 | Preservation of the Soul | for everyone |
| Belated Easter Weekend. | for everyone |
It was sunny - the whole time.
We cycled on average 50 miles a day - max 55, min 45.
We averaged 10mph.
We were only forced to B&B one night because the campsite we were aiming for was closed for renovation. We can strongly recommend "The Philosopher's Tipple" in Caldecot.
The "Skirrid Inn" just north of Monmouth serves a number of very fine pints. It is also the oldest pub in Wales and allegedly the most haunted.
Quiet country lanes all the way except for the occasional foray into cities like Gloucester, Monmouth and Abergaveny.
Tourist information were really helpful - when we found them open.
The whole trip was done under manpower alone. Apart from the satisfaction of avoiding any potential traffic, not polluting the environment and not being at the mercy of unscrupulous public transport companies, we really enjoyed the fact that the moment we left our front driveway on the bikes we were already on holiday. There was no "getting there" or "getting back" to be done.
| Another rung | for everyone |
On Saturday we cycled to Marlborough.
Nothing new about this really, except this time we had a task to complete. A tail wind pushed us all the way which was annoying since I needed no inspiration to get there and all the time knew that getting home would be extremely difficult. Our average speed to Marlborough was 14 mph compared to my usual average of 12.
Close to our destination, the Trep got hungry but, despite efforts, there was no food in any of the little villages. Our hosts did, however, supply us with two hot steaming mugs of tea to accompany us on our quest of looking around, in and under the 27 VW Transporter vans, cruely kept within the confines of their fence.
In the end, it came down to a race to the line between a yr2000 van with a muckier engine and weird feeling gearbox but better bodywork and a stainless steel exhaust and a yr 2002 van with a few rust spots, a dead-looking exhaust but a cleaner engine that started straight away.
First we took the newer one out which was OK to drive. We went in, to make an offer but grumbling about the bodywork, the exhaust and just that we liked the other more. The dealer shrugged his shoulders and dug out the 2000 model from the back and gave us the keys.
It rocketed out of the steep driveway and zipped up the road. This one was much more fun to drive. There was little fuel in it so we ragged it a bit then came back to base to do the deal.
After a good half hour of chatting about the trans-Canada trip with the cyclist-salesman we headed off home, leaving the van to be kindly tended, touched up, serviced, MOTd and all the rest for our reunion in two weeks time, holiday weekends and excursions to Peterborough permitting. The ride home was all the more difficult for that roaring headwind, excitement and a huge hunk of chocolate cake consumed at Applebys tea-room in Marlborough before leaving.
Miles cycled in March: 208
| Evil disease & a rant about Great Britain | for everyone |
I managed to ride to work all last week and four days of this week but as the week went on, my days finished earlier and earlier until on Thursday I jacked it in at 1.30pm.
The physical effects of the flu are diminishing. The cough is no longer an urgent hack but a slightly gravelly throat clearing. It's just my lungs hurt, my back hurts from 4 weeks of coughing and I am tired. Oh so tired.
The little village sewage works I am designing is coming to an end. Loose ends and cross-references are the order of the day and to be honest they are insufficient to occupy a snoozing, nodding brain so today, Friday, I am on a sickie. Yet again I sit in my house and stare at the number of tidying-up jobs to be done that allegedly are too much effort for a sick puppy.
Then there's the prospect of a ride out to the commercial vehicles sales place to pick up a van that will be suitable for conversion to a camper for Team Pamplemouse to get to races, sleep in and other lifestyle adventures. Being sensibly sick is not my thing but oh how I need to shake this thing off.
This morning I dreamt I was in Canada. I spent the day before my flight back to England shopping and forgot to go to the airport and my only option was to go back to LBHN for the night so I awoke desperately trying to figure out how to get myself on the next flight back to Blighty.
When I had time to wake up a bit more I realised that as of today I have been back in England for 6 months and as it is now 5pm in Canada, I can not officially return as a resident. I have to go back as a visitor. This niggles a bit - just to have lost that little bit of added freedom to move through an extra slice of the globe as I choose. I find it disturbing that my brain put this image into pictures before I even had chance to get out of bed.
But I'm so happy to be in England. If I buy a new car, the insurance will run at about $600CAD instead of the $300 I paid for the beetle. The road tax I have to pay on it will be about $230CAD every year! The safety test is done every year - retailing $50CAD at least. Fuel costs... well I don't even know! I think about $1.78 per litre unlike $0.89 in Canada and the vehicle itself will probably be about 1.3 times the price in Canada. BUT... my salary retails at 2.3 times right now.
When it comes down to it though, it's about being at home. I did like Canada (honest I did) but England is home. My house is one third the size it was in Canada but I don't care because it's cosy not echoing and I can manage my small patch of garden. I watch "place in the sun" type programmes and I feel sorry for the poor buggers.
Everyone is so committed to the thought that England has gone to the dogs that they are suddenly astonished when they become victims of crime overseas or get ripped off by estate agents, bureaucrats and builders overseas. We have sensible laws to cover that kind of thing in England. Your land can not suddenly be "stolen" by a developer because his hotel complex is to be built, "for the good of the community" in the opinion of some mayor who happens to hate English people. Suddenly people discover that, in Spain, the british builders are the best and Spanish builders are shoddy charlatans, that it takes 4-years to get your hotel licensed to a state that you can actually market it legally.
I don't deny that there are parts of England where people live in fear of gangs of yobs, slapped up to their necks in ASBOs and the police are hiring ex-SAS men to gather incriminating evidence - all of which is done from the safe distance confines of an ex-military landrover but the whole of Britain is not like it. To all of middle England who like to complain about the price of fish I feel like screaming, "get your nose out of the newspaper!". Take a bike ride, get yourself to the top of a hillside, exercise your right to roam, visit a museum, spend some of your road tax on going to see Scotland.
Get yourself out of your comfort zone and remind yourself how great it is to be British so that when you're stuck at home with flu for two weeks you have some fond memories to look back on to keep you occupied.
Miles cycled in March: 175
| Home Sweet Garden | for everyone |
It's been a bit chilly this week. Keeps sleeting on me on the way to work and I look out the window and I dress for -16 degrees.
I forget there's all shades of cold.
| What to catch up on first | for everyone |
Our second Open5 Series Navigator race did not go to plan. The Trep was sick - and had been for two weeks. The doctor promised the Trep that the cough would only last one more week so the Trep reluctantly took the decision to spend the race taking a leisurely, un-stressful walk around the Yorkshire countryside whilst one half of Team Pamplemouse completed the event as solo male.
I walked for 4 hours along the ridge of Sutton Bank (photos) which is near Thirsk, about 30 miles North of Rippon on the A1. Sutton Bank is the name of a 1 in 4 road which climbs up a steep craggy embankment. The cycling "milk race" has climbed it many times in its history as one of the classic climbs to do in the country. Cars towing caravans are banned from using it and there are statistic signs warning that the road has been blocked 137 times so far this year by truck drivers that just don't realise what they're letting themselves in for. There is a hairpin bend one half of the way up which our brand-new shiny rental van handled without pain and the lady in the Rover in front exclaimed, "I was hoping you would push me up there" when we got to the top. I was tempted, I surely was.
It was with reluctance that I saw TSK off on his way. Part of me was jealous that he was racing alone. Part of me knew he would do better without me and didn't like that. Part of me knew that if I rode in my own category, I'd do better than us as a team and didn't like that because I like to ride with him. Part of me was looking forwards to a day of walking and wished he'd leave so I could get on with it. But that was mainly because I wished he was with me. Walking alone is lonely. Walking with dogs, fine. Walking with a loved one, fine. Walking alone - there's no-one to share the joys with.
However, the day was bright and I could manage to walk. I filled with glee as I realised I could manage to go further, further. Then I descended to a village in search of food and to time my arrival back at the van to greet TSK (with the keys) and get a rest before setting off on the long drive back. The deal is always that he reads the map and I drive - particularly when he's been racing and I haven't.
Back at the car park I was treated to the tail end of a classic mini-car rallye up Sutton Bank and laughed as people were treated to a bit of old fashioned speed as other cars were held up behind the little revving, struggling, smoking classic cars.
The final result of the race, TSK got 390 points without me and arrived back 6 minutes late. He was 20th. Quite high up the field compared to our usual score. So, as I embark on the second of my 70 mile ride to work weeks, I'm looking forward to the next Open5 series and praying to stop coughing long enough to go for a run... just one before the next race would be nice.
| Out of sorts | for everyone |
Been moving house... with flu. Then the inevitable wait for an interweb connection. Then waiting to get the computer screen separate from the TV.
I'll be back soon - promise.
Miles cycled in March: 74.
On the new ride to work: NICE. 7 miles of NICE.
| Getting better all the time | for everyone |
The possibility of meeting with the obnoxious teenager again and the prospect of a blue sky got me out on the bike early again this morning and I rode up onto the downs, down (bizarely) back into the valley then up again to work. The sky was indeed blue and the traffic much less threatening in the dry though I did claim myself room in the road to allow for the occasional gust of wind blowing me two feet to the right from time to time.
Just as I'm getting on a roll with this extra-mileage commute I am off to Germany on business soon and I fear everything will fall by the wayside. The determination to get back to it when I return remains strong.
With a TSK coming to stay, who knows what I will get driven to achieve. Things are certainly looking up.
If it works, this video made me laugh...
| The Long Way Round - is my Number up? | for everyone |
I saw Jeff riding the other way and called good morning to him. He was oddly bemused to see me going the wrong way to work but understood I am sure. At 62, Jeff is the fittest man in our department - self included.
The heavens gradually opened further as I approached and turned up Elendune Road where my longer ride got more enjoyable as the traffic died away. Still the rain sneaked through the slits in my helmet and I felt the gradual encroaching damp in my leggings from the odd drip off my coat and splash from my mudguard. A polo driver squeezed past at high speed, grinding away someone's carefully mowed grass verge with his nearside wheels. An Audi driver swung into the drive way to give me 4 ft to pass. Elendune Road is only car-wide. I stopped for the Milk tanker coming down the hill and he passed with a wave. On the hill climb a porsche cut it fine because he was too busy avoiding a fallen branch on his side. I managed to ignore him.
Back on the main road I descended to my village and had a moment when a driver decided to pull out in front of me as I descended on a wet road with wet brakes. He got some moderate abuse as I was genuinely scared and knew he'd seen me but chosen to ignore me. I know I shouldn't do abuse - not when I live so close to work but 30 seconds later a car door opened in my face and a spotty teenager emerged complete with skin head and baseball cap. I could see the spiny blonde bumfluff of skinhead under his grimy hat.
Un-remorseful, clueless ****. I wish I'd blown the bloody door off.
I got to the bottom of Brimble hill.
'Pooter was dead. Not just misbehaving - dead.
Fuck fuckity fuck fuck. All those extra miles (all six of them), all that extra abuse, all those extra dangers, all that extra rain. Worthless according to a little black block of plastic.
I got to work. Someone has discovered my secret closet of warmth to change in. Someone else's clothes were in my cubicle. Damn. I began to wonder if this is all worth it.
Then a friend came and talked bikes to me. He'd had two close calls this morning too. Was there something in the air? Were we all just that little bit tetchier because of the weather?
Only now, do I remember that as I got to the bottom of Ellendune hill, I passed a well dressed (green wellies and wax jacket well-dressed) lady walking her dogs the other way and at the exact moment we made eye contact and said good morning, the sun came out and blazoned us with daylight through the grey. Somebody turned the lights on and two complete strangers acknowledged each other verbally and that, amongst other things, is one of the treasures that makes my ride to work all the more worthwhile.
Off to fit a nu 'pooter.
Miles cycled in February: Approximately 85
| Not last | for everyone |
We were bold and brave and set ourselves a target of achieving two of the high-score 50-point check-points along the way.
We were proud of ourselves for achieving the checkpoints but sadly resulted in us being 15 minutes late back to the finish - 80 points down the drain. We were 5th of 6 teams (last time we checked). The 80 points would've had us in third place.
So now we're addicted. It's like we have to get that placing. I am at least more confident that my legs will get me around the courses despite having not completed enough miles on my bike recently. I walked in the snow all of last week - there's an absence of studded tyres in this household. So tragically...
Miles cycled in February: 79 on the road, approx 30 off-road
Miles cycled this year: 268 on the road, approx 90 off-road
Must do better.
| Remember the war | for everyone |
| Remember the war | for everyone |
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCkYfYa8ePI
| Define: Absolutely necessary | for everyone |
There was 4 inches (max) snow on the ground. At 3 am, my boss reports, he saw none on the ground. At 5:30 am I was woken by the light streaming through the slits in the blinds. Expletives passed my lips as I wondered what fool had somehow switched the light bulbs in the carpark to megga bright beams of blinding aura. Could I have died in my sleep?
I peered through the blind and there it was. 4 inches of untouched white fluffy stuff.
I wondered about getting up and walking the long way to work. I was awake. Falling asleep again would only lead to the agony of waking up woosey at 7 am with the alarm. I went back to bed and shivered. I didn't have the brain about me to switch the heating on and by the time I'd pulled my dressing gown on and fallen asleep again, that pesky alarm went off.
After tea and cereal I set off for work - smug in my coat. The neighbours kids were building snow man because school was cancelled and I caught a couple having a snowball fight (though not technically true because she just pushed the roof of snow off the car down his neck as he bent down to get the scraper out of the car).
It was with glee that I walked past the cars lined up on the high street. I saw the tracks of a sled then was surprised to see that the kids playing with the sled were about 16, not the 5-year olds I'd expected. It's good to know teenagers aren't too cool for everything.
On the big hill backroads, the trees formed a canopy and the road was clear of snow. Oh how I pleaded with myself not to tell anyone at work but my secret just rushed out in the middle of the conversation. Along with, "how many man hours have been lost today down to the people that were just too crap to get to work?" 50% of us made it. Did the others have more severe storms in their driveways?
I, on the other hand relished my trip to work. I felt that it was absolutely necessary. And invigorating and I pitied the people pitying me for not having a car. I was ALIVE!
| Getting out of Practice | for everyone |
We feel behind.
I know, it's the middle of winter,
there have been illnesses and injuries but suddenly 50miles is a long
way. That's what we did yesterday. We cycled to Waltham Abbey along
the canal banks to drink tea, eat cake and see where King Harold was
buried. I have photos but I have also lost my cable and the little
XD card doesn't fit in any of the holes in the computer.
The sun shone, we saw few other people
along the canals – a few fishermen, a few other hardy cyclists
going about their weekend A-Bs, but no real concentrations of people.
In Waltham Abbey, things seemed falsely jolly. Everyone seemed to
be being nice to our faces yet deepdown we seethed over one café
without facilities and a second that insisted that due to lack of space we put our scary
cyclists' bags in the corner with the scary motorcyclists' helmets as
hoards of old ladies came-and-went with arm-fulls of overflowing
biddy shopping-bags.
Today we were tired. So very tired.
We got up and out in good time and London was strangely dead. We
went to Spitalfields market where everything seems to be a step-up
from your average market stalls. We ate exotic greek pastries for
breakfast then found coffee in a warm place. I didn't want to move.
We went to look at the architecture of Smithfield market then after
some shopping I was on the train home and I'm tired. 20 miles today.
Along with all this of course was 2 pints of beer whilst watching Morning Bride
play in Stoke Newington on Friday night and a large glass of wine with
Josephine on Saturday night. Who says I can't party anymore?
More miles is what we will be doing. I
have fitted my super-power lights to my bike tonight which I hope
will give me incentive to go out early to play in the dark. And... to
give me some extra incentive and fuel my love of stats, I am stealing
an idea from Jill:
Miles cycled in February: 87
| Getting out of Practice | for everyone |
We feel behind.
I know, it's the middle of winter, there have been illnesses and injuries but suddenly 50miles is a long way. That's what we did yesterday. We cycled to Waltham Abbey along the canal banks to drink tea, eat cake and see where King Harold was buried. I have photos but I have also lost my cable and the little XD card doesn't fit in any of the holes in the computer.
The sun shone, we saw few other people along the canals – a few fishermen, a few other hardy cyclists going about their weekend A-Bs, but no real concentrations of people. In Waltham Abbey, things seemed falsely jolly. Everyone seemed to be being nice to our faces yet deepdown we seethed over one café without facilities and a second that, due to lack of space, insisted we put our scary cyclists' bags in the corner with the scary motorcyclists' helmets as hoards of old ladies came-and-went with arm-fulls of overflowing biddy shopping-bags.
Today we were tired. So very tired. We got up and out in good time and London was strangely dead. We went to Spitalfields market where everything seems to be a step-up from your average market stalls. We ate exotic greek pastries for breakfast then found coffee in a warm place. I didn't want to move. We went to look at the architecture of Smithfield market then after some shopping I was on the train home and I'm tired. 20 miles today.
Along with all this of course was 2 pints of beer whilst watching Morning Bride play in Stoke Newington on Friday night and a large glass of wine with Josephine on Saturday night. Who says I can't party anymore?More miles is what we will be doing. I have fitted my super-power lights to my bike tonight which I hope will give me incentive to go out early to play in the dark. And... to give me some extra incentive and fuel my love of stats, I am stealing an idea from Jill:
| The world is slightly off its axis this evening | for everyone |
I had my third trip to the physio today. Not that I'm in pain anymore. Not real
pain. When I stand on one foot, it feels like my right hip won't
actually hold me up for long and I have an niggling ache in my left bum
every evening. I'd like to feel right and the whole thought of my hip
ball being part-way out of my pelvis is a little creepy.
She
tutted and wondered at what I do inbetween sessions to knock my hips
off-kilter again. Erm... running, cycling, rock climbing and standing
up all day in a cold wind?
She lay me down on the couch and
tugged on my leg and ground my foot into the bench (how she didn't
imagine this would hurt I don't know). My hips were still off-kilter.
She told me to stand straight (I was). She pushed me over to one side.
I flopped back, she pushed me again, I flopped back (repeat until
bored). She grabbed hold of me and said,
"Now that's straight".
"No, I'm standing on one leg"
"No, that's straight"
"Seriously?"
"Seriously!"
"I can't stand like this any longer"
"You'll have to. I can't do any more for you unless you stand up straight"
I
have to stand and look in the mirror. She's right. For years I have
been leaning about 5 degrees to my left. I put it down to being tall.
Tall people lean and stoop to fit in, to hear smaller people talking,
to avoid looking like a darning needle on a pin-cushion of those litte
pins you get in packeted shirts from Marks and Spencer.
She gave
me some sexercises to do to strengthen my core muscles. They're very
dull and undynamic. I need to dig out an old, loud CD. The words, "I
can't do anything more for you," rang in my ears and I instantly
decided I couldn't afford to see her anymore
I spent the rest of
the day leaning. Leaning in my chair, leaning in the queue for lunch,
leaning at the photocopier - but I wasn't, I was standing up straight.
I
went to the doctors to get the results of my x-ray and it appears that
after all, everything is fine and my hip is not popping out of my
pelvis any more. So, I went for a lopsided run. 4km of moorland running
over 45 minutes. I made the sheep and little lambs scatter and watched
a twilight sunset over the glowing lights of swindon and the contours
of the downs turn from navy blue to black then I turned on my sooper
dooper headtorch and skipped my way along worn footpaths on the fields
before returning to civilisation and a bounce down the road.
Next
time I'll suss out the path behind the village that leads to the back
lane to my flat and then I'll move house and have to start the process
all over again.
My world might be off its axis but at least I am getting out more.
though you might notice I've cheated and used a photo taken a while ago in the middle of the day
| The World is Slightly Off-Axis Today | for everyone |
When I stand on one foot, it feels like my right hip won't actually hold me up for long and I have an niggling ache in my left bum every evening. I'd like to feel right and the whole thought of my hip ball being part-way out of my pelvis is a little creepy.
She tutted and wondered at what I do inbetween sessions to knock my hips off-kilter again. Erm... running, cycling, rock climbing and standing up all day in a cold wind?
She lay me down on the couch and tugged on my leg and ground my foot into the bench (how she didn't imagine this would hurt I don't know). My hips were still off-kilter. She told me to stand straight (I was). She pushed me over to one side. I flopped back, she pushed me again, I flopped back (repeat until bored). She grabbed hold of me and said,
"Now that's straight".
"No, I'm standing on one leg"
"No, that's straight"
"Seriously?"
"Seriously!"
"I can't stand like this any longer"
"You'll have to. I can't do any more for you unless you stand up straight"
I have to stand and look in the mirror. She's right. For years I have been leaning about 5 degrees to my left. I put it down to being tall. Tall people lean and stoop to fit in, to hear smaller people talking, to avoid looking like a darning needle on a pin-cushion of those litte pins you get in packeted shirts from Marks and Spencer.
She gave me some sexercises to do to strengthen my core muscles. They're very dull and undynamic. I need to dig out an old, loud CD. The words, "I can't do anything more for you," rang in my ears and I instantly decided I couldn't afford to see her anymoreI spent the rest of the day leaning. Leaning in my chair, leaning in the queue for lunch, leaning at the photocopier - but I wasn't, I was standing up straight.
I went to the doctors to get the results of my x-ray and it appears that after all, everything is fine and my hip is not popping out of my pelvis any more. So, I went for a lopsided run. 4km of moorland running over 45 minutes. I made the sheep and little lambs scatter and watched a twilight sunset over the glowing lights of swindon and the contours of the downs turn from navy blue to black then I turned on my sooper dooper headtorch and skipped my way along worn footpaths on the fields before returning to civilisation and a bounce down the road.
Next time I'll suss out the path behind the village that leads to the back lane to my flat and then I'll move house and have to start the process all over again.
My world might be off its axis but at least I am getting out more.
| Not getting out enough | for everyone |
Well, I was outdoors all day, but all I came back with was photos of a shitty hole (and you don't need to see those)
| Not getting out enough | for everyone |
