Author: Alex

Today is not a good day to die*

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road Riding3 Comments

It’s been a while since a complete stranger has made my acquaintance in that thoroughly modern manner of trying to kill me.

Last time, a bloke high on testosterone but low on intelligence failed to co-ordinate a mobile phone, a road junction and his optical collision detection system. Before that, a rather pleasant older gentleman just ran me over

So it’s a bit of a relief to have one in the bag while maintaining a firm grip on all my limbs if not my sanity. There is the Alex Two Bomb Randomisation Theory at play here; if you smuggle a bomb onto an aeroplane, statistically you’re in great shape as what is the chance of SOMEONE ELSE DOING THE SAME? Pretty damn clever eh?

So by nearly, but not quite, having an accident today makes it statistically improbable that my twitching form be impaled under a set of designer bull bars tomorrow. Oh and before the protractor and pocket protector brigade wade in to explain that this is total nonsense, because each incident operates in a single randomisation context “ I KNOW OK, but it makes me feel better anyway.

Hyde Park Corner has been packed full of excitement and danger since the inauguration of my weekly battle with the uncaring motorised killers of our great capital. Short lights on the rotary are balanced by a long set when you’re trying to join, but this is largely irrelevant since everyone jumps each set. I know this but with misery enjoying the company of being pissed on and pissed off , I incautiously speared a front wheel into the lionised tarmac of the apparently red-held traffic.

Not being totally insane, it was a manoeuvre censured with an emergency double take, into which a belligerent taxi driver barged through the long lit red in an apparent attempt to terminate my worthless existence. I parked the bike on his bumper and my face in his window so we could discuss the merits of such an approach.

I was forthright. I may have tended to the frank and possibly even spilled over into vexed. During one diplomatically tricky exchange, there was just the possibility of a stray into quite annoyed. In Non Violent Conflict Resolution classes, it’s not clear to me where You fuckhead, you stupid fucking clown, you arrogant fat, stupid arse fits into using passive language to settle the incident to everyone’s satisfaction. But I tried if not punching the twat counts.

Even above the shouting, I could dimly here a hundred horns belting out their staccato umbrage. The cycle killer couldn’t move since my bike was still resting on his bumper and my hand was resting somewhat more firmly on his jacket lapel. And with all this at 5:20pm on one of the busiest junction in town, not much was moving behind us either. Shame.

We eventually parted, not with kind words, but with threats and promises that next time there would be proper violence. I was properly white hot, vibratingly angry “ unable to stop shaking or construct a well argued or even a grammatically correct sentence. I filled the gaps with lots of swear words though and that felt good.

But here’s the thing; it’ll make no difference at all. I can’t be cowed by the motorist however much they try to cattle me, and the guy in the cab will never see cyclists as anything but annoyingly slow bugs waiting to be mowed down and crushed. What’s worse, bugs that don’t even pay road tax.

Got to stay out there though. Otherwise it’d feel like letting them win.

* I always wanted that bloody Klingon to get the fear and heroically intone today is a good day to get pissed and fondle innocent tribbles.

What the fuck is that?

On By AlexIn Other stuff2 Comments

Twice in one day. First the cast iron hinge pretending to be a mountain bike and now a “whatingodsnameisthat” new printer has been installed in the office. Apparently it’s super efficient drawing little power and using space age technology to save ink and, presumably, lives.

What is less clear from the spec sheet is the size of this planet friendly amalgam of fax, print, email and – from what I can glean – lentil growing. It is bloody enormous – I thought we lived in a world of ever increasing miniturisation where technology stuff is so small, it’s useless for both input and output; but hey who gives a shit, it looks great plonked on the pub bar.

But if you’re going to buck a trend, then give it a damn good bucking i say. We have HAL installed on the 7th floor with it’s eerie fan, frankly terrifying random paper sorting, dangerous whirling noises and a colour instruction screen clearly nicked from NASA. Technically sophisticated it may be but it looks like the bastard union of a filing cabinet and a 1970s photocopier. With a suitcase glued onto the end.

There is know way I’m risking sending any of my documents in the direction of “big mamma” because then I’ve had to go near it.

And it scares me.

Hummer Time.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding5 Comments

Shuffling embarrassed into my inbox this morning was this horror which understandably put me right off my breakfast.

Arrgh, my eyes

It’s a Hummer Mountain Bike and you can read all about it here. There is not sufficient mathematics in the world to begin to count the number of things wrong with it. But almost worse than that is this; the marketing bollocks which accompanied that photo.

I’ve seen some outlandish claims made for mountain bikes over the years but this one doesn’t just take the biscuit, it nicks the whole bloody packet and makes a hostile bid for the manufacturer.

All HUMMER Tactical Mountain Bikes use Montague’s patented military folding system, developed to allow Paratroopers an easy exit from military aircraft with a full-size mountain bike

I’m sure you “ like me “ have many a time lamented the lack of ambition from your bike designers. So how useful would it be to be able to leap out of a plane knowing your robust off road transport has been thoughtfully designed to fall out of a Hercules transport plane? That has to be the most pointless Unique Selling Point since the SDLP combined two power crazed lunatics into a single political party.

Obviously if this behemoth ever did go on active service, chances are it’d land on your head, killing you instantly and creating a tidal wave that’d make the current rising sea levels look like a bit of heavy surf.

And yet, the copy spares itself no embarrassment whatsoever with what follows:

Developed for extreme riding, the HUMMER Tactical Mountain Bike can be stored inside your HUMMER, car, boat, plane, closet or wherever else you stash your gear.

Or possibly up your arse, which should be the immediate and final resting place of the advertising blurb.

If one was spending useful time nailing colours to masts, mine would translate to unreconstructed bike snobbery and irrational hatred of folding cycles. But in this case, it is perfectly justifiable to lampoon the whole ludicrous concept with it’s cheap, heavy components, pointless front fork, spindly yet weighty frame and “ to cap an almost uncappable folly “ a price tag of£750.

You could buy a car for that. Or at least a nice bike. And – although I honestly believed nothing would ever put me in a position to say this – it is EVEN WORSE than the Sinclair Wheeled Death Machine

Pass me the angle grinder. It’d be an act of selfless public service.

Cycling Myth#7 – There are no proper hills in the Chilterns

On By AlexIn Other stuff1 Comment
Stonor climb, originally uploaded by Alex Leigh.

Depending on your definition of a ‘proper hill‘. While I accept there are no sky reaching remnants of violent glacial or tectonic plate action, the soft southern Chilts do still offer many dishes of ‘short and steep‘ with a side order of ‘pain and suffering‘

Here’s one of them. Last of five nadgery climbs on a tiring loop and it’s a little monster. Steep enough to inscribe the front of your saddle onto low hanging wedding tackle and long enough to make you wonder if a third lung is a possible body upgrade. 379 vertical feet in 1.1 traction searching miles.

Weight over the front to stop it flipping skywards, hamstrings shortening by the second, shards of flint and rock to whip away hard fought grip, and a false summit hiding behind a steep corner.

Last weekend, I was able to withdraw ‘wrong tyres‘ from the excuse bank, but Sunday with fatter tyres, clever suspension and an insertion of bloody mindedness in lieu of fitness, I dragged myself up there.

Had to have a lie down at the top. And some medical assistance. And a few beers to dull the pain afterwards. Problem is I’d sort of given up ever conquering the summit again but now I’m committed to trying it every time.

Time for some quick deposits in the excuse bank I think.

Blatent Plug: Oh and if you are in the market for some digital mapping with GPS magic, I can recommend tracklogs and not only because it’s run by friends of mine 🙂

Lord of the Manor

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

Short history of Waddesdon manner. Built in the late 1800s to house Rothchild’s collection of art treasures and wall to ceiling paintings. Typically ostentatious Victorian architecture with turrets, sweeping staircases and buttresses flying all over the place. Huge gardens including an Avery that seems to contain one of every species and a driveway that says “see that HUGE house up ahead, that’s mine that is so I win“. Rothchild’s famous for banking (I think that’s the word) but eventually ran of out proper cash and bequeathed house and grounds to National Trust.

Who now make about as much money as the Rothchild’s charging people for entry, food, drinks and – possibly – breathing. It’s staffed by a set of crusty volunteers seemingly each missing a limb or a portion of their cerebral marbles. On the plus side, from its lofty position atop a small Chiltern Hillock, you get a fantastic view of the vale without any of Aylesbury in it. But the gardeners must arrive at work in the morning thinking “bloody hell, where do I start“.

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There are some purple and yellow flowers in there – I’m really getting the hang of this horticultural stuff.

Here’s some other grumpy perennials; the Verbalus Sulkiness known for lurking behind other plants in a “life isn’t fair” kind of manner. And Randomus Notheethus, a somewhat sprightlier flower although you’re never quite sure where to find it.

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The freeride frisbee of the four winds was given a good outing. Occasionally it came to hand, but mostly, it could be seen veering off at a potentially painful angle to innocent picknickers at any tangential point off the perpendicular. The safest place was to stand right in front of the thrower.

And since Marie Antionette is represented in the house with some furniture that the kids thought “looked rubbish and all worn and stuff“, we had to have a “let them eat cake” moment.

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All this is only five miles from our house. About half that if I drive down the bridleway at the end of the road and cheat my way through a couple of electronic gates. And since we’ve now stumped up for some middle-aged, middle-england NT membership, we’ll be back.

Crashes to Crashes..

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike RidingLeave a comment

…Dust to Dust. Somehow in April, I managed to ride 23 days out of a possible 30 and crashed only twice – both on my apparently healed knee and obviously still-buggered shoulder. I’m seeing this as progression of a sort mainly because, while it wasn’t entirely painless, hardly any hospitals or whimpering were involved.

Global warming is – and I’m cutting out some of the more complex science here – a bugger if you like you ice caps frozen and your eastern counties above the water table. But tending to the selfish, it’s doing wonders for my tan and the trails are rock hard and dusty. And I’ve carried out sufficient face surfing, ground chewing and bone bruising research so you don’t have to.

We’ve ridden some old favourites and some long abandoned, scarcely remembered little treasures. One of these started in a time lapsed village, last visited by the real world when hot and cold running tweed were installed back in 1932. The local shop teleported me back a couple of generations with frighteningly dusty corners presenting foodstuffs never seen since we dispensed with rations books. Even more worryingly was a vast display of “hosiery” including all the support stockings you may ever want. That’s none then is it?

My coffee was served on an ornamental platter, accompanied by a selection of dusty biscuits and – I kid you not – an assortment of paper doilies. All that was missing from this scene were some post Edwardian ladies who breakfast and a retired major sporting a dangerously stiff moustache and a cravat. Tomorrow’s People eat your bloody heart out (am I the only one old enough to remember that. Yes? Oh, smashing)

And with all this riding, I could be getting within sweating distance of fit – luckily my recent ‘pringle tube devastation in a single sitting” habit allied to an extension to the beer fridge has kept some nonsense at bay. Tonight, I stole a late afternoon ride to rekindle some lovin’ with my rather fantastic full suss. You see my head had been not so much been turned as owl wrenched through 180 degrees by something stiff, nimble and frisky. And there’s a set of adjectives which are universally positive unless the first applies to you, and the remainder describe something normally accompanied by mint sauce.

Here are some photos taken from my DumbPhone ™. I hate camera phones, they are a waste of time and processor but – and I’m grudgingly admitting this under duress – they do take better photos than say, your toenail, when you forget your proper camera.

There was beer to finish of course. But you would expect nothing less.

This post could have just been entitled “Bikes are ACE” and many innocent electrons would have been saved. But it wouldn’t have been proper hedgehog tho and standards – low as they are – need to be maintained 🙂

Traffic

On By AlexIn Other stuff7 Comments

I used to think that “easy targets” were just cyclists and pedestrians when being pitted against the might of the motor car. But now, in a downright populist chasing move, I’m going to lampoon the state of the UK road system while offering absolutely no solutions other than everyone cycling. Which down the six lane M25 could be a whole lot of fun.

So my easy target is the road pollution of South East England. And while it is properly shit, it is unfair to label this as the poster child for all of the UK. My experience of the rural byways and backwaters of “proper up north” are rush hours consisting of three cars waiting at a roundabout. That doesn’t include the major cities of course, or the Lake district, or most of the M6 or M1. But I still think I have made a pretty valid point there.

My lack of car usage has now passed into a total apathy around any maintenance such as adding petrol to the tank, cleaning the car (I don’t even know what colour it is anymore) or pumping up the tyres. This last laziness left me with a partial flat and a£90 replacement after failing to notice it was somewhat closer to the ground than it’s fellows, then driving round on it until it exploded.

This morning, I had a ChiltenRailwayEsque journey of over two hours to reach that oh-so distant county that is Surrey. A total of 63 miles including a desperate search for a petrol station and 55 minutes of doing precisely nothing in the World’s biggest car park. The Highways Agency keeps digging it up to add lanes to the wrong side and the car owning population responds by buying another one for their son/daughter/dog/goldfish and we’re back to where we started.

Which is going nowhere very slowly. How could you do that every day? I even left late to miss the traffic but that’s nonsense because the congestion never really stops, it just moves about a bit. Marooned on a six lane motorway with only some interesting ear wax to harvest, it occured to me that short of tarmacing the entire counties of Surrey, Buckinghamshire and Hampshire, there’s no obvious solution other than less people, less cars or less journeys.

They could take the train of course. MWAAAHHHHHHH, go on, I dare you.

Performance Enhancing Drugs

On By AlexIn BikesLeave a comment

You didn’t for a second think I would have anything relevant, insightful or – even – accurate to say about the Ivan Basso affair, or sport related drug taking in general. It seems cycling is, sadly, in the vanguard of medicinally boosted cheating and while that is clearly to be lamented, I appear to have found a legal and (sort of) safe version of EPO.

It’s beer. A subject that twenty years plus of copious and unstinting practical research has put very close to my heart. Well down a bit and bulge but you get the idea. Normally mixing beer with anything requiring co-ordination, swift reactions or a modicum of caution is a recipe for the kind of disaster that always hurts more in the morning. You know the sort of thing, beer fuelled hedge jumping at 11am becomes Nuragen fueled back pummelling when sobriety takes over.

And yet, for all that selfless experimentation, I may have missed something. Riding last night while practicing the “be the ball” sporting analogy (although I’m more “be the rubbish bloke with ‘facial scars by hedge’ kind of athlete“), my concentration was shattered when a contact lens decided to “be the trail“. It stuck for a tantalising second on my sunglasses before a gust of wind guaranteed its freedom. I was now “being the bat” riding at about half pace while my brain tried to reconcile one sharp image and one blurry one.

It wasn’t doing very well and neither was I so calling in the wife support vehicle was the chosen alternative to a depth perceptionless headplant into a spikey branch. Skillfully, we crafted a fine combination of mobile phone signals, a handful of cash and a pub as our enforced rest area. Being almost completely helpless in the face of alcohol, my worthy “Just an orange juice please mate” was spookily transmogrified into “pint of best and the jumbo bag of pork scratchings to go“.

And go we did, leaving my wife and two shivering kids to finish their drinks while we span cold legs up a steep road hill while beer sloshed unpleasantly in our bellies. But then we turned downhill and my inhibitions and irrational fear of left hand corners wafted away on a rear facing organic jet pack of processed hops. Dutch Courage it is sometimes called although “London IPA” would be a better description as the bike swooped majestically betwixt tree and shrubbery and – unfettered by panic braking – floated over rooty obstacles with barely a whimper.

Nothing to do with me of course. I was merely whiffy ballast providing the music on hold. So if anyone was enjoying a late evening stroll in the quite lovely woods of the Chilterns last night, I apologise for the smell of second hand beer and a crippling rendition of “My Way” arranged for strangled cat. So impressed with the power of the pint was I, that we went home and had several more. And the way in which I fearlessly attacked the stairs on the way to bed just further proved that beer is in fact a performance enhancing drug.

So I’m trading in the Camelbak for a rucksack mounted “Watney’s party Seven” and reprising my internal pub singer. You know, I think I’m onto to something here!

Vote “Random”

On By AlexIn Other stuff3 Comments

Politics and, more specifically, politicians have drawn a suspicious response from me, tapping the rich cynical vein of “anyone who wants to be an MP should automatically be prevented from ever being one“. Groucho Marx? Or Harpo? One of them anyway – unlikely to be Karl.

This evening, a venerable gentleman carrying a clipboard and wearing a tie responded to my wary countenance with this opening gambit “Good evening sir, I’m assuming we can count on your vote?”. Roused from my political lethargy, I spluttered “how the hell could you assume anything of the sort?“.

He was a Conservative of course. This was obvious from his lack of liberal cheese knitting tendencies and, failing to sport that slightly bonkers, partially epileptic doorstep dance that easily identifies the right-on new Labour candidates. I think of them as patronising, pointless and partially mad and refuse to have anything to do with them.

He did try though, bless him. Changing tack, he explained that the local council hadn’t had a Labour member (I sniggered, I know I shouldn’t but I just can’t help myself) since 1473 and the Conservative member (he ploughed on apparently oblivious to my tears of hysteria and recent elbow biting habit) was voted in with a majority of four million last time round.

I countered that voting just encourages them so, rather than “wasting” my chance at representation by tactical voting, I’d tactically not vote at all. His attempt to distance local politicians (merely parish councilors on a power trip) from those wankers in Westminster was met with a spittle flecked riposte that the words untrustworthy bastards had been specifically developed to categorise anyone who has ever felt the urge to address the chair

Random pitched up, clearly pissed off that this old man with his clipboard, badge and worryingly forced smile, had interrupted our game of Spinning Uno and asked why you’d want to send the chair away to some elses house. This seemed an apposite time to gently slam the door in his face leaving him to go and bother my neighbours, most of which had started small fires or left the country to avoid such an interaction.

Me? I think Random may become a politician since my card stack had about doubled while hers had spookily gone the other way. When challenged, she looked me in the eye and promised Dad, I haven’t done anything to them. You do trust me don’t you?

If there’s some loony losing his deposit while standing for some single issue nonsense like the Beer for Breakfast party, he or she will get my vote. Until then, I’ll practice political democracy with Random “ tomorrow she’s going to explain how her sister is responsible for everything bad in the world.

So I’d encourage you to Vote Random and it’ll be jelly for everyone.

Use your head

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Other stuff6 Comments

The original title of this post was Drop the Pilot, try my Buffoon but this seemed, even for loyal hedgehog aficionados, an obscure musical reference too far. Striving to be murky or incompressible and possibly windswept or interesting, the point was that the contents of an armoured cranium has alot to say when rather less subtle muscle groups are heading off in a different direction.

I’m thinking of it as the Cowardly Captain Brain desperately resisting vigorous advice from Lieutenant Stimulus and his troop of non commissioned Reactions. Around this time last year, riding the same bike, on the same South Wales trails but with a different Cranial Captain at the controls, progress was fast, unworried and essentially left to muscle memory and a hands off neural officer class under Commander Confidence.

Confidence has subsequently been posted to almost everyone else I ride with, while Captain Cowardly and his mincing management team have refused to accept that any speed about a decent walking pace can end in any way but bloody disaster. An example beckons I think from a dry and fast descent dropping a few hundred feet to the valley floor:

Lieutenant Stimulus Captain, we’re travelling at ˜strolling speed’. All is clear ahead, suggest increase to all ahead frightened
Captain Cowardly Stimulus, there’s a 15 degree corner coming up, ARE YOU ON CRACK, remain at strolling
LT: With respect sir, your friends have exited the trail, had a beer, fathered a number of children and “ in one case “ passed over to a better place. The Reactions are confident we can advance to mincing in a worrying sexually ambivalent manner
CC: Stimulus, I’ll have you on a charge, my mission orders demand that I ride this fantastically expensive trail bike in the manner of a sack of spuds dumped on a roller skate and I’ll take no more insubordination
LT: Having watched Crimson Tide Sir, I’m going for XO override, speed set to terrified, Hands set to Death Grip on Bars, Communications set to 999. ”

Pause. Noise. Sky. Ground. Sky. Ground. Ground. Ground. Sky. Ground. Ow.

CC: What is our position?
LT: Upside down in a bush with speed of zero. Damage stations report Pride badly damaged and Bravery exhausted. Friends have been set to laughing their tits off

Faced with such mutinous behaviour, I abandoned the well trodden path of riding more and stopping being such a tosser, instead buying a new set of tyres and ignoring the problem. A facet of this was a return to the dustbowel that is Chicksands “ a venue which reverberated to the sound of a head bouncing AL on my last visit.

All was going extremely averagely, until the Lieutenant took control of a practical experiment to establish exactly how I’d crashed last time. It took me a while but as the sky and ground swapped places and the Cap’n suffered the ignominy of dealing with a high speed stump impact, we got there in the end.

And having landed really quite spectacularly on my head again, it’s a shock to find the biggest bruise is technicoloured on my arse. Still, as my best friends never fail to remind me, it’s quite a big unit.

You may argue there is no point to this post whatsoever. From which I can only surmise, you’ve read none of the previous 200+.