Month: June 2007

Vanity..

On By AlexIn Site Stuff2 Comments

… oh I know what it looks like. A bit like me really in a self promoting, willy waving kind of way. Although I try to keep the latter to indoor use only and not in front of the children. But after a quite staggering volume of email from mental patients allowed access to a web browser, I’ve finally given in. If only so I can craft an auto-reply to the oft asked question “Found your blog, occasionally amusing, not reading all that shit you’ve written, anything mildly funny in the archives?“.

The answer is something along the lines of humour is a very personal thing. But opening myself up to justifiable questions of extreme narcissism, here is the stuff you have most read.

I now fully expect to see their original emails forwarded back to me with “so, the answer is no then“

Altitude training

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff, Road Riding6 Comments

You know those proper athletes who jet off half way up the world to run laps around the summit of Kilimanjaro? The idea being that on returning to sea level, their lungs will be supercharged by more heavily oxygenated air so delivering a legal performance benefit. It has always struck me as an extremely desperate approach to gain a barely perceptible advantage – that is until I tried the same thing with my courier bag.

In the “Devil’s sack” as I cheekily like to think of it are, what appear to be, a random collection of bike spares sufficient to build something the ‘A Team’ would be proud of. Many times I have come to the aid of a worried elderly gent, struck motorless just for the need of a flange-rebate dwell angled thruster gusset. A random rummage in the bag of doom offers up something close enough to be hammered into shape. Luckily I carry one of those as well.

It’s sort of organically grown up you see, stuff goes in but nothing is ever chucked out. Time and time again I stare into its’ inky abyss and agonise over the potential removal of – say – the emergency badger, but I know in my heart it’s bad karma and the very next day, I’ll be marooned in need of a pair of furry gloves or crotch pelt. You can’t afford to take any chances on the mean streets of London.

Today I dispatched the entire hated weight into the far corner of the barn, wrestled a 100PSI into the Roadrat tyres and blasted off from base accompanied only by a phone, mp3 player and a headful of dirty work angst that only fast fresh air could clean out. It wasn’t until I was spinning out on a gear ration of 53:12 did my helmetless head make itself known as Darwinian selected flies failed to dodge 44mph of speeding forehead.

I’ve never enjoyed solo road riding because – well – it’s a bit dull. If you’re not properly fit, it hurts too much going up and there’s no social protocol that allows you to rest and have a sit. I ride on the road most days but only because I’m going somewhere – normally late – so push it as hard as I can and find myself gasping and a bit broken at rides end. So it’s rare that to ride a loop from home for the sake of getting out but two days tied to the ‘puter, muddy, wet trails awaiting MTB tyres and a short break in the weather left this as my only option.

Unemcombered by transporting my entire belongings with me, the climb out of the valley was strangely painless. I assumed a monster tailwind or a lack of effort, yet the myth of some fitness was sustained on standing legs pushing a pretty big gear. Five miles in and sailing along the ridge road, all continued well with enough breath and rhythm to crack along at a decent pace. Ashtma and twenty years of abusing legal and illegal substances generally creates an air gap between ego and lungs that I find increasingly hard to bridge. Not today, must be a tailwind.

About this time, I joined my normal route home from the station, a couple of gears up and reveling in a lack of energy sapping luggage. When I last rode this extended route about a year ago, it took me over an hour to complete a rather epic-lite 15.4 miles. It occurred to me that today I may be doing a little better but assumed the lost headwind would find me or the tyre would explode or the lack of decomposed badger would somehow come into play.

None of these things came to pass but with a mile to go, my legs started to burn and my lungs to produce nothing much other than wheezing or flem. I must learn to spit properly because past 20mph, it always seems to land on another part of my body. Ugh. I managed a standing grind up the final hill to home, nearly totalled the entire enterprise failing to understand the potentially fatal interface of slick tyre and muddy drive, and skidded to an uncontrolled halt outside the barn.

Wrench open the door, check the clock, have an ‘eyes as saucers’ moment, check it again to be sure and then collapse in a spent heap. 49 minutes. I will never beat that unless I lose the nine pounds of courier bag weight off my padded frame. And that would mean giving up beer which, of course, is never going to happen. But if that’s what it is like to feel fit – wow, almost worth riding a road bike for.

Take two bottles into the shower….?

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

… Or just the one keg

Imagine joy unconfined on seeing this officially stamped on the changing room door this morning.

Flickr image

Apologies for the shonyphone image but taking pictures outside of the toilets can soon get you the type of reputation that does not guarantee future employment. But the prospect of a beer flavoured wash and the possibility of being officially drunk on duty elevated me above a ground state of sweaty, annoyed and damp. Sadly all was not as it seems and my reward for a pant dragging headlong plunge into the shower shouting “Unleash the Beer” was merely boring H20 with no happy additives.

Talking of things not being quite what they seem, today I attended a workshop with some of our Human Resources clones. There was much to joke about that is food, drink and probably a fine after dinner cigar for the hedgehog, but I can’t repeat it. I just can’t – see that bit about above ^ about future employment? It’d be one of those.

I did learn something though. For example, it’s no longer personnel. And it’s gone beyond human resources, now we’re all fully synergised with the human capital team. I’m not quite sure how I feel about that but it was almost an alien experience dealing with many, many people who I honestly thought were responsible for only hiring, firing and providing a bit of warning if the building was about to explode.

Apparently this isn’t the case; the fire drill is the responsibility of the facilities group whereas theft of stationary falls under the remit of this never ending procession of similarly dressed, strange acronym speaking, borg like flange who make up this much maligned business function. Must be like dealing with IT if you’re a normal person. Very odd.

Anyway, I retired before being volunteered for anything I think and such is the deficit in the karma weather bank that my entire ride home was best categorised as gopping, bloody wet. I’m going to be needing those Ale Showers if it doesn’t get better soon.

Grumpy is back

On By AlexIn Other stuff3 Comments

After a brief but uninvolving flirtation with contentment, the man standing, with a guilty look on his face, squarely behind the hedgehog has reverted to type.

First there is what some allegedly qualified weather lunatics are referring to as summer. These are the very same nutters who predicted an arid, water starved landscape under unbroken sunshine after three hot days in April. I cannot watch my license fee being wasted on yet another fancy graphic showing a world of wet without shouting “bloody charlatans, bring back Wincy Willis”

Take Monday morning for example. A smiling, well dressed cipher of the Grim Reaper bounces onto the weather stage and declares cheerfully “if you live in Yorkshire, there’s a good chance that an entire years rainfall will fall in a single day” without adding “OH MY GOD, FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, RUN FOR YOUR LIVES, WE’RE ALL DOOOOOMED I TELL YOU“. Still,at least, other publicly funded bodies took it a bit more seriously with Hull, for example, declaring a state of emergency. Still this could be for almost anything really, such as “I’m sorry the architecture is so poor and the smell of fish so overwhelming, we’re declaring martial law”

And we need this kind of nannying because people are idiots. Take this guy for example, did he think his car was in fact a boat? Could he have imagined that when the water is above the roofline, some loss of steering might occur? Down here in the soft south, we’ve had consecutive rain on twenty one days but no more than a shower compared to the poor buggers up north. However, it’s still bloody annoying as the longest day has been and gone; but it’s hard to find something fun to do on light evenings when the cat is being blown around the garden, and the lawn is below the water table.

In other bad news, it appears the finest medical minds that seven years of hard partying at med school can create, have deemed it necessary to put my dodgy shoulder under the knife. This exploratory surgery will not actually fix the problem but may give them some clue to why, five months after I monged it, complex muscular actions such as putting on a shirt still make me want to blubber. For reasons I don’t really understand, this is the only options short of amputation and it’s six weeks off the bike at best. Right then, that can wait until winter.

Wimbledon has started and almost ended for any British competitor. Good ol’ Tim somehow made it to the second round but you feel the third may be somewhat beyond him. So pissed off am I with it all, I’m leaving the country to ply my dodgy vocational trade in Canada for a week. However, looking at the forecast for Ottawa, it appears I’m taking most of this crappy weather with me.

However, I’ll make absolutely sure that I leave you some. It’s no fun being grumpy on your own.

Double Seat

On By AlexIn Other stuff2 Comments

When Ben Elton used to be funny, his stand up routine included a sketch lampooning the great British public. He pinpointed our fierce protection of personal space by mimicking the mantra of the desperate commuter – “double seat, must get a double seat”. Various tactics were discussed but the premier seat reservation system seemed to be the strategic placement of a plastic dog turd, almost guaranteed to preserve ones’ anonymity in the face of other fare paying passengers.

Twenty years on in a new millennium with new rolling stock, the practice is still the instinctive reaction of any self important cheeky bugger. This evening I witnessed a brazen embodiment through the physical medium of a stuffed shirt transformed into an arse. Neat trick I can tell you and here’s how it works.

Middle management, middle aged spread swapped the novelty turd for a plethora of vocational accouterments including his silly briefcase, a collection of allegedly important business papers and what he laughably considered to be his best “bagsy this seat” stare.

And only under extreme duress did he give it up, firstly feigning deafness and then grudgingly shovelling his stuff elsewhere with the expression of a man who couldn’t believe nobody else realised how important he actually was. It reminds me of a World War II anecdote were a German SS captain pushed his way arrogantly past a Frenchman whose country has been recently occupied. When asked to apologise, he responded with a haughty “I am a German Officer” to which the ever so brave French replied “as an excuse, it is inadequate, as a reason, it certainly is“. Probably got the poor bugger shot.

Train etiquette is even less obvious in the morning with the Alpha Males all playing materialistic “Risk“, fighting over the battle zone of the shared table. Empire building takes the form of depositing laptops, PDA’s, phones and diaries at the exact centre of the table. Border skirmishes see the armoured reserve of newspapers and monographed papers probing your enemy’s defenses.

Eventually trench warfare sets in as they flit impatiently between unconnected devices pretending not to notice the opposing belligerents, but secretly attempting to outgun their foes with the trills and beeps of their rambling pantheon of electric weaponry.

Me? I am stinky in shorts and long in amusement, launching unilateral biological strikes with each stealthy lift of a sweaty armpit. Occasionally – if I find myself annoying drawn down to their level – out comes the astonishing electronic do it all the firm furnishes with me for testing. This is akin to introducing a stealth fighter to the do battle with Sopworth Camels (or in the case of some of the niche tat on the train, just camels) and their barely checked envy clearly means that I have won.

This counts double if I’m paying Tetris rather than pretending that I am at the eye of some informational tornado. Although I’d rather win by involuntarily ranting some spittle flecked diatribe on what a sack of shallow wankers I share my commute with. But I’m far too English, so instead I shall not cease until my search for a plastic dog turd is complete.

Summer Lightening

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding2 Comments

Since I’ve given up racing – although this may overstate the actual amount of laps I ever completed – a feeling of relief, tinged with the tiniest slither of envy, falls upon me whenever there is a big event weekend. But not today; a few of my outwardly sound but inwardly barking at the moon chums are preparing for the biggest 24 hour race of the year. With snorkels and fast boats if the weather forecast and – more importantly – the actual weather right now is to be believed.

Now you could argue that 20+ ten mile laps circuitously shared with a thousand other muddy riders while fighting fatigue, hunger and the sound of exploding bicycle components is an odd way to spend quality drinking time. And if you’re in the non racing, dry under roof corner I’m currently occupying you’d be right.

But these aforementioned thousand, soon to be unrecognisably broken, riders feverishly embrace the promised pain and suffering – lighting forums with the fiery ignition of their unhinged enthusiasm. And afterwards, threads spread like wildfire “you really had to be there“, “it was fun really even after my lights, bike and body failed at 3am in the morning” and “I can’t think of the best bit, except the end, that was a really good bit“. I have the greatest respect for the body tented and their ability to remain cheerful and positive way past the time the rest of us would have stropped out of the event demanding hot showers, cold beer and a red cross parcel.

So with the weather sages predicting horizon-to-horizon wet briefly punctuated with tempting bright spells and the real possibility of Navy divers being helicoptered in to rescue sinking competitors, it is going to be bloody horrible whatever people say afterwards. Yet in a ill judged moment of moist solidarity, I felt that my epic ten mile commute should identify with my braver cycling brethren.

Grumpy already with an early start, the tipping rain did nothing to improve my black mood. But with sufficient wet weather gear to waterproof a small elephant, there was no proper excuse not to just get on with it – other than “fuck it, I really can’t be arsed”

Trudging a mental path somewhere between the plight of the poor buggers in a sodden field and the spirit of Victorian exploring, I struck out anyway. My Conrad like “Bloody annoying – an univited Croc boarded my canoe and attempted to serve me up for lunch. I was forced to fetch the blighter a sharp clip across the snout until he desisted” stiff upper lip approach to the increasing wet lasted all the way to the end of the road.

At which point, God emptied his bath tub and I took the least soaking option of hiding under a tree as sizzling lighting BBQ’d lazy, unmoving clouds and smashing rain rebounded to eye level. I scuttled closer the the protection of my friendly tree and waited for the world to break.

It didn’t but my resolve did. I crabbed a fast sprint home, dumped the bike and made a guilty grab for the car keys. But sat here now, I’ll raise a beer to the proper racers defined by their mental strength, mud enemas and crazily unbalanced hardship focus.

Rather them than me 🙂

Proper nutters

On By PhotoIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding2 Comments

Mark lamented on a previous post that he “wasn’t even a proper nutter”. Now that’s between him and his analyst 😉 but if one took a dry dictionary definition of the term nutter and transposed it across to a 3-D environment, it would look something like this.


(with an appreciate nod to my friend Mike who was all things stitchy in Photoshop)

Momentary insanity saw me add the hefty weight of the camera to my over-hefted form, which was already struggling to push the SX Trail about at Chicksands. Riding in the style of “scared shitless sack of shit having a shit day being shit” was not totally fulfilling, so instead I whipped out the vanity cam and started randomly clicking.

Even flushed with the success of my previous efforts, it’s obvious that there is more to this proper photography than just adopting a squinting position close to the action, then stabbing the shutter release when something passes through the viewfinder. Entire continents of knowledge pertaining to pre-focussing, exposure compensation, positioning and panning require proper exploring.

And so far, I even barely understand the language.So nuttercam(tm) missed some of their almost balletic ability to ride in a third dimension that would have most of us wibbling for our mums and booking extended stays in dirty hospitals. What struck me most about these guys (not a girl amongst them which must make for excessive masturbation amongst dirt jumpers) was their age (from young back to barely developed embryos), Clothes (street threads hiding occasional body armour), attitude (laid back to the point of catatonic) and unstinting enthusiasm (try, crash, dust off, grin, try again).

Check out the guy below. He must have tried this trick (whatever it was, tailwhip to fakie, dirt-face finish) twenty times and never came close to landing it. Well not with the the bike anyway. Didn’t seem to bother him tho.

Back over the other side, older blokes who should know better were having it stupid off the recently rebuilt “little” ladder – Yeah it’s “little” like the Sahara is “a bit dry”. Two Irish guys with huge springs, counterbalanced by smaller brains, were taking a hundred yard run up to ensure they disdainfully avoided the downslope and, instead landed on the flat bottom of the hill.

Flickr: Quite mad.Flickr: Faming bonkers.

Go big or go home was their of repeated mantra. And so I did; go home that is. I’m putting up a reward for my bravery last seen around November 2006. It’s pretty small and hard to spot but if you’ve seen it, I’d still like it back 🙁

Click here for a few more examples of the nutters day out.

Chasing Bikes

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road Riding4 Comments

I am sat here snuffling away like a small, nervous mammal rooting around in the undergrowth. Occasionally this pathetic and yet volubly liquid vocal discharge is dispatched to the aural boundaries, whilst a wheezing cough hacks its way out of constricted lungs.

Now I’m not one of those sad hypochondriacs with so little in their life that they must accost and bore complete strangers with a tedious list of their symptoms. I’m more your self deluding, pathological fibber with an unreconstructed mortality fear which “ I’m sure you’ll agree “ is far more interesting. Sulking will follow if you don’t.

But, be absolutely clear, this is not whining; as all of my mental angst is focussed on white hot irritation leaving no space for vanity melancholy. As only last week, after a successful re-insertion into the heady biorhythms of commuting, I triumphed over a proper roadie while he was trying and everything. So my current status of worrying about the aerobic impact of attempting a set of stairs is on the fucking irritating side of bloody annoying.

Sliding off a homebound train, fortified by a training curry (we forwent a fatty pudding in lieu of another healthy lager), my transit home was separated only by six miles, a random scrambling of the iprodder and a gentle turning of Biryani heavy legs.

Continue reading “Chasing Bikes” →

You could buy a camera for that…

On By PhotoIn Other stuffLeave a comment

Having invested (a word that has oft entered my vocabulary when explaining fiscal sleight of hand to those less skilled in the art of complex financial transactions) in a keenly priced pre-loved digital SLR, it was – of course – only a matter of days before it became the platform for expensive upgrades.It’s good to know that the “all the gear, no idea” approach to Mountain Biking which has served me so averagely was seamlessly transferred to yet another expensive hobby.

To replace the perfectly adequate 18-55mm lens which arrived as part of the deal, I spent/spunked/wasted invested around seventy quid more than the entire purchase price of the camera bundle on a shiny new optical placebo. This lens is better is so many varied and expensive ways, it’s hardly worth mentioning that in terms of focal lengths, it is about the same.

But the “aspherical glass with 13 elements in 9 groups virtually eliminates chromatic aberration and a pass through aperture of f/2.8 along the entire length of the zoom ensures perfect composition and world peace“. I know this to be true because it plainly stated it on the marketing material.

I am more disturbed with my choice of subject since after chasing sweaty men dressed in figure hugging lycra through steamy, dark woods the other evening, now I am reduced to taking pictures of flowers. But it was – as seems to be the ground weather state for Spring/Summer 2007 – pissing down with rain so even a girly rose shot was elevated over taking pictures of the back door. If you catch my drift 😉

I intend to give it a proper outing tomorrow during a father’s day visit to Chicksands. I expect this will save me having to ride much, or – if I must – then I can test the efficacy of this mightly lens under fluorescent light in Bedford A&E.