The Road and The Ring: A Journey that Started at 63

At 63, I found myself at a bit of a crossroads, not unlike the dusty intersections I navigate in my fourteen-wheeler. The road and the ring—two unlikely forges—have become my workshops, where I hammer out a new purpose from the embers of a life well-lived.

Welcome to The Road and Ring, the first chapter in a story of living on the move and discovering Muay Thai, Thailand’s ancient art of eight limbs. This is my tale of crafting a Second Spring through the hum of tires and the sting of sweat.

Life on Fourteen Wheels: The Road as My Forge

My home is a fourteen-wheeler, a rolling sanctuary of steel and solitude. It’s not just a truck; it’s a workshop where I shape my days, much like a medieval blacksmith shaped iron for his village. The road has always been a teacher. Centuries ago, traders on the Silk Road hauled goods across continents, their camels and carts carving paths through deserts. Today, I steer my rig through New Zealand’s winding highways carrying not just cargo but questions: What matters most to me now?

Living in a truck is a craft. Every square inch of space is precious and constraints drive innovation. Every mile is a hammer strike, refining my perspective. The cab is my forge, where solitude sparks reflection. I’ve learned to steward my life like I maintain my rig—check the oil, watch the gauges, plan the route; look ahead but always check your mirrors. A breakdown in the middle of nowhere, like a stalled career, forces you to pause and troubleshoot. As I write in Flying Blind, “the problems you are trying to solve today were the solutions proposed in the past” (p. 51). On the road, I confront past choices—jobs taken, risks avoided—and find clarity in the rhythm of the drive.

Take a night in the back blocks of Central Otago, parked under a canopy of stars. The gentle roar of the engine fades, and I’m left with my thoughts. The road teaches resilience, like the 19th-century stagecoach drivers who braved bandits and blizzards. Each delivery is a small victory, a load hauled from A to B, mirroring the incremental progress of The Autumnal Man Project’s call to “reflect boldly”. In Life on Fourteen Wheels, I’ll share these stories—moments of solitude, lessons from breakdowns, and the freedom of a life unmoored.

The Art of Eight Limbs: Striking a New Path

Then there’s the ring, where I discovered Muay Thai at 63. Picture a carpenter at his bench, chisel in hand, each cut deliberate. That’s me in a Chiang Mai gym, learning to wield fists, elbows, knees, and shins—Muay Thai’s eight limbs—as tools of transformation. This isn’t about chasing youth; it’s about crafting strength, much like the Resolute Manager who turns burnout into opportunity.

Muay Thai’s roots stretch back to the 16th-century Ayutthaya Kingdom, where warriors honed their skills for battle. Today, the ring is my second forge, a 24-foot square where I face doubt and fatigue. My first sparring session was humbling—my shins ached, my breath faltered—but each strike taught precision. A teep (push kick) isn’t just a move; it’s a commitment, like the “clarity of purpose” I write about in Flying Blind (p. 35). The ring strips away noise, leaving only what matters: focus, resilience, purpose. I train but do not fight, it would kill me.

At 63, stepping into the ring felt like a rebellion against time. Every pad session, every clinch, is a chance to reshape my embers—skills, dreams, experience—into something new. In The Art of Eight Limbs, I’ll share how Muay Thai became my craft, from mastering a roundhouse to finding balance in the chaos of a spar. It’s not about fighting others; it’s about fighting for yourself, for the man you want to be.

The Craftsman’s Heart: Road Meets Ring

The road and the ring are more alike than they seem. Both are forges, demanding discipline and intention. The trucker plans his route with care, like a blacksmith eyeing his next strike. The fighter hones his stance, like a sculptor refining clay. Both crafts require you to show up, tools ready, and work through the heat. My Flying Blind warns of blind spots—like using the wrong model for change (p. 25). On the road, I once thought the destination was everything; in the ring, I believed strength alone would win. Both taught me context is key: the journey shapes you, and technique trumps force.

Historically, craftsmen were the backbone of society. In medieval Europe, blacksmiths forged tools that built cathedrals; in ancient Thailand, Muay Thai masters trained warriors who defended kingdoms. Today, I’m a craftsman of my own life. My fourteen-wheeler carries my home, my dreams, my questions. The ring tests my body and sharpens my mind. Together, they forge a Second Spring, not by erasing the past but by shaping its embers into something bold.

Why This Matters for You

If you’re reading this, you might be at your own crossroads, like the men over 45 I help in The Autumnal Man Project. Maybe you’re hauling burdens—career, family, routine—feeling the weight of smouldering embers. The road and the ring offer lessons: pause, reflect, act. You don’t need a truck or a gym to start. The craft begins with a single step—a question, a choice, a strike.

In The Road and The Ring, I’ll share stories from my fourteen-wheeler and the Muay Thai ring, some 600 words, others 2000, each a piece of the journey. Life on Fourteen Wheels will explore the road’s solitude, from breakdowns to epiphanies under the huge New Zealand skies. The Art of Eight Limbs will dive into the ring’s discipline, from my first clumsy jab to the flow of a combo. These aren’t just my stories—they’re invitations to reflect on your own.

Dare to Begin

A craftsman doesn’t wait for the perfect moment. He strikes when the iron’s hot, knowing each blow shapes the future. At 63, I chose the road and the ring to forge my Second Spring. You can too. Join The Grove to connect with others crafting their paths. Sign up for Embers, my seven-part email course, to spark your journey. Or explore The Second Spring, a 48-week coaching program to guide your transformation.

The road stretches ahead. The ring awaits. Pick up your tools—wheel, fist, or heart—and dare to begin.