Author: Alex

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.

Don’t Know Service

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Other stuff1 Comment

… and you’re back in the room. The sleepy hedgehog slumbered in his burrow while changes in the mighty signage of the Internet forgot where he was. Luckily my customer driven, pro-active, automatic fault diagnostic system kicked in when a reader complained of having to get some work done.

The terrifying complexity of the Domain Name Service, which left old hedgy in cyberspace limbo, seems to have unknotted to the point of a fairly reliable connection. Which gives me license to ramble in my generally unreliable fashion.

Yesterday was another first in an increasing number of lasts. A final evening ride in Chilterns full of woody singletrack, dappled light, cheeky trails and a last descent shrouded in darkness. It was a perfect way to sign off from five years wheeling about in this protected pocket of mostly unspoilt beauty.

It was also a lesson in what it really means to be race fit. Not me – I was off the back searching for a coughed up lung – but my three riding buddies. Lordy, one second it’d be all easy pedalling and pleasant conversation before trail voltage would short circuit these aliens into electric fury. And 2/3rds of that continguent were gapping my arse-hanging-out person with only a single gear.

And – once it was done and beer was drunk – it was odd saying goodbye. Typical blokes of course, no eye contact, a promise to meet up at the next big event, talk of getting together at the epicentre of cabbages, all that stuff. And same again this weekend, the rest of my riding friends are congregating on the North Downs to make sure I leave the county. The way this is all ending, I may have to write a speech.

This is my final commute into London from Buckinghamshire. It’s a beautiful morning and not one I really wanted to see from the inside of a car. Of course, our last Chiltern weekend shall be spent mowing lawns between rain showers and trying to remember it’s stuff in the boxes, children on the outside.

I confidently expect more dead air over the next two weeks, after a number of painful conversations around tempoary broadband and 3G coverage. “3G? We once has the Bootleg Bee-Gees play in Hereford, that any use to you?”

What have I let myself in for?

The word of the day is..

On By AlexIn Other stuff1 Comment

… … lassitude

The word I think I wanted was latitude but then this popped into my head and my internal dictionary offered up “Cross between a dog and a grid reference“. But no, the oracle of lexicon that is the Internet offered up:

“noun
1. weariness of body or mind from strain, oppressive climate, etc.; lack of energy; listlessness; languor.
2. a condition of indolent indifference: the pleasant lassitude of the warm summer afternoon.

That is a perfect description of how I’m feeling.

So from now on, I am going to live my life within the dictionary parameters of lassitude.

English. Marvelous language. Think that calls for a drink.

Maintenance maketh the man…

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff4 Comments

…maketh the man bloody annoyed. But with the barn soon to be tearfully handed over to its’ new owner and the tool wall facing temporary evacuation* to ungrabbale storage, niggly faults must be exacerbated** by pointless maintenance.

It didn’t start that way. Only replacing a handlebar, reshaped by acting as the pole during the bike’s champion winning vault high into the bushes, and stem lurked between ‘Spanners‘ Al and nice cup of early evening tea***. Imagine my surprise then when, some four painful hours later, significant component driftwood splashed against a tiny shore of virgin workshop floor.

The detritus of an enthusiastic, if misguided, 4 bike romp of random tool use included four discs, two cranksets, three brakes and a worrying number of small parts that are likely to be key for the safe operation of a device that can slam into rocks quite quickly. So as the cranks detach during such a scenario and the wheels explode in a direct huff to my ineptitude, I shall be thinking “Ah HAH, the purpose of the 3mm grang-o-gromet is now clear to me“. Before crashing into the ground resets the priority of my pontificating gland.

I have mathematically modelled bike maintenance with the number-of-cycles squared equation. Two bikes takes twice as much time, three bikes, at least twice as much AGAIN. The SX has had so little lovin’ for example, the rear mech offered a choice of two gears separated by 9 desperate thumb shifts and 31 rusty spokes. And a bent one, which is so far beyond my ability to fix, I’ve ironed it.

A real solution is to outsource the entire spannering process to a man with a proper job and a confident tooly glint in his eye. Failing that – as it costs money I’d rather spend fixing my mistakes – I could dramatically improve my fettling skills. Since that’s pretty unlikely as well, the current limit of my ambition is for two of the “fixed” bikes to magically sync up their dodgy shifting, and the remaining long ‘to do’ list to JUST GET DONE.

A lack of wizardry leaves me with no option other than to phone a friend. Because, as of this morning, let me tell you how I’m feeling. Properly spannered.

* I chose that verb with care. The idea of removing my tools to a place of safety will surely prevent my increasing violent wielding on innocent bicycles. This could all go to shit tho as I’m taking my biggest hammer with me.

** Similar to masturbated. Much wiggling of hands and cleaning up of unpleasant fluids. Scraped knuckles optional.

*** Or beer as it is sometimes known after 6pm.