So after being here for a couple of weeks and getting most of the details out of the way, like bank accounts, registering with a doctor, a celly telly, internet, and all that exciting stuff, we can turn our attention to exploring the area.

Necessity has shown us around a little bit and it’s not as hard to learn your way around as I thought it would be, given that every block has it’s own street name (Memorial Blvd his nothing compared to this place), and, for example, although not a large town, Reading has a Whitley Street, Whitley Wood Lane, Whitley Park Lane (two of them, actually, one running east/west, with the other branching off half-way and heading directly north - how can the same street go in two separate directions?), which bisects Whitley Wood Road which dead-ends at an intersection at Hartland Road but then continues after making a right turn as Hartland Rd seems to give way to Whitley Wood Road in a kind of “I was here first” arrangement, Whitley Park Lane, and let’s not forget the six or so variations on Whistly, Whitby, Woodly, Woodlands, Woodward, etc., all of which having a Road, or Street, or Drive, or Lane, etc. All in all though, it’s not too bad.

So we’ve wandered around a bit and have a pretty good feel for the place. Not large (about 250,000), but it’s has everything one needs. The River Thames and the River Kennet run through it and there are paths running along them the whole way, absolutely littered with ducks, Canadian geese, and swans.

Which reminds me – who decided that birds naturally eat nothing but bread, and why does everyone feed them? Bread? I mean, birds will eat almost anything, but a steady diet of white bread? And pigeons. This isn’t news to anyone, but the English (and tourists visiting England) seem to be the last people on earth who haven’t realized that pigeons are plague-ridden flying rats. Feeding them seems to be the other British institution after Tea. Feed them if you must, but trying to get them to land on you? Gross.

Where was I… right. The rivers offer some nice walks that take you almost all the way through southern England, it would seem, and there is almost always something going on, whether it is one of the many locks, wildlife, rowers, weirs, and every few minutes, towns and pubs line the rivers. I’d say that there are more pubs here than fast-food restaurants in North America. To say that there is one on every street corner isn’t much of an exaggeration. So, it’s a nice place. Lots of great old buildings, a good international community providing great restaurants, and it’s just minutes to get out into the country-side. Oh, and a world-class uni, but Myra can talk about that another time.

As expected, the (road) cycling community is beyond anything in Canada. Last Sunday I joined the Reading Cycling Club - the serious guys (and girl). Fully intending to go with the slow group, which is still faster than anything else in town, I was talked into heading out with the moderate group by the leader because I “looked fit enough”. He assured me that it would be fine. It looked like rain.

The Club Chairman told me that the ride would be about 40 miles (64km’s), which was fine, but I haven’t gotten many long rides in in the last, oh, two years, and during that time 60km was about it. Turned out the moderate group was out to do 60 miles (96.5km’s), but hey, I have a shinny new bike, so I’m pretty much invincible anyway. The clouds continued to threaten as the 25-or-so of us headed out.

The pace was fast (18mph), but fine, and the 30 miles to the pub for lunch was great. I ate my food with about 150 ducks and one swan, and the clouds, which had drizzled on us most of the way there, teased us no longer and produced rain. Aside from the fact that rain makes you wet and dirty (on a bike), it really wasn’t unpleasant, and I settled in at the front of the pack again, having zero ability to pace myself when anyone is in front of me.

We passed fields of sheep, generally gorgeous scenery, and interrupted a herd of cows crossing the road and in the midst of all this I realized that I might be getting a little low on energy. Insufficient food and sleep may have something to do with it, but mostly I’d say it was the in-over-my-head factor - the distance. With about 15 miles left the group split up, and I was with six of the faster guys. Blimey.

The rain came down, the pace went up, and on a rather steep hill with about 10 miles to go it became clear that my body had used all my energy and switched to using itself up instead. I hit my wall. Good thing I ordered my bike with a third chainring. The motivation to not get dropped and thereby completely lost in the English countryside was motivation, but it took some convincing. I’d say we were motoring along at about 22mph now, and I tucked in behind the guy in front of me and hoped I could hand on.

I made it, much to my disbelief, and I can still feel the effects. Will I do it again? Of course. And, we’ll be able to do this year-round. We’ll see how that works out, but the leaves are just starting to turn colour, and Myra’s term starting January is called the “spring” term, and that suits us just fine.