elliptical cross trainer

My running injury fails to heal - stinging pain on the outside of my left foot. I don't want the pounds to pile on so I am visiting the free local gym two or three times a week for a vigorous cardio workout on the elliptical cross trainer. I'm hoping this will keep me in decent shape to resume running in the spring, or whenever this injury eventually heals.

Forty minutes at level five burns nearly six hundred calories, the equivalent of a five mile run but without the sights and distractions of road running it's easy to get bored. There is no TV screen. This is a free facility after all. To pass the time I analise the display on the elliptical, using the 'cadence', 'calories burned' and 'time remaining' figures to confirm my effort is on track. Sometimes I pedal/ski for minutes with my eyes shut.

Almost inevitably, people-watching takes over. I start noting the time as someone on the running track passes. I look again as they complete another lap and check their lap time. This varies wildly according to the individual. Serious runners clock the lap at under forty seconds while the less energetic struggle to break the minute. Curiously there are some who adopt a gait where both feet stay on the ground at all times and shuffle round barely above walking pace in seventy seconds. (For the record my usual pace is forty two seconds per lap.)

Now I turn my attention to the rider of the exercise bike to my left, a middle-aged woman sporting a neat shampoo and set. She is turning the pedals at a crawl and studying a paperback propped so that it obscures the display panel and all its vital information.

To my right a twenty something guy in a short sleeve t-shirt is lifting a chunky black dumbbell. His bicep looks like a coconut wedged under his skin and his neck muscles strain like cords. He grunts with each effort.

I turn back to my digital display. 'Time remaining' is six minutes on this, my second twenty minute stint. My heart rate is high at one hundred and fifty-six beats per minute and I'm slick with sweat. I love the feeling of my pores leaking away all the toxins. My thigh muscles are firing hard.

When the machine beeps I dismount and wipe down the surfaces. I might not be doing this again until January but I'll try and squeeze in one more visit before we leave for England on Monday.

Cases are packed, itinerary printed, passports stowed and to-do lists are shrinking. Bartons, you are cleared for take off...

the geese

We were invited to a small private gig arranged by Brian Metzger on Saturday night at the Farm Centre on University Avenue. The Geese, a collective of musicians now based in Vancouver, were in the midst of a lengthy Trans-Canada tour promoting their debut album and kindly agreed to play privately for us in Charlottetown in return for donations to our local food bank.

The venue was a meeting room, perhaps three times the size of a large living room, with about fifty seats arranged theatre style. On arrival Michelle made her way to the front row in four strides and plonked down in the centre. Oh well, up close and personal it is then! I wasn’t sure what to expect, having sampled just a couple of clips on YouTube but hey, this is live music and up stepped four men with beards and a girl with goose wings!

Brief introductions over, they launched into their opening track. We were almost indecently close and could easily have tripped over a beard or two but proximity quickly felt natural and we were soon engrossed in an evening of fascinating entertainment from five accomplished songwriters, musicians and singers.

I like to categorise music (well, truthfully that extends to most things) and pigeonhole bands in a specific genre. I have entries in categories from ‘Americana’ to ‘Roots Rock’ via ‘Britpop’ Blues Rock’, ‘Prog Rock’, ‘Hot Rod Revival’ and a smattering of ‘Cowpunk’! It has been gnawing away at me for some time that the Canadian arm of my collection has been shamefully lacking in ‘West Coast Danger Folk’ so during the rather civilised intermission, I put that right and picked up the band's eponymous, self-released debut album.

Stylishly the Geese swapped instruments, slipping effortlessly from guitar to drums to bass and back as they performed their eclectic repertoire. Country-tinged rock gave way to folk and quirky indie rock with each band member quite at ease stepping up to explain the stories behind their songs, laughing at a broken guitar string and inquiring if the sound needed tweaking at all. They seemed like a group of friends we’d invited round for a knees-up yet their professionalism shone through.

In true rock ‘n roll style with much clapping and foot stamping we persuaded them to stay for an encore, the rousing tribute to their former home Province, ‘New Brunswickers’. I even had the chance to thank them in person when I chatted to a couple of the band afterwards, friendly, relaxed people who had put heart and soul into their performance for our small gathering.

Alphabetical order by band is the only valid way to sort a collection but it often throws up curious juxtapositions. The Geese are now nestling on my shelves somewhat uneasily between Gay Dad and Geldof, Bob!

flying the great divide

Roughly three thousand miles separate Canada from England and sometimes the distance makes itself felt more than others. Like when my father died last month or when my grandson Oscar was born. You either organise expensive flights or make do with the phone and emails.

This year I flew to England in January to spend three weeks visiting my sons and managed to see various relatives and friends too. I lodged with my dad which turned out to have been a good thing. When I flew back to Canada I was as sure as you can be that I wouldn’t be returning to England for at least a couple of years.

Dad’s death in September meant I dropped everything and flew home for his funeral, a sad affair but an unexpected opportunity to see family again.

My grown up sons are eager to meet their little Canadian half sisters and although I could have taken us all in September, the occasion and the lack of available time prevented it.

To put matters right I have just booked tickets for the four of us to fly to England for the month of December! Long-haul flights will be a struggle with Maisie at three and a half and Kathleen still under two but the timing is reasonable. Kathleen goes for (almost) free as she is not yet two and dad’s bungalow stands empty until it is sold, so we can stay there . Michelle’s current nursing course will be over and she has sufficient holidays left to cover the period we are away.

As usual I will try to visit as many people as possible in the four weeks we are there but this time everyone will be meeting the girls for the first time and some of them will be meeting Michelle for the first time. There’s a lot to organise and plenty to plan for. I feel a list coming on!

end of an era

What is supposed to happen when your father dies? There’s no definitive rule and I’m not given to public displays of emotion and not very much even to private ones, for that matter. Letting things simmer away inside is my way. I received the sad news earlier this month and clicked into action mode, organising flights to England and a hire car from Heathrow.

This news was deeply sad and quite unexpected, despite dad’s steadily declining health over recent years. His sudden departure was remarkably similar in speed to my mum’s a decade ago, though different in cause. After fracturing his hip in a fall at home dad slipped away over a two week period. There was a brief and encouraging rally after a few days but the outcome is so often grim for a hip fracture in the elderly and dad‘s weak kidneys and lungs succumbed to the effects of the trauma.

I flew home to visit last January and I am very thankful I did. I spent three weeks lodging with dad and although I was out most days visiting relatives, friends and my two adult sons, I still spent a good deal of time with him. He was more introspective than ever, more detached from reality and the modern world, more confused by technology yet he was still dad – not the dad of old, with sharp intellect, resolve and reliable memory but still dad, just about.

It’s ghastly the way time slowly robs us of our personality as we age. It’s as if we develop a new personality fit for each stage of life but the one we spend our final months with is a far cry from the one of our heyday.

Perhaps it’s that steady but inexorable shift, that winding down, which prepares those who are about to be left behind. I had watched dad’s decline from afar and sometimes up close so when the end came I was not devastated but able to appreciate the relative lack of suffering, the degree of dignity dad experienced up to the end. That’s not to say the scene my brother and sister witnessed over the final hours was not distressing, it was but dad was spared perhaps years of miserable institutional living. A stubbornly independent soul, he would not have taken well to living in a nursing home, nor to the daily routine of kidney dialysis.

The funeral service and requiem mass was very well-attended. Many old friends, cousins, nephews and nieces, grandchildren, in-laws and former work colleagues were there as well as his surviving brother and three children. A few days earlier I had composed a eulogy which I was invited to read aloud during the service. It was a little history of dad’s life and times, his achievements, his likes and dislikes and little details those who knew him would remember. I enjoyed giving it and I’m glad I did.

In no time at all I was aboard a Boeing 767 bound for Toronto then on to Charlottetown and being greeted my wife and daughters. Deaths remind us of our own mortality and the shocking brevity of life. They allow us an opportunity to celebrate the life of another in ways we seldom do in their lifetime.

Take nothing for granted.

the parade

Here are some photos of this year's Gold Cup and Saucer Parade in Charlottetown.

OPPO BDP-93 Blu Ray and Universal Disc Player

I decided to branch into Blu Ray for certain films. Carrying 50gb of data per disc compared to a standard DVD’s 8.5gb, Blu Ray discs are able to provide significantly more detail for both picture and audio. We won’t see the best of our Hi-Definition TV unless we have a Hi-Def source so I researched players and settled on the Oppo.

I need a player that can handle Blu Ray, DVD, DVDR, CD, CDR, SACD and DVD Audio. Not only that but one which can read discs encoded for all geographical Regions and convert video from PAL to NTSC and vice versa. In short, a universal disc player that can play anything I own whether purchased in the UK or North America.

Oppo is a new American Manufacturer established in 2004 but already making a big name for itself with multi-functional disc players, upper mid-range in price but rivalling high-end competitors for performance. I bought the BDP-93 from an online retailer in Ohio for $630, $100 more than list price for the “region free” modification. Delivery took four days by FedEx. Packaging is the best I have seen; a large box with plenty of padding and the player wrapped in a strong linen bag. A separate box within contains cables, leads, wireless dongle and a chunky remote control with beautiful backlighting. I won’t delve into the technical detail of the BDP-93, suffice to say it has played anything I have thrown at it without fuss. The hefty owner’s manual is available online for the curious, as are detailed reviews.

From a user’s perspective, the Oppo’s upscaling of DVDs is great. My picture has never looked so sharp. Blu Rays are notoriously slow to boot up but this player reaches the menu within thirty seconds. So far I have only sampled a Blu Ray transfer of the thirty-five-year-old “Exorcist” but even that looks superbly defined with detail and illumination even in the dark corners.

As to sound quality, the player is amazing. I already own good players by NAD, Cambridge Audio and Toshiba but this beats them all by some distance. A universal disc player is all well and good but if you need an additional CD player to achieve quality audio then the point is lost. The Oppo gives the best audio experience I have had. Sound is full and crystal clear. I play it through a Yamaha ampilifier/receiver and Harmon Kardon surround sound speakers and the sound is truly detailed and powerful.

A potentially useful feature is the Oppo is wireless Internet ready and I had no trouble connecting it to my home network. Now a full range of online videos are available via the likes of YouTube and Netflix.

As a bonus you can leave an external hard drive plugged into either of the two USB ports and access any audio or video content using on-screen menus on the TV. My entire music collection is ripped to mp3 so unless I am looking for CD quality then I can call up from my armchair anything I fancy listening to. What’s more, the Oppo can read image files enabling you to watch slideshows of your digital photos on the big screen. All in all I’m quite happy with the purchase.

Marco Polo land

This was our pitch at Marco Polo Land. We camped for three nights and enjoyed a mixture of sunshine and showers. I wrote more about it here. And on my photo site there are some of my photos from the weekend.

The Marco Polo was a three masted clipper built in St John, New Brunswick in the 1850s and named after the famed Ventian adventurer. It sailed the seas in a number of guises and indeed setting records before finally floundering on the north shore of Prince Edward Island. In death it gave its name to the the high ground upon which today's campground was eventually built.

Pictures on the other sites show me looking a trifle subdued. I'm afraid the combined stress of taking tots camping and the lousy weather took its toll.