07.28 MORNING RIDE

I know you're reading this.

When Jen isn't glued to her computer screen reading my photo journal she's typically out for a run, in the pool, or off on her bike for a ride along Hamilton's escarpment. In her spare time, she is hard at work on a research project helping individuals with spinal cord injury get active too

It didn't take much to convince her that this was a good morning for an early ride, despite the imminent rain clouds and the humidity that fogged our shades.

After all, I had missed the boat on the scheduled group ride last night because of a minor miscommunication that left me waiting on Jen's porch while the rest of my friends worked up an appetite for the enormous barbecue planned that evening. She owed me one and I wasn't leaving Hamilton without a ride under my over-stuffed belt.

By 8 AM we were out the door and winding up Snake Road. My legs don't usually carry me uphill very quickly, but this ride could have earned me a polka dot jersey had Jen not blown by on every climb. Argyle is my pattern of choice to polka dots anyhow

In any event, it was an awesome ride - and I'm not just talking about the downhill coasting. But if there was a jersey for the most graceful coast, or perhaps for the rider who can most elegantly tip over, cleats clipped in of course - I'd like it designed with a paisley pattern in a shade of Olive, extra small.

07.27 HAMILTONIANS

Every time I return to Hamilton I feel at home. It's not because there is a place in my heart for the smokestacks and steel factories that come into view as the 403 winds down the Niagara Escarpment. No, that certainly can't be it.

And its not because I long to revisit my old apartment, cater- corner to the train station, where passing cars shook photos off my wall and blurred the morning news just as I was trying to catch the weather report. Nope, don't miss that very much either

It's not the Beeline bus stop, right in front of the exotic dance club on King Street East, where I'd stand on weekdays, waiting in front of neon lights as patrons break-their-erotica-fast in the early hours of the morning while I tried to look discreet wishing I hadn't worn a short summer skirt on a Monday. No...I don't miss that at all

What explains the warm, fuzzy feeling I get every time I take the Aberdeen exit is the company I am in when I visit. I look forward to seeing my Hamiltonian friends.

From right to left: Shawn, Adrienne, Kevin, George, Kelly and Jen. Soon to arrive and steal my vacant seat is Rako. Sydney is also MIA this evening. Together, they form a posse who I grew close with while at McMaster and remained close to since I left town.

Get-togethers typically begin as Jen brings me up to speed on current gossip. I admit, I have picked up on some investigative skills from that girl that might come in handy once I get going as a journalist. We manage to cover a range of juicy news over skewered antipasto-kebabs but by the time we get to the main course -and the boys joined the table- the conversation shifts, as it inevitably does, to training.

By comparison, these guys make me look much like a sloth, without the fur. But their company, along with the surroundings (I'm thinking escarpment, hold the smokestacks) is motivating. They are an energetic crowd, a group of kinesiologists, a bunch of endorphin-hungry athletes...like me. The motivation lasts only until Shawn gets the blender going. He is known to mix a fine frozen bevy and tonight's concoction including at least three different flavours of Bailey's brings my metabolism, and my mind, back to holiday-mode. I bet you wouldn't have thought of the Hammer as a holiday destination. I assure you its mind over matter.

I click my heels three times, but I am still here at my computer desk in Windsor.

There's no place like ...

07.26 MANDY

There is no single person who I shared more time with while I lived in Hamilton than Mandy Vyce. She was my training partner for the two years that I ran as a McMaster Marauder and Alumni. We logged hundreds of miles together.

Today neither of us is running much at a competitive level. While I am training for a marathon "just for the heck of it," Mandy is spending more time in the pool while she nurses a couple of chronic injuries and a tumor in her foot that caused a recent cancer scare.

Having plenty in common aside from our interest in long distance running, the conversation never grows dry. About the only thing dry is the red wine we enjoyed with our My-Thai picnic by Cootes Bay this afternoon. She and I both love good food and wine and I am begining to realize this is the foundation of a solid companionship...

Another common thread is our independent decisions to return to school. Mandy acted as the program coordinator for a Jewish seniors home for over five years before deciding to complete a second undergraduate degree in political science. She plans to pursue post-grad studies in International Development next year. Eloquent and opinionated, I bet she would make an excellet corresponding journalist.

But then I am the one going on to study newspaper reporting. In England, fancy that. I remember deliberating with Mandy over an opportunity to do a PhD, gaining ideas and advice from her. At the same time, she was struggling to relinquish a comfortable lifestyle and hit the school books once again. We were both befuddled, and frequently exchanged the details of our personal and academic tribulations over long runs and shrimp khorma.

It is interesting to sit across from her today and realize how far we have come. Not just how far our feet have trod, but also the distance we have gained from our muddled minds.

Methinks the moment me legs begin to move, me thoughts begin to flow." - Henry David Thoreau.

07.24 ADVICE

I hit the highway this afternoon destined for Hamilton and Toronto where I will be spending the next few days visiting friends one last time before I depart for England.

My first stop is McMaster University where I met with my master's thesis advisor, Steve.

Like a mad scientist, Steve is eager and dissecting, with an originative curiosity. His hair falls naturally over his forehead, partly covering the wrinkle caused by the fixed look of question on his brow. Occasionally, he runs his hands through the length of his locks, as if to comb through any confusion, adding a slight tug at the ends when he is especially frustrated.

Today his brow searches for a reasonable explanation for finding himself in front of the camera lens in the midst of a mid-afternoon coffee break.

He recalls the photo journal I complied just a year ago and rolls his eyes at me. He looks annoyed, but there is the turn of a smile at one end of his lip that gives me the okay to aim and shoot. Its probably the same look his sons, Conner and Willy, receive when they've been up to something.

It is a familiar and comforting look. As my advisor, Steve exuded a paternal concern that was benevolent, but never degrading or intrusive. I don't think he can help it. He is a father before he is a mad scientist, I suppose. But it is an endearing quality of his and one that drove me to impress him with my work, as though he might stick it to his refrigerator alongside his kid's crayon drawings once he got home.

This afternoon, Steve managed to squeeze in a bit of fatherly - or advisorly- suggestions on work opportunities at Nottingham University and ideas on how I can advance my CV to other British mad scientists who have a wad of extra funding to spend on an overqualified teaching assistant. Steve always manages to get the cogs turning, and as usual, I left our afternoon meeting full of ideas. His eagerness is contagious like that.