Cheapness surrounds me, but I'm not looking

Say what you mean and mean what you say.

Ummm, not always so easy.

But here goes.

A few months ago I was dreading my onrushing fiftieth birthday. Then at some point, I'm not sure when, I had a change of heart. I decided to embrace it.

And now I just want to go on celebrating it for ever.

I have celebrated with my best cycling friend, by proving that even moderate cycling ability and asthmatic lungs, when combined with true comradeship and foul language, and a modicum of persistence and drafting behind better cyclists than me, can conquer three Category 1 and two HC climbs in a single day.

I have celebrated with myself, and demonstrated there really are no pockets in shrouds. Money may be the root of all evil, but I'm sure my parents would delight in my choice of British Racing Green upon which to spend their life's hard work.

I have celebrated with my life's treasure and love, and the apple of my eye, also known as Mrs Mendip Rouleur and Junior, and delighted in the intimacy and fun of balloons and streamers. And they bought me the best birthday cake that anyone in the world has ever had. Fact.

I have celebrated with my work colleagues, who shared a lunch with me and gave me a present of such stunning imagination, creativity and thoughtfulness that it made me tell everyone in Budgens in Langford what a brilliant bunch of people I work with.

I have celebrated with my cycling buddies on the roads of the Somerset levels that I mock so much. With cake, puncture repair and the puff and grunt of my best ascent of the Strava segment closest to home.



I have celebrated with my brothers and sister, their partners and children, with more fantastic and thoughtful presents and much laughter.

Thank you all.

So I feel blessed. Not by the presents (though they are nice) but by the presence of others, which is far, far, more valuable.

I'm aiming to cut down my use of social media for a while, precisely because I feel it is a distraction from the real business of engaging and communicating with people, friends, and in the essential business of living. It can also be a nice substitute (for me at least) for the essential business of thinking and reflection, and for reading books, or just noticing others. I don't want to be the centre of my own world, I want to focus on others.

How many of you have noticed this?

Real life isn't this blog, it isn't the "misguided tweets or the sad facebooking", it's the sky, the road, the music, the love, the people.

As my Dad said to me, "it's all about relationships Guy". Which was quite something for someone born in 1935.

See you soon,

xx

Still Dreaming

Last Sunday I had one of those moments that I hadn't had for over a year. I'd promised to sit down and watch something on TV with my beloved.  I thought, "I've just got enough time to phone my Dad before it starts".

And sometimes I can still hear my Mum saying to me "you should come and see us more often".

I wish I had. But I'm not beating myself up about it, because I can't do it now. Instead I'm putting it on here in the hope that you will.

When I get cross with you or dismissive of your terribly unimportant piece of work, or tell you that anxiety and panic are for fighting tigers and running from lions not for bike rides or office politics, I'm telling you because it matters.

Your life deserves a bit more from you than that.

Because one day you will die, that is certain even if the timing is uncertain.

So what are we to do?

Au Revoir!

"But I've got the stars"

Reciprocity, one of my favourite words.

Leaving the Hospice to honour an obligation

My dying father understood and it was snowing.

But it's all me, me, me, go me.

Here's my favourite track for my holiday.

I'm not frightened, bring it on.

Don't mention it because I've moved on,

Got on, ridden away and dropped you.

Let her dance with me just for the hell of it

We'll come back one day, we never really went away.

I've drifted from the cycling blog over the last couple of months. Because it's difficult to keep interested in reading, let alone writing the same old stuff. But because there are some eternal truths that never go away, this post is unashamedly retro.

The Axbridge Cycle Group annual outing to Lyme Regis took place yesterday.

No pictures of cake though.

The occasion is my third ever trip to Lyme Regis. For somewhere not on the doorstep, it's a place I've only ever been to on a bike. It's a great opportunity to try out some new hills and routes in a part of the country that isn't too far away, but not immediately accessible.

More importantly, a way of having a great day out with good people. It was this kind of a day.

 

We were all laughing at lunch in the pub on the end of the sea front in a very busy and crowded Lyme, but not so much ten minutes later when we set off straight up the 15%+ hill that got us out of the town. It was fun though.

 

Although it wouldn't be allowed in any Eroica the Kinetic 1 qualifies as my oldest British-based road bike. Not much of a contest, but as the Red Madone has a 50 mm crack spanning the top and seat tube, it's the only bike I have to ride.  I was getting to know K1 all over again yesterday, its geometry, its rattly bits, and its handling on steep hills, up and down.

I'm not hopeful on the Madone's warranty claim, there was much head-shaking and teeth-sucking in the shop about the wear on the seatpost from my saddle bag contributing to the crack. I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere.

There was certainly some comedy yesterday, a lot of it unrepeatable, and as usual you had to be there, contextual see? But no retro blog post wouldn't be complete without the inclusion of one stereotypical picture.

It was a beautiful day yesterday, a bit cool at times, but some wonderful views, valleys, hills, the seaside and above all various modes of transport. One train arrived at a railway crossing just as we approached, slowed and then passed as it went on its way. No doubt entranced by the view.

Then there was Martyn's pink tram, just outside Colyton.

If you take a close look at our route you will notice that its main body has few flat bits. I'm beginning to really love the Blackdowns, and our route criss-crossed them, as well as the ridge of hills near the Dorset coast.

I did feel like shit on the climb up to Dunkerswell airfield. But the plane-spotters, copious amounts of sugar and free parachute display were enough to cheer me up. With Cothelstone Hill as the last coup de grace I filled up on caffeine and orange juice and applied Rule 5. Relatively slowly, but absolutely the fastest ever.

Then came the final flat bit before I collapsed into a heap.

But I can always manage a smile for my camera.

"If you really cared, wash the feet of a beggar"

Maybe in the end we can do nothing and it is better to eat our bread and watch the circus. Because making a noise and wringing our hands is the same as posting kittens on the internet.

It achieves nothing.



And if you think this is too much, too woolly, too liberal, go back to your cats, your cycling, your money and your logic.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

Edmund Burke, not really a liberal was he?

What are you going to do?

What am I going to do?

To the promised land

 

Someone asked me about Cuba today.

Don't judge till you've been there, that's my advice.

And if you are convinced of the rightness of your view, you've not met enough people.

Sandpits. Smiles. Promises. Searches. Compromises. Capital. Children. Health. Death.

Is that it then?

Or are you going to do something worthwhile?

"Self-disgust is self-obsession honey & I do as I please"

Once you've suffered depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicidal tendencies, life is never the same again.

It's better.