Post arrived this morning. Amongst the bills and rainforests of junk mail, were two little unexpected gems:

1. A lovely card from my Uncle Alan, whom I have seen only once in about the last 10 years, with a completely unneccessary (and most gratefully received) cheque to "help with my journey". Many, many thanks;
   
   
2. My race number for the Abbotside enduro on 4th August. I am number 177, and my allocated start time is 14:30;

Scrutineering starts at 12:30, but I don't need to worry about that since Martin from AJP is bringing along a race-prepared little lady for a very reasonable number of groats. By coincidence, it is the same number of groats that my Uncle Alan put on his cheque. This is Providence. If it is OK with you Uncle Alan (assuming you are reading this), I'd like to use this for hiring the bike for my first ever race. That way, when I really enjoy it and go on to other things (and my Ma goes all out of shape about me doing Dakar and getting her all worried) then you can take the blame for it :)

Assuming that the little lady is as good as the AJP I rode a few weeks back, a few more groats will change hands and she will be coming home with me. The groats that change hands will be reduced by the cost of the hire, so my Uncle Alan has also chipped in a significant amount for the bike on which I will be racing. Thank You, but you do realise that you've set yourself up for a fair amount of Ma-delivered grief.

For those of you who do not know my Ma, your life is much quieter because of this. Having an argument with my Ma is an awful lot like trying to drink from a fire hose. There are two opinions in the world - her opinion, and the wrong opinion. That said, you're always glad when she's in your corner - it's just when she's in the opposite corner you need to worry. I can see where I get it from.

At work - on projects - I see an awful lot of people starting with a conclusion and then torturing all of the facts to make it fit. Sort of similar to the way that a girl with a large frame will torture a size 8 dress to get into it because she is adamant that she can wear a size 8.

So today, 31 July, I am going to christen Size 8 Day - it's the day when I torture the facts to fit the conclusion. I spent two days at BMW and, towards the end of the second day, I was starting to feel like an enduro rider - things were starting to flow a little and come together. Fate and Providence have decided to send me a couple of signs that I am ready to race now - my race number, and some of Uncle Alan's groats to provide the bike.

The word I am going to invent for this is SHIPPEE! It's a mixture of "oh shit" and "yippee!". half of me is dead excited at the prospect of racing on Saturday - the other half is fairly daunted by the prospect. Being bipolar, this actually doesn't present too much of a problem - I am fairly used to effectively being split in two.

Regardless, I will give a good account of myself on Saturday. Not just because I want to make sure I don't let down my Uncle Alan, it's also because I will not let myself down. This race is just the another step on a much longer journey - the ultimate finishing line of which is in Dakar.

In the meantime, SHIPPEE!!!

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