Rocktober

[Sweder]

Slipped out for a post-breakfast hash, eager to embrace the autumn sunshine after a night of steady rain. These are the halcyon days, the perfect blend found in changing seasons; deliciously damp turf, sun-kissed and wind-blown, the off-roaders' paradise. Mindful of my exertions on Thursday I set off carefully, small strides, easy pace, lapping up the downland vistas.

Perhaps it was the thought of that word - vistas - that triggered memories of Moyleman today; perhaps it's that we're on the eve of the Jog Shop Jog, a tough 20-miler that he loved so much. Chris enjoyed his vistas too, especially those stunning views found in these very Sussex hills where he felt so comfortable, so at home. Or maybe - and more likely - it was the e-mail from Old Mutual announcing the website for TOM 2010. Strange ideas swam before me as I plodded on; to run in Cape Town in World Cup year ... madness, utter madness. I'd need to start serious training now ... and besides, with the economic climate such as it is this is no time for extravagant planning. The idea formed, a thought bubble floating just ahead, and, even as I reached for it to examine the possibilities, it was whipped off my fingertips, away across the valleys by a mischievous, chuckling westerly wind.

Chris would have loved this run. Blustery, soggy underfoot, sun battling to warm the chilled October air, dogs in tow, frisky, skittish. A good day to be out there, breathing it all in. I turned to music to distract me from maudlin thoughts and was instantly rewarded with Pearl Jams' excellent Jeremy. I'm not a massive Pearl Jam fan, finding much of their celebrated early work 'a bit samey'. I suppose you could level that accusation at any number of rock bands, not least my beloved Motorhead. It helps to have some personal history woven into the music; Pearl Jam were never a part of my life in the way that some bands are/ were. Jeremy tells a story though, the engaging narative loaded with evocative language;

Clearly I remember pickin on the boy
Seemed a harmless little fuck
Ooh, but we unleashed a lion...
Gnashed his teeth and bit the recess ladys breast...
How can I forget?
And he hit me with a surprise left
My jaw left hurtin...ooh, dropped wide open
Just like the day...oh, like the day I heard ...

Here it is in full if you have time to spare. Worth a listen:



The songs' cadence drew greater effort from my tiring legs. Once again I rounded the milestone without pause, back groaning, begging for a stretch. I laughed, as much at the idea that I could take on those mighty Cape mountains again as at my churlish self-denial. Rising out of the dip, chugging up the western slope of Mount Harry, fate conspired with Dire Straits to bring me back to thoughts of my mate. The lyric of the song has little to do with Chris, referring to goings-on in an ancient war, but the chorus haunts me, reminds me of my reaction on hearing that Chris was ill and that it was serious. I'd run so many miles with the man I knew only too well the strength of his will, the depth of his resolve. When the news got worse and the unthinkable became the unbearable I couldn't stand to hear the refrain, flipping channels or skipping tracks whenever it popped up.

Now, ringing clear and true in my headphones, I felt altogether differently about it. The phrase that a few short months ago stung with cruel venom now conjured happy memories, images of a man, chest out, arms pumping, galloping powerfully over mile after mile of challenging hills. That easy smile, those dark, sparkling eyes, the quick wit, the effortless, relentless progress of a man on a mission. I miss you brother; thanks for being out there with me again today.

And I can still hear his laughter, I can still hear his song
The man's too big, the man's too strong

The Man's Too Strong, from Brothers In Arms, Dire Straits