Category: Life

Turns out work haven’t got rid of me, the agency lost their mobile ‘phone and with it my mobile number. They rang me on the landline tonight, I’m back in as usual all week. Bugger. I was looking forward to a few days indolence.

It’s good in several ways though; it pays the bills while I apply for another job and it keeps my hand in so I’m confident for any assessment. Also it looks better applying for a job whilst in work, especially applying for a trunking driving job whilst you are doing a trunking driving job.

 

While I’m here I forgot to mention we saw a lizard/ newt/ whatever scurrying about in the road in Cornwall. About 3” long and black. It was quite exciting. I really need to get out more.

 

Also, last night I had just finished my blog. I was calling Wendy up to look at it before I posted to make sure she was OK about that one picture with her on it. Before she could look she asked me to sort the fuse box out as the downstairs lights had tripped. I did it in the dark. And turned off the circuit with the PC on. Lost the (completed) lot. I had to do it all again today. Tres miffed.

 

Anyway, Wendy’s trying to get to sleep and we are both in work tomorrow. Bum.

Later,

Buck.

Well, what a time we had and no mistake.

As I said last time, we booked a cheap week away in a caravan in Cornwall months ago, in anticipation of the glorious British Summer. Then it pissed it down continuously for three months. Hopes were not high.

By some strange miracle we actually had nice weather! Huzzah!

Cornwall doesn’t have a lot going for it in the rain. We had one day with a bit of drizzle, some wind, but the rest was sunny and lovely. We also had reservations about the site I’d booked. When we got the brochure that featured a bench as a selling point we were a tad concerned. We were looking forward at least to taking out pictures on the bench. There was no bench!

What is the number for the Trades Description Act people?

Devastated.

However, the site itself was small, well spaced caravans, under-occupied and the caravan was clean and fine. As opposed to one site we had to drive through where they were crammed together, looked old and dirty and had loads of riff-raff. And the view from the big window at the end of the caravan:

Wowsers!

We were a seven minutes run down a steep wooded path from the beach.

A fact I took daily advantage of with my runs. It was fantastic running down from the caravan, across a beach or two (depending on if the tide was out) then up the coast path over the hills. The best part of the running for me was the two days when I met extreme hikers. They were all togged out in stout hiking boots, serious trousers, all weather coats, rucksacks, etc. I was going the other way in trainers, shorts and a sleeveless top. At a run.

Well, it made me smile anyway.

The beach just below the caravan was good for swimming too. Not many tourists (damn their eyes!) a gradual deepening of the water and a lifeguard. Ideal. I only did one swim, but it was nice to have it there. I was putting it off as it’s my weakest discipline in triathlon. Well, in the top three of my weakest disciplines.

I took a holiday from my diet as well. I’ve put on 4 pounds but it was worth it! We found an excellent Cantonese/ Chinese restaurant (that by luck was also cheap) and an Italian restaurant that was sublime.

The downside to our culinary adventure was the Rat Poison episode. Wendy doesn’t believe it, but I think so.

We went to a local pub for our tea, and to be fair the meal was nice. Fish and chips. Cornish fish is always better than up here, but they had an really tasty herby batter for it. Very nice. However, I made some quip about the service being slow (that they must be catching the fish) that was overheard. When I ordered pudding the barman went into the back and brought it out. He went back into the kitchen then we heard (presumably) the chef saying “Oh my god! No!” The chap came out and tried to take the pudding back, saying it was treacle pudding, not sticky toffee pudding. I thought it was a massive over-reaction and ate it anyway.

Then I started to feel ill. I had to go to bed early as I was feeling so sick. Then I had to get up in the night to be sick. You’ll recall I don’t drink, so it wasn’t that.

I think the guy thought he’d sort out the gobby Northener with the addition of a soupcon of rat poison. It only makes you throw up, so no harm done. Wendy disagrees.  Either way, we didn’t return to The Rat Poisoner’s Arms.

The other thing about that place was a car parked outside. Look at this for cool:

Crank handle at the front and everything! It was fully legal and functional as it drove off shortly after we arrived. Presumably so the driver could go and get his stomach pumped.

We did some touristy stuff, such as visit St Michael Mount. When I did my (failed) Cornish triathlon last year we were based in Marazion, just across the causeway from it, but never went. This time I thought we should make the effort.

It was lovely.

 

We had such a nice, quiet, relaxing time that Wendy is actually entertaining the idea of us moving back there. I’ve always wanted to move back, but Wendy has her job that she won’t be able to move with (mostly small, volunteer based C.A.B.’s in Cornwall) and her church that has loads of her family in it, so was reluctant.

It would mean me realizing an earlier ambition, that of getting a driving job with a national employer, such as the Royal Mail, then getting a transfer. I did a quick search on the jobsite for HGV drivers in Cornwall. Of the three that actually state a wage (as opposed to ‘meets minimum wage’, ‘dependent on experience’, ‘to be discussed’) there were two day jobs at £8 per hour, and one nights job at £400 per week (best case £8.33 per hour as it was 48 hours or more as needed!)

That was for now, in all of Cornwall. Given that your native Cornishman would probably give preference to a local lad/ lass that is not encouraging. I changed to location to Warrington, days £9-£12 per hour, nights £12-£16 per hour.

Talking of which, because I had the audacity to have a week’s holiday after my six months, five days a week, for my latest job the company or agency have not got me back in next week.

Sod ‘em.

The good news is that the job for which I was going to apply upon my return from our holiday is currently recruiting! Yay!  That is the £9-£12 per hour job (£9 p/h for the first 8 hours each day, £12 thereafter, typical 10-12 hour days. Sundays all at £12 p/h etc.)

So I’ll be applying for that on Monday. I’m tempted by the money on that nights trunking job though. The trouble with that is; 1, I never see Wendy as it is, 2, there is a massive increase in the number of driver fatalities due to RTA’s amongst night drivers. Trying to sleep during the day around here, with the yappy dog and yappy kids about to start their Summer holidays, in sunlight… Then going in to work knackered and driving all night. Not good. But a lot of cash. Say £13 p/h average, 55 hours a week… that’s £715 per week.  The day job would be about £540. Minus four hours, fifteen minutes for breaks, usually.

Well, I’ll apply for the day job first, but if not immediately successful I think I’ll have to go for the nights job. Bloody hell that’s a lot of cash. I’d have to put the rest of my life on hold, it would just be work and sleep, but that is serious money.

I’d guess, at say 20% stoppages, take home £430 days, £570 nights. Shit.

Well, we’ll see. 

 

BTW,the reason there are no pictures of Wendy is ‘cos she has forbidden me to post pictures of her to the internet until she’s wretched and skinny again. If that’s what makes her happy. Belson chic.

I just look the same;

Or even more windblown bad hair day:

So that’s life as is. Great break, want to move back, currently unemployed, fatter and more rat poison resistant. Oh, and all the running and damnable, unrelenting sunshine has made my face all red and peeling. Ace. And the running through mud and cowshit has ruined my trainers. Good. They have been crippling me since I got them. Finally I can justify buying a new pair.

That’s all folks.

Later,

Buck.

My exciting plan to buy a cool car has suffered a set-back. Or three.

The Midget is still cool. In a dinky sort of way. I mean, look:

I started doing some research and narrowing down the options and discovered the model I wanted was a MKIII, (1275cc, 1966-1974) really good nick, under £4k.

Then I hit the snags. Even the bigging-it-up adverts were talking about ‘rolling restoration’. ie, never out of the garage and a money pit. Also they were saying that really they need to be kept in a garage. Whether that’s to prevent the rain getting in through the old canvas soft top or to stop them dissolving into dust (or both) wasn’t specified. The thing is, when you start bringing that sort of thing to the equation I begin to reconsider. I think it’s a cool car, but I want a car I can use. And I don’t have a garage. If it’s just going to be a posing, second car, (with a surprise garage attachment) it leads me to ask a more central question; “What am I thinking?”

When did I start considering a cool/ fun CAR? If it’s not practical, is a money pit, and a symptom of my ongoing midlife crisis then it has to be a motorbike.

No-brainer.

So it’s back to the Kawasaki Bonnie clone. Just feast your eyes on this:

As someone said of an earlier Japanese clone; “as near as you can get to a Triumph without pushing it home at night.”

This is no longer true, as the rebooted, modern, reliable Triumph do their own Bonneville. Ironically the new Triumph is accepted as a reliable brand because they took a Kawasaki Ninja engine apart and used it as a blueprint. So I’ve read, anyway.

The thing is, if you are buying a retro bike it is obviously for the looks. The performance is going to be tepid, the aerodynamics are tits, the riding position  is unsheltered and, at any speed for any time bloody uncomfortable.

This means you are buying a bike on the aesthetic alone, if you take reliability as a given.

Why then, Triumph, are you fielding this:

 

To the untrained eye the bikes might look similar so let me list the woes; observe the mag (magnesium alloy) wheels. Ughh. Cast a disdainful eye at the forks and notice the lack of gaiters (the rubber ‘Nora Batty stockings’ things). Where also are the rubber tank pads? What the very heck is that travesty of an exhaust end-pipe? Finally, and most importantly, what is that lump of crap you are passing off as an engine? It is an ugly, radiator cooled (as opposed to proper air cooled) offence to the eye. *pass the mind-bleach!*

They (Triumph) have done a nice stylistic makeover with the cafe-racer Thruxton;

It ticks the cafe-racer aesthetic boxes; dropped handlebars, rear-set footrests/ foot controls and seat hump.

All of this was so that your working class Johnny could change his motorbike from a sit-up-and-beg riding position standard bike into a lay across the tank, speed-demon, cafe posing hero machine.

You have to state this is purely an aesthetic nowadays. I expect a 250cc race replica plastic-fantastic pocket-rocket could blow it out of the water.

But let us look at the the Thruxton again. Spoked wheels, check, chrome mudguards, check, drilled out support stainless steel piece by the rear set (nice touch!) check. Triumph badge in 50’s/ 60’s style, check.

Exhaust. Fail. Engine. Fail.

The lesson here, then is that cafe racer is a cool style. So why not buy a Kawasaki and put dropped handlebars, rearsets and a seat hump on it?

It doesn’t have the Triumph badge is all. We’ve already seen that the latest incarnation of the Triumph company’s success is based on Japanese engines, so why not abandon the pretence?

 

I’d like the original Bonnie, but as we’ve seen with the Midget, you are starting off from a bad place (British built with stone-age tech) and then adding 50 years of decay.

So, my midlife crisis (Engine based, sub-division) has a new focus. Or rather it has returned to an earlier one. It will be mine.

Whilst not exactly my cup of tea here is a stunning Kwak cafe racer;

Seat hump, (I’ll say!) gaiters, peashooter exhaust, beautiful engine with kickstarter (kickstarter! Tres bleeding cool!) hub rear brake. Oddly he’s put some ugly downpipes on the exhaust and left the footpegs/ controls up front. Each to his own. But it shows what you can do with the right engine. Look at that (probably faux) pushrod casing! (the chrome pipe up the side of the engine.) Class.

Also, the Kwak has done the decent thing and got the engine the same as the original. Internally, I mean. Most Japanese four cylinder bikes fire four little bangs. ie, cylinder 1 (250cc) half a rev later, cylinder 3 (250 cc), 2, 4.Or some such. What you have then is a smooth, even power delivery which just spins up faster and faster. The old fashioned British twin had none of that. Two cylinders, both pistons going up and firing together (BOOM! 750cc right in your face) and a massive flywheel to spin them around again. I remember Les gave me a lift on his one time, the kick of power is brutal. Gimme!

I’m thinking next year. Spring thereof. Then the real test begins; have I finally learned enough common sense to not get banned/ crash? Everyone says my driving has changed beyond recognition since I’ve become a trucker. Slower, more patient. Also I am pretty careful about speeding (on the motorway). Excessively. The amount of unmarked police cars I’ve seen since I’ve been trucking is not true.

It’s not the crashing and dying bit that bothers me (never really has) it’s the loss of license/ livelihood should I survive.

 

So that is how I am currently filling the void where my soul used to be. With wanton lust for for a Kwak cafe racer.

 

In other news I did four days (bicycle) commuting to work last week. With the runs scheduled for the weekend I thought I’d best set aside a day for rest to recuperate. They say that’s the hardest bit of training, forcing yourself to take time off. As it turned out it was pissing it down (for a change) so I found it quite easy. My other thought was that would be the day I’d appreciate it most, as then I could dash home and start my weekend early. Ha! Once again the gods mock me. I was waiting for an hour and and a half for a trailer before I could even start, the motorways were bollocksed because of the rain and all those mamby-pamby want-to-live-for-ever sorts who slow down just because they can’t see for spray and are scared they are going to die (GET A BUS, YOU MORONS!) then when I got to my last drop their computer was down so I was waiting four hours and twenty minutes for them to load me. I ended up scraping in at just under a fourteen hour shift. Joy.

Yesterday (Saturday) I was pretty knackered then. In bed for 2.30am, sprogs out making a racket by 7am. I ended up just beating the garden into a semblance of order. My first proper gardening this year. The grass was so tough I couldn’t do it with the shears, I had to sharpen my bayonet and hack it down. Trimmed my box hedge and made started to topiary-ize some box and a bay. It looks tidier now.

 

Here are some things that popped up on Twitter for your delectation: 1, The Higgs Boson. As you know it is the missing link the scientists have been looking for, a proof of their other theories. The so called God Particle because of it’s importance to said theories.

Dilbert on the subject:

 

Then there were the Yanks (I assume) on Twitter when they announced they had finally discovered it:

You shouldn’t laugh. But I did. Cruelly and vindictively. God-squadders. Not a brain cell between them.

 

Also someone posted a link to some images to restore one’s faith in humanity. Random acts of kindness. There are kittens if you want to check out the rest of it. (Here: http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/4dHAbS/www.buzzfeed.com/expresident/pictures-that-will-restore-your-faith-in-humanity?sub=1627910_374866 )

The one that got me was number 20, some guy going into the sea to rescue a dog that had fell in off the pier. The woman’s face. *chokes up, slaps self*

 

To clarify my earlier posts, I’ve not yet applied for that other driving job. As soon as we get back off holiday I will be doing. I’ve got regular work so I’m not too stressed either way, which is better for me. I don’t like assessments, I get too nervous. If everything is riding on the outcome that doesn’t help. This would just be an improvement, not all or nothing.

If I can get a regular trunking, morning start, better paid job then so much the better. But it’s not the end of the world. I can pass assessments now. I have regular work. I can do the job that is expected of me. Before I started this particular job none of that was true.

So the plan is: jolly hols, new job, spend a stupid amount on next year’s Ironman Bolton (This years was £425. For a race! I’m not buying Bolton. As opposed to £225 for the Outlaw, Iron-distance triathlon.) Hmm, looking at that I’m asking myself is it worth it? It’s a bit tougher bike course but really you are paying for the brand name. After I’ve just been railing against the uselessness of buying the Triumph badge. That is ugly and overpriced. Ironman is just overpriced. And I’ll only be doing the brand name event the once. Hmmm. Food for thought.

I digress though. An Ironman (brand name or generic) the Lakeland trials marathon, keep training for my end-to-end and take swimming lessons. Make ridiculous amounts of money, pay off the last bit of the card, save a couple of grand, buy the Kwak and cafe racer it. Plan.

Oh, before I go, have a giggle at this: it’s what happens if you go on to a roundabout a bit too fast in a truck. I laughed ‘cos it wasn’t me. (look behind the red Honda)

 

Apparently you can roll an artic at 12mph. A cheery thought whenever you feel it tipping in to a corner.

Offski.

Later,

Buck.

The training has started. My first week commuting to work. I’ve found a bit of a short cut to avoid the big, busy island approaching town. It’s still about 10½ miles each way. That’s my first 100+ miles in the bag, then.

I  realized after my last post that the day-sack (small rucksack) just wouldn’t hold all my stuff so I bought a proper rucksack. I started the week with that backpack. Seriously not good.

All good and well, it fits all my stuff in, but then it’s huge and painful to ride with (in a crouched over triathlon style).

When used in anger the bag is bulging, in that shot it was half empty. By halfway to work all that weight on your spine gets really painful. I sat upright in my cab after one ride in and my spine cracked like my neck does. So less than ideal.

 

I mentioned that I ordered a proper modern version of a saddle bag. It looked an ideal product, but as always you pay for what your get. All the websites stocking it wanted £70, including direct from the manufacturer. I found one site (Wiggle) that were advertising it for £56, but not in stock until (expected) early July. Being a tight arse (and the big ride not being until next year) I chanced an arm and ordered it. With free delivery, not the £4 upgrade (see above). Then I got a automated email saying ” ‘cos you’ve not chosen the £4 delivery option everyone else gets first dibs, screw you.” Or words to that effect. Did I want the upgrade? No! See above, you robbing bastards.

I’d fallen out with them a bit, then a week or so early I got an email saying your kit’s in we’re shipping it. Huzzah!

I win!

It’s cool.

It attaches, and quick releases, cunningly.

And even though it is 16 litre capacity and the rucksack is 65L I can get most everything in it. The rest fits in the ‘Head’ day-sack in the picture above. I separate them by weight so I’m carrying bugger all. I rode in on Friday and knocked 6 minutes off my time for the rest of the week. I thought it might be wind assisted as it was blowing up a bit, but I managed the same time on the way home. Go me! (That was a pitiful 45 minutes and 39 minutes respectively btw.)

Also, riding flat out 21 miles a day, whilst on this diet, has dropped 3 pounds off me in four days. Hehehe. Which is a stone I’ve lost. FTW!  (For The Win!)

(Wow that looks odd written out. My mam and dad read this –not by choice, I send it to them- and I don’t think they know the abbreviations.)

 

Today I have cleaned all the accumulated WD40 and road grit off my bike, let it dry, degreased it again, dried again, then applied GT80 (a fancy-pants, clear, oil spray) allowed it to seep in, then cleaned it off. Who knew that was how you maintained a bike? I used to soak it and WD and walk away, job done. Six months later when the oil had accumulated a pound of grit just spray on some more WD. Not so. Amazing the things you learn through You Tube tutorials.

Also, how to mend a puncture. It has always been; take one side of the tyre off the rim, drag the inner tube out, pump it up until you find the leak, mend, replace tube then tyre.  Wrong!

They have massive valves the tubes these days and tiny tyres. Hence me ripping a valve off a tube trying to get it out. Apparently you drop the wheel out (which is why they have a tension release switch on the brakes and quick release wheels. Ah, obvious in hindsight!) take the whole tyre off, then you can remove the massive valve on the tube with ease, throw away the tube, put a new one in and replace tyre without levers. Bollocks you can! I’m not a shrinking violet but there is no way I can get the last bit of tyre over the rim unaided. Anyway, it cuts your puncture time down from 25 minutes or so to about 10. ( I managed to get two this week, so have had a go at front and back tubes) I will be practising some more before the Ironman, I should be able to get it down to under 5 minutes. 

 

Also I’ve done another 10 mile run today. Valuable lesson learned; never, I mean NEVER go for a run on a sunny day without water after a bacon-fest breakfast! I’ve not been that desperate for water since the desert. It was horrible. The bright side being; although it was still beastly hard and I was dying for a drink I managed to do it without stopping (apart from to splash puddles on myself) and knocked 5 minutes off my (admittedly shite) time from last week.

 

I don’t know if it made news off Twitter but some little Jock girl (Veg) had started a blog as a school project, she themed it around school dinners with a picture and review. She invited kids from around the world to share their meals and set up a link to a charity for starving African kids. She wasn’t critical, but some people when they saw what their kids were eating started getting antsy. Then a Scottish newspaper ran with the story and she was banned by the council “for fear of dinner ladies losing their jobs.” (That’s right, don’t improve the food, just hide the products! Derr!) Anyway, there was a huge Twitter outcry and people from as far away as New Zealand were complaining to the Jock council. They reversed their decision the following day! Yay for the internet!  Here’s a link to her blog, it’s actually rather good. http://neverseconds.blogspot.co.uk/  She was hoping to raise £40k (I think), to build a kitchen and feed a school for a year, after them banning her she’s raised over £100k! Bless her.

I can’t help thinking of young Amelia Pond every time I read it. (Doctor Who companion, you philistines!)

 

My other news is not so good; I’ve decided to give up on my allotment. I know! But I just can’t find the time. I’ve got an end-to-end, the Lakeland trials marathon and the Ironman Bolton to train for, and a job that gives me no free time during the week. I’ll move my apple tree, fruit bushes and asparagus to my garden (also untouched) in the Autumn, then surrender the allotment. Bummer, but it has to be done. If I get the other job my hours will only increase.

 

Did I mention I am eyeing the MG Midget as a possible next car? Buy a classic then just keep it. It would appear they are still manufacturing parts for it! How cool would that be?  A little British sports car. I mean the British style (not that it isn’t made here as well, but nobody says “ah, a British built 70’s car, that’s going to be a paradigm of reliability.”)

I was looking at a modern, running boards type of British sportster; a Morgan. Second hand ones were starting from £24k. OK, maybe not. You can get a pretty good Midget for around £4k. It’s going to be basic (air-con is taking the canvas roof down, it’s got four – count them, four!- gears, no airbags,no mp3 player, no hope in hell in a collision with a modern 4×4, etc) but it’s cool. And will only get cooler.

Right, time to get off and melt in my post-run heat/ mugginess.

Later,

Buck.

You know how you set yourself a goal (my first of note was to run a half marathon) then when you’ve done it you see that far from being impossible it’s common-place? So you raise your game ( full marathon, Ironman) but that’s not good enough because it’s not the brand name Ironman, just the distance. The Rola-Cola of endurance triathlons. Drunks shun you when they realize it wasn’t a branded event. Well, as I mentioned last time I’m going to put that to rights next year. So how’s about this for training for it;  a Lands End to John O’Groats ride!

I’m going to do it the other way around (apparently we happy few call it an ‘end to end’, anyway) as Scotland’s up North so it should be all downhill to Cornwall. Genius. You can tell I’ve been studiously researching it.

I’m looking at 120 – 140 miles a day at the minute, so I can do it in a week. The chap who’s very witty book on the subject I’ve been reading did 150 m/d to do it in six days. It would appear the record is something like one day, seventeen hours! I’ll not be going for that. I’ll see how the training goes. I did 112 miles in a bit under seven hours for the Outlaw, perhaps 150 miles a day is not too much of an ask. We’ll see.

 

My thinking is that cycling is the longest discipline in the tri so if I batter the training with an end to end I’ll blitz that part of it, bringing my time right down. I am also going to take swimming lessons as soon as I get the new job (after the hols) and I have the odd evening free. My time for the 2.4 miles was one hour forty minutes, I could probably get that down to an hour (and suffer a lot less) with proper training.

 

The other reason is; because it’s there. Lands End to John O’Groats. To cycle the length of this scepter’d isle. It’s one of those things. Like swimming with dolphins or goosing the Queen. I’m thinking I’m going to die soon and my body will probably give out before then, if I’m going to do anything extraordinary then it had better be now. The trouble with that statement is; it’s not extraordinary. As soon as you decide to do something you see some arse has done it in in a day and a half.

As the chap who’s online book I’ve been reading so wittily yet accurately says:

“You’ve worked hard, endured exhaustion, battled lactic acid burn and probably have a boil or two in uncomfortable places. What’s kept you going for the last two days is getting back to your loved ones, friends and colleagues. More specifically basking a little in the awe and admiration everyone is bound to hold you in. If you’ve made your effort for charity (even if only as an excuse) all the better and the more you deserve it. You’ve earned your bragging rights. Now it’s time to cash in.

Sadly it doesn’t work that way. Once you’ve completed your end to end it seems everyone has done it, or at least know someone’s granny who did it faster than you on a 1920’s fixed wheel, 25 kg bike with 30 kgs of equipment and a baby in the handle bar basket whilst wearing a floor length heavy black velvet dress.

Almost inevitably, just after you finish, your local paper will run a story about an amputee (who tragically lost their leg whilst rescuing a tiny baby in a combine harvester/picnic based disaster) who has just completed an unsupported hop around the world, barefoot, to raise money for orphaned kittens. If your bragging has become intolerable do not be surprised to find that a colleague has accidentally left this open on your desk. Don’t let this deter you.”

It’s always thus.

 

The chap’s website is http://www.landsend-to-johnogroats.co.uk/home and it’s funny read even if you aren’t doing the ride.

 

 

With my new goal in mind I’ve spent today trying to wedge all my work stuff (that I usually get into a large hold-all) into a small backpack. Plus a change of clothes and my works boots. It’s not been pretty. I think I’ve pared it down enough. Had to roll up my big hi-vis coat in a plastic bag, bungee it up and hang it off my saddle. Tomorrow I’m going to buy a very small pac-a-mac type waterproof jacket and some lights I can attach to something other than the bike. I have tri bars on the handlebars leaving no room for a mounting and a bloody big coat bundled on to my saddle obscuring any light put on the seat post. One solution leads to two problems. 

I’ve ordered a proper bag for the end to end. It attaches to the seat post. Modern road bikes don’t have holes in the frame to mount the normal pannier rack.

If I ride to work every day that’s 120 miles a week, do a big ride every weekend, two big rides as I get nearer the time…, easy! Apart from the logistics of the operation. Trains to  the top and back from bottom of the country, booking B&B’s, sending them food parcels so you don’t have to carry more than that day’s food, programming your route into google maps, etc etc.

 

I know I keep saying it, but I really do have to get back into my running. Another ten miler today and it nearly killed me. The (minute/mile) time dropped from moderate to atrocious. It was blowing a gale but that wasn’t it. I used to have to battle with the voice telling me to drop the pace as I was going to burn out before the distance, this time it was just shouting STOP! It was a massive effort of will to keep going beyond even four miles. I had to resort to mental tricks just to shuffle on. ‘See how I feel at the next mile marker, maybe walk then. The pain isn’t getting any worse. Zen; concentrate on your breathing there is no distance to run, there is only now.’  The last one is for when you know you’ve got four miles left to run and you are thinking how far and painful that will be and that you can’t make it. That’s how much being laid up for all those months has buggered my fitness.

 

In happier news, I broke the 11 stone barrier this week! Twice! I put the bloody pound back on the day after I first lost it. Probably well blown it today though. I decided to have a carbs fest. I did that Jamie Oliver veggie Thai curry. We had it late afternoon. Then I had it again for a tea/supper. I regret nothing. It was delicious.

That, I’m hoping, may have been part of the problem on the run, no carbs stored to convert to energy. The last two weeks I’ve been dieting and too weak.

 

Anyway, soon be the hols. Hopefully I’ll be able to grease myself into my wetsuit by then. Channel swim? How many people have done an Ironman, an end to end and a cross channel swim? It’s something to think about, though I think that costs a few grand (you have to hire a ‘pilot’ – a salty seadog who knows all the currents and that- and his boat). And I’m shit at sea swimming. Shit-er at sea swimming, shit at swimming.

One challenge at a time.

 

Later,

Buck.