pedalier 55t March 31, 2005  

Ended up spending a moderate amount of time over the weekend cleaning, lacquering and starting initial set up on Heather's new bike. A few worrying moments with lacquer, but otherwise it's going well. And the bits have started to roll in from various sources, and I find myself having to spend my evening researching questions like the relative tapers of Shimano and Campagnolo bottom brackets, and which is required for a Stronglight crankset (answer: as far as I can tell, Shimano, which is slightly annoying). So I think we can say that we're at the fun part of the proceedings. A vague target for end of build by Heather's birthday, which gives us a comfortable month to work in. As long as we can get the kit, should be able to cleave to that one.

On Saturday afternoon, as we were walking home from the river with Nik and Andy, I passed a bloke with purposeful mien carrying a cake in the shape of a dalek. "Tch!", thought I, "imagine that, a grown man going to watch a TV program explicitly targeted at 8-12 year olds, simply out of nostalgia for his childhood - desperately attempting to recapture the thrills of watching a program that was already past its heyday in the mid 1980s... hmm, better remember to tape it." And so we taped it, and watched it last night. Bang on, is all I can say. The new Doctor Who is extremely good; the right blend of humour and menace. If episode 1's anything to go by, it's hit the ground running, and more power to its arm. Christopher Eccleston makes a very good doctor, and that Chazbaps (as Popbitch affectionately refers to Billie Piper) makes a good assistant. Roll on Saturday night!

At the gym this lunchtime, the woman we fondly refer to as "Scary anorexia chick" (she's down to 2% body fat and counting!) was working out on the elliptical trainer. You know, the one that mimics the action of cross-country skiing, so you're working both your legs and arms. She was going backwards, and I had an odd moment. She's tiny, scrawny, and you can see every single muscle and tendon in her back and arms - she can't weigh over 45kg. Her movements were slightly jerky because of the awkward backwards motion. And for a brief moment of cognitive dissonance, she looked precisely as though she was badly stop-motion animated. I'm serious: she looked and moved just like Ray Harryhausen's finest on an off-day. It was most creepy.

Watched in slight bemusement the other day as coworkers stopped to grab their laptops during a fire alarm, and then to walk outside still watching the powerpoint presentation for the conference call they were on. Wifi leads to some odd social consequences - in this case, people doing a good zombie impersonation as they shuffle out of the building, staring intently at a laptop screen.

It seems I must add a new entry to my list of "Colloquialisms that Americans do not understand and which should thus be avoided during conference calls" - it turns out Americans don't use the phrase "gone to custard" (as in, "the release schedule has gone to custard"). Who knew? That's joining "Bob's your uncle" and "Righty-ho" on the list, then.

le tour de Papworth Everard March 27, 2005  

It's been a mellow week, really. Everything is just slowly and quietly ramping up and getting more into that calm, nice spring groove. The weather's getting warmer, British Summer Time kicks in tonight (must remember to adjust the video so we still tape tomorrow's Coronation Street), and Rebecca is making greater and greater progress in the standing/walking stakes. It's all going most satisfactorily.

Have spent a moderate amount of time on the bike this week - did an absentminded 40 last Saturday (it was supposed to be a 30, but the lanes around Great Chishall are all so fiddly and all look the same), and then took advantage of the good weather yesterday to do a 50. Heather and I had a reciprocal arrangement - I got to go on a ride in the morning, she got one in the afternoon. Give and take, innnit, what a marriage is made of, etc. I had put together a quite nice route through St Neots via a few interesting places around the A428 corridor (hem hem). Took two wrong turnings, one of which was a good idea (if you're going through Bourn, hang a turn down the road marked "Caxton End" - you come out on the road to Caxton, via some lovely lanes and two (2) fords), one of which just ended up putting an extra 3 miles on the ride. Handily, this saved me from having to loop around Milton to get the magic half century. Went through Yelling, and was amused by the dedication of the local church - "High Cross Yelling". I am easy to amuse.

Hopefully should get another ride in on Easter Monday. I've got a loop that circles Newmarket, without ever actually entering it (why spoil a good thing?), that looks pretty tempting. Fingers crossed for good weather! I'm on my third ride breaking in my new saddle, a Brooks B17 - I've heard it takes 500 miles to break one in. 150 miles in, I can confirm that it's already pretty comfortable and I'm most happy with it. Go go retro leather saddles, eh?

Today was mainly spent wandering around Cambridge in the company of our friends Nik and Andy, who were up from Bristol. Rebecca had an incredibly good time, as they basically spent the entire time playing with her, making faces, and plotting where they could hide her in their baggage. A lunch of soup, a quiet saunter along the riverside, a go on the flying fox on Stourbridge common: a happy afternoon.

Dearie me - Aqua e Sapone look to have been naughty boys.

number one with a March 18, 2005  

Riding distance cycle events can get a bit dispiriting in the last quarter of the course. At the start, you're with a huge group of other people, and off you go. As you go further through the ride, you pass some people, and are passed by some others. Towards the end, you generally stop passing people - any passing is probably other people passing you. You stop seeing as many people in front of you, and you certainly can't make out anyone behind you. It's easy to become depressed and think that you're right at the back of the field - after all, the only people you see are the fast ones who are passing you, right?

Of course, this is just because the field has fragmented. As people travel at their different speeds, the gaps within the field open up and you lose sight of other riders. You've already passed the people slower than you, and you won't see them again unless you stop for some reason. Meanwhile, anyone faster than you who has ended up behind you (started late, stopped for a piss, had a puncture) will come up and pass you. The psychological effect is to give you the impression of isolation, but it's really just the field opening up. My last audax, I saw one other rider in the last fifteen miles (and only ten riders in the ten miles before that); and I came in about 2/3 of the way through the field.

So chin up and keep pedalling. I find singing helps sometimes - or synchronised swearing. There's one particularly effective profanity, four syllables long, notably on a wallet in Pulp Fiction, that has a great rhythm for hill climbs. 1-2-3-4, pedal, chanting in synch. Works for me. May explain why I tend to end up riding on my own, though.

Has anyone else noticed that both of Trinity Roots' albums have a song called Egos?

The blossom's on all the trees, the daffodils are coming up in the garden, and bumblebees are reappearing. Spring is springing. I love this part of the year. And under a fortnight to British Summer Time, too.

Odd reactions time. It turns out that one of the long-term subscribers to the Carnivorous Plant mailing list (which I've been reading since ...err.. 1996, maybe?) went postal and shot and killed several people at a local church. That's an odd one. I'm trying to find the archives of his posts to the CP list. so I can check whether I remember them.

commemorative March 17, 2005  

Twelve months already?

Bloody hell. It doesn't feel like a day.

Happy birthday, Rebecca. We love you.

BTW - first birthday party photos now available online!

beep beep beep beep click March 16, 2005  

How do you remember a four digit number?

Most of the four digit numbers that I have to remember are PIN numbers of one sort or another. This means that when I'm recalling them, I have to enter them on a standard numeric keypad. And this, in turn, means that I actually find it easier to remember four-digit numbers as a pattern, rather than a string of numbers. I have on several occasions actually forgotten the PIN number for one of my cards, but remembered it via muscle memory as I type it into a keypad. When I have to commit a new PIN to memory, I find it much easier to just memorise the pattern as I type it in. Spatial memory - I can't be the only one.

out of my mind on March 15, 2005  

Interesting weekend.

I spent much of Friday attempting to teach Rebecca to breakdance (or, failing that, walk). This went pretty well. About 1pm, Heather tooled up and headed off to bike to Lisa and Paul's place. The weather looked a bit ominous, and the fact that the bamboo was bent double should have tipped us off as to wind speed. I played with Rebecca some more, did a brief spot of shopping, and eventually loaded up the car to head over. I arrived at Lisa and Paul's ahead of Heather, and was introduced to my namesake. I'm sure you'll all be unsurprised to hear that he's a gorgeous wee thing, and can sleep through some very loud noises. He's a good wee lad. After some on-the-fly mobile phone navigation through the last three miles, Heather arrived a bit later, having fought serious headwinds the entire way from Cambridge (27 miles, the roundabout villages route rather than straight down the A14). She could best be described as "knackered yet triumphant". Nicely done. After some more fawning on the Next Generation, we loaded up and took Rebecca home for dinner. A good day was had by all, and cooing over babies was the winner on the day. Rebecca had had a good day - she got to play "grabbing Jasper's nose", which she rather likes.

On the Saturday, I rode the Essex Lanes 106km audax ride run by Shaftesbury CC. The day didn't start particularly auspiciously - the computer fell off my bike while I was loading it into the car, and I didn't notice. This meant that I was very reliant on the printed directions, and had to rely on guesstimates of how far I'd gone. This was OK for most of the event, but towards the end there was a certain amount of "bloody hell, it must have been five miles by now!" etc.

I was pretty apprehensive prior to the ride, as I was aware that it was pretty early in the season and my attempts to get a solid training ride or two into my legs had been snookered by various mechanicals and the consequences thereof. Plus, I was just starting to break in a new Brooks B17 leather saddle - highly regarded, but always with the caveat that you've got to break new saddles in in the same way that you have to break in leather shoes. Combine this with the aforementioned sudden conversion to approximate distances, and that the winds of the previous day hadn't died down (holding steady at approx 18mph), and you end up with me being slightly concerned about how well I'd do.

A general overview of the ride is that the first ten miles were bloody hard, as were the last fifteen, and the middle forty were quite nice. Straight from the off we headed directly into a headwind, and I was going a bit harder than I really should have. I really, really felt the effort - my legs were going anerobic, the lactic acid was building up, and I generally felt "what the bloody hell have I let myself in for?". I was, of course, acutely aware that Heather had machoed it out the day before and done a full 27 miles into this same headwind, so I gritted my teeth, dropped down a couple of gears, and desperately tried to draft anyone passing me. This was ineffective.

At the first info control (about twelve miles in), the course turned out of the wind slightly, and I'd warmed up enough to be OK. From there, I started to enjoy things a bit more. The course was a rough figure 8 - Shaftesbury CC have a clubhouse in Ugley, and the 106k route was two 30-35 mile loops centred on the clubhouse. The first loop was pretty lovely once I'd warmed up. Lots of wee villages, thatched pubs, old village greens, etc. I rode in a couple of groups riding at about my pace, stopped and stretched at the info controls, and had a nice time of it. The final part of the first leg was particularly fun, as we'd turned back towards Ugley and thus had a tailwind. Sans computer, I can only guess at my average speed, but it felt a lot like 18-20mph without much effort.

The second loop was a bit more exposed, and I was starting to feel the distance a bit more. After the 50 mile mark, the route got quite exposed, our friend the headwind made a reappearance, and my average velocity dropped noticeably.By this stage, the field had thinned out quite a lot, and I only saw one other rider in the last hour and a half. This didn't help the constant slight worry that I'd gone off course. Still, finally at half three I arrived back at the clubhouse. I'd managed the ride in 5 1/2 hours, which is half an hour off my time for the last 100 I rode. I'm not putting this down to increased fitness; rather, to having fewer mechanical difficulties (for instance, on this audax I neither punctured nor was hit by another rider). Still, I was pretty chuffed with the result, and didn't feel too bad at the end - new saddle and minor lower back pain notwithstanding. Nice.

And to top it off, I got home to find an email from a bloke who'd recognised me from my Kaffenback page, saying that he'd seen me at the ride but hadn't said hi. Always chuffed to be recognised for my online presence, me.

Saturday night we went off to Alison's 30th, had a few non-alcoholic drinks, and left at about 11. We were both a bit tired.

Sunday morning - and feeling it a bit in my knees and lower back (must get around to raising those handlebars up a little) - I set to and we started getting set up for Rebecca's first birthday party. This involved thoroughly cleaning the house, rather a lot of food preparation and blowing up about twenty balloons. It's a bit odd throwing a kiddies' party - it's like when you were a student, except that then you basically cleared the decks and designated one room for coats/illicit nookie. For a kids' party, you put out huge amounts of sweets, a small amount of healthy food to keep your own liberal conscience at bay, and make some alcohol available so those of your friends without children can dull the pain. Coats get draped over whichever buggy is parked closest, and everyone's too busy making sure the kids don't eat too much off the floor to get up to anything they shouldn't. We'd made fairy bread, which only Donald had ever seen before. Melanie had got us some sweeties including Sherbet Saucers, which neither Heather nor I had ever seen but which caused all our English friends to descend uttering guttural cries about not having seen them since childhood. Charlotte (not my sister, Tim and Julie's daughter) distinguished herself by both demonstrating the power of static electricity using only a balloon and Rebecca's hair, and by spending a fair bit of time sat in Rebecca's playpen reading books to the two toddlers sat next to her. Sparking! The gig fizzed off like a rabbit on nitrous, and a good time was had by all. Particularly so by Rebecca, who spent much of the afternoon making excited noises, being hugged by various people and given a large number of pressies. She seemed slightly mystified, but very happy about it all. At about four o'clock she started to come down from the chocolate high (Heather having given her a piece of cake), and crashed quite hard - I put her down for a nap and she fell asleep within five minutes. A good afternoon was had by all, and age was the winner on the day.

put on an iron shirt March 10, 2005  

Fascinating fact I found out the other day: after several live appearances on TFI Friday, during which he swore a little more than they might have wanted (which lead to some rather punitive judgements against the show from the Independant Televsion Commission), Channel 4's commissioning guidelines now specifically state that they cannot broadcast any program that includes Shaun Ryder appearing live. He is the only person specifically mentioned by name in this document. Result.

I remember when I was going through my proto-goth student days, I wore a lot of black. One of the stated reasons for this was that black was easy to take care of and didn't show the dirt. This was, of course, hooey. Black shows the dirt really well. If you want something that doesn't show the dirt, get clothes in camo patterns. Which is to say, I've currently got a pair of black jeans, which don't show some dirt. Oil, for instance - indiscernable. Banana porridge, on the other hand - shows up like hi-viz. Black - don't pretend it's practical, just admit that you think it makes you look thinner.

And don't even get me started on young goths with dandruff - the phrase "painfully obvious" was invented for this situation.

On a related tip - ever seen someone with dandruff under blacklights? Glow city.

On the headphones: Blackboard Jungle, by Lee Scratch Perry, and Max Romeo and the Upsetters' Chase the Devil. Getting back down with the classics a little.

Another one from the "Only in Cambridge" file - a lawnmowing/gardening company called "The Rake's Progress". Really. Who said Stravinsky is outdated?

on three, jump March 08, 2005  

So Lemon Jelly pulled the pin and threw on Friday. Excellent gig; played a fair whack of back catalog and most of the new album. A lot of the old stuff was done in a slightly more "rocking" mix, with heavier beats and more bass; this suited the larger venue. Last time we saw them was at the Junction, which meant that no-one was more than 10m from the stage. This time, they had the full-on rock stage show, complete with impressively flashing lights, giant projected video, etc. Most impressive. They cut nicely between the new and old, and the fast and slow. They finished with The Staunton Lick, most nicely.

At the end of the gig, when the lights came back on, the people who'd been standing next to us turned to us and said how nice it was to see people really getting into the music. Heck, I'd thought that we would have been terribly, terribly irritating to stand next to, as we were getting caught up in the music and giving it some large; but we were assured that it was a damn sight better than seeing people standing there, looking faintly approving, nodding along with the music. I could see their point.

Of course, having been out and jumped up and down a lot on Friday, I then didn't do a heck of a lot for the rest of the weekend. Sleepiness, rest, and playing games with Rebecca were a bit of a theme across the board. It's a hard life.

i'd want more than that March 06, 2005  

Hey kids! How much is your left foot worth? How about if it had to be amputated, as a result of being hit by a disqualified driver in a car with dodgy brakes and steering? And - just to make rub the point home - how about if the reason it had to be amputated is because it became stuck in the car's bumper, and was wrenched off when the driver drove off at high speed from the scene of the accident?

Why, £300, of course!

I feel sick.

an ambient face March 04, 2005  

Cycling: retro jerseys are the new black. Of course, in some cases, they are just black. In general, though, they eschew the - ahem - slightly more garish looks of the 80s and 90s, and hark back to a calmer era. As the original jerseys from the 50s and 60s were, these tend to be wool (these days, it's mainly Merino - usually sourced from NZ, and for all I know the jerseys are made there as well - I'd be very surprised if Icebreaker don't have a hand in a lot of the manufacture). Classical, understated looks are favoured. The field is split between replicas of actual classic jerseys (cf Vintage Velos, Prendas, Bromley) and modern jerseys with "classic" looks (cf Salsa, Brooks [official], Surly, Team Estrogen, Specialized, etc.). Heck, Rapha's entire business is based around selling very good quality retro-styled kit at ludicrously high prices.

C'mon, you've got to admit that the Salsa and Brooks jerseys are lovely.

I got my tax refund from last year the other day. £62, which is handily small enough that I don't feel under any obligation to do something sensible with it. New tyres, ho!

Today's top tune: Bottle Rocket by The Go! Team. You know you love it.

shufti at me fettling kit March 02, 2005  

Words, words, words. Slang, jargon, love it, love it. Jargon can be a great tool of exclusion, but it's also a succinct way to express field-specific concepts. However, if the person you're talking to has no idea what the jargon means, it's all a bit pointless. Hence, for those of you who were slightly confused by some of the terms in the previous entry, here's a quick gloss of the field in question - UK-specific terms relating to bike maintenance.

So there you go.

In the gym today, I saw a woman in her mid 20s working out in 3" high heels. Astonishing.

fettlin' in the snow March 01, 2005  

So I'm cracking off a quick 30 on Saturday morning, seeing if I can bring it in under 3 hours including time for map checks, repairs, etc. I've reached Duxford, about 12 miles from home by my odo. I hear a loud "bang" and my rear tyre is suddenly very empty. Ah, right, I think, I've got a puncture. Handily, I'm right by a public bench, so I dismount, get the bike up on the bench, and proceed to replace the tube. I carefully check the inside of the tyre for remnants of whatever caused the puncture - nothing, we're clear. Annoyingly, my first spare tube turns out to have a duff repair, so I waste fifteen minutes there. I get my second spare tube in, inflate it, and put the wheel back in. Ride off. I get ten metres before hearing another loud "bang". This isn't looking good. I get off and have another look at the wheel. Looks OK. I take the tyre off - no obvious thorns, the tread still looks OK, nothing on the inside. Then I notice that the sidewall has burst just on the rim line. Basically, there's a 2cm slit in the side of the tyre. When the inner tube is filled up and under pressure, it herniates slightly out of the side of the tyre - and is then chopped off by the rim as it reaches the bottom of the rotation. The tyre is shafted, and requires replacement. I am not carrying a spare.

So I'm 12 miles from home, with no spare tubes, a blown tyre, and no way of fixing it. This is not great. Did I mention that it was raining?

After about 30 minutes of desperately attempting to fix the tube and figure out some way of bodging the tyre, I gave up and called Heather. Heather bunged the bike rack into the boot, strapped Rebecca into her car seat, and came to pick me up, while I walked back to meet her (it was move or freeze). A good pick-up was made, and I learned a valuable lesson about the comparative wisdom of carrying either duct tape or a spare tyre.

The cheering thing about the whole thing was this. During the entire repair process, I had about half a dozen offers of help from passersby. Other cyclists, pedestrians, and a bloke who pulled up in his car - there were a lot of people out there eager to help a complete stranger who they didn't know from a bar of soap. It quite reaffirmed my faith in humanity.

The moral of the story is: always have a back-up plan.

And avoid Hutchinson Kevlar tyres - a sidewall popping at just under 980 miles of usage is pretty terrible, in my opinion. Plus they punctured reliably every 30 miles (three times on last year's Oxford to Cambridge!). Kevlar strip my arse. Set of Continental Ultra Gatorskins are now on order from Ben Haywards.

The end result was that I spent a couple of hours yesterday fettling me bikes out in the back garden. The process was livened by Rebecca occasionally crawling up to the back door, smacking the glass and squealing with delight at being able to see Daddy. A dampening factor was put on by the frequent snow flurries. Finally, once I'd lost feeling in my fingers, I gave up and came in. I'll say this for free, it's a bit odd cleaning your bike when every time you put something down, it starts to build up a fine covering of snow.

And I'm definitely in the audax in a couple of weeks. Handily, the route includes a few miles that I'm familiar with, namely sections around Great Chishall (near the King William IV pub) and some other bits that are a regular feature of the London to Cambridge bike ride. Lookin' forward to it.

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