Yes! For the whole day too, I might add. And 10 degrees. Luxury. In my day, we didn't have sun. We had to make do with a 30 watt lightbulb.
I took the fullest advantage of it (after sleeping in, of course) and headed south through the Mendips. Bigger hills out that way, and I think I can now trace a nice route out to Wells and back that doesn't go via the muddiest roads in Christendom. A very nice 110 km, but it took me 20 minutes of scrubbing at a petrol station to uncake the mud.
Re: the Ashes. Are the Aussies headed for a 5-0 whitewash of the gallant English lads? England didn't make a great impact in Melbourne. To add insult to GBH, their bowling plans were leaked to the media during the match. How shocking. Although, 'get the bloke in front of the stumps out' was perhaps not the greatest revelation for the Australian team.
I've realised that I have the necessary time, creative energy, coffee and beer to restart writing my book, which I commenced about three years ago. I aim to make it even funnier than Thomas Hardy's great comic work, Jude the Obscure. So I hope it will be a best seller. Failing that (and more than likely), it will make a handy door wedge. Order your copy now. No offer too big refused.
23500 km for the year. About 4000 fewer km than last year, but that's OK. Mission accomplished and all that.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
A quiet Christmas
Be warned: you are being monitored by CCTV on this blog.
On December 25, 2006, Pete and I indulged in what was possibly the quietest Christmas ever. Wishing to get a bloody long way away from the madding crowd, we enjoyed the enriching experience that is Christmas TV, a chilly bike ride, and beer. Or two.
The ride was interesting. We headed east along the Thames, past Greenwich and up to the Thames barrier at Woolwich. The barrier, as I found out later, is to enable the Empress of Arachnos to take over the world in Dr Who. Aside: I finally saw the new Dr Who and as one would hope, it's a lot better than its spinoff series, Torchwood.
We crossed under the river at the Woolwich foot tunnel and explored the north side, starting near City Airport. This is potentially a useful airport, albeit a small one. Unfortunately, they don't fly anywhere I want to go just yet. It's not too hard to get too, and a lot easier than Heathrow, Stansted, Gatwick, or Luton.
We cruised through fairly deserted streets until we came to Canary Wharf, which was even more deserted. The security guards waved us through ("you can go about your business") and we were let loose. The place is basically a concentration of big financial institutions and looks a bit like La Defence in Paris, except nicer. I realise that's not saying much. There was almost no-one there, apart from a few brave tourists. It's cool seeing London so quiet, especially this bit.
There were a few more tourists near the city proper, but nothing like usual. We rode through St Katharine docks and admired a ridiculously sized yacht called Björn that was one of many moored there. It looked like a noice place to live, and it had the advantage of being next to the Tower of London. Handy all amenities and stuff like that.
We took the Tower Bridge back over the Thames and went along the south side of the river past Shad Thames - a newish and trendy restaurant/bar spotte. You find in London that the suburbs change very rapidly, depending a bit on how close you are to the centre and to the river. It can be quite upmarket one minute, and the next minute you are in a fairly rundown council housing estate. There's very little uniformity and the planning seems to be very localised. There's nothing really wrong with that; it's just a little odd sometimes. If you go to the other extreme, you end up with something like Canberra, which is lacking in soul and character.
Unfortunately, all the pubs that we'd spotted that were open were closed by the time we went out later on. Not really surprising, given that it was Christmas day, but it meant that we had to rely on our own stocks of ale. Fortunately, we had found an off-licence to replenish them during the day, or it would have been a dry Christmas.
A savage national bike route
Boxing Day: Repeat above, expect that Pete was sick so I went north on me own. I followed the Lea canal, which unfortunately was marked as a National Bike Route. There wasn't so much dirt or mud, but there were some nasty sections of cobbles. One was only maybe 30m long, but it had lateral cobbled ridges all the way along - sort of like a cattle grid for cyclists. I hit it at 30 km/h and was nearly thrown off the bike! I escaped with a very sore back. Damn these national bike routes. Damn them all.
The canal itself was interesting though. There were boats going up and down them and all the locks were manual jobs. There were also a lot of deaf pedestrians. I need a bell and possibly a handlebar mounted BB gun.
The pubs were open on Boxing Day, so Pete and I went to the Ship and Whale for a romantic pint and a feed. Hell, we were even offered candles by the sympathetic bar staff :-) Still, we managed to solve at least a few of the world's problems in a couple of hours. Mainly the sporting world. It's amazing what beer can do!
Media coverage
TV was high on the agenda during the Christmas break.
Firstly, I learned via teletext that James Brown is Dead (For a Real Player audio version, click here). And this time it's not by that legendary Belgian band, L.A. Style, aka Denzil Slemming. Mijnheer Slemming has obviously been waiting 15 years for the Godfather of Soul to croak so he can reap the massive royalties from a revival of this song.
Secondly, we managed to watch at least five episodes of Pete's Christmas present: Yes, Minister. He has seven DVDs and therefore hours of amusement. It's still excellent.
Thirdly, we also managed to watch (at least in part) Van Helsing, Monsters Inc., Bugsy Malone, Casper the Ghost, Monkey Business, Harlem Nights and far too much Christmas music television. We saw none of the Ashes. Go Warne.
The printed word
Books I am now reading, all at once, in any particular order:
Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail by Hunter S. Thompson. Much longer but not as good as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, maybe because he was off the heinous drugs. Still, it's an off-beat look at the 1972 US presidential election.
The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami. A collection of short stories by this Japanese author. A little surreal, and quite readable.
Nightwatch by Terry Pratchett. Another in his excellent Discworld series. I realised only recently that Ankh-Morpork was closely modelled on London (duh). That is borne out by the map in the front of the book.
Helen Garner and the Meaning of Everything by Alex Jones, who happens to be my uncle. I've only just started it, but I like it a lot so far. It's very funny, and even more so when you know the family.
Sun watch
I saw the sun for five minutes today, on a train somewhere between Didcot and Swindon. I'm not sure what the sun was doing catching the train, but it was obviously taking advantage of First Great Western's top notch service.
So since December 18, 2006 and December 27 (that's nine days), I have seen 5 minutes of sun. I read that you need sun for your wellbeing, and I can see that there is a direct link between the sun, my wellbeing, and TV watched over the Christmas period.
Fortunately, I have a set top box now (thanks Pete) so I can get freeview digital TV in 2010, when the switchover happens in Bath. What a day that will be.
Back to First Great Western. I read today that Johnny Depp is considering moving to Bath. He is apparently a regular at many of the town's nite spots and has stayed at the Royal Crescent Hotel. My source was FGW's Reach magazine, and I trust it implicitly.
Off to Stockholm on Friday. I'll remember to take my Radcliffe camera.
On December 25, 2006, Pete and I indulged in what was possibly the quietest Christmas ever. Wishing to get a bloody long way away from the madding crowd, we enjoyed the enriching experience that is Christmas TV, a chilly bike ride, and beer. Or two.
The ride was interesting. We headed east along the Thames, past Greenwich and up to the Thames barrier at Woolwich. The barrier, as I found out later, is to enable the Empress of Arachnos to take over the world in Dr Who. Aside: I finally saw the new Dr Who and as one would hope, it's a lot better than its spinoff series, Torchwood.
We crossed under the river at the Woolwich foot tunnel and explored the north side, starting near City Airport. This is potentially a useful airport, albeit a small one. Unfortunately, they don't fly anywhere I want to go just yet. It's not too hard to get too, and a lot easier than Heathrow, Stansted, Gatwick, or Luton.
We cruised through fairly deserted streets until we came to Canary Wharf, which was even more deserted. The security guards waved us through ("you can go about your business") and we were let loose. The place is basically a concentration of big financial institutions and looks a bit like La Defence in Paris, except nicer. I realise that's not saying much. There was almost no-one there, apart from a few brave tourists. It's cool seeing London so quiet, especially this bit.
There were a few more tourists near the city proper, but nothing like usual. We rode through St Katharine docks and admired a ridiculously sized yacht called Björn that was one of many moored there. It looked like a noice place to live, and it had the advantage of being next to the Tower of London. Handy all amenities and stuff like that.
We took the Tower Bridge back over the Thames and went along the south side of the river past Shad Thames - a newish and trendy restaurant/bar spotte. You find in London that the suburbs change very rapidly, depending a bit on how close you are to the centre and to the river. It can be quite upmarket one minute, and the next minute you are in a fairly rundown council housing estate. There's very little uniformity and the planning seems to be very localised. There's nothing really wrong with that; it's just a little odd sometimes. If you go to the other extreme, you end up with something like Canberra, which is lacking in soul and character.
Unfortunately, all the pubs that we'd spotted that were open were closed by the time we went out later on. Not really surprising, given that it was Christmas day, but it meant that we had to rely on our own stocks of ale. Fortunately, we had found an off-licence to replenish them during the day, or it would have been a dry Christmas.
A savage national bike route
Boxing Day: Repeat above, expect that Pete was sick so I went north on me own. I followed the Lea canal, which unfortunately was marked as a National Bike Route. There wasn't so much dirt or mud, but there were some nasty sections of cobbles. One was only maybe 30m long, but it had lateral cobbled ridges all the way along - sort of like a cattle grid for cyclists. I hit it at 30 km/h and was nearly thrown off the bike! I escaped with a very sore back. Damn these national bike routes. Damn them all.
The canal itself was interesting though. There were boats going up and down them and all the locks were manual jobs. There were also a lot of deaf pedestrians. I need a bell and possibly a handlebar mounted BB gun.
The pubs were open on Boxing Day, so Pete and I went to the Ship and Whale for a romantic pint and a feed. Hell, we were even offered candles by the sympathetic bar staff :-) Still, we managed to solve at least a few of the world's problems in a couple of hours. Mainly the sporting world. It's amazing what beer can do!
Media coverage
TV was high on the agenda during the Christmas break.
Firstly, I learned via teletext that James Brown is Dead (For a Real Player audio version, click here). And this time it's not by that legendary Belgian band, L.A. Style, aka Denzil Slemming. Mijnheer Slemming has obviously been waiting 15 years for the Godfather of Soul to croak so he can reap the massive royalties from a revival of this song.
Secondly, we managed to watch at least five episodes of Pete's Christmas present: Yes, Minister. He has seven DVDs and therefore hours of amusement. It's still excellent.
Thirdly, we also managed to watch (at least in part) Van Helsing, Monsters Inc., Bugsy Malone, Casper the Ghost, Monkey Business, Harlem Nights and far too much Christmas music television. We saw none of the Ashes. Go Warne.
The printed word
Books I am now reading, all at once, in any particular order:
Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail by Hunter S. Thompson. Much longer but not as good as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, maybe because he was off the heinous drugs. Still, it's an off-beat look at the 1972 US presidential election.
The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami. A collection of short stories by this Japanese author. A little surreal, and quite readable.
Nightwatch by Terry Pratchett. Another in his excellent Discworld series. I realised only recently that Ankh-Morpork was closely modelled on London (duh). That is borne out by the map in the front of the book.
Helen Garner and the Meaning of Everything by Alex Jones, who happens to be my uncle. I've only just started it, but I like it a lot so far. It's very funny, and even more so when you know the family.
Sun watch
I saw the sun for five minutes today, on a train somewhere between Didcot and Swindon. I'm not sure what the sun was doing catching the train, but it was obviously taking advantage of First Great Western's top notch service.
So since December 18, 2006 and December 27 (that's nine days), I have seen 5 minutes of sun. I read that you need sun for your wellbeing, and I can see that there is a direct link between the sun, my wellbeing, and TV watched over the Christmas period.
Fortunately, I have a set top box now (thanks Pete) so I can get freeview digital TV in 2010, when the switchover happens in Bath. What a day that will be.
Back to First Great Western. I read today that Johnny Depp is considering moving to Bath. He is apparently a regular at many of the town's nite spots and has stayed at the Royal Crescent Hotel. My source was FGW's Reach magazine, and I trust it implicitly.
Off to Stockholm on Friday. I'll remember to take my Radcliffe camera.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Christmas party #4
Here's a novelty: writing a blog in a cafe. Fopp is the go and it's Christmas Eve.
I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. It was probably at our Christmas in December. Since then, the temps have plummeted and it's been dense fog every day. So much so that there have been problems at Heathrow airport (cue Monty Python song about baggage retrieval). It's meant to clear a bit overnight, so I hope that Lucy gets away to Oz on Sunday.
Having survived the bike group's Christmas excursion along the towpath, I enjoyed my day off and slept in a tad, before going out for a 100 km spin to exorcise the hangover. I wore everything, including my day-glo green life preserver top - important when visibility is down to 4.8cm. It was quite chilly again and there was frost everywhere. It almost looked like it had been snowing overnight, and I quite enjoyed taking the back way up Bannerdown away from what little traffic there was.
I stuck to smallish roads and turned west towards the coast. Once I got down off the Cotswolds, the fog was merely light mist, and I made it all the way to the Severn bridge. Almost into Wales! I'll plan a proper trip there soon, with the intent to visit Llangiby, the home town of great-uncle(?) Rhys Jones. I came back along the bike path around Bristol, which was definitely the safest option.
Gone for a Burton
The theme for the company Christmas party was "apres ski or black tie". I had neither, so I went into town and lashed out 100 quid on something passable at Burtons. The salesman was quite absorbed, but I managed to distract him for long enough to acquire the necessary garments. Sorted!
Those going to the Christmas party met in the Bath coach park, where we were bused out to Bristol Temple Meads. The gig was in a big museum next to the station, and it was surprisingly warm for a hall of that size. I was seriously impressed by the number of people there. It wasn't packed, but there were several hundred of us. There was a stage, dance floor with resident DJ, dodgem cars(!)...and free alcohol. The proof is trivial and is left as an exercise for the reader, but I will provide some more elucidation.
I came with North, from MBUK, who had dressed up as "apres ski". He had a beanie, goggles and a jumper that looked like it was right out of the Wham! song Last Christmas. It was funny, because he's from Leeds and you'd never pick him to wear a jumper like that. Quite a few of the other MBUK boys had got there minutes before us, and were already pissed after having some 'warmups' at Doddy's place.
All of us sat at a table, and got the formalities over with fairly quickly. If you asked Doddy to get a beer for you, he would return with a beer plus a vodka/Red Bull. Holy crap, there could only be one result from that, but at least death would be swift. My workmate Matt Cole was on the program and had to retire hurt at about 10:30, after a) trying to keep up with Doddy and b) getting hit by a Welsh git half his size. He is 6'5 and also a Welsh git, but a nice one.
We had several gos on the Dodgems, after which I was not entirely convinced of the driving skills of any of my colleagues. Still, if you can't enjoy a good head-on there, where can you enjoy it?
Absinthe friends
I'd been looking for the boys from Procycling - Pete, Ellis, Dan and Paul - who said they were coming up from London. Finally, I found them at about 11 and caught up with the goss. They've been working pretty hard up until Christmas and after the break, have about three days to get another mag out in the New Year. I wish them luck.
There were a couple of the eds from Junior magazine at the Procycling table, and both turned out to be Australian. I only found out this after warning them off the fine Australian table wine that had been supplied in both red and white varietals. I had inspected the bottles earlier in the night, and hadn't been able to discern a date on either of them. Be very afraid.
I was able to convince one of them (Suzanne) that she should not be drinking something that could well have been bottled that very morning. She saw the wisdom in that and returned with a tray full of shots of absinthe and tequila. Oh god. But it was the lesser of two evils, and we also had water to go with it, most of which ended up on the table. I think I decided to switch to water at that particular juncture.
We got out of the museum at about 1:30, and were driven back to the Holiday Inn in Bath, where the London employees were being put up. I chatted to Paul Godfrey in the bar until about 4am - still drinking water - and finally headed off into the freezing fog in the direction of home.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a good night. I had a sore head the next day, but nothing that another 60 km didn't fix.
Postscript
Wow, that was 900 words in 40 minutes and one large cappuccino. Had I written my thesis this quickly, I would have finished it in about a week and a half. Speaking of completed theses, hearty congrats to mum for becoming the second Dr J Jones! I am now Dr J Jones the Younger.
Postscript #2
The new Bond flick, Casino Royale, is tops.
I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. It was probably at our Christmas in December. Since then, the temps have plummeted and it's been dense fog every day. So much so that there have been problems at Heathrow airport (cue Monty Python song about baggage retrieval). It's meant to clear a bit overnight, so I hope that Lucy gets away to Oz on Sunday.
Having survived the bike group's Christmas excursion along the towpath, I enjoyed my day off and slept in a tad, before going out for a 100 km spin to exorcise the hangover. I wore everything, including my day-glo green life preserver top - important when visibility is down to 4.8cm. It was quite chilly again and there was frost everywhere. It almost looked like it had been snowing overnight, and I quite enjoyed taking the back way up Bannerdown away from what little traffic there was.
I stuck to smallish roads and turned west towards the coast. Once I got down off the Cotswolds, the fog was merely light mist, and I made it all the way to the Severn bridge. Almost into Wales! I'll plan a proper trip there soon, with the intent to visit Llangiby, the home town of great-uncle(?) Rhys Jones. I came back along the bike path around Bristol, which was definitely the safest option.
Gone for a Burton
The theme for the company Christmas party was "apres ski or black tie". I had neither, so I went into town and lashed out 100 quid on something passable at Burtons. The salesman was quite absorbed, but I managed to distract him for long enough to acquire the necessary garments. Sorted!
Those going to the Christmas party met in the Bath coach park, where we were bused out to Bristol Temple Meads. The gig was in a big museum next to the station, and it was surprisingly warm for a hall of that size. I was seriously impressed by the number of people there. It wasn't packed, but there were several hundred of us. There was a stage, dance floor with resident DJ, dodgem cars(!)...and free alcohol. The proof is trivial and is left as an exercise for the reader, but I will provide some more elucidation.
I came with North, from MBUK, who had dressed up as "apres ski". He had a beanie, goggles and a jumper that looked like it was right out of the Wham! song Last Christmas. It was funny, because he's from Leeds and you'd never pick him to wear a jumper like that. Quite a few of the other MBUK boys had got there minutes before us, and were already pissed after having some 'warmups' at Doddy's place.
All of us sat at a table, and got the formalities over with fairly quickly. If you asked Doddy to get a beer for you, he would return with a beer plus a vodka/Red Bull. Holy crap, there could only be one result from that, but at least death would be swift. My workmate Matt Cole was on the program and had to retire hurt at about 10:30, after a) trying to keep up with Doddy and b) getting hit by a Welsh git half his size. He is 6'5 and also a Welsh git, but a nice one.
We had several gos on the Dodgems, after which I was not entirely convinced of the driving skills of any of my colleagues. Still, if you can't enjoy a good head-on there, where can you enjoy it?
Absinthe friends
I'd been looking for the boys from Procycling - Pete, Ellis, Dan and Paul - who said they were coming up from London. Finally, I found them at about 11 and caught up with the goss. They've been working pretty hard up until Christmas and after the break, have about three days to get another mag out in the New Year. I wish them luck.
There were a couple of the eds from Junior magazine at the Procycling table, and both turned out to be Australian. I only found out this after warning them off the fine Australian table wine that had been supplied in both red and white varietals. I had inspected the bottles earlier in the night, and hadn't been able to discern a date on either of them. Be very afraid.
I was able to convince one of them (Suzanne) that she should not be drinking something that could well have been bottled that very morning. She saw the wisdom in that and returned with a tray full of shots of absinthe and tequila. Oh god. But it was the lesser of two evils, and we also had water to go with it, most of which ended up on the table. I think I decided to switch to water at that particular juncture.
We got out of the museum at about 1:30, and were driven back to the Holiday Inn in Bath, where the London employees were being put up. I chatted to Paul Godfrey in the bar until about 4am - still drinking water - and finally headed off into the freezing fog in the direction of home.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a good night. I had a sore head the next day, but nothing that another 60 km didn't fix.
Postscript
Wow, that was 900 words in 40 minutes and one large cappuccino. Had I written my thesis this quickly, I would have finished it in about a week and a half. Speaking of completed theses, hearty congrats to mum for becoming the second Dr J Jones! I am now Dr J Jones the Younger.
Postscript #2
The new Bond flick, Casino Royale, is tops.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Christmas in December in December
Night falls quickly in the tropics© Pete Boyd
Following on from the immensely popular "Christmas in July", certain British-based members of the Jones clan decided to hold a Christmas in December...in December! We had to have it on the 17th, because Lucy is gwine back to Orstraya over Christmas. But we made it a suitably festive occasion.
Saturday involved going to Borough Market and buying key ingredients. I can vouch that they do have proper coffee there at the Monmouth stall. A double espresso does actually have two shots and will not cure insomnia. We also discovered some excellent fudge: sea salt and caramel sounds a bit strange, but it's damned nice. In order to restore balance, we had a croissant that purported to be fresh, but I suspect that meant it was at the time of the last ice age.
The real reason we went to Borough was to procure a 5kg (6kg with bits) goose from the poultry shop. It was a fairly solid undertaking, but I managed to fit it into my backpack. Five kilos might sound a lot for five people, but you'd be surprised how far it doesn't go after you siphon off two bowls of fat. After Christmas lunch on Sunday, we were left with approximately one goose leg and the awful prospect of a one leg goose curry.
Random note: while shopping at Tesco's, I chanced upon a can of French table wine. I bought it for £1.20, which was surely overpriced. Unfortunately when we got it home, we found it was past its use-by date: December '05. It's obviously a red hot seller at Tesco's. But it should really be illegal to even think about selling French table wine in a can.
Saturday evening, we visited Cousin Polly and her daughter Eva, who we worked out is only just a cousin. Polly's friend Rachel was also there. We consumed a modicum of wine, a hell of a lot of Moroccan food, and watched Eva getting mauled by her pet panda. I even saw Cousin Essie for about 30 seconds (she's another person I haven't seen for about 10 years).
Eva is mauled by her pet panda© Pete Boyd
L to R: Rachel, Polly, Lucy, Pete, Ant© Jeff Jones
Ant and I are in paroxysms after reading a Christmas cracker joke© Pete Boyd
The panda turns its attentions to Ant© Pete Boyd
"10 mile run" was often mentioned, but I contented myself with a 35 km ride along the Thames on Sunday morning. I went east, through a lot of docklands, and ended up somewhere near Woolwich. Interesting ride, and bloody cold. In fact, the weather at the moment has officially reached "bastard cold" status, with temps hovering just above zero and fog pervading. It's dark until shortly after 8am and around 4pm, and merely dim the rest of the time. Still, on "Christmas Day", we had a nice blue sky and it was pleasant to stay indoors and eat silly amounts of food.
For Christmas, we had a party of five: Lucy, Pete, Ant, Lucy's friend Lesley and moi. After ingesting the goose, we didn't feel so energetic. But the reality of Home Alone II: Lost in New York was too much to bear, and we watched Shaun of the Dead and then a Jackie Chan flick. A perfect Christmas, really.
The Christmas table© Pete Boyd
Lucy in zer kitchen© Pete Boyd
Ready to devour the blinis and champers© Jeff Jones
The Christmas © Jeff Jones
Your goose is cooked...© Pete Boyd
Ready to get into some serious goose action© Pete Boyd
Ant being festive© Pete Boyd
Lesley being festive© Jeff Jones
Merrie Pete© Jeff Jones
The puddin' is alight!© Pete Boyd
Apres unwrapping© Jeff Jones
Luce and Pete© Jeff Jones
Ant in recovery mode© Pete Boyd
After recovering from overeating, I then sprinted through a fairly quiet London to get the 10pm train back to Bath. Why do they always put the guard's van on the other end of the train?
This week I need to negotiate two more Christmas parties. Wednesday is the bike group's lunch at the Lock Inn in Bradford-on-Avon. We'll ride up the towpath in the fog, have lunch and not get too pissed, then ride home in the dark. It's ok if you've got good lights.
Thursday is the company Christmas party in Bristol. That could be interesting, as we get bus transport to and from the venue. Hell, even some of the folks from London are coming. Future employs around 1000 people, so it will be a fairly big affair.
I have wisely taken both Thursday and Friday off, so it'll be nearly two weeks holiday as of tomorrow. Planned visits: London and Stockholm (for NY).
Christmas party #3
I will go on the record again and say that it's bastard cold. Wednesday morning: 1 degree and dense fog in warm Bath. It was much colder once you got outside the confines of the town.
About 15 of us rode up to Bradford-on-Avon via the towpath, and it was definitely cold, muddy and foggy. But also beautiful in that cold, muddy and foggy kind of way. My tiny hands were quite frozen by the time we reached the Crew Guns, which is only about 2 miles from Bradford. It's a nice old pub, but not that easy to get to. We all had a restorative there, and I went with the mulled wine because it was actually hot, and surprisingly drinkable. Well, it didn't taste like it had come out of a can...
Lunch was at the Lock Inn - another charming pub, with bits of old and new bike memorabilia on the walls and a cosy atmosphere. The Gary Jules version of Mad World was playing when we entered. I like the song, and it has been running through my head a bit of late.
We were all squeezed onto a canal boat, which was thankfully well heated. Creamy garlic mushrooms, roast beef, mashed potato and Yorkshire pudding were all on the menu, washed down with several pints of Stella. Those closest to Doddy became the most inebriated over time. It felt very festive and it was a perfect day for tucking into a fairly substantial Christmas lunch.
We were a merrie olde bunch by the time we left to go back at around 6:30. By this time, it was pitch black and most of us had never ridden off road, in the dark, in the fog, next to a canal before. Luckily we weren't totally tanked and made good use of our lights to navigate the 2 miles back to the Crew Guns. Yes, we could even ride in a straight line. Another mulled wine for good measure, then we pushed onto the George, which was on the canal but much closer to Bath. I can tell you that it was all a surreal (and cold!) experience.
We still had eight of us left by the time we got back to the Bell in Bath. That was almost as surreal as the canal trip. There was a band playing and the place was packed. We looked rather odd in very muddy cycling kit, but it didn't matter too much except for the people who tried to squeeze past us. Plenty of mud to go around.
It was a lot of fun. Now I need a tux for tomorrow.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
On the move
I've moved house for the fifth time this year, and am now in a 'cosy' 1 br flat on the top floor of a row of Georgian houses. That's not a particularly precise location in Bath, I know. By cosy, I mean it's designed with dwarves in mind. My head hurts.
So far, I've managed to annoy my downstairs neighbours twice in less than a day. That's gotta be a record. I could annoy them more by having a house warming. I'm seriously considering doing that because the space heater in my front room doesn't work, and it's winter. If I burn my brand new DVD player, I should be able to keep warm for a few more hours, but I'll probably drop ash on my neighbours' carpet.
It's either that or the subwoofer. Maybe I could burn that too. I won't burn my newly acquired coffee maker though. That would be foolish.
The handy thing about this flat is that it's right opposite Bath CC's meeting point on Sunday morning. I went out with them today and it wasn't quite as disorganised as usual. We went to a cafe in Calne that opened especially for us. Nice, although they didn't know what raisin toast was, so I had a tea cake. It started raining on the way back, which made it extra fun. I'm now enjoying the descents with sticky tyres on. Whee!
It has to be said that I've seen better weather in my time. A tornado wiped out a bit of NW London the other day, for example. Most days, it's not actually raining in the morning, but the roads are always wet from the night before. Then we get violent showers during the day, followed by sunny breaks. It's similar to Belgian weather, but it seems even windier and more variable if that's possible.
On the plus side (there's always a plus side), I've found a second place that serves good coffee in Bath. Fopp, which is conviently situated almost directly below Westgate House, where we seem to be spending a lot of time. It's just the thing for a debrief. It's hard to spot, because it's a book/CD shop at street level. You have to go downstairs to a semi-art gallery where the coffee shop is, and you can browse the semi-art. It's a bit spacious, in a semi-art gallery sort of way, but the cappucino has a nice, creamy froth.
I also survived Future's company forum. That was no mean feat, because after the rah-rah and Q&A, there were free drinks at the Slug and Lettuce. It was only until 8:30pm, but we managed to 'order' enough rounds to see us through until midnight. Quite easily, in fact. Kudos to Andrew Doddy from MBUK for his prescience.
Day 3
Times are tough. I still haven't got the internet at home, or even a phone. But things aren't all grim, because the space heater in the front room started working, even though I turned it off at the wall and turned all the settings down to minimum. Very spooky. That means I can stop burning DVD players, because they are not very warming. The neighbours will be happier.
I've started reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter S. Thompson. I can say that doing the Tour de France as a journalist isn't quite like that, but some things come close. Next time I go, I'll get an attorney.
Weather still poor. I can't believe I set out for a 40 km ride this morning in the dark and the rain. It was just a cruise up and down the bike path to Bristol, so at least I didn't have to deal with traffic or hills. I'm beginning to think I have lost the plot. If indeed I ever had it.
I had an 'espresso' from the free vending machine on our floor today. Bad idea, and proof of the above observation.
Random thought, but not a particularly deep one: There's still a cultural difference here compared to Oz, but I don't actually feel like a foreigner any more. One in ten Brits supposedly lives abroad, with most of them moving to Australia. What do I count as? Ah, it's in the fine print at the bottom of the contract for my soul: "Certified loony".
Tuesday
Progress has been made, although one shouldn't use the passive voice. I have a phone line, but the internet is still tantalisingly out of reach while I search for a rock bottom deal. I'm not going with TalkTalk though. Once I am connected, the blog is mine to control.
Tonight, I can't face the thought of watching three cooking programs in a row, so I'll give Rick Stein and Heston Blumenthal a miss. Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares is good enough to sate my appetite for this genre. He really brings out the best in people.
My bike works again. I had headset issues, which were confirmed by the local bike shop. They took out the old one, and it could be termed a 'disintegrated headset'. Ho ho ho. They also replaced my new Shimano gear cable with a proper Campagnolo one, so that the gears actually work again now. Joy!
In other riveting news, I've started the lengthy process to get a national insurance number. That involved a trip to Bristol on a train that was delayed by half an hour. When we got on, we were told that it had to make a couple of extra stops as a result, and the back engine had broken down so we could only go at half speed. Now I see why Brits are so good at complaining. Just remember, if you've been inconvenienced while using the trains in Oz, it could be worse and you'll pay triple for the privilege. I will, however, give Bristol Temple Meads station a positive rating.
The cricket has not exactly been taking the country by storm either. The gallant English lads managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of a draw in Adelaide, and most people around here weren't surprised. Even when England scored 6-551 in their first innings and had Australia on the ropes for a short time in their first innings, I heard exactly one person sounding vaguely optimistic. And he was in a very crowded London bus at 2am. Come to think of it, all the vocal English supporters are probably in Australia.
It goes without saying that I do not count myself among the English cricket team's supporters. I also didn't follow cricket much after Australia started winning everything, everywhere. The Aussies didn't need any more support! Then I come back to find out that Shane Warne has more than 650 wickets and is still as gormless as ever. I say ooh aah Glen McGrath.
I'd better get the internet on soon, otherwise this will become an endless journal of pessimism and hate.
The day after
The internet could take a while to arrive, as the Christmas post is slow at this time of the year. So much for the speed of light.
Weather better. I rode up the most ridiculously steep hill I've found since I've been here. It's comparable in steepness to Attunga St in Sydney, but without the flat bits. To get to it, you (well, I) climb up the first part of Kingsdown, which is 1 km at 7%. Then turn right and make sure you're in the lowest gear, because the next 300m is 22% average. Thankfully, it's smooth. 39x23 is insufficient, and there were times when I nearly put a foot down. It felt even harder than the Koppenberg done in dry conditions. After you've done that middle bit, it's another 300-400m at 10%, which feels quite easy.
Later on in the ride, I found another silly muddy and bumpy descent down into Slaughterford, followed by a steep climb that was like riding up a creek. At the time, I noted I didn't have a paddle. It's very easy to do 500-600m of climbing in a 30-40 km ride here.
I'm not getting Torchwood at all. I know it's cop/sci-fi, but it always seems so contrived. Too much hype.
Gearing up for at least four Christmas dos in the upcoming week, including "Christmas in December" in London with members of The Family. Back to reading Fear and Loathing...
So far, I've managed to annoy my downstairs neighbours twice in less than a day. That's gotta be a record. I could annoy them more by having a house warming. I'm seriously considering doing that because the space heater in my front room doesn't work, and it's winter. If I burn my brand new DVD player, I should be able to keep warm for a few more hours, but I'll probably drop ash on my neighbours' carpet.
It's either that or the subwoofer. Maybe I could burn that too. I won't burn my newly acquired coffee maker though. That would be foolish.
The handy thing about this flat is that it's right opposite Bath CC's meeting point on Sunday morning. I went out with them today and it wasn't quite as disorganised as usual. We went to a cafe in Calne that opened especially for us. Nice, although they didn't know what raisin toast was, so I had a tea cake. It started raining on the way back, which made it extra fun. I'm now enjoying the descents with sticky tyres on. Whee!
It has to be said that I've seen better weather in my time. A tornado wiped out a bit of NW London the other day, for example. Most days, it's not actually raining in the morning, but the roads are always wet from the night before. Then we get violent showers during the day, followed by sunny breaks. It's similar to Belgian weather, but it seems even windier and more variable if that's possible.
On the plus side (there's always a plus side), I've found a second place that serves good coffee in Bath. Fopp, which is conviently situated almost directly below Westgate House, where we seem to be spending a lot of time. It's just the thing for a debrief. It's hard to spot, because it's a book/CD shop at street level. You have to go downstairs to a semi-art gallery where the coffee shop is, and you can browse the semi-art. It's a bit spacious, in a semi-art gallery sort of way, but the cappucino has a nice, creamy froth.
I also survived Future's company forum. That was no mean feat, because after the rah-rah and Q&A, there were free drinks at the Slug and Lettuce. It was only until 8:30pm, but we managed to 'order' enough rounds to see us through until midnight. Quite easily, in fact. Kudos to Andrew Doddy from MBUK for his prescience.
Day 3
Times are tough. I still haven't got the internet at home, or even a phone. But things aren't all grim, because the space heater in the front room started working, even though I turned it off at the wall and turned all the settings down to minimum. Very spooky. That means I can stop burning DVD players, because they are not very warming. The neighbours will be happier.
I've started reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter S. Thompson. I can say that doing the Tour de France as a journalist isn't quite like that, but some things come close. Next time I go, I'll get an attorney.
Weather still poor. I can't believe I set out for a 40 km ride this morning in the dark and the rain. It was just a cruise up and down the bike path to Bristol, so at least I didn't have to deal with traffic or hills. I'm beginning to think I have lost the plot. If indeed I ever had it.
I had an 'espresso' from the free vending machine on our floor today. Bad idea, and proof of the above observation.
Random thought, but not a particularly deep one: There's still a cultural difference here compared to Oz, but I don't actually feel like a foreigner any more. One in ten Brits supposedly lives abroad, with most of them moving to Australia. What do I count as? Ah, it's in the fine print at the bottom of the contract for my soul: "Certified loony".
Tuesday
Progress has been made, although one shouldn't use the passive voice. I have a phone line, but the internet is still tantalisingly out of reach while I search for a rock bottom deal. I'm not going with TalkTalk though. Once I am connected, the blog is mine to control.
Tonight, I can't face the thought of watching three cooking programs in a row, so I'll give Rick Stein and Heston Blumenthal a miss. Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares is good enough to sate my appetite for this genre. He really brings out the best in people.
My bike works again. I had headset issues, which were confirmed by the local bike shop. They took out the old one, and it could be termed a 'disintegrated headset'. Ho ho ho. They also replaced my new Shimano gear cable with a proper Campagnolo one, so that the gears actually work again now. Joy!
In other riveting news, I've started the lengthy process to get a national insurance number. That involved a trip to Bristol on a train that was delayed by half an hour. When we got on, we were told that it had to make a couple of extra stops as a result, and the back engine had broken down so we could only go at half speed. Now I see why Brits are so good at complaining. Just remember, if you've been inconvenienced while using the trains in Oz, it could be worse and you'll pay triple for the privilege. I will, however, give Bristol Temple Meads station a positive rating.
The cricket has not exactly been taking the country by storm either. The gallant English lads managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of a draw in Adelaide, and most people around here weren't surprised. Even when England scored 6-551 in their first innings and had Australia on the ropes for a short time in their first innings, I heard exactly one person sounding vaguely optimistic. And he was in a very crowded London bus at 2am. Come to think of it, all the vocal English supporters are probably in Australia.
It goes without saying that I do not count myself among the English cricket team's supporters. I also didn't follow cricket much after Australia started winning everything, everywhere. The Aussies didn't need any more support! Then I come back to find out that Shane Warne has more than 650 wickets and is still as gormless as ever. I say ooh aah Glen McGrath.
I'd better get the internet on soon, otherwise this will become an endless journal of pessimism and hate.
The day after
The internet could take a while to arrive, as the Christmas post is slow at this time of the year. So much for the speed of light.
Weather better. I rode up the most ridiculously steep hill I've found since I've been here. It's comparable in steepness to Attunga St in Sydney, but without the flat bits. To get to it, you (well, I) climb up the first part of Kingsdown, which is 1 km at 7%. Then turn right and make sure you're in the lowest gear, because the next 300m is 22% average. Thankfully, it's smooth. 39x23 is insufficient, and there were times when I nearly put a foot down. It felt even harder than the Koppenberg done in dry conditions. After you've done that middle bit, it's another 300-400m at 10%, which feels quite easy.
Later on in the ride, I found another silly muddy and bumpy descent down into Slaughterford, followed by a steep climb that was like riding up a creek. At the time, I noted I didn't have a paddle. It's very easy to do 500-600m of climbing in a 30-40 km ride here.
I'm not getting Torchwood at all. I know it's cop/sci-fi, but it always seems so contrived. Too much hype.
Gearing up for at least four Christmas dos in the upcoming week, including "Christmas in December" in London with members of The Family. Back to reading Fear and Loathing...
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Dissociated bilge
To follow up from yesterday's missive...
According to the mile stone on the A4 on the way out of Bath, London is 102 miles (165 km in the new money). According to my Garmin Edge GPS, it's 203 km (124 miles in the old money). I worked out that I did an extra 10 km by taking the scenic route near Hungerford, then another 5 km by getting slightly lost on my way into London, and probably 10 km from central London to Lucy and Pete's place. But it doesn't quite add up. These things can annoy one.
All I can say is that it's a bloody long way and it was lucky that I had a second muesli bar in Hounslow.
Today I took the lazy option and caught the train to Reading. That chops off 60-70 km and about 2.5 hours riding time because you can avoid getting out of London. Luckily, I had a block headwind the whole way home, accompanied by a few showers and a total lack of light in the last hour (I have good lights). Otherwise there is the danger of going soft over winter.
Caz goes home
As previously mentioned, the purpose of the trip was to farewell Carolyn, the elder of the Forbes girls. She's going to do a Masters in Muzak at Melbourne Uni. Good on her.
The sushi bar in Piccadilly was shut, which was most annoying. Fortunately, Carolyn had the foresight to book a room in The Salisbury in Covent Garden. It was a handy location, as her opera star sister Mandy could pop in after singing in our old friend Ludwig Van's dreaded Ninth Symphony.
I reminded Mandy that (20 years ago!) I used to babysit her while waiting for piano lessons. One time, I locked her out the back for being naughty. She reminded me in turn that she kicked a hole in the door to try to get back in. She was only eight, and very naughty. She has turned out well.
Another blast from the past was meeting Sally Piper, the daughter of Colin Piper, who was a very good friend of Colin Forbes. She must have been no more than 10 when I last saw her. It's amazing closing that sort of a gap across the other side of the world. Unbeloivable, in fact.
A good night was definitely had, possibly by all, although Lucy seemed disinclined to move very far on Sunday morning. A 125 km bike ride does the trick.
Shark vs. seal
For fans of BBC wildlife docos, check out this clip from Planet Earth (you need Real Player). If this doesn't work, go to www.bbc.co.uk and look at "Programmes", then pick "Great white predator". You still need Real Player.
This is the most breathtaking piece of footage I've seen for a very long time. It took four weeks of tooling around in shark infested waters in South Africa to get. I cannot beloive it, Neville.
Strewth, we have our company forum tomorrow. It starts at 4pm, but there are free drinks at the Slug and Lettuce afterwards. Somewhat fortuitously, it is around the corner from our flat. Oh dear.
According to the mile stone on the A4 on the way out of Bath, London is 102 miles (165 km in the new money). According to my Garmin Edge GPS, it's 203 km (124 miles in the old money). I worked out that I did an extra 10 km by taking the scenic route near Hungerford, then another 5 km by getting slightly lost on my way into London, and probably 10 km from central London to Lucy and Pete's place. But it doesn't quite add up. These things can annoy one.
All I can say is that it's a bloody long way and it was lucky that I had a second muesli bar in Hounslow.
Today I took the lazy option and caught the train to Reading. That chops off 60-70 km and about 2.5 hours riding time because you can avoid getting out of London. Luckily, I had a block headwind the whole way home, accompanied by a few showers and a total lack of light in the last hour (I have good lights). Otherwise there is the danger of going soft over winter.
Caz goes home
As previously mentioned, the purpose of the trip was to farewell Carolyn, the elder of the Forbes girls. She's going to do a Masters in Muzak at Melbourne Uni. Good on her.
The sushi bar in Piccadilly was shut, which was most annoying. Fortunately, Carolyn had the foresight to book a room in The Salisbury in Covent Garden. It was a handy location, as her opera star sister Mandy could pop in after singing in our old friend Ludwig Van's dreaded Ninth Symphony.
I reminded Mandy that (20 years ago!) I used to babysit her while waiting for piano lessons. One time, I locked her out the back for being naughty. She reminded me in turn that she kicked a hole in the door to try to get back in. She was only eight, and very naughty. She has turned out well.
Another blast from the past was meeting Sally Piper, the daughter of Colin Piper, who was a very good friend of Colin Forbes. She must have been no more than 10 when I last saw her. It's amazing closing that sort of a gap across the other side of the world. Unbeloivable, in fact.
A good night was definitely had, possibly by all, although Lucy seemed disinclined to move very far on Sunday morning. A 125 km bike ride does the trick.
Shark vs. seal
For fans of BBC wildlife docos, check out this clip from Planet Earth (you need Real Player). If this doesn't work, go to www.bbc.co.uk and look at "Programmes", then pick "Great white predator". You still need Real Player.
This is the most breathtaking piece of footage I've seen for a very long time. It took four weeks of tooling around in shark infested waters in South Africa to get. I cannot beloive it, Neville.
Strewth, we have our company forum tomorrow. It starts at 4pm, but there are free drinks at the Slug and Lettuce afterwards. Somewhat fortuitously, it is around the corner from our flat. Oh dear.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Associated bilge
Here is a quick one as I contemplate riding to London not via the national cycle network. Reason for visit: Our mutual friend Carolyn is having going away drinks because she's gwine back to Oz, having spent the last few years working for the British library. Venue: I think we're meeting at a certain sushi bar in Piccadilly.
In other news, the TV here is superior to the beer. Hell, they even have episodes of the Simpsons that I haven't seen yet. Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares and Never Mind the Buzzcocks are probably my favourite shows of the moment. I remember NMtB from watching it in Belgium in 1998, and it has aged well. And for a laugh, there's always Unversity Challenge ("Rah rah rah, smash the oiks!"). Cousin Ant will be on that at some stage.
Now, how to navigate into London not via the norf circular.
In other news, the TV here is superior to the beer. Hell, they even have episodes of the Simpsons that I haven't seen yet. Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares and Never Mind the Buzzcocks are probably my favourite shows of the moment. I remember NMtB from watching it in Belgium in 1998, and it has aged well. And for a laugh, there's always Unversity Challenge ("Rah rah rah, smash the oiks!"). Cousin Ant will be on that at some stage.
Now, how to navigate into London not via the norf circular.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Visiting a rello
Picture Gandalf on Shadowfax, galloping to Minas Tirith, riding through rivers and across muddy bogs en route to saving the city from a few orcs. Focus on the "riding through rivers and across muddy bogs" bit and you will get a very clear idea of what it's like to ride on one of England's national bike routes. Forget about Gandalf. I just threw that in for effect.
The mighty Thames. If you look to the right, you will get an idea of what a National Cycle Route is like. Bikes aren't allowed on this bit, but you get the idea.
© Jeff Jones
In the almost four weeks that I have been in the UK, I have done more of what I would term off-road riding than I have done in six years of living in Belgium. It's quite tantalising when you see signs pointing to a bike route that will take you off the A4. And you follow them down some quiet country roads until you reach an impasse in the form of a muddy field. But no, there is a sign! Just go through the gate, and it will hook up to another quiet road soon enough.
Or not.
You have to keep going because you are too stubborn to turn back, and decide that it will cost you too much time anyway. Even though it won't. Take it from me, who is very stubborn when it comes to riding: You should always turn back.
Oxfod
It was in this manner that I came to Oxford for a lightning visit to Cousin Ant last weekend. Lucy and Pete were there for the afternoon, and a good time was definitely had. Ant lives in University College where he's doing an undergrad law degree. He's funding it through dealing in human kidneys, after deciding that the market wasn't ready for floating himself on the futures exchange. That's just a bit of background for those unfamiliar with the slightly shady dealings of the Jones clan.
We started in The Bear, then moved onto the Head of the River, taking in the various sights of Oxford as we went. One of these was a film crew setting up near the Radcliffe Camera. And although the Inspector Morse spinoff series Lewis is often filmed in Oxford, it appears it wasn't them. Pete spotted "The Bourne Ultimatum" somewhere, but no sign of Matt. Damon. We spent the rest of Saturday and pretty much all of Sunday morning unsuccessfully trying to get in a crowd scene, while still failing to spot Matt. Damon.
Ant's street
© Jeff Jones
The Bear, where we started our tour of Oxford
© Jeff Jones
The Radcliffe Camera. It's slightly unwieldy for use in close-ups.
© Jeff Jones
Slightly to the right of the Radcliffe Camera
© Jeff Jones
Filming of the Bourne Ultimatum in Oxford. Can you spot Matt. Damon?
© Jeff Jones
This lawn in Trinity College was verboden.
© Jeff Jones
Rad colours
© Jeff Jones
Oxfod
© Jeff Jones
The Bridge of Sighs. Oxford shamelessly plagarised this from the Italian version.
© Jeff Jones
Lucy trying to take a pic of me with her Radcliffe camera phone. Pete watches with bemused interest.
© Jeff Jones
The Bodleian. Jeez I hope I spelled that right.
© Jeff Jones
Luce/Pete went orf back to London on the Oxford tube. These things run every 10 or 15 minutes, so it's an easy way to get back to the big smoke. Ant and I were left to our own devices, which led to a fine, but occasionally confusing repast at a Tapas restaurant, followed by a pub crawl. We tried the Lamb and Fiddle, but it was too full, so we moved onto the Turf, which has got to be one of the most convoluted pubs in Oxford. I pity the staff who had to trail from building to building to get clean glasses. We sat outside and had some lovely flat, warm cider.
We next paid a visit to the Turl, which wasn't as nice as the Turf, despite its semi-Tudor decor. But it had the advantage of having available indoor seating, so we had a drink there. The night was drawing on, so we hit the Bear for one for the road, and Ant had a whiskey that looked, smelled and tasted suspiciously like cognac.
My kingdom for a coffee
The next morning, we went in search of England's specialty - caffeinated coffee. Ant assured me that there was a place that served drinkable stuff next to one of the churches. While we waited for it to open, I got to see the dining hall of University College. Very cool, although the massive portrait of Bob Hawke seemed slightly out of place. As did the left over Ahmed's chips 'n cheese in the bizarre memorial immortalising Percy Bysshe Shelley.
The view from Ant's window
© Jeff Jones
University College dining call. Cue Harry Potter music.
© Jeff Jones
What the? R.J. Hawke's portrait graces Uni College dining hall.
© Jeff Jones
The Shelley Memorial, with a box of Ahmed's chips 'n cheese as a nice counterpoint.
© Jeff Jones
The appropriately named Mitre demonstrates the finest in British architecture.
© Jeff Jones
We made it to the church café, to be greeted with a wooden tray painted, "Sorry, we are closed today. We will reopen tomorrow." Clearly, keeping customers away was an important business strategy, because it was in fact open. We braved the door and were reassured to find someone serving there, ready to spring into action. We ordered omelettes, only to be told that the cook wasn't coming in today, so omelettes - and all hot food for that matter - were off. We made do with (thankfully) decent coffee and freshly refrigerated cakes. It was just the thing for riding five hours home into a headwind.
I started off badly, following the path along the Thames which I'd missed the previous day. It was scenic, but basically a narrow mud track with lots of walkers/runners. Next time I'll stick to the road. I got lost somewhere near Swindon and finished up taking the A4 back to Bath because it was the quickest way home. Made it as it was getting dark at 4:30...
Cousin Ant on home turf
© Jeff Jones
General business
Seeing as my flatmate is returning to Oz in two weeks, I have been in flat-hunting mode again. I found a noice place on the Walcot Pde (a.k.a. the A4) which is remarkably quiet. It's furnished and big enough, so it'll do nicely. I considered a lower basement studio flat in The Circus (location x 3), but although it was really nicely done up, it was like a goddamn dungeon! The ceilings were just low enough that I had to stoop to avoid lacerations to the top of my head from the light fittings. I think the novelty of living in the Circus would have worn off rather quickly.
In other fascinating news, the official Future pub is called The Lounge. It's an overpriced cocktail bar and there are many other places in Bath that are as nice, have space, and are reasonably priced. But I guess they serve Leffe, albeit in Nastro Azzurro glasses. A lot of Leffes later, 7pm suddenly became 11:30pm and a good time was had by all, again. That is the important thing, innit?
Footnote: According to a Bath local, "Bath" is pronounced to rhyme with "Barf".
The mighty Thames. If you look to the right, you will get an idea of what a National Cycle Route is like. Bikes aren't allowed on this bit, but you get the idea.© Jeff Jones
In the almost four weeks that I have been in the UK, I have done more of what I would term off-road riding than I have done in six years of living in Belgium. It's quite tantalising when you see signs pointing to a bike route that will take you off the A4. And you follow them down some quiet country roads until you reach an impasse in the form of a muddy field. But no, there is a sign! Just go through the gate, and it will hook up to another quiet road soon enough.
Or not.
You have to keep going because you are too stubborn to turn back, and decide that it will cost you too much time anyway. Even though it won't. Take it from me, who is very stubborn when it comes to riding: You should always turn back.
Oxfod
It was in this manner that I came to Oxford for a lightning visit to Cousin Ant last weekend. Lucy and Pete were there for the afternoon, and a good time was definitely had. Ant lives in University College where he's doing an undergrad law degree. He's funding it through dealing in human kidneys, after deciding that the market wasn't ready for floating himself on the futures exchange. That's just a bit of background for those unfamiliar with the slightly shady dealings of the Jones clan.
We started in The Bear, then moved onto the Head of the River, taking in the various sights of Oxford as we went. One of these was a film crew setting up near the Radcliffe Camera. And although the Inspector Morse spinoff series Lewis is often filmed in Oxford, it appears it wasn't them. Pete spotted "The Bourne Ultimatum" somewhere, but no sign of Matt. Damon. We spent the rest of Saturday and pretty much all of Sunday morning unsuccessfully trying to get in a crowd scene, while still failing to spot Matt. Damon.
Ant's street© Jeff Jones
The Bear, where we started our tour of Oxford© Jeff Jones
The Radcliffe Camera. It's slightly unwieldy for use in close-ups.© Jeff Jones
Slightly to the right of the Radcliffe Camera© Jeff Jones
Filming of the Bourne Ultimatum in Oxford. Can you spot Matt. Damon?© Jeff Jones
This lawn in Trinity College was verboden.© Jeff Jones
Rad colours© Jeff Jones
Oxfod© Jeff Jones
The Bridge of Sighs. Oxford shamelessly plagarised this from the Italian version.© Jeff Jones
Lucy trying to take a pic of me with her Radcliffe camera phone. Pete watches with bemused interest.© Jeff Jones
The Bodleian. Jeez I hope I spelled that right.© Jeff Jones
Luce/Pete went orf back to London on the Oxford tube. These things run every 10 or 15 minutes, so it's an easy way to get back to the big smoke. Ant and I were left to our own devices, which led to a fine, but occasionally confusing repast at a Tapas restaurant, followed by a pub crawl. We tried the Lamb and Fiddle, but it was too full, so we moved onto the Turf, which has got to be one of the most convoluted pubs in Oxford. I pity the staff who had to trail from building to building to get clean glasses. We sat outside and had some lovely flat, warm cider.
We next paid a visit to the Turl, which wasn't as nice as the Turf, despite its semi-Tudor decor. But it had the advantage of having available indoor seating, so we had a drink there. The night was drawing on, so we hit the Bear for one for the road, and Ant had a whiskey that looked, smelled and tasted suspiciously like cognac.
My kingdom for a coffee
The next morning, we went in search of England's specialty - caffeinated coffee. Ant assured me that there was a place that served drinkable stuff next to one of the churches. While we waited for it to open, I got to see the dining hall of University College. Very cool, although the massive portrait of Bob Hawke seemed slightly out of place. As did the left over Ahmed's chips 'n cheese in the bizarre memorial immortalising Percy Bysshe Shelley.
The view from Ant's window© Jeff Jones
University College dining call. Cue Harry Potter music.© Jeff Jones
What the? R.J. Hawke's portrait graces Uni College dining hall.© Jeff Jones
The Shelley Memorial, with a box of Ahmed's chips 'n cheese as a nice counterpoint.© Jeff Jones
The appropriately named Mitre demonstrates the finest in British architecture.© Jeff Jones
We made it to the church café, to be greeted with a wooden tray painted, "Sorry, we are closed today. We will reopen tomorrow." Clearly, keeping customers away was an important business strategy, because it was in fact open. We braved the door and were reassured to find someone serving there, ready to spring into action. We ordered omelettes, only to be told that the cook wasn't coming in today, so omelettes - and all hot food for that matter - were off. We made do with (thankfully) decent coffee and freshly refrigerated cakes. It was just the thing for riding five hours home into a headwind.
I started off badly, following the path along the Thames which I'd missed the previous day. It was scenic, but basically a narrow mud track with lots of walkers/runners. Next time I'll stick to the road. I got lost somewhere near Swindon and finished up taking the A4 back to Bath because it was the quickest way home. Made it as it was getting dark at 4:30...
Cousin Ant on home turf© Jeff Jones
General business
Seeing as my flatmate is returning to Oz in two weeks, I have been in flat-hunting mode again. I found a noice place on the Walcot Pde (a.k.a. the A4) which is remarkably quiet. It's furnished and big enough, so it'll do nicely. I considered a lower basement studio flat in The Circus (location x 3), but although it was really nicely done up, it was like a goddamn dungeon! The ceilings were just low enough that I had to stoop to avoid lacerations to the top of my head from the light fittings. I think the novelty of living in the Circus would have worn off rather quickly.
In other fascinating news, the official Future pub is called The Lounge. It's an overpriced cocktail bar and there are many other places in Bath that are as nice, have space, and are reasonably priced. But I guess they serve Leffe, albeit in Nastro Azzurro glasses. A lot of Leffes later, 7pm suddenly became 11:30pm and a good time was had by all, again. That is the important thing, innit?
Footnote: According to a Bath local, "Bath" is pronounced to rhyme with "Barf".
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Aquae Svlis
Aquae Svlis, as seen from our apartment
© Jeff Jones
Bath. The Spa is optional. It's where I am now and where I will be for the foreseeable future. Any soothsayers out there?
I arrived here at the end of October after packing all my Belgian possessions into Els' car and driving across the English Channel. She drove and we didn't sink. That enabled us to arrive chez Lucy and Pete in Londres. The French lingo is used for effect and general wankerishness. It also signifies (very badly) that I'm not in Belgium any more. But it sounds better than "innit?"
Our lightning visit to London included a trip to the Tate© Jeff Jones
These fiddlers in Covent Garden were most entertaining© Jeff Jones
A first look at Bath© Jeff Jones
Lucy, John and Els playing silly buggers© Jeff Jones
Driving from London to Bath on a Friday afternoon is not recommended by the AA. Don't ask me what the national insurance body has to do with recovering alcoholics, because I don't know either. Maybe they could have told us why it took four hours and change (52p) to get into the bustling metropolis of Bath, a.k.a. Aquae Svlis, where the v is actually a u.
Bath really took off in the Roman period, circa 43 AD. I suspect this was when its insane single-lane, one-way traffic system was developed. The Romans were pretty cluey, but they might not have planned for the small increase in population over the next 2000 years.
When we finally got a parking spot, we noted that the queue to get out of the parking lot had moved forward by exactly two cars in half an hour(!) Meanwhile, we had unloaded most of my junk into the office, where it still remains. Then we went in search of fine British ale. Oh, what a cruel joke I made there. Call me a snob, but British beer could be favourably compared with dishwater. And they don't even serve it cold!
I did make an honest attempt to try a few different
Recently, I have discovered a more upmarket place not far from here that serves Belgian, Czech and German beer in its proper glasses! OK, so it's the chain called All Bar One, but it works for me.
Pete and Lucy are very enthusiastic about English ale© Jeff Jones
Els, having discovered that the pub served Belgian beer© Jeff Jones
John drinking Duvel out of a non-approved glass, but still enjoying it© Jeff Jones
While I'm on a roll, I've been in England for two weeks, and during that time I've consumed between one and four cups of coffee a day. So I may as well list the good coffees I've had in England so far:
1. An espresso in an Italian-run Café Nero in Regent St, London
2. An espresso in the Cheese Factory(?) in Bath
3. A cappuccino in an Italian-run Bar Ritazza in Paddington station, London
4. Whoever makes it on the second floor of Westgate House at work does a fair job
You do the math.
A tip for the unwary traveller: Find a coffee shop that's run by an Italian.
The positive side
About to devour a huge quantity of Thai food (the food here is quite good)© Jeff Jones
I sincerely hope that my preamble hasn't given anyone a negative impression of Glorious England. That would be bad and irresponsible. Actually, it has been a fantastic experience so far.
For starters, Bath is an amazing place to look at. All of its buildings are built from Bath stone - a creamy limestone mined from the Combe Down and Bathampton Down Mines in the 17th and 18th centuries. Not only that, most of the city's architecture is Georgian, which bears quite a few Roman and Greek elements. You just have to look at the symmetry in one of the crescents to notice it. Yes, I can use Wikipedia too.
Spot the Greco-Roman influence© Jeff Jones
Near Pulteney Bridge© Jeff Jones
The weir on the River Avon© Jeff Jones
The riding around here is fairly daunting. The city sits in the Avon valley at the southern end of the Cotswolds, and to get out of it to the north or south involves climbing a 10-15% hill for at least a kilometre. To the east, there's a 2.7 km climb at 5.5%, and although there's a canal towpath up the Avon, it's too narrow and muddy. Fortunately, I discovered that there's a very good flat and wide bike path to the west towards Bristol. It's not as long or as wide as the Schelde, but it's good for an easy ride.
Even after getting out of Bath, it's still very hilly. I have a 39x23 and it gets used an awful lot. Especially if I'm riding down the narrow lanes that are in abundance around here. I have yet to get close to averaging 30 km/h on a training ride, but that's ok. The countryside is very pretty and it changes a lot, depending on where you go. Last weekend, I went to Salisbury - a fairly challenging 150 km. I've got trips to other bits of the country planned, and I've done my first group ride with Bath CC. They know all the back roads!
Another tip for the unwary traveller on a bike: National cycling routes can be totally unsuitable for road bikes. While following one of them, I ended up riding through a field along a five-inch wide bit of muddy singletrack. The regional cycling routes tend to be better, as they actually follow non-Roman roads.
The weather has been fairly good, although there have been a few mornings where it's been close to zero. It's that time of year again. Sometimes, it's been very foggy, so I think I will stick to the Bristol path when it's like that. The canal towpath was a bit of a nightmare. I can also confirm that there's just as much mud here as in Belgium. It's just as hard to get off, too.
On the lodgings front, I'm staying with my work colleague John until he goes back to Oz in December. It's rather nice, and is costing the company a ridiculous sum of money. Then I'll find somewhere on my own. I suspect the Royal Crescent is just out of my price range. Bath being such a nice place, everyone wants to live here. Rent prices are comparable to London, and about double what they were in Gent. It's not a major concern though.
The Royal Crescent, Bath's finest Georgian bit© Jeff Jones
Finally, there's work, which is why I moved over here. Working for Future has been a big contrast to working for Cyclingnews. Big company versus small, and a very different approach (within the constraints of a publishing business). It's been very stimulating so far and I'm enjoying it a lot. I've even attended my first course on feature writing, and learned more than I expected. And best of all, it's totally normal working hours.
Part of my job is to do a bit of writing for procycling.com and Procycling magazine, and keep an eye on cyclingplus.co.uk. That's good, but the real fun for me is in another area. I can't really reveal to the world at large what that is yet. I can only say that it's cool to be working with one of the X-men.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
The Island
"Jordan Two-Delta, you're moving out...to the Island. Transported to the world's last paradise."
But first...
The word "Brussels" in Brussels South Charleroi airport must refer to the fact that Brussels is the capital of Belgium, because Charleroi is nowhere near Brussels. They may as well have called it Liège South Charleroi airport. Whatever. It's the place where you catch budget flights to various parts of Europe, and it's definitely a budget airport. But it works.
I was travelling to Slovenia's capital Ljubljana via Wizz Air, which I'd never heard of. The return ticket only cost me €62 so I couldn't complain. If it crashed, then I probably couldn't complain either. They've obviously thought of everything when it comes to customer service. At least the inflight magazine was entertaining: I could read about the World Bog Snorkelling Championships in Wales, catch up on what Gdansk has to offer to the thirsty tourist, or sleep. In the short space of an hour and a half, I managed to do all three.
It was dark when I got to Ljubljana, where I was met by Primoz and his lovely daughter Spila, who had nearly died of an asthma attack when she came to Deutschlandsberg in Austria. Fortunately, she did not, and is currently pursuing a career as a journalist in Ljubljana. We drove to Primoz' apartment in the centre of the city, where I met his wife, youngest daughter (budding bike nut) and a rabbit, whose name was often mentioned in conjunction with dinner. Fortunately, the rabbit was OK for another night, as we had chestnut soup, pasta and meat with chestnuts and rocket. And wine.
But there was no tarrying chez Primoz. We had to find a bar and meet some people, first stopping via the hotel Antico, in which I ended up staying for two hours and 40 minutes. We went to the Konoba first and I met Slovenian long distance legend Marko Baloh (winner of the Race Across America), Mitja Smid Bricelj, the jovial press officer from the Tour of Slovenia, and a couple of others who would be joining us on the island of Hvar.
A couple of beers later, and we were on our way to another bar, first getting a tour of Ljubljana by night. It was quite beautiful and bloody cold, as the temp had dropped to three degrees. It was warmer in the Cutty Sark, which was styled in the manner of an English/Irish pub. One client of the female persuasion was having a good time dancing fairly provocatively in front of (and around) other clients of the male persuasion, but whenever one of them made an approach, she would push him away with the skill of a very practised hand. We stuck to drinking beer, as it was less risky.
We finished up at midnight and I made my way back to the hotel, setting my alarm for 2:40. It would have been a nice hotel to sleep in, but I was not afforded that luxury. I did not enjoy getting up, even though the beer had worn off a little. By 3:00am, eight of us piled into the Radenska Rog team van, driven by Mr Gorazd Penko, and we set off for Croatia.
Looking sharp at 3:00am
© Jeff Jones
Unfortunately, instead of the highway, we decided to take a short cut for the first hour and a half and again, I did not enjoy it. It was an up and down, twisting and turning road, and my stomach could not take the abuse. I almost made it to the motorway, but not quite... After that, I only had a headache, and it was appropriate that our first point of call was the Croatian city of Split, where we boarded a car ferry that was to take us to Hvar. Two cappuccinos and a croissant went part of the way to improve my general well being, as did a bit of sea air. By the time we got to Stari Grad in Hvar, I was ready to rock (after another cappuccino).
Lining up for the ferry in Split. Ours is the green van.
© Jeff Jones
Borut on deck
© Jeff Jones
Stari Grad, Hvar
© Jeff Jones
The Mortirolo was pretty good considering I wasn't used to it, and I enjoyed the long descent into Hvar. I had my fourth cappuccino of the day there and realised why this is such a popular tourist destination in summer. It had nothing to do with the coffee - it's just a beautiful place and a long way removed from what I've been used to. Sort of what I imagined Greece to be like, except I was assured it wasn't. Sort of Mediterranean, except it was in the Adriatic. Details, details...
On your bike
© Jeff Jones
Yeah
© Jeff Jones
Gorazd and Miroslav lead the way
© Jeff Jones
Andrej Hauptman at the top
© Jeff Jones
The Wilier Mortirolo that I got to ride
© Jeff Jones
Now I see why Hvar is popular
© Jeff Jones
Downtown Hvar
© Jeff Jones
Having a beer/water/cappuccino with Hvar in the background
© Jeff Jones
I rode back along a different road with Andrej the Wilier bike shop owner, and Borut, who was on a brand new Specialized Tarmac with new Record and carbon Edge wheels. Very trick. They both enjoyed the descents, while I was still a little nervous on the new roads. We got to another town called Jelsa and waited for the rest of the group, and after a while I decided to turn back and see where they were. Bad move, because after 10 km I couldn't see them, and when I got back to Jelsa, Andrej and Borut had gone as well. Oops.
I thought we were staying in Jelsa so I cruised into town but couldn't see any signs of anyone. Eventually I just sat next to the main road until Robert Hajdinjak came looking for me in the car. He explained that his group had taken a different road and I was nowhere near where we were staying. My mobile phone didn't work so I was fortunate that they found me and took me to the apartments at Ivan Dolac.
The important thing was I didn't miss lunch, which had been prepared by Nikita and his family. Seafood is the staple here, and we had octopus done with lemon and garlic and potatoes, as well as various quantities of wine and bread. Pretty fine. A short swim in the chilly sea was followed by sunset and dinner in that order. We had small fried fish, sea frog (big fish, tasty) and tuna, with bread, salad, wine and pancakes. It was a great way to finish off a very long day and I was in bed by the shockingly early hour of 10 pm.
Look at all that serenity
© Jeff Jones
Leaving Ivan Dolac on a cloudy morning
© Jeff Jones
Waiting for our turn at the tunnel
© Jeff Jones
There was a fast descent with some narrow roads on the other side, then we hit the intersection at Jelsa where I had waited the previous day. The road to Sucuraj was tough: up and down all day on fairly ordinary roads, with a headwind blowing. After we climbed 5-6 km up to the plateau, we crawled our way along into the wind. Fortunately there was the prospect of a tailwind home and some more beautiful scenery. It's a stark place and all the cars are 30 or more years old. The houses are all made of stone and look as though they've survived a few gales. We could also see the Croatian coastline to our left, some parts of which rise 1700m out of the sea. I've never seen anything like it.
The wind was relentless and everyone was starting to feel it by the time we neared Sucuraj. We parked ourselves at a convenient cafe and had cappuccinos, colas, beer...whatever. My ride almost ended in total disaster as I'd propped the Mortirolo up against a sturdy mooring pylon next to the water. I didn't count on the wind, though, and was startled by a sudden splash and the absence of one Wilier Mortirolo from my field of view. Cue Goon Show "fallen in the water". Luckily, I was fast enough to drag it out, but could not rescue my sunglasses. There was surprised mirth from the Others.
The cafe owner was a Croat who had lived in New Zealand for 34 years, and when he realised I was from Sydney he asked me if Kings Cross was still the same. I told him that it had gone slightly upmarket over the years, and he nodded a little disappointingly. I grabbed a donut and a Kitkat from the grocery store and set off in pursuit of the rest. Mr Penko had left already as he did not want to be late for lunch. That left us with the two Andrejs, Borut, Miroslav, Robert and Dule.
Sucuraj
© Jeff Jones
Having a beer/water/cappuccino in Sucuraj
© Jeff Jones
We climbed out of Sucuraj and it started to rain, Belgian style. It was pointed out to me that it hadn't rained for a while, so the roads were likely to be very slippery. I proved this to myself when I was pushing along at 40 km/h with Andrej the mechanic and the bike suddenly flipped from one side to the other on the gentlest of bends. Fishtail? I didn't think I'd caught any fish in Sucuraj. After that, I let some air out but didn't trust the tyres, which were a brand I'd never heard of.
The descent into Jelsa was awful. Dule had good tyres and gapped us all near the top, while I went down with both the Andrejs. I could follow Mr Hauptman for the first half (he was taking it very, very carefully) until he decided to catch Dule and I did the rest by myself. On these tyres, the corners were treacherous in the wet and I was shaking - not just with the cold - by the time I got to the bottom. I caught up with the Andrejs and Dule, then we caught Mr Penko on the last climb up to the tunnel. He and Andrej H didn't bother waiting for a car and rode straight through - no lights - bloody hell. I waited for Dule and Andrej the mechanic, who had a light, and we had an easier time of it. The last descent had four really steep and rough switchbacks, and it was still pissing down. We were happy to get home intact.
That evening I had an idea to check the alignment of the stem and the front wheel. They weren't quite aligned, which explains why turning left had seemed a hell of a lot easier than turning right!
The tunnel again... It was wet, and people were in a hurry to get home. Wait for me!
© Jeff Jones
After that ride, lunch was welcomed, although I probably shouldn't have had two shots of schnapps straight after! The scampi soup, cheese, bread and salami was very warming anyway. Andrej the mechanic just asked me for chocolate, so I gave him my untouched Kitkat and he promptly collapsed in bed for two hours. I went for a wet and slippery walk around the rocks for some reason, then 12 of us piled into Andrej's van and went to Jelsa for a drink. I had a cappuccino and nursed a sore head, while the Others had beer. Dinner was as good as lunch but my head was still spinning and I called it a night very early.
Primoz (c) and others at Jelsa that evening
© Jeff Jones
Argghh, fresh Scampi!
© Jeff Jones
Hvar is a big exporter of lavender
© Jeff Jones
Having more drinks in Hvar
© Jeff Jones
The nth cappuccino of the week was consumed in Hvar (it does you good to have a fling occasionally), and we rode up the long climb that we'd descended on day 1. On the way up, Lucija explained to me about how all the old houses and villages will probably get modernised soon, given the increasing tourist influx in summer. From a historical point of view, it'd be a damn shame, but then again, I don't have to live in them.
I stopped to take a few piccies at the top so I could really fang it on the descent. Although I was still a bit uncomfortable with the braking (left and right were swapped compared to what I'm used to), I caught most of them before the bottom. I reckon with some decent tyres, that Wilier would be a very good handler, as it turns on a ten cent piece.
Andrej the mechanic having a chuck(le) at the top of the climb
© Jeff Jones
A little bit of Provence?
© Jeff Jones
Once final time through the tunnel and I still managed to escape Gollum. Perhaps he didn't consider the Mortirolo to be preciousss enough. His loss, I reckon. We made it back to Ivan Dolac in time for...lunch! More fried sea frog (much nicer than it sounds), prawns, anchovies and sleep. I've never had fried sleep before but it had a refreshing taste. It was refreshing enough for me to pile into the van again to go to the next village for a few beers. Then back for some schnapps and massive amounts of octopus risotto and barbecued fish. The company was good, and it was a great way to finish off.
These three fish are going to provide some nourishment for up to 20 hungry bike riders
© Jeff Jones
Gathered around the pre-dinner table for some drinks and joviality
© Jeff Jones
Borut and Miroslav contemplate the fish
© Jeff Jones
These hands can skeletonise a piranha in minutes...
© Jeff Jones
Everyone was in good spirits (or vice versa) at the dinner table
© Jeff Jones
Roman and moi after skeletonising a fish or two
© Jeff Jones
Along the way, Bostjan explained to me the bits of the country that were fought over by the Serbs and the Croats not much more than 15 years ago. Most of the country didn't look to be worth it, and it would have been a horrible place to fight a war. They should have just stuck to the coast and the fertile inland. Maybe that's why Croatia looks like a horseshoe.
It stopped raining by the time we got to Slovenia, and I even had a cappuccino sitting outside in the sunshine at Ljubljana airport. That must have been my n+1th cappuccino of the week, meaning that by that great mathematical principle of induction, I could prove that drinking cappuccinos was true for all values of cappuccino.
Luckily it was raining when I got back to Liège South Charleroi airport. Reality hits again.
But first...
The word "Brussels" in Brussels South Charleroi airport must refer to the fact that Brussels is the capital of Belgium, because Charleroi is nowhere near Brussels. They may as well have called it Liège South Charleroi airport. Whatever. It's the place where you catch budget flights to various parts of Europe, and it's definitely a budget airport. But it works.
I was travelling to Slovenia's capital Ljubljana via Wizz Air, which I'd never heard of. The return ticket only cost me €62 so I couldn't complain. If it crashed, then I probably couldn't complain either. They've obviously thought of everything when it comes to customer service. At least the inflight magazine was entertaining: I could read about the World Bog Snorkelling Championships in Wales, catch up on what Gdansk has to offer to the thirsty tourist, or sleep. In the short space of an hour and a half, I managed to do all three.
It was dark when I got to Ljubljana, where I was met by Primoz and his lovely daughter Spila, who had nearly died of an asthma attack when she came to Deutschlandsberg in Austria. Fortunately, she did not, and is currently pursuing a career as a journalist in Ljubljana. We drove to Primoz' apartment in the centre of the city, where I met his wife, youngest daughter (budding bike nut) and a rabbit, whose name was often mentioned in conjunction with dinner. Fortunately, the rabbit was OK for another night, as we had chestnut soup, pasta and meat with chestnuts and rocket. And wine.
But there was no tarrying chez Primoz. We had to find a bar and meet some people, first stopping via the hotel Antico, in which I ended up staying for two hours and 40 minutes. We went to the Konoba first and I met Slovenian long distance legend Marko Baloh (winner of the Race Across America), Mitja Smid Bricelj, the jovial press officer from the Tour of Slovenia, and a couple of others who would be joining us on the island of Hvar.
A couple of beers later, and we were on our way to another bar, first getting a tour of Ljubljana by night. It was quite beautiful and bloody cold, as the temp had dropped to three degrees. It was warmer in the Cutty Sark, which was styled in the manner of an English/Irish pub. One client of the female persuasion was having a good time dancing fairly provocatively in front of (and around) other clients of the male persuasion, but whenever one of them made an approach, she would push him away with the skill of a very practised hand. We stuck to drinking beer, as it was less risky.
We finished up at midnight and I made my way back to the hotel, setting my alarm for 2:40. It would have been a nice hotel to sleep in, but I was not afforded that luxury. I did not enjoy getting up, even though the beer had worn off a little. By 3:00am, eight of us piled into the Radenska Rog team van, driven by Mr Gorazd Penko, and we set off for Croatia.
Looking sharp at 3:00am© Jeff Jones
Unfortunately, instead of the highway, we decided to take a short cut for the first hour and a half and again, I did not enjoy it. It was an up and down, twisting and turning road, and my stomach could not take the abuse. I almost made it to the motorway, but not quite... After that, I only had a headache, and it was appropriate that our first point of call was the Croatian city of Split, where we boarded a car ferry that was to take us to Hvar. Two cappuccinos and a croissant went part of the way to improve my general well being, as did a bit of sea air. By the time we got to Stari Grad in Hvar, I was ready to rock (after another cappuccino).
Lining up for the ferry in Split. Ours is the green van.© Jeff Jones
Borut on deck© Jeff Jones
Stari Grad, Hvar© Jeff Jones
A pleasant ride
It was rather a pleasant day and still before noon, so we kitted up and got the bikes out to ride from Stari Grad to Hvar and then back to our apartments. I got to ride a brand new Wilier Triestina Mortirolo, which was a damn sight better than my Flandria. We started with a 6 km climb and a 14 km descent, and it was such a pleasant change to gain a bit of altitude again. I chatted to Andrej Hauptman, arguably one of the most consistent Slovenian pros with several top five finishes at the World's and Olympics, and he explained to me that he was coming back to racing next year after having heart arrhythmia problems that required three operations to fix. The doctors only found out what was wrong after two operations.The Mortirolo was pretty good considering I wasn't used to it, and I enjoyed the long descent into Hvar. I had my fourth cappuccino of the day there and realised why this is such a popular tourist destination in summer. It had nothing to do with the coffee - it's just a beautiful place and a long way removed from what I've been used to. Sort of what I imagined Greece to be like, except I was assured it wasn't. Sort of Mediterranean, except it was in the Adriatic. Details, details...
On your bike© Jeff Jones
Yeah© Jeff Jones
Gorazd and Miroslav lead the way© Jeff Jones
Andrej Hauptman at the top© Jeff Jones
The Wilier Mortirolo that I got to ride© Jeff Jones
Now I see why Hvar is popular© Jeff Jones
Downtown Hvar© Jeff Jones
Having a beer/water/cappuccino with Hvar in the background© Jeff Jones
I rode back along a different road with Andrej the Wilier bike shop owner, and Borut, who was on a brand new Specialized Tarmac with new Record and carbon Edge wheels. Very trick. They both enjoyed the descents, while I was still a little nervous on the new roads. We got to another town called Jelsa and waited for the rest of the group, and after a while I decided to turn back and see where they were. Bad move, because after 10 km I couldn't see them, and when I got back to Jelsa, Andrej and Borut had gone as well. Oops.
I thought we were staying in Jelsa so I cruised into town but couldn't see any signs of anyone. Eventually I just sat next to the main road until Robert Hajdinjak came looking for me in the car. He explained that his group had taken a different road and I was nowhere near where we were staying. My mobile phone didn't work so I was fortunate that they found me and took me to the apartments at Ivan Dolac.
The important thing was I didn't miss lunch, which had been prepared by Nikita and his family. Seafood is the staple here, and we had octopus done with lemon and garlic and potatoes, as well as various quantities of wine and bread. Pretty fine. A short swim in the chilly sea was followed by sunset and dinner in that order. We had small fried fish, sea frog (big fish, tasty) and tuna, with bread, salad, wine and pancakes. It was a great way to finish off a very long day and I was in bed by the shockingly early hour of 10 pm.
Look at all that serenity© Jeff Jones
A wet day
Friday dawned overcast and cool, with a stiff wind blowing. The plan was for eight of us to ride to the other end of the island (Sucuraj) and back - about 120 km total. After a big brekky, we climbed out of Ivan Dolac and up to the Tunnel. This is the only way to get through to the other side, and it's scary for the inexperienced. It was built by the military and is 1.4 km long, dead straight and flat, but with no lighting at all. There is a traffic light at each end, and the trick is to wait for a car to drive behind you so that you can see where you're going. Even though you can always see the light at the end of the tunnel, going through without a car or a decent front light is suicidally disorienting. The first time I went through it, I thought I was going to be attacked by Gollum or Shelob.
Leaving Ivan Dolac on a cloudy morning© Jeff Jones
Waiting for our turn at the tunnel© Jeff Jones
There was a fast descent with some narrow roads on the other side, then we hit the intersection at Jelsa where I had waited the previous day. The road to Sucuraj was tough: up and down all day on fairly ordinary roads, with a headwind blowing. After we climbed 5-6 km up to the plateau, we crawled our way along into the wind. Fortunately there was the prospect of a tailwind home and some more beautiful scenery. It's a stark place and all the cars are 30 or more years old. The houses are all made of stone and look as though they've survived a few gales. We could also see the Croatian coastline to our left, some parts of which rise 1700m out of the sea. I've never seen anything like it.
The wind was relentless and everyone was starting to feel it by the time we neared Sucuraj. We parked ourselves at a convenient cafe and had cappuccinos, colas, beer...whatever. My ride almost ended in total disaster as I'd propped the Mortirolo up against a sturdy mooring pylon next to the water. I didn't count on the wind, though, and was startled by a sudden splash and the absence of one Wilier Mortirolo from my field of view. Cue Goon Show "fallen in the water". Luckily, I was fast enough to drag it out, but could not rescue my sunglasses. There was surprised mirth from the Others.
The cafe owner was a Croat who had lived in New Zealand for 34 years, and when he realised I was from Sydney he asked me if Kings Cross was still the same. I told him that it had gone slightly upmarket over the years, and he nodded a little disappointingly. I grabbed a donut and a Kitkat from the grocery store and set off in pursuit of the rest. Mr Penko had left already as he did not want to be late for lunch. That left us with the two Andrejs, Borut, Miroslav, Robert and Dule.
Sucuraj© Jeff Jones
Having a beer/water/cappuccino in Sucuraj© Jeff Jones
We climbed out of Sucuraj and it started to rain, Belgian style. It was pointed out to me that it hadn't rained for a while, so the roads were likely to be very slippery. I proved this to myself when I was pushing along at 40 km/h with Andrej the mechanic and the bike suddenly flipped from one side to the other on the gentlest of bends. Fishtail? I didn't think I'd caught any fish in Sucuraj. After that, I let some air out but didn't trust the tyres, which were a brand I'd never heard of.
The descent into Jelsa was awful. Dule had good tyres and gapped us all near the top, while I went down with both the Andrejs. I could follow Mr Hauptman for the first half (he was taking it very, very carefully) until he decided to catch Dule and I did the rest by myself. On these tyres, the corners were treacherous in the wet and I was shaking - not just with the cold - by the time I got to the bottom. I caught up with the Andrejs and Dule, then we caught Mr Penko on the last climb up to the tunnel. He and Andrej H didn't bother waiting for a car and rode straight through - no lights - bloody hell. I waited for Dule and Andrej the mechanic, who had a light, and we had an easier time of it. The last descent had four really steep and rough switchbacks, and it was still pissing down. We were happy to get home intact.
That evening I had an idea to check the alignment of the stem and the front wheel. They weren't quite aligned, which explains why turning left had seemed a hell of a lot easier than turning right!
The tunnel again... It was wet, and people were in a hurry to get home. Wait for me!© Jeff Jones
After that ride, lunch was welcomed, although I probably shouldn't have had two shots of schnapps straight after! The scampi soup, cheese, bread and salami was very warming anyway. Andrej the mechanic just asked me for chocolate, so I gave him my untouched Kitkat and he promptly collapsed in bed for two hours. I went for a wet and slippery walk around the rocks for some reason, then 12 of us piled into Andrej's van and went to Jelsa for a drink. I had a cappuccino and nursed a sore head, while the Others had beer. Dinner was as good as lunch but my head was still spinning and I called it a night very early.
Primoz (c) and others at Jelsa that evening© Jeff Jones
Argghh, fresh Scampi!© Jeff Jones
A recovery day
11 hours sleep! And my head still wasn't that great in the morning. I blamed the schnapps but I suspect a few other things had contributed. After another big brekky, I felt semi-human enough to wash the bike and set off to Hvar again with the rest. We took the reverse route to the first day and once again I enjoyed the spectacular scenery that Hvar has to offer. We rode up the old road through the olive groves. Robert explained to me that Hvar has some amazing olive and lavender oil. Bits of it even reminded me of Provence, and supposedly, French perfumeries get lavender oil from here.
Hvar is a big exporter of lavender© Jeff Jones
Having more drinks in Hvar© Jeff Jones
The nth cappuccino of the week was consumed in Hvar (it does you good to have a fling occasionally), and we rode up the long climb that we'd descended on day 1. On the way up, Lucija explained to me about how all the old houses and villages will probably get modernised soon, given the increasing tourist influx in summer. From a historical point of view, it'd be a damn shame, but then again, I don't have to live in them.
I stopped to take a few piccies at the top so I could really fang it on the descent. Although I was still a bit uncomfortable with the braking (left and right were swapped compared to what I'm used to), I caught most of them before the bottom. I reckon with some decent tyres, that Wilier would be a very good handler, as it turns on a ten cent piece.
Andrej the mechanic having a chuck(le) at the top of the climb© Jeff Jones
A little bit of Provence?© Jeff Jones
Once final time through the tunnel and I still managed to escape Gollum. Perhaps he didn't consider the Mortirolo to be preciousss enough. His loss, I reckon. We made it back to Ivan Dolac in time for...lunch! More fried sea frog (much nicer than it sounds), prawns, anchovies and sleep. I've never had fried sleep before but it had a refreshing taste. It was refreshing enough for me to pile into the van again to go to the next village for a few beers. Then back for some schnapps and massive amounts of octopus risotto and barbecued fish. The company was good, and it was a great way to finish off.
These three fish are going to provide some nourishment for up to 20 hungry bike riders© Jeff Jones
Gathered around the pre-dinner table for some drinks and joviality© Jeff Jones
Borut and Miroslav contemplate the fish© Jeff Jones
These hands can skeletonise a piranha in minutes...© Jeff Jones
Everyone was in good spirits (or vice versa) at the dinner table© Jeff Jones
Roman and moi after skeletonising a fish or two© Jeff Jones
Home again, home again
Three days doesn't sound like much of a holiday, but it was enough for me and it was all I could afford in terms of time. But I'll be back. I left with Bostjan and Branko early Sunday morning in time to catch the 7:30am ferry back to Split, then a long and very wet drive to Ljubljana along the impressively deserted motorway that links the inland with the coast. It was built a few years ago thanks to a massive loan, and is a very well serviced dual carriageway road.Along the way, Bostjan explained to me the bits of the country that were fought over by the Serbs and the Croats not much more than 15 years ago. Most of the country didn't look to be worth it, and it would have been a horrible place to fight a war. They should have just stuck to the coast and the fertile inland. Maybe that's why Croatia looks like a horseshoe.
It stopped raining by the time we got to Slovenia, and I even had a cappuccino sitting outside in the sunshine at Ljubljana airport. That must have been my n+1th cappuccino of the week, meaning that by that great mathematical principle of induction, I could prove that drinking cappuccinos was true for all values of cappuccino.
Luckily it was raining when I got back to Liège South Charleroi airport. Reality hits again.
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