We’re back!

On By PhotoIn Other stuff, Road Riding1 Comment

The Hedgehog is offline, originally uploaded by Alex Leigh.

My state of the art diagnostic system picked up the hosting failure about 12 hours after the site went off line. Yes an email complaining bitterly that the sender had already expended their “looking out of the window time” because the hedgehog was in “deep burrow”

I’ll not bore you with the details although Andy Armstrong, who is all things webhost to a few of us vanity publishers, was heard to say something like “booseless shucking phosting pompany“.

Make of that what you can.

Much to tell including my first bin bag experience, a nasty lurgey which I’m thinking of as a “seven chapter experience” and – this is the REALLY exciting bit – the ordering of the new structure to house the beer fridge.

Might be a while, much going on in the day job. Until then, feast your eyes on something that would define lunacy in a picture dictionary.

Beacon of dark

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff2 Comments

The Worcester beacon is a properly pointy landmark at 425 metres above sea level. Which is pretty close to what the surrounding plain is at, with uninterrupted views east to the Siberian Steppes* and – to the west – the proper mountains of Wales.

Allegedly. Because every time I ascend the southern slope of this Worcestershire Alp, the last 50 vertical metres are generally in cloud. From which a light, and yet extremely irritating, drizzle visits moistness on my sweating person.

The descent off the top, and in the dark is one of the finest in the Malverns. It’s long, varied, bumpy, occasionally significantly involving, and well worth the twenty five minute climb from the valley bottom to get there. All was not sweetness and dark tho, as we’re extending our night rides a little further every week. And as you’re gurning up the beacon’s lower slopes, it’s a nasty realisation that you’re less than half way round.

Thursday’s ride played out at 27k with 3100 feet of climbing, all within a three hour weather window through which the rain incessantly poured. I was staggered by my lack of total brokeness at the end, but disappointed with my ‘drunken demon possessed manikin‘ assualt on the downhills. The fitness is quite new, the rubbishness sadly constant. I blame the tyres.

And since that felt like two rides in one, this weekend shall be bike free. In addition to being a bit leg weary, Random has somehow made it to her eighth birthday, and all my time is taken answering the same question “Is it my birthday yet?”. This started about a week ago and has become a little wearing.

Birthday obligations were not sufficient for a bit of pointless parent hobbying to take centre stage today. After fetching** the SuperCub out of a tree, and finally getting to fly one of my scary engined models under the beady tutelage of a ex Squadron Commander, I got bored of rules and chucked the Wildthing off a big hill in Shropshire.

This time it didn’t fall out of the sky straight away. No, that required my notorious flying skills to send it fifty vertical meters down into the valley. But only once – after that, the whole thing went rather well, loops, staying above the ridge, failing to properly crash and a lack of nervous twitching made 30 minutes pass like 30 seconds. I absolutely loved it, which makes me a) geeky and b) desperate to develop a machine to give me twice as much leisure time.

And it’s so much less hassle than engines. On my day off on Friday, I spent another two hours in the same muddy field for 8 minutes instruction. The flying was great and surprisingly non catastrophic, but the sacrifices to the God of Nitro Engines is becoming tedious in the extreme. As is ingesting a fuel that has so many warning notices, it comes in a separate leaflet.

Tomorrow I shall be a) riding my bike b) flying my glider c) flying my noisy trainer or d) Making Jelly and collecting bit of wrapping paper from where the dog tried to eat them.

It’s probably d) which has to be the right choice. I’m not always good at those.

Hope it rains then.

* Although you’d need some pretty funky binoculars, and the word would have to be flat but I’m not letting such things ruin such a dramatic statement.

** Not me. I chucked a hissy fit and refused to have anything to do with it. The builders took pity and nailgunn’d four fence posts together and beat it out of the tree. I fixed it and flew it afterwards but it’s a bit bent. The front end goes left, the rear goes right which reminds me of a certain political party.

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.

Riding buddies

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road Riding7 Comments

Mountain Biking should not be a solitary sport. Fifty percent or more of the fun is who you are with, and the rest made up of where you are. Most riders subscribe to this opinion, so we all gravitate to people who will put up with your bullshit, and kindly check your bike for damage while you’re bleeding elsewhere.

Sure there are those outside the bell curve who decry group rides as diluting the ethereal experience, others’ chatter mere white noise against the simple beauty of being at one with the landscape. I tend to think of these people as a) a bit up their own bottom and b) having no real friends.

And whilst I say your riding world is peopled with those sharing similar mental DNA, there are always leaders and followers, fast guys up hill, nutters streaming down the other way, talkers and silent types, tech heads and don’t give a shitters. And then there’s always one, just one who has a personal mission to make you hurt yourself.

Take my pal Jezz, a rare – and bloody annoying – combination of decent technical skills, a strong climber and a firm expression when offering up a short extension likely to take you into a) the next county and b) tomorrow. But under that genial expression lies the heart of a sadistic bastard. And he worked me out quickly enough as an old bloke whose mouth was writing cheques his body couldn’t cash.

So the challenges started. Not that I really knew, as on our inaugral ride, I thought I was going to die, and on the second I was pretty sure I had. But extra bits started to be worked in, lips were expected to be stiffened during a riding into driving snow experience, hills were for going over not around. But like I say I was too busy suffering near death experiences to notice.

And then I was sucked in “Hey Jezz, I reckon this loop is all doable in the middle ring”. I tossed it out for a laugh and the bugger only went out two nights later and proved it was possible. For him anyway, when I tried I was unpleasantly reminded of singlespeeding. I am such a sucker for this stuff, all competitive bravado, no actual way of backing it up.

This morning I had a proper commute to work and electronically informed the young fella that us oldies cracked out a massive 18k of road work in 43 minutes. Adding hastily that I was weighed down by laptops, shoes (the ones the dog hadn’t eaten), knobbly wide tyres and the dark. The bastard – because that is what he is – replied I was merely a big girl and should put some bloody effort in.

Which is why I was hating my texting finger as it gripped the bars climbing the 200+ vertical feet of twatty hill separating me from home. Lowest gear (which on my CX bike is still bloody hard in case you’re interested), dribbling, sweat rolling into my eyes, 1000 yard gurn in place. The valley road was far below, but that would be far too bloody easy wouldn’t it?

Better to die up here in the rarefied air of the terminally stupid. My breath rasped out and a sane Al would have reached for a Asthma blow, but no because that may slow me down. It was the same spark of lunacy which kept me on the drops on a road much given over to mud and running water, and offering up about as much grip as jelly on ice.

“Can’t slow down, it’ll cost me 10 seconds“. Fair enough I suppose although a couple of times, it did feel I may be forty years early for the next life. Rolled up to the home gate, fumbled for my watch, clicked the light on. Looked. Looked again. 41minutes29seconds. It must be broken, it had to be faster than that.

It wasn’t.

I was explaining this to Carol while lying on the floor, legs a tremble and refusing to move. On the not unreasonable grounds there was no way I was going to tackle a difficult set of stairs. Just throw a blanket over me now and feed me my phone and some humble pie.

My riding buddies seem to be mainly Mr. Pain and Mr Suffering, but I am starting to feel sort of fit. And very, very old.

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.

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”

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.