Author: Alex

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 🙂

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” →

I went XC racing

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike RidingLeave a comment

Well no, of course I didn’t. Short course XC racing is for those students of proper training, garish lycra and a single minded focus on winning. So clearly not for barely fit, inappropriately biked fun-poker-at-ers who scratch their head/balls when faced with sixty or so Race Faces on bulimic bikes. Instead, I ambled round a couple of practice laps with all the speed needed to hunt down a lettuce. Fun course though and after two laps totaling an epic 5 miles, I abandoned any pretense of being a proper racer and sloped off with the camera instead.

It was dark and scary in the woods and that was before around 50 kilograms of zero body fat came screaming round the corner. Still revenge was mine, blinding them with the flash and having the odd cowardly snigger at silly narrow tyres and rigid forks. Unfortunately for my world weary cock snooping, almost all of them were competent bike handlers, smooth and fast in the twisties and propelled uphill as if a Saturn five booster had been strapped to their shorts.

Here’s a representative example.

Man going fast in Lycra!

To balance out the fast guys (and girls), there were a few that even I could have given a run for their entry fee assuming it was over one lap and uphills didn’t count. A few nutters were even on singlespeeds. Away from the podium hunters though were the fun category and the riders decked out in flowery shirts and big grins were exactly that.

Here’s a guy who was taking the whole thing with an appropriate amount of seriousness.

Proper racing attire!

Here are a few more of my favourites. That’s pictures not riders, in case you think I’ve fallen foul of some man lovin’ lycra action.

Lotts Wood XC RacingLotts Wood XC racingLotts Wood XC RacingLotts Wood XC racingLotts Wood XC racing

Lotts Wood XC racingLotts Wood XC racingLotts Wood XC racingLotts Wood XC racingLotts Wood XC racing

There are a few more in much the same style here

It was an enjoyable evening even in the rain with the real prospect of expensive electronics giving up with a damp hiss. I much preferred the picture taking that the actual riding but you can’t fault the enthusiasm of those organising and taking part.

Apart from one guy who was just way too serious and after serially pissing me off with trivial complaints as befits a proper prima donna, I weed on his car on my way out.

I am striving for middle aged tolerance but sometimes I can’t help backsliding.

Turncoat.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding2 Comments

Right. No easy way to say this. I’m thinking of buying another stupid one geared bike and while it is obvious to anyone not booked in for special needs cognitive therapy that this is insane, it’s even worse that that. You see last year, this article was published in the SingletrackWorld magazine and attracted a fair amount of hate mail. Which is fine, because it was written in the style of baited hook to frenzied biters. But spin the world a few short months, and I have my hand on the “buy another pointless bike” button although Carol may have her hand on the rolling pin if I do.

If anyone has a petard, I’d like to borrow it for a bit of personal hanging. Oops. Click over the page for the full story.

Continue reading “Turncoat.” →

How could this have happened?

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Site Stuff3 Comments

A drunken roam over dusty posts during the last three months show a disturbing ratio of apparent contentment to foaming vitriol. As any fule no this is not how the hedgehog operates. It should be well known that if I could be arsed to fuck about with the site name, it would be transformed into a somewhat more descriptive “thanks for listening, that was better than therapy“.

Normal service shall be resumed soon. God knows, I’m hurtling towards 40, have about three strands of my own hair left, a burgeoning beer gut, an every decreasing riding skill base (coming off a pretty low start) and enough peripheral angst to fill the cargo hold of whatever flying reaper is destroying the ozone layer this week.

Maybe I’ll think some more about my job where the spoon of hurt just isn’t cutting it. I now have to courier in the entire utensil drawer of everlasting pain to my place of work.

Chasing Cars*

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road Riding5 Comments

Welcome to your commute. The local time is 06:40, the outside temperature is a chilly ten degrees and our arrival time is expected to be 09:05 unless someone succeeds in killing you first.

Back off holiday, back to playing with the desperate traffic, back to maximum concentration and minimum road sense. Whiffing of the closet masochist, I’d been looking forward to joining the battle and “ as expected “ the grimy jewel of our capital city didn’t disappoint.

First up Seymour drive closed again for reasons closely aligned to because we can and do I honestly give off the slightest impression of giving a fuck?. Well fuck you right back, couple of hard lefts stretching aching legs past lines of stationary traffic before crafting a cheeky move with slightly more pavement than the highway code advocates. From the frustrated horn section behind me, I’ll have to upgrade that to properly cheeky.

Love it. Love it. Love it.

Summer sun burns off the cloud and I burn off down a down a festival constrained funnel of Hyde Park. Facing tourists adjusting focal lengths by stepping blithely into my path, I begin with a pathetic dinging of my bell and finish by leaving a carbon bar end burn on their arse. Keeping it real there Mr. Livingstone, let’s do lunch.

Only by engaging Colin McCrae Sega Rally Mode can progress me made through the random perambulation of squeezed humanity on an ever thinning track. Elbows out, Bar ends to the fore again and an expression that politely but firmly expresses the dangerous truth that you are nothing more than mobile slalom in the path of my morning coffee.

Ride on in the sunshine, break a few more rules, bait lycra roadies and attempt to perfect clipped in trackstands before flipping the security guard a flash of my pass and a hidden finger. Dump the bike and hunt down the dripping bacon breakfast of champions. Not bad for a Monday morning, not bad at all.

The end of the day starts with beer which instantly imbues bravery as per the law of lager armour. Bravery instantly tested by a taxi attempting to save ten seconds by smashing me into small body parts using the curb as a mallet. Survival instinct kicks in and he’s almost as surprised as me to find a beery mountain biker hanging onto his passenger door.

As our six wheeled carriage wobbles down the Strand, I breathlessly explain to him to and his “O mouth shaped fare that if he doesn’t cease and desist RIGHT NOW, I shall be punching my way out through the drivers side window.

He fucked off quite pissed off although I hope he didn’t think, even for a moment, that I gave a shit. Believing myself indestructible, a¾ circuit of Hyde Park Corner will live long in the memory filed under mnemonic Go, GO, Oh Shit, Oh Shot OH SHIT, switch lanes “ DON’T LOOK “ safe, don’t you DARE come over here, sprint, spring, looked fucking amber to me, sprint, breathe

Fantastically, London wasn’t done delighting me today. I cruised up about half a mile of 150MPH executive cars travelling at approximately zero due to aforementioned coned off streets. I cannot bequeath them the names of roadworks because the second half of that word was conspicuously missing.

Anyway I counted about half a million pounds worth of leather clad car park before my mental arithmetic was exhausted. The worlds’ most expensive queue began to snarl slowly forwards as the lights changed but I had been and gone before they had even reached ramming speed. My delight was raised to a level that I can only term non Yorkshire when it became apparent that some brain stunted arse had parked his van on the yellow box and the queue was stationary again despite the green light.

Sometimes commuting is shit “ cold, dark, horrid, miserable and dangerous. Today was not one of those days.

* Spookily the first track on a perfectly shuffled riding mix. Is it wrong to like Snow Patrol? Oh I see, I am deeply sorry.

That hurt a bit.

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

Chilterns 2007. Ibstone., originally uploaded by Alex Leigh.

But I think it hurt my friend Martyn (pictured) a bit more.

A great ride taking in everything I love about riding in the Chilterns. Including chasing some lambs at “ramming speed” but the less said about that the better.

Lots of lush and Cheeky singletrack, including one involving walking the bikes through a busy Churchyard. Fast and grippy downhills on a choice of flint, chalk, dirt and roots. Many uphills in which the BBC3 Gear (Granny – Granny – everyone secretly likes it but no one admits to using it) was absolutely required. A fresh pair of legs half way round wouldn’t have gone amiss either.

Cold beer and hot BBQ’d dead animal to finish. I didn’t even need a shower, because on returning home, the family turned the hosepipe onto me. Possibly smelled a bit?

There’s so many places to ride in this country. Many of them have greater technical challenges, bigger views, less people and virtually limitless opportunities for limb removal. And that’s all well and good but sometimes just getting out and riding with your friends until your legs stop working is about as good as it gets.

Much 🙂