Pastures new

This weekend marked something of a milestone in my biking life. After waiting since Monday, I finally managed to get out on my new mountain bike frame (with all of the appropriate bits attached). In fact, the bike was out on Saturday and Sunday. It takes a bit of time to fiddle and fettle with the new rear shock and get used to the bike after all.
The first noticeable difference from my old bike was the speed at which the bike turned. It seems incredibly quick to go from one direction to another. Compared to my old frame, it feels like the difference between a Honda Goldwing and an R1. Nice..
The second thing I noticed was the difference that the Pro-pedal shock makes. With the fork locked out and the Pro-pedal on, the bike is almost rigid on the flat, with just enough give at both ends to take out the big shocks. Both of those differences were immediately obvious, just on the road ride up to the woods. Once I got into the woods, more became apparent.
The trails were still muddy and sticky after days and days of heavy rain. The mud around Bristol turns into something like mushy fly paper after a bit of rain. The drag on the tyres is very noticeable to say the least. That being the case, it was difficult to judge whether the bike climbs much faster than the old one. It will need a dry trail to be sure. The bike certainly gripped well and shifted along the trail.
Once I was on the bumpy, rocky downhill sections I really noticed some big differences. The type of adjectives used in the mountain bike mags kept popping into my head – words like plush and composed. The new frame was a huge improvement on the rocky sections. The geometry is obviously quite different, which took me by surprise a couple of times. The whole package will take a little while to get used to and increased confidence will come along with it. I’m fairly convinced that I’ll be getting faster on this bike compared to the old one, despite the rear travel supposedly being less – it certainly doesn’t feel like it is though.
The one thing that came out of the biking this weekend was that I felt like an old geezer turning up at a club, wearing all of the right clothes, knowing all of the DJ’s but not being able to dance. I need to get my fitness levels up to the level my bike deserves!
Almost at the end of the ride on Sunday, I noticed that my chain was twisted a little in one area. Keeping an eye on it, I had already decided that I would be replacing the chain in the next few days. Then, just as I had passed a group of mtb’ers who had pulled over to let me through, I put the hammer down and within 100 yards the chain gave out on me. Fortunately I had a few spare links and a chain tool in my pack. It wasn’t straight forward though. Pulling off the trail into the “light rough”, I managed to drop both links and pins during the course of replacing the knackered bits and they weren’t easy to find again.
New chain arrives tomorrow and then I’ll be ready for Thetford next weekend.

Basic biking

Here I am, looking forward to going to pick up my new, multi-pivot suspension mountain bike frame, ready fitted with my plush forks and disk brakes. It should be ready tomorrow and I am waiting to try out it’s capabilities at floating over rough trails and rocks.

So what did I do today? Well, I decided to take my hardtail round town bike, with it’s barely suspension forks (all of about 30mm travel) and V brakes. I was planning on mostly heading along small country roads, with just the odd bit of bridleway between, so no need to change the tyres. I reckoned my city slicks would manage it. I also had a route planned, but hadn’t thought about roughly measuring the distance.

So, after swapping the flat pedals for my old SPD’s, swapping the saddle over and bunging a new set of rear brake blocks on, I was ready to head out. What a lovely day for a bike ride too! Cold, wet and really windy. Just lovely.

The choice of tyres seemed to be working out ok. Most of the route was hard packed and the fast rolling 1.5 inch tyres were making life relatively easy. When I say relatively, I’m comparing with 2.1 mountain bike tyres which make a noise like a distant tractor as they drag along the roads.

The interesting part started on the first real stretch of bridleway. Riding up the rocks and mud toward the ancient Cadbury Camp settlement was an experience. A week of fairly constant rain had left the trail a mixture of mud, wet leaves and rocks. A practically rigid bike with slick city tyres was looking a little out of it’s depth. I managed to slip and slide my way to the top of the hill. The view was lovely, even in the wet and wind. Along the horizon, the sun was breaking through and the view down to the Bristol Channel, across the fields and farms was worth the climb.

I branched off the main bridleway to take a descent which ducks under one of the raised sections of the M5 motorway. The path is obviously mainly used by horses, with hoof marks all over the deep mud. Mud so deep that in places I had to pedal just to keep moving, despite the fairly steep downhill gradient. The trail slowly turned from deep mud to stones. I could hear my V brakes struggling and the sound of my wheels rims being ground away by the paste whipped up by the brakes. I had forgotten how much I detest that sound. It’s the sound of wheels slowly being ruined and sounds expensive.

Relief arrived in the form of a long road section, with loads of puddles suitable for washing of the worst of the grime. The rain even stopped. Unfortuntately the wind didn’t, but it was still a great improvement. I bimbled along the country lanes, only having to get the map out once. As the miles went by, my mind started to wander a little, only really paying when the occasional car graced the single track lanes. I didn’t even pay much attention to the potholes in the tarmac of the back lanes.

Suddenly I felt the back wheel hit one of the potholes and worse I felt the rim hit the edge of the pothole. It was one of those hits where you know immediately that you’ve got a pinch puncture. I pulled my little back pack off and pulled out the spare inner tube. Oh. I’ve only got a tube for 1.95 to 2.3 tyres. I’ve also got one of those tyres which needs severe tyre lever action to get the tyre back on again. Great care and plenty of time managed to squeeze the tube into the tyre without mishap. Good job too, I was about 10 miles from home and not looking forward to the walk.

After a lengthy uphill stretch, I was back on familiar roads and heading towards the towpath ride from Pill back to Bristol along the bottom of the Avon Gorge. As I cruised along the towpath, I made the decision to cycle from the bottom of the gorge, up through the woods, to end up at the Clifton suspension bridge. Steeper than carrying on to the end of the towpath, but more interesting. Forgot those slick tyres though. Hmmm, interesting it was. Halfway up the slippery path, my legs decided the were bored with it all. It was a real struggle to make it to the top and then back to the flat.

I checked the length of the route, roughly, from the OS Explorer map – after washing my bike and soaking in the tub of course. Turns out it was about 35 miles. Longer than I’m used to in January, especially with a mix of off and on road. Good fun though and I need to get in a few rides like this if I’m to be ready for some serious riding come springtime. Oddly, I’m looking forward to more of the same.

Taking the hardtail out was actually a great think to do. It really makes you work harder off road, but makes the on road easier. That doesn’t mean for a second that I’m not relishing the prospect of the new full bouncer. It does remind me that it’s no bad thing to get a bit a variety and make life harder every so often.

Coffin Cold

As I eventually steeled myself to exit the front door into the bitter December cold, I was met with a bizarre sight. Belting down the road was a red mini with a coffin strapped to the roof. This is true by the way. Behind it was a hearse, travelling at a substantially higher speed than you would normally expect. The mini braked hard and swung down the small side street on the opposite side of the road. The hearse braked even harder, screeching and with smoke wafting up from the front tyres, before following the mini (and attached coffin) at break neck speed.
One thing I haven’t mentioned in this scene is the little red buggy type car which was in front of the mini. That’s because the information that there was camera crew in the buggy kind of spoils it a bit! Apparently it is all going to appear in the new series of skins. So there may be a bemused on looker, complete with mtb, helmet on and shorts standing behind cars.
My oh my it was chilly on my exposed legs. However, a sunny Sunday lunchtime following a dry week at this time of year is not to be missed. How could I not head out to the woods for a bit of biking masochism? And so me, my bike and my cold legs plodded our way up to Ashton Court in the winter sun. It soon became apparent that the review of the top mtb UK cities featured in this months MBR magazine had convinced people to visit. I met a number of bikes heading the wrong way along sections of trail that I not seen that on before. There were obviously a few navigational problems going on. Being helpful and kindly, I left them to find out for themselves instead of berating them loudly . . . .

Single life

Among many other things, life is a series of compromises. Furthermore life is a learning experience packed with opportunities to experiment, should they be spotted. Like most choices we make about how to live our lives, single life has advantages and disadvantages.
And so (this may seem like a departure in direction) but whilst I am house sitting for some friends for three weeks, I am in the position of having a cycle ride to and from work. I could drive since I have been left with a rather nice car, complete with keys and insurance. That’s no fun though is it? Much better to get on my bike and slog through the freezing rain. I know how to enjoy myself . . . .
Anyway, returning to the original point of life, the universe and singledom, I decided that this morning was a good time to find out what the world of single speed biking is about. I keep seeing single speed bikes, like the Charge Plug, which look beautiful in their simplicity and the world of single speeding is oft talked about in the mountain biking world.
My current route to work includes a few hills, in particular one which is pretty long and one which is short, sharp and steep. Given my general lack of fitness, as recently demonstrated on a trip to the 7 Stanes in Scotland, I decided to pick a gear just below middle on the rear cassette and bunged the chain on the middle ring at the front. With standard mountain bike gearing, I reckoned that should be fine.
Well, the uphills were ok. Not fast, not that they ever are, and out of the saddle for most of the way up, but not too much of a problem. I probably could have gone up a gear at the back, putting me exactly mid range of my mountain bike gearing – the recommended norm for single speeding. However, the flats and downhills were not great, running out of pedal power way before a decent speed is achieved. On longer, steeper downhills, it’s not such a problem as gravity will eventually get you there. The flats and shorter or less steep downward slopes are plain annoying though.
So my trip into work involved more toil than usual on the uphills and greatly reduced speed on the downhills. Single speeding? Not convinced. Might try knocking it up a gear or two and see whether that improves things, or whether is just makes my legs collapse.

Back in black

Having missed out on Tuesday night’s biking due to feeling rubbish, out I went last night instead. After the inevitable delays, I missed getting out in the last of the light by a long chalk. Inky dark it was at 7:30 when I finally reached Ashton Court. I attempted to carry out my usual pre-ride bike check over, but realised it was pointless – especially since I couldn’t be bothered to remove my front lights to use them as torches.
There had been no shortage of rain on Tuesday, so I was expecting big puddles and loads of mud. Right then, best drop the tyre pressure a bit. Down the pressure went from fnmpf psi to fbapbf psi. All very helpful; scientifically measured and calculated of course. Off down the trail we go then. Hmm, surprisingly un-muddy. A bit of standing water, but not slimy. Sweet. Best pick the pace up a bit I suppose. Fortunately my legs had made a minor recovery from their pathetic state at the weekend and I could actually push on a bit. Still not an impressive pace you understand, but forward motion involving some effort at least.
There seemed to be no one else at all around. I couldn’t see or hear anyone in the woods around me. Until heading up a “fire road” (sort of) section. I saw lights ahead and heard voices which seemed to be a bunch of kids. When a met them coming the other way, they were a much more annoying bunch than kids though. It was a group of about 15 or so adults out for a night time run along the wider trails of the woods. Unfortunately they were the sort of adults who take great glee in pretending that they are still children out on a cub scout adventure. You know the types. All over excited and making stupid comments. Having become accustomed to being in the woods and feeling quite alone, all I wanted to do was have at them with a belaying pin, or maybe a marlinspike. I must have been feeling a bit nautical. However, sense reigned and I put the cranks to good use and got away from them as fast as I could.
Apart from the adids (opposite of kidults), it was all very pleasant. Didn’t even fall off. Having said that, I came mighty close on a couple of occasions and if had been more weary I probably would have come a cropper. But I had a thought as I was weaving through the trees last night about how night riding works. Well, night riding with my lights anyway. It’s a kind of visual and memory patchwork which creates an overall vision of what is coming ahead. As the handlebars weave around and the bike leans around corners, you have a constantly variable section of trail which is visible. Keeping your eyes ahead and looking up the trail, or where you think the trail is going. The decisions you make and the adjustments made are based on patching together the various bits you have seen in the last few seconds and your subconscious memory of the trail. There are a few areas where I have been going wrong consistently and I made a conscious effort to sort those out in daylight at the weekend. For those couple of areas, I was fine last night. Knitting all of this information together, you can finally start to feel more comfortable.
Can’t wait to try out a brand new trail in the dark. Anything could happen . . . .

By popular demand . . .

So, what of this weekend’s biking then? That seems to be the question. Quite surprised anyone’s that interested, apart from me – and I’m only slightly interested. Well, being the weekend, there is only one route to take isn’t there? So out on Saturday and then back out on Sunday it was to be then.
I had hoped for a long lie in consisting of lots of sleep on Saturday, but my body didn’t agree. Up and about far earlier than I had wished for, I decided that a pootle round the Timberland trail was the obvious choice. And so it was that I headed out on a grey autumn Saturday morning, looking forward to being able to see where I was going for a change.
There were two small matters I hadn’t mentally factored into this. The first was that, despite the weather forecast, there had plainly been some overnight rain. Crikey, those leaves were mighty slippery. The second small matter was discovered at the start of the trail.
As always, I ride my bike up to Ashton Court and then give it a once over at the start of the trail. That might seem like an arse about face way to go about it – why not check it at home before leaving? I don’t know, it just seems to work. The ride up to the woods loosens up my legs a bit and then I give ‘em a little stretch before the off road starts and check over the bike at the same time. Anyway, that’s not the point, this is: as I was checking over the steed, I noticed a suspension pivot bolt which looked loose. “Better tighten that up”, I thought, rummaging in my pack for the trusty multi-tool. The next thought was “oh deary me”, or something like that. There was not tightening up this bolt, however hard I tried. You see, the bolt head and the nut on the opposite end were no longer mechanically connected to each other. Broken pivot bolt. Hmmm, what to do. I did the only sensible thing and headed off around the trail anyway!
Apart from one ballet style dismount, which resulted in me scampering down a 10 foot drop while my bike stayed at the top, the ride was fairly uneventful.
After couple of laps or so of the trail, the bolt was still in place. The bike hadn’t collapsed, just the rider. I was one tired pile of rubbishness. From the start my legs seemed to be running on empty and they just stayed that way. Couldn’t seem to get any purposeful forward motion once the ground gradient exceeded about one degree upwards. I pottered home and melted presuming that Sunday would be better.
Maybe it had been the fact that I was only just awake yesterday. That was my not so carefully considered analysis on Sunday and the reason I didn’t head out until lunchtime. So it was that I sat at the start of the trail early on Sunday afternoon checking the new M6 bolt in my suspension pivot was still there and that the nut was tight. All present and correct, no need to worry on that front.
Heading off along the trail, I knew very quickly that energy levels of yesterday were also still present and correct. Bleedin’ legs – they’re rubbish! Still, no point in worrying about, just get on and get the miles in. Apart from the useless legs thing, everything seemed to be going pretty well. The trails had dried out a lot since yesterday and the leaves were no longer the black ice obstacles they had been on Saturday. That meant that I could blast along my favourite rock section as fast as possible, and so I did. Suddenly there was some go in the legs and I was pedalling like crazy at every opportunity. Rounding the last turn and cresting the slight uphill, I saw the trail ahead full of four static bikers. The idiots were just sitting there in the middle of the trail, just short of where the trail switches back on itself. I had to pull away to the side of the little slab drop which ends the rocky section. If I had gone over it, I would never have avoided them. As it was, I wasn’t sure I could stop, so I decided on an escape route. Heading off the side of the trail, bike brake hard on and rear wheel locked, I managed to drop down and turn 180 degrees to end up on the switched back section of the trail, front wheel sliding across the dirt. Somehow I stayed on and kept going. I think the idiots thought I was being flash. I doubt it occurred to them that the other option had been for me to plough straight into them.
Nearing the end of my ride and my capacity to cycle, I passed a geezer pushing his Merlin Malt and checked whether all was ok. As it turned out, he had a flat and a puncture repair kit, but no tyre levers. Taking pity, I removed his tyre, furnished him with a replacement tube when it turned out that the valve was the problem.
Feeling like a good Samaritan with jelly legs, I pottered off home hoping that the evening rides will be more satisfying.

The idiot diaries

So week two of after dark off road biking has come. It must be autumn then. No pretending it’s the end of summer anymore. The mornings are dark, as are the evenings and there is more than just an occasional chill in the air.

So how did week two go? Well, late on Tuesday afternoon it seemed as though half of the waters of the shipping forecast dropped from the skies in about 30 minutes. Any sane person would take that as a signal not to venture out into the woods to tackle leaf strewn trails. I am an idiot. Off I went in to the dark. There was a definite slipperiness to the trails not to mention standing water. The rain had been sufficient to turn the surface of the trail to slime, while the dirt below remained firm. The slime, the soaking leaves and the abundant tree roots made for an interesting experience.

I felt I had the required control though and ploughed ahead, deciding to wander in a slightly different direction from normal. The rocky and rooty descent which often takes riders by surprise in the daylight proved to be quite fun. As the ground leveled out at the bottom of the slope and I slowed, both in forward motion and mental process, the front wheel slipped away from under me, dumping my right knee onto the dirt, roots and rocks. Bugger. First time I had experienced an unintentional dismount (fall) in the dark. I knew it was down to not concentrating, so I hopped straight back on and set off again.

All was well until the very last little section of flat trail, which I was only pottering along. I must have been thinking about what soup I was going to have, or which socks were the most comfortable, or something equally important. What I was not thinking about was avoiding the slippery roots and suddenly I was on my side in the slime. Bugger again. I wouldn’t make such foolish mistakes on my next night mission I promised myself . . . .

Thursday evening and the second night ride of the week. Picture the grim determination (or constipation) as the cranks spin and the wheels roll across the Clifton suspension bridge. My hydrapack is on my back loaded with water to sustain me. My ageing Cateye RC230 lights, with their huge lead acid battery pack, are in place, charged and ready to go. I’ve even donned my full finger gloves instead of the summer favourites. The sky is clear, it hasn’t rained since Tuesday afternoon and the wind is in my hair. Hang on, the wind is in my hair . . . My hair is exposed to the wind. My helmet is not on my head. My helmet is on my bed. Oh buggeration. Do I risk a trip sans bonce protection? Er, not on the evidence of the last outing! Back across the bridge I go and back to the flat. Oh well, at least it’s all downhill back to the flat. That means it’ll be all uphill again very soon. The same uphill I’ve just done. Ho hum.

Eventually into the woods I go. Still not fast, but at least I’m not feeling as utterly unfit as I did two weeks ago. The fear of four days biking in Scotland in early November is good motivation. I won’t be fit by any means, but I may avoid heart failure. Anyway, my road light has just run out of battery power on the second trip across the bridge, so I have single light illumination only. The road light usually lights the area right in front of the bike. Not normally of too much interest, but useful in a peripheral vision kind of way. The trail is dry though and it’s all good. As I head down the descent that lead to my Tuesday mishap, I can see light through the trees ahead. When I say light, I mean car headlight bright. How can someone get a car in here? A couple of hundred yards more and the mystery is solved. A group of four mountain bikers are sitting there and one of them appears to have created history. By all appearances he has harnessed nuclear fission and strapped it to his bike helmet. Perhaps this is the second coming? Light radiates from this biker's head and those gathered around bathe in it’s glory - the disciples no doubt. Where the hell is the challenge in riding with that thing on your head?! Well, apart from avoiding radiation sickness of course. Never seen the like . . .

The rest of the ride passes comfortably. A surprising number of bikers are out. I must have seen about ten in all. Of course, they are all in groups of at least two, none are stupid enough to go out on their own. That would be foolish and probably asking for trouble. I enjoy it though. Being out on your own, biking in the woods, is always good. Sometimes company is good too, but I like the solitude. Being out, biking in the woods - in the dark - on your own is a different experience, but a good one. I’ll be back for more next week after a dose of daytime riding at the weekend. Variety – spice of life. Sweet as.

(k)Night rider II

So, following the relative success of the first night mission, I left work yesterday planning to get into the woods to enjoy the last light of the day, but finish up my pootle around in the dark.
A chance meeting consisting of a 40 minute chat and catch up with an old friend put paid to that best laid plan. Damn and blast!
You know what though? It didn’t matter a jot really. I found myself revelling in the sight before me as I pedalled across the Clifton suspension bridge. The sun had set, but the sky near the horizon still held the warmth of the day in a bright turquoise colour, which rapidly faded into deep blue as I looked higher, where the first stars were making their appearance. This view was framed and enhanced by the arc of the suspension bridge, lit like a Christmas tree, all in bright white points of lights. Oh how I wished for a camera, preferably a decent one! Oh, and the skill to use it properly too.
Camera-less, I plodded on up the road to the entry gates to Ashton Court, arriving just in the nick of time and scooting through as the gates were locked behind me. There were obviously not going to be too many people around then!
Heading into the trees it proved to be even darker than a couple of nights ago, but thankfully much drier, both in the air and under my tyres. True to my purpose I pressed on, keeping a far improved pace over the last outing. It seemed that I had suddenly come to terms with what I would be able to see and managed to keep a better eye on the trail at the limit of the patch of light in front. Less in the way of surprises allowed me to get closer to daylight pace. Still a gear or two down, but much better and even more fun!
However, about 30 minutes into the off road riding, I still felt I should be faster. That was until I saw two other people on a parallel trail. They had pretty good lights by the look of it; I saw them easily through the trees. My giddy aunt but they were slow! I know the trail they were riding and it’s quite clear and easy. Perhaps I should cease with the berating of myself then.
The ride passed smoothly and silently, apart from the occasional bat and a few birds flitting around in the tree tops. No falling off, a few rear wheel slides when the concentration slipped, but no major mishaps. I think I quite like riding through the woods in the dark you know. It’s a different experience and a different challenge. Still, looking forward to a good blast round in the daylight at the weekend though . . . .

Winter biking

Last night I fell in love, all over again. My RockShox Revelation forks. Oh how I adore them!
It was the first after dark mountain bike trip of the season. Off I wobbled, into the Ashton Court woods at 7.15 on a damp October evening. Out of the woods it was nearly dark, under cover of the trees it was really dark. As I bounced my way over the first few tree roots I noticed something marvellous. The lit area in front of me was staying on the trail, not flying off into the trees and undergrowth. Could it be that I was going to be able to see where I was going?! Fantastic. There I was slipping and sliding around on the autumnal wet leaves and mud in the black of night and still generally able to see where I was heading. The tunnel of light before me lit up far enough into the distance to pull up where friendly walkers had thrown logs across the trail (it's not unusual as Tom Jones would have it), the trees arching over a ribbon of dirt which disappeared into the gloom.
I returned an hour later, muddy but grinning. A sense of achievement at not falling off , which I can normally manage in the bright light of a summer day on a dry and dusty trail.
Just two things to do now. First, go faster. Second, get a helmet mounted light so that I can look at where I am about to go, as well as where I'm currently going.
Winter? No problem. Light up your life (and the woods) . . . .

Things and stuff

I have been gently musing on a couple of general rules of life recently.
As always, the warmer, sunnier weather brings forth a very special breed in greater numbers than I have become accustomed to. I speak of none other than the car/van driver with more amplification than horsepower in their vehicle. It strikes me that a simple law of acoustics can be derived from this phenomenon.
The law is that the quality of the music in vehicles can generally be held to be inversely proportional to the volume of said music. Now I am not sure exactly what this relationship is, but I suspect it may be exponential rather than linear and therefore the equation would require a little modification if I were to write it out. My reasoning is that given that only a certain volume will ever be (reasonably) achievable, the quality may still continue to deteriorate. For example, I have never heard anyone playing Jive Bunny at ear splitting volumes.
Another general law of life, which I believe to be true through personal experience, has to do with keys. Basically, the more keys you have, the more complicated your life is.
If you only have a single front door key, life is pretty simple by my reckoning. If you add a bike lock key, you now have a bike to maintain and worry out. When you had no bike, if you couldn’t go somewhere, you couldn’t go. Simple. Ok. So now add vehicle keys. Now there are MOT’s, insurance, speeding, petrol, servicing and all sorts of other things to worry about. Now add keys to the office. That means you have assumed a level of responsibility at work where you are expected to be at the office when no one else is there. Life is getting more complicated by the moment isn’t it?
I sometimes wish I had fewer keys again.
Lastly for today a short rant about abbreviations and their misuse. It’s only a simple thing, but if people are going to use abbreviations, they should at least have the good grace to understand what they mean. Saying things like "a CD disc” is guaranteed to annoy me. What they are in effect saying is "a compact disc disc". You get the idea and I had to get it off my chest.
There we are. Bit of a rant really wasn’t it?! All of it points to one thing. I need to think more – but about other things.

Awake again

Been a long, long time since my last blog entry. That is in no small way linked to the fact that working full time in a demanding job saps the mental stamina.
It seems that the normality of working life, combined with more work than is strictly reasonable, will begin to reduce the capacity of the brain, once the working day comes to an end and it kicks in to recovery mode.
Despite not yet having descended to the depths of watching television to chill the mind of an evening, the mental wanderings of a relaxed state of existence have, to a large extent, departed.
The cause of this sudden realisation is an email from a friend. He has just arrived in Auckland (New Zealand) and has posted photos online. Seeing familiar sights of Auckland, complete with blue skies, I was immediately transported back a year, to being in NZ and probably more relaxed than I have ever been.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am not exactly the world’s most stress ridden or uptight person, but I appreciate how little space there is in my head at the moment to simply contemplate life and my surroundings from a wider perspective. Being able to step around your life and view it from another angle is often all that is required to improve both your life and yourself. Also the ability to return to what is really important is invaluable. To a frightening degree, working hard reduces the mental capacity to achieve this, or even consider it’s importance.
Whether it is possible to relax the mind to the extent which can be achieved when spending six months travelling around and living in a tent is, perhaps, a moot point. I suspect that it is impossible. However, giving the mind the time to recover from the strain of work, as well as allowing it the opportunity to meander through uncharted waters is vital.
Much as the email I received today made me yearn to be back in New Zealand, living a very simple life with nothing but a rucksack full of gear, it also provided the nudge I needed to make me realise how much the mind needs to roam.
Roam more, even if it’s only in your head.

Sustained shopping

Just up the road is an organic food supermarket of the "Fresh and Wild" variety. Since my friend (no, not my only friend) no longer works there, I now feel free to make comment on the place.
Should a person enter this house of organicness, one can only feel dazed by the dreamy state of the regular shoppers, who seem to radiate social responsibility on a level which one hopes is not catching. These shoppers appear to feel safe in the knowledge that by shopping in an expensive grocers, they are doing their bit to save the world. In fact, they are a like a swarm of self righteous Sting's, from his save the rainforest days. Frightening to say the least.
As they leave, having paid prices that would make Waitrose blush (not easy), I wonder how closely they have looked at their shopping. Do they know that they have been handing their cash over to a multinational corporation, a California concern, full of concerned people with ridiculous job titles? This shop gives out an aura of being the socially responsible end of the supermarkets. This shop sells bottled water from Fiji! What are the food miles like on that? Water weighs 1kg per litre, lightweight and easy to transport it isn't. So why isn't this shop selling the stuff which comes out of the ground in this country?
You want to do good in your shopping? Buy organic if you want to, but more importantly, buy local. Go to the local farmers market if you can. If you go to Sainsbury's or Tesco's, don't buy those potatoes from Israel, they're wrecking the local environment out there and then being freighted all the way to your local shop. Buy the ones grown here. Harking back a good few years, the Buy British campaign is more poignant now than ever before. This time is about the food miles and doing good for more than just the economy. Think local.

Junk language

The English language is an ever changing and constantly evolving creature. The language we use now would be difficult for Shakespeare to grasp because so much has changed. Having said that, there are some routes which the language is testing which are frankly abhorrent. Why on earth do some people feel the need to use the word “like” all the time? For example, what does the phrase “I was, like, whatever” actually mean? It is utterly meaningless and instead of slimming down the language, as one might expect in the text message culture, it is adding unneccesary clutter to our daily speech.
This obsession with meaningless clutter is far reaching and becoming worse. We have accepted terminology for things which do not even exist. It is impossible to "pre-order" something. You either order it or you don't, it's as simple as that. The phrase “creative industries” means nothing. It seems to be used for the arts and design, but any job can be creative. The term “creative accounting” has been with us for a number of years now and may be thought of in a derogatory way, but there is no reason that accounting, along with management, agriculture and any other job cannot be creative. If you are exploring new methods and evolving your job, you are being creative. Create more, use less.

Hey small spender

You know the feeling. You’ve just seen something wonderful in a shop. You don’t need it, but it’s cheaper than you’ve ever seen it anywhere before. You know perfectly well that you don’t have the funds available at the moment, but why not? Out comes the credit card and the prize, which ten minutes ago you didn’t know you wanted so much, is yours. All you’ve got to do now is pay for it.
The average credit card holder in the UK owes over 1,300 pounds and will spend about 7% of their disposable income just paying off the interest. Remember, this is just to satisfy a non-existent need. What is the cause of this madness? There are a number of reasons people are throwing their hard earned money away and these are just a few.
Firstly, the money lenders are making it ridiculously easy for the average person to have access to utterly unnecessary levels of credit. The more credit you have and use, the more they are leaching away.
Secondly, consumerism is constantly sold to the population as a good thing. After all, consumer confidence is held in high regard by economists. Funny how I feel more confident when I am spending money which is mine, not someone elses.
Thirdly, advertising will have us believe that the purchase of some old tat will make us more attractive, more confident and probably younger. Sex, good health, vigour, popularity and much more is there for the asking, as long as you spend out on some new trainers, a new deodorant or the right car.
In reality, people are just engrossed in a non-stop spending spree, spending money they don’t have on stuff they don’t need. Eventually all of this stuff is probably going to end up in a landfill, or polluting our over burdened world in some other way. Well done us, we are working harder to keep someone elses pockets lined, while we consume stuff we don’t need and then ruin our world when we realise we never needed it.
Are we all just parasites on the back of the consumerist monster? Fight back and climb off.

Quote, unquote

I’ve taken enough intelligence tests, personality profiles and critical thinking appraisals to last me a lifetime. What have they taught me? Only that you can fool them if you want to, that they are fallible and therefore redundant. I am more convinced than ever that all Mensa IQ tests will tell you is whether your thought processes follow a logical progression shared by the self congratulatory Mensa members. If an answer follows a logical thought process, but does not match the answer approved by Mensa, it is wrong. How can that be right?
Are these “intellectual elite” any more intelligent than anyone else, or do they merely think alike? After all, how can intelligence be accurately measured? Some people are experts at examination technique, while others excel at debating complex ideas. Is one more intelligent than the other? I have known wonderful academics who have great difficulty dealing with normality and common sense issues. There are also exceptionally successful and intelligent people with very few recognised qualifications.
Maybe intelligence is nothing more than using your mind to it’s fullest in which ever way works best for you. Whether that means that you can “correctly” answer an IQ test or not is irrelevant. Expand your horizons and use the brain capacity you have been given. Leave the intelligence quotient to those not bright enough to see it’s flaws and irrelevance. Think more.

Mediocrity

From McDonalds to dreadful cardboard homes, why are we so fond of mediocrity? Why do we all watch Hollywood films when there are more thoughtful and beautiful (not to mention original) films available to watch? Are we just too bloody lazy? Why do people buy grey box PC’s when there are gorgeously designed Mac computers waiting to be cherished (slight bias admitted)?
A UK survey a couple of years ago by CABE (Commission for Architecture and the Built Environment) showed that what the average UK resident wished to live in was a bungalow with a bit of garden all around it. Not only is this impractical for a country as overcrowded as the UK, where city living is becoming increasingly popular, but it is incredibly mediocre. There is wonderful architecture in the domestic domain, of all styles, so why don’t people demand more? Are we really so dreadfully umambitious? The answer can only be yes. The average UK resident is so tired after working longer hours than anyone else in Europe, so mind numbed after watching hours of junk TV, that they simply lack the mental capacity to wish for more, let alone demand it.
Good design enhances our lives in all ways. It not only makes life easier on the eye, it makes life easier. Remember that what you are getting is houses designed for nowhere, built everywhere. Can that really be any good? Demand more.

Cosmic

New Zealand is a wonderful place to watch the night sky. The air is unfeasibly clean and the background light pollution levels are so low that even in a town, the stars can be seen clearly all the way down to the horizon.
We all know that the light from the stars has travelled for thousands of years before reaching our eyes. The current state of the night sky will inevietably be different from that which we see, as the universe continues to expand and some stars die whilst others are born. So what happens when the expansion reaches it’s limit and according to some theories begins to contract? Some would have us believe that time will begin to run backwards at this point. Will we all get to live our lives again, but in reverse? When all the matter has gathered again, will it reach a critical mass and “big bang” again? Should this be the case, will everything happen all over again, exactly the same, or will chaos theory throw a flapping butterfly in the works?
Anyway, what is outside the universe? If it is nothingness, how does it differ from the nothingness within the universe? How are the boundaries of the universe defined? I know enough physics to know my quantum theory from my Newtonian, but not enough for string theory (well, only the basic premise). But cosmologically speaking, I know nothing. Why isn’t everyone in New Zealand a cosmologist? The questions are there, bright as, every clear night. Ask more.