In February 2005 Dave was diagnosed with a brain tumour. He was operated on in Hope Hospital, Eccles. The hospital is on the edge of a mill town, once Lancashire and now engulfed by Greater Manchester. The ward had only small windows, high up, rectangles which made a mockery of the orientation landscape. You couldn't sit and see out of the windows but you could lie down, as of course the patients do, and look up through them. It was cold. Through the windows Dave could see the scrawny upper twigs of the winter trees, and falling through those twigs were huge flakes of snow, slowly tumbling. With a look of imploring, willing me to understand everything he wished to communicate, he said to me "I like trees" and with that phrase pleaded with me to know. I knew.
By autumn he was really sick. He couldn't be left. Some afternoons we had a longer visit from a carer, an hour which gave me time to walk the mile to Morrisons and return home with essentials. I got to go outside the house which we were both now tied to, curiously held indoors by no obvious force other than the inability to leave. Dave had always lived as much outdoors as he could, as had I. But I got to get out there and walk home kicking the piled up horse chestnut leaves and prickly cases. I picked up three conkers to take home for Dave, to share with him the autumn which was taking place somehow without us. He barely glanced at the gift.
Today I walked back from Eccles and saw the first of the season's conkers on the pavement with the first fallings of the leaves. I let them be.
Monday, 30 September 2013
Saturday, 14 September 2013
Team Kit
I was going to say I am conflicted over the issue of whether it's kind of OK or good or ludicrous or just unacceptable for the simple leisure or sports cyclist to wear replica kit. You know, the stuff the pros wear.
I am no longer conflicted at all. I say, go out there, acquire the kit for the sport and the team for which you have a passion and a belief in, and wear it with pride. Show the world that you're a cyclist, and that in this accessible to all activity you have an allegiance to something higher, or an aspiration perhaps to one day merit that kit yourself. Above all, never feel ashamed or embarrassed to be associated with the sport and the team you support.
I am deeply disturbed by the kind of sites popping up like this one: Full Pro Kit Wankers. I mean, where do these people get off categorising those wearing with pride their pro peleton kit on their own, possibly cheaper versions of the pros bikes as "wankers". If your 11 year old child wanted, for example, a Team Sky jersey for Christmas, would it put you off, knowing he might be coming in for the "wanker" badge? Isn't that just a little cruel? Wouldn't it be good to know in the UK kids aren't mocked for being cyclists, wearing lycra and hero worshipping their role models? Would you want that 11 year old to be known as a "wanker" for the simple sin of wearing a jersey which says s/he is proud to be a rider, proud to associate with something bigger than them, bigger than their club, looking up at the best. Isn't it rather cool knowing that the British are indeed up there with the best in this sport. Why shouldn't we show our pride on the street?
That kind of derogatory name calling does nothing at all for the sport. The wearers of these figure hugging jerseys emblazoned with team names and sponsors have not taken the purchase lightly. These things are not cheap, and where do you think the money goes? Yes, it goes to the team, well, some of it, as well as the clothing manufacturer, retail outlet, etc. etc. etc. It is an income stream for the team. Those who compare cycling to sports such as football and the investments, the money, the payments to athletes would do well to think about how those sports are funded. Merchandising plays a part. Sponsorship plays a part. Cycling don't do well on gaining money from spectators, although media including TV must gradually start filtering down some of the readies.
Teams need sponsors too. The sponsors are in it largely to get their name out and about in public. Imagine even an out of date kit riding our roads with the sponsors' investments continuing to pay back with their name out there every sunny weekend.
I rode around the roads of Switzerland, France, Germany and Belgium for 8 weeks. Coming from this country where the instinct seems to be to belittle and mock those who wear the kit it was an eye opener. Switzerland was full of people wearing not just the BMC jersey but also the shorts. France similarly with every trade team under the sun represented, and Belgium just the same. Amongst those were club kits, smaller team kits, people happy to make public their allegiance. Sometimes it's just because the kit happens to be stylish. A complimentary nod to the marketing folk who are clearly doing their job right. It was a wonderful sight to see all shapes sizes ages and genders resplendent in their various outfits.
I felt ashamed of myself that in the UK I feel I would be mocked for getting out the Team Sky jersey which I happily wore all over France. And I'm not a wannabe. I'm a 45 year old woman who has had a road bike for just over a year. I know my place in the grander scheme of things on the road.
Arguments against it, well, the considered arguments go something like this:
I suspect the pro riders seeing someone wearing their kit simply smile, maybe even in a slightly approving manner, sometimes I would guess in a humbled manner, after all, that person has bought the kit because it means something to them. The riders on the team mean something to them perhaps. I feel one thing is for sure, they are not offended by this. My Team Sky jersey has Wiggins down the side, not through planning, just through bulk ordering vagaries. His wife approved.
And in general applause for those brave enough to go out there and take on the chin their mates comments, and sometimes those of strangers, here's me, resplendent,
I am no longer conflicted at all. I say, go out there, acquire the kit for the sport and the team for which you have a passion and a belief in, and wear it with pride. Show the world that you're a cyclist, and that in this accessible to all activity you have an allegiance to something higher, or an aspiration perhaps to one day merit that kit yourself. Above all, never feel ashamed or embarrassed to be associated with the sport and the team you support.
I am deeply disturbed by the kind of sites popping up like this one: Full Pro Kit Wankers. I mean, where do these people get off categorising those wearing with pride their pro peleton kit on their own, possibly cheaper versions of the pros bikes as "wankers". If your 11 year old child wanted, for example, a Team Sky jersey for Christmas, would it put you off, knowing he might be coming in for the "wanker" badge? Isn't that just a little cruel? Wouldn't it be good to know in the UK kids aren't mocked for being cyclists, wearing lycra and hero worshipping their role models? Would you want that 11 year old to be known as a "wanker" for the simple sin of wearing a jersey which says s/he is proud to be a rider, proud to associate with something bigger than them, bigger than their club, looking up at the best. Isn't it rather cool knowing that the British are indeed up there with the best in this sport. Why shouldn't we show our pride on the street?
That kind of derogatory name calling does nothing at all for the sport. The wearers of these figure hugging jerseys emblazoned with team names and sponsors have not taken the purchase lightly. These things are not cheap, and where do you think the money goes? Yes, it goes to the team, well, some of it, as well as the clothing manufacturer, retail outlet, etc. etc. etc. It is an income stream for the team. Those who compare cycling to sports such as football and the investments, the money, the payments to athletes would do well to think about how those sports are funded. Merchandising plays a part. Sponsorship plays a part. Cycling don't do well on gaining money from spectators, although media including TV must gradually start filtering down some of the readies.
Teams need sponsors too. The sponsors are in it largely to get their name out and about in public. Imagine even an out of date kit riding our roads with the sponsors' investments continuing to pay back with their name out there every sunny weekend.
I rode around the roads of Switzerland, France, Germany and Belgium for 8 weeks. Coming from this country where the instinct seems to be to belittle and mock those who wear the kit it was an eye opener. Switzerland was full of people wearing not just the BMC jersey but also the shorts. France similarly with every trade team under the sun represented, and Belgium just the same. Amongst those were club kits, smaller team kits, people happy to make public their allegiance. Sometimes it's just because the kit happens to be stylish. A complimentary nod to the marketing folk who are clearly doing their job right. It was a wonderful sight to see all shapes sizes ages and genders resplendent in their various outfits.
I felt ashamed of myself that in the UK I feel I would be mocked for getting out the Team Sky jersey which I happily wore all over France. And I'm not a wannabe. I'm a 45 year old woman who has had a road bike for just over a year. I know my place in the grander scheme of things on the road.
Arguments against it, well, the considered arguments go something like this:
- It's something which has to be earned
- It's an honour to represent a team and for others without that ability to dress the same belittles the achievement
I suspect the pro riders seeing someone wearing their kit simply smile, maybe even in a slightly approving manner, sometimes I would guess in a humbled manner, after all, that person has bought the kit because it means something to them. The riders on the team mean something to them perhaps. I feel one thing is for sure, they are not offended by this. My Team Sky jersey has Wiggins down the side, not through planning, just through bulk ordering vagaries. His wife approved.
And in general applause for those brave enough to go out there and take on the chin their mates comments, and sometimes those of strangers, here's me, resplendent,
Sunday, 11 August 2013
Homewards bound.
Its curious, an odd feeling of home sickness. Not a logical thing because taken literally the house is just property. It's more a feeling of very slight wrongness. A feeling that somehow I've stopped being true to me, because 75% of home is me.
I remember nearly a year ago after dusk on a Scottish beach crying with relief at the sure and certain knowledge that it was OK to stop running. Now I want to stop again, to reconnect with me. Properly think about the Alison of now not of twelve months ago. What does this woman, this work in progress want in the here and now? Is it a nest or some kind of safety?
I am in the Alps happy and joyfully planning my next move. It may be Italy it could be the Gorge of Verdun. I won't know until tomorrow. I want water to look at and sunshine to read in. I want to stop. That may be because in an eight day period I rode the Alpe d'Huez, the Col de Lautaret, the Col de Restefond and Bonnette and the Col de Vars. Possibly.
Saturday, 3 August 2013
Age and vanity.
I have a theory about vanity. I suspect it's something which most of the folk who suffer from it do so because they've been blessed with good looks or a great body or something like that. There are a few notable exceptions of unconventional appearance people who can't help but admire their reflection in glass or paintwork or anything as they walk or ride by. But mostly it seems to me it's an affliction of those who fall in the upper 10-15% of the population.
Aging is weird. The good looking folk from 20s and 30s don't always age so good. Some do. Others don't. It must be a bit weird adjusting if you've been used to drawing admiration from others. Also, think of the pressure if you're someone who cares about such things to try to maintain a body and face and hair in a conventional fashion. Any experimentation or living must be somehow bigger decisions than for the likes of me.
I am not bound by limitations in that way. I can happily sport cropped hair, turning grey at the edges because it simply doesn't matter. Similarly I can marvel in interested fashion in what firstly climbing did to my body then cycling. It doesn't matter that for a while I couldn't walk with my arms by my side because the muscular structure of my upper body wouldn't allow it. Not exactly what most people picture a woman looking like. Now I have these curious shaped bulges above my knees. I marvel at them. I also use the odd appearance to motivate myself. Going up hill on the bike I'm saying you can do this, because those really ugly bulges have to be there for a purpose. Get on with your job, muscles. And shut up legs.
Aging is weird. The good looking folk from 20s and 30s don't always age so good. Some do. Others don't. It must be a bit weird adjusting if you've been used to drawing admiration from others. Also, think of the pressure if you're someone who cares about such things to try to maintain a body and face and hair in a conventional fashion. Any experimentation or living must be somehow bigger decisions than for the likes of me.
I am not bound by limitations in that way. I can happily sport cropped hair, turning grey at the edges because it simply doesn't matter. Similarly I can marvel in interested fashion in what firstly climbing did to my body then cycling. It doesn't matter that for a while I couldn't walk with my arms by my side because the muscular structure of my upper body wouldn't allow it. Not exactly what most people picture a woman looking like. Now I have these curious shaped bulges above my knees. I marvel at them. I also use the odd appearance to motivate myself. Going up hill on the bike I'm saying you can do this, because those really ugly bulges have to be there for a purpose. Get on with your job, muscles. And shut up legs.
Friday, 26 July 2013
My Mio
After a suitable period of mourning after the somewhat embarrassing only myself to blame loss of the exceedingly pricey Garmin 800 or possibly 850 I found myself searching for a suitable substitute. Europe was calling and with it the need for a data charges free method of making sure I could find the van at the end of a map free bike ride. This time though I had experience. I knew what I used and what were just gimmicks. I liked to record a ride to get back to base. On a nice to have not need to know basis I liked to know how far and how high I had gone. I liked a simple way of sharing routes with mates too. Saved explaining ... and that was it. Nothing else needed.
The first must have was a device with maps. It had to be robust too and hold a good charge. Weekend loops were on the agenda.
Oddly I came up with a quiet Belgian brand, the Mio. I have had it a month now and want to sing its praises.
For half the price of a major brand it included European maps, a robust case that actually properly covered the charger, and a simple secure bike mount. Also included but for me unnecessary were the heart rate belt and cadence sensor. It was a mighty package.
Unlike my Garmin package I just switched it on and used it. Instinctive recording that reminds you, although with no speaker to say yes to record. A touch screen red stop button that checks it heard you right, screens that tell you how far you have gone, where you are, how fast you are going, and grade the hill.
The finest thing of all though is the Surprise Me function. Hit that and after a moment's thought it shows you a clover leaf of suggestions based on your location. You can tell it if you're road riding or MTBing, how far you'd like to go and it gives three options. Red, green or purple. It gives you their distance within about 10k of your request and an indication of the hills. Click on one, press go and follow a combination of map and top left arrow which tells you how far to the next turn. First experiment and it worked. Avoided stupid roads and gave forth of suitable hills. Can't wait to see it in Alpine action ... tomorrow ...
Thursday, 18 July 2013
Queen of the Mountains
The time has come to talk of many things. OK, well, to talk about my guilty secret. Strava.
www.strava.com
When the Strava app started building momentum amongst cycling people, I wasn't interested. I paid attention to my first ever encounter when I was introduced to it by, oddly, the British Cycling Membership Manager. He showed a couple of us the application, how it worked with GPS to time you on your bike rides, and on sections of roads and trails all over the country various happy or competitive souls on bikes had identified strips which they personally wanted to stand up and be counted on. Who knows what the original motivation was, was it about a personal challenge, a measurable way of assessing your own progress. Was it about conquering particular challenging stretches, or was it about pitting yourself against other cyclists?
It looked fun. You could see other people who were doing the same ride as you, and you could see how you measured up against them. You could explore and pinpoint a stretch where you felt you'd have strengths, and target attempting to become the fastest rider, or King or Queen of Mountains on that stretch. It could be a good challenge of gradual progression as you found something which you couldn't at that moment in time achieve.
You could see what other people were doing. Click on them, look at their latest rides, consider whether they had a route which looked more interesting than the one you were doing. Explore the area, get to know other cyclists in a weird cyber fashion.
People who knew me well said I should never ever sign up for it. It's no hidden secret that I have a weirdly obsessive side. I can be single minded in a way which I realise is possibly not altogether normal or healthy. If I was actually at a Worlds best level in any activity whatsoever I would probably be savage and particularly scary. But seeing as I'm pretty average-normal at most things the compulsive tendency is relatively dormant. Although don't look at my efforts at A level English or Open Uni because the grading I get in those is clear incontrovertible evidence that when I focus on something I don't veer to one side. I can't settle for anything less than the best I can be. This is worrying in some ways.
The second reason is that I feel that magnetic attraction towards arses in the distance, or arses that have pedaled past me. I have changed from the person who, back in the early 90s came out of every personality test known as the least competitive person in the world. I'll chase any piece of arse. I hate the person ahead to not know that I'm as capable as them. If indeed I am, and usually you can tell, and not waste time attempting to chase down the impossible.
But in spite of warnings, I was nosy, I wanted to know why so many people were raving about it, and I signed up. I love it. I love being able to use the software to see where the hilly bits close to home or current location are, being able to use it to plan a ride route. I love knowing what my friends are up to. I love being able to look at my club members and see what routes they are doing with a view to hijacking their plans. These are the nice reasons I love it.
The guilty reasons are because actually, it's a big fish in a small pool situation. The kind of people who use it are, I suspect, not racing cyclists, they are club cyclists, fellow obsessives, people who just want to ride their bike, and ride it fast or faster. The truly competitive, thankfully, steer mostly clear of it or where would the fun be for the ordinary and the average? There aren't many women on it, and those who are on it aren't serious competitive beasts. As a result of this, somehow I am Queen of the Mountain on over 40 segments, most of which are most definitively not mountains. There's a pleasure to downloading and the tag coming up saying you have achievements in 14 segments because for that moment, even though you know you're not, somehow you feel just a little bit special.
www.strava.com
When the Strava app started building momentum amongst cycling people, I wasn't interested. I paid attention to my first ever encounter when I was introduced to it by, oddly, the British Cycling Membership Manager. He showed a couple of us the application, how it worked with GPS to time you on your bike rides, and on sections of roads and trails all over the country various happy or competitive souls on bikes had identified strips which they personally wanted to stand up and be counted on. Who knows what the original motivation was, was it about a personal challenge, a measurable way of assessing your own progress. Was it about conquering particular challenging stretches, or was it about pitting yourself against other cyclists?
It looked fun. You could see other people who were doing the same ride as you, and you could see how you measured up against them. You could explore and pinpoint a stretch where you felt you'd have strengths, and target attempting to become the fastest rider, or King or Queen of Mountains on that stretch. It could be a good challenge of gradual progression as you found something which you couldn't at that moment in time achieve.
You could see what other people were doing. Click on them, look at their latest rides, consider whether they had a route which looked more interesting than the one you were doing. Explore the area, get to know other cyclists in a weird cyber fashion.
People who knew me well said I should never ever sign up for it. It's no hidden secret that I have a weirdly obsessive side. I can be single minded in a way which I realise is possibly not altogether normal or healthy. If I was actually at a Worlds best level in any activity whatsoever I would probably be savage and particularly scary. But seeing as I'm pretty average-normal at most things the compulsive tendency is relatively dormant. Although don't look at my efforts at A level English or Open Uni because the grading I get in those is clear incontrovertible evidence that when I focus on something I don't veer to one side. I can't settle for anything less than the best I can be. This is worrying in some ways.
The second reason is that I feel that magnetic attraction towards arses in the distance, or arses that have pedaled past me. I have changed from the person who, back in the early 90s came out of every personality test known as the least competitive person in the world. I'll chase any piece of arse. I hate the person ahead to not know that I'm as capable as them. If indeed I am, and usually you can tell, and not waste time attempting to chase down the impossible.
But in spite of warnings, I was nosy, I wanted to know why so many people were raving about it, and I signed up. I love it. I love being able to use the software to see where the hilly bits close to home or current location are, being able to use it to plan a ride route. I love knowing what my friends are up to. I love being able to look at my club members and see what routes they are doing with a view to hijacking their plans. These are the nice reasons I love it.
The guilty reasons are because actually, it's a big fish in a small pool situation. The kind of people who use it are, I suspect, not racing cyclists, they are club cyclists, fellow obsessives, people who just want to ride their bike, and ride it fast or faster. The truly competitive, thankfully, steer mostly clear of it or where would the fun be for the ordinary and the average? There aren't many women on it, and those who are on it aren't serious competitive beasts. As a result of this, somehow I am Queen of the Mountain on over 40 segments, most of which are most definitively not mountains. There's a pleasure to downloading and the tag coming up saying you have achievements in 14 segments because for that moment, even though you know you're not, somehow you feel just a little bit special.
Tuesday, 16 July 2013
Long time
It's been a while. I seem to have been busy. There have been a lot of road cycling miles going into my legs which makes me chuckle on so many levels.
My sense of the ridiculous seems quite sensitive. How did it become normal to step out of the front door wearing lycra? I used to wear leggings in my twenties as a standard going out item, way back when there was some kind of definition between where my bum ended and my legs began. I couldn't go out like that now, I'd feel exposed, naked and opening myself up wide to mutton dressed as lamb comments.
Yet somehow, lycra shorts are now normal. I've even eased off my concern over those with the tighter elastic holding bands on the thighs. I used to hate the bulge which appeared above those, making my legs look weirdly shaped and fat. Now the bulge seems to be more below the leg bands, and I find myself mesmerised by this change in body shape which has produced this bizarre muscle formation just above my knee. You win some, you lose some. I may have gained above knee bulk but I have also gained slimmer ankles. Swings. Roundabouts.
The weird acceptance of the rear pockets on the jersey, the pockets distended, so much weight in them that they form three odd shaped packages hovering above my bum. That doesn't do a lot for folk's perception of my figure either. Viewed from behind, I no longer have a waist. What I do have is a collection of cereal bars which I have refined according to experience. I don't carry anything which could melt, so no chocolate chips. I don't carry anything crumbly, so no baked style goods. I don't carry much any more. The days of "bonking" through calorie deficit seem to be a little in the past, and I come home after 70K often having eaten no more than one off the shelf non sporting chewy bar.
I haven't accepted cloppy shoes. I'm still wearing touring style shoes with mountain bike style clip ins. I like to not look like a muppet walking into M&S Simply food.
I confess, I wear black socks. Deal with it.
My sense of the ridiculous seems quite sensitive. How did it become normal to step out of the front door wearing lycra? I used to wear leggings in my twenties as a standard going out item, way back when there was some kind of definition between where my bum ended and my legs began. I couldn't go out like that now, I'd feel exposed, naked and opening myself up wide to mutton dressed as lamb comments.
Yet somehow, lycra shorts are now normal. I've even eased off my concern over those with the tighter elastic holding bands on the thighs. I used to hate the bulge which appeared above those, making my legs look weirdly shaped and fat. Now the bulge seems to be more below the leg bands, and I find myself mesmerised by this change in body shape which has produced this bizarre muscle formation just above my knee. You win some, you lose some. I may have gained above knee bulk but I have also gained slimmer ankles. Swings. Roundabouts.
The weird acceptance of the rear pockets on the jersey, the pockets distended, so much weight in them that they form three odd shaped packages hovering above my bum. That doesn't do a lot for folk's perception of my figure either. Viewed from behind, I no longer have a waist. What I do have is a collection of cereal bars which I have refined according to experience. I don't carry anything which could melt, so no chocolate chips. I don't carry anything crumbly, so no baked style goods. I don't carry much any more. The days of "bonking" through calorie deficit seem to be a little in the past, and I come home after 70K often having eaten no more than one off the shelf non sporting chewy bar.
I haven't accepted cloppy shoes. I'm still wearing touring style shoes with mountain bike style clip ins. I like to not look like a muppet walking into M&S Simply food.
I confess, I wear black socks. Deal with it.
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