November 28, 2018
So I survived my guest lecture this morning – the students seemed to largely pay attention throughout (I had visions of competing with their urgent snapchat conversations but it seems Young People These Days have absolutely no difficulty in putting their phones away and listening to someone rabbiting on, despite what you might think from the media). After some lively discussion and a (rather more academically informed) presentation on Warm Showers I climbed back into my Not Waterproof in Scotland waterproof trousers and my Actually Pretty Waterproof in Scotland rain jacket, and headed for home.
The ride in had been damp but in the end not too miserable, but as I had been pontificating about the joys of the authentic experiences available to those who travel by bike, the Weather Gods had been brewing up a properly authentic weather experience for my ride home. Well, authentic in all but one detail – true authenticity would have required a grinding headwind. Instead what I got was a fairly epic tailwind through town (interesting on the riverfront where, had there been any actual pedestrians hardy enough to be out on it, I would have had trouble slowing down for them) and then a properly epic cross-tailwind for the final climb up to the house. It’s quite something to suddenly find yourself cycling along on the wrong side of a B road when a gust catches you unawares; fortunately there were no other vehicles foolish enough to be out in this weather.
From the outside, had there been anyone to witness it, I must have looked a miserable sight – rainswept and windblown, battering uphill on a pushbike, my cap stuffed in my pocket for safekeeping. But I have to confess that it was actually a lot of fun. It’s one thing to leave a warm house and go out into the wind and the rain on a bike. It’s quite another to take on the wind and the rain, knowing you’ve a warm house to get home to.
Of course, this all depends on said wind and rain then not taking out your power for a couple of hours once you do get home. Thank goodness for woodburners, and laptops with decent batteries. And engineers who are willing to go out and repair power lines in a howling gale… now that really must be miserable.
November 27, 2018
I’ve joked in the past that having now been on not one but two cycle touring holidays – in two different countries to boot – I am now an international expert. Unfortunately, I seem to have had my bluff called on this one. After a couple of encounters with a lecturer at the local university when I might have pontificated on the topic with more confidence than my knowledge really warranted, I have been invited to come and give a guest lecture to his students on the potential of cycling for slow tourism in Scotland.
I’m only really entirely qualified to comment on the ‘slow’ part, to be honest, but this was one of those things that I agreed to back in September when it was aaaaages away and I had time to become a proper expert in all the other things before the end of November was upon me.
Except now of course, it is November, and I am no more expert now than I was then. Just to add to the fun, the weather is forecast to be dreadful, so even as I wax lyrical on the joys of cycling on holiday, the steady dripping of rainwater off my cycling gear will be giving the lie to everything I say.
Perhaps an alternative title could be “Cycle tourism in Scotland: Fine if you’re a duck”
Still, it’s been a nice excuse to go back over my holiday snaps again …
November 24, 2018
A fair amount of crashing and banging from the garage this morning heralded the fact that the other half was getting on with a sad but necessary rite.
The sofa we had bought as newlyweds from the ramshackle little antique shop (I spotted it on the pavement outside just as the proprietors were scratching their heads and wondering how to rearrange their stock to fit it inside, and I made them a fairly cheeky offer to save them the bother) was for the chop.
Described as ‘a good sofa for cuddling on’ it proved extremely comfortable as demonstrated here by the cat.
But 25 years of service takes it out of even the most robust upholstery and when we moved to the new house and there was only room for one sofa, it was this one that didn’t make the cut. It has spent two years in the garage which didn’t really do it any further favours. A spring had gone, the stuffing was coming out of the bottom and the sides were peeling off. Re-upholstering it would have cost more than it was worth, and we still wouldn’t really have had a place to put it even if we had returned it to its former glory.
And now we need the space in the garage, so it had to go, broken down into its constituent parts (and yielding 85p in change and the remote control to a digi-box we no longer own in the process). I’m sad we let it get into such a state we couldn’t find it a new home, but at least as much of it as possible will be recycled or reused.
Sorry old friend. Not the most dignified way to go, but perhaps better than the dump.
And at least, courtesy of the stove, you gave us one more comfortable evening in …
November 23, 2018
So, a number of you have asked how Stephen has been getting on with his bike riding endeavours. I have to confess that we’ve failed to get him pedalling on two wheels, although he’s now perfectly happy riding a trike – in the end, after giving it our absolute best shot, we decided it wasn’t fair on Stephen or on us to keep persisting. Bikes are (mostly) wonderful self-balancing machines, but only above a certain speed, and he has so far never quite had the confidence to get up to that speed long enough to achieve escape velocity.
We may give it another go later, encouraged by another of the Buddies – let’s call him Peter – who’s been pretty determined to stick to the four-wheel go kart for the last few months. We’ve been trying to encourage him to at least give a trike a go, and he’s consistently promised that next week he will definitely ride the trike, and every week there’s always a reason why he needs to stick to the go kart this time around (I suspect that the fact it’s got a steering wheel and can be made to do something resembling a handbrake turn has got a lot to do with it). So yesterday, out we went on a variety of bikes, plus Peter on the go kart, made our painful way across the two-stage-caged-in-sorry-were-you-in-a-hurry toucan crossing to the park, had some fun practising high fives and slaloms around the band stand and then started heading back along the river. It was at that point that one of the other guys decided he wanted a go on the go kart to see what it was like. Peter happily obliged – and then picked up the left over bike, got on it, and happily pedalled off, to everyone’s amazement except, perhaps, his own.
Perhaps one day Stephen will do the same…
November 19, 2018
What with one thing and another, I seem to have spent the last three weeks on a train with one or other of my bikes. This weekend it was Glasgow and the Go Bike AGM where I was filling in for my little sister as a speaker. Bigtown to Glasgow is usually pretty civilised by train, as long as you check the football schedules before making any plans – the train is slow but scenic and takes six bikes without any need to effectively lock yourself in a cupboard and have faith that someone will let you out, unlike when travelling on Virgin, so the big bike gets to go, which is fortunate as Glasgow has potholes that would swallow a Brompton whole.
There’s a snag, however. I stayed overnight in Glasgow so I wouldn’t have to be rushing for the last train or, indeed, suffer the horror that is the last train out of Glasgow on a Saturday, a journey that can sometimes be a bit … lively. Unfortunately this meant that the first train I could get home on a Sunday was at 3 in the afternoon (and the next one after that at 10), which is the sort of service you might expect from a country bus, not the direct train service between Scotland’s largest city and a fairly major town about 75 miles away. So my kind hosts were stuck with me not just overnight but well into Sunday lunchtime too.
Fortunately, it being a sunny morning and they being cyclists too, they had just the plan to fill the morning. A nice pootle round Pollok Park (and fortunately it was a pootle – these being people who think nothing of 100 mile days on the bike), followed by brunch after we’d worked up an appetite. Brunch isn’t something that’s quite reached Bigtown yet as far as I know, so it was a welcome novelty. Indeed, it was a bit of a novelty not to be rushing anywhere, so maybe the Bigtown Sunday train service has a point.
Today I had the luxury of having nowhere I needed to get to other than a ride out for the paper, and nothing I had to do except make inroads into a stack of work that’s building up. I don’t think it will last – indeed I have to be in Edinburgh on Thursday, having forced lots of Important People to rearrange their schedules because – guess what – the train service meant I’d have to spend three hours hanging around before the meeting if it had been at its originally scheduled time. Ironically enough, it’s at Transport Scotland (and yes they’ve had some full and frank feedback about rail services to the South West) but it turns out even they can’t make the Transpennine Express stop at Lockerbie on a reasonable schedule.
I seem to remember I used to spend quite a lot of time complaining about the train service in London back in the day. Man, I didn’t even know I was born …
November 16, 2018
It’s been a funny old day, and not just the way the government appears to be disintegrating before our eyes. After alternating days of apocalyptic rain and bright sunshine we had a strangely mild, still, murky sort of a day, with rather tasty pearly light breaking through the clouds.
Perfect for riding down for the paper (despite the fact that by the time I had bought it, it was already wildly out of date. A week is no longer a long time in politics, frankly; six hours is) although it was positively sweaty riding back.
I have loads of stuff that should be keeping me chained to the laptop, but this mild spell was also too good an opportunity to miss in the garden so I took a short break to get on with the next phase of the veg plot – the rhubarb bed. I’d already dug out the bed and sourced some rhubarb via the very splendid New Nearest Village freecycle list but I wasn’t entirely sure I’d planted them right. The rhubarb had outstayed its welcome in a garden up the road and had been dug out with a mattock. It didn’t look particularly convincing (are rhubarb crowns supposed to have roots attached?) and I’d shoved it in the new bed in a bit of a hurry. After a bit of googling (always good to check how to plant something AFTER you’ve planted it …) I decided to hoick it out and plant it a little deeper before the hard frosts came. This may or may not be a good idea as Google also suggests rhubarb hates to be disturbed, but then again, it probably hates being dug up and dismembered with a mattock – well don’t we all – and that doesn’t seem to stop it.
Either way, it’s showing signs of life already. Hopefully not to be cruelly cut down by the first frosts.
Next step will be the asparagus bed, which I’m expecting will require a little more care and attention, if only because I’ll probably have to actually pay for asparagus crowns, unlike the rhubarb. Unfortunately, the googling I’ve done so far suggests we may simply end up expensively feeding the hares. I may have to reinstate my hare defences …
November 13, 2018
Pedalling back from Bigtown during today’s temporary cessation of hostilities on the part of the Weather Gods, I stopped to enquire whether the cyclist who had stopped at the side of the road was okay.
“Not exactly,” she said. “I seem to have a flat tyre”.
Now, I always stop and ask if I can help when I see a cyclist by the side of the road, because it just seems wrong not to, but I have to confess, I’m usually relieved when they wave me on. The odds of a stranded cyclist having something wrong with their bike that is so simple that I can fix it, but not so simple that anybody else can’t fix it, AND it requiring the somewhat patchy content of my toolkit (tyre levers, patches, dumbell spanner, cheering-up sweeties, wrong size of allen key and usually no pump due to the iron law that you’ll always have left your pump in your other bike bag), are pretty long. But it turned out today that she had a pump and a spare inner tube, but no tyre levers, and the theory but no actual experience of changing a flat tyre. Between us, then, we made an awesome team. We extracted not one but two Bastard Big Thorns out of her tyre (one of them was so large I suggested she get it stuffed and mounted) and she was back up and running just in time for a man to cycle past, notice the two extremely competent females dealing with the problem, and pedal on with barely a hitch in his cadence. She was happy that she now felt she could deal with a puncture herself (a good thing, as hedge-cutting season is in full swing and nothing is proof against Bastard Big Thorns) and I was delighted to have cancelled out my woeful performance on Saturday, and also made a slight dent in the giant debt I have accrued from all the times someone else has helped me with my bike.
It has also reminded me that I should probably go and put the pump back in my main bike bag and track down the right size of allen key, because if this post isn’t an irresistible temptation to the Puncture Fairy, I don’t know what is.