24hr Mountain Unicycle racing...

Meet Unicycle.com's newest sponsored team rider. Honestly, well, in a way!

Last weekend I was competing in the "Saab Salamon Mountain Mayhem 2005", a 24-hour-long team relay race, on a 10.6 mile off-road circuit near Malvern. This means taking turns with three other team mates to do a lap each, as fast as possible, from 2pm Saturday until 2pm Sunday.

Waking up to thunder a lightning on Friday morning was an amusing feeling. Then getting onto the bus with a backpack complete with folding chair and carrymat, clutching a unicycle. Several comments among other bus users along the lines of "Oh, it's a shame it's raining for them again. The seem to enjoy it that way though!"

I don't think the old ladies around where I live keep up with the Mountain Bike racing calendar, so they just may have been referring to another certain muddy camping event this weekend.

By the time the start got together it had been rainless for a good 12 hours or more, so I was hopeful for minimal (this term used relatively) mud. The start was a brilliant experience, standing as one in a crowd of about 400 other coloured helmets and countless acres of branded lycra. Of the three of us on unicycle.com teams, Roger works out that he is about as old as myself and Paul put together, and he sets off with no intention of letting the whipper-snappers get ideas above their station.

With the pulsating mass of cyclists, the first half hour was fairly pedestrian, with a few good rideable sections before bottle-necking into the singletrack, and strolling through most of that. After a while it cleared out and the bigger adversary was mud that, though not as hungry as I heard about last year, still had an appetite for swallowing unwary riding shoes.

The support from other bikers was amazing. I don't think I have ever had so many people say "well done!" to me before. A few cries of "you're crazy, doing it on that thing", which I resisted reciprocating more than a smile to, considering some were when we were trudging uphill; I was pushing 6kg of one-wheel-ness, and he was lugging at least three times that of fully-suspended, eminently entanglable, pedal-powered monster-truck. Who's the nutter there?

Also, some bloke from the Extreme Ironing movement, doing it with an ironing board on his back. He was one of the solo riders. That means no team mates to give you a break. Maximum respect.

On our team, the third of the unicycle teams, we completed the regulation minimum of 2 laps each, which was better than could be said for a number of other teams competing on twice as many wheels. I averaged at lap time of 2h22m, which isn't very inspiring, but I was unable to get a lap in after dawn on Sunday, which was when the course really became more ridable as it had dried out a lot.

But on one wheel, times are hardly the main thing (though to get even a little closer to the kind of times Roger and Des were kicking out - under 1h30m! - would be worth a year's hard training! Next time you see me sweating up a silly hill on a unicycle, you'll know why...). Most importantly, it was a load of fun! A unique experience, which I hope to be able to repeat next year!

This also coincides with my second unicycling birthday. I learnt to ride two years ago this week. I don't think I ever really even dreamed of entering anything like this two years ago.

And the 'sponsored rider' business? Well, they paid half the registration fee, and provided free t-shirts. :)

Wildlife on One

'Wildlife on One' is a brand new film from the studios of Redwelly and Bongosoft. Filmed and edited on location at Lee Abbey in Devon, just over a week ago.

It is the most ambitious project ever attempted by Redwelly Films. Many of you dear readers (bless you) will have seen my previous two films, the aptly named debut, 'Arrival', and the similarly appropriate (well, partly) 'Relax'.

Both were exclusively unicycling films, simply a collection of clips of my riding, made on my digital stills camera's movie-mode, set to various music.

This newest offering has so much more. It has a script (all lines were considered at least ten seconds before any 'take'), a cast (mainly my dear elder brother, Tim, as a Naturalist in pursuit of a rare breed of nettle)... why, it even has some semblance of plot (no responsibility can be assumed by the author for any unpleasant happenings arising from this being a misleading description of the understandability of the film in question)!

It is also over twice as long as my previous offerings, weighing in at just over 11 minutes, but worth every second.

So what are you waiting for? Download it now.

Value

Value hacksaw

Value (n): An amount, as of goods, services, or money, considered to be a fair and suitable equivalent for something else; a fair price or return.

Compare and contrast the above definition with the picture of the current state of a 'Value hacksaw', which I purchased today. I went in search of a tool to work on my unicycle, adding a brake to the frame. This needed to cut through a tube of stainless steel. A standard and simple task.

I went to a good hardware shop in the Guildhall Market in Bath. It smells industrious in there. The smell of grandparents and small useful things at reasonable prices. The smell of the kind of place where you can expect to find the kind of things which the world seems full of, but which all too often are difficult to find in highstreet shops.

The owner is a lady who seems to be firmly installed permanently behind the counter. She, who without the briefest pause, can point to the location of any given item in the kaleidoscopic range of her stock to an accuracy of within two inches. Inches, of course, not centimeters.

"Kettle descalers?"
"There."

"Salt shakers?"
"Over there"

"20 Watt screw-fit lightbulbs?"
"Just down there"

I didn't have to ask where the hacksaws were. In a shop which contains a close approximation to everything, even a quick browse around will reveal to you the item of your desiring. I found the hook upon which hung a small collection of Junior Hacksaws. This is what I had come looking for, and I was satisfied to purchase one.
Then my eye strayed.
Barely four inches to the left was a yellow device, seductive in its apparently solid dependability. At 75% more expensive, it required some consideration of its merit, and a visit over the road to the cash machine. A full size blade, a recognised brand, a double action yellow handle. I was helpless to its charms.

Not cheap, but 'Value'. Hmm...

Within ten seconds of using it my dreams, and the first part of the blade, shattered. Over the course of the next hour or so, I continued my slow task, the blade getting progressively shorter. Eventually I reverted to using the 6cm mini hacksaw blade on my penknife, originally seeming so paltry, now magnificently effective.

The problem is fundamental in the design - hacksaw blades are intended to be tensioned from both ends. A one ended hacksaw is like an ocean wave approaching the shore. It seems impressive, looks beautiful and draws you in, but when it comes to the crunch it is doomed to break.

Value doesn't seem to always mean that you get what you pay for.
Next time it shall be the Junior Hacksaw.

"Hello Copenhagen...

...this is London calling."

Now for the explanation of the above...

"hello 'x', this is 'y' calling" - The traditional phrase from Eurovision countries when giving the result of their tele-vote.

Copenhagen was the host of the first Eurovision contest, and in homage to this the Bosnia & Herzegovina entry for 2005, the 50th anniversary of the contest, featured a brief clip of the phrase "hello Copenhagen". Their song is called Call Me, and is a beautifully cheesy pop song, worryingly catchy. It has caught me anyway, and was in my head for much of the long, sunny, unicycle ride from Bath to Hounslow yesterday.

Yes, that's 100 miles of unicycling, and a beautiful thing it was too. Well, most of it. The A4, I was assured, is horrible. Narrow, fast and ugly. Certainly not worth a long cycle ride along.

Not so. From 5:30am yesterday I learnt it to be, in the most part, wide and beautiful, and despite it being a Monday in regular business time. It was far from overcrowded. The scenery was wonderful too, with green fields rolling off into the distance.

The sun shone down, my feet span round and around and around... the miles sped past.

Until Slough.

If you are ever approached by someone offering you a pleasant cycling trip to or through or near or even rhyming with Slough, never trust that person again. They are lying. It is a conglomerate labyrinth of botched cycle paths and pedestrian/cycle crossings, and using them is more effective for off-road practice than for anything else. Metal barriers like cobwebs hung around every corner, and across many otherwise useful spaces. Trees are things that were lost in the fumes of over-managed traffic layouts. Concrete competes with frowning chavs and pretentiously modified cars for being the most displeasing factor.

Usually people smile at unicyclists. It's just part of the human condition. They are slightly eccentric, especially when they wear helmets and luminous things and ride on the roads as if they belong there as much as any other 'roadie' slick-tyred cyclist. People wave, toot their horns and smile, even from Fire Engines and Police escorts.

Not in Slough. No, there they frown, keep their eyes down and mutter. You're not Amusing, you're not even Silly, you're just Different. And that's Wrong.

There isn't even a satisfying 'You are now leaving Slough' sign to speed you on your way back to the delightful land of sunshine and happiness that you remembered before you entered Slough. It just has concretey dual-carriageways which make the residue of Slough which clings to any area of your exposed flesh be coated over with the fresh sediment of solidifying expulsions from passing aircraft.

Heathrow, with its intestine profusion of multi-lane traffic motions. Its population of Suits, chauffeur driven Mercedes and BMW cars and shiny hotels. Its moral-sapping effect on an innocent unicyclist who has already done 95 miles and is sure that it is about time to stop. Who is sure that, according to his memory of the map, a Tube station should materialise on the left at any time.

Alas, many more miles, many false expectations caused by bus stops with the round logo with a line through it. But no Tube station.

Eventually, and after many mistaken excursions though Hounslow, I am advised correctly in the direction of the Tube station, and am welcomed by its static but assuredly solid and real existence.

With legs doing their best "we're bound to be cast into a bronze statue one day so we'd better start practicing what it feels like now" routine, I flop into a seat on the Piccadilly line train, and thence to Hither Green, Catford, and the Twort residence.

So a new personal record for longest ride in a day - my cycle-computer dooberie showing 103 miles, and an average rolling speed of around 11.5mph.

And today was a most excellent day of wandering around the capital in shorts, loose shirt, floppy hat and camera around neck ("tourist..? where..? how quaint, must take a photo of me next to one of those..."), taking in the sights with Poppy and Maria.

Most Excellent, indeed.

Don't cry for me Aberystwyth

You know I'll never leave you.

Mmm... a promise I shall have to break in around eight hours. Gutted, I am.

This tail-end of the summer term has gone by like a pleasantly scented, lightly textured leather car door handle. Nice to hold for the appropriate time, but would be strange to keep hanging onto it.

Freddie had the bright idea of climbing Snowdon yesterday, Thursday. After some kerfuffle over cars, we all arrived and left at around 9am. Two more beautiful hours in Rosie's mini, with Dave, listening to more Random Tapes of cheesy music and surveying the stunning Welsh countryside.

The weather wasn't bad when we parked, but waterproofs were donned nonetheless. After an uneventful first hour of easy walking, the rain began, followed by the wind, bringing in the fog.

Before long it was blasting a gale, slashing rain into any unprotected edifice of one's person; with visibility down to about 20m. The apparent unapparentness of the path added to the experience, as we scrabbled up a few scree slopes ending in unyielding sheer rock faces and necessitating sliding back down said slopes.

Shoes squelching, gloves wringing and various things dripping heavily, we eventually summited the beast. Thinking we had lost Colin, Alun and Andy, who missed the car park when we left, we were pleased and impressed to find them appearing at the summit mere seconds behind us... having caught us up by around an hour!

The cafe jobbie at the top was a welcome break from the oppressive conditions, with tiled floors already swimming with water from other walkers. Amazing how much water a single sock can release when it is well squeezed.
A good hot chocolate is excellent, and suitable for dunking anything in, be it a chicken sandwich, potato pasty, custard cream, white chocolate or cheese and onion crisp. All of the above were tried.

On exiting the tranquil surroundings of the building and remembering how cold and blustery it was out there, Dave was happily quoted as saying:

"It's only the thought of Celine on the way home that will get me to the bottom."

And 'it's all coming back to me now...'

Much easier on the way down, and the skies cleared to make everything much warmer, drier and stiller. The view was fantastic.

So, that was my last day in Aberystwyth for this academic year. Sob. Too many goodbyes, too many goodbyes missed too. But here's to the rest of the summer.

Seriously though, the thought of leaving Aberystwyth for this long puts a lump in my throat.

I feel it in my fingers...

I feel it in my fingers...

I feel it up my nose. Yes, go and take your nose for a walk on a morning like this one and it will reward you. After a long spell of excessively fine weather here in the Seaside Town Of Aberystwyth, and many sunburned noses later, we finally get some rain today. It smells wonderful. Just wander around in it and breathe deeply.

It is also particularly appropriate weather to listen to Chopin's Prelude 28, 'Raindrop'. Oh yes.

My socks are a little on the moist side of pleasant now, however.

Just the right kind of weather to don a black bin bag and go to a sing-along viewing of The Sound Of Music. The bin bag serves multiple purposes (and after that, multiple porpoises), in both keeping off the rain and giving one the appearance of a member of the Chaiste Elect. A rather tricky habit to get into though. What with it being a bin bag and all...