Author: Alex

An accident waiting to happen.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography2 Comments

Bit chilly, very windy, much fun.

A statement that well describes both an elongated plunge into a handy bush, and the dreadful way I dispatched a vast quantity of decent red, the evening before. The two may have been related. A weekend of much alcohol occasionally interrupted by riding was both fantastic and slightly frustrating.

Before I suffered serial navigational confusion, a tree accosted my riding person and threw me into the squidgy dirt. This was merely an end game which was nicely set up by fat floaty tyres, a trail of tractionless mud, a head still more drunk than hungover and the unpleasant sensation that you’re no longer in charge of the steering.

I’m fine thanks for asking, but still a bit confused.

You see back in the Chilterns, I knew most of the good stuff. Where to ride when it was gloopy – so that’s nine months of the year then – the best descents, the cheeky trails and when it was safe to ride them. Here, I’m still a bit of a trail remembering novice and, with my legendary navigational skills, getting lost happens always as often as getting it right.

None of this is helped by generally riding with people who know where they are going. And mainly in the dark. Attempting to translate light strobed memories into confident trail finding was about as successful as failing to open that ‘last’ bottle of wine. Although the Malverns – with the help of young whippersnapper Tim – was not so much of a problem as the Forest of Dean the following day.

Although “not so much of a problem” may not be an entirely accurate description of “er, hang on fellas, left here. No right, no straight on, ah that’s a quarry is it, right definitely left” and “bloody hell, it all looks a bit different in the light“. A hangover sharp enough to shave with wasn’t the best sidekick for a day when I was nominally in charge.

The Forest of Dean held no such fears. I didn’t even pretend to know my way around there. After a night of incessant rain, the mud was almost as constant as the rubbishness of my route finding. After the Malvern ride, the bikes were merely wiped down to remove splatters of dirt. Once we’d slopped back to the Cafe in the Forest, a full on hose down and relube was required. And that was just the riders.

It’s made me more determined to get out and get exploring even when the weather edges to the increasingly ploppy. Once you’re up to your armpits in winter vegetation, and properly lost half way down a steep hill, getting wet and cold are mere bagatelles to the main problems at hand.

On the upside, I was super confident in the twisties of the wine cupboard, and showed great bravery when presented with a line of difficult beers. Tomorrow I’m going to ride to work and if I don’t arrive, I can probably be found looking lost and confused on the road to Hereford.

Guess what?

On By AlexIn Bikes6 Comments

I’ve bought it! Mike is going to brew me up a rear hoop through the alchemetic art of wheelbuilding, and also provide some pre-loved spiky things to attach pedals then legs too. And I have found some brakes in my spares bin that I cannot remember ever owning.

So either I have been “Sleep-Thieving” or a hole has been wrenched asunder in the space time continuum. Smack bang in the centre of the “Jiffy Bag Of Unknown Bicycle Spares“. I’m basically short of just an 8 speed cassette and a 27.0 seatpost. A delve in the grotty aperture of doom still raises enough stuff to build something else.

Assuming that something else needs three handlebars, two saddles, no transmission and just the one wheel. I think we’re into the realms of a unicycle here.

Things left to do? Well apart from carefully build it when all the bit converge on a time poor Al. Tell Carol, really mustn’t forget that bit.

It must be the cold.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Photography16 Comments

Because what other reason could there be to find myself stroking the monitor, when I saw this:

1993 Kona. Also known as Als Insanity
1993 Kona. Also known as "Al's Insanity"

I used to have a really nice Kona but sold it when the Emperor turned up with some new threads. That one up there is even older. About 1993, which is WAY before I even started riding Mountain Bikes. Although those of you privileged to have seen me ride would probably prefer the more accurate “Short legged man being inconvenienced by a bicycle”

This one was built before the advent of suspension forks, fat tyres and the marketing fallacy that without a ‘integrated component stack of class leading technology” you would die the instant you hit the trails.

It is not without problems. Some of them are technical around old standards and the need for some advanced shed-bodgery. Others are more ethereal, but rooted in a houseful of bikes already and the proximity of a rolling pin. After the Pace, I said no more. Then I bought the Jake. Which reminded me how good Kona’s are.

You see. It’s not my fault. And I have a whole box full of spares – okay none of which will actually fit but that’s just you lot being negative.  Shame on you. Anyway I’m going to sell the Roadrat. And some pedals. So basically we’re looking at the financial instrument of extreme dubiousness “Cost Neutral”.

In no way related new,  those of you wish to read something that is not merely an electronic prod to my vanity, try my friend Alan’s blog. He doesn’t write much but what he does makes good sense. Almost the opposite to me then 🙂

Next time..

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding1 Comment

… I’ll walk the dog. 7PM yesterday evening, some confusion about whose turn it was to drag Smurf The Smelly around the local field. I wasn’t keen due to an appointment with some snow, mud and cold – all wrapped up in a dark and windy night – starting about now. Carol wasn’t keen on the grounds she was warm and dry in the house. The dog – frankly – didn’t look up for it either.

Shirker of responsibilities that I am, I left them to it and headed out into a night about as wild and dangerous as a saloon bar in Goldrushtown, Gunsville, USA back in the early 1900s.” The ride started drizzly with a stiff north wind belying the above zero temperatures. Half way up the first climb, I felt about as overdressed as an Oscar Nominee at a Cage Fight, with sweat from the inside vying for “Dampest Thing on Al” against the increasingly persistent rain.

An hour later I was congratulating myself on three layers, all of the outer ones waterproof, buff, thick gloves and clear glasses. However that was somewhat accentuating the positive ,as we slogged up wet grass in a weather event dangerously close to a full on gale. The God of Darkness is a vengeful deity – he taketh away traction and warmth before even handedly chucking in horizontal sleet and a clump of unwanted chainsuck.

We’d already been within tree striking distance of some big accidents, travelling horizontally off roots and having less steering input than a sleeping passenger. There was unclipping here, facebush(tm) over here, and an undertone of grumpythermia* as a sleet battered route conference insanely selected a long route home over high ridges.

A decision that left us unprotected by the shoulder of the hill, and climbing on increasingly snowy paths that limited both grip and visibility. The latter was less of an issue what with the icy wind driving spiteful sleet into a faceful of numb and squint.” The descent was even more amusing with a desperation to get off the summit tempered by not actually being able to see where you were going.

I pointed the light directly at the front wheel to try and give me something to work with. But it was just placebo, and the route down was a full on trials brake-squint-deep breath-roll effort. In a further moment of madness, it was decided that we’d have a crack at one more big climb. And why not since we were already cold, piss wet through and head-to-toe muddy?

This proved an incautious decision as the now settled snow sucked power from your legs and traction from your tyres. The descent was nothing more than a “just get me out of here alive, I’ll vote Liberal, I’ll start going to Church, just get me OFF THIS SODDING HILL“. Sanity returned in the guise of a soul destroying drop back onto tarmac, losing painfully gained height but preserving sufficient core temperature to stave off proper hypothermia.

The ride home through freezing puddles and proper full on stormy rain actually wasn’t that bad after the horror of the previous hour. And when I’m sprinting up the climbs next spring and snaking down dusty singeltrack, nights like that will return more than they took. But as I shivered in my car, with the heater on full blast and the sky exploding overhead, I couldn’t help thinking:

“I should have walked the bloody dog”

* A sub symptom of hypothermia bringing together the coldness of all extremities with the unhappiness of being stuck outside in a pissing storm.

Earthquake!

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

Not the sound of Random attempting to combine “quiet” and “stairs“. I discounted that having established we were all in the same room, yet there was a trembly rumble that can be best described as a train passing through Platform 1, Our bedroom at speed.

Only later did I find out we’d been somewhere close to the epicentre of a proper earthquake, although I’m still suspicious of the cause. We’re smack bang in the middle of a rather large tectonic plate here, but not too far away from lots of drunk people falling over in Birmingham.

Co-incidence? I’m not sure. Anyway, just thought you’d like to know we’re all still alive and, from what I can see, the house has the same number of walls as it did pre-shudder. That’s the good news, the bad news is I’m back at work and shall be spending the entire day really adding value to the firm, by reading and deleting 180 emails.

I shall be nominating myself as leader of a World Dictator Priority Committee establishing new rules on “talking to people when you want to find something out“. A sub group shall be recommending penalties for anyone sending out pointless emails to 20 people and asking for comments. I will be pushing back on anything less stringent than “instant and painful death“.

As my mum is on holiday….

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography3 Comments
From Flickr Images. Random bloke giving it large
From Flickr Images. Random bloke giving it large

… May I be allowed a “FUCKING HELL THAT WAS JUST BLOODY FANTASTIC” ? Thank you.” But I cannot really tell you quite how good that was because a) I am so happy to be still alive and b) I don’t really have the words to adequately describe the feeling of mainlining adrenaline.

Cwmcarn Uplift Day Cwmcarn Uplift Day

Five minutes of riding downhill with your bollocks on fire* packs in a whole lot of life events. A gamut of emotions rollercoasting from joy to abject terror accompanied by a staccato commentary “fuck, get a grip, get inside that bloody corner, pump that, jump that, back back back some more that’s steep, fuck fuck fuck that’s rocky, get off those bloody brakes, let it go, breathe, breathe, breathe”

Cwmcarn Uplift Day Cwmcarn Uplift Day

Chasing your friends is a big part of the fun, having the same limb count at the bottom is some of the rest. The course is not hardcore compared to some of the rockfests in Scotland, but if you take liberties, it’ll respond brusquely by trying to kill you. Near the end of our seventh run, I thought I had it’s measure and went for some stuff that quickly proved I didn’t.

Cwmcarn Uplift Day Cwmcarn Uplift Day (27 of 24)

We failed to crack the five minute barrier but it’ll definitely go. And the burly bike build is staying. Okay I may remove the elephant prophylactics masquerading as inner tubes, but the rest makes the whole package just so much fucking fun at a speed on the margin of fear and unreconstructed joy.

Blasting out on the Van stereo, as we ascended for our last run, was Bono lamenting he’d yet to find what he was looking for. Looking at the bike shadows cast by the falling sun, I think maybe I already have.

* this is a metaphor. Although those DH boys were suspiciously messing around with their ciggy lighters at the top.

Living in a tent…

On By AlexIn Clic-243 Comments

… living in a canvas tent. Nineties hit? C’mon, C’mon. Artist and Title. Here’s a clue, they were one and the same. I want to whinge about my complete failure to complete my commute this morning, but it’ll have to wait. The reason being my annual appraisal awaits, which means lies, more lies and the chicken suit.

In the meantime, I found this on STW. It’s a blog from a man who has gone to great lengths to pay off his debts. He has sold his possessions, moved out of his house, and is currently located in tented accomodation somewhere in the South East. It’s amusing, and you cannot read it without doffing a cap with respect.

Right time to talc up 🙂

Time Machines: Part II

On By AlexIn Other stuff7 Comments

Let’s assume for the purposes of possible comedic merit, that I have decided not to mess with the causal narrative of history. Although if that girl is out there (sadly I can no longer remember her name), I maintain it was a bloody nice jumper. So I’m sat here with my time machine, a copy of an illustrated history of the world and the DVD remaster of “Bill’n’Ted’s Great adventure“. Where would I go?

16th century London I think. Right slap bang in the middle of the Elizabethan age. Not, as you may think, because of Shakespeare turning up, the vast population explosion of our capital city or seeing off the ruddy Spaniards for the first time. No, it’s because London was the epicentre of that quaint European custom of chopping peoples heads off.

This was a surprisingly common judgement on crimes ranging from ursary*, treason and being a poor person in the presence of a rich person. And because the whole caboodle was run by a ruling class who believed strongly in the idea of positive deterrent and justice for all**, a site was established at the southern end of Southwalk bridge for the display of grisly faces recently deceased.

And what was the best part of such a positive piece of social inclusion? Well, it was such a growth industry – well unless you were a victim, in which case rather the opposite – an official position was ordinated for smoothing the process of head to spike. The title “Keeper of the Heads” is just brilliant, but even this could be improved upon by modern day management speak.

Hand me the job of “Head of Heads” and I’ll deliver consistent spikey performance. Heading (sorry) up my crack team of “plopper onners” , we’d meet each day to freshen up the display. “Right Jim, third head on the right has been pecked to buggery, get a new one up there pronto, ginger hair if you can find one as it’ll set off the autumn colours a treat. Bill, get down the scaffold and see who is up today – I’m going with a ‘big nose” pastiche next week, so get scouting for some outsize snouts”

I’ll accept there are some downsides. Squalid living conditions, virulent diseases such as plague, typhoid and cholera. Average lifespan of 32 years and a better than average chance of being accidentally murdered. But not only could I revel in the glory of being the much respected “head of heads“, I could do while quaffing strong beer at the average daily rate of the time. That’ll be a gallon then.

Wonder what commuting would have been like? 🙂

* Lending money on credit. I think we should consider bringing that back onto the statute boo

** Except for them of course. Take privilege back to it’s linguistic roots and you get “above the law”

Cross

On By AlexIn Bikes, Photography3 Comments

Although “knackered” would be a better adjective to describe my current condition. Two hours of messing about in the local woods, and straining every muscle to remove a muddy deflated tyre has left me quite spent. And that’s before the final pull home on gear ratios that are going to make a man of me.

I have, however, discovered a number of important things – even on such a short ride:

a) My “slam into things because I’ve paid for a big fork” translates not at all to a bike with thin tyres and no suspension
b) I’ve ridden some fast steering bikes. Only I haven’t because they all feel like oil tankers now. The bar has been well and truly raised. And, er, shortened.
c) Sliding round muddy corners on 28c tyres while gripping the arse end of 12 inch bars is terrifyingly involving…
d) … and more fun that you would imagine
e) Non disk brakes don’t really work well off-road. I considered dropping anchor a couple of times until it became apparent the top tube is at the same height as my love nuts. Arresting velocity using ones testicles as braking collateral feels even more dangerous than just accelerating ever faster to an accident that’s out there and waiting
f) Closing your eyes helps. It’s not like you can see anything anyway.

Jake first ride Jake first ride
But – and it’s a big one – tracks that’d be dull on an MTB are really quite ace. And being fast on the road encourages you to explore all those paths written off as dull before. I’ve linked up more in two hours today than in the last two months, and finally a loop from home is beginning to emerge from the contours on the OS map.

Before setting off on my first dropped bar ride since puberty and “10 speed racers”, I completed the rebuild of the little DMR and took it out for a bit of skills training. I can still just about bunnyhop, trackstand and wheelie up to and past the balance point. Murphy found the whole experience quite exciting and – while I was sat on the floor rubbing my sore arse – he ate a tyre.

I’m thinking of this as a worthwhile period of dog/bike bonding. Although he’s going to be a rubbish trail dog if he just injests vital components when we’re miles from anywhere. Maybe I’ll get him a saddle 🙂

Time Machines: Part 1

On By AlexIn Other stuff5 Comments

Last week, I fulfilled my half of the Faustian promise by rocking up to the station at Dark O’clock. The train failed to honour its’ half of the bargain when it predictably failed to turn up. This got me thinking about time machines, specifically how great it would be to wind back an hour, turn off the alarm and drift back into a blissful sleep. As opposed to risking another bout of extended tackle exposure, standing on a windswept platform waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did, but the time was well invested considering the value of thermal underwear, and selecting the one single event I would want most to change. if a fully working time machine was delivered to my door. And even with the many worthy candidates, one incident during my fifteenth year still sends me into a fully body spasm whenever the unwelcome memory surfaces.

The clock would be set to July 1982, the location Silverdale School, Sheffield, the time 6:30pm. Let the eye of remembrance cast it’s focus to the main hall where 200 5th year students are separated by 20 yards of Demilitarized Zone and further divided by the type of any recently sprouted bouncy bits. The eye would reveal a leaving dance, a few teachers stretching the bounds of smart-casual, and sufficient testosterone that a single accidental nudge would cause a pubescent boy to explode.

Let the eye rove along this line of drainpipe jeans and monster zits, allow it to flip and zoom to examine a particularly poor specimen with a messy centre parting and National Health Glasses. Notice how his hands are shaking, his face is wet with sweat, and his countenance ashen. Realise this is nothing to do with what is about to happen, but rather because of what has just happened featuring two rusty cans of long life, and a toke on a few illicit B&H’s.

Which is no way can explain what happens next. The boy – driven out of the line by fellow long-lifers’ – finds himself in no mans land facing one hundred girls, almost none of which know his name. But one does, and this is the one, and this is his time. If the eye withdraws, it would reveal a moment of silence, a hush for what may happen next, a pause in the noise of many people who have much to say, but no way to say it. And that silence would be broken by one R.Norman whispering – just below the pain barrier – “GO ON MY SON, GET IN THERE” while pumping his arm in what I can only assume was his biologically naive view of how one gets a lady pregnant.

Cheers Bob. Never really forgiven you for that. I approached this girl emboldened by an air of misplaced optimism, two beers and the sure knowledge I was leaving tomorrow. But even though I am not normally short of a few words, my mind went properly blank, I gasped for air, I risked a look over my shoulder (synchronised arm pumping from my ex-friends), I looked along a line of unfriendly faces. I only tell you this to somehow justify the prhase I finally managed to stammer, while attempting to elevate my eyes from her rather fine bosom.

“I like your jumper“. The hush stopped, the moment was broken, sniggers broke out from all sides and suddenly it wasn’t boys against girls, it was everyone against Al. As she considered her answer, my face blazed through the colour spectrum ending quickly at a deep and burning red. And then just when it couldn’t get any worse, of course it did: “You shouldn’t be looking at my jumper” she dead panned me, turned laughing to her friends and left me with the walk of shame back to the boys side.

So if that Time Machine turned up with “single use only” emblazoned on the packaging, that’s where I’d head back to. Where I would calmly change history by simply shooting myself.

Thanks for listening. That was better than therapy 😉