Gnome Trek: Of Bikes & Clouds...

L’Ariège, le Final Frontier. 

These are the voyages of the Flying-Brick ‘Gnome’. Its continuing mission: to explore our world, to seek out new life and to avoid all those bloody bikes. To boldly go where no pushbike has gone before...

It’s been a long, long, time (cue the Elgins) since we’ve had the opportunity to go beyond our realm into the unknown. Aka the Pyrénées. But finally we have arrived, and it’s pissing down. 

The Gnome in the Pyrenees, taken between showers.

We were lucky to arrive intact. The serpentine mountain roads had filled not just with rain, but also with pedal-powered machines, many more than normal. And normal usually involves constant avoiding tactics and general swearing. This was worse. The entire road infrastructure had been locked-down to allow a pushbike race, something that many find strangely fascinating. 

Hmmm, let’s find out why... 

We found a particularly impressive vantage point, tracked down by spotting a house draped in British flags; always a slightly dubious decor. Despite our fears, we were warmly accepted and the ‘B’ words used were only bbq and booze. We settled down to watch the much-hyped proceedings.

Ok. It’s a bike Jim, but not as we know it. This three-wheeled wonder was just a taster. Soon arrived other strange and wonderous creatures. 

I am aware that the Tour de France is renowned for its liberal attitude to drugs, but this is surely just taking the piss…

Ah. Now ‘things’ were starting to happen. Local trees had noticed objects flying in an unidentifiable way.

Then, incredibly, there arrived two of out bestest friends, Gill & Paul, clearly in the lead…

Other, more outlandish characters, suddenly appeared trying to chase our friends down. No bloody way mate!

And then even more! So many it took almost an entire thirty seconds to pass us by.

I was then informed that the leader may not actually be winning. Go figure.

Apparently, to win, you had to wear a yellow shirt. To me this seemed a little easier than actually riding fast, but very few of these idiots seemed to have caught onto it. 

Finally, we saw him!

I remain unconvinced. I thought it more likey that this guy, who has obviously found a shortcut, would be the clear winner…

After all that excitement, we headed off into remote parts of the Ariège. Arriving at Guzet (in other seasons a ski station) we found that we had far from succeeded in escaping the clouds. Indeed, for the following entire day we lived within one of them, leaving little to see except spooky trees…

After a day of damp white fluffy stuff, there were finally signs of daylight. Oops! Too late!

The next dawn was bright, flooding us with hopes of above zero temperatures.

Not all were impressed as some attempted to move house.

The change of climat (bloody climate change) freed us from the confines of the Gnome, allowing us to wander the local forest tracks, where, strangely, we saw some trees…

Sky was underwhelmed…

As usual, Sky was wrong, she being more interested in haut cuisine than haut views.

And the views were spectacular.

We finally limped to the top…

To watch the accumulating clouds.

Moving on deeper into the Ariege.

The Three Gnomes

Where three pleasant days were spent relaxing in the wilderness.

Until the lights finally went out on another Gnome Trek adventure.

An Era Ends: Nick Ryland. R.I.P.

We are in a period of such turbulent change. I have lost friends, and have been forced apart from my family. There has been so much hurt.

And now Nick’s passing has been yet another gut-punch. 

True, his death was not so much of a shock as he was, how can I put it, 'getting on in years'. And parts of him were gradually failing. He would have understood this more than most.

Despite this foreknowledge, his death has touched me profoundly.

He wasn’t family; he was at first a boss, then a partner and then, most important of all, a friend. And so much more.

Of all the people that have influenced my life, Nick comes right out at the top. More so than any other, including my own parents.

I first met him in the year of ’77, fresh out of vet college. I had just struggled through my finals and was desperate for work, as I was broke in both spirit and in bank balance.

He was to meet me at the station in Newport. How would I recognise him? He told me he would have a copy of the Times under his arm and a rose in his lapel. At that moment, I knew that here was someone with whom I could relate, someone with my kind of sense of humour... a rare thing indeed.

As his veterinary assistant, he taught me so much. As his partner we travelled through a contorted path that led us in conflict with banks, tax men and, often, clients. He did not suffer fools gladly, yet he absolutely ALWAYS had the animal’s welfare as his top concern.

We went through so much together. Many good times, but also many bad. Tears were shed.

Business is far from easy, especially for those that wish to help animal welfare. Yet he was always there to help me through so much stress.

Outstanding.

Many of our endeavours came to nought. We planned the first vet hospital in Wales, but were confounded by competition; unfair and destructive. But despite years of difficulties, I am proud to say that the practice we finally developed was, I am certain, amongst the best in the UK.

He introduced me to the world of vet nursing and the British Small Animal Veterinary Association, to which he voluntarily gave up so much of his time. I followed meekly in his footsteps.

There is no doubt that without Nick I would never have managed to launch the veterinary emergency service (the first in the UK) that ended up being so important to me and others, the template upon which all emergency clinics now use. 

His death has triggered so many memories. So many that it would fill many volumes.

Being a veterinary surgeon involves so many highs and so many lows. Nick was there as no other has been in my life to help through those lows.

No other.

The memories flood in. For instance: the time I had my first unexpected anaesthetic death. I was inconsolable. A dog pyometra (infected womb) operation had gone horribly wrong. There was no way I felt I could ever attempt such a thing again. That day he sent me home early. The next day, I arrived at the clinic, where he told me calmly that a pyometra was there waiting for me to operate on.

How many bosses would do something like that?

The time we did one of the first eye lens replacements in a dog, the wide range of orthopaedic equipment we bought knowing that it would never pay its way, the computers we used when DOS was but a dream, the nights on duty where our personal life had to be put to one side. Good times. Bad times. Never easy times. But times full of our love of animals and their care.

He gave me the freedom to follow my interests such as horse welfare and, finally, emergency medicine.

We have had so many good times over one of his constantly refilling whisky glasses. I shall forever regret having lost touch with him over the last few years, as my life has taken a different direction.

Nick, you will always remain central to my memories. Thank you for your selfless help.

I will miss you.

Deeply.


Phil Hyde