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 ...

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. 

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.

Non breeders

I occasionally take long weekends away with a gaggle of women. We were in our thirties when we started. Now 40s might be more honest although two have yet to achieve that giddy height. Tongue in cheek we call ourselves the non breeders. We found ourselves having a drift in commonality with our motherly friends. Some who envied us our untied nature and others who couldn't comprehend life without kids and some who wistfully wanted both worlds. Circumstances had led us this way. Two may yet breed. One decided quite definitively it was not for her. Two, perhaps with some sadness have accepted a child free fate. The fourth it's a subject too sore too raw to talk about even ten years on. I fall into the acceptance bracket.

I am in a cottage with three generations of my family. Three siblings over 40. One child. Sadly our genes are not well represented.

They seem good genes. My dad before multiple sclerosis was a county level hockey player. My mother along with her three brothers passed mensa level tests. She was a Rambert school of ballet graduate. We are intellectually and physically blessed.

I look at us as three siblings in our 40s and we may not have bred but we're still kind of good. My sister now a hockey player at masters international level. My brother fighting fit, a focused dad. Me, the disappointment in a sporting sense. Well I don't do so bad.

It feels like a waste of genes though. Funny eh?

Right Round

I discovered something new. Life is all about new discoveries after all.  It’s an extraordinary thing, life, never static, not even when we wish it was.

Trail centre with a motley crew of Talent Team coaches, one of whom is a local to the area. We hit the Clayton Vale trails.  These have been gently developed over some time but had an official that’s it, we’re open kind of an event in May.  Finally a mix of sections through woodlands have been connected up into a cohesive comprehensive trail which you can follow.  There are many loops too, you can repeat and repeat and repeat. 

That was new for me, going back time and again over the same loop.  It was surprising.  First time down tentative involving some short cuts, breaking, even, dare I say it, walking.  By the fifth time fear had departed and the narrow, tight, downhill hairpin was just achieved with ease, and I’d worked out what gear to get into for some of the uphill bits as well as figuring out which bits were short enough to just give it some welly out of saddle.

Surprisingly, too, I enjoyed it.  Enjoyed the process of being a hamster in a wheel, going back time and time again over old ground.  I grew in confidence with every attempt, although hopefully not in cockiness. Having done the ride in cool company I now know I can just get out there after work on my own.  Because I can see the trail start from the window of the office. It’s nothing if not convenient.

It’s also lovely doing a ride with people I’ve never ridden with before.  I’ve known Stuart for a decade, Rik for less time and Monica for a matter of months.  They are coaches, they have a history of competitive participation in cycling, and I have respect and deference to their advanced knowledge, skills and fitness.  But as a person, I still contribute to the group.  I like that I can, having come to a standstill on a very minor bit of up, stand and chat to Rik who has a moment of despair at his lack of fitness and  his Roc d’Azur sign up for October and say it’s fine to be where he is, it’s understandable and now he knows that, he knows the direction to take. It’s OK to have limitations, really it is.

I have worked in this world too long.  Met my ex boss in the corridor and in non arse licking way (that’s really not my style) I note he’s looking trim and tell him so. He’s not feeling it, he feels in a place where he’s been off the bike for a week or so and it’s all gone to pot. I smile and say Ahh, you’re doing that thing where you’ve had one or two bad weeks, bike wise, and suddenly you feel the months of hard work you did before have all been lost.  That thing.  He smiles and agrees, because he’s heard it all before, and normally he’s the one dishing it out. He knows I’m right.

And we're going retro of course with Dead or Alive ...

 

The Light

Today has been brought to you by a kiss from a rose on the gray.

"the light that you shine can be seen" Such a Quaker concept.  I'm feeling quite quakerish today it would seem.  It's funny, decades of living life as member of the Society as Friends and I simultaneously grow away from it as I grow towards it.  Elements even now are being discarded while others are simply a part of who I am.  It's good to know I'm not yet a fully formed Me, even in my 40s. 

I still see a revised version of that of god in everyone.  I see that of good in everyone instead. It's annoying and hard to break, but I cannot, cannot write anyone off.  I can't see anyone as a "waste of time", it still feels to me that all that's needed is to understand someone properly, to keep trying, and an outcome of a simple encounter can be so much more rewarding.  I find people rewarding on the whole.  I cannot give up on folk.  I have gently put to one side associations which I realised are not really friendships, but I know deep down that I'd still be there for the person, and if they knocked on my door tomorrow I would still know how they took their tea / coffee.  And I'd still smile with genuine welcome and pleasure at seeing them.  But I won't make the first move because somehow as things are, that seems to cause damage.

I still hold people up to the light.  Or indeed hold them in my thoughts, gently.  If I know a friend is in trouble I put them to the front of my mind, in the stream of things which flow across my conscious I let their problems enter the stream.  Sometimes flashes of inspiration happen and I find something practical I can do, other times it's enough just to remember them, and not treat as a time limited incident something which they are living through.

Plain speech - well, I try.  Sometimes it comes across as brutal sometimes it's just too hard to find the words, sometimes I replace it with silence.  But I try.

Simplicity - I feel I've lost this.  I've lost the back to basics approach. I live surrounded by stuff, lots of it unnecessary, lots of it acquired in the quest for enjoyment.  Not at all the Quaker way.  I do find joy in watching blue tits in the garden, busy raising their young. I do find joy in just sitting in the garden, and in thinning the tiny apples on the tree.  I find joy in simple cooking, basic ingredients, cooked without gadgets above and beyond the cooker and pans, knives, spoons.  But I have a house scattered with bicycle parts, tent accessories, awnings, books, kindle, netbook, phone, charger.  I have a lot of stuff and only minimal inclination to do something about it.

Conscience - my conscience is my guide.  Call it God if you will.  I like to believe I don't do anything to go against my conscience, my morals, my principles. I think that's a route to unhappiness as the decisions taken will jar with you and make you ultimately miserable.  Actions which seemingly head against principles are thoughtfully made, considered, consequences taken into account.  Doubt and questioning is comfortable.  Because principles are personal only I can know what I truly deeply believe and where the boundaries lie, and no, there's no need to write these down in stone either, things change, I change. It's just part of me.

This pretty much sums me up ... http://www.bbc.co.uk/quakerism

Funnily enough, I set out to write about trail centres, repeating sections and riding with fit folk ... but I went where the spirit moved me.

Her laughter

I’ve been too busy to write.  This is, naturally, a good thing.

It’s been a bit of a time of discovery.  I have discovered:

My recovery time from injury is pretty good (this time) and I have come out the other side changed.   I am, as ever, thankful, truly so because although I never take good health for granted, and never take life itself for granted, but a set back serves as a reminder of this.  I always rejoice in good health, but never more than a post illness or injury period when I am truly grateful for the gifts I have been given.  I know this sounds edging dangerously close to religious speak, but I guess although maybe not religious, I do have a spiritual being, and if moved to that feeling of fullness in my chest by life happening, it feels natural to want to express appreciation of that somehow, to someone.  I get round this sometimes by simply turning to the person I’m with in that moment and telling them thank you, thank  you for your part in this wonderful experience of living that I’m feeling right now.

This injury has given me a sense of urgency, a feeling that I’m playing catch up.  I’m chasing something, chasing someone, and I think it’s me.  I’m chasing the person I would have been had I not hurt myself.  I can see her ahead of me on the hills, making a Froome-esque come along movement with her arm, puzzled because I’m falling behind and wondering why I’m not up there with her.  

Riding has become an autotelic activity for me.  I know this sounds a bit like a swallowed dictionary, but for me, this simple concept has somehow distilled it for me.  It’s not about anything else except for riding, and I owe no explanation or ability to put this into words and feelings to anyone, myself included.  

 Oh, and this amuses me ... http://www.urbanrabbits.net/autotelic.html In a way which makes me wince, I guess I identify with it to an extent.  To say that makes me feel somewhat uncomfortable; it feels like I'm bragging or making myself out to be special.  I'm not.

I question my whys too often. Sometimes we just need to be, and to rejoice in the splendour.

And a song from someone who I think is pretty special in a self publicizing kind of a way ...