A message arrives in the usual manor alerting me that there is going to be an impromptu newsboys bike ride in the countryside. If I want to go along, and I most definitely do, I must meet the lads at a small gas station in a little village named after a piece of cutlery. Before I can finish reading the details, I am reaching under my bed for my goggles. I unzip my gear bag and a remaining gust of stagnant Baja breeze rushes past my face. I have not used my gear since I was racing towards the sea of Cortez, throttle open as wide as the spending limit of an Arabian Sultans black Amex card!  

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My mind is full of thoughts of Vikings boarding their boats and heading off to battle in far away places to be conquered, returning to beautiful wives and great feasts.  

I am quickly transcended through time to reality as I feel a tap on my shoulder. I awaken in my isle seat, crumpled up like a little Mayan mummy, to find Jeff asking me for a pen to fill out his landing card. We have just landed in Norway and we need to get off the plane. The airport looks like it was designed by some of the creative team at Ikea, clean lines, minimalistic, yet functional and for a moment I wonder if the Newsboys have played a trick on me and we are actually at Ikea . . . (continue reading…)

I feel a strange vibration in my thigh and wonder if it is another muscle spasm now that I am getting older. The vibrations continue until I realize that it is my phone ringing, some how set in vibration mode. I answer the phone and the voice says, “Habibi, howareyamate”, it has to be one of the Newsboys, but which one? My voice recognition scanner is working overtime, add that to the triple shot espresso I just started sipping on in my car, and I can see Peter’s face like a hologram on my dashboard. Yes, it is Peter! I feel like Bond talking to M, getting my new orders. In this case I would be talking to P!   (continue reading…)