She will never know!

Before I type this properly, I would like to point out that this is in no way based on something I have done.

In the woods,
Rain and mud,
Time to wash,
Remove the crud,
Bike in the shower,
She will never know!
Water falls now,
Glistens like snow,
Mud and oil,
Sweat and blood,
From the days toil,
The singing fails,
She is home early!
Hide behind the rails!
Too late,
Your tracks spotted,
You silly man,
Mud and oil dotted,
Across the rug,
Hide the bike!
Not there you mug!
The door burst,
She stands with fury,
Time for the worst....


Its not based on anything that anyone I know has done either....

Road Trips

Road trips are amazing. Everyone loves a road trip. Except my Nan. But you know... She is old and stuff... And people love road trips with good reason! They speak of change, they give the feeling of times past, and times to come. Things said and done, somehow are remembered and then fade into insignificance as the road rushes past.

For me road trips are about time spent with freinds. I have so many memories of time spent in a car, watching the world go by, with the jokes and comments of my freinds near. All this combined with the ridiculous and off-key singing to things like Tenacious D and we come away with a bunch of stuff to talk about each time the wheels turn.








Turn the wheel
And turn the corner
Tarmac flows ahead
Behind the day lies
Tyres grip and
Steel surges forward
Feel the acceleration
Feel the stillness.

The Plan Was Set

The plan was set. The date and time loosely arranged. Reg was going to pick up Frank from Chagford, then come into Exeter and get me and Dave. Together we would go to Haldon forest and have a mountain bike ride. Simple right? Except my idea was to do this before work. Purely because we never actually go for a ride after work because we feel too tired. A simple plan that actually came off really well.

I got the first message from Frank at 4.58am, which just said that Reg was on his way to Chagford already. We were all slightly surprised by this as he is normally quite useless with this kind of thing. Shortly after I received that message my alarm went off. Good timing I guess. I got out of bed and after the usual morning things started to don my riding gear. By this time it is 5.35am, I text Frank to see what time they will be arriving with me. I have 20 minutes. I grabbed some breakfast and put my pre-packed Camelbak on before going to the garage to get my bike out. Within minutes the car pulls up and I see Reg, Frank, and Dave already inside, looking like it is too early to be awake. There are two bikes on the back and one in the boot. We are actually going riding!

The short road trip to the forest goes quickly while listening to early morning radio. As we pull up Frank finds his key to the forest car park and we go in. After quickly unloading in the dark we do a short spin round the car park to make sure everything works, and then hit the trails. It is still dark, and mist is in the air. It feels like it could rain at any point. It already had rained over night. The new trail is fast in the dry, and is supposed to be weatherproof. We shall soon see. As we round a corner we come across an amazing view of the city below us, its twinkling lights enshrouded by darkness.

We start the first descent, the trail made of clay that has been turned slick by the night’s heavy rain. I fight for grip, while Reg and Frank get to grips with the new trail. Dave seems the only one to be riding easily at this point. Dave and I hung back for a while, giving Reg and Frank time to get ahead so we could go a little faster trying to catch them up. The light levels kept changing as we zipped through the trees. The whole trail is cut into the side of the hill, so the rain water flows across the trail and on down the hill. In places the trail has had little rock-gardens designed to allow the water to flow down the hill without damaging the trail. These little rock-gardens make the trail interesting. As we were flying down the trail we would suddenly come on them and splash through the quickly running water. It was hard to say which was moving faster, us or the water. The splashes soaked our legs and dripped into our shoes. It felt freezing cold, and great.

Dave and I had been riding recently and had even ridden this trail in the last couple of weeks so we had no trouble with it. Reg and Frank however were a different story. Frank hadn’t been on a bike in a while and for whatever reason had decided to ride a single speed bike, so was struggling to keep up in places. Reg was managing admirably well, seemingly just from the boundless energies of youth. But both of them were complaining about the trail, and how it didn’t have flow. To be fair, there were rocks on either side of the trail put in place to slow riders and keep them on the trail. But Reg and Frank were looking at these obstacles with regards to them being in the way, not that they are making you flow a different way. Dave and I seem to be slightly more adaptable, we are hitting the trail fast. Maybe it’s because we are both riding tight handling cross country bikes where Frank and Reg are on more laid back all-mountain bikes. They are still keeping up on the open stretches but in the tight turns and the narrow switchbacks Dave and I are shooting ahead. We all seem to be spurred on as the light starts to creep between the trees burning away the early mist.

We make a brief stop to allow everyone to catch up and the heart rate to slow, but just slightly. As soon as we have touched our feet down, and our breathing has slowed enough to ask “Ready..?” we are off again. This time forcing the bikes uphill, the trail still dropping away on one side to reveal a whole lot of steep drop. On the other side it is mostly steep climb, both up and down scattered with trees. This whole environment is exceptionally exciting for me, even before the addition of a bike and high speeds. The climb isn’t long. No more than a single kilometre. After we have made the climb we cross a fire road and begin a blast along a flat piece of trail, where we mostly seem to be getting faster and faster. It begins to undulate and then crosses a fire road before hitting three switch backs on loose ground. On the second one of these I lost my front wheel. But a quick dab with an SPD garbed toe and I’m speeding away again, hot on Dave’s heels.

At this point the trail begins to descend in earnest. We are accelerating two fold now thanks to the furious pedalling and the gravitational bonus. Hitting each obstacle faster than the last. The braking bumps are coming quicker and quicker and I don’t think any of us were anywhere near our brakes. I was shifting up through the gears at this point trying to catch Dave before the trail kicked us out on the fire road for the climb back up. I find that the back of the bike starts to skip around as I am pedalling as much as I can and leaning forward for the photo-finish. Then just as suddenly we hit the fire road and all have to brake hard to prevent punching into one another.

At this point no-one wanted to waste too much time before the climb, so after checking that everything is still attached, we have a quick drink combined with the nervous laughter of someone who has just done something very silly in the company of other people also doing that silly thing and where almost all of them had come pretty close to the edge of their abilities. (Only people who participate in dangerous sports or activities such as “Living” will appreciate the last sentence.) So without much time or adrenalin wasted we start on the longish slog back up the hill on the wide fire road. By this time we can pretty much switch our lights off. I did. Then I fell in a big puddle so I switched it back on. The climb up the fire road is one that I am used to. Probably slightly under one kilometre but a lot steeper than the last one. It always has a beautiful view available to those fit enough to look to the left while pedalling uphill... Thankfully on this day I was one of those. The mist between the hill and the city is slowly disappearing as the morning light burns it away. This simply serves to make the view of the city better as you can see the whole thing start to move. Like a cat stretching after a nap the city begins to move. Cars start to roll along the major roads, just like blood pumping along the veins when the animal starts moving. All I can think of is how many people these days never see anything like this. This is the stuff that makes life more. (And I left out an adjective there as there didn’t seem to be one that fitted better than simply “more”.) As Dave and I reach the top of the climb we have plenty of time to enjoy the view and its changing appearance as Reg and Frank continue the slog up to us. It is just as breath-taking stood still.

As Frank and Reg approach us we are playing silly people by seeing how far we can wheelie without falling over. Not very far apparently. But also seeing how tight and fast we can do figure 8’s without falling over. Much more difficult. We continue to be silly to give the other two a chance to catch their breath. Then we are back on the trail, Dave reminiscing about when we rode this part the last time with Parviz in the dark and my light battery had run out. Then I had Parv in front of me and Dave in behind, so I am trying to remember where Parv was on the trail so I can be there too, but then I have got Dave screaming in my ear about me almost destroying myself on a root or a rock or “THE MASSIVE LOG YOU SOMEHOW JUST RODE OVER WITHOUT DYING!”. This was brilliant fun. But on this ride we have all switched our lights off and there is still plenty to see by. It is a short climb back to the main road where we cross over.

On the other side the first thing that happens is the trail goes left and down then right and up in a big sweeping motion. All around this there is a drop on the right hand side that varies in height all the way around. Frank is leading, pushing hard on his single speed to make the most of momentum up the tight slope. He makes it clear. Dave was too close to his back wheel though and has had to slow down too much. His tyres weave left to right trying to keep him upright. At one point I get an amazing view of from the other side of the pit, Dave’s front wheel gets so close to the edge of the drop that it sends a little shower of dirt and gravel over the side. It’s a daunting reminder that we are still close to the edge, even at this slow speed. We weave through the trees and over manmade jumps till we get to the gate and the road behind it. We rush across the road and onto the last stretch of trail before the car park. It is only short but ALL I can see is peat flavoured puddles. We decide as one that the only way to deal with this is to go flat out and hope for the best. They weren’t too bad. Except the one that came up over my axels. That wasn’t much fun.

Before we know we are back to the car and the bikes loaded. We shoot back to town and into the shop for a shower and to start work. All still buzzing like crazy people.

Train rides

Train rides are something I enjoy. Probably because I didn't do them much as a child. But watching scenery rush past is quite an unusual feeling while sitting still. I have spent alot of time in cars and on bicycles flying through areas, but the views from a train are something to behold. You see all sorts of things from cliffs to sea floors, from rooftops to garden flowers. Trains give you a brilliant insight into the hidden side of peoples lives as you blast over their back gardens, looking at a tiny snapshot of their lives for a few seconds.

What makes this special for me is that each of these is completely unique. I have made the train journey to Axminster to see my man Regan so many times, and each time I have seen different things at every turn. Each new scene marks a fresh part of my brain. I see things and know that no-one else will see that. It's quite a special thing. I find this in many places, but this is one place that it is easy for many other people to see it too. Like I see things like this every time I ride my bike, and everytime I go for a walk. But the fact that people can see these things each time they grab a train to work.. Or go to visit someone. It is an incredibly exciting thought.

Gig after time

My whole body drips pain, and my mouth drips blood. I look up, Seeing far off lights flicker past the window. My head pounds, but not from the music that is playing. A lump on the side of my face pulses. I can feel my knee stiffen from being contorted into the back of the car. On my left arm Lori breathes the slow breath of sleep, her hello kitty pillow the only thing between her face and my aching arm. I see the reflection of the speedo in the window in front of me, it is more in focus than most other things. My right eye socket feels tight and my eye spasms. As it subsides I get a shooting pain in my right calf.. I guess I got trodden on. How I managed it I don't know. I managed the whole gig unharmed until the last 30 seconds of the last track from the last band. How did I get elbowed in the face, pushed to the floor, headbutted in the mouth and trodden on all in 30 seconds?! My lip is swelling nicely now. We are on the way home. The motorway is near to lifeless, a feat rarely seen. Even at this time of day. It is strange, blasting along at such a pace with the only light from your own
headlamps before sudden glimpses of other people, and other cars. It forces the night to seem that much closer, that much more like it is closing in. I pull my sweat riddled t-shirt from my back. It must have been stuck there a while. It leaves a large cold patch up my back, which in turn makes me shiver. The interior of the car drifts in and out of focus as I drift in and out of consciousness. Even with my body bruised and broken, with my face bleeding, with the level of exhaustion creeping unseen through my bones, I feel great.

Tired..?

Once again my arch nemesis Sleep has come knocking at the door.... "Who invited you?!" I scream from my place on the sofa, only to hear the haunting reply "Me?! Why, I'm your plus one...."


I seem to need sleep alot more than other people I know.. I always find myself asleep hours before they finish the party, or failing to get to their meeting they want because I have slept through my multitude of alarms.

Could it be because I work alot, or because I work weekends, so my body knows that it will be leaving for work in a couple of hours so it automatically shuts down when I am at parties? But then, I used to find this when I was younger too, before work. The other one I am famous for is falling asleep in the car on the way back from a ride. Luckily I never drive to a ride, so it is in the passenger seat this happens. Even if it is only 6pm, or if we have only done a short ride, I will inevitably fall asleep as soon as we hit the road.

The other part of this that I have only discovered upon moving out into a flat with a mate is that I sleep through things. Like everything. When he was having issues with his previous girlfreind, she would come and ring our doorbell incessantly until someone answered it, at anytime between 12 (midnight) and about 6 am. I never once heard her ring the bell, or the ensuing arguments that followed. Why..? Who knows! I go to bed early and could happily get up late almost every day. I move around a fair amount, cycling to work, and going for runs in the evening, but they don't leave me feeling particularly drained.

Anybody know whats going on?!

Traditions

My group of friends has a few kind of "traditions" that they (and I) have to adhere to. Probably the most monitored, and most laughed at by people who don't know us is on Boxing day each year (we even had a group of complete strangers video us for youtube one year!).

Locally each year there is a group of people who run into the sea on Christmas day. Unfortunately all of my friend group has better things to be doing on Christmas day. But, strangely we all seem to have Boxing day free each year and so we do it then instead.


This last year, on Boxing day, we jumped into Jules' car and blasted to the local beach. Where there was no parking, so we went to the next beach, where there was some parking. We got out of the car and started to strip off. My Dad and his girlfriend had come to take pictures of us being silly (a habit I feel sure they will get over soon) and then we ran into the sea.

It was really chuffin cold! We have done this for a couple of years now, and this was the coldest by quite a way! It made my feet feel like all my toes were broken (thankfully they were not). And the waves! The waves were immense! And so cold. We could only stay in for about 5 minutes, where we managed almost 35 last year. I hope we last a bit longer next year.

I guess its quite odd how these kind of things get started, I think this happened as a bit of a joke dare that then ended up with the old "I will if you will", and as most people will tell you, when you get that between two men of any age, you know they both will. Just to try and outdo the other. I wonder if that is how all traditions get started....

Riding bikes

The grind of gears,
Music to my ears,
Time in the wood,
Its all good,
Pushing pedals,
Or winning medals,
Riding the bike,
Is what we like.

Rules Of The Road

You may or may not have noticed that I am a cyclist. I am in fact such a cyclist that I sold my car. As such I use my bicycles to carry myself and sometimes other things to and from places. I cycle on the road and on cycle paths. On shared use paths and bridleways. I do not cycle on footpaths or skip red lights. I use lights when I ride at night, and wear a bright item of clothing if it is dark or foggy. Personally I think of these things as the standard things a cyclist should be doing. Every day I see people riding without lights, and skipping red lights and riding down the pavement, and it makes me more than a little angry. The thing is, the cyclists that do that then stare in wonder and amazement when it causes a problem. Car drivers are (generally) quite aggressive towards cyclists. I think this needs change on both parts, not just the car drivers. The car drivers need to know that in fact they don't pay road tax just like cyclists (it is in fact paid for out of your council tax), and that what they actually pay is motor vehicle tax. For their motor vehicle (anyone else seeing a link here?). But cyclists too need to buck up their ideas and realise that motorists will never take us seriously until we play by their rules. So no hopping red lights, no riding on the pavement (ok, thats a gripe from pedestrians but we shant worry about that), and no riding at night without lights. If we do this and so much more there can be change, but like so many things, it does need a small amount of pride swallowed on both sides.

Tats

In my flat there is a tattoo machine. I am assuming that not everyone has a tattoo machine in their house, but there you go. I cannot draw, and for that very reason I would advise you not to let me anywhere near your body with a tattoo machine. However, my friend Lori is a very good artist, with a passion for tattooing. And although I have no tattoos, my flatmate Luke does. And he now has some by Lori. I have even been lucky enough to see tattooing while it happens. This is very interesting. I tried to take some pictures of it, because I enjoy taking pictures of things you don’t see every day. And even with a tattoo machine in my flat I don’t see that every day. The lighting was odd as it was dark outside, and we had all the lamps on in our front room. Luke pulled some fantastic faces while being tattooed. You could really see the pain in his eyes, and the scrunch of his face as Lori scratched the ink into his back. She was working to the pump of the Foo Fighters while he was holding his breath and grunting in pain with equal measure. If you shut your eyes it was almost like the noise of a rock concert where the entire crowd is unsure whether to stand in awe, or grunt and headbang, and yet they manage to all match each other in time perfectly. Lori worked quickly, punching the ink into Luke’s back with the humming tattoo machine. After a short time the purple anodised grip of the tattoo gun became tainted with both red blood and black ink. As the picture took shape on his back, the pictures I wasn’t supposed to be taking with my camera took shape too. I decided to use a long exposure to allow for the low light of the flat, and see what happened. A side effect of that that I am very happy with is that you can see how fast Lori was working, as she is a blur in the frame where Luke is a solid figure. This is one of my favourite pictures I have ever taken. Because it shows something unusual, because it has a subtle range of colour, because it shows two good friends, and mostly, because it was nothing like I imagined before I pressed the shutter.

Snow

In my childhood (0-18) I only remember it snowing properly once. You know the type of thing, when the snow settles..? That’s properly snowing in my book. I only remember this happening once. It was before I started school. I think my brother was born, so between the age of 2 and 4. Let’s say 3. It was a magnificent time. It was around Christmas, I remember watching the snow fall from inside our front room, with the Christmas tree next to me. And the log fire burning in the hearth. I remember our dog too. Sharna. A large Alsatian. She watched it with me.
I remember my Mam taking me into the back garden and letting me walk in the snow while she held my hand. She had to hold my hand because there was a wall and a drop on one side of the garden. Not that Sharna would let me fall. She always walked between me and the wall anyway. Mam was just paranoid. I was wearing an all in one, in baby blue. Slightly faded. I wasn’t the original owner. And a pair of wellies with a drawstring top and sheepskin inside. Very warm. With wool socks my Great Grandmother had knitted for me. They were red and blue. I remember leaving footprints in the snow in the garden, and then the snow falling so quickly that they are gone by the time that I have done a lap of the garden and looked at the shed with Mam. I remember Sharna walking around with us, and not letting me move more than two steps from Mam at any point. She knew my sense of adventure then and wouldn’t let me push my luck too far. She knew...

Winter Rides

Wet and mud,
Sweat and blood,
All part of the winter ride,
That place filled with macho pride

Pain hurts, but sometimes it a good thing..?

“Are you afraid of a little pain..?” I was asked one day while pondering whether or not to do something stupid.
“Of course I’m afraid of pain. Pain hurts!”
This caused a slightly confused laugh at the time, but now I realise that is not technically true. Well, not to me at least...
You see, to me pain is sometimes a useful tool. I use it to remember, to draw away from the anger of the day, and to give me the energy to push forward. For instance, I have several piercings. I got each one to remind me of something different from parts of my life. If I have a bad day, I will jump on my bike, or go for a run, and push myself so hard it hurts. And after it feels better. And from that I get the energy to push forward.
What I am trying to say is that sometimes you need the pain there to remind you that you are real. Not all the time, I’m not some sort of sadist weirdy. Just enough to make the lack of pain seem nicer. Just enough to remind you that the normal “aches and pains” are in-fact not painful at all, just a sign you need to move more. After a bit of pain, everything seems nicer for a short while, doesn’t it? I’m sure it does. Next time you are out for a ride, just push that little bit harder and see what happens.

Winter Is here

The winter is here, and its all getting cold.

Better stay in, especially the old.

Snow white, fluffy and soft.

Reminds you of times spent in the hay loft.

Grip under tyres, there is scant chance.

Pedalling in winter, a jolly cold dance!

The Pedal To Sainsburies in -8 degrees C.

The Night air quickly closes in, it knows my warmth and wants it for itself. I pedal faster, nearly to the beat of drums ringing in my now burning ears. Soon my eyes sting, and my toes and fingers feel the creep of the Nights silvery breath. I take my turn. Pulling my buff over my face. I breath deeply, warming my nose and lips. But too soon condensation forms and the the misery finds a subtle way in again. Under street lights I zoom, until the road runs out and the toepath is all that remains. Without the streetlights the world seems weird. Strangely the canal is offering no reflection. Suddenly my cold slowed mind clicks into gear and I realize it is frozen. At the same time I realize that my body isn't quite recovered from the weeks illness. Frost starts to form on my beard under my buff. This is getting serious. The moon is full and offers a smooth beauty under a mask of horror. With the surprising grip I dig deeper and push harder. The dull ache in my feet breaking into a sharp needle like jab everytime I push. At last streetlights. I'm almost there. I scrunch up my hands and feet, trying too late to work life into them. I arrive, dismount, and head in search of heat.

What a lovely night for a ride!