Something else

"Is it true I'm an eagle? Is it true I can spread my wings?"

Is there a better country that Sweden?  Successfully managed the transition from berserk blood-soaked conquest and pillage, accompanied by rabid Protestantism into peace-loving, militarily-neutral social democracy and a liberal approach to love, peace and something else. And general acceptance of beards.

When I was a kid I used to get a lot of enforced bed-rest every time I got a cold, it triggered asthma that used to last for a couple of weeks. Before I discovered The Clash, Boomtown Rats, U2, XTC and a whole load of other credibility (spiky hair, leather jacket etc.) I still enjoyed simple pleasures. Riding my bike for fun, and jumpers for goalposts. and listening to Abba.

How was I to know that life would come full circle? For it turns out that the Mendip Rouleur family have somehow managed to acquire whooping cough. Unfortunately the only vigorous exercise I'm allowed to do, well actually capable of doing, is walking out to my car and driving to work.

I am grounded. For an unspecified indeterminate period.  Never mind flying like an eagle, I can't even stumble like a partridge (Alan or Andy). In a way it may turn out to be a blessing. I haven't watched as much TV for years, and I get to watch every bit of the Brexitshambles unfolding in front of my disbelieving eyes. Lucky me.

But I have also dived deeply into YouTube, surfing from Larkin Poe to Jimmy Page, from Taylor Swift to No Doubt, and from Joe Strummer to The Dead South, and of course from Bono to Agnetha Fältskog.  I still can't even grow a beard.

I'm all over politics. I'm all over work. And I'm all over music. Sort of.

But the bike, well it'll have to wait.

When we dance in the light

There are quite a few people alive today who not only can't remember a world before the internet, they also think there was no football before the Premier League. It's as if the world started in 1992. What? Yes of course it's a metaphor, I don't deal in anything else. Come here, get big picture, other blogs are available.

My cycling this year has been rubbish, well not rubbish exactly, but sub-optimal. I've been ill, with varying degrees of severity, in the respiratory department since 9th January. For three weeks, my bike languished unloved and without use in its high-security steel shed. Even without these latest setbacks and indignities 2019 was going to be hard. When you've been to the top of the world, it's quite tough to scale new heights. Whatever new people think.

I've been here before, in 2008 after quite a few years of mountain biking, I felt I'd taken that oeuvre as far as I could.

Likewise my stand-up comedy persona. Even if no-one really knew I was doing it. And you thought it was real. No one could really be that grumpy in real life. Or that clever. 

So I switched to the road. What a long road it has been too. It didn't necessarily take me to where I thought it would, but I have enjoyed the ride. And my achievements, albeit downplayed, have been remarkable. And there have definitely been so many good people along the way, as well as a few trying to knock my block off. But it's time for another change, and quite a few people could be annoyed if I do. But the angels won't.

But it was always about changing the world. Of course. And when the road is no longer steep enough, or just a mild false flat into a headwind,  and people who know nothing of the 1980s belittle those achievements, it's time to look for a new country to ride in. I don't know where that country is, but I'm sure there will be plenty of options. If I can't ride or run, I'll just walk, because the spirit is in the house.

So big question for this weekend, to take to the road or not, despite the frequent coughing and wheezing from within and the rain and wind from without. But just as the life inside my head belongs to me, so the road belongs to us all. We are all on it, even if some of you are trying to run me over. You just don't realise. But little by little you will.

Here I go then. New goals time.

 

And if you don't understand this, well, you need to stop talking and be quiet. It's all right in front of you, you just need to listen.

Do you know my name?

Someone pulled their car out yesterday into the path of my (quite) fast-moving vehicle. There were lights in my eyes I can tell you. I'm not quite sure how, but I avoided the collision. It wouldn't really have mattered if I was right if I'm dead. But this time no harm done, bit of a shock. But small beer.

This year, wow. Cruise ships, Family, Friends, Mountains, Dublin. Experience. That covers it.

But, and yet.

I'm not one for all those reviews of the year, and circular letters. And yet, of course, this is one.

So take it to heart. Again. You may think I'm weird, but really I'm just being me, different to you. I'll just be me Vincent, no more no less.

People that know me, and where there is a reciprocal and beneficial self-interest. AKA Love. AKA respect, etc. You know the rest.

Free yourself.

To be yourself.

If only you could see yourself.

Someone like me

What do you do when you've completed the hardest thing you've ever done? After cycling for 10 days out of 11, it's now been 3 whole days since I sat on a bike, which feels like a relief and a confusion all at the same time. Obviously far too early to plan and set new goals, but Cent Cols was by far the hardest and most amazing cycling trip I've ever been on.

It was indescribably hard. Fatigue like you can not imagine, waking up hungry at 3AM, and all kinds of aches and pains I'd never had before. I'm an average cyclist, and my talent is limited. But I was inspired and cheered by the comments and support of my fellow travellers, as well as the support from friends back home via social media. Together, they kept me going. Thank you.

It's pivotal too.

For almost every day I wondered how I was going to get up in the morning and ride my bike again, never mind over distances of 100 to 200 km, and 3-5000 metres of climbing. At the foot of the Port de Pailheres, in a raging thunderstorm, I despaired of finishing before dark. But I did. Bombing down 20km of mountain in the gloaming, lights flashing, and corners taken, hoping no animals were lurking around them.

If I can do all this, what else can I do?

In 2009 I came back from LEJOG, my first trip on a road bike really, and understood how I'd settled for a life of mediocrity. It begat changes that have meant a very different path to the one I was on.

Beyond the people, the stunning scenery and the cycling challenge, there is something else.

Cycling up the Aubisque on Tuesday morning was a very deep spiritual experience for me. The visceral and emotional on the inside was reflected by the snaking upwards of the road and the soaring peaks of the mountains on the outside. Maybe it's epoxia, maybe I was just a little bit tired, but I don't think so.

Something has changed.

My friend Monmarduman (link to the right) has written an excellent piece on our trip. As I remind him, I am the fat one that makes him feel better about himself, and he was the most excellent companion anyone could hope for. A real Frodo to my Sam.

But in the middle of the night,  feeling those pangs of hunger matched by the anxiety of another impending day, when I turned to music, was it a coincidence that my most-played album was Songs of Experience? This was the song that kept me going.

I don't know what's next, cycling or otherwise. But there will be something. Until then, there's this.

A dream that never fades

Mrs Mendip Rouleur has heard it all before. "This is the hardest thing I've ever done". It's a bit like the cycling version of The Boy who cried wolf.

But this time, I can categorically say it's true and not some type of Velominati-inspired excuses-in-early, throwaway phrase. I have prepared. I am not in the best shape ever, but I'm not in the worst either. I've been heavier  but I've been lighter.  But I know what is coming.

We had a nice family day today. To a place you'd not expect. In a bizarre way it was fun. And we talked about my apprehension. Because I know what is coming.

Friends, colleagues and casual acquaintances are probably bored rigid because when they ask, I tell them what is coming.

But also coming will be camaraderie. Fresh air. Mountains. Yes, lots of them. Noel, Bono, Edge, the other two, Natalie, Patty, MSP, Swill, Maria, Kirsty and all the rest of them.

I recently saw a picture of Cav and Bernie, back together again. I'll let you decide which is which. Maybe Charles and Sheridan is a better reflection.

Despite his protests about lack of training, he will be better than me. At cycling anyway. Neither of us, any of us, are getting any younger. Because we both know what is coming.

So will I complete this challenge? Is it even a challenge that matters? Will what is coming finish us?

I don't care. I just want to look at that deep blue sky, smell the mountain air, and come down those roads as fucking fast as I can. I know what's coming.

Everything you ever dreamed of

 A moral dilemma. Of the cycling variety. In 10 days time I'll be riding the Dartmoor Classic for the 8th time. Way back in 2010 when I first rode it took me 7 hours and 44 minutes, I was relatively new to sportives and road riding, so was fairly pleased. It's now the only sportive I ride, I prefer Audax to be honest, but the DC is a fabulous ride, run by great people, in countryside I consider to be my homeland.

 

Over the years my times got a bit better, and allowing for blips due to terrible weather & bad form, till in 2014 I did my best ever time of 7-09. I got a silver medal - wow! I know sportive medals mean jack, but still I was pleased, and I figured that as I was about to move into the 50+ age group in 2015, with more generous time allowances, the 6-48 required for a gold could be on in 2015.

 

Alas, bad weather again, and the after effects of a few long Audaxes, saw me slip to an old man's bronze. After a break in 2016, last year I came back with a 7-10. Although pleased I kind of gave up on the idea of ever attaining gold. To do so would require building the whole season around training specifically for it, and all that seriousness of peaking at the right time. I couldn't be bothered.

 

So this year when I entered I looked forward to simply a good day out on Dartmoor.

 

Today The DC organisers announced they have revised all the medal times. Upwards. Apparently they want the times to reflect a 33% split for each category, based on the times people have actually ridden over the last 6 years. Essentially serious riders no longer ride it and more people like me probably do.

 

The time now for a 50+ Gold medal is 7 hours and 14 minutes.

 

Now I know this devalues the award. I know sportive medals are meaningless. I know riding a bike for me works best when I am enjoying the carefree nature of the ride.

 

 

But what am I to do? Goals and targets are one thing, but does it matter?

Seven things I want when I die

When I die I want the following at my funeral:

1. My West Ham shirt collection to be given away, one shirt to anyone who turns up, and worn throughout
2. My wife (if she survives me) or failing her then the most English person you can find, to read out, WB Yeats poem "Easter 1916"
3. Play this scene from my favourite film
4. A three-legged race knock-out competition.
5. As many people as possible to turn up on bikes
6. A complete play-through of Achtung Baby to play in the background of the wake
7. This clip to be played