Twenty twenty four. A year of highs and lows.
The Highs.
In April we took our honeymoon to Patagonia. It was amazing. A truly memorable experience; from Tierra del Feugo and The Magellan Straits to the “W” trek in Torres del Paine and the Maipo vineyards outside Santiago. We’d love to return and we highly recommend it. I dedicated a full post to it here. In October, Charlie, between finishing his degree and starting with the London Fire Brigade spent three months working as a ranch hand on an estate in Patagonia, north of where we went.
Above is “Chainsaw Charlie” in his backyard, doing some work, checking out the meat and top left, giving us a glimpse of his kitchen. He was living out of a tent and using a lake of glacial run off instead of a (hot) shower, as there were none! Good on yer Woozy!
Charlie had been planning to join in with one of the other highs of the year but had to start his work in Patagonia so, unfortunately, had to miss the Natchez Trace Parkway cycle.
George and I had been in the habit of doing a big walk each year and in 2019 we agreed to switch modes and cycle the Natchez Trace Parkway. Then the pandemic happened, then the cancer, and all plans were put on hold until we started planning again late 2023.
The Natchez Trace Parkways is a 444 mile single lane (in each direction) road that runs from Nashville to Natchez, in Mississippi. It follows the path of The Old Natchez Trace, an important ancient trading trail. The parkway has no traffic lights, roundabouts or commercial traffic allowed. The speed limits are low – usually 45 mph – and apart from a 20 mile stretch around Clinton MS where the parkway is used like a regular road, there are very few cars, so it is very good for cycling. Here is a good Strava overview of the route. Here is the Wiki entry and here the official National Park Service website.
We wanted to be efficient and not have to cycle too far from the Trace every night so we persuaded Ollie and Charlie to be RV support drivers and part cyclists. They were all in, until Charlie had to go to Patagonia. Tiffany and her long-standing friends and partners, Whit and Barb, made up a second RV. George and I cycled the whole thing, Whit a little over 400 miles of it (he and Barb had to drop their dog off at the dog sitter so joined 40 miles in), Tiffany just under 200 miles and Ollie just over 150 miles. Barb looked after us all.
We went in October as the leaves were just about to turn, the temperatures were good (mainly in the 60s F) and the sun was shining. We got lucky as we even got a couple of days with the wind behind us (it normally blows north). Here are some pix of the trip.
The first three days we did less miles (64, 57, 63) to ease ourselves into it and because it was a little hillier. The last three days were flatter and we were warmed up (!) so put in more miles (86, 93, 91). George, Whit and I got into a good routine of keeping together and rotating at the front. Ollie and Tiffany would join when they rode. Our best single day stat-wise was 93 miles at at average of 18.4 mph. We rode well together and conditions were perfect. I don’t think I’ll match those figures ever again! For the stat nerds details are as follows:
Day 1: Nashville – Napier 64.4 miles, 3,533ft elevation, 14.1 mph
Day 2: Napier – Tennessee River 56.9 miles, 1,657ft elevation, 15.6 mph
Day 3: Tennessee River – Tupelo 62 miles, 2,178ft elevation, 16.7 mph
Day 4: Tupelo – French Camp 85.8 miles, 2,365ft elevation, 17.7 mph
Day 5: French Camp – Clinton 93.2 miles, 1,480ft elevation, 18.4 mph
Day 6: Clinton – Natchez 90.6 miles, 2,490ft elevation, 17.4 mph
The Lows.
For the last three years, I thought, because of my cancer, that I was unlucky. But this year has served up a number of unexpected and tragic events that make me feel that perhaps I was luckier than I had thought.
While in Patagonia, I got news that one of my best best friends from childhood, and best man from my marriage to Jill, William, had suffered two strokes and a seizure. Luckily, he was already in hospital when they occurred, which makes a big difference to outcomes. But still, he’s dealing with considerable physical and cognitive issues. It’s slow going; learning how to eat, drink, talk, walk, write, move, all the things, again. He lives by himself in the old family home. It seems to be an enduring comfort, to be in such familiar surroundings, but it’s not a small house, which presents its own set of challenges. Though I never lived there, it was a bit like my second home when I was growing up. I’ll visit and spend time with him whilst I am in the UK. He’s the nearest thing to a brother for me. I think about his situation a lot and how tough it is.
Then in July, I got news that a friend of mine from the first days of university had suffered a fluke heart attack. I had known Mike since the first days of university. We did the same degree, both played in the college football and cricket teams and pursued similar careers. Mike and his wife, Clare, met at university and they were one of three couples who met there and became the centre of gravity for a broader group of Westfield College satellites, like me, to circle around. Mike and I both worked in London advertising, including three years in the Ogilvy group, albeit it in different companies and different locations, and we’d meet from time to time. He helped me out when I set up my own little company too. He was a all around good guy.
Mike had an exceptional career, topping out as Global CEO of one of the big direct/digital agencies, Proximity, a wonderful wife and a lovely, close family. He had also taken a step back from the big agency high stress life to spend more time with Clare, especially in their house in France and was doing a little bit of consultancy to keep his hand, and a bit of pocket money, coming in. He looked all set for an amazing retirement. So it was all the more shocking to hear that this had happened. Of all people! By the time he got to hospital his brain had been without oxygen for too long. Life support was turned off about ten days later. He was 61.
Last Christmas Anna, my sister and her husband, Rupert were talking about selling the business they had run for over thirty years. It’s been a slog but they had built up a solid company with about fifteen really loyal staff. They recently bought another company in an adjacent sector, mobile telephony, which would increase the value of their company. They were beginning to see the fruits of their labour. A super close-knit family, with a huge array of broader family and friends. A house filled with welcome and warmth, people and dogs, and Rupert’s big sailing boat moored on the south coast ready for action. Rupert’s sixtieth birthday was going to be like his heaven. Fly the family and partners to the Caribbean, spend a week in a luxury villa and charter a boat for a week.
But it was on that trip, in April, it became clear something was wrong. Rupert wasn’t not his usual self. After returning to the UK and doctors and tests it was clear that Rupert had a really aggressive brain cancer. This was June. No surgery, chemo or radiation. Straight to palliative care then hospice care at home. Rupert passed 17th September. Such a big strong man. An amazing host, loving husband, adoring father and kind to all. We were at the same school together, and he and Anna got together when Anna was eighteen. That’s a lot of years. There’s a gap in many people’s lives.
All the cliched words don’t really do justice to the incredulity, surreal unbelievability, non-processability of all this. I can’t really conceive of Clare without Mike nor Anna without Rupert. Watching William re-learn all the things is tough. And a year ago no one would have guessed any of this. Not even in crazy dreams.
I had a couple of friends die and one suffer irreversible brain trauma when I was in my late twenties/early thirties. Lovely Bob, my ex-brother in law, died of motor neurone disease barely fifty years old. But these tragedies felt like flukes, one-offs. Somehow, it feels like William, Mike and Rupert are not. My cancer was not. I have a couple of friends who have prostate cancer which they may not get rid of. As we age, more of the conversation goes to health talk. It’s kinda grim. It’s not just our parents now. It’s us. Fuck.
I’m still in there, struggling away. Trying to keep fit and healthy. Trying to achieve as much as I can while I still can. But there are people who have been part of my life for fifty years now who are not. I think about them a lot, and their closest peoples, especially Anna and Clare. I think about how all this has affected me.
This is personal blog post to a limited number of people. It doesn’t mean much in the great scheme of things. It’s really an end of year connection point from me to whoever reads this. But for what it’s worth, this post and in some ways, this year is dedicated to Anna, Rupert, Mike, Clare, and in a different way to William, as they and the people around them adapt to what, and who, has gone too early.