Good things

Thanks to having to take on some extra work of late, I've had little time to think properly. One might argue that when I have all the time in the world, my thinking is somewhat deficient, but that's beside the point.

I don't mind working hard and taking on a bit extra, but it becomes a problem when that work encroaches into my personal time and takes small but significant chunks out of my evenings and also my weekends. It's a bit demoralising too when there's no apparent end to all this extra stuff: no wonder there's been a faint whiff of mutiny in some quarters.

Anyway I was musing on all this mid-morning - it's interesting that recently my main thinking time has been whilst travelling and grabbing a little breathing space between work appointments - and I was feeling faintly resentful that, as a result, I've not been able to do much in recent weeks. No writing time, no making music time.

No *whisper* cycling time. I mean, come on! What's that all about?

It suddenly became apparent, as I decided to take an early lunch rather than head straight back to the office, just how distant I feel from considerations such as making music and the frame of mind which is intrinsically linked to such processes.

Bugger, I thought. Yes, if nothing else, I've retained my powers of articulation.

Oh well, I thought (continuing the already-established trend of cogent wordsmithery), as I finished my lunch and began my reluctant stroll back to the office.

As I walked, I bumped into an acquaintance. Let's call him Dave (name changed from Colin for the purpose of this blog, to protect his identity). We had a chat for a couple of minutes, just catching up, and then he mentioned he's organising a gig, aiming to get a few bands together for an event in the late summer. Would I be up for playing?

Sure, I don't see why not....in fact yes, definitely.

Now that served to immediately cheer me up. We talked through a few details and he promised to send me some information, and then I carried on back to work feeling much lighter in mood. For one thing, it immediately reduced that sense of distance I mentioned above, and I found myself already thinking about what ideas I could develop, what existing ideas I could brush up or alter, and so on.

For another thing (and a far less important one) it means that, as long as it does go ahead, then I will have maintained an unbroken run of only playing when asked. I don't hold this as any kind of principle, it's merely that I came to the realisation that I've never actually requested to play a gig or event of any kind, I've always been asked by others. I just quite like it being that way. Well regardless, it's something new to focus on and look forward to.

When I got back to work, I found that many of the work issues which have been exercising me as mentioned above, have largely been resolved. Which didn't exactly do my mood any harm either. I needed not to extend my work commitments into this evening, for once.

Which therefore meant that I could get a decent bike ride in this evening, making the most of the beautiful weather and enjoying every moment out in the countryside. Perhaps a shame then, that my thought processes extended no further than to think of song titles and to change them to have cycling references in them.

The only one I'll mention though (because most of them are awful) is that old garage-punk classic, 96 Gears.

I know, it's not good is it?

Weird

I didn't expect to be writing another post so soon, but something just struck me as I sat having the aforementioned pint(s) of Abbot at my local.

Having been for a very satisfying bike ride, and then just enjoying the feeling of a couple of drinks, I pictured myself back on the bike. Suddenly, thanks to a relative sense of distance from my earlier exertions, the whole concept of cycling struck me as utterly bizarre: sitting - balancing - on a metal frame with wheels and expending a hell of a lot of effort and energy whilst moving at some speed. Now part of this weirdness is the sheer physics of the situation - which I shan't go into since I don't have the mastery of the language required - but that weirdness is very much there, and seems to create a sense of precariousness to say the least.

The other aspect of it is that of the seemingly total lunacy of braving, over the course of a couple of hours, elderly drivers who don't see you as they pull out of parking spaces; idiots on mobile phones who will cut across junctions on the wrong side of the road; people of any given age who will happily pull out of a junction not expecting you to be so close since you're on a bike and are surely going so much slower than anything else that moves; people who think that around 40cm is sufficient space to give you as they overtake.

I could list many more. Such as the twat who trailed behind me for a mile or so on a straight road, where it was safe to pass me at any point, but who then decided to overtake only when I signalled to turn right.

Averaged out, I've been out on a bike ride for between 90 minutes and 2 hours, at least once a week so far this year. Given the sheer hazards as outlined above, you'd have thought I'd have packed it in by now; either that or I'd have been killed or severely maimed at least.

Then I weigh that up against the enjoyment and fulfilment I get from it (including shouting expletives at the types just described), and I can't see me stopping any time soon.

Odd, isn't it?

A contender for the laziest post award, if such an award exists

I've just been out cycling for a couple of hours.

I've also just read this post, on But Why?'s site. It describes, with uncanny accuracy, how I feel having been out cycling for a couple of hours.

Therefore, in some kind of circular logic (given that this feeling is of uselessness and contentment), it has saved me trying to find the words to write how I feel having been cycling (you guessed it) for a couple of hours.

Thanks Dr But Why?, there's a cheque in the post*.





*not strictly true. Not true at all in fact.

A rhyme

On an evening like this
Cycling is bliss

I thank you!

My creative pursuits have currently taken a back seat, and right now I'm not anxious about that: thanks to the weather and other factors, I'm suddenly back into a mode which I would best describe as Cycling Like A Madman. I've probably said similar in previous posts, but it forms an outlet which is obviously quite different to the creative stuff, but is very satisfying in its own right.

You've seen dogs when their owner has taken them to the park and let them off the lead, and they bound about with sheer abandon and their tongues hanging out, spirited and euphoric - that's me that is, when I find I can actually gain speed up hills which used to leave me out of breath (and yes, sometimes my tongue is hanging out...).

I was also pleasantly alarmed to note that the route I'm currently cycling (not literally as I type: that would be foolhardy), last week was taking around 1 hour 41 minutes to complete: this week it's taken me an average of 1 hour 32 minutes.

There's a lyric in Memories Can't Wait by Talking Heads

"there's a party in my mind
and it's never gonna stop"

-and which goes on to say words to the effect of, other people can go home, whereas I'm stuck here and can't leave. Sometimes my own incessant trains of thought feel like that, but a good hour or two of Cycling Like A Madman is the equivalent of a very effective ssshhhhhhhhh!, things get a little quieter up there.

Painkiller

September already.

On the first weekend in September last year I was up in the Yorkshire dales, amidst the kind of weather we've had for most of this summer - windy, rainy, generally unpleasant. I was on a mountain biking weekend with a mate of mine and, as we sat in the tent on the Saturday morning drinking tea, we thankfully found the nonstop rain to be a source of amusement.

It wasn't going to stop us cycling. We waited for a window of opportunity: in real terms this meant a reduction in the rainfall from "torrential" to merely "very heavy". When such conditions were met, off we went.

It was pretty liberating really - within minutes we were soaked through to the skin - but as long as we kept moving we kept warm. It also meant that when we got to what would normally be a small brook, but what was now at waist level, we just waded through and carried on since we wouldn't exactly be getting any wetter than we were already. It was good fun.

What was also good was that I was as fit as I'd ever been. My mate is one of those people who can sit and do nothing for weeks on end but still be fitter than you even if you've been training hard. So I was surprised that, on the Saturday, I was frequently having to wait for him. We were out for hours, much of it off-road and very rugged. It was great to get back and get warm, then head down to the local.

On the Sunday, the weather began much the same. Still we went out, and if anything it was even tougher: the sky went dark, it was much windier and colder. We spent what seemed like hours cycling through horizontal sheets of rain, and the wind was so strong we had to pedal hard even when going downhill. It was maddening and funny all at the same time.

Time went on and we were nearing the end of an enjoyable if heavy couple of days of cycling. We were heading down into less exposed territory and the wind and rain were finally easing off. Even the sun had decided to show itself - typical, when we only had about 20 minutes left of our route.

My mate seemed to have regained his form on this second day, and was just up ahead of me. I wondered whether a burst of energy might be in order, to try and catch him up (though we weren't in competition). Having been over goodness knows how many cattle grids over the course of the weekend, I wasn't about to give the one just ahead of me a second thought. I remember feeling the judder as I went over it.

Just as I had gone over most of this cattle grid, something weird happened. Thump. That being my backside hitting the road. Another Thump. That being the bike landing just ahead of me. I had only the vaguest sense of what had happened between the grid and the first thump, it was so quick.

Reflexes kicked in, and I stood up. Well that was fortunate, I could stand up. There was blood oozing out of my knee, also down my arm, and I had numerous aches and pains.

"Are you alright?" This was a woman in a white car who had just pulled up.

"I think so," I said, moving but wincing as I did so.

"It's a funny cattle grid that one, seems ever so slippy, lots of accidents happen . I live just round the corner. A couple of weeks ago a woman fell off her bike and bust her face open. Very nasty. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?"

I wasn't sure I appreciated all this information. By this time my mate had arrived back on the scene.

"No, I think I'd be better off carrying on thanks." I was bracing myself for pain to kick in and, possibly worse, to start feeling extremely cold. I suggested to my mate that we get back to the tent as quickly as possible. A further 15 minutes of cycling felt like a real hard slog, particularly the last uphill stretch, and I was perturbed by just how buckled the front wheel of the bike was. That must have been caused by the cattle grid, so thank fuck I'd been thrown over past the grid and onto the road or who knows what might have happened.

We got back, I cleaned myself up and got changed and warm. I can't be too bad, I thought, the shivering never kicked in, though I did feel very short of energy. At least, as well, this had happened right at the very end of the weekend. I was sure that a good rest and a good night's sleep would make me feel a lot better, and that I would be right as rain in a couple of weeks.

Not so. I was limping badly for days, pockmarked with magnificent, huge bruises, and had to get checked over to make sure I hadn't cracked any ribs or caused other such damage. What A and E didn't spot, when I showed them how far I could move my right arm (about an inch before the pain caused me to scream), was that a joint in my shoulder was about half an inch out of place. I was on co-codamol for weeks (having found out that I was allergic to Ibuprofen), had a course of physio, and it was about 4 months before I was able to start being physically active again.

One year on and, although more than manageable, I still feel the after effects especially in the shoulder joint. Really though, I was lucky, compared with what might have happened.

So what have I been up to so far this weekend? I've just been out on the bike for a couple of hours. Regardless of what I've described above, cycling (on top of enjoying it for its own sake) feels like a painkiller. You'll have noticed in a couple of recent posts that I've hinted how fucked off I've been lately. Going on a bike ride cuts right through that and brings back, however temporarily, a sense of contentment and calm self-assurance. Chances are I'll go out on the bike again tomorrow. I'm not worried about a repeat of what happened this time last year: it's worth the risk.