that it’s not worth selling and then I disappear into a retro-scrambler project that sucks time and resources into yet another direction.
I dream and theorise of cutting back, simplifying. Of reducing life to just a few essential avenues of happiness and endeavour. Yet that’s all it seems to remain, a dream.
I think it was Lloyd Khan who said “Self sufficiency is never reached. It’s not the end goal but the process.” Or at least it was something along those lines.
I find myself constantly battling the gap between the intellect and action. Discovering and binge-reading “San Juan Sufficiency” today has me intellectually agreeing with the lifestyle, the ambition. I have the greatest of respect for those, unlike me, who’ve kicked the cubicle habit and struck out for a life well lived. I want to immediately step out and do something siomilar. Let’s buy those solar panels for the Shack. Let’s upgrade the boat, lets do this….let’s do that…!
Time is not on our side. One perhaps has 30,000 days on this planet if all goes well. So far, I’ve “used up” almost 18,000 of those days, days that can never be recovered, never be re-lived. Gone forever.
Not all of those 18,000 days have been miserable. There have been times when I’ve been happy [I think]. Not that I can remember those times at the moment. Right now life seems miserable and constraining. Depressing even. I’m in the biggest funk in living memory and it’s wasting my remaining allotment of days.
But I am, I think, a coward. I buy into quit-your-job-and-live free scene, the self-sufficiency ethos, the frugal lifestyle, the live on a boat and grow your own vegetables ethos. And yet, I seem unable to take even the smallest steps in cleaning out my current life to progress in that direction. I read of the struggles these people [SJS, AOH] face in earning enough money to fund their [not-so-] simple lives and I wonder if I have the courage?
What I do know is I have slipped into possibly the worst state of lethargy and demotivation I have yet experienced. No matter how hard I try, I much I try to convince myself that I must, I just cannot bring myself to actually dig in and get some decent work done in the corporate sphere. It all seems so pointless. Yes, yes. I hear the argument that “It’s not pointless, it brings ihome the bacon”. I hear, I agree and then I remain in my slump, my downward spiral. It’s not enough. Not enough to just rake in some money to fund this current life, the future life, the lives of my children. Most definitely not enough any more.
Many aspects of my current life and plan parallel “San Juan Sufficiency”. I maintain and keep the boat as an escape pod, a place to live cheaply and well if and when this world goes to pot. I keep the land base asd a place to work on projects for the boat, garden, raise table-tilapia’s in an aquaponics farm, harvets rainwater and chop my own wood for the winter stove.
At least that’s the longer-term hope and dream. Right now, all I’ve managed is to add complexity and cost to life, maintaining multiple homes, multiple vehicles, multiple cameras and more….! Why is it so hard to break this damn cycle of depression? Surely it’s as easy as selling up 253, quitting SE and making the move?
Mmmm! Yes. Theoretically that’s all, it takes. Practically there’s something unknown holding me back.
I read of SJS buying an island property and homesteading. I wish I could feel safe doing that here in sunny SA, free from the fear of being robbed blind. I wish I could find a place like the San Juans and feel that this place is worth my full investment of all my mental and financial resources. I wish I could break free of the fear of the future South Africa?
And so I try. I have plans A, B, C, ……Zee. And I’m working them all. But perhaps that is part of my problem. Perhaps it’s spreading me too thin and as a result I feel I’m not achieving any thing particularly noteworthy in any area.
Too many irons in too many fires! What do you really want?
I’ve come to the end of the ZR-7 rebuild [for a while]. To be honest it seems that life’s balance is once again out of whack, leaning far too much to the spend-it-up and live life today side of things. Time to take a breather and focus on padding the stash for tomorrow again.
No matter how I try, I keep coming back to this angle. Many [most?] will not understand my liking for this machine, nor indeed my customisation. I’m ok with that!
The original plan was to replace the stock headlight with a dual-lens replacement. Of late I have been reconsidering. Perhaps the single round light speaks of the era from which this bike originates?
The next step in the project is to have the seat re-covered, possibly still in red but perhaps more of a darker ox-blood shade and perhaps in leather.
Then……on to the rear !