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18/02/2011: I want to talk about tubeless.
Today I decided to change my front tyre. I've a Maxxis Ardent and it's a bit rubbish in the mud. Wanted to put a more appropriate tyre on. Now I run Stan's NoTubes on the front....
Yes, if you've been down the tubeless route Dear Reader you'll know I had a fruitless afternoon swopping out a perfectly decent tyre and then being unable to get the replacement to work. I use Stan's rims, Stan's NoTubes and a tubeless specific tyre, and yet still the git wouldn't work. I could get the tyre up, but Stan's stupid valve tore at the valve stem. How? It got cut by Stan's sharp valve hole.
2 hours later, after one trip to town to buy a replacement tyre in case that was the problem, I ended up bunging an inner tube in and chucking poor old Stan away.
But you knew I would didn't you?
Dear Reader, I've tried with tubeless, I really have. Bought into it 8 years ago, ran it for a year but eventually gave up. Bits and pieces since, and then again for another year just now. But it's the changing of tyres that does it for me. Somehow tearing down a workable system never works again.
So now I'm full of self pity.
Naturally I also swopped out the weedy Shimano SLX for a factory refurbished Magura Julie BAT and 203mm Venti rotor. I hate the SLX on the front; gutless wonder it was and is. The Magura already feels good, and that on a brake where the pads have yet to bed into the rotor. Not a one finger brake, but I've yet to find one that is. Two fingers I can do stoppies at will. Mucho bettero. It'll not make me any faster, but at least now I have the confidence that the bloomin' bike will actually stop. Especially now as I've put a stupid Maxxis High Roller 42a Super Tacky on the front. Twat. I've not got the legs for such a tyre.
Ah well, moving on.
I read somewhere that as you get older your muscles change in composition. No idea what they change to [flab probably] but the upshot being that one is not "to put the miles in the bank" but instead do short, sharp shocks. So my weekly night ride is now a simple hour long affair - a bit like a cyclocross race really. I speed up the hill, pootle about annnoying the dogging people in the car park, then speed down the hill. All in an hour. Now to make it more interesting I've devised a test. "5 minutes from Hell" as it has come to be known; road gate at the Millenium Stones on Gatton Park up to the road junction on Reigate Hill. This week was my first go, and I did it in 6:59. At night in the mud. Bet I can beat that time!
So Dear Reader over to you; what is your time up "5 minutes of Hell?"
For another test, do the run from my alternative start point of the Gatekeepers cottage near to the top of Carlton Road; same finishing point. 12:24 is my time so far.
13/02/2011: Nothing bad happened.
What a ride. I've started the Reigate Challenge, so had to post a time myself - 12:24, which I was surprised at. It's a harder ride than it looks. Surprisingly it is 2.2km. It's also a good old mix of differing rides; I hit a top speed of 42km/h, and also a minimum of 6km/h. I used evey single gear I had.
At the top I had to change into full waterproofs as the rain was horizontal. AD popped up as if from nowhere, and had no suggestions as to a ride. I'd thought of doing the aptly named PIJ's route via Banstead, but the thought of being on such an exposed area didn't fill me with joy. In the end we just set off up the hill over to Colley and took trails as we fancied. Naturally we went over the golf course, and that was a hoot. My glasses fogged up early on, so I had no idea where I was going, so slipped off the trails a few times. It didn't matter; AD ahead was pulling two wheel drifts through the turns; the mud was that slippery. Somehow I managed to catch him up - I think the wheelspin took his legs out early on. His brakes sounded a bit iffy, but we carried on regardless. Both of us mentioned that there seemed to be a lot of riders around, but thought nothing of it. We were stopped by two who asked what the trail was like. "Muddy!" was our reply. Now these two seemed to have arrived by time machine - one was wearing an early 1990's foam helmet. Not seen one of those since, well, the early 1990's. I didn't catch his bike, but it also looked ancient. Where were these people from?
At the duck pond we hit a left and I fancied taking the downhill bridleway a bit further on from normal. This was a blast and we hit 43km/h, popping out on the short climb to Headley. Again we were met on by hoardes of bikers, and this was getting odd. Awful weather, lots of bikers out in t-shirts and trainers. I caught sight of a green banner so sussed something was up but couldn't be arsed to stop and look.
At the top I decided to look for the Muddy Moles ride behind the caravan, so followed the roads through to where it popped out. Naturally I opted for the bridleway, but this turned out to be wrong - footpath it is then next time. At the cafe we stopped for a brew, and got chatting to two other riders there. One had a Pace same as mine, so I had to didn't I? Turned out that Evans' Cycles had a sportive on the go - the riders moaned that it had cost them £10 to do what we are doing for free. Er, 20 years time invested my friend!
We got cold so headed off chatting. On the short but fun downhill I was talking about the Muddy Moles, and how they'd both bought some t-shirts and had tackled one of my rides. AD then plowed ahead through a group of riders coming uphill, whilst I did the decent thing and gave way. For some reason they stopped and one of them said "I'm Matt!" Only the Moles again wasn't it. How does that happen? Synchronicity I say. Really friendly bunch and we had a little trailside chat. Really should get my act together and organise an 08:30 start one Sunday.
At the bottom I caught up with AD and he was happy but pointed out that now he had neither front brake, nor rear brake. Now he doesn't use this bike that often, so this one ride had managed to trash his brakes completely. OK they may have been on the way out early on, but by now they were completely dead and buried. Poor lad. To his credit he normally gets upset over this, but we were by now having so much fun he was oddly happy about it.
The ride back was uneventful.
I lie. It wasn't at all. Coming off Colley Hill and onto Reigate Hill - the little Bridge - AD ploughed on at a hectic pace. He really flew over the bridge and I was impressed with his turn of speed. He barely slowed for the path, only slowing on the uphill roadway. "No brakes!" came the cry. Oh, well done chap. So the run down Reigate Hill over the roots would be interesting without brakes. Luckily we didn't need them. The path was so muddy we had no traction front or rear; at one point I was moving forwards with my left handlebar grip almost touching the top tube. We kind of got down, clipped in throughout, but we spent most of the time sideways. We weren't riding, we were passengers. But it was an absolute blast to do - really, really funny.
Overall a truly horrid day weather wise, with horizontal rain out in the open. Yet riding wise it was one of the best days out in months.
I love being a mountain biker!
6/2/2011: Nowhere really.
No plans laid for today. AD had to pay for a holiday so we met in Redhill centre relatively late on. I didn't fancy a longish road ride to Reigate Hill so instead opted to follow Route 21 to Caterham as this is pretty close by. We do this route quite often when time constrained, but normally start at Merstham and do it clockwise. Mainly because of the nice little downhill run we do at Gravelly Hill. Anticlockwise it's odd - a real shoulder acher. The downhill becomes a funny little uphill of perhaps 600m. It never feels like that because it is divided up into three distinct sections, the first being the hardest. It's one of those rare uphills around here where you actually end up changing into the middle ring at the top and accelerating away. This is odd because the top section is still quite steep; if you were just doing that section you'd probably granny it and moan a bit. But because the top is easier than the bottom, for some reason it encourages stomping. As I write I'm paying the price; my legs are fine but my shoulders ache.
Had a D'oh moment when I got back. I'd got no grip from my tyres at all, and kept quiet; sometimes I try and stop the moaning and be positive. So I'd been quiet and got on with it. At home cleaning my bike I realised that as I'd not cleaned the bike last week, the tyres were packed out with dried mud. Effectively I'd been riding slicks all the time. No wonder the poor things didn't grip.
And we had a falling off. AD was quicker down the Pilgrim's Way than I - full suspension over the bumps wins every time. But he was playing at the bottom, riding up the steep banking, so adopting a death grip on the bars meant I caught him up and re-passed the lad on some gravel. Going underneath the M25 he came back at me and looked as though he was going for a pass as I rounded the bend. But that meant a tighter line through mud. For some reason he caught my eye, so I looked back. The look on his face was a picture as he went down in slo-mo. Kind of a "why me?" look. He was OK. We went back to CSI the accident and it was clear that his front tyre had washed out big time over perhaps 3 metres. Class crash.
One thing of note; on one section over near Godstone we were pulled up behind a horsist. The trail split ahead, so we held back. At the junction I called out that we'd race him to the top. Now I'm guessing that he took the bait, as we saw him coming down the hill looking a bit smug. "You beat us!" cried I. This got a smile and happy word from him that we put more effort into it than he did. But I'm not so sure that he beat us by much, as we took the longer section that went downhill first. Oddly I beat AD to the top. Not normal that - I'm ancient and he is, well still ancient but not quite so old. "Kids of today; don't know they're born...."
Took my transmission apart [OK chain off] and cleaned it all up using my big yellow sonic toothbrush. Makes things so much easier. Also helps that I'm cheap - the split pins you are only supposed to use once then dispose of. I tend to use mine pretty much until I lose one of the halves. Guess I'll only stop when the chain breaks on a climb and my nads meet the top tube! And wife; what's up with her? Got moody just 'cause I was cleaning the bike in the kitchen instead of outside. Kitchens in my day were never used for food prep - kebab and chip shops were invented for that. Cleaning motorbike, car or bicycle bits; that's what a kitchen is for. That's why they put a kettle in it. Daft cow.
1/2/2011: New t-shirt is here!
Ha ha! My new design is here, and I like it. Big box arrived this morning chock full of lovely blue t-shirts. I'm going to put them up on Folksy and my own rather small EKM web shop, so they'll be ready for delivery from tomorrow. I'm in two minds about putting them on eBay - stuff sells but it is such an expensive way of doing it. My eBay bill per month is in excess of £300..... that hurts. Also eBay is a bit, well, lame really isn't it?
I've also decided that £15 per t-shirt is a bit of a heavy hit, and I'm happy to sell at cost price, so I'm going to do them at £13.95 delivered free within Europe. Small, Medium, Large and Extra Large as usual.
These are hand-printed items so each one is slightly different from the original design. These are not some piece of tat printed by the thousands in Taiwan, or done in the High Street on a 99p base cheapo white t-shirt - hand printed folks! Right here in the UK! The print is quite thick, which means it washes well and looks even better with age. Again on my favourite Gildian heavy cotton base - this is the expensive option but they don't half last. I wear them myself, and I like my stuff to last years. These do.
Quality garment, UK hand-printed, and designed by myself in a Starbucks. Can't get better than this!
31/01/2011: C-c-c-cold!
Saturday afternoon ride as busy Sunday all day. Explorer AD fancied doing something different to the norm, so we tacked along the Pilgrim's Way to Leigh then followed the NDW up to Headley Heath, then back via our normal route. In the weald things were fine, if a little muddy and a little losty - no idea where we were going, we just went. Eventually I realised that we were heading South too much, so we hit the North Downs at the limeworks near Box Hill. Now things changed. Climbing up the trail stopped being so muddy and dried out a little. But we noticed the ground was a mix of ice and mud, with the ice winning out at the top. As we'd been climbing, we were hot and sweaty so the ice was what we thought a novelty. Eeek! As we crested the top and started the downward leg of the journey we gradually got colder. And colder. And colder. But because it was gradual it was only as we got to Reigate near dusk that we realised we were heading for trouble. My jaw was frozen, AD had lost his feet back at Headley, the ground was frozen solid and my thermometer was registering an in the sun air temperature of zero degrees C. In the dips and hollows it was easily well below that. We were literally watching ice form on the puddles. No wonder the few riders we saw didn't look happy.
We parted company at a frozen Colley Hill and I set off home. Got to the bridge across the A217 and I hit it fast as there were no walkers. By fast I mean at about 24mph, so not zooming. Half way over I realised that it was just sheet ice - boy did that wake me up. I have no idea how I didn't fall off as I was cracking on.
I was wearing at this stage four layers, and normally my Endura long-sleeved top is good down into minus degrees Celsius. But coming off Reigate Hill I had to stop and put on a fifth layer; with wind chill it must have been down to -20 C simply as the fall off reigate hIll is a fast long one. My head was starting to get seriously cold, and my fingers just didn't want to respond even in thick winter gloves. I've ridden a good few winters, warm wet ones, and cold dry ones like we have now. But Saturday afternoon for some reason was an especially cold one. I'm guessing in the hollows it must have been -3 C, and because we were running them downhill against our normal uphill way, then we felt it more. Perhaps we were running at below -15 C with wind chill for a good hour. At no point did we go through a shivering stage; we just got gradually colder and colder.
My reason for claiming below freezing conditions for some time was my bike. It looked really muddy. It was really muddy, but the mud was absolutely solid ice. The trail was wet the whole way, and the fine spray had gradually built up all over the bike. This meant instead of washing the bike, I chipped the ice off.
By the time I got back it was lights on, just get home.
My bike I left to defrost in the hallway whilst I drank 2 pints of hot tea.
See www.muddyground.blogspot.com
27/01/2011: Surrey Muddy Ground t-shirt.
For news of my Surrey Hills t-shirt please see www.muddyground.blogspot.com Very exciting! Well for me; you Dear Reader probably couldn't give a toss. You're so heartless sometimes.
I've also been using the blogspot site for daily blogs - just a bit easier to do as I can upload from my laptop at work. Plus it's a better medium to include photographs. Be warned it's a slightly sarcastic blog, and I tend to go off piste a little more than here. This site I'll use for the longer ride articles. As if you care.
23/01/1011: In search of jodpurs, but found moles instead.
A happy little ride even under grey skies. I started as the lone rider, and out in the sticks, taking photographs of the greyness, all of a sudden a bunch of around 15 mountain bikers turned up and caught me at it. Turned out to be The Moles following my Banstead route. So at last I got introduced to Matt. He turned out to be a jolly nice chap, and gave me some web advice.... as if I want more traffic to this site! I'm quite happy with my 40 or 50 readers thanks. Anyway, they must think me odd, as each time they bump into me I'm alone taking photographs of my bike. Man I must take 5 or 6 photographs a year, and 75% of the time I have a riding buddy with me.
But perhaps I am odd?
Anyway, clearly I was doing the Banstead loop, and did so for almost 4 hours. I didn't actually do the loop proper, instead trying out new linking routes, which were largely successful if a little muddy. Luckily it wasn't actually that muddy out today, possibly 50% of what it was like last week, so doable if slippy in parts. I met up with AD later on, as his ride was curtailed due to church activities but he still made it out. So you see; it wasn't a loan ride at all. And AD wasn't that impressed with my new route, as unfortunately by then I was looking at the reverse option - a bit too uppity for a man with chicken legs post Christmas.
Oh and we compared bellies, as you do. Over Christmas I figure an additional stone around my middle, and my Camelbak was tight. Talking of which this year I've decided to drop weight from it, so put 1 litre of fluid from the bladder into a bottle, and used a saddle bag for my inner tube [the other one silly!]. Much happier with this arrangement. Bike a little heavier, but the mass on my back much reduced. Pity about the mass around my gut.
AD was much impressed with my left eye, which today has a blown blood vessel so is a solid red over one quarter of the surface. He was less impressed with my new glasses, that are very tight around the bridge of my nose. AD had a poorly elbow whilst I still have lingering flu and a broken rib. Old men out on bikes - shouldn't be allowed.
I found the difference between myself and the Moles interesting. For some reason I've never been able to keep riding partners; people come along, sometimes for years, but then disappear due to family or work committments. Or they get bored of my inane chitter chatter or the sight of my fat arse bobbing around. The Moles seem to have formed a cohesive core of around five riders, and attract up to another 15 or so for Sunday rides. But looking at other groups, I'd say that they, the Moles, were the odd ones out as we usually see lone riders or small groups up to four individuals. Mainly it's two riders out together. Good on the Moles though - takes a bit of effort to keep that lot going. The most I've ever had out at one time has been four.
The good thing I did was to use the RRP mudguard the wrong way around. For me it works much better that way; much less clag, although I still don't think it terribly good value at £13. Obviously we're putting somebody's children through college or paying off their mortgage.
Saw loads of horse riders, all in jodpurs, but all oldies so not exciting for a middle aged man who's been married for two decades. Oh, and one horse reared up just by us. It was on a tether, so not being ridden, and we were going really slowly. Just spooked I guess. But, if the Police can get their nags not to react to anything, then why can't these Surrey people get their horses not to react to an event they must see ten times a day? I mean, would you put yourself 2 to 3 metres off the ground on an animal that may or may not be spooked by a random event, such as the wind blowing a tree, or itself farting?
It was interesting to stop both at the caravan and at the Urban Kitchen. The amount of riders I saw who were getting muddy bikes off racks was amazing. I found it a bit odd; I mean why not just ride here? But then perhaps these are people who do not have the luxury of living near to such a wonderful area? Perhaps my reaction was the same as local riders in Wales give to, well, people like me who drive there? Now there has to be a but doesn't there? The Headley riders seemed a responsible bunch; they got their bikes out, or onto their cars, and seemed to have due regard to other users of the area. They were polite and kept themselves to themselves. Those in the Reigate car park were, to a man, utter pricks. I watched pretty much all of them, and we were there only ten minutes or so, come off the bridge at speed, jump off the kerb and play chicken with the approaching cars that were negotiating the car park in the right direction. Now I'm all for a bit of mayhem in life, so I can't speak really, but it did seem a bit off. These bikers, of which there must have been ten that passed, all from seperate groups, clearly were not locals and couldn't give a toss. Gives us a bad name it does.
Naturally having described the ride as not being as muddy as last week, after cleaning my bike the chain refused to play ball. The rear mech was a non-rotating mess, whilst the chain made graunching, crunchy sounds when I moved it side to side. Bah humbug. Had to remove the chain and wash it in a plastic bottle, whilst I stripped the rear mech down as far as I could. Yucky horrid job - wait 'till wife sees the state of her kitchen. And wait 'till my next ride; rear mechs don't like being taken apart and invariably throw a strop about it.
Muddy Moles.
17/01/2011: Huh.
I'm in Crystal Palace at the moment, boring work stuff. Anyway for want of something better to do I bought a magazine called Mountain Bike Action. An American magazine it is, well, crap. Reading it you'd think that the world consisted of a good place called "America" and a place where they make crap bikes; let's call it Europe. There are no other places. Bikes from the place called "Europe" aren't very good for Americans; they don't go downhill very well. Er, are we entirely sure of that? Orange, PACE, On-One, Ragley, Dialled.... list goes on of cutting edge bikes that do stuff well. How about the year 2009 Specialized range that was, well, utter crap? Marin have lost the plot. Considering our small size I think that UK bikes would win more gold medals if bike design and function was an Olympic sport. They also slag off Hope brakes as being a bit weedy and noisy. Apparently they make a ticking sound. Now I smell a rat. I suspect the writers get their stuff from Google. Hope brakes that tick?
Really, Mountain Bike Action is a very poor magazine indeed. Plus it used very odd language; very sarcastic. A UK magazine couldn't get away with being plain rude to the readers. If you wrote in, and the magazine called you an idiot, you'd not buy it again.
Bragging time. I've ridden in America and Canada. Not the hotspots admittedly, but good places; Bend and Canmore. Now I found it hard to like them more than good old Surrey. In Bend I hired a bike and asked the bike shop to suggest a trail. They did; 80 miles away. That was a local ride. I found one myself in the end, right in town, oddly called Phil's Trail; it seemed appropriate. It was OK, but not brilliant. The scenery around was amazing, but the trail never broke out of the woods at all. I rode for 3+ hours in a wood without seeing anything or indeed anybody. I had no idea where I was, and neither did anybody else. Canada was the reverse; I rode from 6,000ft base to 11,000ft straight up a fire road in the Rockies. Brilliant. But at the top it went all wild on me - the trail turned and followed some singletrack straight off the mountain. This was back in the day when suspension didn't work, and neither did brakes. Even now a bike would struggle. Man I worked up a lather then, but still remember that ride even now. And here's the but.. Amazing scenery, brilliant ride, but just too way out there for my senses to absorb. And before you ask why didn't I just ride the fireroad back in safety, well, are you a mountain biker or what? My inner "you're a big girl's blouse" voice challenged me to do it. I was hugely happy to get to the bottom I can tell you. The bike shop just said "cool dude" when I mentioned what I'd achieved. One suspects they'd never ridden it.
People, we have it good in Surrey. We don't have it brilliant, but sometimes brilliant is just too much to cope with. Could you do the 160 mile round trip each ride? Imagine going to Oxford every Sunday for a spin up a rank hill; you'd soon give up, especially if come October the road got closed for 6 months due to snow build up, or one day you got stuck there for three weeks, or had to do an 800 mile round trip to get home. The 11,000 foot trail in Canada was the only local trail. It was open 3 months a year, and even then you had to be wary of bears. I had to take a bell. I'd rather have had a fucking great gun personally. "Hey you, 900lb hungry bear! Tinga-ling-a-ling to you!" Seemed more like a call to bear dinner than a fair warning. And you're at 10,000 foot going down at speed and bust a rim, or have a bad off. On your own. Sometimes boring old Surrey is all you need. Man I had no tools whatsoever. There's a conscientious bike shop for you.
And I've been toying with the idea of full suspension again. No idea why, possibly boredom. I can keep up with AD on my trusty Pace, and I've not really found a trail around here that it can't cope with better than I can. May well seek out an older frameset on eBay and build a bike up over the next year or so. I'm not bothered about getting the latest design; just want 5 inches [don't we all!].
See my new Blogspot!
17/01/2011: Signed off at last!
OK been some time coming, but I've finally managed to get the image shown below ready for production. You'd be surprised how hard it is getting t-shirt designs done. Actually the design is the easy bit; adapting it for printing is the hard bit [as is justifying the initial financial outlay]. I use traditional screen printing as the t-shirts look and feel right, plus they last a long time. To print onto fabric you need a relatively large print; fine lines are out, as are too many colours. Three is about the effective maximum, as after that the colours tend to run into each other. My original tube map design was similar to an actual tube map; all fine lines and multiple colours. My printer hated it, and suggested I change it. That was a year ago - I couldn't get my head around removing colours, and tried chopping a few out. Never looked right. In the end I had a brainwave; remove all of the colours. It's not a real map! Just like the original tube map, mine doesn't reflect what actually happens on the ground, so why am I imposing restrictions onto it? Also the original design could only be printed onto a white t-shirt, and I hate white t-shirts.
I like it now more than the original version. Quite frankly it was a bit confusing and lacked impact. This one will be ready for sale in about a month. This isn't the final version, but 99% there. My printer has to OK it first, and he's been a bit quiet. It doesn't work too well on the PC, and printing it off without a prototype is a bit risky, but there you go; one has to bite the bullet sooner or later.
Out of interest, do you Dear Reader know how much it'll cost me just to print off 40 t-shirts? Wrong! The correct answer is the not inconsiderable £420, and that's before I advertise them or post them out, which I do for free. And you thought I did it to make money? Naturally I'll not be able to sell these at my existing £11.95, and I'm thinking a fair price would be around £14.95. Apparently fuel costs are to blame for the increased printing costs. I'm just happy to sell them at cost really. I worked it out that to make a living doing this, I'd have to up the price of each t-shirt to £20 and then sell 20 or 30 a day. That just sounds boring to me. As usual these will be printed here in the UK on a quality t-shirt. I've gone for the blue again as I think that shows off the River Mole quite well.
Advertising costs I hear you ask. Well, you think this website is free? Or my eBay site, the Folksy one or even my other unvisited site? Even not advertising in magazines or bike shops, my fees run to £100 per month. It always amuses me when people think that if I sell them a t-shirt at £11.95, then that's £11.95 in my pocket. If only it was true. I'd not want to actually work it out, as I'd get miserable, but back of envelope calculations suggest I lose about £3 per t-shirt when I sell them at £11.95. Wonder why I'm not a businessman?
16/01/2011: 50/50.
Not a brilliant ride, but then not a bad one either. I've still got a slight touch of flu, so lacking energy. Grey day, so lacking motivation. Plus Dave "Stasi" Mole has been mean to me on the Muddy Moles website, so I've thrown my dummy out of the pram there too. Oh and bike had a puncture before the off. How does that happen? I've not ridden it for a month, so it had a puncture, the seatpost had slipped down and the rear brake had gone out of adjustment. Do I have bike gremlins living in the house?
I didn't go anywhere special either; just over to Caterham and back for 150 minutes.
So an average ride, but I was happy just to be out doing it again. OK I'm not the best of health, bike played up a bit prior, and in parts it was as muddy as anything, with the trails churned up, but it was nice to be out and about. Only saw two other bikers, one with a puncture. They were happy enough, and I did the usual cry of "got everything" which was nice of me wasn't it? I'm like that; lovely.
I'm glad that I forced myself out; it's so easy to say "no" to these things, make excuses and not be bothered. But a little bit of effort, and all is well with the world again. It was an average ride in average conditions, but it's made me better mentally and hopefully that'll be enough to knock the lingering flu out of my system.
The problems? Fitted an RRP mudguard thing onto my forks. Didn't really work in the clay, just filled up with crap. Guess I should have taken it off, but I wasn't thinking straight. Ended up having to carry my by now 40lb rig up the Pilgrim's Way. Would have been hard going when I was fit. Should have taken the road, shouldn't I? As usual my rear Panaracer tyre - this time one designed for the mud - failed to do what an MTB tyre should do; grip. Panaracer really should just give up the ghost and go do something else instead. It grips the mud less than the Maxxis Aspen I have, and that's essentially a slick tyre. The Pace itself was lovely; just got on with the job at hand. I love that bike. Sorry, wife; you've got to go as I've found a new love in life.
Talking of which, I was in Creepy Crawley the other day. Now I don't know what's happened there, but some of the women were lovely looking things - well, below the neck they were. Really nice figures around there, and well dressed to. Also nice to see that that awful craze for baggy arsed jeans seems to have gone. Normality has been resumed. If I were younger that'd be the place I'd hang out for a bit of gash. We went to Crawley as wife wanted to go shopping. Blue Water no way! for me; Royal Tunbridge Wells just a bit far, Croydon, yeah right, as if. Kingston is just plain daft for parking, and Sutton is Sutton. Usually do Horsham, but I get stiffed for an expensive lunch as there's a restaurant she loves [actually I do too] so I chipped in with Creepy. Naturally she bought nowt, whilst I spent a ton on lunch and tat. Really we should have gone to Brighton as at least we'd have had time on the beach with the kids.
Oh yes, on holiday there was this guy tazzing about in an X5. I said that we should get one, and she agreed. So Crawley was also a car hunt, and we found one for £22k. Still liked the look of it, so she sat in it. For two seconds before deciding she didn't like it; too small inside and dark. I got in, and agreed. Ho hum.
13/01/2011: Buggeration.
So much for knowing an area. We've booked a place in Beddgelert. The bumpf stated that it was near the railway station and that you could watch steam trains pass by. What bloomin' railway station? No station there says I. Looked on Google, still no railway let alone a station. Nothing there three years ago when I last went. Couldn't find much on the web. They can't be wrong about their own house surely? Took a bit of finding, but turns out a new steam railway has pretty much opened up within the past two years. Not the best website, and not too well advertised on the web, but it's there!
11/1/2011: Huh.
I've had one of the flu's that's been going around and nobody cares. I'd love to feel sorry for myself, and moan about it all, but as I keep bumping into people that have had same, it all seems a bit pointless. One guy trumped me with constant nosebleeds. Can't win can I?
So no happy biking stories.
My wife was looking at German holidays. I like exploring Europe, but the German's make it all so bloomin' difficult. Their property rentals are for 6 days or so, and usually somewhere sweet, like next to a gypsum mine, or architecturally in the style of 1970's council house. It just got a bit depressing looking, and the one place we liked turned out to be on the Belgium border. And Germany is nice, but when was the last time you went into a German restaurant in Germany and could actually understand what it was you were ordering? "Rawun calvscock mitten duckphlegm ein spleanungoatvomit" seems to be stock fare. And that's a dessert. I know I've said this before, but once in a French restaiurant with a "I speak fluent French" friend [his idea of fluent being to shout out English but in a french accent] he ordered for three, including my wife. I literally didn't look at the menu, and just pointed randomly at something. They got three calves brains whilst I got kebab and chips. Laugh? Ha bloomin' ha! However, wife made me swop out my kebab for a brain. Being from the Midlands it was lovely; I've paid for it, so i'm going to eat it. Actually it was lovely, and I had seconds. Bit like scrambled egg and ham.
[Our friend didn't stop as a friend for much afer that. We'd found a weekend in France for cheap, and he invited himself and partner. He stated that with him speaking fluent french we'd have a better time. We realised that he was a fuckwit the first time we went to get petrol at Calais. I couldn't make myself understood to the attendant, so our friend took over. "Hew mooch eez eat?" didn't go down well with me, and neither did the "you're a fucking idiot" comment that I made when he got back into the car. It was a long weekend.]
Now I used to live in Wales, right on the edge of Snowdonia. I've even got welsh parents and a welsh name. Poor lad. For tedious family reasons I've avoided going back. Plus the trip home via Birmingham was an experience similar to having dental treatment whilst sitting in a concrete mixer. Not pleasant. However perhaps it's time to return? Suggested it to wife, and she bit. And do you know what? She's picked two places right next to some of the best mountain biking in the country, so I'm happy. Kids also seem keen, especially as one house backs on to a working steam railway station.
Upshot being that we've stopped working so hard at finding Germany an acceptable holiday destination, and instead have gone with the easy option and are going somewhere nice instead. Having in the past [can't do the future can I?] lived in North Wales for five years there's not much I don't know about the area, so I can fill the days up with little adventures. Germany would have been an adventure too, but possibly not a fun one, or one to be repeated. You know how it is; I've been to lots of German towns and cities over the years, and they are plasant but, well, German. Mind people say worse about Wales; how many times have you been into a Welsh shop and they revert from speaking English to Welsh? Happily that's a silly game as Welsh is a dead language really, and they have to use lots of English words to compensate. Just stand around for long enough and you get enough snippets to understand ["chips," "dishwasher," "slag," "chips"], or they get bored trying to be clever. I like Wales, but the Welsh can be miserable bastards at times. They hate tourists you see. And 'tourist' can be wide ranging. I worked with a guy who, I kid you not, had only been to two places in his life. The factory, and his village. He was in his 40's. Nobody thought him strange. But then there were others who were the complete opposite and would do anything to leave the place. Quite a few would get back to work late on a Monday having spent the weekend in somewhere improbable like Amsterdam or Madrid. And they'd do that every weekend. I used to get on with them as invariably I'd either be in Birmingham or London myself. Or somewhere equally remote to some, such as Rhyl or Colwyn Bay.
6/1/2011: Boy child.
He's better mentally as his injury presented him with a means to wind his sister up - he can produce a bloody-drool at will, so does at dinner time. His grin is gross - all misaligned teeth now, and that again is another method of making his sister ill at ease. He just has to smile, with his tombstone teeth and away she goes. So being able to gross people out pleases him imensely. But.... a friend of mine suggested recently that as my daughter has been to hospital twice for broken bones, then I as the father would probably be on some list. Now with my boy having undergone emergency plastic surgery, if there is such a list, then I'll be at the top as some kind of abusive father. With today's Health and Safety laws the way they are, allowing then out on a sled, or providing them with raw carrot to eat, may well be construed as unacceptably dangerous activities.
4/1/2011: So if you've not been cycling?
What have I been doing? Well I took the family to Romney Marshes for a Christmas break. OK it's not Las Vegas, but we enjoyed it for a simple break. We stopped at Greatstone-on-Sea, near the Spar. Indeed the Spar was the only thing open, much to my daughter's delight as it meant a daily sweets stash. Here a Spar would mean cut price alcohol, drunks and vomit slicks but the one there was a superb little place. Clean, friendly and stocked with fresh food. We didn't do too much as everybody was happy just to walk up and down the beach finding stuff - plastic toy soldiers mainly. Dungeness was as is; desolate but hugely attractive. I'd live there. It now has some architect designed properties that are stunning; one has a kitchen built within an old railway carriage. Not so hot I hear you say. People build stuff in old carriages all the time you daft twat. But aha sayeth I! This railway carriage has been stripped of the running gear, and sits as a central display piece within the building itself. Utterly brilliant.
Folkstone was, and is, a bit of a dump. Don't believe the rumours of it being and artists enclave as I did. It isn't by a long way. Debenhams and WHSmiths artists do not maketh. The place didn't even have an open fish and chip shop, always a failing at a seaside town in my opinion. Indeed this stretch of coast was noted for the absence of open chippies, or indeed any evidence of cafes at all. What do people do in the summer? We also went to Port Limpney animal park. Boy was that expensive; a £150 day if ever there was one. Kids enjoyed it, but I thought it a dump with tired looking animals. OK they do good stuff, but once you've seen one black Rhino or Pzowski-whatever-the-name-is horse you've kind of seen them all. We did the African experience, which was an experience but for all the wrong reasons. Essentially you're in the back of a military lorry with no sides. The ambient temperature was zero Celsius, but once on the move this dropped to around -15. Excuse my Polish, but it was fucking cold. The whole park seemed a bit despondent really, with bored looking staff who were for the main part slightly unfriendly. We left a bit bored feeling ripped off. My advice? Go to Chester instead; much better.
If you do go in the winter, do not do as I did and take a short cut through the fens / marshes. B road with 8 foot deep gulleys either side as drainage ditches. Not nice, but made worse due to the roadway being below field level. The road was just ice and we had very little grip. I have an automatic and I could sense it changing gear upwards all the time as the wheels span up at 5mph. Very unnerving experience. Made worse by the locals cars being parked at the bottom of said ditches.
Rye was nice. I really liked it. Camber Sands a dump; why do people go there? One assumes to let their dogs do a shit in the dunes. We hit the flash PJ Smoothies place [at least I think they own it], and that was very poor indeed. Expensive and indifferent quality food served by people with English as a fourth language. Don't bother going. One fish and chips, couple of soft drinks and a desert stumped me for £30. Naturally I left no tip. Well other than they should visit the cafes in Littlehampton to see how a beach cafe should be run, as they are expensive but utterly superb. I've only been to Camber Sands twice, and both times I came away wondering why the place exists. It's just a shit hole. Described as beautiful one assumes by people that like dog shit and desolate run down cafes.
We tried to do the listening ears, but they are on an island which is itself surrounded by local's dog shit and garden waste. What an awful experience that was. Like taking the kids to the tip. Luckily it only took five minutes. Definitely not worth the drive.
Overall we had a good time that wasn't spoilt by visiting either shitty Camber Sands or boring Folkstone. If you do go, try to stop on Dungeness headland itself and just visit Rye and the coast there. Or just go to Dover and catch a ferry to somewhere nice.
4/1/2011: "What if you are attacked by a carrot?"
Boy child was eating dinner, took a carrot stick and went off to the toilet. No idea how, but he fell over and the carrot stick tore up his face and punched two teeth back. We found him standing on the stairs spewing blood out. He's in plastic surgery right now having his face stiched up and possibly his front teeth removed. He's only 5.
So it's not true what they say about fruit and veg being healthy for you. If he'd been eating a donut like the oik children would have been, he'd be fine right now.
3/1/2011: Schnell! Schnell!
No ride report as I have some vile viral infection; one moment I'm shivering, then next I'm so hot I'm melting. Not getting more than 4 hours sleep per night. And I'm not one of those people that can sleep in during the day - I'll be dead one day, so why waste the time I have in being asleep during the day? What a waste of time. Even when I used to work night shifts I'd not bother sleeping during the day. Too many fun things to do. I'd get home, have some dinner at 7am, then hit Llandudno beach at 9am for a quick kip, then I was off on my motorbike into the mountains. Used to catch up at the weekend by having two ten hour sessions. I wasn't the only one either, but it did have negative effects. One guy caught the train to London, fell asleep only to find himself back on the same train heading home. He decided to get off the train in Rugby, but whilst waiting for the next stop he fell asleep and ended up in Hollyhead. Another guy copied me, and tried to sleep for a few hours on the beach, but was woken by some innocent family and their dog. He ended up snarling in their faces that he'd kill the dog if they didn't go away. He was from The Valley; you didn't mess with those people. Oh gosh! now that I'm down this route.... One Valley guy used to say that he'd had fun shooting crows out of his bedroom window of a morning. Said the neighbours didn't mind. If there were no crows, he'd shoot the road sign. I figured he lived in a big field somewhere. One day I drove through his village and looked him up. Sure as night follows day the roadsign outside his house was peppered with little gunshot holes. But he didn't live in a field. He lived on the High Street in town. At work he was convinced that he was a werewolf and he'd howl all day. This man was my friend. He'd be your friend to if you worked with him; you don't say 'no' to people that howl and snarl instead of speaking. And he wasn't doing it to appear hard, or mad as some sad people do, he genuinely believed he was a werewolf. Eventually they got rid of him for being too mad even for a factory. He ended up as a security guard, and was oddly really happy in that role.
Whilst I'm down memory lane, a friend of mine died in a bike accident. We were kind of racing each other at the time, and he for whatever reason decided to overtake a car that was turning right. Never a good idea on a motorbike at speed. He was instant mash; dead within seconds. He looked OK, if a little vacant as one does when dead, but the hospital later said that his chest had hit the tank and exploded like shrapnel inside him. There was no gore, just being dead. Anyway, later on the factory where I worked shut down for two weeks and I went back to Wolves to see my mates. One said to bring my passport. Huh? Just do, OK. Turned up, went out drinking Friday night and got wrecked. This was when I was a factory worker, so wrecked didn't mean 4 pints, it meant 12 plus chasers, then on to a night club. Next afternoon I woke up on my own in an airport in Yugoslavia. All I had was a Pluto beach towel in a rucksack, my passport and a handfull of money. No return ticket. Anyway, there I was outside an airport in a foreign country, on my own with no idea of where to go. Some bus driver called me over and indicated that I should get on the bus. I did. Why not? 2 hours later we arrived at a resort.... An hour later my mates turned up to find me looking happy but bemused. Turned out that night I'd bought the dead guy's holiday as the widow didn't want to get her money back, as that would have meant no holiday for a big group of people. I'd no memory of events. Go on; how many times have you said yes to something in a pub and it actually happens? I don't know why, but at the time this type of thing was normal in my life and I'd not think anything of it, and neither did my mates. Instance; first night there I got speaking to a group of girls. Ended up getting married to one of them, as you do. Used to attract madness in my life, but happily now I seem to escape it. It does seem fun to think of waking up in a strange home of a morning, but when it turns out that it is a Hells Angels safe house.... and you're mate just boned the girlfriend of one of them....
Of course the main motivation behind escaping from the madness associated with 8 pints of beer a night for almost two decades was, well, the madness of it all! Waking up in an hospital is never fun, neither is a hedge, car or toilet block. Giving evidence in a coroner's court in front of your mates family doesn't count as a high. Hospitals I've been to for two smashed knees, general alcohol consumption, sea urchin spines in my foot, broken nose.... And to have a friends wrists stitched together after he'd cut them in the back of my car whilst I was giving him a lift home one day. I've also a rather unhealthy association with paracetamol; my record being 6 with a coffee one morning in a lame attempt to cure a hangover - that was a ten pints of beer, then 5 litres of scrumpy plus half a bottle of vodka evening. I used to call paracetamol sweets, and would be buying packs of twelve every three days. Once I pee'd blood for three days. That was fun. Oddly enough the alcohol was never the thing; it was the crazy that followed. I actually don't really like alcohol that much, and am still allergic to whisky following one particularly nasty hospital visit. Not the hospital's fault - mine for downing a full bottle on the way to the pub. Alcohol I can leave as I'm pretty much just a social drinker.
Naturally I had friends who were far worse. One had the notion of livening parties up by taking a dump in the middle of a crowded room. Another used to have a knack of shagging the worst women in the world. One he had was the girlfriend of the biggest crack dealer in the area. We thought it funny him escaping through a toilet window when he was caught, and even funnier when he was literally chased out of town and had to go into hiding for a year. But he didn't learn; he ended up sleeping with Yugoslavian twins one night. Didn't remember a thing about it until one came back 6 months later with a swollen belly. Had to marry that one, and the crazy ended for him. Another just got plain violent and had to smash things to cure the anger. One happy night he threw a bin through a McDonald's. He enjoyed that hugely, and had a big smile on his face afterwards.
Happy days.