The Rubicon

I sit enjoying the August sunshine. The evening air still, pigeons cooing around me. In my mind the rubicon crossed. Today marks the point in time when I mentally start to focus on the next stage of my life. The last days of my corporate self ebbing from me, I resolutely reconnect with former James. James of yesteryear bold, inquisitive and adventurous. Restrained James disappearing into the shadows.

I still have a few months left of my corporate life, which I intend to enjoy along with all the fantastic people I am lucky enough to work with. However increasingly over the last couple of years as I’ve approached 60 and beyond I’ve become acutely aware of a ticking clock. Aware that if I do not act, then the ticking clock will tick, tick, tick until it ticks no more. It will be too late to give James of yesteryear a chance to flourish.

With this in mind I act. Emotion welling up inside as I write the words to formally serve notice.

The Roman Republic was the period of classical Roman civilisation ending in 47 BC with the establishment of the Roman Empire. Up to that time the river Rubicon marked the boundary between the Roman province of Cisapline Gaul to the northeast and areas controlled directly by Rome and its’ allies to the south.

Julius Caesar having recently finished his term of governorship of Cisalpine Gaul, amid growing tensions between him and Pompey, was ordered by the senate to disband his forces and return to Rome. Recognising the peril of his position, Caesar instead headed south with his forces, crossing the river Rubicon, breaking the law, and effectively starting the Roman civil war that led to his victory and dictatorship. In the lead up to crossing the river there is evidence that there was uncertainty for Caesar as to what to do. However once he made his decision and the Rubicon was crossed there was no going back.

Having served my notice, my personal Rubicon crossed. There is no going back.

What I know now is the James of yesteryear, while bold was also shy. The James of today rounded and comfortable talking to strangers. While still in August, the end of the year approaching fast. The point where a new door opens. Excitement inside at the prospect of adventures to come, energising me in a forgotten way.

2026 will be a busy year. Over a glass of wine shared with my niece, Hannah, I asked if she wanted to come cycling in the Indian Himalayas. Probably the effect of the wine, a deal was made. If I ran the Barcelona Marathon, she would come. I don’t think she was expecting me to go for it. But I have. There’s a twist. An old school friend, that I haven’t seen for something like 40 years cycled up from London to see me. Somewhere along the way of filling in the last 40 years we managed to agree that we would cycle to Barcelona after which I would run the marathon. So that’s the plan. Leave London on bikes at the start of March and train hop if we aren’t quick enough. We have two weeks.

I will also cycle the Pyrenean Raid in early June – a route from the Atlantic coast to the Mediterranean all on the French side of the Pyrenees taking in all of the major cols. To “qualify” for a medal it’s supposed to be completed in 100 hours. I won’t get close, but some real mountains will be good preparation.

As later on in 2026 I will head back to India once more. A place and people I fell in love with 40 years ago. As we parted back in 1986 I vowed to return and rekindle the love and finishing the journey I started along the Himalayas.

Nothing set in stone. All subject to change. There’s a theme emerging. India top to bottom. Taking in the highest mountain roads in the world on my trusty 40 year old Frankenfox. Once done I will continue south and east to Indonesia, to get my hair cut by the nicest barber in the world Shonysepa.