Yesterday I was on a video shoot. The only lighting was a thermonuclear fusion source located about 93 million miles away, diffused by a layer of water vapour approximately 2000 metres up. The cameras were from a local videographer hire place, and the action came from a variety of waifs and strays. This was Alasdair's access ramp project!
Two years in the making, this project was born with an idea in Al's mind. He then managed to get some funding from the local council to get it made. The original plan was to do it last year, but for some reason it didn't happen. I've been badgering him about it since then. We may be a year late, but it will definitely come in under budget.
Since this was Al's directorial debut I made him a little present. I got a director's chair from Argos and stencilled 'AL - DIRECTOR' on the back. He loved it.
Filming went pretty well - Al seemed to leave most of the direction to me and the camera guys, they set up the shots and Al okayed it. I did most of the shouting of 'Places!' and 'Action!', and waving my prop crutches at the talent to get them moving at the right time. It took us a few takes to get each one right.
All I need to do now is the editing, the sound mixing, recording the voice-over, adding the graphics and titles, burning the DVDs, designing the covers....
Baz
Friday, July 22, 2005
Friday, June 10, 2005
Bicycles I Have Known And Loved
We've always had bicycles in my family. My mother has had hers since she was a girl, its an old indestructible green Raleigh bike. She saved up her money to buy it, and bought it without my grandmother knowing. Its shiny wheels made me think Dad had bought some new wheels for it, but they are stainless steel, they shine like cutlery.
The first bikes I remember were really tricycles. I think we had a couple of kiddie trikes that me and my brother and sister would ride round the garden on. Brightly coloured orange and red, with big flat metal saddles. Today's equivalent would be cheap and plastic, and not last long. These things were indestructible.
My first real bike was a hand-me-down from my big brother. It was a sky blue bike with white plastic handlebar grips and solid, not inflatable, tyres. Only one brake, the front, which was controlled by a lever that connected some rods that went to the mechanism. There was a chain drive to the rear wheel and a freewheel hub, but no gears. As well as riding it, we would tip it upside down and spin the wheels, splashing water on them in the summer sunshine of childhood.
I used to ride this bike around a lot. For a time I used to walk home for lunch because we lived so close to school. I remember cycling round the block past school at lunchtime, looking in at all the kids stuck inside! My bike was my freedom!
My brother moved on to a red Raleigh Chopper. This was something. Big chopper handlebars, saddle with a high-rise back, brakes front and rear, gear lever in the middle with 3 speeds, and a little plastic indicator that said which gear you were in. Gears. It was like a car. When my brother got it I remember having a go on it, but it was much too big for me and I couldn't reach the pedals. I felt way up high, dangerously high, it was scary, wobbly, and even though Dad was holding me I felt so unsafe.
Eventually Rob grew out of the Chopper and I grew out of the blue bike, so I got the Chopper. Now I was right for it. I took my cycling proficiency test in it. By this time we'd moved further from school, and I had to cycle there for my test. I left the bike at Nan and Grandads and walked across the park for school, then went back to get it later for the test. I passed. I used to cycle around the park a lot with my friends. Once I let a friend ride the Chopper and I was on his bike. He had zoomed off and was now round the corner. So I decided to cut the corner across the grass, but my front wheel disappeared into a hole and I went flying over the handlebars. It didn't put me off though, and I remember one day riding from our house almost all the way to Edmonton on that bike.
When I'd grown out of the Chopper, I was ready for my brother's next cast-off. This was a dark red bike with straight handlebars and a three-speed hub gear. Dad had got this from a second-hand bike shop near our new school. I must have had this bike for a few years, but there are no great memories of it. No injuries, despite this being a time in my life when I was in and out of hospital with various cuts, bruises and concussions. I managed to do those without any help from the bike. Perhaps this discouraged Mum from letting me have a new bike. Once I'd grown out of that bike, I didn't get another for a while.
Probably without Mum's knowing I had been borrowing a friend's bike for a while, a Kalkhoff racing bike with derailleur gears, toe clips, and drop handlebars. We used to have races round the streets, and once we went for a long ride up to Epping Forest, where I narrowly managed to avoid falling in a ditch by managing to get across a six-inch wide plank without falling off.
When I went to University I lived on campus for the first year but for the second two years we lived a few miles away. I would often walk to college. It was a brisk 45 minute stroll, which was one side of a C90 tape on my Walkman. I still associate certain parts of specific Pink Floyd albums with locations on the route from Staines to Egham. The last parts of "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" take me back to the plod up Egham Hill.
I would occasionally borrow Bill or Julie's bikes. Bill's was a racing bike, and I could get a fair speed on that. Julie's racing bike was a bit smaller, since she was only 5ft 1in, so my knees took a bit of a hammering. Bill once ran into the back of a car and ended up on the boot. He just didnt see it.
When I left London for Lancaster I needed a bike. I bought the Kalkhoff racer from Mark and took it up to Lancaster. It was sky blue with proud German flags. Gear changers on the down tube, brakes with 'suicide levers' - those horizontal levers attached to brakes on drop handlebars.
I had to leave it outside when I lived in Wyreside Hall, and it took the weather pretty badly. When I came back from Christmas break the chain had seized up, and I had no bike oil or WD40 in the flat. So I used cooking oil. It worked well enough to get to town for some of the real stuff. I moved onto campus shortly afterwards and the bike got a lot less usage. Campus life was far too annoying, and so I moved out. The bike was back in regular use, except at this time I was a fair-weather cyclist. In the rain, I got the bus. Which in Lancaster, was quite often.
I remember one fall on this bike. Cranking up the hill to Abraham Heights, my feet slipped and over I went, cutting my leg a bit. Ouch. On another occasion I was cycling home at about 2am from a friend's house in the country when I was stopped by the police. Clearly cycling around at that time was suspicious behaviour. Actually, seeing a bus at that hour would be suspicious. They took the frame number, and checked with base to see if any Kalkhoff bikes had been stolen. One had. Different colour though. Relief. They let me on my way. When I did get home I discovered my flatmate had locked me out, and I had trouble waking him to get in. I had a vision of a neighbour ringing the police and seeing them again.
I moved to Chatsworth Road after a couple of years on Abraham Heights. We had a bike shed out the back, so I would leave my bike in the garden, go round and through the house to get the shed key, go out the back door, put the bike in the shed, lock up and go in. Of course once or twice I would get in and collapse, and forget the bike in the back. And on the third occasion, someone had spotted the bike and nicked it. I was gutted. I reported the theft to the police, and they asked me if I had the frame number. My response was that I didn't, but maybe they did after stopping me in the street that day at 2am. I didn't get the bike back.
A colleague at work was leaving soon, so I offered him 150 quid for his bike. This was another racer, I can't remember the makers name though. It was burgundy red, slightly smaller than my Kalkhoff. This was the first bike I got a cycle computer for. On my first run down the university drive, I hit 70mph. Then I fixed the sensor so it worked properly.
I moved to Coulston Road after a few months in Chatsworth Road, and here we had a garage out the back for keeping the bike. Alex the landlord kept his bike in here too. I was aware that the racer was a bit small for me, so I bought a bike that Lynne, my then girlfriend had. She fixed up the frame, painted it up a nice blue colour. I think it was a Peugeot frame underneath. White tape handlebars, 12 speed gears. This was a speed machine, thin and raw. I remember doing 40mph according to the speedo.
I'd had the blue bike for a short time, and I was keeping the red bike in the garage. On the day I took the computer from the red bike to the blue bike the garage was broken into and the red bike and Alex's bike were both stolen. The thieves had broken down the door during broad daylight and taken both. Good job it wasn't raining, or I would have got the bus and there would have been three bikes for the taken. We suspected someone had spotted the garage open at some point and spied three bikes.
The blue bike was the one I stopped being a fair-weather cyclist on. I'd broken up from Lynne, and I'd had an invite to dinner from a girl who lived in Galgate, a few miles away. It was raining. Buses didn't go that way. So I had to cycle. Turning up wet at a girl's house can be a great excuse to get your clothes off, but I think she just offered me a towel and I dried myself off as best I could. She cooked me some food, we had a good evening, I went home in the rain. We became friends, so it wasn't a total loss. From then on I discovered cycling in the rain was actually quite fun, and I think of her whenever I ride in the wet weather.
But the blue racing bike wasn't quite suited for slippy roads, so I bought a mountain bike from a second-hand ad on the university BBS. The seller had just bought a Cannondale racer, and was selling off his Emelle Cortina. It cost me 250 quid. I now had two bikes for the first time in my life. The Cortina was black, with thumb-shift gears, cantilever brakes, 21 speed gears, no mudguards, chunky tyres. I loved it, riding was so comfortable on the rough streets and up the steep hills, in the rain, the mud, the rocks. I kept the blue racer for occasional use, but soon I was just on the mountain bike all the time.
By now I'd moved out, into my own house on Mill Street, and soon after that I was seeing Julii. She lived in Norwich. Our first weekend together was a cycle treasure hunt in Norwich, so I took my bike down and we pedalled around the country side and got to know each other while looking for clues and spotting signposts. For the next couple of years we would visit each other regularly. She acquired another racing bike so I didn't have to bring mine. She painted it up with a gold snake winding round the tube.
One day out in the Norfolk countryside we were scooting along quite happily when we came to a sudden T-junction at the end of a country lane, where it met a main road. I went for the brakes and the handlebar slipped, rotated, I couldn't get to the brake levers, and there was two lanes of busy traffic going both ways ahead of me. Somehow I managed to avoid the first lane, cranked it right and ended up almost broadsiding a white van.
We found someone in the nearest village with some tools and fixed it up, but from then on that bike was known as The Death Bike!
For Julii to ride in Lancaster I bought her a Specialized Rockhopper mountain bike from a friend. It was a useful spare for me for when the Cortina was out of service. We rode together to Leeds on those bikes, loaded up with camping gear and over the hills and on the trails. I think she took the Rockhopper to Iceland, where it ran over glaciers and lava flows.
Five years with the Cortina was the longest I'd had any bike. For a year or two I had been thinking about buying myself a new bike, a brand new bike, my first ever brand new bike. Then one day on my way home the front fork on the Cortina broke, I hit the road and broke my elbow. Four weeks in plaster and three months off the bike. I fixed it up when I was fixed up, and got back on. I really wanted to get a new bike now. I thought about getting a recumbent bike, or a trike, or a speedy thing with a full fairing and joystick control. I really wanted a new bike.
It took me another six years. In October 2004 I bought a Dawes Edge Team in Bicycle Magic. 24 speed, shiny gold colour, hydraulic disk brakes, lightweight frame, front suspension. Everything I wanted. So I bought it. Since then my Cortina has been in the spare room, waiting for someone I can trust with it. I've had that bike for 12 years, and it became almost part of me. I knew its quirks and problems, I'd customized it to my taste - lights, reflectors and the massively noisy air horn. I'd tinkered with it nearly every week - fixing the brakes, replacing the bearings, hubs, gears, chain. There was very little of it left from the original bike I'd bought - just the frame and the saddle. New forks, new wheels, new cogs and chainrings. I went through Shimano shifters pretty quickly too. Brake blocks and cables - probably changed every two months. The pannier rack is held on with cable ties. The front changer needs a kicking to shift down. I'd probably done over 25,000 miles on that bike - enough to go round the world.No wonder it had a few problems.
I've now done 1000 miles on my new bike - but I have a feeling its less than that and I need to calibrate the speedo properly. The total amount of maintenance I've done on it is to pump the tyres up once and lubricate the chain a few times. I didn't really bond with it until I did that long ride in December, out into the countryside in the winter sunshine and across the ice and snow. Only after that trip - in fact only after washing the mud off an making it all shiny again - did I really feel it was my bike.
My Cortina cost me 250 and lasted me 12 years. The Dawes cost me three times that and so should last me until I am 75. I may never need to buy another bike. But I probably will!
The first bikes I remember were really tricycles. I think we had a couple of kiddie trikes that me and my brother and sister would ride round the garden on. Brightly coloured orange and red, with big flat metal saddles. Today's equivalent would be cheap and plastic, and not last long. These things were indestructible.
My first real bike was a hand-me-down from my big brother. It was a sky blue bike with white plastic handlebar grips and solid, not inflatable, tyres. Only one brake, the front, which was controlled by a lever that connected some rods that went to the mechanism. There was a chain drive to the rear wheel and a freewheel hub, but no gears. As well as riding it, we would tip it upside down and spin the wheels, splashing water on them in the summer sunshine of childhood.
I used to ride this bike around a lot. For a time I used to walk home for lunch because we lived so close to school. I remember cycling round the block past school at lunchtime, looking in at all the kids stuck inside! My bike was my freedom!
My brother moved on to a red Raleigh Chopper. This was something. Big chopper handlebars, saddle with a high-rise back, brakes front and rear, gear lever in the middle with 3 speeds, and a little plastic indicator that said which gear you were in. Gears. It was like a car. When my brother got it I remember having a go on it, but it was much too big for me and I couldn't reach the pedals. I felt way up high, dangerously high, it was scary, wobbly, and even though Dad was holding me I felt so unsafe.
Eventually Rob grew out of the Chopper and I grew out of the blue bike, so I got the Chopper. Now I was right for it. I took my cycling proficiency test in it. By this time we'd moved further from school, and I had to cycle there for my test. I left the bike at Nan and Grandads and walked across the park for school, then went back to get it later for the test. I passed. I used to cycle around the park a lot with my friends. Once I let a friend ride the Chopper and I was on his bike. He had zoomed off and was now round the corner. So I decided to cut the corner across the grass, but my front wheel disappeared into a hole and I went flying over the handlebars. It didn't put me off though, and I remember one day riding from our house almost all the way to Edmonton on that bike.
When I'd grown out of the Chopper, I was ready for my brother's next cast-off. This was a dark red bike with straight handlebars and a three-speed hub gear. Dad had got this from a second-hand bike shop near our new school. I must have had this bike for a few years, but there are no great memories of it. No injuries, despite this being a time in my life when I was in and out of hospital with various cuts, bruises and concussions. I managed to do those without any help from the bike. Perhaps this discouraged Mum from letting me have a new bike. Once I'd grown out of that bike, I didn't get another for a while.
Probably without Mum's knowing I had been borrowing a friend's bike for a while, a Kalkhoff racing bike with derailleur gears, toe clips, and drop handlebars. We used to have races round the streets, and once we went for a long ride up to Epping Forest, where I narrowly managed to avoid falling in a ditch by managing to get across a six-inch wide plank without falling off.
When I went to University I lived on campus for the first year but for the second two years we lived a few miles away. I would often walk to college. It was a brisk 45 minute stroll, which was one side of a C90 tape on my Walkman. I still associate certain parts of specific Pink Floyd albums with locations on the route from Staines to Egham. The last parts of "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" take me back to the plod up Egham Hill.
I would occasionally borrow Bill or Julie's bikes. Bill's was a racing bike, and I could get a fair speed on that. Julie's racing bike was a bit smaller, since she was only 5ft 1in, so my knees took a bit of a hammering. Bill once ran into the back of a car and ended up on the boot. He just didnt see it.
When I left London for Lancaster I needed a bike. I bought the Kalkhoff racer from Mark and took it up to Lancaster. It was sky blue with proud German flags. Gear changers on the down tube, brakes with 'suicide levers' - those horizontal levers attached to brakes on drop handlebars.
I had to leave it outside when I lived in Wyreside Hall, and it took the weather pretty badly. When I came back from Christmas break the chain had seized up, and I had no bike oil or WD40 in the flat. So I used cooking oil. It worked well enough to get to town for some of the real stuff. I moved onto campus shortly afterwards and the bike got a lot less usage. Campus life was far too annoying, and so I moved out. The bike was back in regular use, except at this time I was a fair-weather cyclist. In the rain, I got the bus. Which in Lancaster, was quite often.
I remember one fall on this bike. Cranking up the hill to Abraham Heights, my feet slipped and over I went, cutting my leg a bit. Ouch. On another occasion I was cycling home at about 2am from a friend's house in the country when I was stopped by the police. Clearly cycling around at that time was suspicious behaviour. Actually, seeing a bus at that hour would be suspicious. They took the frame number, and checked with base to see if any Kalkhoff bikes had been stolen. One had. Different colour though. Relief. They let me on my way. When I did get home I discovered my flatmate had locked me out, and I had trouble waking him to get in. I had a vision of a neighbour ringing the police and seeing them again.
I moved to Chatsworth Road after a couple of years on Abraham Heights. We had a bike shed out the back, so I would leave my bike in the garden, go round and through the house to get the shed key, go out the back door, put the bike in the shed, lock up and go in. Of course once or twice I would get in and collapse, and forget the bike in the back. And on the third occasion, someone had spotted the bike and nicked it. I was gutted. I reported the theft to the police, and they asked me if I had the frame number. My response was that I didn't, but maybe they did after stopping me in the street that day at 2am. I didn't get the bike back.
A colleague at work was leaving soon, so I offered him 150 quid for his bike. This was another racer, I can't remember the makers name though. It was burgundy red, slightly smaller than my Kalkhoff. This was the first bike I got a cycle computer for. On my first run down the university drive, I hit 70mph. Then I fixed the sensor so it worked properly.
I moved to Coulston Road after a few months in Chatsworth Road, and here we had a garage out the back for keeping the bike. Alex the landlord kept his bike in here too. I was aware that the racer was a bit small for me, so I bought a bike that Lynne, my then girlfriend had. She fixed up the frame, painted it up a nice blue colour. I think it was a Peugeot frame underneath. White tape handlebars, 12 speed gears. This was a speed machine, thin and raw. I remember doing 40mph according to the speedo.
I'd had the blue bike for a short time, and I was keeping the red bike in the garage. On the day I took the computer from the red bike to the blue bike the garage was broken into and the red bike and Alex's bike were both stolen. The thieves had broken down the door during broad daylight and taken both. Good job it wasn't raining, or I would have got the bus and there would have been three bikes for the taken. We suspected someone had spotted the garage open at some point and spied three bikes.
The blue bike was the one I stopped being a fair-weather cyclist on. I'd broken up from Lynne, and I'd had an invite to dinner from a girl who lived in Galgate, a few miles away. It was raining. Buses didn't go that way. So I had to cycle. Turning up wet at a girl's house can be a great excuse to get your clothes off, but I think she just offered me a towel and I dried myself off as best I could. She cooked me some food, we had a good evening, I went home in the rain. We became friends, so it wasn't a total loss. From then on I discovered cycling in the rain was actually quite fun, and I think of her whenever I ride in the wet weather.
But the blue racing bike wasn't quite suited for slippy roads, so I bought a mountain bike from a second-hand ad on the university BBS. The seller had just bought a Cannondale racer, and was selling off his Emelle Cortina. It cost me 250 quid. I now had two bikes for the first time in my life. The Cortina was black, with thumb-shift gears, cantilever brakes, 21 speed gears, no mudguards, chunky tyres. I loved it, riding was so comfortable on the rough streets and up the steep hills, in the rain, the mud, the rocks. I kept the blue racer for occasional use, but soon I was just on the mountain bike all the time.
By now I'd moved out, into my own house on Mill Street, and soon after that I was seeing Julii. She lived in Norwich. Our first weekend together was a cycle treasure hunt in Norwich, so I took my bike down and we pedalled around the country side and got to know each other while looking for clues and spotting signposts. For the next couple of years we would visit each other regularly. She acquired another racing bike so I didn't have to bring mine. She painted it up with a gold snake winding round the tube.
One day out in the Norfolk countryside we were scooting along quite happily when we came to a sudden T-junction at the end of a country lane, where it met a main road. I went for the brakes and the handlebar slipped, rotated, I couldn't get to the brake levers, and there was two lanes of busy traffic going both ways ahead of me. Somehow I managed to avoid the first lane, cranked it right and ended up almost broadsiding a white van.
We found someone in the nearest village with some tools and fixed it up, but from then on that bike was known as The Death Bike!
For Julii to ride in Lancaster I bought her a Specialized Rockhopper mountain bike from a friend. It was a useful spare for me for when the Cortina was out of service. We rode together to Leeds on those bikes, loaded up with camping gear and over the hills and on the trails. I think she took the Rockhopper to Iceland, where it ran over glaciers and lava flows.
Five years with the Cortina was the longest I'd had any bike. For a year or two I had been thinking about buying myself a new bike, a brand new bike, my first ever brand new bike. Then one day on my way home the front fork on the Cortina broke, I hit the road and broke my elbow. Four weeks in plaster and three months off the bike. I fixed it up when I was fixed up, and got back on. I really wanted to get a new bike now. I thought about getting a recumbent bike, or a trike, or a speedy thing with a full fairing and joystick control. I really wanted a new bike.
It took me another six years. In October 2004 I bought a Dawes Edge Team in Bicycle Magic. 24 speed, shiny gold colour, hydraulic disk brakes, lightweight frame, front suspension. Everything I wanted. So I bought it. Since then my Cortina has been in the spare room, waiting for someone I can trust with it. I've had that bike for 12 years, and it became almost part of me. I knew its quirks and problems, I'd customized it to my taste - lights, reflectors and the massively noisy air horn. I'd tinkered with it nearly every week - fixing the brakes, replacing the bearings, hubs, gears, chain. There was very little of it left from the original bike I'd bought - just the frame and the saddle. New forks, new wheels, new cogs and chainrings. I went through Shimano shifters pretty quickly too. Brake blocks and cables - probably changed every two months. The pannier rack is held on with cable ties. The front changer needs a kicking to shift down. I'd probably done over 25,000 miles on that bike - enough to go round the world.No wonder it had a few problems.
I've now done 1000 miles on my new bike - but I have a feeling its less than that and I need to calibrate the speedo properly. The total amount of maintenance I've done on it is to pump the tyres up once and lubricate the chain a few times. I didn't really bond with it until I did that long ride in December, out into the countryside in the winter sunshine and across the ice and snow. Only after that trip - in fact only after washing the mud off an making it all shiny again - did I really feel it was my bike.
My Cortina cost me 250 and lasted me 12 years. The Dawes cost me three times that and so should last me until I am 75. I may never need to buy another bike. But I probably will!
Friday, April 29, 2005
Book Thing
So Taeko wants me to answer these questions eh? Fairynuff.
You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451. Which book do you want to be?
Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler. I've not read Fahrenheit 451, but I believe the plot involves burning books. So I'd be happy to be Mein Kampf and joyfully throw myself onto the flames.
Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Mmmm Lara Croft... Its NOT the pneumatic breasts, she drives a Land Rover, she climbs, she's clever... we'd make a great team...
The last book(s) you bought:
First Overland, the story of the first overland trip from London to Singapore, done in 1955 by some Oxbridge types. Yes, they were in two Land Rovers.
The last book you read:
The Little Book Of Abuse, a present from Jenny on my birthday.
What are you currently reading?
My DVD player instruction manual.
Five books you would take to a desert island:
The first three are books I can always come back to, I've read them several times each. I
keep Walden and ZATAOMM on my PDA and read them when I have a moment.
The Lao Tse would be useful, since it would take a lifetime to understand what on earth its going on about.
Who are you going to pass this stick to? And why?
Nobody, because I dont know anyone else who blogs!
You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451. Which book do you want to be?
Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler. I've not read Fahrenheit 451, but I believe the plot involves burning books. So I'd be happy to be Mein Kampf and joyfully throw myself onto the flames.
Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Mmmm Lara Croft... Its NOT the pneumatic breasts, she drives a Land Rover, she climbs, she's clever... we'd make a great team...
The last book(s) you bought:
First Overland, the story of the first overland trip from London to Singapore, done in 1955 by some Oxbridge types. Yes, they were in two Land Rovers.
The last book you read:
The Little Book Of Abuse, a present from Jenny on my birthday.
What are you currently reading?
My DVD player instruction manual.
Five books you would take to a desert island:
- Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance [R Pirsig]
- Walden [H D Thoreau]
- Illusions [Richard Bach]
- A bird guide book appropriate to the area
- Tao Te Ching (Lao Tse)
The first three are books I can always come back to, I've read them several times each. I
keep Walden and ZATAOMM on my PDA and read them when I have a moment.
The Lao Tse would be useful, since it would take a lifetime to understand what on earth its going on about.
Who are you going to pass this stick to? And why?
Nobody, because I dont know anyone else who blogs!
Friday, April 22, 2005
Earth Day
Al and Susan had asked me if I wanted to come along to Go Ape in Grizedale Forest, and as is my way these days, I said 'yes', and then wondered what I'd let myself in for. A high-level adventure through the tree canopy, featuring rope bridges, slides, and swings. I'd never done anything much like that before. I'd been on a wobbly bridge high up in the Australian forest, but that was a proper bridge. This new adventure required harness, ropes, clips and a definite head for heights.
In the morning I found my Rainforest Action Movement t-shirt and decided it was right for the day. A day to get up there with the trees and see things how they see it. Get their point of view. I bought that t-shirt about 14 years ago, on a conference trip to Charleston. My first trip to the USA. It's mainly white with some green rainforest and splashes of colour from a tree-frog, a jaguar, a butterfly and the beak of a happy toucan. On the back a bulldozer destroys the forest. I treasure this t-shirt, and it has never been in a washing machine. I only ever hand wash it.
So with my Rainforest t-shirt and my army trousers, it was off to Grizedale. We had a little walk round the sculptures in the morning and then some lunch by the pond. At 3pm it was time to sign our lives away and for Zoe to strap us hard into our harnesses. Ouch. A quick safety talk which Zoe rattled off like she'd done it a thousand times and then it was off up the first rope ladder. And onto the first rope bridge. And down the first slide. Woooo. Landed on my arse.
Soon got into the routine for each little trip between the trees. Pulley, blue safety, red safety behind. Go. At the other end, red safety off, onto the tree, blue safety off, onto the tree, pulley off. At all times you are connected to the safety cables by at least one line. The spring carabiners they use sometimes don't close completely, so a final check is always a good idea. Once or twice I found myself checking my clips half way across, 40 feet up, standing on a thin wire or a narrow log. Pointless, if they had been unclipped it would only have scared me, and I wouldn't have been able to clip them back up anyway.
The second slide was huge. You could hardly see the pile of sand that made the landing site. Al went down first. The noise was like a tube train. Crunch - he landed backwards in a spray of sand. Susan did better, and I managed to work out how to rotate and landed nicely.
There was a bit of a traffic jam at the next zone, and we could see why. The stirrups. Ten ordinary horse-riding stirrups suspended on six-foot ropes from two parallel ropes going between the trees. You had to step from one to the other. "Dont look down" was not an option. You'd never see the stirrups! Plus you were having to stand on one foot, wobbling around, hanging on to a rope, 40ft up. The stirrups was the first challenge that rated 'black' - the most difficult rating. We got across it okay, then a few more bridges and another slide down.
The fourth section contained the barrels. You first went up a rope ladder and then ahead of you was a tunnel of barrel proportions. Al was ahead of me, and crawled through on his hands and knees, only to get a bit stuck at the far end. He had to curl up tight to get his feet out onto the platform. I decided to tacke it on my back, and went head first into the barrels, and pulled myself along by the wooden slats that made up the tunnel. At the end I hauled myself out and hanging on to the edge over the gap between the barrels and the tree, brought out my legs and made it to the platform.
The last section of the course contained the big challenge of the Tarzan Swing. Blacker than black. This was 'Extreme Black'. It was this that was causing the vast majority of yelping and screaming from some of the other people in the trees. You clipped on to a rope from a platform. Red clip, blue clip. Then on a count of three from Zoe, stepped off. A leap of faith. A six foot fall and then the rope went taut, a moment of g-force and then you're flying towards a cargo net. Splat, like a fly in a web. Hang on, as the returning rope tries to pull you back. Climb up the cargo net and over to the next platform. Clip on, let the rope fly back for the next person. After another wobbly bridge was the Bosun's Chair, a level wire with a rope for pulling yourself along. If you had enough faith in your safety, you could jump off the platform and glide on your pulley all the way to the other side. I gave it a go, and just made it. A final slide down and we were back in the car park. My anatomy was glad to get the harness off.
So then we headed off to Ambleside, for pizza at Zefferelis. There was only one choice for us, the Zeff's Rain Forest Pizza. No, this did not contain sliced bromeliads, but lots of good veggies and jalapenos. And Zeffs make a donation to a Rainforest charity for every one they sell.
Only when I got home, and went to google for something did I see it was Earth Day. It's not something that's big in this country, but the day's activities seemed strangely appropriate for it.
In the morning I found my Rainforest Action Movement t-shirt and decided it was right for the day. A day to get up there with the trees and see things how they see it. Get their point of view. I bought that t-shirt about 14 years ago, on a conference trip to Charleston. My first trip to the USA. It's mainly white with some green rainforest and splashes of colour from a tree-frog, a jaguar, a butterfly and the beak of a happy toucan. On the back a bulldozer destroys the forest. I treasure this t-shirt, and it has never been in a washing machine. I only ever hand wash it.
So with my Rainforest t-shirt and my army trousers, it was off to Grizedale. We had a little walk round the sculptures in the morning and then some lunch by the pond. At 3pm it was time to sign our lives away and for Zoe to strap us hard into our harnesses. Ouch. A quick safety talk which Zoe rattled off like she'd done it a thousand times and then it was off up the first rope ladder. And onto the first rope bridge. And down the first slide. Woooo. Landed on my arse.
Soon got into the routine for each little trip between the trees. Pulley, blue safety, red safety behind. Go. At the other end, red safety off, onto the tree, blue safety off, onto the tree, pulley off. At all times you are connected to the safety cables by at least one line. The spring carabiners they use sometimes don't close completely, so a final check is always a good idea. Once or twice I found myself checking my clips half way across, 40 feet up, standing on a thin wire or a narrow log. Pointless, if they had been unclipped it would only have scared me, and I wouldn't have been able to clip them back up anyway.
The second slide was huge. You could hardly see the pile of sand that made the landing site. Al went down first. The noise was like a tube train. Crunch - he landed backwards in a spray of sand. Susan did better, and I managed to work out how to rotate and landed nicely.
There was a bit of a traffic jam at the next zone, and we could see why. The stirrups. Ten ordinary horse-riding stirrups suspended on six-foot ropes from two parallel ropes going between the trees. You had to step from one to the other. "Dont look down" was not an option. You'd never see the stirrups! Plus you were having to stand on one foot, wobbling around, hanging on to a rope, 40ft up. The stirrups was the first challenge that rated 'black' - the most difficult rating. We got across it okay, then a few more bridges and another slide down.
The fourth section contained the barrels. You first went up a rope ladder and then ahead of you was a tunnel of barrel proportions. Al was ahead of me, and crawled through on his hands and knees, only to get a bit stuck at the far end. He had to curl up tight to get his feet out onto the platform. I decided to tacke it on my back, and went head first into the barrels, and pulled myself along by the wooden slats that made up the tunnel. At the end I hauled myself out and hanging on to the edge over the gap between the barrels and the tree, brought out my legs and made it to the platform.
The last section of the course contained the big challenge of the Tarzan Swing. Blacker than black. This was 'Extreme Black'. It was this that was causing the vast majority of yelping and screaming from some of the other people in the trees. You clipped on to a rope from a platform. Red clip, blue clip. Then on a count of three from Zoe, stepped off. A leap of faith. A six foot fall and then the rope went taut, a moment of g-force and then you're flying towards a cargo net. Splat, like a fly in a web. Hang on, as the returning rope tries to pull you back. Climb up the cargo net and over to the next platform. Clip on, let the rope fly back for the next person. After another wobbly bridge was the Bosun's Chair, a level wire with a rope for pulling yourself along. If you had enough faith in your safety, you could jump off the platform and glide on your pulley all the way to the other side. I gave it a go, and just made it. A final slide down and we were back in the car park. My anatomy was glad to get the harness off.
So then we headed off to Ambleside, for pizza at Zefferelis. There was only one choice for us, the Zeff's Rain Forest Pizza. No, this did not contain sliced bromeliads, but lots of good veggies and jalapenos. And Zeffs make a donation to a Rainforest charity for every one they sell.
Only when I got home, and went to google for something did I see it was Earth Day. It's not something that's big in this country, but the day's activities seemed strangely appropriate for it.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Rainbows
5pm, Thursday before Easter, the porter comes round the department and kicks everyone out. Its early, its still light, so I figure I can take the long way home along the river. Although its raining a bit, there's a brightness on the horizon where the sun in setting.
I used to hate cycling in the rain, so much so that if there was any rain in sight I'd get the bus. That all changed when I got invited round to a girl's house for dinner one day and it was raining and the only way to get there was by bike. Then I discovered it wasn't that bad after all.
So I set off, and down the country lanes to Galgate, through the farms and over to The Stork pub, and then onto the riverside path between fields of baby lambs and lots of lively birds enjoying the early spring sunshine.
Then with the sun low on my left I saw ahead to my right, at about 1 o' clock, part of a rainbow. I've always got time for rainbows, so I stopped. I looked back to my right, at about 5 o clock, and there was the other end of it. Two ends of a rainbow - two pots of pure gold coloured all the colours of - quite literally - the rainbow. I looked for a secondary bow, the one that forms outside the first bow. It wasn't that bright but there it was on the right-hand side, a small section of secondary bow. But something wasn't right. Secondary bows have the colours reversed - red on the inside, blue to the outside. This was red on the outside, like the main bow. And the angle was wrong. Secondary bows are concentric with the main bow. This was heading down at an angle to intersect the main bow at the horizon.
I looked behind me to the sun and found the answer. Two suns in the sunset. What I saw was a reflection rainbow, caused by the reflected sun on the water shining up and creating a bow. There's a great diagram and picture here.
I didn't have my camera so just absorbed it myself, and then noticed the real secondary bow, with its colours as they should be, outside the main bow and the reflection bow. As these bows faded I noticed the main bow grow really bright from the ground up. First just a small section of shining spectrum just above the green fields, then it grew upwards like a solid pole of colour, until it was about the height of two hands at arms length. Then it, and the other rainbows, faded away and left me.
Shortly along the track I stopped to help a cyclist whose pedal was falling off. He'd managed to wrap his chain up round his cogs and couldn't work out how to get it back. I unsnagged it from the wheels and we put the chainring back on and did it up as best we could. With my new bike being so problem-free I've stopped carrying tools so I couldn't do a proper job, but probably did enough to get him to Glasson Dock.
For some reason this felt connected to the rainbow display. It was like I'd been treated to this colourful spectacle to put me in the mood to help someone out. I don't need that kind of bribery though, I normally stop to help any cyclist with an obvious problem. But if I hadn't stopped for 20 minutes to watch the show, I probably wouldn't have been there when his chainring had fallen off. Someone knew how to best delay me!
And after fixing the bike, I got another couple of rewards in the form of two more bright rainbows before the sun headed low down and I arrived back in town with a huge smile on my face.
I used to hate cycling in the rain, so much so that if there was any rain in sight I'd get the bus. That all changed when I got invited round to a girl's house for dinner one day and it was raining and the only way to get there was by bike. Then I discovered it wasn't that bad after all.
So I set off, and down the country lanes to Galgate, through the farms and over to The Stork pub, and then onto the riverside path between fields of baby lambs and lots of lively birds enjoying the early spring sunshine.
Then with the sun low on my left I saw ahead to my right, at about 1 o' clock, part of a rainbow. I've always got time for rainbows, so I stopped. I looked back to my right, at about 5 o clock, and there was the other end of it. Two ends of a rainbow - two pots of pure gold coloured all the colours of - quite literally - the rainbow. I looked for a secondary bow, the one that forms outside the first bow. It wasn't that bright but there it was on the right-hand side, a small section of secondary bow. But something wasn't right. Secondary bows have the colours reversed - red on the inside, blue to the outside. This was red on the outside, like the main bow. And the angle was wrong. Secondary bows are concentric with the main bow. This was heading down at an angle to intersect the main bow at the horizon.
I looked behind me to the sun and found the answer. Two suns in the sunset. What I saw was a reflection rainbow, caused by the reflected sun on the water shining up and creating a bow. There's a great diagram and picture here.
I didn't have my camera so just absorbed it myself, and then noticed the real secondary bow, with its colours as they should be, outside the main bow and the reflection bow. As these bows faded I noticed the main bow grow really bright from the ground up. First just a small section of shining spectrum just above the green fields, then it grew upwards like a solid pole of colour, until it was about the height of two hands at arms length. Then it, and the other rainbows, faded away and left me.
Shortly along the track I stopped to help a cyclist whose pedal was falling off. He'd managed to wrap his chain up round his cogs and couldn't work out how to get it back. I unsnagged it from the wheels and we put the chainring back on and did it up as best we could. With my new bike being so problem-free I've stopped carrying tools so I couldn't do a proper job, but probably did enough to get him to Glasson Dock.
For some reason this felt connected to the rainbow display. It was like I'd been treated to this colourful spectacle to put me in the mood to help someone out. I don't need that kind of bribery though, I normally stop to help any cyclist with an obvious problem. But if I hadn't stopped for 20 minutes to watch the show, I probably wouldn't have been there when his chainring had fallen off. Someone knew how to best delay me!
And after fixing the bike, I got another couple of rewards in the form of two more bright rainbows before the sun headed low down and I arrived back in town with a huge smile on my face.
The Power of Crystals
Seven years ago a crystal changed my life.
Metals have a crystalline structure. Atoms line up in long rows, the rows line up in sheets, the sheets line up in solid blocks of crystalline metal. When molten metal cools to a solid these crystals grow together until the metal is a great accumulation of crystals. The size of these crystals depends on the purity and speed of the cooling process. Sometimes you can only see them under a microscope, but they are always there.
Under the surface of the paint of my bike are crystals. Seven years ago the crystals of my bike had already had maybe seven years of hammering on the road. Perhaps 8000 miles. On the Sunday after my birthday I decided to take it for a run off-road. As a treat. I found a track on the map, headed for it, and enjoyed the tricky rocky section. It was a grey day, the rocks were slightly slippery, but I enjoyed the challenge and the ride home was enjoyable.
Three days later the crystals turned against me. I was braking hard at a traffic light. Somewhere deep within the structure of the front fork a crystal failed. It split from its neighbours, and within an instant pressure built up along the fault line. A whole row of crystals split themselves away from their neighbours where they had lived happily for the past seven years. In a fraction of a second the tubing that had been my connection from the handlebars to the wheels for the past seven years was no more.
I hit the road, breaking my elbow in a very nasty way. Hospital, a couple of metal pins and three months off the bike.
Of course that's a life-changing experience. I could have been very seriously hurt. I could have lost a lot of the use of my right arm. I could have decided to wrap myself in cotton wool and not do anything dangerous or risky or exciting ever again, but I didn't. As soon as I could I got back on the bike I did, despite the discomfort, and I intentionally cycled past the place the accident happened. The next summer I went to the states on holiday, the one after that I went to Morocco, the one after that I went to Alaska and so on.
You dont have to break your elbow to change your life, you just have to realise what a fragile and precious thing it is.
Baz
Metals have a crystalline structure. Atoms line up in long rows, the rows line up in sheets, the sheets line up in solid blocks of crystalline metal. When molten metal cools to a solid these crystals grow together until the metal is a great accumulation of crystals. The size of these crystals depends on the purity and speed of the cooling process. Sometimes you can only see them under a microscope, but they are always there.
Under the surface of the paint of my bike are crystals. Seven years ago the crystals of my bike had already had maybe seven years of hammering on the road. Perhaps 8000 miles. On the Sunday after my birthday I decided to take it for a run off-road. As a treat. I found a track on the map, headed for it, and enjoyed the tricky rocky section. It was a grey day, the rocks were slightly slippery, but I enjoyed the challenge and the ride home was enjoyable.
Three days later the crystals turned against me. I was braking hard at a traffic light. Somewhere deep within the structure of the front fork a crystal failed. It split from its neighbours, and within an instant pressure built up along the fault line. A whole row of crystals split themselves away from their neighbours where they had lived happily for the past seven years. In a fraction of a second the tubing that had been my connection from the handlebars to the wheels for the past seven years was no more.
I hit the road, breaking my elbow in a very nasty way. Hospital, a couple of metal pins and three months off the bike.
Of course that's a life-changing experience. I could have been very seriously hurt. I could have lost a lot of the use of my right arm. I could have decided to wrap myself in cotton wool and not do anything dangerous or risky or exciting ever again, but I didn't. As soon as I could I got back on the bike I did, despite the discomfort, and I intentionally cycled past the place the accident happened. The next summer I went to the states on holiday, the one after that I went to Morocco, the one after that I went to Alaska and so on.
You dont have to break your elbow to change your life, you just have to realise what a fragile and precious thing it is.
Baz
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Down the gym
I had a good workout at the gym yesterday. If you want to go to the gym in Lancaster you have a few choices - there's the Salt Ayre Pool and Gym, The University Sports Centre Life Fitness, the one in town above where Dixons was, or the place I go to.
Membership fee is zero. Its open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week including Xmas, New Year, and Bank Holidays. You can do cycling, running, swimming, rowing - there's always lots to do. The view is always changing so you aren't just staring at some sweaty lycra-clad butt for an hour (although that may be a bad thing). Sometimes it gets a bit warm, but other times you'll get water gently sprinkled on your head to cool you down. There's also gentle ambient music. You'll find fewer people in the showers afterwards too.
So instead of driving to the gym, just walk through the door of your house that leads straight into Mother Nature's Exercise Palace.
Membership fee is zero. Its open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week including Xmas, New Year, and Bank Holidays. You can do cycling, running, swimming, rowing - there's always lots to do. The view is always changing so you aren't just staring at some sweaty lycra-clad butt for an hour (although that may be a bad thing). Sometimes it gets a bit warm, but other times you'll get water gently sprinkled on your head to cool you down. There's also gentle ambient music. You'll find fewer people in the showers afterwards too.
So instead of driving to the gym, just walk through the door of your house that leads straight into Mother Nature's Exercise Palace.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Descending from the mountains
Waking up at 6am. Getting on the bus at 6:30. We're at 2000m up. Mountains all around us. The sky is blue and clear, just bright enough to be starless. The moon which lit the way to the pub last night is long gone down. The peaks are still in shade. And then one distant rocky, icy triangle appears glowing and sunlit at its top. Gradually the higher summits are lit up as the sun creeps over the tops of the other mountains.
The bus descends. We all know how the Romans built straight roads, to defy nature and impose their human will on the landscape. Here in the mountains such behaviour would be stupid. You have to work with nature when it exists on this scale. Roads should follow the curves of the mountains and valleys. Occasionally man will build a tunnel, or a bridge, or some structure to help get us down the mountain, but in the main you work with the form of the land.
As the bus reaches the wide views of the lower hills, the sun is now up but applying its rays selectively. Round one corner is shade, and then its into bright sunshine. If there's no higher mountain in the way then the light floods through. From another angle, there's a peak that casts a huge shadow on a small village until late morning. And all this changes with the seasons.
By the time we reach the flatlands of the airport, the sun is high enough to shine on everything.
The bus descends. We all know how the Romans built straight roads, to defy nature and impose their human will on the landscape. Here in the mountains such behaviour would be stupid. You have to work with nature when it exists on this scale. Roads should follow the curves of the mountains and valleys. Occasionally man will build a tunnel, or a bridge, or some structure to help get us down the mountain, but in the main you work with the form of the land.
As the bus reaches the wide views of the lower hills, the sun is now up but applying its rays selectively. Round one corner is shade, and then its into bright sunshine. If there's no higher mountain in the way then the light floods through. From another angle, there's a peak that casts a huge shadow on a small village until late morning. And all this changes with the seasons.
By the time we reach the flatlands of the airport, the sun is high enough to shine on everything.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
The Beatless
I've realised that my role in MonkeyBucket was definitely that of Ringo in the Beatles. I wrote a few songs, mainly unsubtle three-chord stupid songs. I had a few crazy fans who would say I was the best thing in the band. If anyone had asked Al if I was the best bass player in the world, Al would have unhesitatingly replied "He's not even the best bass player in Monkey Bucket".
Al was of course the Lennon and McCartney of the band, all rolled up in one. Steve was a bit George Harrison, quiet, stay at the back and play guitar.
I'm sure if The Beatles were a five-piece with saxophone I'd find a role for Jan and Bernie, but sadly the analogy breaks down. I'm sure Dave Blackwell would be flattered to be compared to George Martin, and indeed he can. Top sounds.
Al was of course the Lennon and McCartney of the band, all rolled up in one. Steve was a bit George Harrison, quiet, stay at the back and play guitar.
I'm sure if The Beatles were a five-piece with saxophone I'd find a role for Jan and Bernie, but sadly the analogy breaks down. I'm sure Dave Blackwell would be flattered to be compared to George Martin, and indeed he can. Top sounds.
badger badger badger
Ummm I'm going on holiday? Haven't done that for a while, someone remind me what to do.
Oh yeah, pack a bag and get the heck out.
Skiing for a week in France, Marcus has organised it, all I need to do is get to Manchester with all my kit and enough money for the lift pass and ski hire. I think I'll be the only skier there, those guys will be boarding. Maybe there will be some skiers in the chalet I can hook up with so we can look down on those upstart boarder 'dudes' as we elegantly carve our way through the perfect powder.
Slightly concerned about my dodgy thigh muscles, ten minutes of football was enough for my right thigh to seem strained, but it was okay the next day. I'll make sure I really warm up and stretch before playing on Tuesday this week.
Oh yeah, pack a bag and get the heck out.
Skiing for a week in France, Marcus has organised it, all I need to do is get to Manchester with all my kit and enough money for the lift pass and ski hire. I think I'll be the only skier there, those guys will be boarding. Maybe there will be some skiers in the chalet I can hook up with so we can look down on those upstart boarder 'dudes' as we elegantly carve our way through the perfect powder.
Slightly concerned about my dodgy thigh muscles, ten minutes of football was enough for my right thigh to seem strained, but it was okay the next day. I'll make sure I really warm up and stretch before playing on Tuesday this week.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Minority report
Virgilio has been visiting the department for a few weeks, and he's off back to Valencia tomorrow. Last night we went out for a curry. There were 14 people there, and I was the only one from the UK. There were a few greeks, some italians, a couple of tres elegante Francaises, one portuguese and a slovenian. And me!
Most of these people spoke one other language as well as their native language and English, so half the time the greeks were talking to the spanish in spanish, or the french were talking to the slovenian in italian. I didn't dare see if anyone would understand my flakey russian!
After the curry, it was off to someone's house for a party - again I was the only brit there, the others being more spanish and a couple of germans and one non-spanish spanish guy - from the Basque country!
I wandered home at 2:30am.
Most of these people spoke one other language as well as their native language and English, so half the time the greeks were talking to the spanish in spanish, or the french were talking to the slovenian in italian. I didn't dare see if anyone would understand my flakey russian!
After the curry, it was off to someone's house for a party - again I was the only brit there, the others being more spanish and a couple of germans and one non-spanish spanish guy - from the Basque country!
I wandered home at 2:30am.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
iridescent clouds
Its a cold day today. I'm on the wrong side of the country for snow, which is all being dumped on the east coast at the moment.
But today, cycling in, something caught my eye. Colours in the clouds. Purple and green, gold and electric blue. Wow. No I wasn't tripping. This was iridescent clouds.
I dragged Ian out of his workshop to show him. You really need to block the sun behind a building and wear shades to get the full effect, otherwise its too bright. I showed a few other friends this too.
As a member of the Cloud Appreciation Society I'm always looking out for interesting things in the sky.
But today, cycling in, something caught my eye. Colours in the clouds. Purple and green, gold and electric blue. Wow. No I wasn't tripping. This was iridescent clouds.
I dragged Ian out of his workshop to show him. You really need to block the sun behind a building and wear shades to get the full effect, otherwise its too bright. I showed a few other friends this too.
As a member of the Cloud Appreciation Society I'm always looking out for interesting things in the sky.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
February mountain
I'm trying to climb a mountain every month this year. See 43things for more info. Well, here's what happened...
Weather outlook for the weekend – cold, sunny. I’m off. So Thursday night I decide to skip work for Friday. Friday morning, get the train and bus to Ambleside, hike the 10 miles up to Great Langdale campsite.
Rain in the night turns to ice on my tent by morning. I share my breakfast with robins and great tits. Then I’m off by 8:30 and a the top of Pike O Blisco by 10, and the summit has an 80mph roaring storm blowing on it. But only on the top summit. It nearly stopped me touching the top cairn, but I’d come this far, I wasn’t going to stop.
A minor thigh strain put me off a longer hike, so I figured I could head down the other side of the mountain, back to the valley, brew up some lunch there, then get the bus back to Ambleside. I got back about 11:50, and then realised there was a bus at 12:30, so I broke camp in double quick time and yomped to the bus stop. Home feels good.
Two down, ten to go.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
December bike ride
It was epic. Totally. I got out of the house at 9am (already an hour behind schedule, but I didnt really reckon I'd get out at 8 anyway!) and by the time I'd done the first half mile, along the canal, my hands were frozen. I was wearing thin cotton gloves under my cycling gloves, and it wasn't enough. But I'd brought my ski gloves along so I put them on over my cotton gloves. Eventually I got my feeling back.
Then I went along the riverside path for a couple of miles, to a bridge that has been closed for repairs for the past year. It'll be another year until it opens apparently, the council are useless at footpath and cycle path repair. If it was a road nobody would stand for it. The option is a long carry through some woods, up and down steps, over tree trunks. I did a bit of it, and got to the road where I carried on.
This took me to a little village called Caton, and from there I headed west into the hills. By this time the sun had risen over the mountains and was shining brightly. It was a beautiful clear day, no wind, even though the wind farm on Caton Moor was spinning wildly. I wonder if, when there's excess energy being created by the electrical grid elsewhere, they send it back to the windfarm to spin the blades?
I could see for miles. Off to the north-west, snow on the lake district hills. To the north, the yorkshire dales with a snowcap on each peak. To the south, a clear view all the way to Blackpool. To the west, the coastline and the blue horizon beyond.
After a steep climb up the side of the moor, I reached the first bit of off-road track. This took me down to the valley, and across a raging river via a bridge. There was black ice on the track, it was a bit tricky to avoid it in places. From the valley bottom a road led up through a farmhouse and then the real adventure was to begin.
I'd been on this track about 8 years ago with my friend Dave who now lives in Seattle. We biked up it with the intention of going right over the pass to the village of Slaidburn on the other side, and then back to Lancaster. In reality we were a bit late setting off, made it to the top of the pass where it was muddy and rutted, thought better of it, and bombed down the way we'd came. Dave got a very nice 'snakebite' puncture on the way down. Well, we were hurtling.
Since then, a friend of mine had told me that they'd surfaced the track with blacktop all the way to Slaidburn. That upset me, since it was such a good mountain biking track, and there's few enough of them round here. So it was quite a surprise to get to the last farmhouse on the road, and discover beyond the final gate was gravel. And mud. And rocks. And puddles. It was as I'd remembered it!
But this time, there was ice. Lots of it. An inch thick on most of the puddles. I crashed through them, the ice breaking with a sound something between that of plastic and glass. Sometimes large icebergs would cause my front wheel to slip, and I'd almost lose it. But I stayed upright. There were steeper sections where water had flowed down ruts and frozen into silver streaks, picked out in the sun which was right ahead of me. My front suspension meant I could avoid these bits, and ride on the centre of the track, over the bumps and rocks.
By now I was well into the valley. It is so isolated. You can see no roads, no habitations, no people. In two directions, up and down the valley, you get a long view, but otherwise you are enclosed in the valley. You could be anywhere, like Mongolia or somewhere. There's no sense of where you are in the wild moorland, tussocks of moss and heather amongst the short grass, icicles hanging from the peat as the water trickles over. Small amounts of snow from last night blown up against rocks and mounds. It felt like wilderness.
I only saw two other people on this track - on one motorbike, heading back down. The track is a legal route for motorbikes, and I had feared seeing lots of them. On my way through Caton I saw lots of trail bikes on trailers and white trucks heading up, and I worried that there would be a track full of them, but they all turned off at a farm house well away from where I was going.
By now I'd been on this track for a couple of hours, smashing through the ice-covered puddles, grinding my way over the rocks and boulders, sliding over the ice. I was now past the point where Dave and I had got to, and it was decision time on the route from here.
I could have carried on on the main track to Slaidburn, but that meant a long ride back to Lancaster. By taking a footpath from the main track I could cut off a large corner of the route. Although I felt I had plenty of time, I knew it would start getting cold once the sun started to descend, and it was now about 1pm. The problem with the footpath is that you aren't allowed to ride a bike on a footpath, but you are allowed to carry or push one. I took a look at the path which descended the hill from the track I was on and headed for a small side valley and decided it was worth it.
So now I got some upper-body training, as I virtually hauled my bike two miles over moorland. It was icy, snowy, and wet. I wasn't wearing boots. Before long my trainers were pretty soaked and my feet were getting cold. The bike kept slipping down the hill, and I just had to hang on and haul it back up. I carried it over several streams. Sometimes its an advantage, making you almost quadripedal. Push the bike out to see how soggy the ground is, and then jump the gap using the bike as a pivot. Or push the bike up a slope, stick the brakes on, and pull yourself up using the bike as an anchor.
On this path I saw a few walkers, it was definitely lunchtime, they were all sitting on large boulders, soaking up the weak winter sun. After a chat I carried on, aware that my feet were starting to get numb. I really needed to get pedalling again. A mile or so after that, I trudged into a farmyard, and passed a large snake of brightly-coloured hikers. From here a farm road led back down to civilisation, so I could finally get pedalling again, get some blood back into my feet, and remember where top gear was again.
I got to the village of Dunsop Bridge. This village is famous for two things - firstly its been decided that it is the geographical centre of Great Britain. And its also the site of British Telecom's 100,000th telephone box. The two events are commemorated together, with four pillars at the cardinal points of the compass around the box, with the grid reference written on another. There's also a very pretty village green populated by many ducks, and a little tea shop. I sat on a bench by the green and had some food and drink, and watched some very strange motorbike riders. It was the motorbikes that were strange, not the riders, they were clearly enthusiasts for this particular model, or an owners club ride or something.
Now I had a road ride home, with one particular obstacle in the way. The Trough Of Bowland. This is a pass that rises up into the hills, steep and winding. I tackled it in bottom gear nearly all the way, 3mph, occasionally picking up into second gear, 6mph, legs burning, heart pounding. When I thought I'd got to the top I discovered there was another section to go. I was nearly all out of energy, but made the top without having to walk any of it. There then followed a long, speedy coast down.
Now it was an easy ride home. I took a road that skirted some moorland, headed down a valley and then went past the place I first lived in when I came to Lancaster, 17 years ago. Its a big old house in the country, divided up into flats. I was now on roads full of memories. I nearly stopped in the village pub, it was tempting. Instead I popped into campus, where I had a few bottles of beer, picked up a couple, and carried on home for a hot bath and a cold beer.
Then I went along the riverside path for a couple of miles, to a bridge that has been closed for repairs for the past year. It'll be another year until it opens apparently, the council are useless at footpath and cycle path repair. If it was a road nobody would stand for it. The option is a long carry through some woods, up and down steps, over tree trunks. I did a bit of it, and got to the road where I carried on.
This took me to a little village called Caton, and from there I headed west into the hills. By this time the sun had risen over the mountains and was shining brightly. It was a beautiful clear day, no wind, even though the wind farm on Caton Moor was spinning wildly. I wonder if, when there's excess energy being created by the electrical grid elsewhere, they send it back to the windfarm to spin the blades?
I could see for miles. Off to the north-west, snow on the lake district hills. To the north, the yorkshire dales with a snowcap on each peak. To the south, a clear view all the way to Blackpool. To the west, the coastline and the blue horizon beyond.
After a steep climb up the side of the moor, I reached the first bit of off-road track. This took me down to the valley, and across a raging river via a bridge. There was black ice on the track, it was a bit tricky to avoid it in places. From the valley bottom a road led up through a farmhouse and then the real adventure was to begin.
I'd been on this track about 8 years ago with my friend Dave who now lives in Seattle. We biked up it with the intention of going right over the pass to the village of Slaidburn on the other side, and then back to Lancaster. In reality we were a bit late setting off, made it to the top of the pass where it was muddy and rutted, thought better of it, and bombed down the way we'd came. Dave got a very nice 'snakebite' puncture on the way down. Well, we were hurtling.
Since then, a friend of mine had told me that they'd surfaced the track with blacktop all the way to Slaidburn. That upset me, since it was such a good mountain biking track, and there's few enough of them round here. So it was quite a surprise to get to the last farmhouse on the road, and discover beyond the final gate was gravel. And mud. And rocks. And puddles. It was as I'd remembered it!
But this time, there was ice. Lots of it. An inch thick on most of the puddles. I crashed through them, the ice breaking with a sound something between that of plastic and glass. Sometimes large icebergs would cause my front wheel to slip, and I'd almost lose it. But I stayed upright. There were steeper sections where water had flowed down ruts and frozen into silver streaks, picked out in the sun which was right ahead of me. My front suspension meant I could avoid these bits, and ride on the centre of the track, over the bumps and rocks.
By now I was well into the valley. It is so isolated. You can see no roads, no habitations, no people. In two directions, up and down the valley, you get a long view, but otherwise you are enclosed in the valley. You could be anywhere, like Mongolia or somewhere. There's no sense of where you are in the wild moorland, tussocks of moss and heather amongst the short grass, icicles hanging from the peat as the water trickles over. Small amounts of snow from last night blown up against rocks and mounds. It felt like wilderness.
I only saw two other people on this track - on one motorbike, heading back down. The track is a legal route for motorbikes, and I had feared seeing lots of them. On my way through Caton I saw lots of trail bikes on trailers and white trucks heading up, and I worried that there would be a track full of them, but they all turned off at a farm house well away from where I was going.
By now I'd been on this track for a couple of hours, smashing through the ice-covered puddles, grinding my way over the rocks and boulders, sliding over the ice. I was now past the point where Dave and I had got to, and it was decision time on the route from here.
I could have carried on on the main track to Slaidburn, but that meant a long ride back to Lancaster. By taking a footpath from the main track I could cut off a large corner of the route. Although I felt I had plenty of time, I knew it would start getting cold once the sun started to descend, and it was now about 1pm. The problem with the footpath is that you aren't allowed to ride a bike on a footpath, but you are allowed to carry or push one. I took a look at the path which descended the hill from the track I was on and headed for a small side valley and decided it was worth it.
So now I got some upper-body training, as I virtually hauled my bike two miles over moorland. It was icy, snowy, and wet. I wasn't wearing boots. Before long my trainers were pretty soaked and my feet were getting cold. The bike kept slipping down the hill, and I just had to hang on and haul it back up. I carried it over several streams. Sometimes its an advantage, making you almost quadripedal. Push the bike out to see how soggy the ground is, and then jump the gap using the bike as a pivot. Or push the bike up a slope, stick the brakes on, and pull yourself up using the bike as an anchor.
On this path I saw a few walkers, it was definitely lunchtime, they were all sitting on large boulders, soaking up the weak winter sun. After a chat I carried on, aware that my feet were starting to get numb. I really needed to get pedalling again. A mile or so after that, I trudged into a farmyard, and passed a large snake of brightly-coloured hikers. From here a farm road led back down to civilisation, so I could finally get pedalling again, get some blood back into my feet, and remember where top gear was again.
I got to the village of Dunsop Bridge. This village is famous for two things - firstly its been decided that it is the geographical centre of Great Britain. And its also the site of British Telecom's 100,000th telephone box. The two events are commemorated together, with four pillars at the cardinal points of the compass around the box, with the grid reference written on another. There's also a very pretty village green populated by many ducks, and a little tea shop. I sat on a bench by the green and had some food and drink, and watched some very strange motorbike riders. It was the motorbikes that were strange, not the riders, they were clearly enthusiasts for this particular model, or an owners club ride or something.
Now I had a road ride home, with one particular obstacle in the way. The Trough Of Bowland. This is a pass that rises up into the hills, steep and winding. I tackled it in bottom gear nearly all the way, 3mph, occasionally picking up into second gear, 6mph, legs burning, heart pounding. When I thought I'd got to the top I discovered there was another section to go. I was nearly all out of energy, but made the top without having to walk any of it. There then followed a long, speedy coast down.
Now it was an easy ride home. I took a road that skirted some moorland, headed down a valley and then went past the place I first lived in when I came to Lancaster, 17 years ago. Its a big old house in the country, divided up into flats. I was now on roads full of memories. I nearly stopped in the village pub, it was tempting. Instead I popped into campus, where I had a few bottles of beer, picked up a couple, and carried on home for a hot bath and a cold beer.
bad dreams
Aaaargh! I've been shot! In the leg! Through the shin. There's blood everywhere. A medic. Looking for an entry wound. Ripping my trouser leg off. Blood. As the trouser leg is torn upwards from my boots, we get to the hole in my leg, red and ragged. Right in the shin.
I wake up and check my leg for bulletholes. Or insect bites. Or something. Nothing.
A train station. A sense of panic. Something terrible has happened. I'll call an ambulance. Get the phone. Call emergency. But then someone tells me there's no rush. No point. She's dead. No. Disbelief. Cant be. I call the police. She's been murdered. I realise I should have called the railway police, who are there behind me, and not the regular police, who take a while arriving. Meanwhile, I just stand there, stunned. They arrive, and then discover the murderer, dead, further down the station platform.
I wake up and convince myself she's still alive. She's still alive. She's still alive.
I wake up and check my leg for bulletholes. Or insect bites. Or something. Nothing.
A train station. A sense of panic. Something terrible has happened. I'll call an ambulance. Get the phone. Call emergency. But then someone tells me there's no rush. No point. She's dead. No. Disbelief. Cant be. I call the police. She's been murdered. I realise I should have called the railway police, who are there behind me, and not the regular police, who take a while arriving. Meanwhile, I just stand there, stunned. They arrive, and then discover the murderer, dead, further down the station platform.
I wake up and convince myself she's still alive. She's still alive. She's still alive.
My bike
After Taeko's little story about her Mama Chari I thought I'd write something about my wheels.
My old bike I bought over twelve years ago - an Emmelle Cortina, with one careful previous owner, for 200 quid. I used it pretty much every day, on and off road, up hill and down dale, across rivers and streams, through forest and snow. I fell off a few times, once smashing my elbow up such that I've still got screws holding it together, seven years later. I hit one car - or rather it hit me - and the driver bought me a nice new rear wheel.
But it was showing its age. I think it needed a few new components, and I saw a nice shiny Dawes Edge Team in the local shop. Hydraulic disk brakes, front air suspension. 650 quid. Mmm. So it became mine.
Do the maths. Old bike, 200 quid, good for 12 years. New bike, 650 quid, good for 39 years. I'll be over seventy. I dont think I'll ever need to buy a new bike again!
Sometime I'll post the story of the great off-road ride I had back in December. And of course I'll take some pics of my bike too.
My old bike I bought over twelve years ago - an Emmelle Cortina, with one careful previous owner, for 200 quid. I used it pretty much every day, on and off road, up hill and down dale, across rivers and streams, through forest and snow. I fell off a few times, once smashing my elbow up such that I've still got screws holding it together, seven years later. I hit one car - or rather it hit me - and the driver bought me a nice new rear wheel.
But it was showing its age. I think it needed a few new components, and I saw a nice shiny Dawes Edge Team in the local shop. Hydraulic disk brakes, front air suspension. 650 quid. Mmm. So it became mine.
Do the maths. Old bike, 200 quid, good for 12 years. New bike, 650 quid, good for 39 years. I'll be over seventy. I dont think I'll ever need to buy a new bike again!
Sometime I'll post the story of the great off-road ride I had back in December. And of course I'll take some pics of my bike too.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
By the left...
If I want a man in odd clothes and dodgy facial hair shouting at me and fifty other people, telling me what to do with my left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot I have two choices.
One, join the army.
Two, go to a ceilidh.
Neither really appeals. So that's why on Saturday night I didn't do any dancing, but I did get to talk to lots of friends at Chris and Eliz's wedding party. And because there was no bar in the hall, they were sober for a change. Apart from Big Chris, who promptly disappeared to the local Off-license to get some cans, and by the time the evening ended he was drunk enough to dance without the fifty quid financial recompense he said he originally wanted for participating.
One, join the army.
Two, go to a ceilidh.
Neither really appeals. So that's why on Saturday night I didn't do any dancing, but I did get to talk to lots of friends at Chris and Eliz's wedding party. And because there was no bar in the hall, they were sober for a change. Apart from Big Chris, who promptly disappeared to the local Off-license to get some cans, and by the time the evening ended he was drunk enough to dance without the fifty quid financial recompense he said he originally wanted for participating.
countdown...
I was pondering the word 'countdown' the other day, and have realised that NASA have got it all wrong. What they actually do is a 'countup'. I'll explain.
The flight controller goes 'T minus 10 seconds, 9, 8, 7'. So the count is going from 'T minus 10' UP to 'T'. Its a count-up.
I dont know why they call it a countdown, its not rocket science...
The flight controller goes 'T minus 10 seconds, 9, 8, 7'. So the count is going from 'T minus 10' UP to 'T'. Its a count-up.
I dont know why they call it a countdown, its not rocket science...
promotion
So as of August 1st I become a level 33 bureaucrat. Okay, so that's straight out of Futurama. In fact I'm being promoted to A/L/C Grade 3. I've been sitting at the top of grade 2 for a few years, which means I only get the incremental pay rises and not the exponential ones I'd get if I was jumping up the scale every year.
What does it mean? Well, more money. More perceived responsibility (am doing my best to actually take on as little as possible). A hearty handshake from a colleague, who seemed to think it was a big deal. I don't know. I feel now like I'm in a job that should be supporting a wife and 2.4 kids with my salary.
I think it just means it'll be sooner that I can quit the job, let my house out, and spend the rest of my time travelling and making films! Well, you've got to have dreams...
What does it mean? Well, more money. More perceived responsibility (am doing my best to actually take on as little as possible). A hearty handshake from a colleague, who seemed to think it was a big deal. I don't know. I feel now like I'm in a job that should be supporting a wife and 2.4 kids with my salary.
I think it just means it'll be sooner that I can quit the job, let my house out, and spend the rest of my time travelling and making films! Well, you've got to have dreams...
Monday, February 14, 2005
Ethernet Bracelets
ThinkGeek.com sell bracelets made from twisted pair ethernet. $13 for one. Owch. That's about 2c of cable and 20c of clasp. Still, it would make a great present for Chris and Elizabeth.
So I made my own. Took a red, green, and blue cable home and did some dissection. Stripped the inner twisted pairs from the outer. Got some clasps from the craft shop and fixed one to the end of the twisted pairs. Then I cut the outer sleeving up into short sections and threaded it onto the twisted pair. I made sure the sleeving didn't have any writing on it - you may want to use sections with writing. To stop the sleeving sliding off, the first short section can have one twisted pair run outside of it. If you want you can almost braid the sleeving with the twisted pair all the way along. Thread more sleeving until the bracelet (or necklace) is almost complete, then again put the last piece on so it is locked. Use whatever colour pattern you want. I used simple repeating RGBRGB for the bracelets but changed to RGBBBGRGBBBGR with longer blue sections for the necklace. Add the other half of the clasp and its done.
I made two bracelets and a necklace for C+E, and then found a nice presentation box from a local shop. On the inside of the lid I wrote "To Chris and Elizabeth, my favourite twisted pair".
Now I have to make some more for Jenny, because she thinks I was being really cheap! I'll try and get pictures for these though.
Here they are - a bit dark though...
[click for flickr page with more pics]
So I made my own. Took a red, green, and blue cable home and did some dissection. Stripped the inner twisted pairs from the outer. Got some clasps from the craft shop and fixed one to the end of the twisted pairs. Then I cut the outer sleeving up into short sections and threaded it onto the twisted pair. I made sure the sleeving didn't have any writing on it - you may want to use sections with writing. To stop the sleeving sliding off, the first short section can have one twisted pair run outside of it. If you want you can almost braid the sleeving with the twisted pair all the way along. Thread more sleeving until the bracelet (or necklace) is almost complete, then again put the last piece on so it is locked. Use whatever colour pattern you want. I used simple repeating RGBRGB for the bracelets but changed to RGBBBGRGBBBGR with longer blue sections for the necklace. Add the other half of the clasp and its done.
I made two bracelets and a necklace for C+E, and then found a nice presentation box from a local shop. On the inside of the lid I wrote "To Chris and Elizabeth, my favourite twisted pair".
Now I have to make some more for Jenny, because she thinks I was being really cheap! I'll try and get pictures for these though.
Here they are - a bit dark though...
[click for flickr page with more pics]
Weird weekend
So this weekend its Chris and Elizabeth's wedding. Firstly, I realise there's three of my ex-girlfriends/romantic entanglements at the wedding reception. Walking home yesterday I think 'wouldnt it be nice to hear from Jenny, to make the numbers up to four', and then there's one message on the machine. Its her. So I call back and we chat. So then I'm thinking, 'wouldnt it be nice to get an email from Julii? I've not heard from her in months'. Check email. There it is. Asking me a statistical question at 9:30pm on a Sunday night. So now I'm thinking that's every girl I've been involved with since 1993. Oh no, hang on, one more I'd forgotten about. Check email. Un-be-lievable. I've not heard from her for eight months, maybe had three contacts from her in the past seven years. She's dropped a quick note to say hi.
So over the weekend I collected the entire set of ex-girlfriends/romantic entanglements from 1993 to present day... It was like an episode of the X Files. Or maybe the Ex-files?
So over the weekend I collected the entire set of ex-girlfriends/romantic entanglements from 1993 to present day... It was like an episode of the X Files. Or maybe the Ex-files?
Lift off
Ground control to Major Baz.
So I meant to keep a paper diary this year, printed out a nice one, but picking up a pen is much much harder than just typing something these days. So here it is in e-form.
So I meant to keep a paper diary this year, printed out a nice one, but picking up a pen is much much harder than just typing something these days. So here it is in e-form.
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