tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78091945282902479442024-03-05T08:36:23.271+00:00I'm doing work - Really.dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.comBlogger206125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-51123534102173121352015-09-07T16:07:00.001+01:002015-09-07T16:07:33.583+01:00Backwards, towards Britain. <p dir="ltr">So,  as per usual,  I'm on a train,  travelling backwards.  I'm not sure why I always travel backwards. We've just crossed the river into Strausbourg,  and it would appear that everything has gone a little bit crap crossing to France from Germany.  It's nice when countries live up to their stereotypes. I wanted to write something every night, but I usually seemed to end the day in some sort of state of minor insanity,  meaning that uploading pics to Facebook was about as exciting as it would get. I find it hard to believe that two weeks and something like 830 miles has gone just like that. This was quite a different trip than previous.  I actually put my faith in Google Maps and allowed it to select a cycling route. I would never do that in Britain,  as the facilities are so shit,  but it actually worked reasonably well from France onwards.  French facilities were a bit meh, with a fair amount of broken glass. Flemish Belgian facilities were generally excellent.  French Belgian,  meh,  but at least clean. German, outside of cities,  generally terrific and often so smooth you could bowl on them.  In cities,  generally OK,  though God only knows why all the countries think it is a good idea to use brick on a bike path.  Brick,  which is disturbed by each and every tree route. The other issue with in town cycling facilities is that one normally needs to toodle along pretty slowly.  One because they are bumpy,  but also because Germans of all persuasions actually cycle. Very unlike Britain the drivers were nearly all considerate towards cyclists. Belgium was a bit scary though as people take their righthand rule very seriously. It is nice though to cycle in a place where it's completely unremarkable,  where families are out on multiday tours and oldsters out with their picnic baskets. As per usual I consumed a vast amount of salami and cheese (and schnitzel and cake) so I seriously doubt any weight loss has occurred! </p>
<p dir="ltr">Anyway,  after a brief sojourn in Bonn, I set south in mid summer temperatures (90s) and high humidity to Mainz,  103 miles south. That part of the Rhein is beautiful,  full of castles and very steep vineyards. Apparently it was the done thing, in the day, to live in a castle. The only minor issue on the day,  besides the heat and the humidity,  there was a very strong southerly wind.  So,  about 80 miles were into the headwind and the last 20 or so I was so dazed and exhausted as to not really care or remember how I got there.  There was a pleasant but not very interesting hotel in a residential area of Mainz,  itself not all that exciting seeming (though,  to be fair,  I was completely wasted tired by the time I got there). Slightly annoying was that the closest food was about a mile away.  Pizza. Very good pizza though,  sat outside on a sort of street square,  definitely the only person not speaking German. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The next day was much cooler,  with brief,  heavy rain.  Autumn had arrived,  just like that. A more sensible 65 miles down the Rhein and then up the Neckar to Heidelberg,  I spent the day mostly cycling amongst vineyards and cornfields.  Something I absolutely love about Germany are what I ended up calling the corn roads.  Basically they are little piddlyass roads with all but local traffic prohibited,  criss crossing the farm fields.  They are usually beautifully paved,  but I did end up on about 10 miles of dirt and one of them did turn into a grass track.  No,  Google Maps,  those are not cycle routes. So,  I ended up in Heidelberg, which seems to be made up mostly of gingerbread (or looks it) and has a very scientific looking (ugly)  university with loads of university students (American). Somehow it escaped the war,  which is nice,  as it saved it (except the university) from the frequent German curse of looking like Elephant and Castle. I walked around and did dutifully touristy things.  There is a nice castle as well,  much of which seemed to have been blown up several hundred years ago.  Makes it low maintenance. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The next day was about 70 miles,  to Stuttgart.  This ended up being quite hilly and I'd really not gotten enough sleep,  so I was a bit of a zombie for much of it. The countryside around Stuttgart is beautiful rolling farmland,  with a fair sprinkling of wind turbines (this being Germany). The suburbs of Stuttgart are unremarkable but pleasant.  The centre of Stuttgart is a complete construction disaster of detours and closed roads. They are modernising (burying?) the very ugly central train station,  which has generally made a complete mess and pissed off everyone. Eventually finding my hotel,  at the edge of the red light district (street?) I set off to find dinner. Mostly lost in the maze of 1950s streets (albeit full of shiny and expensive stores) I finally gave up and was lured in by the siren song of Starbucks. Not exactly international dining. Oh well. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The next day,  about 75 miles,  was split between riverside bike trail (slow and bumpy), gorgeous forested hills and smooth road, one detour around a closed road, pushing my bike along a pathway through a forest and about 10 miles of dirt roads through cornfields.  Not exactly a winner route planning job that day. The exciting highlight of the day was convincing a slightly injured mole that it wanted to leave the road, rather than eat my shoe,  then getting soaked in a very cold,  heavy rainstorm. I eventually pulled into the enormous metropolis of Gunzburg (on the Danube) just as the sun set, then ate the remainder of my food in the warmth and comfort of the room rather than venture back out into the cold and dark. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It was on to Munich the next day.  About 80 miles.  Quite a lot of rolling farmland with properly scenic Bavarian towns.  Then a very long, boring ride into the suburban flatness of western Munich. Munich itself I like a lot,  but the western suburbs,  mile after mile of concrete nothingness. An ode to 70s functional. On Saturday, as Mike was working and as I'd had to cut off the first day,  to Dover,  I cycled up to Tegernsee, in the Alps foothills.  About 80 miles total through chocolate box gorgeous little towns,  sweeping green fields,  miles of forest,  Bavarian off the tourist brochure.  I made it to the lake,  had a sandwich,  froze my knickers off admiring the view,  then retreated to the warmth and comfort of a mostly deserted ice cream shop before mostly coasting the 40 miles back to Munich. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Yesterday I did a lot of nothing,  though I did manage to gym and run (as one does after 800 miles)  and eat more schnitzel. Today it was up at 415 (awful), disassemble bike at the train station in Munich,  reassemble it in Paris,  then get home and back to work tomorrow for a punishing four day week before heading off to Stockholm on Saturday. (Terrible,  I know). </p>
<p dir="ltr">It is,  however,  time to start thinking about the when, where and how of the next phase of life I think. I did definitely come to this conclusion on this trip. Anyway,  that's enough typing for now with my thumbs on a tablet... </p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-49475760312175164512015-08-28T21:29:00.001+01:002015-08-28T21:29:35.520+01:00Dover to Munich. Verviers<p dir="ltr">Well,  two days,  167 miles and two completely different experiences. Yesterday morning I started off in Ypres in the rapidly descending gloom. Mostly, it pissed rain yesterday. A lot. It was cold and windy and generally horrid. One could imagine how the green and pleasant fields could rapidly turn into a complete quagmire. Even stepping a few feet off the road collected a generous amount of mud, now stuck in my pedals. I didn't stop much yesterday, save to eat. I mostly put my head down and cycled, just trying to get to Brussels. It wasn't a little bit of rain or a sudden summer thunderstorm, it was sheets and sheets of water, bucketing in a very businesslike manner from a slate sky. The roads were lovely and smooth. The cycle paths sometimes astounding, even in the middle of nowhere. It all passed in a blur though. My waterproofs resisted for about 30 miles, then became quite amenable, welcoming even to the rain. I had a lovely lunch huddled under a highway overpass. Anyway, I made it to Brussels in the end, with its lovely, not insane at all drivers, tram tracks and completely nonsensical massive intersections. I have to remember here that people take their traffic on the right has the right of way rule very seriously and will just whip out without looking. I had a very nice dinner with Alex. </p>
<p dir="ltr">This morning was cool and dry, autumnal. I set off in Brussels rush hour traffic, which is a delight and managed to not get run over by any trams. I set off to the southeast, across a lot of rolling countryside not unlike southern Minnesota or the east of England. Rolling countryside, of course, means it is actually continuously uphill. Big difference going from Flemish to French speaking Belgium, the bike lanes disappear. I ended up giving up on my planned route today when bumpy concrete turned into cobbles turned into dirt, and made it to the end with a combination of Garmin and winging it. The weather was perfect though. What I was not counting on was it suddenly getting extremely hilly, with 25% grades at mile 75, just after Liege. Countryside not dissimilar to Devon. Actually, Liege and Verviers remind me a bit of the Belgian equivalent to western Pennsylvania. You can tell there was a lot of money here, just from the number of amazing buildings, but it is all a bit rough around the edges. It's also very French, which to me feels much more foreign than Flemish. Anyway, I'm staying tonight in a fantastic room in an old mansion, once owned by a wool magnate. The guy who runs it seems a little eccentric, has several cats and greeted me at the door in a straw hat. He has many objects d'art and is currently hosting a wine tasting beneath my room, which I'm hoping doesn't go late. He did invite me but it seems like all his friends, who speak French and are all a bit fabulous. I decided that might be a bit too excruciating, had my dinner in town and am now in the room, being a blob, and thinking I should use the hair drier on my bike clothes I washed so they aren't damp when I put them on in the morning. Oh the life of the rich and famous... </p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0Verviers, Verviers50.591057 5.865595tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-41329019485089642172015-08-26T22:13:00.001+01:002015-08-26T22:13:06.849+01:00Dover to Munich. Ypres<p dir="ltr">OK,  I admit to being a dork.  I've been trying to figure out how "leper"  becomes "Ypres", totally not getting that it was actually "Ieper", which,  admittedly,  looks exactly the same in quite a few fonts.  I still can't pronounce it properly and completely get why the British called it "Wipers". Honestly.  Foreign people with their silly foreign names. It always gets me going across western Belgium how serene and completely ordinary it looks.  It is very hard to imagine millions of people dying in a quagmire and the little towns (now complete with plenty of places to buy Miele ovens and Audis) pulverised to dust. I went to the Last Post (when the woman at the B&B mentioned the Last Post being at 8 I somehow thought she was talking about, you know, the last post, which I thought was an odd thing to say. God I'm terrible. Luckily I didn't say anything. Anyway, the solemn occasion of the bugler playing was somewhat lessened by the throng of tourists with bleeping cameras on selfie sticks. Wow, that almost as reverent as starting and ending the two minute <u>silence</u> with the fire alarm at work. So, yeah. I was supposed to start yesterday, but, being me, I put everything off until the last minute. It got late, I got stressed and the weather was complete shit. I decided to start today instead from Dover. Up at 530 for the 10am ferry, which didn't leave until 1130. Apparently the PA was broken. Really. This after standing outside in the rain, waiting to board, for 40 minutes. Nice. Thank you, DFDS, service with a smile. I did get to have impure thoughts about the single and only attractive person on the whole ship, fortunately decked out in motorcycle leather, so that almost made up for it. Almost. The rest I'm pretty sure share most of their chromosomes. Not a pretty sight. Landing in Dunkirk is a bit like landing in Mordor, a scrubby, sandy industrial area with the occasional flame shooting out of a tower. Very welcoming on a bike. However, even this Mad Max countryside has better roads and less trash than England. How sad. Bike lanes too. It all gets a bit more cosy feeling crossing into Belgium. More trees on the roads, more trees, a lot more streets lights. Also a lot more concrete or cobbled roads. Bad Belgium, bad! Anyway, must get to bed so I'm not a dribbling wreck tomorrow... </p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-84514738849951235122015-04-21T19:57:00.001+01:002015-04-21T19:57:59.952+01:00Pedaling amongst idiots<p dir="ltr">I love cycling more than anything, I think. I can think of few things that give me such a sense of inner peace and serenity or that allow me to satisfy my need to always explore. That said,  I don't much like cycling in London, and I like it less and less as time goes on. Unfortunately, in the effort to get more people cycling, which I support, they have been entirely unsuccessful in getting past the very strong "me first, fuck you" attitude that is so prevalent here. It's really only London. Everywhere else I've cycled in the country there exists the feeling of some sort of camaraderie I'm used to amongst cyclists, but not so much in London and almost never at rush hour. I was cycling through the City this evening, which is always a nightmare of dodging pedestrians, taxis and buses, when I see this guy on a Boris Bike crossing the road at an angle from my right. At the same time, traffic has stopped and a pedestrian walks out from between parked buses. I stop, as I don't want to hit the pedestrian. The guy behind me, a rather pudgy man in a sweatshirt wearing headphones, runs directly into my back tyre. Rather than apologising, he starts yelling at me for stopping for the pedestrian and says something about I'm not supposed to wait for pedestrians as it says it in the Highway Code. I say that one is always supposed to wait for pedestrians and that he hit me from the back because he wasn't paying attention and that it's his fault, as that's how it works. He starts arguing again so I say you don't cycle much, do you, CLEARLY, to which he gets up in my face and says oh yeah, what's that supposed to mean, to which I reply you are exactly the sort of stupid fatass who gives cyclists a bad name, fatass. He says, oh yeah, well my bike's not broken (nor is mine, and his weighs as much as a Buick, so I would expect it would be fine). At that point though the light changed so I zipped off. I hope he gets hemorrhoids. </p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-25851699584781101882015-04-20T21:02:00.001+01:002015-04-20T21:02:06.703+01:00Backward, eastward<p dir="ltr">And I'm back. On a train as usual.  Travelling backwards,  as usual. Actually,  I was thinking about that. I think actually I am more likely to travel forwards on my way out and backwards on my way back. Of course, now that I've noticed that I can never actually tested it,  as I will have contaminated the science. Oh well. I will probably live. Anyway,  I've spent the last two days cycling around southwest England,  which is definitely my favourite part of the country. Green and hilly and friendly. I've decided I should give Bristol another look as a potential post London place to live. I actually think David would like the south west as well,  as it is absolutely full of places to hike,  amazing beaches and places selling overpriced bits of doodah, sort of England's answer to redwood burls. It certainly beats the crap out of the southeast,  much of which seems to be full of London's detritus. So,  yesterday I took a mid morning train to Castle Cary,  which sounds grand but isn't. I was supposed to have been on an earlier train,  but my amazingly attuned nighttime noise detector was set off by R and Co getting ready to go out on a Saturday night. Much whining ensued and I had to get a later train ticket and shorten my ride. The upshot of that was that I had to improvise some of the route and ended up on some loser roads. Also,  I discovered an important factoid on the train,  which is that you should never tie even a loose knot on the holding straps when the velcro doesn't work as that very loose knot becomes a very tight knot and you can't get it loose and you get stressed and your hands shake and the train driver comes and yells at you for making the train late(er) and you split your thumb nail and you want to tell him because it hurts but that sounds a lot like I broke my nail and he has to cut the strap with his Swiss army knife which seems to have been done a number of times before and the whole thing is just really icky. So, starting on little sleep and with a train fiasco and a sore nail, yesterday admittedly passed a bit in a blur. I did, however, have the fun of getting to buy acrylic nail varnish at a superdrug in Yeovil, a small, rather ugly town that seems to have a small, rather ugly genepool. Anyway, eventually I got near the south coast. The British coast is funny. It sort of sneaks up on you. Rolling fields and farms, fields and farms, random towns, some craptastic and some quite cute and oh my God it's like someone just bit off the end of the country! There are several subtle signs though of increasing coastaliness if you know where to look, however. An increase in VW camper vans or trailers towed by improbably small cars. Random campsites in farmers' fields (why?), large cliffs with larger wet bits beyond... So, eventually I went sailing down a screamingly steep hill into the very cute town of Sidmouth. An interesting thing about Sidmouth, beyond the feeling of fading glory, is that it seems to be a UKIP haven. On my whole ride I saw no posters for Labour, but it was only when I got near Sidmouth that UKIP started to appear. There did seem to be two foreign people working at my hotel and one guy who wasn't bleached white and old, like the rest of the town. I could see there was a palpable sense of foreign danger. There was also a guy working at the hotel with a handlebar mustache who was thick as a brick and possibly a poof. I am glad UKIP will be there to bring things under control. Anyway, my room, in one of those cool old leany overy don't the floors creak a lot kind of British hotels, overlooked the water. It was kind of nice hearing the waves (and the occasional car) and I actually slept pretty well on my little single mattress with the annoying springs. Today. Well, today was about seeing if I could completely exhaust myself on hills. I was supposed to cycle from Sidmouth to Plymouth via Exeter and Dartmoor. However, I kind of forgot that Devon tiny roads are often roads in only the most general sense that they usually have a start and an end. Sometimes, however, they turn to dirt (rock) for no apparent reason, causing you to have to completely improvise your route and quite often (usually) they are going up or down 25% grades just because they are there and let's put some potholes in just for fun. Oh, and the other things about moors is that they exist outside of normal physics in that they don't actually have a top. They just have various states of increasing despair as you realise that 1200 or so British feet in elevation translates into about 9000 Swiss feet because they have normal mountains and proper roads. Still though, Dartmoor is gorgeous and I must go back. I didn't make it to Plymouth though. I turned around after having the world's slowest panini in Moretonhampstead and headed back to Exeter (which you would think would be all downhill based on the fact that the other way was all uphill, but as there seems to have been some earth movement it wasnt). Exeter apparently used to have some magnificent architecture, but the Germans and the local Council redecorated and so most of it is now rather square and utilitarian. The city drink seems to be fortified lager. It's charming. From Exeter I made the fatal mistake of allowing the Garmin to pick the route to Tiverton. The nice thing about Exeter to Tiverton is that one can go up the river valley, admiring the lush, rolling and very tall hills on both sides. Garmin felt it very important to maximise the view and made sure I experienced all of the very tall and very steep hills. So, by the time I got to Tiverton, after only 65 miles, I was pretty sure I wanted to die. Tiverton is a small station and the single person working there also has to direct trains. As I was travelling with a bike, which usually requires a bike reservation on this line, I had to wait at the tickets counter, getting increasingly nervous as the arrival time drew near. Finally the guy came back, about 4 minutes before the train was to arrive. The woman in front of me thought this would be an opportune time to buy a group of super saver ticket for next week on a complicated route. I finally suggested to her that maybe she could wait until those trying to make this train had made our purchases as the guy behind the counter wasn't going to. So, she finally stomps off, everyone else just makes the train and now I'm still travelling backwards, a lot closer to London than before. Not a bad two days, really. <br></p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-28595620902664433652014-08-24T09:44:00.001+01:002014-08-24T09:54:23.050+01:00How to fry electronics... <p dir="ltr">Why, that's easy, just give them to me! I seem to have an amazing ability to kill electronics, merely by being around them, and God help them if I touch them or give them any attention! The latest apparent victim of my luddite death rays seems to have been my tablet, which is currently occupying real estate and weight in my bag as a dead grey thing. I'm typing this on my phone, which is probably going to somehow bring down the power grid in southeast England. Anyway, as per usual when I can be bothered to actually write something, I am on a (rather slow) train, plodding westward towards Exmoor and possible rain. I have a bike again, finally, after 6 weeks. It's amazing how much my mood is lifted by being able to buzz around town, sucking in pollution! I put on a good show of the aggrieved customer (I was actually pretty aggrieved) and got a free £120 service, which they mostly didn't f up... That and because we seem to have gone into insta-autumn (global warming), my mood has perked up. I love autumn and I am always happy to be away from any threat of heat or humidity. Anyway, my opinion of London seems to be directly inverse to the temperature (until it snows, which is always terrible). I really am a delicate flower. I suppose I've picked a good place for it. Right, I'm getting annoyed by typing on my phone. More thrilling adventures later, I'm sure... </p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-34278978690463644112014-08-13T16:35:00.001+01:002014-08-13T16:35:18.847+01:00Swisslandia<p dir="ltr">Wow. So, a year ago I was making almost this same journey, to Switzerland, to meet friends and then cycle, literally and I suppose figuratively, over the hill. I'm heading back to Switzerland to meet friends, maybe a bit further over the hill, but sans bike this time. It was supposed to be another big bike trip, but thanks to my propensity to crack frames and the the total and complete incompetence of Evans Cycles, I've not had a bike since 2 July. Maybe next week. I am so putting horrible reviews on every website I can find and writing to the head of the company once I get it back! So no, no bike, which feels like it has limited my world a bit. But I will hang out in Bern tomorrow and then go do a Julie Andrews on Monday. Not bad. I shouldn't complain. I'm flying back Tuesday. Train trip one way is fun. Both ways is a bit tedious. I thought about going back to work on Wednesday rather than taking the rest of the week off, but then thought no, f... it, I want the time off. Hoping to cycle on the east coast next weekend, if they could be so kind to give my bike back. I'm surprised actually how much it has stressed me out not having a bike. I feel limited in my motion and perpetually irritated by public transportation and the people on it. I suppose I like urban, but only on my own terms...</p>
<p dir="ltr">Heading across Switzerland now on a very clean double decker train with the Alps to my right, clouds glowing over them in the sunset. I'm very happy to be here for a bit but I have to admit I'm really upset about not cycling. I know, minor first world problem, but I am still pissed off beyond belief at Evans, who have now taken six weeks for a two week max job. I've wasted several hundred quid on Tube passes and travel tickets I couldn't cancel and yet they just dick around and do nothing unless I bother them constantly. Anyway, I just need to enjoy the trip I have and then be a relentless pain in the ass to them from the minute I get back.<br>
____</p>
<p dir="ltr">Next morning, 830. Sitting, bleary eyed on a train at Bern station, not much sleep the night before thanks to the heat. So many slightly granola looking white people in Goretex! Hmm, the train actually left early. Having a slight panic I've somehow managed to get on the wrong train. I suppose I will see! That's because it's a special train. I have to get on another, local train which then splits. Honestly, you think they would announce these things in English! 😛 Still though, the trains are very clean and very zippy.<br>
______</p>
<p dir="ltr">OK, all is forgiven. Well, Evans isn't, but coming here without a bike is. I'm sitting 9000 and some feet up on the side of an mountain, next to a glacier, looking out over the world. The only sounds are wind, water and a group of Americans who think each wind gust merits a hoot. It doesn't. Leaving the train, I took a small bus pulling a trailer up an absurdly steep and narrow road to a guesthouse. From there it was a few miles walking through forest, grazing land, open grassland and scree slope, all at increasing steepness. This being Switzerland, there were wooden stairs up the steepest part and a small hotel and teahouse (unfortunately closed) at the barren and extremely windswept saddle summit. That looks out on a glacier with enormous and rather imposing looking mountains behind, storm clouds hovering just the other side. I walked across the rocky, cairn strewn moraine to the glacier and walked out a few feet. First time in about 24 years. Anyway, I only managed about 4.5 hours sleep because of the heat. While tired, I actually feel OK and very relaxed, for once. I think nature is very much missing from my life, especially nature of the really mountainy kind!<br>
_____</p>
<p dir="ltr">Another bleary morning on the train, heading under the Alps to go see a glacier and maybe hike if the weather holds out. My feet hurt from yesterday. There isn't much hiking around London. I figured out I climbed and dropped about a mile yesterday. Not too shabby. I missed the train I wanted this morning. Got confused by the ticket machine, which gave me far too many choices. Even though the instructions were in English, the little pissant town names were in German. Honestly. They should really come with a label (in English, of course), "Dear foreign tourist, graciously supporting our economy, you would like to take this route, which is the least extortionate." One for next time, maybe... 😜</p>
<p dir="ltr">____</p>
<p dir="ltr">Ooh, awkward, the only person on an entire bus! Still though, the climate nerd loves the fact that I went under the Alps to a more southern European climate. Still though, it's raining and icky. My hike may be more of an ooh pretty stroll...<br>
____</p>
<p dir="ltr">Well, I think I have just experienced the most peaceful thing so far in my 41 years of existence (though, just as I wrote this it was interrupted by some nearby animal making a noise that sounded a lot like an orc (sp?), nearly making me wet myself. Anyway, I'm sitting on a rocky outcrop on the side of a mountain. Its perfectly still, with clouds hanging on the tops of the mountains. There is no wind and the rain has stopped. Save for an orc and the occasional bird, the single and only sound is that of the torrential river a good thousand or more feet below, milky bluey white with glacial flour from the Eiger Glacier, whose length I can see up. The melting ice has its summertime striations of rock and dirt and wends its way back into the white clouds. I have been sitting here for maybe half an hour and not a single person has walked by. It is, honestly, perfect.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And by chance as well. I decided to head down from the top. The weather was horrid. Rain and 100 foot visibility. Even the hotel with the panorama view was closed. So I walked down, back into the larch, pine and spruce forest. I saw a sign for the trail heading back towards the glacier and thought, hmm, why not. Came around a bend and there it was in the parting clouds. I don't say this much, but I'm happy now.</p>
<p dir="ltr">___<br>
On the train back to Bern, somewhere under the mountains. My feet hurt, my contacts are trying to jump out of my eyes, I'm a bit smelly and generally wiped out, but actually completely content. I've not had at all the trip I planned, but rather, it seems, exactly the trip I needed. Life does that occasionally. I guess I've never actually done two days of hiking in a row, especially not in huge mountains. Today was about a drop of 6000 feet with almost no uphill. Not hard on the quads. Very hard on the calves, and, as it turns out, the tops of one's feet. Ow. Every life zone from treeless tundra to mid European broadleaf and everything from cold rain to mist to warm muggy sunshine. A geo-nerd's perfect day out. So yeah, today was fab. Will try to remember that when I go tomorrow to battle the evil forces of the world at Evans.</p>
<p dir="ltr">___</p>
<p dir="ltr">On the plane home from Geneva Swiss Air flight annoying 1, full of horrid British and Arab children treating the plane as their personal jungle gym. Much to my amusement in a plane full of Muslims, they are serving ham sandwiches. I had a really nice train journey, nearly empty and very quiet, with the Alps in the background, along with a morning run along the swollen Aare. I do like Bern. It is, to me, the perfect blend of urban and wilderness, not to mention pristinely clean and well organised. If this trip has told me anything, it is time to start thinking about what to do next in life, for both of us. Only this time it needs to be our adventure, planned together, rather than just mine.</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-65943288292875818132014-05-26T11:27:00.001+01:002014-05-26T11:27:24.833+01:00Rocketing westward<p dir="ltr">Guud morneeng, ladies and gentleman, I am Claude, your train managaire... And so ends my lightning tour (OK, very slow lightning tour) of Belgium by bike. What was particularly surprising to me was how difficult it was. I thought, eh, one kind of difficult day of hills then two easy peasy days of flat. 83 mi, 69 mi, 75 mi. Hah. I wasn't counting on having the wind against me or having a strong crosswind every day, especially the last day, nor had I properly remembered the soul destroying nature of Belgium's crappy concrete roads, cobbled roads or mandatory bumpy brick bike paths. Still though, with the exception of the cobbled roads, one of which I had to walk to avoid killing my skinny wheels, the trick is really just to slow down and accept that it is going to take a long time. That can be a hard proposition. Much as I bitch about the shitty nature of British roads (and drivers) there is actually a lot more freedom to ride like a bat out of hell. That said, in Belgium I was passed by a number of very fast groups of road cyclists and saw one road race. Where the the roads are good, they are very, very good, which is more than I could ever say of Britain and with the exception of Brussels, which seems to be a bit like cycling through Tijuana, the drivers are pretty universally courteous. It probably helps that a lot more people cycle... One of the things I love about cycling across Belgium is the complete hodgepodge of building styles. There seems to be a complete lack of any planning consistency. Sure, put your castle next to my supermodern house next to that barn next to a faux chalet attached to a brick Victorian house with a windmill in the front garden. Anyway, I was very glad to get to Brussels, quite late, as I was about to fall over by that point. Off course, I was a bit disappointed to not be cycling the next day. I did have a lovely relaxing day with Alex though. Went with him to vote (compulsory, automated and tied to his ID) then did the gym, had a very yummy lunch, coffee and chat while watching passersby. Spent a slightly surreal evening watching Flemish election results, which a little bit like watching very Dutch looking people speaking Glaswegian after suffering a stroke that affected my ability to comprehend language. So, a good time! And now I'm heading back west on a delayed Eurostar full of irritating Australian tourists that don't seem to comprehend the idea of an "indoor voice". Ah, back to Britain!</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0Kent Downs AONB, null51.233917 0.7238446tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-24352851529075666462014-05-23T22:52:00.001+01:002014-05-23T22:52:59.817+01:00Blobbing in Bruges<p dir="ltr">So, in a slightly surreal twist, I'm listening to some Southern girl twanging away on a Flemish language station blaring from across the street. I'm in the very spacious attic room, on a king bed, in a tiny b&b I seem to be sharing with a group of Parisians. Today was day two of my three day ride from London to Brussels. 83 miles of hills, rain, headwind and traffic yesterday, 68 miles of flatland, one 9 mile dead end and hiding out from monsoon rain today. I think I got here just as my resolve crapped out. Yesterday was just relentless. It really is gorgeous cycling to Dover, but it is insanely hilly and full of annoying southeast England drivers on tiny roads. I sat out one thunderstorm only to be utterly and completely drenched as I reached Dover with the setting sun. It did make for an impressive arrival at the waterfront, but it would have been a little more impressive were I not shivering. The hotel was right on the water. Nice enough, with, well, a ferry crowd. There were a lot of people at breakfast at 630 this morning. The ferry, that's always an adventure. Weaving through the labrynthine loading area, playing dodgem with Polish truck drivers. The bikes all get on first, ahead of the mass of cars and trucks. It's kind of a bizarre experience pedalling into the cavernous and empty car deck, this time with two packs of cyclists visiting war sites across Belgium. One of them I kept seeing all day today. They were faster than me, but I had a Garmin. The ferry ride itself is quite relaxing, 2 hours. The crowd is an odd mix off Eastern European truckers, families with small children and the sort of people that would take Greyhound. Little chance of drowning in that gene pool. It's a bit of a Kodak moment as the ferry pulls out of Dover, white cliffs bright in the morning sun. It's not quite as glamorous when the ferry pulls into Mordor, I mean, France. For one, it's dead flat, with scrubby dunes and 10 miles of flame belching refineries, brick plants, shipyards and general industrial horror before the marginal improvement that is Dunkirk. It really is the ass end of France. Still though, the roads are smooth, which is more than one could say of England. Thinking I was being clever, I took the coast road up the dunes, only to discover a very stubborn automatic drawbridge that wasn't going to respond to my bike. Given that I hadn't seen another car for about half an hour, there wasn't much choice but to schlep back 4.5 miles against the wind and head inland. Anyway, heading northeast again, I think I was cruised in the dunes by a dogwalker when I stopped to pee, but he was French, so you never know. Then on to Belgium, past a bunch of burly looking French customs agents waiting to pick off brown people at the border. I'm not sure, but that area seems to be like Belgium's Florida, with an endless line of atrociously ugly condos fronting the sea, backed by farmland dotted with small towns and churches. Quite the contrast to France. I had to sit out two thunderstorms. Nothing quite says suck like cycling across a flat plain in a heavy thunderstorm. Eventually, I turned inland from the coast, finally making it onto a small, sensible road. It is always nice cycling out of the UK, where they actually put in sensible infrastructure. I got to Bruges just as I was about to get delirious and possibly even crabby. Lots of money and excessive cuteness here. And a very expensive and seriously delicious dinner, made possible by a sudden downpour. Funny how that works. Walked around Bruges some after and resolved to come back. It is very hard to imagine the pleasant farmland around here as the final resting place for millions. Suppose that's why it's important. Anyway, must go to bed before brain falls out. More tomorrow!</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0Bruges, Bruges51.209347 3.2246995tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-36567818093578675272014-05-18T20:58:00.001+01:002014-05-18T20:58:40.909+01:00Backwards, southward<p dir="ltr">So, I'm on a train again. Sounds like a country song. It does seem to be the only place where I actually get around to writing anything. My well meaning attempts to keep a regular tab of the daily ridiculousness of life in local government seems to have gone approximately nowhere. So anyway, I just spent the past two days cycling over hill and dale in the north of England. It was officially a trip to go see Jerry in Newcastle, as he's over to dig holes in the ground, but it was also a thinly veiled excuse to get out of the smog and curse at but secretly love monster hills. Jerry is over to take part in a archaeological dig near Hexham. I cycled past it, by chance. It looked a bit like a small castle with an allotment next to it, tucked in amongst sheep and tour bus parking. No data service on mobile phones. Not sure how Jerry, who is as big of a Facebook whore as am I, will survive. We shall see. Anyway, it sounds interesting but also sounds like a bit like Tom Sawyer and the whitewashed fence. Sure, come dig holes in my field and pay me. Anyway, I am always struck, on these cycling forays around this silly island, both by the fact that the road must go directly up the hill rather than around it, by how desolate one can feel in the middle of a densely populated island and by the fact that cyclists really do seem to all congregate around certain, well known routes and in packs rather than branching out and exploring the thousands of little dinkyshit roads to nowhere. I stopped at this overcrowded teahouse at the top of a pass in the Pennines (it's Britain... There has to be an overcrowded teahouse at the summit) and there are huge packs of cyclists and motorcyclists. Short of some usually disappointing potential serving (motorcycle leathers really should be banned as misleading under the trading standards act) I don't get the thrill of riding a loud smelly machine over a mountain. Either be comfortable and drive a car or test your endurance and ride a bike. A real bike. Maybe I'm just disappointed that most of them looked like overstuffed sausages. Whining aside, I have to say these bike rides tend to restore my faith in Britain and make me confident I picked a good place. It's hard to remember that sometimes amongst the benefit scroungers and general ickiness of Woolwich. I met a retired couple from Australia cycling the length of Britain, two middle aged guys doing a coast to coast cycling Tour du Pub and a rather dishy individual today who just did a 112 mile race in the Yorkshire Dales. Much respect. I also saw probably a few hundred squished animals along the road. Mostly bunnies. Serious critter carnage. And got rather little sleep last night in Newcastle, as my hotel room, which came equipped with earplugs and a fan, couldn't compete with the general drunken mayhem that passes for classy entertainment in Newcastle on a Saturday night. And back to work tomorrow for a big two day work week before the Chelsea flower show and cycling to Belgium. Yeah, I suppose life is OK. ☺</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0Sawtry, Sawtry52.434216 -0.281978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-35504447274574138392014-03-02T10:19:00.001+00:002014-03-02T10:22:52.367+00:00Poodling across the Atlantic<p dir="ltr">GSo, I've upgraded from my usual travelling backwards on a train to forwards in the steerage section of a very large plane, equipped with a Starbucks sandwich and girl scout cookies. The entertainment system is shot, so they have gone all retro and are just showing movies. So far I've seen Thor and Despicable Me 2 for the second time on this trip. Woohoo! Thor, much of which takes place on a dark planet, is very difficult to watch on a six inch screen, especially when the flight attendant keeps interrupting every 5 minutes. I know. First World Problems. Anyway, as I can't sleep on a plane, I thought it would at least be vaguely satisfying to keep others awake with my light. It is a little hard to believe it's been 2.5 weeks. It seems both like a few months and five minutes since I left. I'm always exhausted after these trips, emotionally and physically. Physically it's because I cram so much into a short time period but emotionally I guess for the obvious reason that I'm so far away and people end up noticeably older each time I see them. It's a bit like living life in fast forward. It does actually make me wonder if I made the right choice in moving so far away. I think I did, but family is definitely the one thing that could ever tempt me back. I'm dreading going back to work. 2.5 weeks away from pointless whining drivel, which will, of course, just reach a crescendo when I get back. I suppose one normally feels this way on return. It's just really damn inconvenient that I'm worrying more about family and friends as I get older, or that I can admit that even places like Sacramento have their charm. Growing up is stupid. Well, I thought I would somehow chronicle all the daily activity of my trip, but somehow I was too busy doing it. I guess that is a hallmark of a good trip. Going to read the paper now I think. Make some rustling noise to add to my annoying light. 😁<br>
Ah, well, here we are back at Heathrow where the single and only gate at the airport is in use and we have to sit for another quarter hour on the tarmac after circling endlessly. Welcome back to England, land that efficiency forgot! <br>
</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com2Stanwell, Stanwell51.457943 -0.47427tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-36272994987830413122014-02-16T03:12:00.001+00:002014-02-16T03:12:42.066+00:00Lingering at LAX.<p dir="ltr">So, I'm sitting here in a rather depressing Starbucks in the international arrivals area of LAX, waiting for David. Unfortunately, his flight is delayed, so I'm going to be here for some time. I stopped here on my way in, two days ago, and managed to part with $8.34 for a yogurt and a coffee. Ouch. This time, I was a bit more clever and purchased my Starbucks meal in Pasadena, which I am now eating here. I'm so tired I just want to keel over and die. The first night I slept thanks to the wonder of sleeping pills. Last night was au natural, which meant dipshit sleep and waking up at 3am. Really looking forward to a 100 mile drive to San Diego. Anyway, sleep or no, I had a really great time seeing Maggie, Kurt and Tee. I really enjoy just sitting around and shooting the shit. I think it gets more and more enjoyable as I get older and as I appreciate family more. Much as I am finally actually beginning to accept that I made the right choice in picking London after 10 years, it doesn't make it any easier to leave people after a flying visit. It is, indeed, very far away. It's always funny coming back to Southern California as well. As well. As time passes, I notice more and more things as just seeming odd. The fake friendliness. It's a bit much in Northern California, but omg in Southern, as Robin put it, "hi, my name is Cynthia and everything is fucking terrific!" I think that with 16 years of New York and London, I just end up thinking, "gaack, go away, you're scaring me!" The other thing, CA is having the worst drought in like 500 years. So, I go running around Riverside. The natural landscape is the colour of dust. Even the eucalyptus look sad. But I was heartened to see everyone <u>bravely</u> confronting the drought by continuing to water the grass in the middle of the day, by flooding the road, by having a broken sprinkler shooting 20 feet in the air. Water conservation? Water rationing? Hell no, we are going to drain the Colorado River dry! Oh, other random thing, I was oh so very pleased to have to pay an extra $200 to get a non shit car with an mp3 jack, which also, as it turns out, comes with a GPS. Good thing I paid £35 to update the TomTom! Anyway, I've now slightly shortened the amount of time I need to wait. I wonder if they would notice if I crawled under the table and went to sleep? Hmm</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0Los Angeles International Airport, Los Angeles33.94159 -118.40853tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-20302663710234795872014-02-03T21:47:00.001+00:002014-02-03T21:47:34.161+00:00Bleh - migraineSo I managed to cobble up a pretty decent migraine yesterday and today. No barfing or fainting or even that really cool feeling of having a red hot poker shoved through one's head, but rather the full bells and whistles aura on the train followed by a day of general headache, brain fartedness and general pissoffgoawayness. I was coming home on the train from a bike ride out to Ashford (generally a nice ride, though somewhat marred by a large piece of glass that decided to go through my front tyre, just as the sun was setting). Lots of hills, scenery and one very flooded road. Anyway, I was on the train back with a friend and noticed - great - everything is getting all wavy/shiny and I'm having a very difficult time looking directly ahead. Nothing says "I'm not suspicious" like trying to navigate one's way through a busy train station and pay for something at the supermarket while having to look at everything askance to actually see it. Anyway, I got most of the way home on my bike (the darkness and physical activity actually help - I frequently get migraine auras while running and just run through them). I got as far as Waterloo, about 3 miles from home, and was getting increasingly concerned by this sort of thump thump thump feeling coming from one of my tyres. I pulled over to discover that about 6 inches of the tyre had come unseated from the rim. Wow - that could have been a blowout - on the front tyre! I walked and took the train the rest of the way home, not really wanting to have my bike upside down in heavy pedestrian traffic. Then, this morning, after waking up from what felt very much like having my brain left to run in idle all night (ooh, parsley, shiny, toads!, avocado, perforated toothpaste!), I set off to work to discover that the rear gears weren't shifting properly. All I did what I got home was to wash off a small mountainful of grit from my bike - apparently that was what was allowing it to shift properly. So - off to the bike store today before work - how embarrassing, to go to the bike store because your gears don't shift properly. Today was mostly a big waste at work. Headachey, crabby, feeling like my brain had been left out in the sun a bit too long. I wanted preferably to hide under some couch cushions or in a meadow of tall and very soft (and very quiet) grass, or at least underneath one of those beekeeper helmets. What do you mean I can't put a big sign on my desk saying "fuck off and die"? So, not the best day of all. Anyway, I survived and did various worklike things, though I don't remember what most of them were (ooh, short term memory loss, fun migraine symptom!). Got the bike, hung my head in shame for having to pay for such a silly thing and came home and ran. It's amazing how running actually helps these things. It sucks great big donkey dong (and not in a nice way) during, but it actually helps push the headache away. Maybe it's just because it sucks so much during that I am grateful that my head isn't bobbling around like a water balloon full of rocks (sharp rocks). So, good day...dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-58382758253285099082014-01-27T16:22:00.001+00:002014-01-27T16:22:09.227+00:00Backwards through Belgium...<p dir="ltr">Wow, it's been ages since I've done this. Seems like the last time was also heading backwards on a train, though that would have been with my bike. No bike this time. Just wrapping up an extended weekend in Bonn with a friend, which made a nice change from London. It's funny, I don't really think about how high my stress level is on a normal basis, but then I go away and realise that even though I get very little quality sleep, I still feel vaguely awake, don't have trouble remembering things, don't feel depressed, etc. I guess it's comforting that I'm not actually turning into a cabbage. Still though, it does speak a lot to how stressful things have been and how poorly I've been dealing with it. Most of he stress has been work and most of it has been stupid. Eight months of probation in an Alice in Wonderlandesque environment of petty jealousies, backstabbing and special meetings called to discuss the fact that I eat more than some of the more Rubenesque senior managers. Don't gay it up too much. Well, I made it through the probation, my team got moved to another area and oopsie, they have a very gay manager with a large appetite, a sharp tongue and little of the southern English tendency to not say what he thinks. My intention is to successfully turn around what is really a pretty mediocre team of people who do things just because that's how they've always done it and that's what it says in their JD. Much of this will be done in spite of the organisation, which is generally adept at blocking anything looking suspiciously like independent thinking or change. I intend not to fail, in part because it became clear that there was a strong desire amongst some for me to fail. Won't give them the pleasure. Hmm, I think I may see the source of some of my stress. Still though, it was a lovely weekend away. Five trains to Germany and five trains home. Much lower stress than flying. Anyway, once again I am going to try to do this on a regular basis. Life zips by at an increasingly alarming pace. My six monthly dentist appointments seem to be occurring on a nearly monthly basis. I have an interesting thought and poof, it's gone. Well, that took the distance from Cologne to Aachen, though admittedly some of that was farting around with the WiFi. Ah, technology...</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-13578341708947695762013-11-09T17:18:00.001+00:002013-11-09T17:18:11.807+00:00Southwards, backwards<p dir="ltr">So, it was the first kind of cold weekend of the autumn. Poor David had to work, so, in sort of quasi honour of that, but more really because I'm silly, I dragged my carcass out of bed at 6 to take the train north to cycle all day. North because it was supposed to rain all day in the south and because I can't bike on sunny Sunday as it's Robin's birthday and we are going for tea. Fah fah fah fah fah! Anyway, lacking a car, I use the train to take me to didgereedoo and back. It's great, except I have to make a reservation for my bike, which must be done either in person or over the phone. Given that most British rail companies have outsourced their call centres to India and use voice recognition software for the initial sorting, I have discovered that an American accent proves difficult for their computers, though they do still seem to understand I want to speak to someone right fucking now. Anyway, even in person, getting a cycle reservation tends to become a bit of a voyage of discovery for ticket people at the smaller stations. Anyway, so, I took an early morning train to Derby, which is a bit of a meh kind of place. Spent the day then cycling up through the Peak District, which is gorgeous. All amazing and wonderful until the last 8 miles into Sheffield, which was pouring rain and very cold. Still haven't properly warmed up. Hope I don't get sick. Even with that though, I am definitely at my happiest out in the middle of nowhere on my bike. It reminds me that I actually still love this silly little country, even if I don't always love London. Spent lots of time admiring views, only one of them ruined slightly by stepping in fresh dogshit. Also did my absolute favourite thing of finding a random cafe in a tiny town and having lunch and cake. Lunch was a hot pork and apple sandwich. Cake was an iced Madeira cake. It was bliss. I have decided that this is definitely the way to do the majority of my weekend rides. It's easy, I get to see the country and I don't have to spend half of the ride fighting London traffic. Just have to try to get a little more sleep before!</p>
<p dir="ltr">Back to work on Monday. It's taken me many months but I feel like I am finally becoming managerial. Never thought that would ever happen! It's taken me this long to figure out how to play the hierarchy, which I suppose is useful, but still makes me feel unclean. Sigh.</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-52683993428548098152013-08-18T16:59:00.001+01:002013-08-18T16:59:55.097+01:00And now, the rest of the story<p dir="ltr">Sitting on the high speed train in Dover, waiting to go. After a late arrival into Brussels, in the middle of some kind of great big street fair, I found my way to my very nice, uber modern and slightly peculiar hotel. Bed was comfortable, room was quiet and, unusually, air conditioned. I slept well, though not enough. Had a hurried breakfast in the empty hotel restaurant. Very yummy pain au chocolate. Everyone seems to do better pastries than the British! In a half awake haze then, I managed to purchase a ticket for me and my bike on the train to the coast. I shoved my bike into a doorway, not seeing anywhere else to put it, and was very glad when the conductor didn't yell at me. Anyway, an hour 45 to the coast, then a 23 mile, very flat, very windy ride across the French border, through Dunkirk, then out through another 10 miles of wasteland and gas plants to the ferry terminal. Amusingly, I had to go through the car lanes with my bike. First security, then French passport control, then British passport control. Then I and a few other cyclists got to stand out in the sun for an hour while they dicked around and eventually loaded all the other vehicles. Ironically, as I wasn't planning on being in the sun all day and as it was raining this morning, I managed to fry the worst today. Go figure. However, once I decide I was just going to make a day of today, my stress level dropped precipitously from yesterday. Ferry ride was generally relaxing, if 45 minutes late. Badly behaved British children, slightly smelly French people, bespectacled Germans in their VW camper vans, inscrutable eastern European truck drivers. I do like the ferry. It's an interesting mix of humanity.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So, yeah. Feels like about a million years and three seconds since I left home. I kind of feel a bit like, did I just do all that? I am actually kind of shocked by what a cycling paradise is Germany. And it seems to involve not that much fuss. Fantastic cycle paths built in the middle of nowhere, with very few people using them. No glass strewn on the pavement. Drivers that actually wait for you and make a point of getting out of the way. Whereas British drivers will whiz right by, sometimes, it seems, without even looking, Germans sometimes seems to require almost a written invitation to go around, which can also be a bit annoying as well. Anyway, tomorrow it is back to reality and back to work. Back to probably over 1000 emails I didn't check even once. Suppose that is just how I pay for my adventures. :-)</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-41324856368624888912013-08-17T19:50:00.001+01:002013-08-17T19:50:07.744+01:00Shitty poop popsicle mood<p dir="ltr">So, big surprise, my big, exciting and generally pretty damn cool trip has come unravelled today because Deutsche Bahn decided to suck. After two really relaxing days in Berlin, just hanging out with people,e and eating too much, I started my meticulously planned trip home today, getting to the train station a full half hour before the scheduled departure. Hmm, there is no train on the screen. Oh no, that train isn't running anymore. It was on the old time schedule. Well, it's great then that they sold it to me, isn't it? So, today, so far, I have been on three trains to get most of the way across Germany. In Cologne, I had the pleasure of disassembling my bike and putting it into a bag. In Brussels I get to reassemble it. The train to Brussels then is 45 minutes late because some idiot threw themselves under the train in France. Honestly, people, be considerate of others when you off yourself! I had to fend off a very persistently, multilingual beggar. Finally, after trying to be nice... I'm having a shitty day. I don't care. Go away. In Brussels I had to reserve a room for the night because I missed the last train to London and for tomorrow I have the option of paying £180 for a new, last minute Eurostar ticket or saving about £100, getting a really early train to the Belgian coast, cycling to France, taking the ferry to Dover and then the train to London. I might actually opt for that. At least it would be relaxing! Monday it's back to work. I think I need a holiday.</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-28283121122701593912013-08-13T22:28:00.001+01:002013-08-13T22:28:09.639+01:00Dribbling tired<p dir="ltr">Well, I suppose there has to be one day in a long bike trip that is just work. That was today. It got off to a bad start last night because the stupid neighbours had their TV going until late. So, I started off the day exhausted. The ride itself, 94 miles, was actually, generally, a gorgeous ride. Rolling farmland, forest, towns full of slightly mouldering old houses. Reminded me of England. I was so tired though it all kind of blurred together, plus their was a headwind the whole day, plus there were several very heavy rainstorms, several suggested bike routes that turned to dirt and, to cap it off, I had to wait 40 minutes for a train to take me the last 3 miles because bikes weren't allowed over the only bridge for miles on the Elbe. So, I got to this weird little hotel on a tiny backstreet in this exceptionally quiet town, had a very quick shower then absolutely stuffed myself with a set menu dinner that turned out to include a large pile of mushrooms and tomatoes. I ate them and didn't even cry much. Anyway, tomorrow is Berlin... Good god I'm full. Always great to go to bed right after a 4 course dinner!</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-14562635824117305002013-08-12T21:43:00.001+01:002013-08-12T21:59:54.019+01:00Chilling in Chemnitz<p dir="ltr">Hey, as long as you are on to a good sound, why change? Today has been a very interesting day, going through 79 miles of post communism. I started the day in the small town of Cheb, just over the CZ border from Bavaria. Painted in various warm shades of yellows, oranges and brick red, I think Cheb had likely seen better days, though there did seem to be regeneration happening around the centre and there were a surprising number of German stores. The supermarket I went to though was all Czech, meaning I had to actually walk down all the aisles looking for things, as the labels mostly consisted of unlikely combinations involving excessive number of consonants, with a particular focus on z and lots of little additional doodahs over the letters. I'm such the linguist, I am. I was the only person staying in the pension, which made for a slightly awkward breakfast, as they laid out an entire buffet. Even I have my limits, though I did do my best.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I set off then on the rural Czech roads. Not too bad, windy and a bit bumpy with very little traffic. Open farm country. Pleasant. And then then road began to climb into the wooded hills. A bumpy roads sign appears. They don't fool around, as it turns out. Bumpy road meant the next 10 or so mils creeping along, avoiding bike eating potholes. Perhaps the take home lesson about cycling in the Czech Republic is to keep to the larger roads, which have generally been repaved at least once since the fall off Communism. This is up probably like a no shit Sherlock comment, but the Czech Republic really is a different country. Germany I sort of get and can muddle my way through. Rural CZ, well, I was glad my bike didn't fall apart. There was clearly a lot more money in the past though, because there are a lot of really magnificent houses, done in a generally more ornate style than across the border. And, of course, these are interspersed with all the lovely communist apartment blocks. No worse than London though, really.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I crossed the border back into Germany and blessedly smooth roads, though not quite so good as Bavaria. Lots more hills and towns full of very large, old, slightly scruffy looking houses nestled in the hills. This was supposed to be the West Virginia of Europe, and it did actually bear some resemblance. It also reminded me of England more than anywhere else on this trip, oddly. I think it was probably the old brick houses and the slight scruffiness without being messy. Still the anal German woodpiles though. The occasional dead factory, mouldering away quietly, back in the woods.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And then Chemnitz, formerly Karl Marx Stadt. As the name suggests, the city centre is an ode to communism. Stark concrete buildings, wide boulevards, little in the way of human scale. It is quite neat though, and has been greatly softened by pedestrianisation,  outdoor cafes and trees. Still though... Just outside the centre there are still fragments of the old city, some rather magnificent by houses and churches, interspersed with blank spaces or concrete. One rather sudden, fenced off, round and deep pond that looks suspiciously like a bomb crater. And road construction. The Communists may have liked their central wide boulevards, but go away from those and the roads leave a little to be desired. Even 24 years of German money still has a way to go. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by the roads over the border.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Tomorrow is 90 miles of mostly flat, quite the change from everything before. I can't quite believe it is coming to an end soon. I just remembered today that about 15 years ago I said I was going to cycle the Mississippi for my 40th. It may be a different continent, but I think I'm pretty pleased that I'm actually doing the thing I decided to do on a whim all those years ago. Shows the power of just letting an idea percolate... Right. Bed now.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I forgot, today I found the best rail trail I've ever seen. It was about 10 miles long, so smooth you could practically ice skate on it and just about empty. Why are bike facilities in the UK so shit and why are all the roads in such terrible shape? They have a worse climate here and more people. Not looking forward to the traffic, crappy roads, asshole drivers and asshole cyclists in London again. Sigh. Just need to remember the many things I do actually like, as well as the people I know. OK, really need bed now or am going to make myself grumpy...</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-37617435527703971722013-08-11T21:58:00.001+01:002013-08-11T21:58:11.999+01:00Chilling in CZ<p dir="ltr">I know I've said this before, but, being a geographer, I like borders that actually feel like borders. The Czech German border is one of those. While the old naughty strip between the two countries is growing over and the car parks around the old crossing point are weed strewn or taken over by schlock shops and gas stations, things do still change. The hyper neatness of Bavaria disappears, just like that. There's crap strewn along the road (though not to southeast England levels), the houses look a bit tired, suddenly there are very square apartment blocks and the here is a lot more variation in road quality (though still not as suckass as England). There are also people hanging out on street corners in Cheb, where I am, and some pretty mangy looking hookers wandering about. Anyway, I'm staying in a very cute pension in the centre of town. Nicest room so far, actually. I had a 400g steak for dinner. £16.55 with all the trimmings. Yay! I have to say I can't imagine doing these sorts of bike rides as a vegetarian. When I stop, I just want to eat the whole side of a cow. Moo! Today's ride was 86 miles of hills. Gorgeous farmland interspersed with miles of woodland. To be honest, I felt a little bit alone some of today. They were deep, dark, little red riding hood type woods. Didn't want to be alone in them after dark. I was very tired today, though I did actually sleep pretty well at the cloister. Some of today's ride blurs together a bit. I have to say, the nuns put on a good show. Sparkling clean rooms with Jesus hanging about on the cross over every bed. Nice breakfast this morning. Lots of very German looking types heaping their plates full of cold cuts. Mother Superior wandering about. Guten morgen and the like. Much as I'm no big Catholic, I enjoyed staying there. In fact, I just really enjoyed southern Germany. A lot. It's clean, beautiful, friendly, efficient and absolute heaven for cycling. The roads are smooth, the drivers courteous, there are separate bike roads, not just lanes, everywhere and cycling is just a totally unremarkable activity. If the Netherlands are bike first (sometimes annoyingly so, I think, even as a cyclist) and London is just a lot of shrill shouting about cycling, Germany is just, well, people bike, and that's fine, so we will make sensible provisions for it (with the notable exception of the ICE train). It will be interesting tomorrow to cross back into Germany, but into the former east (supposedly the most hillbilly part as well) to see how things are different. Anyway, one thing is clear, I need to learn German. I seem to end up in Germany quite frequently, I like it a lot, but my German fluency is about that of a 2 year old and not a very smart one either. Makes for some very unusual discussions. Right. Time to get ready for bed. More cycling fun tomorrow!</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-48763113348211839332013-08-10T21:48:00.001+01:002013-08-10T21:48:30.489+01:00Get me to a nunnery!<p dir="ltr">Sorry, I just had to say that, seeing as how I'm feeling a little bit cloistered. Ha ha ha! Anyway, I'm typing this away in a Spartan but very clean room in a cloister in Neumarkt in der Oberfelz, in the north of Bavaria. Today was 98 miles of farmland, varying between flat and quite hilly. A good deal of it was on separate bike trails, which I love about cycling in northern mainland Europe. Only downside is they get pissy when you are out in the road if there is a trail. I like Germany. A lot. Especially, as it turns out, southern Germany. It reminds me of the Upper Midwest, except with mountains. The same sort of slightly phlegmatic people. Lots of corn. Very little roadside trash. No noticeable riffraff hanging about. Roads so smooth you could ice skate on them. Even the dinky roads. I was surprised how much I liked Munich. I would definitely like to go back and stay more than a day. I spent most of yesterday walking around, even though the weather was atrocious. If you can like a city even when soaking wet it must have something going for it. Anyway, I walked back into town this evening to have schnitzel and I am now so tired I can barely type. BTW, there are actually people in Bavaria (not many) who wear lederhosen in public. I was shocked. Bed now. It may be silent now but I bet the sisters are up very early. God is an early riser, you know...</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-12900150712887486582013-08-09T11:11:00.001+01:002013-08-09T11:11:52.186+01:00WiFi on a Rainy Day<p dir="ltr">Say what you might about Starbucks, but on foreign travels they have (nearly) universal free toilets, a place to get out of the rain, yummy cinnamon buns without raisins (in Germany... Curse the evil British raisin fetish!) and free WiFi. I'm having a rest day today in Munich, staying with Mike and his absolutely lovely (and English speaking) mother. I've just about lost track of when I left, just over a week ago. Had a slightly epic train trip across Europe with Carlos, which included pushing my bike across Paris in nearly 100 degree heat. I have to say, Paris's when it is very hot just smells like pee. I suppose it probably always smells like pee, but it is just more noticeable when it is hot. Oui oui... Had to disassemble the bike in Paris for the train to Zurich, which is always a delight. Put it back together at the Zurich train station. 15 minutes to disassemble, 25 to reassemble. A new world record. Zurich was also boiling hot. That seemed somehow wrong. We met with Avi, walked around, had the very traditional Swiss dinner of kebabs, watched quite a lot of fireworks go off for Swiss National Day and had a drink at a slightly sad gay bar called Cranberry.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Next morning... Gym (it was free with the hotel), then met up with David and Robin, who had taken the early train from Munich. Robin was very sensibly dressed in lederhosen shorts, with suspenders, that he could just about shimmy his ass into. When I queried this slightly odd clothing choice, he said that it wasn't unusual for people to wear this sort of thing in Bavaria. I did pont out that we weren't in Bavaria. And, in fact, as I sit here and type this, in Bavaria, not a single person has come into this Starbucks wearing lederhosen. Clearly I chose the wrong Starbucks. No matter. We walked around boiling hot Zurich, stopping at various Starbucks (do I detect a theme?) then caught the late afternoon train to Goschenen, a pretty seriously dinkydoo town way up in the Alps.</p>
<p dir="ltr">In Goschenen, we had rented out a 3 bedroom apartment, conveniently next to the very prominently placed Catholic church. The church had a big tower with a big bell that proclaimed the glory of God every 15 minutes, most especially at 7am, when there was quite a lot of glory. Glory is very interruptive to those of us when are light sleepers. Anyway, Ben and Justin were staying at the hotel down the street. We all met up for a very expensive and very mediocre dinner, followed by a fair amount of sometimes boisterous alcohol consumption and my 2nd bday cake (a Swiss roll) in our living room. I do hope our neighbours in that very small and very quiet town where you could hear the person down the street sneezing enjoyed that as much as we did.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The following day, Kathleen travelled over from Bern and we spent the day hiking up the valley to a reservoir with a stupendous view of glaciers. Or, rather, some hiked and some wandered. There were interesting plants, rocks, photo opps, any number of reasons to dawdle. One person, who shall remain nameless, showed up to walk with a Tesco bag, this being his first time. And you know what, it was fantastic. We made it to the top, marvelled at the industrious Swiss people cutting hay on the dam and had cake and coffee (or beer) at the restaurant by the bus stop at the top of the climb. Switzerland is great, if slightly weird and rigged to explode in case of invasion.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The following day was a hike I organised, meaning straight up to the top of a mountain. We took two trains up a very inclined track to Oberalp Pass and from there set off up the side of a mountain. There may have been some minor whining about this, but I think all were pleased by the view from the top. Ben and I continued the rest of the way to the tippy top. It was there and needed to be climbed. We were rewarded for our efforts by a magnificent view, a lot of sheep shit and a hikers' cabin. Dinner that night was back down the hill in Andermatt, followed by packing and general hanging out.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I set off the next day on my big bike adventure, late and a little reluctantly. It felt kind of weird setting off on my own when I had just spent the past few days surrounded by people. I'd never actually felt that before, setting off on my bike. So I pedalled off. Up and up and up, back to Oberalp and then a screaming descent down the other side, into Romansh speaking country. Gorgeous scenery, too much traffic and too much heat. After another very long climb and flying descent, I ended up in German speaking Chur, a pleasant small city on one of the main transport routes through the Alps.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The following day, gym followed by a search for a USB connector dingus followed by lunch followed by cycling. It was very hot again and I started late. I followed the valley north, passing through cornfields walled in on both sides by mountain walls. Sort of like heading towards Palm Springs from LA except with trees and corn. And heat. God was it hot. I passed the border fortifications protecting Switzerland from invasion by Liechtenstein, and spent about two hours cycling the length of that very small and fairly boring little country. I did stop for ice cream in Vaduz. It was yummy. Then Austria and east, back into the mountains. Insanely beautiful and full of, well, Austrian stuff mostly. I was particularly grateful for the very traditional Spar supermarket, where I could fill up on the traditional fare of water and Powerade and salami and junk food. I had to stop about 10 miles short that night, in Fontenella. It was getting dark, there was a big thunderstorm brewing and it was still 3 miles to the pass. Not good. That has been the only time so far I actually felt afraid. First hotel. Nothing. Second hotel. Nothing. Finally, a b and b run by a little old lady who spoke no English, occupied entirely by older, German speaking couples. A tiny little short bed, shared bathroom and €28 cash. Perfect. Traditional Austrian pizza dinner at the only restaurant in town. Also perfect.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The next day. Cooler. A three mike climb. A seven mile screaming descent. An 11 mile climb. Oh God. Another screaming descent. Then gradually down, down, down, through a deep, flat bottomed glacial valley lined with pretty towns and fields. Ice cream and coffee. More down. Reminds me a lot of the area around Banff, except with farms. The forest changes. Spruce to fir to pine to hardwood. Smooth gorgeous roads. Why can't Britain have smooth gorgeous roads? Honestly! Buenvenidos a Deutschland (or something in German). I stay in a cheap little hotel with a balcony and an amazing view up to Neuschwanstein castle, the slightly OTT inspiration for Hogwarts and Disneyland. Dinner is goulash and pork and dumpling and sauerkraut. Moo.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Next day. Obligatory touristing around the castle (but not in, too crowded) with most of the population of Japan. Bus pulls up. Crowd pours out. Click click click click! They are a strange bunch. Bratwurst on a roll for my morning snack. A late start again. Supermarket for provisions. Then it's adios Alps. Off into the rolling farm country of Bavaria. And traffic. Good God was there a lot of traffic! An evening slog in the failing light into the rather functional looking suburbs of Munich. Oh was I glad to get here and glad for a break. Happy to see Mike and to meet his mother. And now I'm here. The rain has eased a bit and I have to pee. Until the next WiFi...</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-75153330573234038712013-07-26T23:32:00.000+01:002013-07-26T23:32:26.963+01:00Goodbye, Porpoise Spit!And we're in the bottom of the 39th, to use a slight bastardisation of a silly baseball metaphor (possibly the world's most boring game, after cricket). I've been trying to decide if I'm going to have any sort of minor freakout about turning 40 tomorrow. Probably not. Still though, I remember Dad turning 40 and thinking OMG that is so old. And I distinctly remember Grammie got away with telling me she was 39 for a number of years in a row before I cottoned on that she might be telling a slight fib. And a moth just kamikazed onto my keyboard from the light above. It's kind of a pretty moth - wings sort of the colour and pattern of granite. And I digress. Anyway, I feel like I should somehow be more "grownup" than I think I am, though, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure why. My youngest team member - all of 27 - to whom I had to explain the intricacies of a library card catalogue the other day - said I was "cool". No one has ever called me cool at work before. Maybe there is possible life after 40?<br />
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Ten years ago, I was just about to set out on this big silly adventure that's ended up with David and me in a small terraced house in a quite south London street next to a park where the hospital lands its helicopters for lack of a landing pad (soon to be remedied, apparently). Ten years ago, Katherine made me an ice cream cake for my 30th and David and I set off to drive up the north coast to Seattle, stopping off along the way to see people and to briefly hold in our possession a seemingly cursed bone we picked up in a dry riverbed on a reservation on the north coast of California. I was off to London to embark on some poorly thought out PhD course, in part because I didn't know what else to do at that point besides be a student, in part because it felt like an opportune time to leave America and because I had wanted to come back to London ever since I first set foot in this ridiculous little island held together with duct tape and string. David, ever the good sport, uprooted himself from his comfortable New York existence and followed me on my not always grand adventure. To his huge and everlasting credit, he stuck with me through the throe-y-est throes of me trying to figure out what I wanted to do when I grew up. Beauty school drop out. Too much partying. Too much drama. A series of increasingly less crap jobs. And we're here. I'm tapping away on the computer. David is watching Scrubs. I finally managed a "real job", just squeaking it in before 40 (that was my goal). Life has (touch wood) at least a modicum of stability. And my youngest team member says I'm "cool". Baby's still got it. ;-)<br />
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So, no, I think I'm not that hugely worked up over 40. I made it through the drama of the 30s. Definitely older, potentially wiser, still in possession of the majority of my own brain cells (and teeth) and with a highly developed appreciation for the ironic and absurd. My favourite quote, of late, not surprisingly, comes from Germain Greer - "You can only be young once, but you can be immature forever". I do most certainly intend that to be the case. :-)dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-75108114033777564342013-07-06T19:23:00.001+01:002013-07-06T19:23:37.530+01:00First class and stinky<p dir="ltr">I love travelling back on the train first class from a long bike ride, slathered with sunblock and plastered with dead bugs. It feels somehow decadent. Anyway, I'm on a rather leisurely train back from Taunton to London. It's quite empty, which is nice, and my bike is stored, unlocked, in the bike car, on the other end of the train, which always worries me slightly. I spent two days cycling from Plymouth to Barnstaple to Taunton, through Dartmoor and Exmoor national parks. I do think that the southwest is my favourite part of the country. It's hilly, green and seems to be generally full of friendly and often a bit unusual people. Did I mention it's hilly? Omg I learned an important lesson about cycling in Devon, namely don't take the superdink roads as the have lots of traffic and seem to consist mostly of 25% grades. I almost gave up hope yesterday, the first ride I've ever taken that was actually too hard. Narrow, bumpy, exceedingly steep roads with nettles hanging menacingly over the sides and cars whipping around blind corners. I was very happy, after 40 miles of this, to get back onto slightly more sensible roads. And the hills. Rural Devon is more than enough practice for the Alps, because unlike Switzerland, where they have sensible things like switchbacks, in England the roads go straight up the sides of the hills, only to smash your hardgotten gains with a plunge into some random and completely unnecessary valley, only to do it again, and again. At least they warn you. Around London, any road that goes over a lump bigger than an overpass is called Something Hill. In rural England, it means that God is going to laugh at your puny legs. I stayed the night at a slightly peculiar and very artistic b&b, way back in the woods, surrounded by a sculpture garden. It was run by Dutch people. Go figure. Today was the north coast of Devon. The roads were better but no less hilly. It reminded me of Point Reyes, but greener. Lots of hill farms, lots of sheep, and several hippy dippy towns on the coast. I had clotted cream with fresh scones, which may well be better than sex. Oh, I have also come to the conclusion that the official, el cheapo Devon way of repaving a road is just to dump miles of oil and gravel on it and let the traffic mush it down. Great if you're in a 4x4, not so great on a bike with skinny tyres. At least 1/3 of the 140 miles was like that. Anyway, just like that the ride was done. I'm now heading back east. It's getting warmer, drier and smoggier. Yay, London summer. I already can't wait for the next ride... :-)</p>
dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809194528290247944.post-3958650999829646062013-06-22T17:32:00.001+01:002013-06-22T18:48:13.972+01:00Grey and BlechySo, the Met Office went out on a limb the other day and predicted a "typical British summer". Yesterday being the first official day of summer, with the last fading trace of a sunset disappearing into the cloud speckled northern sky about 1030/11pm or so (thus, in my mind, entirely making up for the grey and dark in December), I look out the window today - 22 June. It's grey. The trees are blowing all over the place and there are occasional splatters of rain. Yeah, typical British summer. Oh well, it's better than drought (I think, anyway). David and Robin are both away this weekend, both doing "disaster recovery" or some such nerdy thing, leaving me rattling around the house on my own. You would think I would relish the time on my own, given that I so enjoy my solo cycling and that I rarely actually have time on my own in house. I don't think I do actually. It's kind of lonely. There is just no satisfying me, I guess. In the meantime, I have eaten far too many cookies. Moo.<br />
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Been in my job now just over two months - I can't actually believe it's been that long (but then, I couldn't believe it was time for my six month dental appointment today either). It's a funny thing. The place is so rigidly hierarchical on the one hand that I'm afraid to fart without asking permission, but, on the other, I'm expected to be the techical expert in my area and I'm expected to provide the solutions for the team. I admit I did kind of snap at this one very annoying woman the other day. She was moaning on about the printer not working properly and was banging things around trying to get attention (much as a small child would). She wanted me to do something about it, to which I replied (being in a pissy mood at the time), "do I look like a printer engineer?". I feel sometimes like I've been dropped into someone else's very large, very messy attic and told I have to create order from the chaos - while everyone else watches and directs (but doesn't actually give any useful ideas). I suppose it's what I wanted, to be able to do this, but somehow I thought I would be able to come in and fashion some sort of bullshit synergistic (I hate that word) collaborative effort where we all pulled ourselves together towards some goal, rather than me having to create the entire structure and slot everyone else into it. It's a bit different than the situation I was in before. The thing I really have to get my head round though is that I think I can actually do exactly what I want there and create whatever the hell I want because I know what I'm doing and they don't - but I have to play the silly game, say the silly words, abide by the (very silly) structures, etc. That's the hard part, simultaneously being a boundless pain in the ass free spirit in a rigidly set box, breaking as many rules as possible while toeing the party line. Is that being a hypocrite or being practical? Not sure, but it is definitely a peculiar place to be.<br />
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Winding down to the last month of my 30s. Funny thing, years. In the same way as crossing an entirely imaginary geographic border changes everything (I suppose because we have decided that it changes everything), I kind of think that crossing this (almost as imaginary) time border is going to change everything as well. If my 20s were about learning to live on my own and my 30s were about trying to decide what I wanted to do when I grew up (and probably partying way too much on the way because I didn't really know and was afraid to find out), I kind of feel like my 40s needs to be about finally starting to live my life, entirely as myself. That could be entirely a load of twaddle, but someone said to me lately, with regards to all my cycling and travelling to random, silly places, that this seemed out of character for me. I said that no, this is actually entirely, 100pct my character - this was me, happily being my nerdy, often immature self, and that what really was out of character was me trying to go out and be one of the cool kids. I guess what has really started to change in the past few years is that I have started to embrace the dorkdom and it has made me a hell of a lot happier for doing so. I do wonder what constitutes being a "grown-up". There are certainly a lot of people I would consider a "grown-up" (not me) and I tend to find them stultifyingly boring. I really do like that Germaine Greer quote - "you're only young once, but you can be immature forever". I think that is a very good mantra for life.<br />
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Oh, I forgot - I discovered a new after-work game (or, rather, have re-invented the very old game where Poppa drove me a different route to kindergarten each day). Now that I work in the suburbs, I am surrounded by an endless maze of little streets. The new game I've called "cycle in a circle" and the basic rule is to make as many random turns as possible while still trying to cycle vaguely in a circle and end up at home. I have ended up in some very strange areas that way (London seems to have some very very strange areas) and a few real loser streets, but, generally speaking, it's loads of fun and I've been seeing all sorts of random places in SE London. It won't work so well once it starts getting dark in the evening (going to have to go back to running then - boo - boring!) but for now, it's keeping me amused. <br />
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Right - it has stopped raining - time to go out and wash my bike, then go running to try to run off some of the immense amount of junk food I've snarfed down today. Tomorrow is a big bike ride after brunch with David and a New York friend of his he swears I have met in the past (oh dear)...dougzillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17640949286811925362noreply@blogger.com0