Category: Photography

Being Silly

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography4 Comments

It’s official. In the differently shaped world of the Hedgehog, silly is the new serious. Maybe it’s because I never really got around to growing up, or as I have kids of my own, or even – after 40 – days fast forward into weeks and weeks into years, and you have to fill the rushing time with something.

But whatever it is, I have inaugurated Rule#3* into Al’s approach to dealing with the real world. And it is simply “Every week I shall do something properly silly“. There is already quite enough doom, gloom and despondency waiting for a mouse click, or the flick of the paper. What’s needed is some balance, a sense of the stupid, and a reason to giggle.

Today this took the form of trying not to be punched backwards by a gale force wind, whilst being seriously inconvenienced by a wing shaped lump of foam. We waded through damp bracken to crest a high point on the Long Mynd, before being properly bested by Mother Nature.**

Waves of weather washed over us, hail – driven on by screaming wing – piercing any unprotected skin, occasionally clear patches rushed past at the speed of stupid, only for the next front to surf the slope and break right over our heads.

I broke the Wildthing on the second flight. Although that’s an inaccurate statement because a) it was already a bit broken from smashing into a brick wall last week, and b) because it wasn’t flying, it was merely travelling backwards and out of sight while I pointless twirled the sticks.

It took me a while to realise it was broken, as I’d lost it in about fifty acres of featureless bracken. Amazingly I found it nearly HALF A MILE AWAY by twitching the controls and listening for echo of staining servos. Now a non silly person would have taken one look at the damage, the weather and their lack of ability to fly in such difficult conditions and gone home. Sulkily and unfulfilled.

Being silly, I taped the fuselage back together, grafted some further botched repair to prevent the wing from flying free, and headed back to the ridge. Feet soaking, jeans sodden and fingers frozen, I tried again. And again and once more, as the model cartwheeled backwards adding more damage without really ever properly flying.

Being really silly, I kept on going and was rewarded with ten minutes of brilliant fun as the air smoothed out with distance from the edge. Silly possibly went to stupid as practising rolls with a wing held on by parcel tape possibly was taking the whole thing slightly too frivolously. But the model held together long enough for me to see the next weather front rolling up the valley.

We quit then, because two hours of this kind of silliness is really enough. Tea and medals followed and we couldn’t keep the stupid grins off our frozen faces. It reminds me of riding Mountain Bikes when clearly staying inside was the sensible option. Or setting off for an extra loop when light and tired legs are against you.

So it seems I found another way of being silly. And that can only be a good thing. Rule#3, er, rules.

* Rule#1: Life is too short to drink with arseholes.

Rule#’2: If the answer isn’t “a big glass of wine and a sit down” then re-phrase the question until it is.

** Who was clearly having a bad hair day.

Oh Shit.

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography4 Comments

That is all.

Well not quite. Don’t pretend you’re not all laughing. Because I can hear you. One year on from the last time I deposited it into a tree, and after all that extra time flying, the hours on the simulator, the apparent occasional element of control and it only bloody well ends up there again.

50 feet up there to be precise. I have found I am not much good at throwing sticks. And, when I became very bored of not being very good at that, I tried climbing a tree. I was even worse at this.

It was all going so well. Circuits, landings even a loop. And then a combination of fading battery and a panic turn the wrong way saw the plane land undamaged. Fifty foot in a tree.

I have no idea how I am going to get it down. I am considering setting fire to the tree.

I am now off to ride my bike hoping that my tree hugging tendencies stop at crashing RC aircraft.

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.

Deep Cove

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography8 Comments

Sounds a bit rude, but it’s all part of the marketing myth put out there by the designers of my favourite MTB – Born on the North Shore and designed to cope with the toughest environments, the knarliest trails, the most aggressive riders. Then the hyperbole escalates further, with the brand associating you and shredding, roosting and railing.

It’s nonsense of course, and that’s a shame because beneath all that bollocks is hidden a fantastic hardtail that will has limits, to which I shall never get near. But that’s not a problem because, operating inside my own bravery envelope, this has been the best bike I have ridden by far*

I’ve owned this pre-loved example for over a year now. I branded it on the first ride, with the chain biting a deep gouge from the chainstay. Such damage make it’s essentially unsaleable, but again this would be missing the point. I don’t want to sell it, chop it in for something a bit shinier or clothe the new emperor for the hundredth time.

And while this may send shock waves through a cycle industry traditionally boosted by a sell-me-the-next-best-thing obsessed Al, it’s not quite the epiphany I’m painting here. Because, aside from the rear mech, seat post clamp and possibly one or two other forgotten components, there is nothing on this bike that hasn’t been upgraded or replaced in the last twelve months.

It’s on a third set of wheels, a second set of forks, brakes, bars, saddle and chainset, the headset has been swapped out as has the chain, cassette and all the cables. And the front mech is on about its’ third incarnation ,after an expensive incident involving some frustrated hammering. In my defence, some of this was crash damage, although the prosecution may argue that this pertains to one brake lever.

I’ve ridden it a lot and in a lot of places; from the sun baked Pyrenees to mud splattered forestry trails. I’ve pushed it up some big hills and ridden as fast as I dared going back the other way. I must even publically admit to giggling when engaging in Jedi Speeder tree dodging at silly speeds, so each time I ride it, it just offers up a fantastic platform for having a bloody good laugh.

Which is what Mountain Biking should be about really. The rest of it is just vanity, corporations wanting to make a fast buck, and testosterone scatter-shot pretending to be competitiveness. The more I ride, the better I seem to get, although I know much of this is fitness not any late blooming of skill or bravery. The less I read of magazines and internet forums, the happier I am with what I have.

It’s a slightly worrying mindset. At this rate, I’ll be slap bang in the marketing target zone for ownership of a beard and a Marin.

* And there have been a few

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.

Oh one of THOSE winter rides.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Photography4 Comments

You know the fantastic ones I was eulogising over in the last post? That never really happen. Well one just did.

Two hours of superb riding with grip levels switching between “lots” and “none at all, no really nothing“. Playing about in deepish white stuff until each foot was nothing more than one big frozen toe. And then racing home through a half pipe of still fresh snow, entered by a decent drop that was then an almost stop as your wheel hit a deep compacted wall of white.

Malverns Feb 2009 Malverns Feb 2009

Still on the bike allows you to ride up and down the sides in the deepest snow, trying to do lots of quite complex ‘staying on the bike stuff’, but being brilliantly distracted by the long rooster tails of snow kicking off Tim’s tyres.

Then when you think it’s over, the easy switchbacks to home have been hard iced and there is nothing you can do but hold and hope. Brakes, feet, praying to a local deity – none of this helps as the faintest twitch of the bars sends the wheel sideways and over a not insignificant drop.

Malverns Feb 2009 Malverns Feb 2009

It’s not often I’ve thought “well I’m glad that descent is over” but today was certainly one of these days, and I was even happy to find a bit of mud at lower altitudes. Never before have I been riding on narrow, off camber muddy trails thinking “shit, this is ace – loads and loads of lovely grip”.

Best ride of the year by miles. First proper snowy ones for a very long time. Snow is good, bikes are great – snow and bikes are just the most fun you can have outside in the winter.

Ah there’s the f’ing snow

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography1 Comment

I whinge. God answers. Thursday and Friday added sufficient snow to make any attempts to leave the county largely fruitless. Although much of this was the result of the three local councils having only sufficient salt to season a small stew.

I took the opportunity and the Kona for a short, silly, woody retro ride. And to get in character, I dispensed with all that fandangly modern equipment, and instead sallied forth in jeans, Vans, sweatshirt and wooly hat.*

Everyone has fond – if inaccurate – memories of crisp rides in firm packed snow, drifting effortlessly betwixt trees in a magical winter landscape. The reality is a hard slog uphill, your progress measured by both tyre and foot marks, followed by an uncontrollable descent where everything ends up full of snow.

Snow Riding Snow Riding

That’s tyres, brakes, shoes, ears and nose as either the front washes out and you lowside into a bush. Or the wheel drops into a hidden divet, leaving you with little option other than to ponder the full might of potential energy as you spin carelessly over the now motionless bike. The result is a credible impression of a fat snow angel and the cold seeping through your bottom as you lie there trying to get your breath back.

Snow Riding Snow Riding

It was still fun though, and after spending half a day yesterday fetching the kids from the bottom of icy slopes high in the Malverns, I think today should be spent trying the same on a bike. This time I’ll be properly kitted up although the concept of an SPD wellie is appealing.

* Which had the added impact protection of a comedy bobble.

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.

Muddying the waters

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

We’re lucky living here at the epicentre of some fantastic and varied riding. Head north to the small but perfectly formed Malvern Hills, drive west for 45 minutes to confront the hard edged mountains of South Wales, or draw a 10 mile circle around our house to find cheeky singletrack hidden in vast Forestry plantations.

It’s almost as if I planned it that way. No really, there are people who honestly believe I am nothing but a slave to such a single agenda. And while my smug gloating of mud free rides all year round are based on the almost truth, occasionally I need to pay homage to the sloppy dirt embedded in every mountain biker’s DNA.

Today I promised riding pal Tim an endless vista of carefully crafted singletrack nestling between fast fireroad transits, spiced with roots going one way and cambers the other. What a rain soaked forest delivered was something significantly more muddy, and immeasurably more comedic.

This is a silly sport, and days like this remind you of exactly why. There are trails in this forest that could justifiably be charged with corporate manslaughter – all slick roots and jagged stumps. But most of our two hours of mud plugging were spent heading sideways occasionally backwards, and sometimes still on the bike.

That picture up there is taken from a carefully chosen position, into which I’d fallen trying to ride the same trail about twenty seconds before. My tumble from the bike was punctuated by a slippy slide of giggling and general tomofoolery. Tim – the bastard – only rode it, but then generously fell off one second later to make me feel a little less rubbish.

We felt better than that as well – once the ride was done, we couldn’t decide between Egg or Bacon sandwiches. So we had both. Tomorrow is forecasted -2 at 8am, which’ll be one hour after I’ve stumbled out of a warm bed. Stupid? Probably. Looking forward to it? Oh yes 🙂

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.