Category: Other stuff

Pretty concise and snappy title eh? Yes I do have a life outside Mountain Biking. No, it’s no better written or researched.

Fly like a…

On By AlexIn Other stuff, PhotographyLeave a comment

.. Turd. Although not your common in the garden average pooper. No, what I am attempting to describe here is an organic-mineral cross that gives the sinking feeling of a bare footed encounter with some utter smelly horridness, matched with the flying characteristics of a shot brick.

That’ll be my glider then. Looked ready for action, flew ready for a bin bag. There was a proper, grown up aerodynamic reason for that which has little to do with the build instructions, and much to do with my inability to follow then. I’ll not trouble you with the plane-crash journey from childish enthusiasm to traditional despair, but this kind of little mistake could happen to anyone.

Of course it happened to me. Starting with A trudge up a muddy slope with three family members who wore that look of disappointment once “come on, let’s all go it’ll be fun” turned out to be anything but. Even the dog looked pissed off as we wouldn’t let him go and chase sheep*

A friend took my flying wing under his, and attempted to introduce it to aviation. It bit back with the resolute terror of those afflicted with proper vertigo. Instead of leaping into the air as a randy salmon, it performed a fast half roll and embedded itself in some innocent bracken. We tried again, only this time with more enthusiasm, and amazingly that did make a difference.

Matthew - Wilding Flying (14 of 15) by NADMAC Photo Matthew - Wilding Flying (3 of 15) by NADMAC Photo

It was harder to get out of the ground. I’d not built a glider, I’d built a hand powered drill. Some comflaggerated-fluffage later, wiser men than me kindly pointed out my stupid f*ck up and – in a moment of temporary insanity – let me fly theirs instead.

Matthew - Wilding Flying (6 of 15) by NADMAC Photo Matthew - Wilding Flying (9 of 15) by NADMAC Photo

At which my frustration took flight, and I spent a number of extremely focussed minutes playing chess with the air. I have to admit to being rather smitten with the whole thing – it’s not a boy’s toy full throttle power sport, more a slightly less sedentary hobby than, say, fishing. The glider does most of the work, while you just give it an encouraging nudge in the right direction**

Matthew - Wilding Flying by NADMAC Photo Matthew - Wilding Flying (12 of 15) by NADMAC Photo

I had to give it back as a) it wasn’t mine and b) it was far over a valley at about -100 feet. My flying pal effortlessly brought it back while I wondered how cheating could beat experience and hand/eye co-ordination. If it is the same as bikes, pointless upgrades are probably not the answer.

Worth a try though would you say?

* He’s not a Yorkshireman, therefore he’d do it all wrong,

** Which after this week, is going to be my new approach to work.

Wildthing

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography2 Comments

Hobbies, strange things aren’t they? Somewhere between mere displacement activity and a serious mental illness. And even at the not completely bonkers end, fierce debate rages over the classification of how one spends spare time.

Not being good enough to fly real aeroplanes is a representative example. It’s not a hobby, it is sport* so told to me by a humourless middle aged man, wearing a non ironic Christmas jumper and a serious expression. Really? Oh yes, it was reclassified in 1987 by the association of Who Gives A Shit, when a bunch of fat, pointless people really cared about it.

I may have paraphrased a bit there; unfortunately while my face was performing conversational normality, my mind had wandered off on a flight of fancy. Not actual flying because so far that has been denied my by the weather, my engineering skills, and some cruel acts of fate involving spending hobby time trying to get interested in wooden floors.

I’ve broken one model twice before it ever even got off the ground. Possibly trying to fix a key component “ the throttle “ with a wheel spoke was complicit here. All my repairs are now sponsored by Mr Heath and Mr Robinson, after a real effort to impress involving balsa wood, scribbled drawings, and appreciative beard stroking by those who know lasted all the time it took to say Hey look, you can do this… ah.. it’s broken

The other plane finally flew, although it did exhibit the handling characteristics of a food blender powered by a Saturn Five rocket. This vertical take-off was lengthily preceded by two men “ one who knew everything and the other who knew nothing “ standing in a muddy field willing the recalcitrant little bugger to start. Eventually the traditional incantation of Start you sod, otherwise I’m emptying this tank of nitro fuel over you and fetching the blowtorch! generated the sound of an angry wasp miked up to a sub woofer.

So I’ve** built the Wildthing which, you many notice, has no engine and is therefore configured for me to crash without any help from a willing instructor. But that’s not the thing really, the best bit is these flying wings are specifically designed for combat. Yes that’s right, the simple concept is to take out your opponent by playing airborne chicken.

My one skill is flying into things. The ground mostly, but let’s not worry about such technicalities “ I’m confident of some kind of success this weekend. Not in my local Hills though, because the self appointed nitwits who apparently care for the Malvern’s are specifically chartered to ensure nobody can have any fun at all.

That’s a rant for another day, but come Sunday a magnificent gladiatorial battle shall play out in the skies above the Long Mynd. A location where a few of us will be attempting to kick the shit out of each other’s models, while protecting our own. RAMMING SPEED MR SULU shall be my battle cry.

Now THAT sounds like a sport.

* I’ve spent the thick end of ten years riding round in a muddy field being told Mountain Biking is a real sport. Maybe the guys on TV count, but the rest of us are just delusional. The acid test is to ask a complete stranger and they’ll tell you EXACTLY what it looks like.

** Carol.

ARRRGHHH.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff2 Comments

I may as well not write anything else. Except of course, that’s impossible because of the disproportional size of my loquacious gland. A few people have commented the steaming content from the back of the hedgehog has declined recently. Not the quality tho – that had nowhere to go.

It’s not just laziness. There is much happening that needs expressing in standard rant format, but time is against me. As is everything else, because the alternate title of this post would be “God Hates Me“. Let me take you through the many and varied ways that I know this to be the truth.

Sunday: Tried to build yet another model plane. This time a glider, bought at the tenuous extreme of the logic scale that I could fly it without instruction. But not build it without instruction from the evidence of extreme brokeness and confusion. Victory only snatched from the jaws of defeat by the tactical substitution of “wife” for “husband” in the building department*

Monday : Extremely important meeting made doubly scary by use of new technology at 1pm. Lots of time for testing and preparation if one leaves the house at 6:45am. Three hours later I’m marooned on the M5 after some chump set fire to his lorry. The last 90 minutes have seen me travel 3 miles and use about two gallons of fuel.

Finally arrive at the office, at the precise time the equipment breaks. Frantic attempts to fix it (I refer you to previous comment re: hammer) fail to do anything but add custom dents to a twenty grand technological marvel. That is now competely FUBAR. Cancel meeting, grump off home. Get stuck in another traffic jam.

Tuesday : Postman finally braves the artic tundra and icy wastes of Herefordshire and delivers final bits to finishing model. Spend Tuesday evening not finishing it. Carol does all the difficult stuff, my only job is to set up the electronic servo things.

This I fail to do correctly, which means replaying the wing affixation technique. Only in reverse leading to sounds of tearing, knashing of teeth and the opening of another beer. Apparently “yeah, yeah it’s all done, fine, go for it” shall not again be allowed to pass without a peer review.

Wednesday : Wake up with Hangover. Decide this is my week to sit in traffic jams and enjoy another one for 45 minutes. Apparently caused because for every sane driver, there is a cock in a BMW who believes Ice doesn’t happen to important people. Spend a frustrating day in the office with technology being about as reliable as a child who promises to tidy their bedroom AFTER being given a treat.

Slink off at 6pm into snowy wilderness and meet pal to go riding. Attempts not to go by forgetting lights and some clothing are brushed off as excuses. Can’t real ride uphill as snow has turned to deep slush. Then it gets deep on the top so more pushing. Still a nice downhill to come, except that’s a push and a fall as well. My “powder” technique of getting off the back and letting the front wheel surf through the snow works extremely well tho.

For two seconds. Then I fall off again.

It was horrible, pointless, stupid. We rode an epic nine kilometres in 90 minutes. At no point did we ever attain a speed I’d call “interesting“. Which didn’t stop it being properly scary when the front wheel jacknifed like the dickhead BMW driver. My feet were blocks of ice, and the last run through the woods was muddy and sketchy in equal amounts.

But it was exactly what I needed. I am un-grumpied. More later, much to tell, projects moving, walls being pulled down, interesting cracks appearing that may mean the roof is about to fall down.

* I’ve decided my problem is akin to the old proverb “For a man who only knows how to use a hammer, all the world is a nail”

Breaking technology news…

On By AlexIn Other stuff5 Comments

… Microsoft have a secret agreement with Logitech. It’s beyond cunning this one as those spotty little coders in Seattle have made the latest version of Excel so insanely non intuitive, there is only a single cause of action left open to the vein throbbing user.

And that’s to smash a fist into the keyboard while screaming “ALL I WANT TO DO IS CHANGE THAT TITLE” “THAT ONE THERE” “ON THE GRAPH” “IF I’D WANTED TO ROTATE THE WHOLE FUCKING CABOODLE 90 DEGREES AND INSERT A PIVOT TABLE, I’M SURE I WOULD HAVE MENTIONED IT”

Smug little buggers as they are, marketing droids at Microsoft proclaim Office 2007 is a simple, and almost flat, learning curve from the entirely useful 2003. No it bloody isn’t, it’s like pushing peas up a cliff face with your nose while some kind of bipolar lunatic offers helpful little snippets such as “Would you like to embolden that title?” and “If you’re still stuck*, you can contact our help forums”

No, I’d rather smash up my keyboard if it’s all the same to you. I liked the old version of Excel. It just worked. It didn’t suddenly offer up a whole range of hieroglyphics every time you moved the cursor. You put numbers in and it added them up. Why did they try and improve it? We’ve all been bloody hoodwinked haven’t we?

I’m going back to an abacus, some rocks and the barter system

* You loser

Where’s the F in snow?

On By PhotoIn Other stuff, PhotographyLeave a comment

Big Log, originally uploaded by Alex Leigh.

There is no F’in snow. Thank you, thank you I’m here all week. Here, as in unable to leave the county – not because the roads are covered with our rubbish covering of snow, more the hard coded English DNA that somehow prevents everyone else working while white stuff falls out of the sky.

I could bore you with either a) tales of my Northern childhood where we’d be under ten feet of drifting snow for six months of the year, and every child had to dig themselves out of the house each morning or b) my exasperation of really how shit the UK is at dealing with anything other than a slight drizzle.

But I won’t. Mainly because I’m sulking because London actually did something better than anywhere else this week, by standing still while being dumped on*. And then stuttering to a complete and embarrassing halt.

It makes the bankers look half competent. Okay it doesn’t, but you can see where I’m going. Or not, because the pathetic smattering of flakes here could be best described as the midpoint between “light dusting” and “complete traffic carnage” has prevented my entrance to our premier motorway network.

The 4×4 has been superb tho at creating a silence that is to be savoured, as whinging children are dropped off at School. “It’s not fair, why do we have to go?” – because I’ve paid my taxes, and back in the day my generation would sledge 9 miles on t’family dog.

2 seconds into that much repeated anecdote, there protestations cease as they run away in the direction of the local educational establishment. Works every time and I never tire of the story.

Tomorrow I’m heading off to London to see what all the fuss is about. I fully expect it to be a massively hyped up non event marketed by a crisis by metrosexuals who’ve merely been denied their skinny latte.

Stick with a big nail it at the ready then!

* a qualification that would ensure rapid promotion in some places I’ve worked.

The dog ate my footwear

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff, Road Riding2 Comments

A contemporary reworking of the classic excuse offered up by lazy school children who couldn’t at least be a little more imaginative. A bloke I was at school with would regularly regale the terrifyingly northern Mr. Baxter with tales of alien invasion, a small boys’ single handed saving of the planet and the unfortunate collateral damage of his “Algebra 20 Hard Questions” being discombobulated by a frazzling death ray.

He still received the standard punishment of detention and a meeting with Baxter’s much feared “metal slipper“, but fair play to the fella for trying. It was only last night I remembered my oft slippered pal, during some ‘excuse brainstorming‘ for why my next day London meeting would be conducted in suit trousers, formal shirt and flip flops.

The dog has previous, redesigning Random’s week old trainers into fetching open toed sandals with custom chew motifs. His recent freedom from overnighting in his cage allows access to all sorts of interesting things that can be slobbered, chewed and then eaten. This includes a book – appropriately entitled – “Natural Disasters” which he took some delight in shredding.

Already, I wasn’t in the best of moods after my first bike commute of the year. Exactly half of it had been fantastic, cold and dark but immensely satisfying and reminding me why cars are just so rubbish. As are trains, especially the ones run by London Midland that can apparently teleport between platforms.

Because otherwise, why would I be chasing trains all over Birmingham New Street with my bike on my shoulder and innumerable flights of stairs blocking my progress. Some thirty minutes after this jolly game had started, I had ended up parking the bike in the correct carriage, divested myself of outer garments and courier bags, plugged in traveling tunes and opened the paper.

At which point the driver gleefully informed us that this train was giving up at Worcester, and poor saps heading West of that better get over to platform 7 sharpish. My frantic reassemblage of commuting collateral begat an elbows out charge up two punishing stair sets and a plunge down the far side. Excellent training if I ever considered Cyclocross racing,* but not an absolutely ideal way to spend most of an evening.

Especially since the overcrowding on this final train morphed me into a bikey sardine, trapped between two overstuffed carriages. The next hour was gainfully spent shuttling the bike between suitcases, tired looking passengers and train doors as I’d hurriedly parked it in the main thoroughfare. I feel my smile of acknowledgment, when being politely asked to shift IT AGAIN, may have become somewhat forced after a while.

So when Murphy greeted me with his standard arse cantilevering tailwag and slobbery hello, I sternly rejected his advances with a steely accusing finger and an admonishment of “YOU. SHOE EATER. YES YOU. WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?”. His confused expression suggested the evidence of mouthy shoelace had been planted, and it was all a stitch up. Honest Guv.

Two seconds later, having conveniently forgotten his telling off, he dropped to the floor and began licking his willy in a “Bet you wish you could do this” happy manner.** This is the default position of the Murf assuming there isn’t any footwear to be chewily mangled. It’s hard to be angry with a pet which clearly takes so much pleasure in basting his testicles in slobber. I mean there is an animal which clearly knows how to have a good time, and no amount of telling off is going to change that.

I have avoided potential disciplinary being cited due to inappropriate footwear by ballasting myself down with the spare pair from the office. Climbing the last gruesome hill before home , I couldn’t help thinking if that dog continues to suffer “separation anxiety”, he’ll more likely be suffering “sharp rap on the nose with the remains of my shoe“.

Not that there is much left. He’s going to be pooing leather patches for days.

* Which I won’t. As I’ll die of heart failure or embarrassment.

** Not really. Fond of the dog as I am, there are limits to my affection.

Going Spare.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff1 Comment

I am. They didn’t. Next time I will. Even looking ever backwards to my fortieth birthday, I have yet to achieve a level of calm when multiple failures pile up on my personal highway. It all started with good intentions, as such disasters invariably do.

Firstly a slow puncture highlighted a problem with my spare tubes, of which there were many and the number that held air, which were none. Slackness personified, my standard approach of decadently replacing old with new was stymied by a lack of fresh rubber.*

An hour later, the kitchen floor was awash with a tidal wave of water, my entire patch collection had been deployed, and four tubes now leaked a little less air than before. Flushed with success**, I spent some time worshipping at the voodoo of the front mech, before retiring satisfied a pro-active maintenance regime would be rewarded by trouble free riding.

Which made the horror of an abandoned ride at 8am this morning all the worse. Firstly my cranks basically fell off, when the drive side bearing stripped itself of a thread and made a break for freedom**. My riding buddy responded with patience, a quick return to base plan and – almost immediately – a aurally impressive exploding tyre. Luckily he’d not flatspotted the tyre, unluckily he’d flatspotted the rim.

No time to fix any of that as I was under orders to be initiated into the local flying club at 11am sharp. I arrived ready to go with flight box, fuel, trainer, a whole shit load of funny shaped stuff for which I still cannot divine a purpose and a cheerful expression.

Which lasted as long as the first engine start took, which in turn took the prop and flung it across the field. The only modification I’d made to this pre-loved trainer was changing the propeller. Ahem. Things didn’t improve much as fixing that merely broke something else. I can’t say I quite understood the exact cause, but symptomatically opening the throttle sent all the control services into a St. Vitus Dance.

Apparently this isn’t good unless you’ve the plastic bag ready. I do have a spare plane but decided to leave it at home. My reasons are now as cloudy as this beer I’ve been forced to drink. Yes, forced you heard me right, because after having no ride to speak of, no sleep beforehand and no chance to marmalise balsa in the presence of experts, it seemed the right approach to the rest of the day would be to back away from anything expensive, and get drunk on the sofa.

To get my own back on fate, tomorrow I’m commuting by bike for the first time in three months. Unridden bike, uncharged lights, unused climbing muscles. But I’m confident that nothing can go wrong, because HAVEN’T I SUFFERED ENOUGH ALREADY?

I’d be pulling my hair out, if I had any.

* I did consider the obvious alternative, but even fixing tubes was better than sewing condoms. You experience may differ 😉

** But not for long. They were all flat again this morning. So I ate them to teach them a lesson

*** I’m going with awesome power of my thighs. Although it does explain why the fromt mech was a bit out.

Call that a shed?*

On By AlexIn Other stuff8 Comments

This a shed. I’m about to lay down a deposit the size of a decent bike frame to secure the rights to this flat-pack furniture on steroids. Four weeks from now, a huge truck shall abandon a few hundred planks, and a single sheet of badly translated instructions on our concrete slab.

My understanding that this grown up self-assembly wardrobe will somehow do exactly that, while I examine my giant erection with unconfined joy and some awe. Do your own jokes, I’ll be back in a sec. Finished? Right, moving on or – to be more precise – up, my real plan is to shirk any building responsibility by dragging my friends from all over England to assemble it for me.

A tissue of lies shall promise unlimited food, beer and riding in exchange for ten minutes light work with a chisel. Apparently a competent DIY duo could assemble this in a week. Less usefully, nowhere is an estimate provided for six drunk blokes, one exasperated wife, and an impatient man skilled only in “powertool trigger revving”

But the completion of that building is right here; front and centre on the critical path of a thousand tasks that start with a big digger, and finish with financial ruin. The idea of a static caravan was put beyond possible use by a reasoned argument starting “WHAT? You’ve seen Grand Designs? Four of us in a caravan for two months would be Last Person Gouging with added Cutlery”

I’ve spent some quality time designing systems to hang bikes and hold planes. However, I’ve pulled back from that dark realm of sadness where humourless men speak of “A Steed Collection” and “My Hanger“. Instead I’ve sketched out a few ideas on wine soaked paper, and passed them over to the only person in the Leigh family with spacial awareness.

Now stop sniggering and help me out here. I have a problem with the siting of a rain water harvester.*** Anyone know what 6000 litres of litres of water weighs? Is it “quite alot?”

* Remember the film? “That’s not a knife…“. I had impure thoughts about Paul Hogan’s bit’o’stuff in that movie. Saw it again the other night. Hairstyles in the eighties, what were we thinking?**

** In my case “I’m going bald”

*** Oh yeah, livin’ the dream here, livin’ the dream.

Anyone have a plastic bag?

On By AlexIn Other stuff4 Comments

I shall very likely need one, after the first flight of the “Boomerang“. It is pre-loved which meant an evening of the kind of extreme dullness that only a wet rag can provide. Not because I really cared that the fuselage smelt as if it had been used as an ash tray, and a few – possibly vital bits – were hanging a bit loose.

No, the chairman, no less, of the club I’ve joined popped over and offered sage advice regarding which bits plug in where, and what not to touch if you want to finish your life with the same number of fingers you started with*

At the end of this, I was no less confused but probably better informed. I plunged in anyway, armed with some stinky foam and a vague idea of how flange A may interface with widget B. Less than two hours later, my engineering prowess had joined the radio to the receiver, the battery to the servos and – even – fuel into the compressed tank.

I did consider starting it but history predicts one of two things would happen.

a) It would explode taking the house and about a acre of field with it. I would be identified by flecks of surprised atoms floating across the charred countryside.

b) The bugger”d just fly off completely unharnessed by any radio signal. I’m still considering this as the safest way to effect the maiden flight.

Even after meeting me, the kind chap is still keen to teach me to fly it properly. Which I’m hoping to try next weekend assuming Murphy-Shoe-Eater hasn’t got to it first. This morning I was met with wagging tail, hungry expression and the remains of Random’s two week old trainers.

He did give me the “who me? what those? no, know nothing about those gov” expression, although this protestation of innocence was somewhat undermined by the lace hanging out of his mouth.

Anyway, it seems I have somehow ended up with three planes, one recently crashed, one ready to fly and one needing all sorts of trickery involving z-bends and micro adjustments. Sound like a job for the big hammer!

* I’m considering offering this as a service to some of the more “local locals” to get them back to 4 per hand.

Scary… A photo essay.

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography9 Comments

This is quite scary:

This breezeblock pillar was encased in a layer of bricks both cutting the room in half, and providing a sense of (somewhat overestimated) solidity, It made a 6m square room pretty useless with the fire frying your eyebrows, Wii tournaments ending when someone nearly lost an eye, and a vast expanse of space behind that was never used.

This is scarier still:

The old RSJ was acutally a bit rusty. That’s not what you want to see when it’s supporting two floors, the first of which is our bedroom. The plan was to remove the pillar completely, and install a monster steel spanning the entire room.

Which involves this scary place:

Yes now the house is held up with a couple of big pipes and a lump of wood. At this point, I backed out of the room and went in search of the insurance details. The act of a sane man, when confronted by a slight alignment issue:

Roger, fetch the bigger hammer

After much grunting, moving of hoists, technically advanced building techniques involving bits of slate, and a very, very large hammer, scary moved on to dusty.

Calm descended, and the ceiling didn’t. It was a little fraught for a while, so the fact that we cannot close three of the doors upstairs, and a few walls have authentic looking “adding character” cracks, it’s better than the first floor being amalgamated with the ground floor.

It did allow that horrible paint to display its’ full mustard gas effect. It really is even worse when you are in there. But once we’ve painted the ceiling and the joists, changed the lights, swapped the curtains and ripped out the skirting boards, it’s the first thing on our list.

Because after that, comes the heating laid under a new floor. Thankfully that is a) some months away and b) slightly less worrying now I have this beer.