'Round the World with an Italian Supermodel

That sucks . Happy New Year

Good job you have switched on Angels looking after you!!!! Is he single by the way? Ha ...

Seriously never ignore ears, eyes , throat... So easily the poison can travel to the brain!

I didn't take an ear infection seriously enough once and a fellow nurse saved me apparently another couple hours might have had a different outcome!!!!

So my friend I'd have been mad if I'd never gotten to meet you! Stay safe and any temperature rises seek medical help but take and keep paracetamol in stock!!!

Carole

Hols .... that was a bad infection !"¦.Glad you are ok.

NOLA

holy ...., that eye!

I am glad you were able to get it taken care of in time! You are very lucky to have the friends you do. Get well soon!

When I first saw the picture before reading the post, I thought you had been beaten up and your 1199 stolen

Glad your out of the woods on this one, very dangerous lethal infection.

Glad your health is improving D. Never play with sinus and eye issues brotha.

jeeez!! Thanks god you're doing better. Please wear some protective goggles under the helmet (like these sports sunglasses, but shatterproof and not tinted). It really helps to prevent from new infections. I learned that the hard way

Ouch! Close one, bullet dodged (mostly). The snout may fare better than anticipated. Lost my sense of smell due to scarring from allergy-related, repeated sinus infections some years back, but it gradually returned enough to say I have one again. Hope yours does too!

I think I have seen you on the other forum too I think it was Adventure Rider Motorcycle Forum

AntiHero said:

Ok guys, we can thank Dr. J* for this post, because if it wasn't for him I'd be updating my will about now instead of updating this Ride Report.

Synopsis: Infected root canal when I started this trip led to a sinus and possibly bone infection that spread through my skull. I was treated, it came back, treated again, etc. A day after finishing two different 'solutions' in Dec., things got a little complicated.

New Years Day, not so bad:


2 days later:


At this point, Dr. J, who had inquired about how it was going (and who sensed that the level of my concern was probably not appropriate) responded with explicit clarity:



30 min. later my ass was out the door and a knife was in my anesthetic-free eye (it's quicker, builds character); an outpouring of relief followed and flowed.



Immediate problem solved, but the possibility of the infection spreading (or already having spread) to behind eye and into brain needed attention. (Loss of vision and life soon follow.)

Couple sleepless nights like this:





And then....



I woke up in the morning able to actually open my eye and see in three dimensions. I'll never again underestimate the benefits and pleasures of stereoscopic vision. Was discharged tonight. Six weeks of treatment, still will probably need surgery. Oh and my olfactory nerve didn't survive the attack. No more smell of petrol in the afternoon, or napalm in the morning, for me: my sense of smell will, in all likelihood, has been abolished (so they say).

*For those who haven't been introduced to Dr. J [from page 44 of my Coast to Coast Ride Report]:

Been here in NY now for a week. And it's been a long week, too, sometime time dilates because of boredom and anticipation (think of how slowly minutes pass while waiting to get out of a plane) but sometimes time slows because life is good, really good. The hero of the New York chapter has been, is--and always will be--a man I call Dr. J. The guy is a complete oxymoron, a combination of seemingly disparate, contradictory and exclusionary qualities all wrapped into one. He's got musculature that puts him in a category of the Incredible Hulk, an intellect that puts him well into Professor X/genius territory, has enough dare-devil and risk-taking stories to last a lifetime (including racing in Grand Am), but also, oh, happens to be a surgeon"¦.you name it and he's done it. And if you've lusted after it he's probably owned it, too (including a boss GT3 RS). But god damn if he also isn't the humblest, nicest, most sincere, and unaffected guy you've ever met (contrasts nicely with a NY accent that could easily land him in a role of baritone mob boss in a Coppola Mafia Trilogy). In short, he's the kind of guy who could destroy competitors as easily on a track (or in a fight) as easily as he could dispatch contenders on Jeopardy. If there was a zombie apocalypse or a hostile alien invasion or WWIII, he's the guy I'd call first.

Click to expand...

Sorry to hear about this hope you get better and back on the road soon...

Eye looks normal again. Back to our regularly scheduled program.

One of the first things I'd noticed in Spain is how fanatical they are about MotoGP (and motorcycles in general). Though I'd seen a few posters here and there across Europe, Spain's advertising landscape was saturated with motorbikes. Case in point: MotoGP playing at a cell phone store while I waited to get a SIM card that first morning:



My 1199 parked in the square garnered no small amount of attention, with two guys giving me the thumbs up as I rolled up.



On the way back to the hotel to gather my gear and head into Barcelona, I saw a sign for Catalunya....



Nothing was going on that day other than a Semi truck pulling in for a delivery and a guy on a red bike outside wishing he could take advantage of an empty track.

GPS on phone locked in, I rode into Barcelona without a problem. Then the fun began. Problems with the place I rented, sliding around in the rain trying to follow a host who drove like she was on her way to WRC victory, Spanish holiday (unattended garages)....just typical chaos to make the day fun and interesting.

Finally checked into my place. Not a great view of anything special, but that's what made it so cool to me. Once again, the feeling of inhabiting vs. just visiting.



About this time I noticed an odd detachment that had crept into my psyche. While wandering the US I'd noticed an almost panic-like feeling when I tried to place myself in the center of my life because I wasn't quite sure where I was. But it's been two and a half years since I originally left. Two and a half years since I'd put everything into storage. Two and a half years of transition and impermanence. A lot of the things that I suppose would affect me--or even that I'd notice--have evaporated. I had to take a rapid mental inventory of where I was on the planet during my Coast to Coast ride; sometimes upon waking up, sometimes while on the highway after my mind came back from whatever daydream I sucked myself into. But it was in Barcelona, checked into a new apt., that I noticed the loss of conscious devotion to grounding myself to a location. I simply didn't really care where I was, so long as it wasn't any place I'd been for too long. After a few days somewhere, as permanency begins to set in, I have an urge to get back to normalcy (that would be movement for me). Newness--and all the curious arousal it brings--rapidly depreciates into a desperate longing to leave, even if I'm enjoying myself.

Still had a couple days before that happened, though. And had to do a few things. Like flush my brakes, flush my clutch and enjoy what would soon be the best meals of the trip so far!

Stopped in at Ducati Barcelona.



They didn't have much of a parts dept., though. May have been at another location, or perhaps not.



Instead I hit up a hardware store and a generic motorcycle store to score what I needed.





I may not be able to adjust the valves on the Panigale myself (and will admit I'm kind of thankful for that), but at least a good clutch and brake bleed take just a few tools and minutes. After dumping my excess fluid down the storm drain (I kid, I kid!) I donated (abandoned) the half bottle of fresh fluid I still had to another motorcycle in the same garage (he had a milk carton full of other moto-related tools and fluids) and headed out for a ride 'round the city.

Asking what cities have the best cuisine in Europe will get you all kinds of answers. I just took a peek at three 'top food cities in Europe' lists by some prestigious publications and let's just say there's a disconnect. Sure, I haven't even come close to eating at more than .05% of restaurants in any city, so who am I to judge....but then again, I think the common guy out there can produce opinions that are more accurate for the average traveler than some monocle'd dude at Fodors or Food and Wine who's being paid to eat and review.

So here goes. (Skip to the pics if you're impatient, as I'm ready to go off on a couple of different tangents here.) Food culture in Europe seems to be more related to what comes out of your mouth than what goes in it. By that I mean restaurants seem to be quite popular places to sit surrounded shoulder to shoulder with other people who are more interested in conversation, people-watching and being seen. I can't think of one restaurant in any city in the US that is set up to be more of a coffee shop than a restaurant, where people are expected to sit and sip (and maybe order a nibble). When houses (apartments, flats) are relatively small and the people are social, they need a place to meet up. Restaurants across Europe meet that demand and people seem to favor the places that provide a leisure social environment. Americans want to stuff their faces (me included), Europeans want to converse while sipping or nibbling.

I spent six months eating alone in restaurants in the US and never felt like anything more than a curiosity to other patrons. I've spent close to that amount of time in Europe, where solo dining is seen as, hmm....perverse? The reactions of sitting alone at a table in nearly every city (except Prague and one Japanese restaurant in Milan), was mildly reminiscent of what it was like to sit alone in middle school during lunch. (Similarly, in Europe nearly everyone I met on the road was shocked that I was doing the ride alone, whereas in the US it rarely raised an eyebrow.)

I digress. Back to food. Ask a Ph.D. in music to put together a list of great songs for you to listen to while driving across country and you're probably going to get a playlist that might drive you to stop the music forever with a head on collision. I think this is why most French restaurants still receive the bulk of the accolades when it comes to culinary awards. Technically French cuisine is arguably superior to any other cuisine in the same way Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto or Lennie Tristano's improvisational pieces is technically superior to, oh, I don't know...the Violent Femmes "Add It Up" or "Shoot to Thrill" by AC/DC, but technical superiority is usually best appreciated in the brain, not in the ears or on the palate.

Which brings me to Spain. I have no idea why it is, but Spain popped up on top food destinations exactly zero times (during my very limited research on the subject). Why is that so when they have some of the best food I've eaten in my life? How could it be? Wait.... correction: Barcelona has some of the best food I've eaten in my life, as elsewhere in Spain I had one of the worst meals I've ever had the misfortune of enduring.

Enough with the prologue, here we go:






(Fried egg over some sort of delicious pork sublimity, topped with fois gras)

But this....this my friends, ranks amongst the top 5 things I've ever eaten in my life:



The menu was in Spanish and mi espanol no es tan bueno. (Pro tip: in Spain, all your number one phrase to memorize: "carne de cerdo"). But this is a dish with a name that will not escape me: Presa Iberica. I'm happy to admit that I've got absolutely nothing to compare it to meat-wise. It was so unlike anything I'd ever eaten (both taste and texture) I had to build out a new mental category just to understand the experience--the expression on my face--perplexed, surprised, elated--was probably like that of a baby trying something delicious and completely new for the first time. The outside: pure, irresistible, addictive charred flavors reminiscent of those shredded little pieces left on a cutting board after brisket is sliced, only with a smokiness replaced by delicate, potent, flavors of perfectly caramelized shaken beef. It's tenderness (truly carnal) rivaled Wagyu filet mignon; supple, velvet, savory, medium rare porcine reverie. (If it gave me cysticercosis, I'm immediately flying back to Barcelona to eat this dish every night until I die.) Mind BLOWN.

The extent which our past or our genes shapes us is something I rarely think much about, mostly because of the dangers that come from the belief that behavior is caused by something other than "˜free will' (which is another illusion, but that's another story). Nature and nurture just provide an all too easy crutch to explain and perpetuate bad behavior: "I'm this way because of my genes and/or my childhood" could very well be true, but just because they're true doesn't mean they can't be mitigated (or obliterated). And if conditioning, as an explanation for bad behavior, is part of someone's "˜it's just the way I am' repertoire, how come the negative effects of current stupidity don't perpetuate a change in behaviors?

(My advice"¦.stop thinking about why you are the way you are and start thinking about what behavior(s) will lead to the objectives you desire. It's an outcome-based approach to decisions and I've inadvertently been practicing it for longer than I can recall.)

But sometimes "˜natural' behavior aligns with an outcome-based strategy. The threat of biological catastrophe has led me to a love of life that would have been hard to nurture otherwise. A struggle against forces opposing my existence cultivated a propensity to "˜slurp the marrow of life'. I don't believe in supernatural forces, but the sheer litany of .... that's come my way has made me contemplate that perhaps if there is a God, he sure as f'in hell hates me: born into a plastic bubble, suffocation, supraventricular tachycardia (WPW), 2 surgeries before 2 years, 2 drownings, 1 fractured tibia (a tree falling while I slept), broken ribs, fingernail removal (during a fall down a ditch), broken back/body cast, crushed face, crushed knuckles, hit by car, deviated septum, fractured elbow, torn esophagus (2x), all fingers broken in left hand, stress fracture right femur, brain tumor and now a new hole in the front of my head from this sinus mess. There's lots more minor stuff like animal attacks, some minor explosions and death threats from gang members AND police (some of them don't just pick on black guys), but the end result of all of the above"”and the constant physical "˜reminders' that it all happened, forever changed my perception on time, morality, immediacy and life.

(As a mental exercise, imagine the helpless, degrading horror of looking down at your feet, wondering, "will a nurse or someone in the morgue remove my socks tonight?" I can think of no simpler act I've performed that has left me grateful to merely be alive. It's also a reminder every time I put on my socks in the morning who might be removing them in the afternoon.)

Surviving is sweet. It makes me want to live forever, to hold onto and cherish and savor every minute. And just when the poignancy begins to fade, trauma reminds me how easily it is to become terminally disorganized"”that "˜what doesn't kill you will most certainly try again.' Despite knowing certain risks can cause what I'd best like to avoid I can't merely sit at home hoping to survive for another 24 hours. Near-death has led to the opposing, contradictory response of more risk taking (not just the physical kind, but that, too). There's a fine, blurry line between living life vs. preserving it. (Those who think they have a nice balance are probably erring on the side of preservation, but, all things being relative, that opinion was just written by your humble narrator who'd admit preservation as secondary.) Do I want to die in a plane crash? No. But I do admit the prospect of surviving a plane crash increases my desire to fly more than the prospect of dying in one could ever inhibit me. I love life, but not at the expense of living devoid of experience.

Most live in a way that demonstrates a confidence in longevity that doesn't exist. When time is believed to be plentiful it's squandered. Yet, despite the contrary evidence presented every day (gray hairs, sagging flesh, weight gain, wrinkles), most operate with a sort of obscure confidence that progress will occur and dreams will come true tomorrow, or the following day, or the day after. It's a delusion of immortality to even believe there will be a tomorrow, yet the satisfaction of desires, for most, exists here, in a monstrously vast, nebulous, uncertain place comfortably understood as "˜the future'.

To make things worse, most rationalize that the quantity of prudence or sound judgement (otherwise known as "˜fear') in their life is inversely proportional to longevity, that the more cautious one is, the longer one's life will be. But a long life isn't necessarily a better life. If, for instance, castration could increase your life expectancy by 10 years, would you sign up? Because"¦drumroll please"¦it does. You will live a longer life without your balls. True.

That's a very stark value proposition, but it illustrates the point that none of us think longevity is our primary goal. Value and quality of life is more important than trying to postpone the day it will cease. Yet, every day most justify actions that lower the quality of their lives to do just that. In a study I will make up just to demonstrate my point: 80% of people devote 90 % of their waking moment on these three mental activities: Ruminating over the past; Agonizing over the present; Dreaming about the future: the first leads to regret (or nostalgia), the second to fear and the third"”to optimism. Regret, Fear, Optimism: the dark triad of inactivity.

What's the alternative? A good gauge of how you're doing at prolonging life, at not wasting time, is completed simply by looking at your activity. .... making plans. Don't look to the future and try to sequence it, you'll only end up thinking you actually will do something. What you've completed last week is a better gauge of how you're doing than what you propose to do in the upcoming one. And that's really the secret to prolonging life: stop wasting time. The clock can't be rolled back. Experiences can't be recaptured. Damage can't be undone and the only hope we have of arranging an uncertain future is action. Sure"”eat your fruits and veggies and put on your gear before your ride"”but take risks, go out on a limb, get scraped up and deal with what happens when it happens. Our lives are finite. Not even the endless, seemingly infinite amount of desires, memories or emotions we have can change that.

I am a food lover also. I believe eating is an experience not just something you do to stay alive! I like trying new things when the opportunities arise. Your food experiences are fun to read. I can almost envision the experience. I look forward to what's next.

You are such an amazingly smart man and I am appreciative that you share your learned and innate wisdom with us. Sometimes its good to hear things that get us back on track. Thank you very much.

cmh210: Thank you. I often wonder how some of my words will be taken, after all, most people log in to read about motorcycles, so the feedback is appreciated. Oh--and here's a few more food pics for ya!












At the top of my "ways I want to die" list, "Obesity in Barcelona" would be at the very top. "Ruptured stomach in Barcelona" would be second. Their cuisine just blew me away and I didn't even scratch the surface.

Spain is awesome for food . I'm glad you are enjoying your time there .
I would love to get to El Bulli at some stage but with a three year waiting list I can't see it happening .
I spent some time in Barcelona really enjoyed the Gaudi architecture especially the cathedral .
I hope you get down to Seville the food is excellent and very relaxed .