Author Archives: kcposch

About kcposch

Until the end of 2018 I worked with the "Institute for Applied Information Processing and Communications" at Graz University of Technology, Austria. Meanwhile I live in Stockholm, Sweden. I am interested in information security.

Do you believe in love at first sight? I mean bicycles.

I do. I have had such a moment two times in my life. Let me try to describe it. It is when you happen to see a bicycle in a shop, get the urge to do a test ride, and within less than 5 minutes fall in love with the way it feels to ride it. As a result, you buy it right away.

I had such a moment this spring, and another time in 1993. The bicycle from 1993, a black KTM touring bike, stayed with me until last fall when I donated it to charity before my moving from Graz to Stockholm. Within the 25 years it served me on quite a many trips, most notably the one from Geneva to Nice and back, where I took it up and down many of the famous Alpine passes known from the Tour de France.

Meanwhile we have 2019, and as luck wanted it, I had a déjà vu of my 1993-experience. It was a little shop in Surbrunnsgatan in Stockholm where I saw her from outside through the window. Of course, I have heard about the “Kona Sutra” before. Of course, I was susceptible since I was looking around for a bicycle for my one-month’s tour to the North Cape. I went into the shop, asked for a test ride, and three minutes later I knew that I gotta buy it. Fifteen minutes later I was the proud owner of the Kona Sutra model 2018.

Let me try to analyse this love at first sight, this immediate feeling that this obviously is the right one. First of all, it seems to be an informed decision, in my case, at least. Since I had the plan to bicycle with heavy load, I did an online research to learn about the key issues when choosing such a bike. In this online selection process I have limited my attention to a handful of bicycles, which the Kona Sutra was part of.

Still, with online research you cannot learn about how a particular bicycle feels with your body riding on it. A precondition for figuring out this feeling is that you ride on it. In early 2019, the bicycle shops were still selling off their few left-over models of 2018; I was lucky to find my Kona Sutra among those few.

Meanwhile, my love affair has been lasting for more than 3500 kilometers. Most of this distance, I have had it packed with heavy load. Bicycle plus load weighed more than 45 kilograms most of the time.

On my trip to the North Cape I have met many fellow travellers with similar outfit. During short meetings on the road, one of the usual topics to talk about is gear, and all too often it was about bad gear. In contrast to me, being quite happy about my chosen gear, many complained about their bicycle. The literal pain in the ass, the broken spokes, the flat tires, and similar deficiencies. From these  short discussions, I derived that I must have done a lot of right decisions. In the following, I will characterise the most important ones. Maybe it is of help to anyone reading this essay.

1. Geometry of frame

Apparently by sheer luck I found a bicycle fitting my body and the given task of being loaded for long distance bicycling. I guess that if I would have failed in this respect, my tour would have been a pain. Instead, the Kona Sutra together with all the load including my body formed a single well-fitted ensemble of parts. It felt “compact” to the utmost. It seems that the Kona Sutra is just made for exactly this exercise.

2. The saddle: A Brooks B17, leather

Never before I have had a leather saddle, although I have heard and read a lot about them. Again, by sheer luck, the Kona Sutra came with a Brooks B17; thus, I gave it a try. From reading I knew that you need to “break” it in, i.e. need to ride it for several hundred kilometers before the leather becomes a kind of negative of your back end and starts to feel comfortable. I must say that my Brooks saddle felt comfortable from the first moments on, and the feeling got better and better. I have no idea why it was like this. Again “sheer luck”?  For the first time in my life, I dared to skip the usual thick inlay between my body and the saddle. Most of the 3500 kilometers I was riding with just underwear and plain trousers. No pain i.t.a. whatsoever. Never.

3. Drop handlebar

Preparing for the tour, I was thinking a lot about which handlebar I should choose.  Most of my previous bikes had a variety of straight or slightly bent handlebars, and some had horns. Only my first racing bike, a Puch with 10 gears, had a drop handlebar. But then I was only 12 years old. Now, 54 years later, I seemingly got somewhat childish: I thought that I could still bend over all the way. I refer to what I said earlier about falling in love. Apparently pain does not count so much. But let me tell you what happened: I figured out that with the drop handlebar I had a huge variety of hand positions, and thus getting my arms moved while riding. For the first time in many years, I felt happy with my wrists, hands, and arms. No longer the dull feeling of squeezed nerves. What a miracle.

4. Pedals and shoes

I chose to go with click pedals and my old Shimano bike shoes, a perfect combination. These have worked for me for 20 years now. It seems to be a little bit like with hiking shoes: Be careful with new ones.

5. No flat tire: Schwalbe Marathon Mondial 700×40

After I had learned to pump my tires every other day “as hard as I could with my little pump” it felt as if the bicycle would like to move by itself. It seemed to me as if the little extra pressure in the tires did it all. Speaking about flat tires: At some point during my trip I heard a funny noise coming from the front tire. I inspected it and found a piece of metal stuck in it. I pulled it out and, to my  surprise could see that it was sticking in quite a distance. The Schwalbe Marathon Mondial tolerated even this gross attack.

6. 36 spokes, of course

On my tour I met several people who had broken spokes. In particular, one Italian
colleague was struck with really bad luck. I met him when his third broken spoke on the same wheel. He wanted to fix it in Alta, Norway. But, as bad luck wanted it, it was Sunday when he came there, and all shops were closed. He could not wait until Monday, since he had a lack of time due to the return flight being fixed already for a certain date. Apparently, his wheels were not strong enough for all the weight. I think that proper wheels are more important than a good saddle. While the latter is “only” defining comfort, inappropriate wheels can ruin the whole show. As an aside: When I was young, all bicycle wheels had 36 spokes, some even more.

7. Mirror attached to helmet

In 1989 I came back from a one-year stay in the US. There I saw these crazy guys with the mirrors attached to the bicycle helmet. I took some back home with me to Austria and became some sort of celebrity among the students at the university: “Have you seen the odd professor with his helmet and the funny mirror attached to it?” Since then I have made a thing out of these items. I became a warrior for wearing bicycle helmets, and I have had a mirror attached since then. The mirror helps me to judge the traffic coming from behind. Without having to turn my head, I can see which type of vehicle is approaching. On my trip to the North Cape it provided help to distinguish between “very polite Norwegian drivers” and the usually “all too nasty Italian or German drivers” approaching.

Let me stop here with enumerating gear decisions. My initial list was a lot longer. I might continue with reasoning about  gear in some other blogpost. So much for now.

Are you preparing for a long bicycle tour?

I recently came back from a one-month bicycle tour to North Cape. Still full with intensive impressions, I would like to share some experiences for those of you who might also think of embarking into a similar adventure.

I would like to state upfront that I see myself as a person who has been doing sport activities probably less than average. Moreover, I am 66 years old and prefer not to suffer pain when being outdoors. It is more the leisure I am seeking: I enjoy being away from the fast lane of city life. I also take the opportunity of fleeing from most of the obligations which come with social life. I consider long-distance bicycling also as some sort of “contemplative retreat”. By reducing the complexity of one’s daily life, one has the chance to see more clearly what is important.

For me, setting a specific goal, like “next year: North Cape” for example, is important, too. With such a goal I can prepare my mind accordingly of what lies ahead. And afterwards, by having reached a particular goal, I feel satisfied for a long time. It also helps growing my self-esteem and keeps me looking forward doing “the next one”.

Planning and preparing the tour was equally important for me as actually embarking for several weeks. Never before I have been bicycling with “heavy” equipment including tent, cooking utensils, and all the other stuff considered necessary to have on the trip. Of course, it would have been best to know someone personally who could “coach” and help with useful advice of how to prepare and which equipment to buy. Having had no such person at hand, I had to help myself with resources found online. The problem with online stuff is that you quickly tend to get lost in the sheer unlimited amount of seemingly good advice. As a result I quickly felt inferior to all the self-declared heroes showing off with their apparently spectacular abilities. My 40 years experience as a researcher, engineer, and teacher always helped me to re-focus: It does not help much to watch someone on YouTube doing a backflip, if you want to learn to do it yourself. But, yes, watching others is a good start; it just needs to be followed by doing “experiments” on your own. Decomposition of a larger problem into smaller chunks also helps a lot. Planning according to a time-line and being patient, but also determined helps, too. I also love to do lists; lists of things to remember, lists of things to be bought, lists of ideas to try out, and the like.

One of the ideas found on one of my lists was like this, for instance: Find an appropriate touring bicycle by researching what others have been using, reduce the list to roughly three bicycles, and try to find them in real shops. Then decide to buy one.

Another idea looked like this: Try out rain gear in real rain well before the trip.

Or this: Buy tent, mattress, and sleeping bag; then sleep outside — on the balcony — at 0 degrees.

Another one: Take kitchen scales and bathroom scales and get an idea of how heavy different items are. With these data, you can get an estimate of the overall packing weight.

Another useful experiment: Fill plastic water bottles and strap them to the existing bicycle. 3 kilograms left and right on the front and 6 kilograms each left and right on my back. In addition, I loaded some more on my luggage rack. Try to bicycle with all this for several kilometers.

All these pre-tour activities helped me to get acquainted with the situation lying ahead. A general idea with all these experiments was “to avoid to get discouraged by initial feelings”. I can remember that riding a bicycle with water bottles weighing 45 kilograms felt ridiculously uncomfortable initially. But I got used to such a beast rather soon. In contrast, after being used to 45 kilograms for a while, a bicycle weighing only 15 kilograms felt ridiculously light afterwards. Apparently, mind and body get used to new circumstances rather quickly.

Before embarking onto the long trip, I also bicycled four day tours with the fully loaded bicycle. The latter two of these day tours were already part of the tour Stockholm to North Cape. Thus, I bicycled from Stockholm to Uppsala in cold and rainy weather, and in the evening took the train back to Stockholm. The day after I used to make smaller adjustments. I quickly learned, for instance, that I needed to fill my tires with a lot more pressure than usual. I also learned that I need a second muff for my neck.

Two days later, I took the train to Uppsala and continued from there to the town of Tierp. On both of these first two day tours, I allowed myself the luxurious thought of quitting anytime. With this I kept my head free of the necessity of “getting there”. It also helped me to overcome my initial anxiety.

The big lesson of all this: Don’t go from zero to full speed when embarking into something new. Build yourself a ramp allowing you to do small steps with the goal that you always feel comfortable.

In my next blog I intend to reason about the important equipment decisions. About the geometry of the bicycle’s frame, about the saddle, about the type of handlebar, and some more. See you there, soon.

By the way: Have you checked out my photos? Stockholm to Luleå and Luleå to North Cape and back.

Bicycling from Stockholm to North Cape

When I told them that I intended to bicycle to North Cape they stopped nagging me with their nasty questions. This was some years ago.

Meanwhile I have returned from my bicycle trip to North Cape and I am quite content with myself. I have been fighting heavy headwinds — the usual companion of bicyclists, just much stronger –, I have seen so many reindeer that I almost stopped caring about them, I cohabitated with hoards of mosquitoes and I learned how to avoid them, I embraced the loneliness in my one-person tent, I coped with all kinds of weather including ice, snow, rain and fog, and, not to forget, I have seen the North Cape.

Well, the North Cape itself does not offer all too much. It is just the end of the road. Moreover, you don’t go to the North Cape for the sake of fair weather. Thus, once there, you turn around and bicycle south again. This I did, too. I went back south through northern Finland until I got tired after some 500 kilometers or so. Then I took a bus, some trains, and a ferry back to Stockholm where I had started my trip. In 30 days I bicycled 2700 kilometers with 20000 meters vertical distance.

To bring a tent to such a trip is a necessity. The average distance between rooms to rent gets too large in northern Scandinavia. Even places to get food are quite often too far apart. Thus, my equipment included a sleeping mattress and a sleeping bag. In addition, basic cooking utensils, some food and other paraphernalia like emergency bicycle repair tools, some body care, or spare clothes. All in all, my bicycle plus all the stuff weighed some 45 kilograms.

Before this trip I had no idea about the rich variety of different landscapes in the north. I had no idea about the huge amount of really broad water streams bringing melted ice water towards the Gulf of Bothnia or the Arctic Sea. Before, I could only think of large forests, but I could not imagine the richness of different types of forests. Traveling at the typical speed of a bicycle, I could direct all my attention to the magnificent landscapes. I must say that one must not underestimate the potential of addiction to these landscapes.

Check out some of the photos: Stockholm to Luleå and Luleå to North Cape and back.

As an Austrian, being used to heavy traffic with traffic jams in summer, I was amazed by the sheer non-existing traffic on seemingly freshly paved roads all over northern Sweden, Finland, and Norway. Even with all the Italians and Germans with their motor homes seeking their way to the North Cape, I felt alone on the road most of the time. I quickly started to admire the Norwegian car driver’s way of passing a bicyclist: They go all the way to the opposite lane, and in case of oncoming traffic, they patiently wait in some non-disturbing distance behind you. The Finnish and the Swedish car drivers do alike. The Italians and Germans could definitely learn a bit from this attitude.

Having spoken about paved roads, I must not forget to mention my experience with dirt roads. Of course, they were also a part of the trip. Mainly in Sweden in order to avoid the highway E4, and 60 kilometers in northern Finland between Pokka and Sirkka. There, my main thought was about what the few people living along this road must have been doing wrong in their lives that they deserved such a bad road. Thinking back now, it must have been the headwind which consumed all my courage and made me take a bus in Sirkka. The nice thing about dirt roads is that you can bicycle undisturbed for hours. Just the occasional reindeer might offer company for a couple of minutes.

Let me come back to the beginning of my thoughts: Why on earth did I decide to bicycle to North Cape in the first place?

When one comes closer to retirement age of 65, people usually start asking about one’s plans for retirement. These questions usually come with comments of the type “you will be bored to death”. For me, these questions were nagging in my brain and I tried to come up with various answers. Most answers did not work well, i.e. did not stop the questioners. However, when I tried with “I might bicycle to the North Cape”, I usually could divert the attention of the inquirer. Suddenly people stopped nagging me and instead turned their imagination of what it would be like to go to North Cape — a magical place when living in Austria. I had to repeat this answer quite many times, up to a point where I started to believe myself that I would do such an expedition.

In the first months of 2019 I planned the trip, bought equipment like bicycle, tent,  mattress, sleeping bag, cooking utensils, and the like. I also started training by doing first short and then successively longer trips with a heavy loaded bicycle. I also tested outdoor sleeping at 0 degrees Celsius. This preparation phase proved rather valuable since it raised my self-confidence in being able not only to master the trip, but also to enjoy it since the body was already used to physical stress.

Now, my mind is constantly looking for more adventures of a similar type for the near future. It might really become an addiction.

 

Speaking languages with ignorance, dilettantism, and by definition

I was born in Austria. In Austria, people speak various dialects. My parents’ was “Oststeirisch”, the dialect spoken in the eastern part of the province of Steiermark, also known as Styria. Here is an example for this dialect: The German word for soap is “Seife”. In my dialect, this turns to “Soaft”. Thus, when I entered primary school, I had to learn that “Soaft” is pronounced like “Seife” and gets spelled without ‘t’ at the end. As a matter of fact, my mother tongue could be called “Bad German”, but nobody dares to say so.

Meanwhile, I live in Sweden. Now I most often speak Bad Swedish. Really bad Swedish for the time being. If I do not know how to express myself in Swedish, I usually use English. To be precise: I use Bad English, the most commonly spoken language in the world. Thus, not counting my knowledge of Latin, my language skills add up to three badly spoken languages.

I started learning Bad English in grade 5 in school. For some odd reason, we restart counting years in school after 4 in Austria. Thus, it was grade 1 in the “Akademische Gymnasium” in Graz, the capital of Steiermark. Most of my fellow kids in my home town did not go to “Gymnasium”, they just continued with grade 5 of grammar school. They pitted me of being downgraded to grade 1. Moreover, they were neither forced to learn foreign languages nor to do math with such incomprehensible numbers like ‘a’, ‘b’, or ‘c’.

Learning English way back then was not meant to be an exercise to learn to speak and communicate, but rather to learn to translate texts. In addition, we got drilled in grammar – a very useful way of developing structural thinking, as my teachers said. Thus, I learned that ships are female in English, but I could not speak much more than “I am Pat” and “How are you?”. English was treated like Latin – like a dead language.

Despite not understanding English, I got heavily attracted by contemporary music with English lyrics. The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Kinks, Small Faces, Donovan, or Bob Dylan, to name just a few bands and artists. I did not understand much of what they were singing about. To be honest, I understood some parts of the lyrics of some songs. Like “I am an animal, I break your mind”, or “Wild thing, you make my heart sing”. But most often, I had no idea of what the lyrics were all about. Instead, I was making up a kind of personal English when I was humming the songs. Later, when singing these songs to my really basic guitar skills, I was using these imaginary incomprehensible lyrics. Luckily, nobody noticed since those listening could understand English either. I was quite happy with imitating English song texts with my kind of English sounding gibberish. When I became the bass player in a band at age 15, I noticed that we all did the same thing. For instance, when interpreting the song “Badge” by The Cream, I had no idea why this song was called “Badge”. The word did not even appear in the song’s lyrics. Only many years later I found the solution to this little question. It also took me years to understand that George Harrison was singing silly profane lines like “I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping” in his wonderful song “While my guitar gently weeps.”

In grade 10, that is grade 6 in Austria’s “Gymansium”, we got a guest teacher whose native language was English. His name was Mr. Gaisenhoff, and me and my class colleagues were proud of being chosen to have him as a teacher. To his disappointment, none of us could speak any useful English after having spent already five years learning English in school. Luckily, facing this miserable situation, he took the right approach, for me at least. He found out that I was really into contemporary pop music, and therefore asked me to copy song texts printed on record sleeves or published in music magazines for homework. This exercise was an eye opener. He helped me reading my homework loudly in class, and suddenly I understood the meaning of the lyrics of some of my favorite songs like “Lazy Sunday Afternoon” by The Small Faces, for instance. I still could not comprehend the lyrics of Bob Dylan songs like “All Along The Watchtower”. Even to this day, I cannot.

After school, while waiting for the train from the school town to my home town, we were usually visiting a coffee place where all the in-people were hanging out day in, day out. There was a jukebox and it asked for one Austrian Schilling to play a song. For some time, I usually chose “Lazy Sunday Afternoon” and I got really proud of finally understanding what the lyrics were all about. We were smoking some cigarettes, had a soft drink, and felt really cool by hanging out with the “important people”. These were usually guys who knew more guitar chords and could play more of the famous guitar riffs than I knew at that time.

Some years later — meanwhile living in the provincial capital and studying electrical engineering at university — I noticed that my English language skills were still inferior. Remembering the successes during my year with Mr. Gaisenhoff, I started translating song lyrics by my favorite musician at that time, Frank Zappa. This was another eye-opening experience. “Be a jerk, go to work” or “Bamboozled by love” and “The shit just hit the fan”. My English skills certainly started to developed in a strange direction. At that time, I was also working as a sound engineer for a band called “Magic”. We had several national number-one hits, and I seriously considered to start a carrier as professional sound engineer after finishing university. My dream was to become the sound engineer of Frank Zappa and The Mothers Of Invention. But this is another story.

Let me finish this one with the following summary: I am ignorant in Swedish, I am a dilettante in English, and I call German my mother tongue; despite this, I take pleasure to try to speak all of these languages.

 

I Feel Free

Recently, I bicycled from Stockholm to northern Sweden. It was primarily a mental exercise. Since then, many people have asked me whether it is hard to bicycle for 100 kilometers each and every day for weeks, tacitly hinting at my age. The answer is no. Many people asked me whether it is frightening to sleep in a one-person tent out in the wild. No, not at all. Once I had learned the trick to get out of the tent in the middle of the night, it was easy peasy. Some people asked about the weather, about freezing at night, about bicycling in rain and sometimes even snow. It’s just a matter of being prepared with the right equipment. People did not ask so often about my dear friend, the wind. Wind, mainly from the front, very often from the side, seemingly seldom from behind. Most of the time I like my friends a lot.

People hardly asked me about how it is to be with oneself all day long, day in, day out. This latter question is the interesting one. First of all, all senses open up during long-distance bicycling. It is amazing to experience the world with much more intensity than usual. The colors become more intensive, the birds sing louder and even more interesting tunes. Flowing water gurgles. The olfactory sensors are busy with the broad variety of smells one can find out in the country. Flowers, herbs, horses, freshly cut wood, wood burning in stoves. The temperature sensors signal happiness to the brain. Even the pressure sensors residing on the bottom communicate that they meanwhile became friends with the Brooks B17.

During the leisure time of the after-work hours one might sit in the evening sun in front of the tent. Alternatively, one might also hide in the tent to avoid the joyful moskitos. The brain does not want to stop thinking, however. The brain might work a little bit on tour planning for the next day. Check out the weather forecast, maybe. But after this, it might want to embark on a random walk. It might re-assemble bits and pieces from memory and recreate what is usually called the past. How it was to get the first bicycle at the age of twelve. A shiny red Puch racing bike with ten gears. This was 1966 and the parents even allowed me to bicycle alone to my aunt in Upper Styria. The distance was an unbelievable 130 kilometers. All my brain can remember now are the terrifying Gratkorn tunnel and the overwhelming feelings of freedom. The tunnel is history. The feelings of freedom are as present as ever. I look over to my Kona Sutra and start smiling. The Sutra also has a racing handle bar, like my Puch had back then. What a nice coincidence, I think. The sun is shining and my brain starts humming “Sunny Afternoon”, a pop song by The Kinks, also from 1966. It hums “And I love to live so pleasantly, live this life of luxury, lazing on a sunny afternoon”. My brain remembers that shortly after getting my Puch in 1966 I started my “sinful” life. I got interested in life styles that my educators back then, the Capuchin monks from the Lorenzheim, considered as definitely evil. Quite in contrast to their radical hair style, I wanted to have my hair in a very different radical style. Quite in contrast to their proposal to live a celibate life, I was about to discover the pleasures of lust. My brain keeps humming “save me, save me, save me from this squeeze”. Needless to say that this disagreement with the monks’ expectations about my life style led to my expulsion from the Capuchin monastery. This was the first big change in my life’s journey towards becoming myself. It felt like being liberated from a cage. My brain is still humming “Now I’m sitting here, sipping at my ice cold beer, lazing on a sunny afternoon”. However, it was not the alcohol that got so much attention way back then in 1968. I started with school in Fürstenfeld, got my fingers bleeding when trying to learn the barrè chords of the song “Wild Thing” by The Troggs, and shortly afterwards got offered a job as a bass player in a band. We called ourselves The Promotion. I took the pleasure of no longer listening to pop music, but became a connoisseur of progressive music, like the one from The Cream. Meanwhile, still sitting in front of my tent, my brain has started humming “The ceiling is the sky, I feel free”.

Summer evenings in northern Sweden seem to last forever. A lot longer than blog posts like this one here should be. Those of you, dear readers, who are not yet challenged with attention deficit, might want to get a glimpse of what it’s like to feel free by clicking here.

Six Months After

Just wanted to summarize some of my thoughts from the first six months after retiring from Graz University of Technology:

My activities:

  • Got rid of most of the stuff I used to “live with” in Austria and moved to Stockholm, Sweden.
  • Rented a house on an island in Stockholm’s archipelago.
  • Studied language every day for the first three months. I even went to a language school and became a student. An excellent experience for a seasoned teacher.
  • Selected and bought quite a lot of equipment for a three months’ bicycle tour to North Cape and back.
  • Bicycled from Stockholm to Luleå in northern Sweden. 1300 km.
  • Played with musical instruments most every day.
  • Visited Austria several times.
  • Went to the gym twice a week.

I enjoy…

  • the lifestyle in Sweden that is more individualistic than the one in Austria.
  • to visit free-of-charge state-owned museums.
  • the looong summer days with their magnificent light, in particular in the north.
  • “allemannsrätten”, i.e. everyone’s right to use free nature, for instance to pitch a tent almost anywhere.
  • the positive attitude of the Swedes, in contrast to the more often noticable negative approach to life in Austria. There is no “Herumnörglerei” in Sweden.
  • the absolutely-no-smoking policy in publicly used places.
  • the first stage of my bicycle tour: 16 days, tent, snow, rain, sun. No traffic.

What did not happen:

  • In contrast to the fear of many, I am not bored at all.
  • In contrast to the fear of several, I did not gain weight; rather the opposite.
  • In contrast to the fear of some, I really enjoy life in Sweden.
  • In contrast to the fear of two, food in Sweden is excellent.
  • In contrast to the fear of one, there is plenty of food in Sweden.

I miss…

  • playing volleyball on Friday evenings and the beer afterwards.
  • don’t know, that seems to be all.

Enjoy preparing pasta bolognese with me in the forest somewhere in northern Sweden…

Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow. Yesterday’s Gone. Yesterday’s Gone.

For several weeks, if not months, I have been managing change. A change from @iaik.tugraz.at to @alumni.tugraz.at. A change from living in Graz to starting life in Stockholm. A change from targeting focus on students to targeting focus on new adventures.

I am very excited about this change.

Recently I have learned to let go duties, responsibilities, and some amenities. I definitely will miss the inspiration of all the thinking people at IAIK and at the university. I am grateful having had the opportunity to work with all of you.

I plan to use the newly gained time for activities I could not do due to lack of time in the past: Maybe a bicycle tour to North Cape, for instance. Exploring more of the music I like by playing it on instruments. If you happen to see me  somewhere standing on some street corner playing Bob Dylan songs with guitar and blues harp, don’t pity me. Just laugh and start living your own dreams.

Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow. Yesterday’s Gone. Yesterday’s Gone.