Pedaling amongst idiots

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.

Backward, eastward

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.

How to fry electronics...

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...

Swisslandia

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...

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.
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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.
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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!
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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... 😜

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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...
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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.

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.

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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.

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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.

Rocketing westward

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!

Blobbing in Bruges

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!

Backwards, southward

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. ☺