Author: Alex

No idea, frankly.

On By AlexIn Site Stuff11 Comments

During a particularly difficult work conversation many many years ago, my somewhat prissy and process focussed boss spent five minutes articulating pomposity as an art form. Before finishing up with “your biggest problem is you are not a completer/finisher“.

No it wasn’t. I had two bigger problems than whatever the fuck that means. Firstly, I was properly brought up not to face-slap a women however much their smug, sanctimonious bearing twitches the fist of death and, secondly, I needed to pay a new mortgage about 1{45ac9c3234d371044e23e276755ef3a4dde8f1068375defba7d385ca3cd4deb2} more than firing out a resignation barrage ending with”Why don’t you just stick your completer-finisher up your fat arse. You’ll be needing to take your head out of it first”.

She also accused me of being – in no particular order – lazy, wasteful of what little talent I had, obstructive, mule headed, difficult, loud and generally insubordinate and lacking in respect. I TREASURE that appraisal, God I’ve so sold out. Anyway this is probably why I find myself with 13 unfinished articles. Two of which I promised for magazines back when paper was the kind of novelty that’d get your head stoved in by angry tablet makers.

But until someone – and I’d suggest a process driven individual with a penchant for detail task management* – turns down the ‘stuff happening’ meter, it’s difficult to see how the odd amusing sentence or two is going to be dragged into the published world**.

So I need your help. It’s about you bloody put something back rather than just participating in this group therapy experiment. So given the choice, which of these would you rather tut over your morning coffee***

1) A whine about what happens when starting running after ten years meets the reason you stopped
2) What to do when your satellite navigation rings. Apart from narrowly avoiding crashing, while spluttering “woooah fucking aliens are right in here with me”
3) Commuting: The view from a hut. Jeez, that’s almost as dull as it sounds
4) Local dialect. The Western Debrett etiquette correct response on being asked if one wishes to “grapple with my ball joint”
5) A random line from each.
6) Nothing. Just STFU. It’s just you and your imaginary friends you know. Blogs are barely one step up from sidling up to random blokes in a pub and telling them what you had for breakfast.

It’s 6 isn’t it? Thanks for letting me down gently 😉

* You’re dull. Get over it.

** Except for those two articles. They’re finished. Just need a final polish. Honestly.

*** Other beverages are available. Tea for Northerners. Something fresh, fruity and blended with hedgehog sperm**** for the southern metrosexuals and vodka for those of us facing a tough day.

**** Quite tricky to extract. Allegedly.

Wheely bloody annoying.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff4 Comments

Sulking is a competitive sport in the hedgehog household. The young pretenders think the old man is way past his prime with his stock grump being just so 1980s. Nobody – well nobody hip and slick – lays down a tool throwing, sweary shouting rail at the wrongness of the world with a quivering bottom lip, noseful of beer finish as their signature move.

Not when this totally fails to embrace the newskool emo moves: tossing of full manes*, screaming that the object of their angst (be it toy, homework, sister, sister, sister, mother, father or sister) is the worst/stupidest/most unskilled/useless thing/task/parent/sister on this whole damn planet. And that’s just the ignition sequence for the explosion of inflammable rage- short but burning white hot – before subsiding into ground shaking sobs and inconsolable silences.

And you know what, they still don’t get an ice cream before dinner. It’s tough being a kid around here.

We expected much more of this once the long talked of separation from familiar friends, places and school became a physical distance. Good news is that is hasn’t, bad news is that karmic shock has transferred itself onto anything mechanical with the meta-tag “owned by Al”.

First the much stroked Cove decided to its’ revenge for my crime of latent singlespeeding by offering up only about three gears, each separated by a pedal stroke. The shifter was nothing more than a bar ornament as progress was enacted by a hop, skip and a chain jump. And some sulking. The Voodoo struck a brothers-in-arm solidarity pact, choosing to orchestrate its’ slidy ensemble of sprocket music some one mile into the Rough Ride.

Not a huge problem to be honest. The only gear I needed was Granny-Granny** and a great bit fat one filled with recreational pharmaceuticals to chill out the boredom vibe. Man. That’s the last electrons I’m toasting on the matter except to say Roadies and Mountain Bikes go together about as well as Cheese and Steak*** Until the carbon sheathed, laser sighted Gattling Gun is available as an after market accessory, enduros and me shall be separated by an ironic glance and a raised middle finger.

Right, briefly to the point. Remember this rant when Honda basically legally mugged me for – amongst other nebulous services – about a hundred smackeroons for a tyre? Well it seems this was merely an undiagnosed symptom for an even more expensive malaise. Something is rumbling back there and it’s not the kids as I threw them out**** – the worrying fanaticism of the Internet informs this is known problem with the Mighty Accord, that Honda spend the entire warranty period pretending they don’t know about.

So any spare moment tomorrow shall be spent wondering if “Honda do really appreciate my call” while oily men with spanners suck air and offer to fix it in a) three weeks and b) which is fine as I’ll need that time to raise the finance. My initial response was to grab the warm evening and take it for a fast wind-out-your-mind ride. But the Roadrat has spent too long skulking with the sulking MTB twins, so when the freewheel exploded in a hissy fit – abandoning me in the epicentre of absolute bloody sodding nowhere – I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I wasn’t really because I was busy recreating my signature move for a few cows and a man doing something thoroughly unpleasant to a Landrover. And while the Wifey support vehicle was en route, my time was industriously spent concluding that both wheels and tyres were completely shagged.

Normal service is resumed. Grumpy is back.

* Oh yeah, I wish.

** For those not afflicted to the firefly/light call of the Mountain Bike, this is the lowest gear ratio available. It is also known as the “BBC3 gear” in that nobody admits to actually using it, but it’s nice to have the choice should you ever be really stuck.

*** I’ve got to put my foot down here. Saffers: Sausage and Marmalde, JUST SAY NO. Kiwis: Cheese with everything: IT’S NOT RIGHT. Australians: OH BLOODY HELL, WHERE DO I START?

**** We did stop first. I am not that much of a bastard. Yet.

I am trumpet.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, PhotographyLeave a comment

An odd way to join the first person singluar of ‘to be’ to a windy noun but sense shall be made, read on. Trumpet is a real place as well as an instrument, although this morning it swung between the two, hiding between rolling hills and mocking me as an instrument of navigational trickery.

In two hours, I visited it a total of four times, adding it a collection of random small villages (Much Marcle: Twice, Pixley: three times, Aylton: never saw it but attacked it from the West, East and South in a one man pincer movement) on my explorations for some local singletrack.

I had most of the map and half a GPS. Add that to my imperfect sense of direction and dodgy internal gyroscopes and what could go wrong? Well I did find two ends of an interesting looking bridleway, but never the join, I also discovered many friendly people to orientate my map, before kindly sending me back from whence I’d come. I also lost 45 increasingly worrying minutes crashing about in a small wood, trying not to fall into a stream.

Exploring Exploring

Eventually I arrived home, one hour later than planned, nettle stung to buggery, slightly more knackered than a man attempting to summit 7000 feet of nearly Welsh climbing probably should be, and in need of a medicinal beer. Since it was only 10:30am, I settled for bumper mug of Guatemalan Elephant* and a satisfied expression.

Because when I finally found the woods, there was more untrod singletrack in there that you could shake a stick at. Although, quite a muddy stick it must be said. Possibly not all legal for cycling but with no evidence of any other human activity, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Unless I get lost again when I might possibly starve and have my eyes pecked out. Not that such a mental image was glued to my inner eye while my outer eye could see nothing but trees – oh no.

This is mere displacement activity for the horror of tomorrow. Nige, Frank and Andy Tracklogs are converging on the log later and we’re off to the Cider Press for a couple of sharpeners before dinner. I ask again, what could possibly go wrong?

Cider Exploring

If I were a betting man, I’d wager a kidney on the next entry including the phrases “Never Again” “Reamed Arse” and “Writing this from the Hospital“.

* this is a blend of coffee. Although Random does a pretty good impression when attempting to quietly cross a room.

MV40

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Other stuff, Road RidingLeave a comment

Hilly. Oh so hilly.

That’s what is says against my name in the roll of (the soon to be) dead. It seems the Marin Rough Ride entry system took one look and my date of birth and consigned me to Veteran status. Hence the V. The remainder of the mnemonic roughly translates to “old, fat and useless“.

This was brought home to me during a recce of the ten mile commute that delivers sweaty’Al* to Ledbury station. From there, Brum is a smidge over an hour away and only a escalator shoulder carry separates me from playing with the city traffic. This worries me not at all after surviving London for over two years, but I am mildly perturbed that bikes and commuters can share the same prime time train service.

Try that on Chiltern Railways and they’ll throw you in front of a passing train and pike your head – in plain view of all the other passengers – as an grisly deterrent. Anyway the commute looks fun, deserted roads, a cracking single/cycle track through Ledbury and a pub stop one mile from home. One thing tho, it’s bloody hilly.

* as there is no BLOODY WAY I am doing it in Winter.

Land of the Hedgehog!

On By AlexIn Other stuff1 Comment

You may think this post is just an excuse to post a picture of a hedgehog. Good call ;)

You can imagine my delight that Ross-On-Wye was known – from the 6th Century – as Ergyng. This does indeed literally translate to Land of the Hedgehog. Couple of problems with that; firstly the last two books I read on the History of Britain cast significant doubt that the Celts ever invaded. Or indeed existed as a defined race back 1500 years ago. Second, Saxons and then Normans changed the name twice more, and none of the new designations translate to anything snuffly and prickly.

Never mind, the oldest building in town has a hedgehog* and the little fella is cheekily presented on many a commercial emporium. My impulsive commitment to hand over real money to anyone sporting a hedgehog** has proved rather rash. So far I’ve eaten four cakes, three pasties, a brace of ice creams and am now the proud owner of a concrete mixer***

Still good Karma nevertheless and a fantastic excuse to sample the local pies. Got to go, feel the urge for another one.

* Picture of one obviously. Not one nailed to the town hall. Not since 2002 anyway.

** Not to be confused with the tragic haircut of the mid 1980s. A challenging combination oft he Mullet and the Mohican. It never really caught on.

*** Not quite. Carol convinced me the purchase of a small screwdriver was more appropriate.

You cannot be serious?

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography11 Comments

A very, very Tired Al. And quite a young one!

John McEnroe was the angriest young man in the world back then. Watching my own kids arguing – through the medium of chucking stuff at each other – makes me wonder if they’ve secretly been watching Wimbledon DVD’s from the 1980s. But, of course, this isn’t about them, it’s all about me and my never ending faith in bullshit over ability.

It all started when Andy “Tracklogs” Shelley* cluster bombed my Inbox with exploding text shrapnel. When the debris settled, words such as “Marin Rough Ride“, “Next Weekend“, “Not far from you” and “Fancy it?” were left as collateral damage. I immediately emailed fellow survivors of our 2004 lucky to be alive escape to remind me of the horror and suffering that a 72k/7000feet of climbing course can inflict on a non alien.

However, I failed to add the rider that their replies should be couched in terms of “ARE YOU ON CRACK? STRIKE DOWN THE HEATHEN SHELLEY OR AT LEAST MARK HIM AS SPAM“. They have both cautiously considered attending themselves. What madness is this? Don’t you remember? Here’s an extract from 2004:

“I’m hoping the worst is over. It’s not. The next climb refracts riders as light through a prism and it’s clear I’m in serious trouble. There’s just two of us at the back now and I’m coveting Nigel’s full suss because every rut is a Hobson’s choice of an energy-sapping out of the saddle move or a seatpost up the arse. We’re 42km in on a grassy climb and I’m starting to hate it but it’s about to get much worse. Twenty minutes later, I’m all on my own, one broken chain, two punctures, three sense of humour failures. I finally free the chain from behind the cassette by dint of jamming my bloodied hand in there for the twentieth time. Streams of riders come past before I finally get back on the bike, then my hamstring cramps up **”

There’s so much more of the same here and the picture propping up this post was my pre-40 self looking totally knackered. I am probably no fitter, certainly quite alot older, definitely less motivated and generally more rained on. The upside is that my extensive bike collection includes a perfect foil for such madness. I speak of the legend that is Roger the Pink*** Hedgehog. But I’d hate it. I sit here and think it’s doable, but secretly I’ll admit it’s going to hurt. Alot and for a long time.

And yet, and yet… It’s only 30 miles away, there’s a blouse-out option at 48k, I cannot do worse than the trauma 7hr20 minutes back in 2004. It’s a great course.

I am not serious, but I’m sort of tempted.

* A man so fit he refuses to accept that any MTB ride can be less than eight hours long. In the Peak District. In Winter. He may not be of this planet.

** It’s true you see. I have actually curbed my rambling style since then. No honestly, read the rest if you don’t believe me/have half a weekend to spare.

*** Lively Purple. Just didn’t scan as well.

We’re in*

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

Much to tell, not much time to do so. It was the extended train wreck I had been dreading. So far we’ve lost

a) The will to live
b) Three meals due to packing, shouting, being rained on, travelling, etc
c) Our way on country roads after SatNav was scared by a passing bullock
d) The Television**
e) My faith in wireless routing
f) The South East of England.

More soonish. The incident of the catshit in the nightime is well worth a re-telling.

* for a given value of “in”.
** Or to be more precise, the removal company has gained a nice 37inch LCD

Excel-ent

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

The community of blogging knows – if only it were prepared to admit it – that our vanity publishing offers nothing other than recycled news and the taudry outpourings of our bitter minds. Hence my current fascination with repackaging random Internet links in an attempt to confuse volume with content.

But this is great – not only because it exactly demonstrates the point that the world wide web is nothing more than a collaberation tool for slackers, but also because there’s a few seriously amusing graphical nuggets in there.

Here’s one of my favourites.
Amusing, yes?

And because we crave duplex interaction, here’s one I’ve mailed in for recognition.


Niche I grant you and yet as close to the truth as lies, damn lies and statistics can get you.

Boxed in.

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

It’s all gone a bit dark in the land of the hedgehog. The primary reason is where we used to have windows, we now have boxes. The same can be said of the floor. And the stairs. And any flat surface not currently occupied by plant, animal or small child. There is some universal – yet baffling – scientific law that proves the boxing of items quadruples the volume of space they take. For example, a smallish bookcase can easily overwhelm a brace of boxes that appear to have fallen off a container ship.

And yet in a confusing reversal, an entire bed can be reduced to 14 matchsticks and a few pocket screws. The process is complicated by a goodly portion of our belongings being shipped to a house we’re not allowed to live in, while the remainder shall be delivered to the big log – assuming the removal truck can navigate the tiny entry road.

There is – I’m prepared to admit – some latitude for things to go very badly wrong. Legions of unwanted boxes containing ten years of kleptomania could quickly overspill the log, while useful stuff such as underwear and bikes are dispatched to who knows where. The bikes are a problem all on their own, there is seditious talk of a two bike quota being rigourously enforced with the remaining *ahem* four being quarantined in a no-go-Al-Zone.

This was obviously distressing to me: “Take a leg woman, a leg I say. Not a bike, no I can’t be without them“. Considering the plethora of locks and shackles returning home from far flung commuting stops, I could simply chain myself to the bloody lot and demand satisfaction. Except, I suspect, Carol would just leave me there looking rather silly*

So while the house is an obstacle course policed by hard edged boxes ensuring nightime navigation is a painful experience, the barn is as yet untouched. Two reasons; firstly I am desperately clinging onto any riding collateral before we move and secondly there was a slight issue with my attempts at packing. After Carol had packed 50 boxes, I rolled up my sleeves and pitched in with a big 2.

2 not adhering to a packing protocol in which the phrase “flip drawer over and shovel in” is curiously absent. On completion of a repack, her attempts to shift them was stymied by the contents vigorously falling out in line with the laws of gravity. Because – in line with the laws of stupidity – I had forgotten to tape up the underside. Easy mistake – anyone could have made it but because it was me, I am reduced to grumpily pointing at stuff and accepting it is unlikely It will ever be seen again.

It was almost as if I had planned it that way, I hear you thinking. Nasty, suspicious minds you have there 🙂

* Which would be even sillier than I am now. So really quite silly indeed.

Jet Sage…

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff5 Comments

From nutter blog

… visionary or nutter? Here is yet another evolutionary branch of the genus bicycle, apparently designed for the sole purpose of inhuming the rider in all manner of interesting ways. Once the jet engine is fired up, speeds of 75MPH can be attained even if a steering axis cannot. This instrument of wheeled death could travel for literally yards before impacting something hard, spikey or both.

Failing that it could just explode and it’d be all flesh coloured tarmac and identification by dental records. Check out the video on this link and marvel at the commercial nous of a man that not only builds these but schleps them out on fleabay.

Every time the world seems to finally make some kind of sense, a kind soul fills my inbox with the truth that it really doesn’t.