1000

1000 gigabytes (1 terabyte), 1000 chinups, 1000 push ups. Those are the topics for today.

Sorelle

... is the name of our favourite cafe in Chucktown. This will be blog central for the next hour or so.

It is relaxing to sit in this contemporary space. At first glance it may seem a cold, unwelcoming environment. The varnished concrete floors, Karim Rashid inspired decor, monocolor abstract paintings on large 6x6 canvases, huge double paned glass windows, and 24' ceilings exposing the olive grey metal superstructure would support this.

PechaKucha

Today was a day of PechaKucha. Follow the link, if you wish, for more information.

Thoughts? meh ... It is certainly a good forum for learning more about colleagues at work. It gets you up in front of the group, and ... hey ... it's something different.

'Nuff said.

It is a Friday in Boston. I slogged over to work through the narrow streets of Charlestown this morning. We are spending a couple of days at the condo in Boston to take in some Bruins games, and I have an all day meeting today, so it all works out.

Also got a chance to visit my new neighbours condo. A former colleague from work (now having moved on to greener pastures) has moved into our building. He is excited about his new digs (his girlfriend as well) and has lots of reno ideas. Not that it needs it, but it is always nice to put your own stamp on your place.

Moving on to a new project

Since starting this blog, I have been assigned to a project which (as I try to remain diplomatic) has been a bit unsatisfying. Enough said about that - time to look to the future.

And what better way to celebrate than to take in the morning January sun at the town landing.

The ink is drying (if that metaphor can be used in this digital age) on the contract as I prepare to embark. Each project brings new challenges, and I look forward to applying the knowledge I gained from previous project challenges to solve new ones.

Before I leave, let me make note of a couple of things.

WSDL and ObjectProxy

This was a vexing problem that quite a few Flex developers have encountered, and it continues with Flex 4.

Here is the issue: You have a service method that is intended to return an collection of typed objects:

myService.getCars():Cars[]

If, as expected, a collection of 'Cars' is returned, you will see in Flex an array of typed objects. Now this assumes that you have generated all the valueObjects from the wsdl into your Flex project. If you don't know what I am talking, about see: Import WSDL into Flash Builder 4

The service above will return a collection of cars upon the getCars() call. You will undoubtedly code to expect this collection. But what happens if only one car is returned? No problem, you will get a collection with one typed object.

NOT!

The response will contain one 'Car' object, and it will not be in a collection.

And to make matters worse, that 'Car' will be wrapped in the Flex 'ObjectProxy' class, which will evaluate to 'null' if you try to inspect it's values.

There are two paths the follow here:

1) Create an object by importing mx.utils.object_proxy;

var obj:Object = resultEvent.result.object_proxy::object;

Now you will be able to inspect the properties of the object. However that object is not typed, and what you really want is a collection of 'Car' objects.

2) The best approach is to add the following line to the imported services. Again, refer to the link above, because this assumes you have correctly imported the wsdl.

You will note that importing a service will generate two classes, for example with the 'Car' object:

(a) CarManagerService.as

(b) _Super_CarManagerService.as

Inside the CarManagerService you will see the constructor:

function CarManagerService()

{

super();

}

Add the following snippet (import the Operation class):

function ConfigurationComponentManagerImplService()

{

super();

for each (var operation:Operation in operations)

{

operation.forcePartArrays = true;

}

}

Now, even if only one object is returned, it will be available in a collection AND it will be typed correctly.

Nor'easter non-event

There is really not too much to report today, from a meteorological standpoint. I don't want to jinx myself, but this morning we woke up to a couple of inches of slush instead of wind blown drifts

of snow. But it may not be over yet.

Pictured here is a view of the cloudy sky looking out past Ropes Beach in Cotuit towards Sampson's Island and beyond into Nantucket Sound. In the foreground, the 'Thermopylae' - an oyster rig - harbors in the shallow bay in the company of a few skiffs.

Word is that eastern Mass out towards 495 received up to 2' of snow. That should keep them busy digging for awhile! Here on the Cape, although the wind whipped up slightly, and denser flurries fell for a short while, it wasn't even worth shoveling the end of the driveway.

A non-event at best. Right up there with Hurricane Earl.

The calm before the Nor'easter

"A powerful storm barreling up the Atlantic could drop as much as 17 inches of snow on Southern New England beginning sometime after midnight tonight." - so sayest the Boston Globe.

Where did the verb 'barreling' come from as it relates to a storm? I can imagine 18th century wharf workers unloading a ship load of barrels down a plank, and having one get loose on them. That would likely create a powerful storm of activity, depending upon the contents.

Getting back to the storm, when we get up tomorrow morning we will likely be greeted by a blizzard in progress. I think we are prepared for it. We have food, wood, candles, gas for cooking. Hopefully the power doesn't go out - but I wouldn't count on it.

There is a palpable sense of anticipation as the Cape prepares for another winter blast. It's always difficult to predict which side of the severity scale a Nor'ester on the Cape will fall. Will it be a Hurricane Earl - a total non event? Or a Cape Cod blizzard of 2005, where Mashpee received an astounding 40 inches on Jan 23.

The road was just getting in good shape for cycling again! I was looking forward to some riding this weekend, but I think we will get the snow shoes out instead.

I have been diligently using my new rollers in the basement this winter season. Jan and I are planning to spend a couple of weeks down in Vero Beach this Feb, and meet up with Jack, Fred, Bob and Steve. They will likely be in top cycling shape, and raring to brutalize me. Hopefully my indoor training will keep them from tearing the meat off my bones!

A form is finished, and painting is started

I regret having to resort to previous posts for title inspiration, but I saw an opportunity to highlight some symmetry, and I took it.

My blog, my rules.

I finally finished the form based workflow process that will start the ball slowly rolling for my promotion. This painful bureaucratic procedure makes the gradual removal of a bandage seem pleasurable.

Their company, their rules.

I offset this dreary task of self promotion by initiating another painting. I have no idea where I am going with this one. I am again using plywood as the substrate, this time laying down a thick layer of white gloss enamel as the base. Before slopping on the white, I dapped gobs of green acrylic on the plywood before spreading the enamel. This produced an interesting effect, with diffuse strands of green running through the jade background.

I crisscrossed the painting with painters tape to create a hash of squares, then sprayed on some matte black to get to the point pictured on the left. I have no idea what I am trying to achieve here, just in case you think there is some unknown brilliance guiding my thoughts. Jan is recommending that I stop right where I am. I think I might take her advice on this one. There are a couple places to touch up, then I might just leave it alone.

A winter kayak excursion

Today the halfway point was along the sandy stretch of Sampsons Island that faces Nantucket sound. I beached the kayak and scrambled out of the cockpit, placing my neoprene bootie into the freezing water.

The cold salt water immediately rushed into my right boot, which is designed to protect in late spring / early fall temperatures. Ouch! I sacrificed hypothermia in one set of toes, instead of a full body splash into the frigid ocean water. A prudent decision.

My trip today would take me from Cotuit Landing, out past the east cut of the bay, into the unprotected waters of Nantucket Sound. A strong north wind accompanied the clear blue skies, and it made a sail out of my back while I paddled through the ebb tide. I appreciated the wind assist as my shoulder muscles became reacquainted with my Werner paddle. The neoprene dry suit I was wearing underneath my Kokatat dry suit chaffed my skin with each stroke. No doubt my multi-layer protection of neoprene and waterproof nylon was robbing me off efficiency. But should I capsize (something I had NO intention of doing) this bulky clothing would give me my only chance for survival.

Before I make this sound like an episode of Bear Grylls, let me stress that I do not stray far from shore. I have a very safe layer of insulated clothing to to give me options if wind, current, or my own misdirection pushes me where I had not intended to go. These are simply uncertainties that I prepare for. In 99% of my cold water trips, I could probably go out in any warm winter gear and have a safe, comfortable paddle - as long as I stay upright! But the reality of dangerous wilderness travel is that you need to dress for that 1% of time, 100% of the time.

I moved smoothly through the cut and out into the sound. The wind that had pushed me across the bay now followed me as I paralleled the beach shore. While I appreciated the cooperation, I know I would have payback once I shifted the bow into the north at the other end of the island. But why fret? Just enjoy the ride. I expected a solitary trip, but I found myself surrounded by a variety of sea ducks. Common Eiders, Long Tailed ducks and Scoters bobbed on the surface, then dipped beneath the waves to search for some tidbit to eat.

The blue sky and brilliant sun belied the fact that his was indeed a frigid place to be. But the ducks seemed completely nonplussed as they paddled with me on the choppy ocean. I marveled at how well adapted they are for this world. Everything they need to survive goes with them whenever they take flight, and that's just the feathers on their back.

It makes our *need* for a 42" HDTV seem rather obscene.

Just as predicted, as I turned into the west cut and nosed into the channel between Grand Island and Sampson's, the wind hit me full bore. Ouch! (again). The extra thick neoprene paddling gloves I was wearing did the best they could, but water had managed to seep in and wet my fingers. Now with each stroke, I repeatedly raised one hand high into the wind for maximum cooling, while the other dipped into the water. I could start not feeling my fingers. This might impact my ability to type this afternoon (is that a bad thing?).

Paddling into the wind is a meditative experience. I shake off the frustration of having to work that much harder with each stroke, and settle into a steady rhythm. Each dig of the paddle blade elicits a grunt of effort. How slowly I move now, but I do move.

It seemed a metaphor for life: be in the present; feel the rhythm in nature; paddle steadily and thoughtfully.

I will move forward.

A painting is finished, a form is filled

Argh .... today I am devoting my precious weekend time to working on my promotion application. This entails a maze of forms that need to be creatively filled out in an effort to promote my contribution at work. I get extremely anxious filling out these forms. First, the workflow is confusing and not user friendly. Secondly, the language to complete these forms rewards those who have a firm grasp of 'biz speak'.

I do not.

So I tried to numb the pain by finishing up an art project. I can comfortably say that I am done with this piece. Instead of a canvas, I am using a scrap 1/4" plywood square, about 16x16". I like the way the light plays with the rough texture of the wood surface when painted. It is also a more economic way to experiment with thick coats of paint. Store bought stretch canvas is expensive, and paper can't handle the thick layers of paint I play with.

Winter rides

The roads are clean and dry today, however reports are that some weather is heading this way. With the threatening of a couple of inches of snow coming, noontime today might be the only chance to get out for a ride this weekend. Jan had a couple of noon appointments today, so I didn't feel guilty rushing down to the basement to suit up. I always look forward to sharing lunch with Jan, traditionally followed by a trip to Mashpee Commons for a coffee and/or a beach walk with the pups. But I miss the open road, and suffice to say that training on the rollers in front of the tv just isn't the same.

Dressing for ride at freezing temps takes up valuable time when trying to squeeze training into a lunch hour. Once all the proper gear has been located and piled together, clothing is then layered on to provide the best protection against the wind. With an avg of 20 mph, and max of 30 mph, the wind chill can cut through the layers of synthetic fibers. At the same time, a balance needs to be achieved so moisture can escape lest I become a sopping bag of sweat.

So, on goes the wool socks, cycling shorts, fleecy tights, thick polypro undershirt, my new Black Dog winter jersey, windproof jacket, lobster mitts, skull cap, ear band, helmet, and finally booties. I grunt while pulling the tight first layer over my skin, then another layer over that. I groan while twisting to reach zippers and velcro tabs to close and block wind holes. I'm exhausted just getting dressed.

Finally, bike at my side, I exit the garage only to encounter the icy obstacle that is the driveway. Following our Cape Xmas snow storm, repeated trips up and down the driveway in the car has left a layer of compressed ice. Tip-toeing over his mini glacier, I finally place the thin bike tire on the road and press off.

Today would be the usual Sandwich 22 mile training ride. I head right up the hill, past the Cotuit post office, Kettle Ho, then make a quick 90° left on to Main St. Settling into ride tempo, I pass by Richard's place (I notice his car), swing right onto Santuit-Newtown Rd, then head toward Hwy 28.

Approaching the intersection, I slow and survey the traffic. This is always the most treacherous moment of the ride. With no traffic light to stop traffic and marshal me across, I can't afford to dismount. If a hole doesn't open to dart across, I execute tight circles and wait. Most motorists are courteous and will slow to give me an opportunity to cross. I need to maintain the highest possible alertness at this juncture and I vow never to become complacent, or allow myself to forget what happened at the Osterville intersection. Although every moment of a ride can suddenly tilt to disaster, there are moments requiring extra caution - this being that moment.

I cross safely and power on to Farmersville Rd. The road is relatively flat, but there are enough undulations to force attention to cadence. The clothing makes me feel fat and slow, and I think back to the summer rides where I relished the flow of air over my skin. Slowing at the Ridge Club, I cross Farmersville and drop swiftly down Great Hill Rd to Lawrence Pond. Just as my downhill momentum ebbs, I feel the long climb up the mid-Cape ridge start to tug at my back wheel. This is the beginning of a long 250 ft vertical that starts where Great Hill Rd becomes Chase Rd. I usually challenge myself to a strong climbing pace on this hill. but today I watch the numbers on speedometer creep down as I pedal. I don't mind. It's soothing to feel the bike moving with the rhythm of my body.

Up and over the crest of the ridge, I drop down over the Mid Cape Hwy (#6) along Chase until I come up to Old Country Lane. This is my favourite left hand turn and if conditions are right - no traffic and good grip - I can dive into the turn with only a momentary touch of the brakes. This is the point in the ride where I can feel the engineering excellence of the Madone frame as the bumpy road twists toward Cranberry Hwy (6a). I love this part of the ride any season. It is pure Cape Cod with cranberry bogs, cedar shake homes, a serene glacial pond, and majestic rows of oak trees. As my wheels stutter over the Cape tourist train railway, I see the East Sandwich Post Office just ahead. This is the half-way point and I slow to sweep around and point my wheel back up the road.

Running the trip in reverse, each previous bob sled ride down now becomes an upward trudge. But the opposite is also true. The return trip seems to be a completely different road when viewed from the mirror side. I absorb the winter views: ice on the ponds, crusty snow at the side of the road, statuesque oak branches devoid of leaves. Everything melts together in my eyes with the rush of the cold winter air. It is a winter ride.

One person, two shadows

This morning I was able to enjoy a rare solitary walk along the length of Ropes Beach. Jan had an early appointment, otherwise she and the pups would have joined me.

I had been a cold night last night. We have been having a string of clear, star filled evenings that left the beach ice-cube hard. My running shoes left a slight dusting of a footprint as I walked in brilliant morning sunlight. Approaching a dock that had been disassembled for the winter, I noticed a odd shaped bump on the railing. Stepping closer it revealed itself to be large bird - a heron of some sort - evidenced by the long gangling yellowish legs and dagger of a bill. I was reluctant to disturb the bird, hunched upon its post, imagining it was trying to gather each strand of warming sun. If only the bird understood my motives. I wished merely to quietly pass and take in the details of this feather statue . But crossing some imaginary line, I suddenly became a threat, and the heron spread its massive wingspan, and launched across the bay. It was a Great Blue Heron, and in flight it seemed thrice the size of the mound that had hunched on the railing. Arcing back toward the shore, the heron settled up the beach on the path I was walking. "Shit, we are doing this dance again" , I thought. And we did. I crossed that imaginary line, and again the heron took flight, landing just up the beach. This time it landed on a the railing of a steep set of stairs leading down the embankment. This appeared a precarious perch for a creature more accustomed to wading through low tide mud. Approaching that line once again, the heron stutter stepped and flapped its wings awkwardly in an attempt to either regain balance or take flight. Flight won out, and unbeknown to me, another heron suddenly launched from the same location. Untethered from earth, the two herons gracefully winged across the bay, to be disturbed by me no longer.

The beach ended at the mouth of the tiny Santuit River. Here the black stained water of the stream mixed with the water of Cotuit Bay. I turned and back tracked feeling the increasingly warming sun. As I walked I noticed that I had two shadows. The first shadow emerged predictably from my feet and followed each step. Nothing unusual. The second was a ghostly, more diffuse shadow that was projected twenty feet above me on the embankment. I deduced that this shadow was coming from the strong sunlight reflecting from the water at some obtuse angle before striking me. I felt a companionship as the three of us - specter, shadow and I -continued to the termination of our morning walk before resuming a day hidden from the sun, writing code in the dark sanctuary of my office.

Happy Birthday Kelly!

Living down in the States, it has been hard to keep in touch with my brothers and sisters back home. And I confess, I should be doing a better job of connecting with them.

This being my sisters birthday, I sent off an email with a bit more than the usual one line 'Happy Birthday'. I talked more about the holidays and the time I spent with my Mom.

It was nice to get back a thoughtful and introspective response back from Kelly. I will definitely make more of an effort to connect this year. It seems sometimes that I have been too focused on trying to 'right this ship', where the 'ship' in this case is my life. I seem to be leaning a bit too far to the port side all the time.

Fiber in your diet

I am using Flash Builder 4.0 Premium and I kept getting the following error when I sync'd up to the project we are working on saying the the IValueObject cannot be found. This is apparently related to the com.adobe.fiber class that cannot be found.

1045: Interface IValueObject was not found.

Ack!

I believe the source of the problem is the another developer generated the AS3 classes for the wsdl using 4.0.1, while I am using 4.0.0

I tried to update my version of FlashBuilder using the AdobePatchInstaller, but all it would tell me was: 'Update is not applicable'

Crap I hate chasing around after my tail like a Labrador Retriever.

A quick look at the line causing the offending error points to the com.adobe.fiber package. What kind of name is 'fiber' for a package?

Google the error and it is apparent that a couple of swc's need to be added.

Go to:

project properties > Flex Build Path [tab] Libary Path

and click 'Add SWC Folder'.

Browse to your location of these FlashBuilder swc's, in my case:

C:/Program Files/Adobe/Adobe Flash Builder 4 Plug-in/eclipse/plugins/com.adobe.flexbuilder.dcrad_4.0.0.272416/dcradSwcs/4.0/

and add folders: locale and libs

I can now compile with no errors. All good.

Found Money

Today is a holiday from work! I have been on vacation for a lot of December, so I lost track of our company holiday calendar. Waking up and thinking it a work day, then to discover a sunny day off, is like putting on those old jeans and finding a $5 bill in the front pocket.

That should give me time to do a spit and polish on the bikes, and clean up my work room. It looks a bit disastrous after doing double duty as a carpentry shop, painting studio, and Xmas present wrapping center.

But not before enjoying the most serene of all Cape Cod experiences: the winter beach walk. Cape Cod is, of course, world renowned for its beaches. That part of the world who has visited Cape beaches has probably done so in the summer. And who would blame them? Summer on Cape Cod is a sublime experience, but just make sure you plan on sharing that experience with a lot of other people.

Rags and Myrtle (our Norwich Terriers), Jan and I walked along Ropes Beach this winter afternoon. We were completely alone under the clear blue sky that felt especially crisp in contrast to the humid weather we experienced over New Years. The beach sand was tinged with ocher shadows cast by the early afternoon sun. The different beach strata were revealed by the low tide: an amorphous mud at the water edge, a soft muddy sand mixture, crystalline sand beach, then the final swath of beach detritus at the high water mark.

Of interest were all the jellyfish blobs washed up on the muddy sand. They look like dollops of semi-transparent goop ranging in diameter from a scallop to a dime. Looking at them, I would be challenged to ascribe any animal qualities to these blobs. I picked one up and let the bright sun illuminate whatever features are contained within. Inside the gel were four diaphanous filaments, probably immature tentacles. Jan was mildly interested and probably suspected some gooey prank was afoot. But it was all in the name of scientific curiosity and once satisfied, I tossed it back into the ocean

Sunday, Muddy Sunday

With apologies to U2, today evolved into a chore day. Yesterdays warm weather continued and with each passing degree Fahrenheit, white snow gave way to sloppy mud.

The saddest chore of all was the de-ornamentation of our Christmas tree.

Since this was the first Christmas Jan and I have spent at the Cape, we wanted our Christmas tree to be the shining center of our decorating efforts.

Our tree came from down the road at Sprout Farms. Mr Sprout is our garden flower provider of choice come spring, but we seldom visit his wonderful location in the other seasons. It was a joy to pull the car down into his tiny cul-de-sac and browse through his selection of trees. We chatted and soon learned of the passing of his dog Jade. She always greeted us enthusiastically whenever we pulled in to load up with trays of Impatiens. I won't pretend that Jade's greeting was reserved only for us, but it was fun to wrestle with her strong Boxer frame as she playfully pressed her muscular body against my leg.

The imagination that Mr Sprout employs to display his wares is impressive. He has a genius for re purposing wooden pallets, plywood, and shelving to stage his Cape Cod grown produce. This December, in the area that usually hosts our flowers, were a selection of Douglas Fir trees hanging like bowling pins about to be placed on the parquet. It was the perfect way to display the Christmas trees, and they swayed and twirled as I walked between their aromatic branches.

I learned with dismay that Jan and Mom had nominated me as 'selector of the tree' in my absence. Selection of the perfect tree would be defined by some combination of height, width, symmetry, colour, and some other characteristic that would become known once the tree standing in the living-room. A wave of Christmas tree anxiety washed over me and did not dispel until my eyes lay upon the perfect coniferous specimen.

After a brief vetting, the tree was bundled up, hoisted on to the top of the Outback and trundled down the road the house. Once it was standing in front of the main windows in the living room, Mom, Jan and I marveled at the beauty of it. Before long, fragile Christmas ornaments were plucked from their long dark sleep inside tissue paper filled boxes and tenderly placed among the evergreen branches. The light strands, a multitude of tiny pin-prick star lights, were then woven into the deep green branches. Behold - our Christmas tree.

Mom has gone back to Bolton, so Jan and I are left with the task of running the trimming process in reverse. There is no mystery or air of anticipation in this task. Where upon each placing of a single ornament or garland on the tree yields a new spectacle, the process in reverse reveals a drab green skeleton that showers the floor with dry pine needles upon each touch.

Finally the tree is pushed out the door and attached to the top of the Outback for the final trip. It seemed like such an ignoble fate for such a wonderful friend. It had stood in a place of honour in our home and carefully guarded the presents underneath. It had stood as a symbol of our love for each other and the perennial joy that surrounds this season. Now I was pulling away the kayak straps to toss it into the recycling pile at the Barnstable dump. There was no reverential way to do this. Holding the tree above my head, my boots sucking in the mud with each step, I threw it among the other trees already laying there.

Chore finished.

How far?

This marks the anniversary of my first year with my Garmin 405cx ( https://buy.garmin.com/shop/shop.do?pID=31859). As a training buddy and motivator this tool is worth every cent. I recommended it to a friend of mine, Brian Rinaldi (http://www.remotesynthesis.com/) who also uses it in his fitness training. There is simply no better way to keep a diary of fitness activities. The sleek watch quickly picks up GPS satellites then tracks location, heart rate (assuming you have the monitor on), elevation, calories burned, and bike cadence. I use it for all my road work (cycling) and indoor training.

A nice feature is the Garmin Connect site (http://connect.garmin.com/) that allows me to upload all my training data to their site through the ANT+ wireless connection. Once the data is uploaded I have a permanent record of all my rides (workouts) and a calendar that tracks fitness goals. Call it a 'fitness blog'.

And I can quickly generate a summary of the past years activities:

Count:	227 Activities
Distance:	3,221.48 mi
Time:	376:19:49 h:m:s
Elevation Gain:	87,982 ft
Avg Speed:	8.6 mph
Avg HR:	129 bpm
Avg Run Cadence:	--
Avg Bike Cadence:	75 rpm
Calories:	156,565 C

156 thousand calories? If one pound of fat is equivalent to 3000 cals, that equates to 52 pounds of fat. That's a lot of potato chips!

I did trim up quite a bit this past year though. The secret? Diet and exercise - with extra emphasis on the diet. Jan and I both implemented a healthy diet plan that removes virtually all sugar and flour from our diet in combination with a regimen of three meals a day, no snacking, no alcohol - in short: remove the shit from our diets.

Even the term 'diet' is a misnomer. The food that is constantly pushed on us is engineered to ensure our continued cravings. This in turn fattens both us and the wallets of the Industrial Food Corporations.

I predict that in the future (hopefully not to distant), we will look back at images of these times in the same way that we are amazed that in the 1950's doctors smoked in their offices as they discussed healthcare with their patients.

Are you serious!!!

Imaging a time 10-20 years from now seeing images of parents handing a chocolate bar to their children as a reward. Those future parents will grimace in pain as they try to imagine how those child's organs vainly try to handle the massive dose of pure sugars.

This diet contains the types foods that ensure a harmony in our internal chemistry, and only in amounts that can sustain an active lifestyle.

You can call that a diet, or you can call it a return to sanity.

Happy New Years, Cotuit Style

Why not resolve to blog?

A New Years resolution that involves putting something into my life rather than taking something out (Note to self: Pie à la Mode is now on the 'remove' list for the foreseeable future).

The countdown to blog started at 7:00pm Friday December 31 at the Curran's in Centerville. John and Mackey graciously hosted a wonderful evening in their beautiful home as Jan and I mingled and recounted the year past with Richard, Tracy, Brian, Betsy, Rob, Shanti, Laura, Pam, John (+ Ned). Sitting down at the dinner table, we joked and enjoyed a wonderful celebratory meal.

3 ... 2 ... 1 ... Midnight! We watched the throngs erupt in celebration as the crystal ball finished its 104th drop from high above Times Square. And miles away on Cape Cod, we friends embraced, exchanged polite kisses on the cheek (Jan gets 'special' treatment), and perhaps each of us quickly inventoried the successes and losses of the past year. But to have the pleasure and privilege to do so in the company of such wonderful people, a true blessing.

------------------------- 2011--------------------------------------

Saturday morning - feeling, um, a tiny bit under the weather - Jan and I pondered the choices for the day. We were greeted with a wonderfully unseasonably warm Cape Cod winter day with temps of 55F. Eric Jansen (Cape Cod Cyclists) had fired off an email the night before to rally the troops for a New Years Day ride, but I wanted to cycle with Jan on this remarkably springlike day.

We met the AMC group at the Plumb Corner in Rochester. It is a bit of a drive from Cotuit, but it is nice to cycle off Cape for a change. The group ride was led by Paul Currier who always does a wonderful job at pace and route. He led the way down to Marion past Tabor Academy. As we veered off the main road onto the side roads, we encountered patches of ice, reminding us that this is January, and we are just one week past an impressive winter storm. The eight riders comprising our group were guided along the Marion Harbour to the tip of Aucoot Cove.

The air was cooler down by the water, but it did not detract from the beautiful view out across Buzzards Bay, with the white lighthouse on Bird Island glistening in the light fog. Turning our bikes back down the peninsula, we headed over to the other side of the harbour to take in another beautiful view towards Cape Cod Canal from the Kittansett Golf Club.

As we backtracked down Point Rd, I noticed that Jan was slowing slightly. My odometer was reading around 20 miles and I knew she would be feeling the distance. Jan has been very focused on our new lifestyle change (read: dietary change) so her cardio endurance could be on the low side. Plus winter riding always takes 10% off the top: the clothing, the cold air ... each pedal stroke requires just that much more effort.

At mile 25, Paul and the gang stopped at an intersection to consider options. We could add another 5 miles and circle through the Rochester countryside back to our start, or take a 2 mile route out. I knew Jan was ready to call it quits, so we thanked Paul for the wonderful trip, bade our cycling companions a Happy New Year and parted ways.

Plumb Corner in Rochester and the waiting Subaru came just quickly enough as we loaded up the dirty bikes, with 30 miles on the odometer, and headed back down the road. But not before stopping at a cute cafe in Rochester. The Asian owner greeted us cheerfully and congratulated us on bravely taking on the challenge of cycling on the 1st of Jan. We couldn't resist her recommendation of the chicken salad sandwich, which as promised, "would not disappoint". The chatter of south central Massachusetts buzzed around us as we hungrily finished lunch then headed back to the Cape.

We were both tired arriving back in Cotuit, but I was determined to launch the kayak into the waters of Nantucket Sound on this warm day. It was almost 3 pm now and diffuse sunlight would only last for another hour. I threw the bike gear out, and threw what kayaking gear I thought I would need in. I squiggled into my kokatat wet suit, neoprene booties and headed down to the town landing. The tide was extremely low leaving an expanse of a pudding-like mud to pull the kayak over at launch. Settling into the cockpit, I struggled to get my cold water gloves on then pushed off. I settled into a paddling rhythm as I glided past the empty moorings. The only craft left floating on the still bay water was the 'Thermopylae' which always winters alone on the bay waiting for the oyster harvest. I set course out through the east cut into the sound. Loop Beach appeared full of cars and people enjoying the late afternoon. Spotting Submarine rock laying nearly out of the water, I set that rocky landmark as the turn-around where I nearly ran aground on the sandy bottom on approach. It was a beautiful place to stop and enjoy a thermos of tea I had brought for a toast. The hot liquid felt as smooth as a single malt scotch on my throat in the fading January light. I listened to the slight swell breaking on the pebbles exposed by the low tide on Sampsons Island, and the faint murmur of people on Loop Beach across the water. Breathing it in, I pulled my thick gloves back on, then turned back to the landing. Each pull of the paddle drew the rhythm of the ocean up through my arms, past my shoulders and down into my heart.