And We Ride ... AGAIN!!!!

Bacon. 
That was the craving I woke up with. I had visions of piles of freshly fried bacon. 
We are seated in a nice air-conditioned room in Nilaveli, a beautiful seaside resort village in North Eastern Sri Lanka. Today is our rest day on our third Around The Pearl ride. Its been scorching hot, humid, windy and tough going but a load of fun.This ride has evolved from being a tight knit circle of friends, off on a roll around Sri Lanka, to a much wider group of professionally organised and managed people still riding to raise funds for an amazing cause. Our target is to reach the 40,000 wheel chairs needed to help Sri Lanka's CP afflicted children get wheel chairs. In spite of the ever increasing numbers, there is still a good camaraderie in the group although not to the same levels of the first two rides. This is to be expected when its grown from 12 to 22 to 40 riders. 

Two years ago, this was a turning point in my life. The ride that changed my life in more ways than one. Today, I am fitter, healthier and stuffed to my gills with bacon. Yes; my craving was satisfied. 

We began the ride 6 days ago, in a sweltering Colombo. The weather gods have lost their collective marbles and decided to bring Sri Lanka to a slow roast. Training for the ride was challenging enough but actually getting down to doing it, in this heat, was something totally different. I am happy to say that riding 150+km's a day is not the toughest challenge any more. Toss in a couple dozen lunatic TukTuk drivers, even more psychotic bus drivers, cows, dogs and insane heat (near 40c on most days), a bear, a few elephants, a dead ring tailed civet and a goat; you have a serious challenge on your hands. 

The group consists of 40 riders of varied skill and fitness level. Shapes range from champaign flute to brandy balloon, and riding skills, similar in variety and its enough to make anyones organisational skill groan and creak at the seams. 

Our erstwhile skipper, Yasas and his able bodied assistants Udam and Crystal (Ajith and I apart from the occasional phone call, or e mail contribution have had very little to do with with the actual organising. 'Consultant' is a good description. Like most consultants, we do little but enjoy much merit) have done a yeoman job. The routes and fuelling stops, planned and manned by the super woman and the other half of the dynamic duo, Ajani. Well stocked with iced water, Fish buns, Vegetable and Beef Roti, Vadai and a variety of cooled drinks, these stops are beyond welcome in the sweltering heat. 

We set off from the beautiful Land Rover showrooms in Colombo. LR being one of our main sponsors, this was a good way for us to show our support. Stunning place with a great cup of coffee and on this particular morning stocked with energy giving banana's and oats. The ride didn't start off well, with our friend Dila, who was joining us for day one only, falling off her bike, while stationary and dislocating and shattering her elbow. In the hustle and bustle of getting the ride started, few of us knew this had happened. Sadly for her, she has to undergo surgery and won't be on her bike for a while. 

There were a few more spills along the way but overall most of the riders made it unscathed to Mandara hotel in Mirissa. A small, comfortable place on the beach, away from the crowds. The first few days are always tough. the sun, the traffic and our bodies getting used to the routine, usually means that the socialising is limited to a few cocktails at most and a very early night. 

Day 2, takes us from Mirissa to Katharagama. A 140+Km's of rolling hills and heat. The roads start to get less crowded and the surfaces are better but did I mention the heat? It is seriously, seriously hot. I sometimes wonder if what we do and the time of year we do it is the most sensible. Probably not, along with the ever expanding list of the not too sensible things we tend to do in this ride. It certainly not for the feint hearted, but i have seen incredible transformations take place as well. This ride is no different to the two before; transformations of physique and personality are taking place before our eye. 

Endurance riding is an interesting sport. its more mind than body and more grit and glory. I never thought of myself us an endurance rider. Lacking patience at the best of times, I hardly saw myself as a man capable of sitting his ass down on a seat, that basically looked like a wedge of cheese and I am pretty certain is far less comfortable although I have to admit, that I have never sat on a wedge of cheese. In addition to this, endurance riding in Sri Lanka means you are riding for hour upon hour in conditions that are more suited for camel than human.

Put 40 people on bicycles and make them ride fare distances in insane heat and interesting things tend to happen. Some break out in spontaneous song, as others bitch quietly at/to themselves, some dig deep and grind away the miles, while some look fresh as daisy's while rolling up the hills (The two C's, Charlene and Chantal being a case in point), some find a reason to quit while others find an excuse to go on. Some question their sanity for ever taking this one, while others glow with the pride of their daily accomplishment. Either way, ATP is a life changer. 

Day 3 was Katharagama to Arugambay. 
My favourite ride of the tour. We roll along the Buttala plains, between Yala and Lunugamvehera parks. Picturesque country with thick jungle on either side of the road. the bird life is incredible and this stretch has always been a birding hotspot. We expect to see Elephant, buffalo, deer and other smaller mammals but incredibly, this time a slower group riding a few km's behind the main pack had amazing luck when a bear crossed the road ahead of them.
We then ride in the the Monaragala hills and down on the the eastern valley through yet another park, Lahugala and the almost guaranteed sighting of elephants. Finally the open plains of Pottuvil and the spectacular and impossibly blue Bay of Arugambay. Sadly day three claimed another victim when Dharini had an unfortunate mishap, having covered her longest distance ever and had to terminate her ride with a broken clavicle. 

We stayed at the Blue Wave hotel in Arugambay. Sri Lanka's answer to Fawlty Towers. I will not dwell not the 'comedy' we endured under the guise of service, but in fairness, they had a nice pool and the dinner was half way decent. Less said about the rest of the Hotel the better, but if you do happen to be unfortunately enough to end up there, good luck dodging the hard sell on their club sandwiches. Basic conversation with room service.

Q: Do you have a room service menu
A: Yes sir. We have club sandwiches
Q: Could I see the menu?
A: Yes sir. I will send it. Would you like a club sandwich with that?
Q; (Having seen menu) Could I have the Hot Butter Cuttlefish? 
A: Out of stock sir. We could send you a club sandwich 
Q: You have Nasi Goreng? 
A: No rice sir, but we have club Sandwiches.

Life is too short.... we have the f'ing club sandwich and get some sleep......


Day 4 and onwards to Pasikudha. 
And guess what....
Club F'ing sandwiches, (minus bacon) for breakfast....
A hot and flat ride. Most riders were a little worn out from the day before but held a steady pace to make it to the lovely new Sunrise by Jetwing. A gorgeous spanking new property on Pasikudah beach which we were the first guests. While the Manager and Shiromal (of Jetwing fame, who is a gracious lead sponsors ATP year on year) nervously prepared for the onslaught of the riders, the stay was extremely comfortable and the food, exceptional. A massive contrast to the Blue Wave. 
We passed a small heard of elephants as we left Arugambay. A reminder of how close these massive pachyderms live to human habitation; great birdlife along the way as well. The ride itself was .. yes.. you guessed it, HOT. 
I have to take a minute to let you guys ( incase you dint figure it out yet) how much i hate the heat. I have a serious dislike for the heat. To me, anything over 28c and if i had my way, i would lock myself up in an AC environment and not come out. exactly what i am doing now. :)

Day 5. and on to Nilaveli. 
Once again HOT and flat but the group is riding to gather like pro's and looking good. Steady pace, regular rules stops and lots of humour and we keep grinding out the km's. 
Today we went to a CP camp in Trinco. You have to see one to feel the true impact of this cruel affliction. The sore bums, aching legs, stiff backs and all the aches and pains we have seem so trivial in the face of what these kids and their parents endure on a daily basis. This is bravery. This is heroism at its best. Every time I attend a camp, I am moved more at the courage and the commitment i see from Dr Gopi and the crew of Cerebral Palsy Sri Lanka Foundation. The true hero's of ATP. Please help us make the reality of providing wheel chairs to all afflicted kids. you could make a contribution at www.aroundthepearl.lk 

Today is day 6. our rest day, at Nilaveli. 
Charlene and i have decided that the most physical thing we would do for the morning is eat a huge breakfast. We are relaxed and rested and looking forward to the rest of the day. The riders have split to go whale watching, snorkelling off Pigeon Island and to visit Army camps. I am awaiting my first cocktail of the morning and maybe an afternoon nap. 
Tomorrow we head to Mullaitivu. a lovely ride along the isolated coast. I am looking forward to it, but then again, there is the bane of my life.. the heat. Oh my... the heat. 

For Doc. The memory hasn't faded......

Its been over 10 years since Ravi passed. This is a note I wrote about him some time ago. Much has changed since then, but the one thing that hasn't is that I miss him today as I missed then. 

It is now 2 years since Dr. Ravi Samarasinha passed, in a tragic motor vehicle accident.

My wife Ashani and I lost one of our dearest friends, my sons Sharya and Sachin lost a role model and a mentor, and conservation in Sri Lanka lost one of its greatest champions.

I first met ‘Doc’ as he was fondly known, in the early 90’s, when we were on a camping trip with mutual friends. I was traveling sans my wife and sons and since we were in a large crowd of other families, we were thrown together as the only two ‘single’ men in the group. This and a common love of cold beer, the outdoors and wildlife in general meant that we struck up an immediate friendship and spent many hours chatting about these and various other topics we discovered were common interests.

The park was wet and crowded on this trip, thus it gave us even more reason to flop in the Menik Ganga with a long drink and while away our time ‘putting the world right’.

From this day on, Doc became a part of my ‘family’. ‘Ravi Maami’ to my sons, he would spend many evenings at our home, discussing his plans, his travels and sharing his experience of the wilds with my wide eyed children, my wife and me. These visits soon became much anticipated and enjoyed and grew more frequent with time.

From the inception of this friendship, we took advantage of any free time we had on our hands to travel far and wide throughout the country. Visiting places not just ‘wild’ but rich in natural beauty and culture. From Buduruwagala to Yapahuwa, from Mannar to Yala, from Gal Oya to Kalpitiya, the Hill country, Knuckles, Sinharaja, we traveled, camping out in most places. Our staple diet rarely more sophisticated that Maggie Noodles and Sausages, stir fried with healthy portions of Onions and tomato sauce; The evening ‘lubricated’ with generous quantities of Arrack.

On some occasions we were accompanied by Ashani, one or both of the boys depending on their schedules or one or more other like minded ‘travelers’, but more often than not, it was just Doc and me.

We would philosophize, debate, discuss and argue and even, as we did on one rare occasion, come to blows getting overly ‘heated up’ during one such ‘debate’.

However through this all we built a strong friendship based on a mutual respect for each other and of course the common interests we shared.

Ravi could come across as brusque and unfriendly at times. He was easily misunderstood. But to those who took the time to see behind the façade, there was a deeply sensitive, warm and caring human being. While he was seen as competitive by some, those who knew him had in him a strong friend, a mentor and guide, someone who was ready to share his experience with anyone who showed interest.

He would generously pass on his knowledge on photography, techniques of tracking Leopard, or vast reserves of information to children of friends, staff in parks and strangers who would take the time to ask. While he ruffled a few feathers by his tenacity in holding hard won positions at animal sightings within parks, he patiently sat through many photo opportunities that were ruined by ignorant or careless behavior, giving his customary angular smile, shrugging his shoulders and moving on. He worked hard for his photographs and his passion of studying Leopard and was meticulous in recording details of every single trip he made.

I have several special memories of times spent in Ravi’s company. One was when he and I were the sole occupants of the Old Buttawa Bungalow in Yala. It was a full moon day and having done our evening round, we sat outside the bungalow to have our customary evening drink. Opposite the bungalow is a large rock with a depression that would retain some water after any rain.

While the evening progressed the moon rose to bathe the jungle in a bright blue light.  Sometime into this evening strode a fully grown Tusker, majestic in the moonlight, impervious to the two stunned men sitting not twenty feet from him, to start drinking from the pool directly opposite us. Ravi and I were spell bound. The night sounds of the jungle, mingled with the slurping of the elephant as he drank his fill. Not only could we see and hear the elephant but his strong scent filled our nostrils as well. The elephant took his time over drinking and then with a gentle nod of his head, almost in acknowledgement of our appreciation of his presence, strolled off into the night.

There have been many such magical experiences. Camping on Horton Plains, freezing while trying to bathe at midnight, camping at Panikka Villu with Ashani and the boys, sleeping under a big Palu tree, too lazy to put up tents, watching magical sunsets and a full moon rising in Mannar and photographing Striated Weavers in a tiny hide, on a scorching hot day at Seenukgala. We camped on the banks of Weerawila tank with two stray dogs for company and were ‘eaten alive’ by mosquitoes and swamp flies, camping in Kalametiya.

We made a multitude of trips to Wilpattu in the company of the late warden Wasantha Pushpananda and our late friend Dilrukshan Tillakaratne. We searched for, discovered and then helped re-open the abandoned Wild Life Society bungalow outside the same park. The list goes on.

In the latter stages, Ravi gave up the profession of medicine to follow his dreams of working on the study of leopard and to work for conservation in Sri Lanka. Moving to his family property outside Putlam, Ravi began to grow and nurture wild plants to attract butterflies; he began landscaping his garden to attract more birds and began planting endemic trees and shrubs to study their impact on the local bird life.

He worked on cataloging his photographs in the ambition of putting together a collection of his best work.

He was again, having digressed to focus on Leopard, returning to his roots as a true and complete naturalist.

My last conversation with Ravi was on evening of the 31^st of Dec 06. He was leaving for Horton Plains the next morning, accompanying our mutual friend Ifham Raji. We chatted of our plans for the New Year and listed out a few locations we would visit. Nawadamkulama was on the list and so was Bundala. We wanted to spend more time with the migrant birds and thus focused on these areas. As was customary Ravi never ended a conversation by saying bye. He said ‘right you are’ and hung up.

Sadly, throughout the years, I have lost many friends, to illness, war and accidents. Life is about loss. It’s the inevitable. But, when the loss is of someone who was such an integral part of who you are and what you do, it tends to re define you. It creates a void that never fills. Two years on and I still think of calling ‘Doc’ to tell him of a good sighting. To share a plan or a thought. To tell him of some progress the boys have made. Two years and I still can’t come to grips with the fact that my friend died.

The years will go by. We will live our lives and cherish our memories. With time, some memories will fade, to be replaced by others. But I have no doubt that among those that will remain till it’s time for me to depart this world, will be the time my family had another member, when Ravi Maami would come to dinner, when Doc would join me in an evening drink, under the stars in some wild, far off place.

‘Right you are’ Doc. Be at peace.

Theatre of Life

In the 80's the brand Danskins made its appearance. It is still around. The brand tag line was 'life is a stage'. I guess that always kind of stuck with me. Its so true. We are all in a 'performance' of some sort. All characters in the production of life. 

We remain the central characters, the constants in the multiple scenes; but the real quality of our production comes from the supporting cast. They are the ones who influence us and guide us throughout the production of life. They are the ones who add the colour and the themes. They influence the music and the sets. 

They are parents, siblings, teachers, coaches, school and team mates and neighbours. 
I have been fortunate throughout my life to have had some amazing cast members. 

While I have had the fare share of psychopathic assholes to deal with, by and large i have been fortunate to have had my life cross paths with some unique individuals. 
One such person is 'Uncle Nihal' or the famed Sri Lankan Photographer, traveller, author and all-round nice guy, Nihal Fernando. 

Uncle Nihal was our neighbour down Skelton Road and the father of my friends Yohan and Anu Weerasuriya. 

We moved to Skelton Road around the early 70's. The country was under the ham fisted rule of Sirimavo, a horror of a woman in more ways than one and a totally incompetent Head of State. Her policy of nationalisation and extreme socialism had driven us back to the caves and most of us had converted what were lawns and gardens into vegetable plots in order to supplement our diets and keep from starving on the meagre rations dished out by the cooperative store. 

My daily routine included walking to the bread line early morning and coming home and watering the mannioc, sogum, soy bean and cow pea we had in the front garden and the tomatoes and chill plants in the back. I even had some Aubergine plants that I was quite proud of. After that it was a forced 'rest' ala the rules of the senior Mrs Unamboowe and then it was off to play. Invariably, bare bodied and bare footed, still in my kerosene smelling blue drill school shorts. Thankfully, by this time my mother had given up her traumatic practice of 'dressing me up' to go and play. Too embarrassing for mention. Maybe later. 

Gates and walls were apparently meant to be vaulted over or walked along and having navigated the perimeters of a few of the neighbouring houses, I would end up at Yohans. 
He was one year younger than me and Anu was one year older. While Anu didn't really waste her time on us, Yohan and I would invent games ranging from 'hora-police' to 'cowboys and Indians'. We built tree houses, and club houses and started a secret society along with our friend Aku who lived a few walls away. We climbed trees as routine and swung between branches in Tarzanesque fashion, and ran along roofs of the never too pleased neighbours houses, for no reason but because they were the shortest routes from pint A to B. 

Uncle Nihal was a patient observer of all of our antics  He would watch us with slightly angular stance and a half smile; a kind of perplexed, amused, curious look on his face and he found great humour in what we were up to. He helped us build a rope ladder that got us to the top of the 'dhung' tree. He helped us get our tree house complete and most of all he encouraged us to be boys, to be playful and carefree and mischievous. He famously encouraged us to play a prank on one of our less 'humoured' neighbours and gave us various seeds of ideas that sent us off on great adventures, bounding over walls and up trees. He definitely wrote a scene in the production of our lives that was unique and valued. 

The Fernando family home was a meeting place for the who's who in the art and social world of the 70's. Aunty Dodo and Uncle Nihal were surrounded by characters like Pat Decker, Scott Direckze, Ena De Silva, Lucky Senanayaka, Barbera Sansoni, Dominic Sansoni, Nanda Senanayake Lyn De Alwis and Winston and Iranganie Serasinghe all of who were a constant source of education, entertainment and awe to me. We met Dieter Plage the world renown wildlife photographer and watched his films in the living room, sipping ginger beer. We spent countless hours in the Zoo as his friend was the curator and played with everything from Gibbons to Leopard cubs and Pythons. 

We would hang around in hope of the odd cigarette or a 'little shot' that was handed our way but for most of it, just to absorb the conversation and the atmosphere. Aunty Dodo's unmistakeable laugh and uncle Nihal's soft chuckle still echo in my memory. 

As we grew older, then came the trips. I was old enough for my parents to let me travel with the Fernando family and to this day, I consider that one of the greatest privileges I have enjoyed. This was travel with 'Travel Royalty'. This was travel with one of the greatest travellers of his time. We went to Anuradhapura, Mihintale, Sigiriya, Yala, Wilpattu, Marawila where they had a property and to so many more destinations over the years. 
These trips were epic. 

first, the old Land Rovers were pack full of Uncle Nihal's photography equipment. Cameras, Lenses, tripods, bags of film and bags and bags of other equipment such as flashes. Al this filled a built in platform that extended half way through the back of the rear of the Land Rover. They were both canvas topped and with open sided and we rode in the back, open to the elements, and loving every second of it. 

Under Aunty Dodo's supervision the supplies were packed. Food and drink to last the trip. My mother made date cookies that were named 'Mama's biscuits' by Uncle Nihal and quickly became a staple addition to the packing list. 
Once we were all packed and ready we awaited an early morning departure as was customary. I hardly slept. I was so excited for the morning to come, i would keep checking my room clock to see if the designated hour had arrived. Once it painfully got there, I would bound out of bed, grab my things and bolt over to number 18. Shaking with excitement. 

With Uncle Nihal, nothing was rushed. He was the most laid back individual i have ever met. The trip was not just a drive to the destination. It was the journey. We stopped at temples and rock carvings, at water holes and old buildings. We drank tea and picnicked along the way and all the while, he would amble around, photographing random subjects. This is where I first developed my love and passion for photography. I heard a click of a shutter and I was smitten. He once gave me a camera to take a picture. I held it in my hands like it was gold and once I looked through the viewfinder and took a shot I was sold. I clearly recall his patience when taking a shot. It wasn't about just pointing and shooting. These were the days of black and white photography. It was all about the light, the angles and mood and the setting. He would take hours to find the prefect shot. All these were invaluable lessons absorbed by me and which I tried to put into practice years later, when I decided to photograph for more than just fun. 

On one instance when we were in Anuradhapura. He woke up before dawn on almost every morning we were there. He made the drive over the the lake shore and photograph the great Buddhist shrine, the Ruwanweliseya. Each morning he moved just a little bit away from the previous place, capturing different angles and light. He made sure he was there and set up before the light came up.  When it did, he took time over each shot, never rushed, never flustered. 

Anu says that the only time he hurt them physically was once when they were photographing a leopard and she had started moving in the Rover. He had pinched her tummy to make her stop. This I can relate to having abused my amused younger son Sachin for the same offence in Horton Plains, when he 'spoiled' a shot i was about to make. Sachin learned a few choice new words that day but no physical pain was dished out. I am sure Sharya and Sachin would both have another accounts of my outbursts while photographing.. but this is the one I recall. 

While photography was the main purpose of these trips, it didn't stop us from enjoying the locations we were at. We climbed rocks in Mihintale, Scaled The rock fortress of Sigiriya, we ran through the rain in Marawila, and Yohan and I went fishing with Uncle Nihal. I learned to bait a hook and give it a yank when the fish bit.  Our first fishing trip ended up with a bucket full of 'sprat' sized fish that was happily consumed by Scott Direkzes cat. At night we listened to stories of past trips and experiences and while the adults sipped Arrack and Ginger Ale, us kids lolled around munching cookies and cadju nuts and enjoying the nights. 

Another memory I have is of Uncle Nihal, sitting in the open balcony of Manikkapolauttu Bungalow in Wilpattu, at night, photographing Deer in the rain, by the light of the flashing lightening. He sat for hours into the night taking shot after shot. I am not sure of the technique he used and haven't seen the results of that night but I learned the lesson of patience in the field from none other than him, on many occasions like this. 

The years went by and I went overseas. On returning, life took over and marriages, children and careers got in the way. I dropped in periodically to see Aunty Dodo and Uncle Nihal. To enjoy a laugh and listen to a tale of a trip or something Yohan and I had done. He still found great humour in our escapades. We sipped an Arrack and chatted in to the night. A few years ago, while photographing in Yapahuwa ( i think)  sadly he suffered an injury that has made it difficult for him to enjoy the things he did. This means his travels are now over and he is confined mostly to his home. I am guilty of the great crime of not visiting him in years. Yohan and I have met from time to time but I haven't got around to meeting Uncle Nihal in recent times. The last contact I had was when Aunty Dodo called me to congratulate me on something I had done. 

Its sad that with time, we lose touch with those who mean so much to us; who  have had such profound influences over our lives; who gave us so much happiness and peace and were such a joy to be around. Aunty Dodo and Uncle Nihal, Anu and Yohan created a little oasis of happiness and learning for me. As I grow older and move on into the late summer/early fall of life, I look back with an amazing fondness and appreciation for all those hours spend in the company of a wonderful human being. A man who was patient, kind and an inspiration to me.  I will make the time to go see him when I return from the next business trip I have to make. I hope this like the many intentions i had before won't fall by the way side as well. 

Uncle Nihal, Aunty Dodo, Anu and Yohan. Thank you for an amazing scene in the drama of my life. i am a better man for the time spent in your company. 

Class Rooms and Head Winds.

Been a while since my last post.
Not sure what really happened but somehow i didn't really seem to have much to write about. The sad thing is, when life is rolling along un ruffled by 'something different', it may seem comfortable and happy, but the fact is it's boring and doesn't inspire anyone to be creative. 

Have you every heard a song, poem or prose saying "oh my life is average to boring and I have nothing exciting to write / sing about"? 
Its the disruption to routine that makes for writing. Its getting out of our comfort zones and getting ourselves into situations that make us wriggle with discomfort or glow with happiness; Anything different to the routine, that inspires us to write. Well; at least that's what it takes for me to tap away at this keyboard.

What happened to me? Well; First, I was sent back to school. I kid you not. Three weeks of formal classroom sessions. Averaging 8 hours a day, six days a week. If you do the math, you will see that it adds up-to almost one entire semester (in the US system) of class room time. Anyone who was with me through my time at Ithaca College would probably tell you that, it was more time than I spent in all eight semesters of my undergraduate  years in class.  I however dispute that, as I was a diligent student as an undergraduate, even though that diligence was not necessarily displayed by my class attendance or towards anything academic. 

This time however, things had to be different. For one, I was fifty years old. You can't play truant at fifty can you?
Second, I was being sent by my employers on a very expensive Executive Education Program to one of the worlds leading homes of academia, no less than Dartmouth College, an Ivy League campus situated in Hannover New Hampshire.
Third (and I shock my self as I 'write' this) I really wanted to learn. STOP LAUGHING.

I have come to a stage in my career where I have few choices. Either I learn new tricks and change with the times and handle the challenges of a new world [while learning to handle a younger and very different set of team mates] or I fade away with the dinosaurs of the business world and plonk off towards a 'regulation' retirement, a mediocre golf handicap, and arthritis. 
Fuck that.. this boy is going down fighting. 

I drove to Hanover with my 'brother in arms' Niranjan AKA Butchchi. We both work for the same group and we had been picked for this course together. While we have been friends from the time we were ten, Niranjan is an almost Medical Doctor, with double Masters Degrees and brains to share among the masses and a very intellectual outlook to life. He loves this stuff. I have gastritis, anxiety attacks and have to clench my butt cheeks at the mere thought of it.  
Three weeks of intense eduction, thousands of pages of pre reading and homework every day? Yup. Enough to make a grown man cry. Well... enough to make THIS grown man cry. 

Arriving in Hanover on beautiful summers day, I had a warm fuzzy feeling that it would be a great three weeks. Our 'home' was the cozy and comfortable Hanover Inn. A small but luxuriously appointed hotel, with a decent gym and a limited room service option that ended at 10 pm. Across the road from it was the Dartmouth Green and campus and to one side was Murphy's, a pub that was to become a somewhat familiar hang out. There was also the Canoe Club, which was a Bistro / Bar and a scattering of other eateries and boutiques. What I soon realised was our home for the next three weeks was two blocks by two; At best a once horse town; but I suspect that horse left to join the circus, many moons ago. Ithaca NY was a small, quaint College Town, but this made Ithaca look like Gotham City in comparison. 

I will spare you the tedious detail and cut to scene two. 
We are in a class room of a forty executive students, mostly from the US but a few from Japan, a couple from Saudi Arabia, an Indian, a Columbian and the two of us Sri Lankans. 
Among the Americans were several military and ex military folks thrown in for good measure. 
This mix of people were actually the highlight of the next three weeks. Although I consciously shied away from most of the social activity, more to discipline myself and stay true to a work out and diet plan i had, than and other reason, i did really enjoy the time spent with them. Over the course of time, they did become family of sorts, as would be expected when you throw a mixed bunch into a 'brain bootcamp' like we were a part of. 

Five days of accounting started off the course, and I had to keep sharp objects away from myself. I resorted to buttering my bread with a spoon etc, as I was tempted to slash my throat whenever I saw an opportunity  I hate accounts and finance and starting off with five FULL days of finance was insane. I enjoyed two hours of this period, and that was when much to my relief (not that i give a rats ass about soccer) we were allowed to break away from debits and credits to watch the world cup final. I personally hate soccer but given that the option was accounts I was thrilled. Truth is given a chance, I would have watched the knitting club take on the crochet club in darts, rather than sit in accounts class. 

Thankfully we never saw the finance guys again, barring a social event later on in the program. I stayed well away from them. 

The course picked up momentum post the 'big yawn', and while we did have some great faculty spend time with us, there was a low point when the Former Governor of New Hampshire was brought in as a guest speaker. Seriously??? The Former... well. you know. 
In addition, on that day I got the sad news that a dear friend and someone I respected immensely had passed away. The net result was I got up and walked out of his 'enthralling' monologue, opting to skip the evenings 'event' with Mr personality as well. 

The highlight of it all was a great session with Marshall Goldsmith. Google him. He is a legend. He is considered the guru in leadership and an amazing speaker. A sprightly and fit looking man in his late sixties he has an amazing ability to hold an audience and hit home with some sensitive messages that make you seriously sit up and think. 
Check out his web site as well. He has free access to all his material and its well worth your while bookmarking those pages. 

All in all, the three weeks passed quite quickly. I stuck to my plan of working out everyday, Butchchi and I became the 'darlings' of the only Chinese restaurant and Only Indian restaurants in town and sadly it was only on our final night there that we discovered the only restaurant that stayed open beyond 10pm within a twenty mile radius. 
We also made some great friends among the participants and the faculty and i am sure we will continue to stay in touch with reunions planned periodically in various parts of the US. 

I left the program a day early to get back home in time to attend the 50th Birthday Bash of my College group. The Royal College Group of 82. We had two tables of ten, which meant 10 couples of my old friends and Sharya and Sachin with their girlfriends. There were also a whole bunch of my class mates and friends at the dance, many of whom had gathered from around the world. It was great to see former team mates from the various sports I had been fortunate to be a part of, and friends who had been in class with me from the time we were 6, all gathered to celebrate this event that was brilliantly organised by my dear friend Ashan Abeysundere and his team. An excellent evening was had by all and considering that we wobbled home at way past sunrise, its fare to say, the old boys can still party like teenagers. 

The next big thing for us was participating in the CCC1333 ride around Sri Lanka. Well; we didn't do the entire ride but joined the riders from Colombo to Chilaw, took a break for work and other commitments and rejoined the riders in Trincomalee to ride to Batticaloa and then on to ArugamBay. Having already done the ATP ride around the country, I guess we had our biases how things should have been done. 

When we joined the group in Trinco I was amazed to see them all playing a rather vigorous game of soccer and then onto play Volleyball and then into that spool for a swim. As I recall, at the end of the day (during ATP), the only energy I could muster up is for a nap, a cold beer or two and then another nap. These guys were crazy energetic. This however took its toll as the next day we had a couple of casualties who were too exhausted to continue. 
That evening we joined the group for dinner.  I have to say they were very organised and structured in all they did, with a team 'talk' and download of the days events to cap off the evening. 

The CCC foundation was set up by Jetha Dewapura who started off with a transit home for Cancer patients in Maharagama and now set up a Suicide Hotline in Colombo. They have done some incredible work and credit goes to him and his team in Australia as well as Sri Lanka for making such an amazing success of this. 

His discipline in running things was seen in the ride as well with simultaneous events planned in Australia as well.
Now my next few comments should not be taken amiss by anyone. I am writing this purely in the context of my personal quirks and should in no way be see as criticism. This is more an illustration of how poorly I fare with rules, regulations and orders. 

To me the structure of the ride was too rigid. Group riding is never easy but being forced onto formation and not 'allowed' to stretch my legs occasionally meant that to me the ride was painful and irritating. I am not a strong rider by any means, but I do like to have a bit of a 'stretch' now and then to keep the blood pumping. I am also very susceptible to cramps and if I go too slow, its the kiss of death. Every time I tried to move out on my own, even for a brief period, I was greeted by hysterical screeches from the pack of "slow down", "ride with the group", "stay in the pack" etc.... This for me is death. I hate being ordered to do stuff and this got my blood pressure on the boil from the moment we set off. 
In addition, the fact that the ride would start very late meant that although the cause was awesome, the organisation was awesome and the riders were a really super lot, I was extremely pleased that I had not opted to ride more than a few days in total. It was just too 'boy scout' for me. I half expected to be told to kneel in a corner for disobeying commands.

One of the toughest stretches on the ride was the approach to ArugamBay. The late departure, the lengthy stops and the slow average speed meant we rolled into the surrounding plains in forty plus degree temps with howling cross winds. I recall these same winds (at least the intensity) when we rode in from the other direction, while on ATP. The air is hot, the blowing strong and across, and it's had to stay on the bike leave alone keep any momentum. I was very impressed by the tenacity of most of the riders who battled into it. Especially the only (full distance) lady rider Erica. She was also one of the few riders who completed 100% of the ride. I was [by this time] quite surprised by how many of the 'full distance' bunch were happily chucking their bikes in vans when they felt like it. Some due to genuine injury and sickness but others not. Discomfort to me, on a ride like this is no excuse. No one who takes on a challenge like this should expect it to be easy. I recall many of my fellow ATP riders in acute pain. Pinched nerves, blistered bums, gashed limbs from falls and stiff muscles, but they just motored on through the pain. Not so here. This meant that there were only a handful of riders that completed the ride 100%. Kudos to all though as it was by no means an easy ride and even a day completed deserved credit.

Having 'retired' at Arugambay, Charlene and I treated ourselves to the comfort of a nice Jetwing Hotels bungalow on the beach. The evening was spent driving down to Kumana and enjoying the sights of a beautiful slice of our amazing country.  The next morning we headed out after a late breakfast and were very impressed to find that most of the riders had kept a decent pace up the rolling hills to Monaragala. Having stopped to greet and wish the riders, we headed back to Colombo and C and I had a flight to catch the next day for a rather long trip to Canada and the US. 

Since this ride my workout program has gone to hell in a bucket. Having got off to a great start in Vancouver, I pulled a calf muscle in LA, recovered, came back to Colombo and popped an achilles tendon and have been reduced to hobbling about on crutches. 
This setback has inspired me to take on a new challenge. I want to complete a Triathlon. Olympic length first but who knows after that. I also ( as much as I abhor running) want to run 10k; but that will be another tale.. 

Hanoi Hilton

I am not trying to be funny. I am actually seated in my room at the Hanoi Hilton.. and NO!!!!. Its not a bamboo cage, and I don't have my finger nails removed or testicles electrocuted. 

For those of you who don't get what i am 'on about'; the 'Hanoi Hilton' was a notorious prison camp during the days of the Vietnam war where many US prisoners spent weeks, months and sometimes year in captivity, enduring untold hardship and torture. 

Today, the most torturous thing I have to endure here is, 'what malt shall i sample tonight?'. The Hotel is not the best of Hiltons global properties but its grand in outward appearance, has comfortable, substantially appointed rooms and a wonderfully stocked bar. 

Fifty has come and gone, and nothing fell off, everything still works, and I haven't suddenly taken on the appearance of a hobbit.I am back to the grind of work and family and travel and airports and hotels and fast / unhealthy food and too much drink. I am back to the reality that is my life, my struggle with staying healthy in the face of all the temptation to hurtle me down the freeway of fat. 
as much as i looked to some significant landmark.. looks like stays quo remains. 
We resort to 'bada thibbata weds thiyanawa' and plod on down the road. 
Vietnam is potentially a new base for us and an exciting new opportunity for growth. Both for the company and for me. 
I am excited. I love the challenge. Its time to build a world class plant now. 

Fifty Sneaks Up On Me.......

 And so I turned fifty. The strange thing about that is that this can never be a surprise; but there you are… a day or two from the event, and guess what?? You are surprised. Wow! How did that happen?

Surprised?  Seriously?? Moron. It has been happening for 49 years and 360+ days. Get with the program.

The thing is, we don’t really pay attention to our age till we hit a milestone. 20 was probably the most looked forward to of these. I was no longer a teenager. I was TWENTY. Then came twenty-one. For the life of me I cant understand the significance of that number. What the fuck is so great about being twenty-one? What halfwit set laws to make drinking legal at 21? You can marry at 18 (or 16 if you were a woman), drive at 18, vote governments in at the same age, but you cant drink? Go figure.

Thirty. Now things get serious and you start to worry. I was a father of two. I was supposed to have been responsible and mature and close to middle age. Well, I think thirty is [if I am not mistaken] where middle age starts. Careers are supposed to be up and running and you are supposed to have a clue about what you want to do with your life. Damned If I had a clue at that age…

Forty. Divorce number one and marriage number two, all around the same time. I now have my size tens firmly planted in middle age, with an ever-expanding mortgage and overdraft. Collar size sees a dramatic increase from 15 ½ to 16 ½ and waist from 31 to 34. Weight sees a corresponding upward movement and thankfully so does career. Hair starts to thin, chins increase in numbers and my mid drift seems to block the view of my manhood, at least till I crane my neck to see if its all there. I survived.

Suddenly I am fifty. I planned and re-planned my celebrations. Bands, Halls, cocktails, dinners, went through lengthy guest lists for a year and finally settled for the most sensible thing in my opinion. Give most of the party budget to charity and settle for a few nights of alcoholic mayhem with those near and dear.

It all fell into place when the Bradby Shield, the annual Rugby encounter between my High School and one up in the hills, was scheduled on the weekend of my birthday in Kandy.

For the past 24 years, barring a couple, I have made the annual trip up to Kandy, to the Citadel Hotel, the annual gathering place of most former Royalist Rugby players and alumnus, to spend this weekend in a alcoholic haze under the guise of being vaguely interested in the game or the outcome of it. It has been a great excuse to get together with many an old and dear friend and drink copious quantities of booze and behave like teenagers.

Rugby songs are sung and acted out, old yarns are swapped and one has been known to have run screaming through the hotel lobby stripped down to his undies, in the wee hours of the morning, with a rugby ball tucked under his arm, or leaping into the pool still in said undies much to the horror of the long suffering bar staff, some of whom have watched twenty something boys, grow to fifty something men and still behave the same.

This year was no different.

It all started off on Thursday night, when we finished an official conference call that was a great success and decided to celebrate that along with my colleague Roshan’s birthday, which it was. Drinks early and home. Early and home worked out well. Early morning that is. Charlene had arranged for my friend to surprise me at the bar (kind of misfired when Ranil forwarded the text to me).  One drink or two, turned out to be many drinks and laughs and a great evening. My sons and Sahar (Sachin’s girlfriend) dropped in as well and it was an awesome start to my birthday.

I had to drag myself to office the next morning as ‘surprises’ had been planed [that I knew all about] and I could not let the folks down. Surprisingly I was quite bright eyed and made it without too much grief. After the celebrations and wishes, I headed back home. C and I had decided to fly to Kandy that afternoon so the trip was painless. 20 minutes of bouncing around and we were there. A far cry from the three plus hours of traffic we would have endured had we not given ourselves a birthday treat.

The boys and Sahar had driven up earlier with a big box of booze and when we got to the Citadel, the familiar faces greeted us with big grins saying “babaala denna awa” (the two babies had arrived) although far from babies, the boys had been coming up with me since they were babies and were the same in the eyes of the older staff members.

The box of booze was quite ‘adequate’. A dozen bottles each of Scotch and Vodka. I was expecting the usual suspects to be there and in addition my former boss and ‘mentor’ Ajit Gunawardene, had made special effort to be there for the Friday evening and long with his band of merry men (and women) who were regulars at the event.

I will spare you all the details, but let me tell you that, ‘that was the best fiftieth birthday I had in my life’. Well, that was the bright statement I made at 6.30 am when I was getting out of the pool having soaked in it since 4 am. It all seemed like a good idea at that time. I’d like to think based on the humor the song and the conversation that was had by all, and that all those present and accounted for had a great time. The fifty year olds, out lasted the twenties and the sixty and the seventy year olds out sang us all. There is nothing quite so special than spending a spontaneous evening with closest friends and this night was exceptional. Chulaka, Ranil, Butchchi, Deb, Wathsala, Sriyan, Minal, Shiraz, Ajith and Ruwani, Ajit G and Co and of course my amazing sons Sharya and Sachin, our ‘daughter’ Sahar and their bunch of merry men, thank you. To the many others who drifted in and out of the evening, thank you as well; you’ll truly made my day (and night) special.

They say a man is as good as the company he keeps. I have had the best. I could ask for no more. My Z3 brothers and sisters, The riders, The walkers, Dinesh, Niththi, Bunny, Ro, George and D you were missed; Those who are no more, Harith, Harish, SA, Josh, Ravi and many others. Not being mentioned here does not mean any lesser degree of importance in my life; I owe what I am to you. Thank you. I am forever grateful for the friendship, shared experience and companionship.