Pat tells me that my first novel initial installment was not as wonderful as I thought.

In her words, “it sounds like one of your ” I had the most marvelous dream last night do you want to hear it???  “”

I have never understood why normal people are not fascinated by my dreams. My dreams are great adventures (well except for the ones that involve not finding my car in a huge parking lot)

I really thought the detail of the Dave Stieb jersey took the book into the realm of fine literature.

So now I am back to writing blogs about my life.

I just finished a Martin Cruz Smith book, which believe me, was much less exciting than the book I was laying out, but he used big words that challenged the readers to stop and either look it up or consider that they were reading an intellectual novel.  I think that was my mistake, not enough big words.

Anyway back to my life.  For some reason I have not been riding my bicycle in the last couple of years.  This used to be a big part of my routine, particularly in Oakville where I would go off on 3 hour rides.

The big problem here is that we live at the top of a hill.  No matter where I ride the first half hour is free cycling down hill (when I am full of energy) and the last hour is up-hill with my heart pounding and  wondering if I should have brought my cell phone so I could call the wife as I died from a heart attack.  It would be a shame to die without being able to express my deep felt love for her, or gasping for help.

So the last couple of days I have gone through this aerobic experience and, while I lived through the heart attack period, the biggest problem is that my bum is not used to long bike rides.

I rode off to the clubhouse this morning to pick up the paper, a short ride, and could barely sit on the saddle.  Who knew that you could have calluses on your bum cheeks?

Now is this more interesting than my novel?  Apparently I was going to discover that the woman that took my Jersey was a foreign spy….