Good morning folks
I trust this finds you in finest fettle.
After taking 2 years to resurrect this blog, it has only taken 5 months to write a sequel. Apologies, time management and lameness are my only excuses.
So, here is a second dose of sardonic hyperbole from the makers of Mongoliando.com and Superclunk.com…
The key to writing is short and often, get it down on paper/off your chest, not (like this farce) adding and updating and adding and updating.
A mate at work asked me if I was still writing my blog and shamed me into pulling my finger out and putting this episode to bed!
Many thanks to all of who you commented and gave feedback for the last blog, it is more appreciated than I can say in words. Thank you.
I did have one suggestion to make it into a podcast, which caught my attention. Podcasts are a brilliant invention, (which I used to plug to absolute death when teaching). It would save readers having to plough through all this I guess? I have zero experience in the actual recording tech practicalities.
We did do a handful of Vlogs when we were in lockdown Arequipa and they were good fun/impulsive nonsense.
Any thoughts?
Since the last blog a lot and not a lot has happened.
A l-o-n-g winter of pushbike commuting, which gratefully turned into spring gave me daily sunrises that never bored me.
The Nipper turned 8.
Winter came.
Then went…
Then came back again.
Tadcaster Bridge celebrated its 5th anniversary.
We got some new wheels 🙂
But not a right lot of rock and roll 
Thence follows a wrap-up of other goings on…
Covid overstays its welcome :-(
Coronavirus first knocked on all of our doors around March 2020, March the 16th to be precise in Peru and it pretty much refused to leave us alone, a right royal pain in the ar$e. Whatever one’s views, it affected everyone and everything, everywhere.
Myself and the girls finally succumbed to the bug in January of this year. Lina and the Nipper seemed to shrug it off very quickly indeed. Although I didn’t actually feel especially ill, it went straight onto my chest and set up camp there. A familiar daily pattern started taking shape.
– Wake up 3hrs after going to bed, feeling really short of breath.
– Use Lina’s inhaler, which sometimes worked and then didn’t.
– Toss and turn until dawn/alarm, feel absolutely $hagged all day.
– Struggling with anything which required any slight effort (e.g, stairs, talking).
– Not exactly asthma-like symptoms, more a feeling that I just can’t get a proper lungful of air.
I went to see the GP (I), who told me to be patient.
My blood SATS levels (the amount of oxygen in the blood) kept suddenly dropping, especially at night.
So I went back to the Quacks, GP (II) sent me for blood tests and x-rays, which subsequently showed nothing.
Spent another month feeling wrecked, so went back again to GP (III) and was given a course of steroids, which did nothing, then went back again and GP (IV) did a “Sit-stand-sit-stand” test which showed up an alarming drop in my SATS and suddenly it felt like someone finally believed me!
The Doc then told me he would refer me to a lung specialist and not to do any exercise until I saw them. So I waited and waited and was told my appointment was in August!
I am not ill-ill, nor sick enough to be off work, but just mega frustrated that I can’t run, (my longest ever time not running), or do any proper exercise, which in the grand scheme of things is no big deal, I’m not about to pull on a Team GB vest and there are people a whole lot worse off, but running is a big part of my life.
We all have our likes-vices-addictions.
If you were told to stop playing darts, stop smoking a pipe, stop going line dancing, stop buying crap on ebay, stop following Accrington Stanley, stop taking Crystal Meth, stop going to swinger’s parties, stop watching repeats of The Professionals on UK Gold, or all of the above, (in which case you have bigger problems than my mild malaise), it is a bit of a kick in the pants!
I gave up the ale and coffee over a year ago (& chocolate over 30yrs ago), so I can give things up, but I am finding it hard not being able to do something that I have done most of my life.
It is funny how you come to identify yourself with your life’s passions.
I am a runner, as it is probably the only thing I have ever been any good at. Not naturally good or even gifted, just through hard graft, but in all honesty I do have to go back a couple of years to find a patch when I was actually training properly and racing hard, right up to the start of the pandemic.
The “leaking bucket of fitness” philosophy is now going to be tested as the holes I had been patching over recent years are now gaping open and the bottom of the bucket has fallen out completely.
“Be patient” is the mantra I am now following, but it is bloody hard.
I’m not looking for sympathy. There are people a whole lot worse off and people who have lost friends and family to Coronavirus. We all want to see the back of this bloody virus.
In the meantime, to give me some kind of focus, (basically to stop me going mad), I have gone right back to my youth and taken up fishing again, which is a different story for a different blog.
Stop press: Although the Doc told me to do no exercise until I see the Specialist, as my appointment is not until August, I thought I would start doing light stuff, so I am now doing a bit of a swimming, pretentding to know what I am doing in the gym and some very, very, very light jogging, which all feels good but it bites me on the ar$e later in the day/the next day, almost like some kind of divine retribution for trying to get fit.
In short: Long covid turns you into a whingeing bloody hypochondriac!
However, this article by a local runner called Rose George hits the nail right on the head, perfectly! https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/may/01/marathon-runner-long-covid-athletes
Cyclocross reflection.
(A bit long-winded, I got carried away).
On the weekend before we all got Covid, I did my last CX race of the season, finishing off a whirlwind of mud, crashes, trashed bike, mud and crashes, and it was absolutely bleeding ACE!
I have 2 people to thank/blame for getting me into this crazyar$ed sport.
My mate and cycling guru, Steve S and a bloke who I bought a car off, Rich C, (a friend of Steve and king of the course hecklers), both accomplished and seasoned riders, unlike this clueless newbie.
I won’t bore you with all the details, nor a blow-by-blow, turn-by-twisty-turn account. It was a hell of a buzz and a steep/overhanging learning curve. Most of what I knew from riding a road bike had to be ignored, forgotten or to simply do the opposite. (For example, on the road on a hill, you stand up out of the saddle. Try that on a muddy XC hill and you’ll be spinning faster than Benny Hill and going nowhere fast!)
The fact that I was at the very, very top of my age group (40-49) added to the fact that my age group rides with the 16-39s along with the fact that most of these riders were at the absolute top of their game all added up to the fact that I was dipping my toes in very deep shark-infested waters!
In a nutshell everyone rides laps of the course for around 60 minutes, but the number of laps is determined by the time of the leaders first 1-2 laps, BUT if you are behind the leader/winner when they finish, even if it is by a yard, you stop, whilst if you are in front of said rider, you get a bonus lap.
As someone totally obsessed with the weather, this went into overdrive on the week leading up to each race.
Race 1 – Bishop Burton College, Beverley.
The season kicked off in balmy East Yorkshire in a brilliant race organised by the bloke I bought the car off. Steve kindly gave me a lift and a shedload of tips, but I was still absolutely bricking it right up to the off, despite having a shiny new bike and a mud-free, hurdle-free course.
Bone dry, with a sandpit obstacle course and countless climbs.
Missing “the kick” at the start of the race became my trademark and after 200m I was about 100m behind tail-end-Charlie (who was in fact me, I mean the penultimate guy). My first crash happened so fast that I didn’t even know it had happened until I was on my back in the sand, (“sand, I hate sand”) with my bike clipped in on top of me, like an upturned beetle.
Managed to pass 3 riders, making me not last, but plenty passed me.
I was the very last rider to finish as I was a few inches ahead of the winner as he crossed the line, so I got a bonus lap!
Race 2 – Shibden.
(Working, couldn’t get day off).
Race 3 – Thornes Park, Shakey Wakey.
I hadn’t been here since I ran my first ever 1500m track race in 1987!
The girls came along to support, on a decent day on a very, very tight and technical course. Fell on the warm-up. Held my own in the race, wasn’t last.
Race 4 – Myrtle Park, Bingley.
Got a lift with Steve and Angela, which was brilliant as parking was ridiculously tight and their company calmed my nerves, as I knew this course had “DISMOUNTS”. A dismount is a part of course which cannot be ridden, you have to get off and run, plus there were ramps/hurdles, which I had been practising at home, but was still crap at!
Had a heavy crash on the warm up and gashed my leg on a barbed wire fence.
Didn’t feel like I was “going” in the race at all. Great course, mediocre result, wasn’t last, just.
Race 5 – Temple Newsam, Leeds, The-swamp-in-the-storm.
I had somehow managed to lose the car keys the week before the race. Not normally a problem as we had a spare set, but the girls were at “Go Ape” on the same day and we were sharing the car but a good mile apart.
It was a diabolical day. It had p!$$ed down all week and was blowing a proper hooly on the morning of the race. The course was under water at the bottom end and my bike started making strange noises on the warm-up.
Many riders have 2 bikes and a dedicated pit crew, so they ride in, swap bikes and grab a clean bike, and repeat until end.
I didn’t have a pit crew or a spare bike…
One good thing was that there was a fair bit of running, which was a break from getting drowned and slip-side-crashing. My chain came off and would not go back on. My poor bike was an autumnal collage by the end and washing it by headtorch after the race followed by not quite drying it out properly would come back to bite my ar$e.
Didn’t finish last, but was glad to finish.
Race 6 – Pontycarlo Racecourse.
Back to one of my old work haunts and the course that produced Filthy Luca Cumani’s 1998 Derby Winner, High Rise, on a stormy, extremely windy day.
I had been warned about parking being miles away from the start, but I had recently purchased a set of “rollers”, perhaps the most terrifying contraption ever invented for 2 wheels. Imagine riding through a trail of vaseline on tyres made of soap and you are close! Was well warmed up, which was just as well as it was blooming freezing. (I did see a bloke wearing a t-shirt carrying shopping back from Freeport shopping outlet, Tough sorts round here!)
A very fast course with headwind-tailwind-headwind-tailwind and 2 horrible u-turn descents/climbs, which I fell off on most laps.
Had a decent race, didn’t finish last.
Thanks to Kev F and Rich C for support.
Race 7 – Yorksport, York.
My most local course and a beautiful day. I had been training well and all the planets seemed to have aligned nicely beforehand.
Then, I crashed heavily about 3 minutes into the course and winded myself trying to avoid a crash and crashing myself. Banged my head too, but as skid lids are compulsory, I cannot use that as an excuse.
Found myself long, long last and had to pull out all the stops to get round.
Didn’t finish last, but finished.
Thanks to Badger and Shoresyman for support/heckling.
Race 8 – Pateley Bridge.
After covering myself in Fiery Jack and tempted to pop a Diamox, with the girls in tow, I was ready for a “proper” CX course.
Mud, hills, off-camber slopes, woods, rocks and more slippy, slippy mud, on the edge of winter in the highlands of Nidderdale, spent as much time on my ar$e as I did on my saddle. brilliant day out 🙂
My bike started really playing up, but finished, as did I, and not last which was a bonus. This was thought at the time to be the last race of the season, which was fortunate as my bottom bracket was shot to pieces (post Temple Newsam). BIG THANK YOU to Steve for sorting me out, sourcing the impossible-to-find parts and fixing it. I owe you!)
Race 9 – Peel Park, Bradford.
Back to where it all began! (I accidentally turned up for an under-12 training day here, after thinking it was for adults, so went straight home!)
Accompanied by the girls, on a proper winter squall of a day, (it was January), I faffed around so much that I almost missed the start and definitely missed the kick. A very technical course with one running climb. Took 45 minutes to get into it, with a very focussed last 15 minutes. The season was finally over, which was just as well as Covid struck us all the week after, bugger!
Massive thank you to Steve, Angela, Rich and my 2 girls, who showed true dedication to the cause in some truly foul weather!
CX is a brilliant sport, amazing fun, inclusive and friendly.
It does remind me of the fellrunning scene, which is coincidental to the fact that a lot of fellrunners double-up in both sports, or make the natural progression to CX. Highly recommended!
Raiders round-up.
IF I had written this blog on a regular basis, this would have been a different story. Barrow RLFC got promoted last season to the Championship and came out of the blocks faster than Ben Johnson, challenging for league leadership at the beginning, playing some extremely exciting (but ridiculously nerve racking) rugby, then it all went downhill and the winning start turned to a long losing streak, but they have hopefully started to turn this around now.
The strongest team in a long time, good management and a loyal following.
Onwards and upwards 🙂
SuperLeeds United somehow managed to stay up, miracles do happen 🙂
Peru reflections.
Next week.
Adios to the Clunk 😦
Next week.
Lockdown mindset?
Next week.
New wheels!!!
Keeping a long story short.
I was always on the lookout for a van or a van project.
When I first went to Peru in 2004, I sold almost everything and although belongings are just basically “stuff”, the one thing I really didn’t want to sell was my old Transit breadvan, which with the help of my carpenter brother, James, we made a brilliant (basic) campervan for about £200.
(Although with hindsight, it would have disintergrated into a pile of rust within months!)
I just happened to mention my van plans to an old running mate called Les, who said that his sister, Sue, was selling her Nissan Elgrand (I had to look it up) and wanted a quick sale.
Les did say that it was “more muscle than van”, but it never registered in my mind. Everything looked tempting and a deal was done via email. Train tickets were hastily booked for the next day. York to KX via underground to Paddington to Didcot. A completely blind sale with no escape route.
What could go wrong?
Since coming back to Blighty the furthest I had travelled was to Skipton (to buy a pushbike) and Manchester (for a Tai Chi trainer course), so going to the Old Smoke was a bit mindblowing and at the age of 49, my first every trip to the big city on my tod!
All went well until the Tube part. Being colourblind I was always dubious about the Underground, I had even considered jogging across town to Paddington but I only had 41 minutes from train-to-train and couldn’t risk getting lost. A bad start was made by getting on the right line in the wrong direction. I wasn’t sure if my ticket would let me get off so I stayed on dithering until halfway round the Circle Line before getting off and changing directions. After 29 minutes I was back where I started and was starting to panic as my other ticket was fixed to that train. I got to Paddington with 1 minute to spare and after running on to the platform shouting “DIDCOT? DIDCOT?” I was pointed to the futhest platform away and just made it before it set off, two minutes after the time on my ticket.
“This is the 13:44 to Bristol Temple Meads…”
Bristol? Bristol? That is not near Didcot!
“… Calling at Blah, Blah, Blah and Didcot…”
I was picked up at the station in what must have looked like a voluntary kidnapping and drove back to Sue’s. I had a test drive.
I had only driven an automatic once and that was a long time ago.
It looked the part, the cash was burning a hole in my sky rocket and it was getting late, (it was January and going dark at 4pm).
“I’ll take it”
After sorting out which part of the V5 was mine and parted with the readies, the keys were mine and although the temptation to drive back without tax or insurance was huge, it was wrong and besides, I had left the insurance left with just a “PURCHASE NOW” button for Lina to press on my laptop at home. (This is one of the many ballaches of not having a smartphone).\
The laptop at home wasn’t having any of it, so I endured a 45 minute call centre call, then sorted my tax out, so by 6pm I was away and soon completely lost, in a van I barely knew how to drive, with 2 Shetland ponies at home who like their tea around 6:30pm!
It had been a long day already and driving along A roads with names of places I had never heard of, I longed for a “To the North” sign or similar.
The M40 somehow led to the M1 and although Northampton is not very northern, I knew that Tamworth was about halfway. At what seemed like midnight I rolled in home, more than a bit wired (without coffee, having foolishly given it up a year ago).
It seems ironic that the prize of petrol seemed to go up and up and up from the day I bought the van, as it is a greedy 3.3 litre V6 guzzler (“more muscle than van”) and although I am booked in for a LPG conversion in June, I do have moments of panic (usually at the garage after the pump has gone past the £100 mark), when I just think “Shall I get rid and buy something smaller/more economical?”
I am still not sure, but I do love it, especially the Japanese telly which cannot be changed from Japanese. In fact knowing Japanese would be a BIG help as all of the instructions are in Japanese, as the Elgrand is basically a convertible, imported people carrier that changes into a van, a bit like an A-Team meets Optimus Prime mobile, but carrying Japanese tourists and not Hannibal, Face, Murdoch nd Mario Baracus). I am still saving up for enough petrol to actually go anywhere, but on short forays it drives like a beast and as an ex-Bongo owning mate said, the fuel consumption is equally dire is you drive it like a fairy or thrash it like it’s stolen!
I have a terrible “purchase guilt complex” which basically means that if I buy anything, I feel guilty as hell. I got the van for a knockdown price but its running costs (with the scandalous price of juice these days) are not great.
Currently looking at Plan A and Plan B, watch this space (or eBay van sales).
eBay, not a way to make money when skint.
Next time…
And finally…
To round off this shambolic nonsense, here is a fine musical interlude, which is coincidentally the namesake to this blog, Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Babyshambles.
Thank you for your patience and next time will be a much more fettled affair.
It’s goodnight from him and it’s goodnight from me, goodnight.
Hasta la proxima, baby.
Johnny and the girls
LADFROMTAD.COM 