Sunday 14th of June Nr York.
Sitting at breakfast with steady drizzle falling, listening to Led Zeppelin's Whole Lotta Love and wishing I could leap around but knowing that the other breakfast diners might be a little disturbed. A full English of superb quality goes down washed with 3 cups of the best coffee.
Frank Zappa's super fast Cruisin' for burgers next with that delicious guitar solo. So a French pastry goes in.
Something more sedate for the next course, I've got to look after my figure after all; Nick Drake or Pink Floyd to go with a bowl of summer fruits and yogurt.
So my day begins and the thought of the cycling over the Pennines towards Skipton takes over . . gradually.
A bath first and foot pampering with creams and talcs.
Reflections in my sonic cave, away from the general chatter overlaid by barely heard Beach Boys numbers. I prefer to listen directly and not be irritated by such great songs being used as musical wallpaper.
A PDF arrived yesterday from Jim Royer over in the USA. He's collated a list of Green Birders with reference to Big Green Years, World records and Big Sits, Big Green Days etc.
Got me thinking!
My American dream was taken away by Dorian Anderson last year. His score of over 600 birds seen during his spectacular Big Green Year cannot be beaten by me so what to go for once the 300 is had this side of the Pond?
World record..........? How safe would cycling from Lima to Puerto Maldonado in Peru be. More importantly I think naively, how many birds would I see? What birds? Los Pantanos to Tambopata and around to Manu.
Right, the route's decided upon...... dream on. What a way to get back to Chontachaka and Chaskawasi.
Meanwhile . . .
I could have been a sailor, I could have been a cook . . . . . .
Can't keep my mind from the circling skies, tongue-tied and twisted just an earthbound misfit I.
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