Category: Bikes

Tens of thousands of words and the odd blurred picture of fast moving vegetation rehashing one of two tenuous threads. Spliced together using random punctuation and alcohol.

Momentum

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road RidingLeave a comment

Momentum as defined by the impossibly stuffy OED as property of a moving body that determines the length of time required to bring it to rest when under the action of a constant force“. Precise and yet entirely underwhelming as a description for the cyclist’s joy of the exact and opposite reaction to pedalling. If there were a caveman dictionary on the web it’d offer a more succinct: Momentum, Good. Pedalling, Bad.

Grieving for the loss of momentum, especially when it’s snatched away by a idling ped apparently holidaying in the middle of the road, will wrench out a heartfelt moan or breathless curse. So if I’m looking a little pissed off after sprinting two hundred yards to beat a long waiting light set only to axe that hard earned speed on the anvil of the brakes, guess what? I am.

Hence the reason, we unwanted detritus of the city streets coast through red lights, swing audaciously through stationary traffic and nibble up to the bumper in front with nary a finger on the stoppers. Momentum rocks my freewheel and woe betide the jaywalker who saunters out, labouring under the belief that stepping on the organic accelerator doesn’t hurt. After a week of commuting ferrying the leaded laptop of extreme weightiness, guess what? It does.

Continue reading “Momentum” →

You see, I told you it was sunny.

On By AlexIn Mountain Bike Riding6 Comments

I was accused of meteorological inaccuracy on declaring that Scotland had indeed but both bonny in terms of riding and weather so here are some random pictures proving my innocence. And giving me a chance to gloat a little on a fantastic – if slightly painful – weeks riding.

Rider lost in crop circle. Mabie Singletrack. Roll Down, Kirroughtree.

Rider lost in corn circleMabie forest - do my pads look big in thisNige - slabby roll down

Nigel Gurning the rock step, KT. Small bike, big balls, Ae. Tim hoisting the dirtbag, Ae.

Nigel - woooah where's he goingSmall bike, big ballsTim - Ae

Dave. Ae. Climbing. Ae. Tim, Darkside, Mabie

See told you the sun shinedMore climbingAnd once more

Dave/Jay, Lakes. Dave/Jay, having a nice push, Lakes. Descending, Lakes.

Jay's lip gets some exerciseAre we there yet?Downhill at last

Tim, Darkside. Dave, Darkside. Tim, gap jump, Darkside.

Tim - Mabie, darksideDave having a thinkTim - gap, darkside

Al, Rock roll down, KT. Al, Cold, McMoab. Nige, Darkside. Tim, Log skinny, Mabie.

First ride after accident. 10 minutes in. Thanks.Al - wet on McMoabNigel - dark side MabieTim - mabie, log skinny

Photo’s 2,3,9, 10, 12,13,15 and 15 (C) Tim Beresford. Reproduce without his permission and he’ll drop the Dirtbag on you 🙂

Okay it wasn’t exactly Sunny all the time but hopefully you can see how much fun we were having.

Might be a trip back in September. I am bidding on ebay for a suit of armour 🙂

Elbows Out!

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff2 Comments

No, this is not some kind of splitter activity from a body splinter group questioning the value of articulating arm pieces and demanding a revolutionary new configuration where forearms are welded to shoulder blades. Obviously, I mean who else would even consider such a thing? Answer, quite a few people from my personal collection of ˜oddballs, screw-ups and gimboids’ of which my readers make up a sizable happy – if medicated “ proportion.

The real question is who would actually write it down AND consider it marginally amusing. Ah, well the sample size is somewhat smaller.

The mutant elbow is still 50{45ac9c3234d371044e23e276755ef3a4dde8f1068375defba7d385ca3cd4deb2} larger than it’s twin on the right side further distanced from healthy skin by such intense scarring and holing, it’s like a small, bloody sea of tranquillity. And it hurts far more than a week old injury should which would trigger normal people scampering down A&E to ensure no permanent damage. But I KNOW once I set a single foot over the threshold, it’ll be Christmas on the ward for me. Deformed and painful elbow versus full life Hotel California” Trauma. Absolutely no bloody contest.

The elbow of knobbly shame punctuates my day with irritating facets. Firstly it weeps like a man forced go fencepost shopping on a match day (personal experience? Possibly) leaking out thick gluttonous deposits with the stickiness of honey. Any fabric coming into the slightest contact with the toxic gloop instantly affixes itself like proverbial shit to a blanket. It’s only slightly less smelly and far harder to remove with the deep breath, PULL, scream” approach removing sufficient skin to give you a first hand (elbow?) view of how the bone works.

Once the bleeding has stopped, the hurting starts over every bump or manhole or curb. The steel bike at home cossets the offending limb like a old sofa but the harsh aluminium London bike twinned with the crenulated capital road system marks me down as a Tourettes victim with a vicious twitch. I considered riding one handed but since my last uni-ride attempt got me into this situation, it seems prudent instead grit ones teeth and stiffen ones upper lip.

By the time you read this, I may have drowned. The summer weather” outside is lashing rain at high velocity against the window panes and my rain jacket “ much like my elbow pads when I stacked last week “ is protecting the inside of the car. Short sleeved riding top and no mudguards is one approach to an inch of rainfall. Just not a very good one.

There has to be a part of my body that’s working. I hope it’s my liver. Still picking the scabs on my elbow is fun. Well you asked! Oh sorry, must have misheard.

A commute called Arthur.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road Riding5 Comments

What kind of rotten English bestows a proper noun on an already poorly constructed sentence ? (actually if I was semantically Willy Waving, I believe it’s a adjectival modifier but I’m sure someone even more anal will correct me) Well this kind of rotten Englishman so he could then rollout an even more convoluted pun. Why is the commute called Arthur? Because it was arfur (half a) commute rather than a full one, see?

I’m thinking I probably should have saved us all the trouble.

Anyway, half a commute was the only available logistical option since my London bike had been interned in the barn for some Tender Loving Percussion (TLP for short, you know there is a really interesting point about acronyms¦ no? ok, I’ll stop but my lip is quivering in disappointment). It’s lived in harsh city conditions through a cold winter, hoovering up and internalising all the shit and crud which lines the strees of our grubby capital. After only 300 miles, the brake blocks were worn to a mil of COMING THROUGH, NO BRAKES!”, the bottom bracket was “ and since you’ve already spurned my attempt to educate, I’m resorting to the vernacular “ totally fucked and the rear cassette was an amorphous blob of salt encrusted tar, horse shit and the remains of slow pedestrians.

While you could change gear, by the time the recalcitrant mech had dragged a rusted chain across the grubby sprocket, your journey would have finished or the world would have ended – whichever came first.

Nothing moved on the bike, instead gears graunched, brakes squealed and cables shuddered. It took a few buckets or water heavily levelled with flesh stripping degreaser to return it to a happy state. Individual cogs surfaced from under choking gunk, cables whistled through silky outers and activating the brake actually conjugated that verb (puts willy away, clearly no-one cares). Even though the barn looked like a triage unit ravaged by sustained small arms fire and metal eating locusts, almost nothing was broken or buggered. Apart from me and that’s an ongoing issue. And when I say buggered, I’m not talking literally just so we’re clear.

So bashed up by bikes, I’ve been seriously considering an alternative get to work strategy “ for example this solution for ˜fat people who can’t be arsed to walk�? as I believe the company strap line goes.

The Segway GT on the golf course.

Continue reading “A commute called Arthur.” →

Scotland was indeed bonny..

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding9 Comments

.. and while rain was sweeping the south, we were bathed in Scottish Sunshine. This is not the same as English sunshine as the Sun is rather shy and hides behind the clouds and often a short sharp shower reminds you that venturing out without a waterproof is an act of extreme foolhardiness. As was falling off on the second day while riding a knarly flat bit of trail. With perfect precision I ripped open the same elbow that had recently acquired a thin layer of scar tissue after the previous unplanned al/flint interface.

Luckily my riding buddies lashed me back together and through the medicinal power of alcohol I was able to stoically continue if at a slightly reduced pace. And with significantly more pain every time a bump was encountered which when you’re riding mountain bikes in Scotland is about every second. Fortunately I had sufficient body armour to protect a small frightened elephant against a nuclear attack, less fortunately, I’d left most of it in the car when gravity came calling.

While carefully wheeling the bike into our rather splendid accommodation, my bleeding and brooding elbow was perfectly positioned to slam into the door jam. For a while afterwards, I lay on the floor and tried to find my happy place. This proved to be in the pub opposite which sold painkillers under the name of “Shag-Nasties Bottom Biter” or whatever the local ale was called.

Here’s a picture taken by a friend who has kindly cut my head off. That was one course of action I was considering after impaling an open wound on the mortice lock.

DSCN0825.JPG

Those knee pads saw some action on the last day when I fell off twice within half a mile. The first in front of a ghoulish audience who applauded loudly my ham fisted attempt to navigate a rock garden (“plants” including spikey flint, hard edged boulder and nervous perennial). When I say applauded, of course I mean after I’d dispensed with the services of the bike and rock surfed to a grinding halt balanced precariously on, what I’m euphemistically referring to as, “the fruit basket“.

In a huff, I remounted the trusty steed and pedalled off without a backward glance. God knows where I was looking tho because a minute later, the whole sky and ground thing inverted and yet again the mean trail searched out uninjured limbs to bruise. Essentially I am now considering renting myself out as mobile scar tissue.

Still it was a fantastic week’s riding even if Easyjet provided me with no confidence in their ability to find a plane to take me home. Instead I hitched a lift in a mate’s camper van whose top speed would not trouble any form of speed camera but this was more than made up for in it’s fixtures and fittings. Nice cup of tea on the move, fridge with cold beer in it and enough space to get some decent kip. Probably should make it clear, I wasn’t doing the driving.

Back on the commuting bike tomorrow. Hopefully no one will try and kill me, it really isn’t necessary considering my recent policy of self harm 😉

Hospital Diary: Day 4

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff5 Comments

Wednesday.

01:00
Bladder clearly been replaced with thimble during operation

02:00
A small thimble at that

04:00
Consider making myself comfortable in toilet. Sadly nothing left to read so spend most of the hour making my way there and back.

05:00
Finally bladder is empty and edge into a decent sleep.

06:00
Wake Up Call. God I’m still here.

For breakfast there’s a non optional hurty bastard antibiotic cocktail which – with a cocked eyebrow to the God of Irony – leaves me in no position to select any of the culinary delicacies from the proffered menu. How things have changed, my last hospital visit (some 25 years previously) was during the reign of terror where the chance of adding serious intestinal diseases to anything you brought in with you were about fifty-fifty. The food’s way better now but you’ll get MSRA so progress of a sort.

07:00
The word on the street is my release is dependant on a knee articulation of 25 degrees or more. Can currently manage about 3 degrees and this includes a homage to the Gibb brothers reprising “Staying Alive” lyrics adjusted to “ow, ow, ow flaying around”.

07:30
In trundles the happy trolley. Couple of their finest and I’m perkily rotating the knee to an angle that half an hour before was just an escapist fantasy.

Cheerfulness obviously an anathema to this morning’s nurses so they retaliate by increasing the flow on the pain drip. It works, my entire arm goes numb and it’s my drinking arm. Hopefully it’s not a permanent affliction.

08:30
I ask the quack what they used to clean out my knee. He refuses to tell me on the grounds that I asked and he’s far too important to answer. However, my inclination to lamp him for being such an arse is put on hold as he breezily dismisses me from taking up useful bed space. My knee’s played a blinder under the cover of strong drugs and he’s convinced I should darken their towels no more.

08:31
Ring Carol, ask if she can come and get me whenever it’s convenient.

08:33
Ring again and enquire if she’s left yet. Receive shrift that is on the wrong side of short.

08:45
‘Discover that bloke who turned up last night has a kidney complaint that means he can never drink again. He�s also due in again in September to have his tendons sliced to declaw his arthritic hands.

He’s just turned 21. Poor bugger.

09:30
The only thing that separating me from freedom are an additional raft of poxy antibiotics that are buried somewhere in the hospital pharmacy. Stump up and down the ward waiting for them to arrive. They don�t. Carol dispatches herself to hunt them down if only to shut me up. Twenty minute later she’s back clutching her prize having chased them round the hospital.

11:00
Thank Nurses. Make a fast hobble for the door before they change their mind.

11:05
Am reacquainted with Outside. Lovely experience, few sick and dying people make it this way. Car parked miles away but the slow hobble under the summer sun is really quite lovely. Just managed not to get run over while reintroducing myself to traffic.

11:15
Arrive home

11:16
Open first beer. And relax.

That’s an experience I’m keen not to repeat. Three weeks later and after one ride on the road bike, it seems the healing is almost complete. But it’ll take a little longer for the mental scars to fade. I’m wondering just nervous, slow and uncommitted the first proper off road trail will make me. Still the way I ride, nobody’ll probably notice. Except me and I can kid myself.

The NHS is an interesting organisation. A great idea, badly executed. Some super people but just not enough of them. I can’t comment on whether private health care is that much better but they are paying me£150 for the non sullying of their rather posher hospitals.

Congestion Charge

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Pretentious nonsenseLeave a comment

Apparently plans are afoot (although maybe awheel would be a better description) to increase congestion charges, car tax and flight surcharges. Such a move should ensure the private companies and government can increase the indirect tax burden by extolling their green credentials. I’m sure if the melting Greenland ice mass had any kind of facial features, it’d be wearing a happy expression and possibly a hat at a jaunty angle. And the again, maybe “ if we now extend it’s humanism to include half a brain “ it’d realise that this is nothing more than windsock politics mated incestuously to sanctimonious sound bites.

But that’s not what this is about. Although I may return to it later once I’ve calmed down a bit.

This morning the train suffered congestion. Now those of you born after Jimi Hendrix died (i.e. of a proper age) may remember a British Rail advert where an InterCity 125 rolled unconcerned past lines of stranded vehicles unmoving due traffic congestion. Well I’d like to take somebody to task about this although this is extremely unlikely since everyone in so called authority abandoned the failing railway with their fat state funded pensions years ago.

Nevertheless as Viz so memorably put it: someone should be told. Can someone explain to me how a train track can suffer congestion? It’s not like a few extra trains from another operator can be slipped in is it? Or maybe they can Yeah, Hi it’s Ron from GWR, Paddington is a right shit hole this morning, can we stuff a few of ours in Marylebone? They’ll be a beer and some pork scratchings in it for you”

There can be no other logical explanation other than an alien abduction of a platform or the timetabling software generously allocating terminating berths in some kind of fantasy configuration: yes 4 in the main platform, two on the roof and one in fourth dimensional phase space.

Ah the timetable or an aspirational vision” as Chiltern Railways like to think of it. Not even lightly bolted to the planet we call reality. The driver this morning differed from our normal happy go unbothered there will be a three day delay because the executives are sorting out their bonuses but I don’t care as I get paid anyway” being supplanted by Marvin the Paranoid Android on anti depressants I’m really sorry you’ve been abandoned in this dark dank tunnel, it’s probably congestion but who the hell knows, nobody tells me anything and I’ve read Austin and Keats but they just treat us like robots¦” at which point I turned up the MP3 player and waited for nightfall.

This does put me in mind of graffiti scrawled on a platform around the same time of the lying advert. Satirically lampooning BR’s timetable, it suffixed the boast 25 Trains leave from this station for London EVERY DAY” with Yeah, but only seven get back“.

Graffiti is not what it was.

Hospital Diary: Day 1

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff, Pretentious nonsense, Site Stuff10 Comments

In the last five years, Mountain Biking has taken me to many special places. Almost none of these include prolonged stays in hospital. Oh I’ve crashed a lot, escaped painful injury through a combination of lady luck and body armour while ferrying/carrying/laughing at those unfortunates who have collected scars, plaster casts and hospital food as badges of honour.

Of course it’ll never happen to me. I’m too busy/nesh/careful to have an accident requiring hospitalisation. Especially on a day I’d no intention to ride. Realistically hammering a nail through an unsuspecting finger or receiving a paint based toxicology injury were far more likely. Yep, that was me, rebel with a paintbrush.

What follows is chronologically romp through the low and lower points of the following four days. Please don’t misunderstand me here; I’ve not edited out the high points; there just weren’t any.

Sunday

15:30
Received pleading text message from Andy desperate for a beer with a pre-ride chaser. The happy discovery that my slapdash “chuck it at the fence and see what sticks” painting technique had exhausted our paint supplies, created a window of opportunity through which I joyfully jumped and headed out to the trails.

16:30
Since riding was cutting deep into our drinking time, we raced sun baked dusty trails serially excusing piss poor performance through pointlessly high corner entry speeds, poor line choice and fitness grown fat on summer beer. Kicking dust motes skywards silhouetted against a falling sun, we revelled in the rock hard ground – riding fast and loose on trails cartographed into my mind and hard wired into my muscles.

Much much more fun than anything with a paintbrush.

Heading pubwards on a cheeky evening bridleway with only the sound of Andy’s chattering forks inches from my rear tyre for company, the off camber, steep sided flinty trail was treated with lofty disdain which familiarity breeds. I mean this is the benign Chilterns for God’s sake, there’s nothing dangerous here and there is no way I’m letting the old fat fella get past me. Bragging rights over a cold beer await.

16:31
Oh dear. I appear to have crashed rather badly.

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16:33
Andy, fellow professional northerner and trained first aider, took a look at the damage while pointedly ignoring my whimpering. The knee looked dreadful but didn’t hurt much. Well not as much as a wrist to shoulder wound filled with trail dirt and seasoned heavily with AB rhesus positive. And my shoulders were spasming amusingly not due to the original crash rather Andy’s riderless bike smashing into them while I lie prone and winded. Talk about adding insult to injury – the insult was “fucking hell, aren’t I suffering enough?”

16:35
“Tha’ll be needing to get that to ‘ospital lad” Andy offered while pouring cold water into open wounds and fashioning bandages from handkerchiefs. “Can tha ride?” he asked followed by a scratch of the chin and a reflective “Tha’d better be able to cause its fooking miles back t’car”” Who could refuse such an offer as that?

It wasn”t that bad actually as long as I didn’t look at it. Other trail users looked aghast as flaps of skin spitting blood were accompanied by a cheery “nothing to worry about, a mere flesh wound“. Adrenalin is a fine pain killer, it just doesn’t last very long.

16:50
It lasted long enough for Andy to drive me to hospital and to be gently prodded by the triage nurse. “How did you do this then?” she innocently enquired to which I couldn’t help but reply “Badly executed throw at the All-Chiltern Herring Chucking Contest” which earned me a tighter bandage that I would otherwise expected. I’m assuming this was also the reason she spurned my offer to clean up my arm during the expected two hour wait to be treated. Instead I took her advice that “somebody who knows what they’re doing should sort that for you” and watch it form a painful crust infused with bits of tree and rock.

17:30
My knee hurts now. Andy’s taken the car and bikes and my wife and kids’ll be back soon. I feel like an idiot. I also feel like some strong painkillers would be in order. Still the thought of a couple of medicinal Scotches post stitching keeps my spirits up.

18:30
Amazing I mused. Apparently we’ve put twice as much money into the NHS over the last seven years than during the previous period. Is it just me wondering where all the bloody money went? The magazine collection kept me amused if not interested. Aside from the thousand facsimiles of Womans Weekly – content “10 ways to get thin this summer”, “Why Men are Bastards” and “Asparagus – the forgotten vegetable” – I was left with those bastions of the hospital circuit “Coarse Fishing” and “What Caravan“” (answer NONE).

Alternating a page of each which is quite amusing in a “Who the hell leaves this stuff here?” way. Why no playboy even with the pages stuck together? I’m building a theory that old magazines never die, they just shuffle off into a parallel waiting room existence. Go on, try and and find “Carp World incorporating who gives a fuck” in any proper retailer. Never going to happen.

18:50
Finally called with a few others to the “Minor Injuries Unit“. Minor Injury, excuse me I don’t want to go all Tony Hancock on you here but I’ve almost lost a leg. Wife and Kids turn up wanting to see the damage – find pissed off dad/husband wanting to get this over with and go home. Sweaty, tired and in a bit of pain but mostly playing it back through my mind – how did I fall off there right on my doorstep. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

19:30
Still here. Still not been seen. Lots of ill looking people. Want to be out of here more than almost anything. One child accidentally knocks bloody knee. Consider adoption.

19:50
“Oh that’s pretty bad, we may need to keep you in” was the initial assessment of a rather jolly nurse called Peter. Nurse? Bloke? Is it just me? Anyway, the Doctor on call is a bit busy so they’ll send me to X-Ray just in case there’s bone floating about in there. Suddenly this has got a little serious. Keep me in? Jesus, that was like meeting the grim reaper down the pub. Talk about unexpected and scary.

20:00
Arrive at X-Ray. Radiologist is in theatre dealing with an emergency. That’s not me then. I spend some quality time counting bricks in a wall and reading how Kylie conquered breast cancer. Think she probably didn’t have to deal with the NHS, shame a bit of a sing song would cheer the “Non X-Ray’d 4″ up no end. My three companions are in various states of dress and physical fitness. Between us there’s probably one healthy body. Hope no one gets my liver.

20:30
Pontificating on whether I could pay BUPA to pick me up and pamper me senseless even if I have to mortgage the house. Knee swollen and painful, arm not really any use as the blood/scar tissue have set solid. Mind on a loop “stupid, stupid, stupid“

20:45
Hot Spare Radiologist arrives. Hurray! Two other cases more important than me and since once is strapped to a spinal board and the other is a young women in serious finger pain (having dislocated said digit prodding her boyfriend – man he’s trying hard not to piss himself laughing), I can hardly complain.

21:10
Third case more important. Irritatingly tap non injured leg and barely contain urge to scream at someone.

21:30
“Can you lay you knee flat?” “oooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwww ohfuckohfuckno” “okay then, do the best you can“. She’s being nice but clearly thinks I’m being a total wimp.

22:00
Back in the Minor Injuries unit feeling majorly injured. Dislocated finger girl screaming as they try to point her digit the same way as the other three. Christ I hate hospitals, they are full of sick people.

Finally Doctor bloke walks in looking knackered and stressed. He’s way younger than me but even more world weary. Takes a look, makes a noise like the car mechanic when explaining that a million pounds might just cover it, and instructs various minions to clean out the wounds so he can stitch it.

22:10
Wow we’re really moving now. Male Nurse (ug, is it still me?) is a top bloke and decides there is no way they can clean it without either knocking me out or giving me a stick to chew on. We agree on a halfway house where he injects anaesthetic into the open wound. I’ll not forget that in a hurry. I ask for the stick anyway. Here’s a tip – when someone wearing any kind of medical attire apologises with “this may hurt a bit“they really are leveraging the power of understatement.

22:20
Bliss. Knee is on planet pissed and I can#t feel anything. Purple haired nurse turns up and cleans it out bringing forth an extraordinary cocktail of trail debris. Any minute now I’m expecting that scene out of alien and something badger sized to leap out of the gaping wound. My disappointment deepened when the non anesthetised arm is at the mercy of what I can only describe as a hygienic wire brush. Bring back the needles. And the stick.

23:10
Anaesthetic wearing off. This is not good as the Doc has to stitch this and the though of him wielding the needle on swollen, tender skin has me on the wrong side of extremely perturbed. Carol’s logistically perfect as ever and grimly endures my whinging monologue happy in the knowledge that Andy – parenting technique: “tha makes any noise and I’ll put pair of ya in t’cooking pot”. is now looking after the kids at home.

23:30
Doc returns breathless apologising for his tardiness. I’m a bit irritated and it shows but he spreads his hands wide and explains “I’ve been dealing with a brain tumour“. That’s me told then. I hope it’s not his own, scars I can live with, a non working knee ruthlessly removes bikes from my future. That’s almost as bad as losing a drinking arm.

Before he can stitch the knee, he must ensure the bone isn’t perforated. More syringes filled with saline are injected into the bone and any sprinkler like results mean major surgery.

Three times he tries and three times he hits bone. Oh fucking hell that really hurts. Really stupidly elbow bitingly hurts. Like a knife cutting into the bone and twisting and then twisting some more. He leaves looking concerned and I’m convinced he’s off to find a bigger needle and Steve Backley to javelin it in from the next ward.

23:45
Consultant arrives. Hes even younger. Jeez, I’m the one wearing short trousers here, surely it should be the other way round? They consult in whispers and then Doc is back to deliver the painful news: “were admitting you, it’s just not clean enough, they’ll have to angle grind it out under a general“. Or something like that.

Great. Bloody Great. Seven hours, not insignificant suffering and only now do you decide it’s too late to do get to theatre tonight. Apparently the op will be tomorrow but I’m wise to the schedule now. If I leave before they send me out in a nice pine coffin, I’ll be lucky.

24:00
Hello? Anyone there?

00:30 Wheeled up to the ward in the new part of the hospital. You can tell as the lifts work and it doesn’t smell of piss and pain. Ward seven is my new home and the bed is clean and comfortable. I wonder if it’s too late for food since the last meal was some twelve hours before. The nurse shakes her head pointing apologetically to the “Nil By Mouth” crayoned on my notes.

But would I like some painkillers. Is the bear a pope? I don’t know what they are but within minutes I’m back on the pain free planet idly wondering if the worst is over.

Yeah right.

Follow this for the diary of Day 2

Oh the irony

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road RidingLeave a comment

Odd feeling getting off the train this morning and not getting on my bike. The descent in the tube matched the depths of irritation that these bowels of London always bring. Tube was packed, hot and horrid even at 7:40 in the morning. I’d forgotten how rude everyone is.

Crossing The Strand as the electronic pedestrian flashed, I was nearly mown down by a cyclist. This would have been whimsically amusing had three more not flashed past in the blink of an eye nailing me to the crossing afraid to move.

Still it was my fault, I was on the crossing so I knew the risks.

I want my bike back. Being a pedestrian is no fun at all.

And they’re out!

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff5 Comments

It was all a bit touch and go. The nurse wasn’t keen to remove all the stitches as apparently “it’s still a bit loose and sloppy up there”. She was referring to my knee I think. Still I refused to leave the sanctuary of the out patients ward until she relented under my extreme whining.

We agreed that I couldn’t cycle on it for a week (boo) and that it’d have to have a dressing so the “bag knee” shower attachment has some work yet (double boo) but that’d it fine for me to go riding in Scotland next week.

I didn’t mention that it was kind of super rough off road riding with big rocks, huge climbs, knee jarring descents etc. There didn’t seem to be the right time to mention it.

Still my mood of extreme lightness was dimmed to the almost black by the belated realisation that as from tomorrow I’ll be back in the sweaty underworld of the tube. Oh how much fun is that going to be? Almost none is the optimistic answer.

Also the bike that is going to scotland is almost as wobbly as my knee. It has suffered a complex component failure that requires a plethora of tools I don’t even know where to buy. Apparently just twatting it with a hammer isn’t going to solve the problem.

Every cloud and all that tho – an excuse to buy some more shiny tools to adorn the “wall of death” where the other implements of destruction lie waiting for their next victim.