July 28, 2003  

on your wheel 27 july 2003

The London to Cambridge went off very nicely today. The bus (run by University Cycles in Cambridge) got us to the start for 8:25am, and we managed to negotiate the crush at the starting line to get on the road by 8:45am. I say "road"; I of course mean "hardpack path through a country park". The "London" section of the ride is kept more in spirit than in observance: the Lee Valley Country Park (the start line) is just outside the M25, and is about 16 miles from, say, Piccadilly Circus. It's pretty bucolic, and not at all built up. Within two minutes, we were dodging cowpats through the country park. Not quite a massed start outside Big Ben, then.

I'd gotten a bit keen yesterday, and had made what turned out to be a tactical error. I'd cleaned the bike. I know, I know. I just didn't want to be sneered at by other, more shiny-bike owning types. I cleaned it thoroughly. Including disassembling and cleaning the rear derailler, and replacing the chain. I even turned my tyres around, as I'd absentmindedly fitted them backwards last time I swapped tyres and couldn't be arsed changing 'em. This done, I then took the bike for a quick ride around the block, and then took her out for a bit more fo a spin. Unfortunately, the spin didn't include any hills - so I didn't notice that the gears had a tendency to clunk under pressure. This discovery, on the FIRST BLOODY MINOR HILLOCK OF THE DAY, had me gritting my teeth in frustration. Two miles in, the prospect of spending the day with my chain jumping around like a would-be hip-hop superstar was not an attractive one. Putting the bike into the big ring helped - which implied that I'd fitted the new chain slightly too long. I rectified this at the first pit stop, and had a sweeter ride afterwards. Still getting slight jumping (I think I'll need to fiddle with the indexing), so I stayed in the big ring as much as possible. Powering up some of those climbs became a must.

The weather wasn't the best. It only actually rained on us for about ten minutes in the morning, but we established a pattern for the rest stops. We'd arrive at the stop, dismount, lie around moaning, etc for about five minutes, all in brilliant sunshine. Then it'd cloud over and start threatening rain. Every bloody rest stop.

As usual, half the fun was watching the other participants. Notable observations were:

• Quite a few replica US Postal strips. Hey, they're the Manchester United of cycling! (Yes, I do support USPS - why do you ask?)
• Two recumbents, one of them a three-wheeler.
• A number (I lost count at four) of Marmite cycle tops.
• A lady who had a small basket attached to the rear of her bike. Nestled in it was her Pomeranian, which seemed to be having a good ride. It was very well trained, and didn't bark at anyone.
• A dozen or two riders from the De Ver Cycles team. Unusually for cycling teams, about 50% of the team was huge black guys. One bloke in particular stood out: you don't often see racing cyclists with 4ft dreads, held in place with a rasta headband. Impressive. And fast.
• Some terribly inappropriate bikes. Mountain bikes are great for mucking around offroad. But do you really need a full suspension, 4" front and rear travel downhill beast to do a 50 mile road charity ride?

It's childish of me, but my favorite bit of the ride was the last climb outside Ickleton. As we were going into the descent just prior to the climb, we were passed by about half a dozen separate cyclists on road bikes, wearing variations on team kit or replica yellow jerseys. As we went up the climb, we passed every man jack of 'em, all of them straining heroically. Part of our speed was due to the aforementioned reluctance to drop into low gears (I ended up taking a number of hills in gears that I normally would think twice about using on the flat), and part of it was because I was following Donald, who appeared to have some sort of rocket attachement to his heels. Of course, all the flash buggers then passed us again on the next downhill, but hey - that's not the hard bit, right?

Heather turned up at the finish line with beer, despite heroic bouts of morning sickness. We were noisily appreciative of this, and spent much time sitting around on Midsummer Common (outside the Fort St George), and toasting Heather's brilliant supportive role. Morning sickness + carrying a half dozen cans of Kronenbourg = what a star! Much time was spent lying around on the grass, discussing the ride, eating huge plates of chips (�2 for a plate of wedges the size of your head: we'd ordered three before we'd realised how big the damn things were - we didn't even get close to finishing them), and moaning about how the cheap bastards didn't even spring for a medal this year. Still, despite the lack of medals for finishers, we all had a damn good day out. Good stuff all around.

Then Heather and I came home and watched the last two days worth of Tour footage. Go Lance!

July 26, 2003  

crackin' 24 july 2003

Got my 2000 miles Wednesday night, after a quick training run around the villages (17 miles). The idea was to have a bit of a run with Donald and Chris, who are doing the LtC with me on Sunday. Had a good wee time around the place, chilled on the meridian, and generally confirmed that we should burn the tarmac up, man. Yeah.

Perennial Tour question: how much do those maniacs riding 200km per day up mountains need to eat? Standard answer: about 7,000 to 8,000 kcal, give or take. That's about three times the average calorie requirement for a healthy adult male. So what do they eat? A lot of absolutely everything.

Kraftwerk are one of the few bands in history who genuinely bear comparison to the Beatles. Not because of their sound or their image, but because, like the Beatles, it is impossible to overstate their influence on modern music. It's the five albums they made between 1974 and 1981 that really matter: Autobahn, Radioactivity, Trans Europe Express, The Man Machine and Computerworld. In their clipped, weirdly funky rhythms, simple melodies and futuristic technology, you can hear whole new areas of popular music being mapped out. Kraftwerk were so far ahead of their time that the rest of the world has spent 25 years inventing new musical genres in anattempt to catch up. House, techno, hip-hop, trip-hop, synthpop, trance, electroclash: Kraftwerk's influence looms over all of them. It's difficult to imagine what rock and pop music would sound like today if Kraftwerk had never existed.

Alexis Petridis, The Guardian [source]

And they're obsessive about bicycles, too. Well done those lads. Where's the bloody album, eh? Article is very worth reading: kind of like Waiting for Godot, except it's Looking for Kraftwerk.

Someone's set up a WiFi (wireless internet) access zone on Brighton beach. What? Is this just jealousy over Bury St Edmunds' internet-enabled park bench?

Wish me luck for Sunday. Woo hoo!

July 22, 2003  

battling huggers 21 july 2003

ObShill: as in the link above, I'll be doing the London to Cambridge bike ride this Sunday. It's for a good cause (breast cancer research), and every wee bit does help. So to anyone reading this: please consider sponsoring me for the bike ride, and I promise I'll stop wittering on about bicycles so much and put in more juicy innuendo, shocking personal revelations, and swearing - OK? So please please please give me all your money. Ta.

Spent a few hours on Friday around at a co-worker's place, test-driving their newborn baby to get some idea of the heavy weight of responsibility soon to land on our shoulders. Executive summary: babies are cool, and make impressive noises. At one point (when Heather was holding him, thank God) he screwed his little face up with effort, then crapped massively. Not unexpected, I'll admit. What was unexpected was the noise: it was a massive farting sound, equivalent to an adult saying "bllthhhpluck" at normal conversational levels. He had the decency to look happier once it was out, though. Really cute kid, and it was cool to hold him for a while. I need to work on my baby holding: every time I had him in my arms, he started fretting and crying. There's obviously more to this than meets the eye.

As regards the obvious "huge quantities of excrement" issue with babies: I've housetrained puppies before. The first time you stand on a fresh turd in bare feet, it's disgusting. After a week, you're quite happily removing excrement from between your toes with balls of toilet paper. You can get used to anything, and quicker than you'd think. Of course, housetraining puppies is usually quicker than housetraining infants.

Odd thing seen in the beer garden of the Green Dragon the other week: two small children (one about three, one about four) having an argument over who got to hug the tree they were sitting next to. The three year old had been hugging the tree, then had left for a second - and when she got back, the four year old was firmly attached to the tree and was refusing to let go of it. I think the situation was defused when one parent suggested that the younger girl hug a different tree. These hippies start young around here, you know.

Was in Ben Haywards on Saturday, seeing if I could get a slightly better pair of bike shorts for next Sunday's London to Cambridge Bike Ride. We were in the clothing room, where the shop had set up a rack of Tour de France replica jerseys. Specifically, the rack was full of US Postal team kit, replica Yellow Jerseys, and replica King of the Mountains jerseys. I was browsing the lycra. A couple in their early '30s come in and start looking around. It became clear that they weren't regular cyclists, mainly because of the following exchange:

Chick: [holding up replica US Postal team jersey] Trek - isn't that what your bike is?
Bloke: Yeah, this'd be a good top for me, 'cause my bike's blue as well.
Chick: [picks up replica King of the Mountains jersey] And this'd be good for me, 'cause it's nice and bright.

Heather and I were both trying to avoid having giggles. Simile: it's like an American goth buying full All Black replica kit, because they want to have black sportswear. Fair enough, but you're likely to get some funny looks from the other fans when it becomes clear that you don't know what the jersey means.

Did I mention I saw a 40-something bloke (carrying a few extra pounds) out for a spin with his wife/SO last week, in full USPS kit? Good on the lad - gave him a broad grin as I went past in the opposite direction.

July 19, 2003  

sticky tarmac 18 july 2003

Bikes I'm not going to get: The Hummer Tactical Mountain Bike. Yup, it's a paratrooper-style folding MTB. Sounds a bit odd, until you realise that this has been done for quite a while (Pashley's Paramount is a variant on the folding bikes issued to British paratroopers during WWII). It makes sense: paratroops tend to get scattered when they're dropped, and a portable means of transport that you can use to quickly regroup makes sense. Examples here and here.

Cycling has a very sophisticated relationship with modernity - it's not Luddite; no one would ever eschew technological advances in design, in favour of a crap one with wooden wheels. But the very act of racing on bicycles when motorised transport exists suggests a critical distance from progress - an environmental concern, possibly, but more importantly a comprehension that physical struggle is an end in itself, and that to etch it out of endeavour diminishes man's Olympian spirit. Plus, I like their tight shorts.

Zoe Williams writing in The Guardian [source]

The article is well worth reading: why it's great fun to watch even if you don't know what the heck is happening.

Oh, and something else I learned on my ride on Tuesday: melted tarmac is good fun to ride through. It sticks to your tyres, and you make a funny noise for quite a while afterward.

July 17, 2003  

Took the afternoon off yesterday and had a wee bit of a bike ride. It's supposed to rain tonight, so I thought I'd get some road miles in while I could. I'd sorted out a nice loop that looked around 50 miles, and the forecast was good, so off we went into the wild blue yonder. And my word, was it a fine day. 32 celsius, not much wind. I nearly fried. I drank around 4 litres of liquid (water and energy drinks) during the afternoon, and didn't see any of it back via the usual route. Good loop, though: Cambridge to Hardwick, down to Toft, then via the Gramsdens to St Neots, then up through the Offords to Godmanchester, then across to the Hemingfords, and through Swavesey and Longstanton back to Cambridge. Unfortunately, I had a tailwind on the first section - which of course meant a headwind on the final leg, just when I didn't need it. I started to crack outside Swavesey - speed dropped to about 10-12mph, with my heart going at about 145bpm to maintain that. An icecream (and a lot more water) helped, but the last 12 miles were still covered at a very slow pace. I spent 20 minutes lying in a field at one point. It was restful. A good afternoon out, if bloody hard work. The loop itself is very nice. Godmanchester to Cambridge is about 18 miles by bike through the villages, which is a very good way to do it.

There's a rather nice bridlepath shortcut between Godmanchester and the Hemingfords which enables you to avoid Huntingdon:

1. From the village pond in Godmanchester, head to the right (follow signs to "Cambridge (A14)").
2. Go under the A14. The road curves around to the right.
3. As the road curves around (Allotments on your left) and you're starting to think "this is the wrong bloody way" you'll see a left - take this.
4. Go down the road, past the sewage farm (not much to look at, but you'll catch the whiff), about a quarter of a mile.
5. Look for a footpath off to the right - the bridlepath is about fifty feet further on (small gate with a weight to hold it closed).

Lovely wee shortcut through a field, quite well worn trail, and lots of fun swoopy bits! Seriously, the farmers kids' must have a go at it or something, because there's a lot of hillocks, jumps, quick gulleys, etc that you can have a go at, just to the side of the main bridlepath. Recommended.

And Godmanchester pond is officially lovely. Good ducks: I fed them some of my homemade banana bread, and they were extremely appreciative. Wonderful pond, too.

 

port to starboard 16 july 2003

Interesting Guardian article on the history of polari. Vada that, ducks! Related: Polari Lexicon - and my word, there's actually a published hardcopy Dictionary of Polari.

Unfortunate comments in farewell speech:

Young Attractive Female Staffmember: ...and I'd just like to say to those of you who aren't married, come and see me and I'll take care of you.
[pause] Oh, sorry - I'm going to be a wedding planner.

Should probably have made that clear earlier, n'est ce pas?

Got an excellent Trichocereus macranthus at the fair on Parkers Piece over the weekend. Lovely cactus: I reckon it looks like a '50s rocket ship, everyone else thinks it looks like a knob. Had one of these back in NZ (I believe my mother's still looking after it for me), and managed to get it from 6" to about 13" tall before I had to leave the country. Lovely wee plants. And before you ask - it's definitely T. macranthus, rather than T. peruvianus. I have rather a fondness for these "torch"-style cacti; it's part of my general interest in unusual plants, specifically in plants with a very "architectural" look.

When I finally win the lottery, I'd love a greenhouse with a few of the following in:

• Nepenthes hamata.
• Nepenthes bicalcarata.
• Dicksonia antarctica.

C'mon, it can't be just me: I'm sure there's a few other people out there who have plant wish-lists. Hmm - maybe I should get around to setting up that old fishtank as a highland Nepenthes tank.

July 12, 2003  

voices in the crowd 11 july 2003

The rumours are true. Heather's pregnant. I suspect the postman.

More seriously: it's early days yet, but she is indeed up the duff and it's all looking good so far. Woo and indeed hoo. I've immediately started getting sympathy illnesses and attempting pre-emptative sleep catch-up. Further bulletins as events warrant (or, more likely, when something funny happens).

I should point out that I don't tend to post much here about deeply personal things. I don't tend to like talking about highly personal stuff in public (while sober, anyway), plus I certainly don't post personal stuff about Heather (she can do it herself, and I have a survival instinct). Thus, this is unlikely to descend into a grinding examination of every aspect of the pregnancy. Any sufficiently funny or harrowing stories might make it over, mind.

Apparantly when the Tour de France came to the UK a few years back, Ditchling Beacon (just outside Brighton) was rated as a Fourth Category climb. Blimey. Puts the London to Brighton cycle ride in a new perspective, eh?

Courtesy of Arts & Letters Daily, a reprint of an article in Popular Mechanics from 1950 speculating on Miracles You'll See in the Next 50 Years. Fascinating retro-futurology (eh?). Mainly laughably off the mark, occasionally uncomfortably close. I'm always particularly stirred about the stuff where they have the right idea, but not quite to the correct degree: talking about automated factories, for instance, with the only human workers being troubleshooters who go around changing burnt-out valves. I love the way they see where automation is going, but can't anticipate the drastically improved technology that permits it.

Who I'm supporting in this tour: Lance, of course. But I'm getting a soft spot for Bradley McGee, after his showing on the first couple of days. I was supporting Millar, simply on the whole "support the poms" thing. However, Millar is being a bit of a whining git. OK, it's a right bastard being pipped at the post by 0.08 of a second, but still. Compare this with Bradley McGee, who had the following comment after being involved with the huge crash on the first day of the tour: "...and then I got up and saw there were people hurt worse than me, so stop whinging." Bloody ockers. Anyone know if there's any kiwis in the tour?

On the headphones at the moment: A Strangely Isolated Place by Ullrich Schnauss. Good, floaty stuff: very indietronica. Kind of if early My Bloody Valentine had chilled back a lot more, and gone for a more synth-based warm bath effect.

July 08, 2003  

into the wilds 7 july 2003

Spent most of Sunday sitting around in a friend's garden. Said friend, Claire, is taking part in the annual Cambridge Open Studios open days. We'd offered to help out with this, and so spent the day around at hers being Assistants to the Artist. The work was less than taxing, and mainly involved sitting around in the garden and occasionally directing people into the house. I spent much of the arvo reading Harry Potter. I rather rate the Open Studios concept: local artists open up their workspace, and you can wander in and see how they do it all. The artists get a ready-made stream of potential clients, you get to see how the buggers do it, and everyone's happy. Well worth while, and if you get the chance I'd recommend it.

Of course, I speak as a man who spent most of the time sitting in the garden, so pinch of salt at your discretion.

This Saturday is the World Mountain Bike Bog Snorkeling Champtionships in Llanwrtyd Wells. The event involves cycling a weighted bike around a (short) course, underwater, through a 6 foot deep trench cut into a peat bog. Breathing is done through a snorkel, hence the name. Wet suits are not required, but are encouraged. I'm not kidding about this, it's an actual sport. I mean, it's not UCI approved or anything, but still.

OK, this rocks. KMX Karts produce a recumbent trike for kids, using BMX parts. It looks like an absolute barrel full of fun: recumbent trikes are a damn good laugh, and I'm sure that kids will love 'em. Especially if you've got a fairly bombproof one that can handle, for example, turns on two wheels. To be frank, I'd love an adult-sized one of these. Stunt recumbents: it's the future!

July 05, 2003  

now wash your hands 5 july 2003

"Hygiene is never perfect and you must try your best to eliminate problems.
"There were a few problems, but we had them in hand and were eliminating them," he said.

[source]

My arse. You have absolutely no business working as a tattooist/piercer unless your hygiene is flawless. It's not particularly complicated to enforce rigid hygiene technique; it's a big faff around, and it's a lot of work, but you've got to do it. The problem is that cowboys like this give legitimate piercers/tattooists a bad name. Joe Public doesn't necessarily know what they should look for (autoclave spore tests, for example), and they tend to assume that anyone with a nice shiny shop front will be working to an appropriate standard. And the average 18-year old is usually busier shitting themselves about the pain of the upcoming procedure than worrying about whether the parlour's hygiene practice can pass on hepatitis A. Hep A, by the way, is considerably more robust than HIV, and can survive outside the body for extended periods of time. Good hygiene practice is very, very important.

Unfortunately, a number of countries don't license piercers or tattooists. If you're in a country that doesn't legislate to enforce hygiene conditions, make sure your body modification practitioner belongs to one of the trade associations (such as the Association of Professional Piercers). In all cases, don't feel afraid to ask to see the autoclave.

Related: anecdotal analysis of hygiene practice comparing the NHS and Cold Steel.

a storm coming 4 july 2003

Bad attack of sinus pain. I feel like my face is about to explode. This is an unwelcome flashback to my childhood, when I used to get this rather a lot. Off to the doctor to get some antibiotics this arvo, then.

I was searching for a variant on "thank god" this morning (too religious - we have a couple of evangelists on staff who sign everything off with "Thank you and God Bless", and I don't want people who haven't met me getting me confused with them). "Thank fuck" works, but is probably a bit much for the relevent email. "Thank heaven" has the same problem as "thank god". Ditto "thank christ". And then it occurred to me precisely how odd "thank hell" sounds. Odd, isn't it? Particularly since I occasionally drop in "thanks be to our dark satanic master" for effect - though, obviously, not in work emails.

July 03, 2003  

Cryptozoology links: Cryptozoology.com, Loren Coleman, The Enigma Cryptozoo (official site looks iffy, mirror here).

 

smell of thunder 2 july 2003

No job? No home? On the streets? Thirsty? Tired of namby-pamby social workers patronising you and insisting that you can't have even a single damn beer while you try and get your life back on track? Beer For the Homeless to the rescue!

People driving white vans are like US foreign policy: big, clumsy, and dangerous. They pretend to not see you, and then make insincere apologies or unimaginative threats when you object to them cutting you up in a manner most dangerous. Fuckers.

Due to a mild cold, we've both been exhausted for the last few days. It's kind of odd getting the urge to crash out at 10pm again. I made the mistake of taking a medium length ride last night (1 hour, about 15 miles), and I'm absolutely knackered at the moment.

How to tell it's a stressful day at work: the bloke next to me keeps repeating "fuck a duck fuck a duck fuck a duck" like a mantra, really quickly. It's a bad sign when the prospect of waterfowl sodomy is incessently invoked.

Yay! The Fen Tiger has been spotted again! You've got to love big cat sightings - there's something so wonderfully batty about them. And in this case, it's in a part of the countryside that I regularly cycle through! Woo hoo! Mind you, I scoff now - but when I'm out there on the bridlepath between Longstanton and Rampton, I'll be a damn sight more nervous when I hear a rustling in the bushes.

archives