Tumbling thoughts

A moment of quiet contemplation and peace.

Time has stood still in Devon and most of the UK, hasn't it? A peacefulness hangs in the air, only interrupted by the chirping of birds and a few cars moving around. Admittedly, there are far more vehicles on the roads now than there were three months ago, but they are still relatively few. In just a weeks time we will hit the summer solstice: the longest day of the year. Many people are still waiting, hoping that they year will start soon. When I was ill I learned that my years often didn't go to plan, but they were still the years I had to live, my years. By letting go of all your preconceptions of what might have been in 2020, it can still be a good one. Creativity doesn't disappear and 2020 is proof that we can be incredible creative when we wish.

I began to explore the notion of enjoying life in a whole new way a long time ago now when my mind snapped, stopping me in my tracks. Trying to take what positives I can from the moment now doesn't mean that I don't feel what's happening now or that I'm not disturbed by it. It means that despite those underlying feelings I know that the only person who can make the most of my current situation is me. Yes, I have lost some friends to Covid 19. Yes, I mourn and grieve for them. That aside, I am simply trying to do what is best for me and those I love and that is a path with a variety of boundaries that you have to decide for yourself.

For many, what is important has changed beyond any imaginings from back in 2019. Our lives are upside down and inside out. The things that often define us, like work and our pastimes, have been turned on their heads. Plans have been largely torn up and adventures smothered by this virus. Luckily for me I chose to cycle and that has been all but free of restrictions since lockdown started. We may have been forced to stop, our known world may have been deleted, but life does continue for most. Welcome to the new world.

A mural in Okehampton, just a few miles away.

Cycling is one of the few things I can still do in relative safety until this virus backs down a little more. Work has gone. Teresa and I used to ride into Exeter on our cycles to train some new riders in the ways of Bikeability. Now there are no children to teach, at least until sometime in September or October if we are lucky. I will be forever grateful that we are  getting some financial support until the end of the school year in July for cancelled work. It seems ironic that I have only just managed to stand back up from ill health and now I have to stop and return to a world of 'day to day' that I lived for many years.

This week I saw, for the first time, the new Covid 19, Bikeability instructors guide. It took only a few minutes to digest that what was proposed within its pages would make the delivery of any meaningful courses all but impossible for the near future. Some things need to be about the fun and the content of the course and not whether you have sanitised your hands prior to getting on/off your bike and are standing two meres away from anybody or thing that might give you an infection. Of course those things are important too but there are places where they are so intrusive as to make it all but impossible to carry on your work with any real meaning or joy. Welcome to the new normal.

It's now ten weeks or so since Teresa and I were last together. Separated by just 50 miles, we may as well be on the opposite sides of the world. Unlike young folk that text the friend who's standing next to them, we like to touch and hug. Taking that away is akin to removing one of my primary senses. I don't like talking on screens, where you either look at the camera, away from the person, or at the person, which looks like you are avoiding eye contact. For me it isn't tangible. I can't feel anything. It's a little like looking at a cat and not being able to stroke it. 

Can't wait for me, Teresa and Hercules to do this again.

Given that you cannot easily substitute those feelings and desires, what can you do? Well you can start with self-care: take that bath with the bath-bomb in it. Revel in it, feel it, enjoy it. Eat good food and enjoy preparing it as well as shopping for it. Get out and exercise. Don't beat yourself up because you'e not achieving anything. Try to look at what's left and what you can do with that?  Try not to push away the current situation, as if you could, but to embrace it. It's okay to move slowly in the world now. There is no rush for many of us. Why do a cycle ride in an hour that can be stretched to two? Why ride past that intriguing place that you never stop at when you can stop and look at it? You don't have to emerge from this with a whole new skill-set you learned whilst furloughed. Emerging in one piece or thereabouts is enough.

This time is golden. Don't miss the opportunity to grab it with both hands. Demand your future life is more like now could be: less stressful in many ways. Demand that we change from greed and accumulation of cheap crap that is soon to be landfill fodder to something more sustainable. Take the things of quality that you have in your life and hold onto them tightly, demanding that we seize this moment to change our lifestyle forever. This is our chance, let's not let it slip by jumping on the first plane to somewhere we think of as exotic for two weeks when our planet is telling us clearly to do less, travel less, fly less and demand less. there are so many opportunities here and in Europe, all of which can be accessed without flying. Ask yourself if you really need a stag weekend in Prague or a fourth weekend trip to Barcelona this year in the first place? Is the job that gives you these things really worth it or do you do these things to justify the work ethic?

These are some of the muddled things that occupy my thoughts when I'm riding my trike: Hercules. At other times I'm more mindful: noticing that cheeky Stoat running across the road ahead with something in it's mouth that looks bigger than it is. I notice the Wheat Ears fluttering up the lane, flashes of white under their wings as they go and a small group of cows wanders over to see what it is that has parked by the gate to their field. Squirrels, ever busy, hustle along the roadsides, hiding behind trees whenever they sense danger. There are a myriad of thing to see and enjoy if you take the time to look. None are far from home for most people.

South Devon.

Another thing that often occupies my thoughts is: why am I still pushing myself? Chill-out, relax and enjoy the ride, I tell myself. It's hard to break the habit of a lifetime, a lifetime where we all started to run when we were young and are only allowed to stop shortly before we drop dead. Is there any reason that I need to get up this hill in one push or ride as far as I can in a day? Often I find myself answering no, there is no reason to feel constantly challenged other than the fact that is how it has always been. Leave the headless chicken impressions to the young. They can learn in their own time that speed isn't everything.

And then, just occasionally, I settle back in my armchair (trike seat) and stop thinking that endless spiral of mind-filling distractions. If I'm lucky, at some point I will just be at one with the world, even if it's only for a moment or two. My mind empties, not because I'm too tired or too occupied to to think of anything else. No, it empties because I have let it. There is not a single thought that I need to catch and think about. I let them fall to the ground unanswered. I'm being mindful. That is the moment I notice the stoat, the flower, that cloud formation or whatever else. That is how I want to live: fully aware, with enough energy to appreciate what I already have.

Last week I passed a couple who were walking and the man shouted faster, faster. I grinned, replying no, slower, slower. His preconception of cycling is perhaps more that of the Lycra-clad warriors who take on 'The Dartmoor Beast' or similar challenge rides than the ordinarily-clothed worrier trying to find some solace in a complex world. I do those rides as well, but not in the context of a sportif. I ride those hills because I want to see over the other side and I want to see what there is on the way up this side. To focus on finishing or on a certain time isn't something I have in my armour any longer. My focus is purely about enjoying the ride. You have to choose for yourself which you prefer.

Soul food: Watching the sunset anywhere.

Hercules, my trike, places me even closer to the ground than his predecessor. With no traffic around I often feel as though I'm creeping through he undergrowth, waiting for something to show its face, whether that is a furry caterpillar, a deer or a squirrel. I'm stalking the wildlife, whispering like David Attenborough at the flora and fauna I pass. The flowers stroke my arms, as would the stinging nettles if I let them, so I sneak along the lanes stealthily, feeling unseen as I go.

Luckily, I do get seen by cars, thanks to the flag and the bright yellow sunroof with reflectors on it. I usually smile and wave to those inside and more often than not get the same in return. It seems that my own disposition directly effects those I meet along the road. If i'm positive, so are they.  Locals, deliver people and farmers, all wave at this weird contraption they have come across unexpectedly. I try to move aside to let cars pass by, unlike many roadies, who despite have every right to ride that way don't seem to understand that not everybody has the same time as they do at that moment. I stop and talk to those I meet along the way. whoever they are. Normal social contact it's called and another part of self-care. This also makes me smile. Luckily I live in a place where people usually do talk to each other and I'm convinced that one of the positive changes we are undergoing is that people are gaining a strong sense of others as the pandemic sweeps the world.

I feel as though the people inside cars are in another world from me with their air conditioning and music. They appear to me as victims of the modern idea that technology means all and under the delusion that they are connected in their Urban SUV or Chelsea Tractor. Connected to what? It certainly isn't the world I'm connected to when I ride. You have to slow right down to feel that connection. You know that I don't like GPS and the like. It's all very clever but allows you to go places without thinking about it or having any idea where you might actually be in relation to anything else. Maps take more input. You have to look and stop. You have to make decisions other than downloading a freely available route and simply following it. In short it's another disconnect from the real world. I challenge you to take a map of your local area, choose a direction to start off in but only decide your route at each junction rather than pre-planning it. I assure you it's a blast.

And so it goes. Ambling along swinging between a head full of thoughts and a head full of smells and sights, that I miss completely as soon as I get in a car or place my helmet on, the journey of less speed continues. Sometimes mindful, sometimes mindless, sometimes distracted, but occasionally at one with myself and the world. I can build on those moments. Will you?

Until next time.

It's not a Ferrari !!

Beautiful Devon

Two more weeks of lockdown have passed since I last wrote on here. Two more weeks that replicated the time when I couldn't go out for long as the outside world seemed such a threat and I felt so weakened by the storm raging in my mind. Perhaps it was shame. It wasn't the done thing back then to talk about mental illness. I had spent half a lifetime trying to hide my own away, pretending that all was fine and doing things that, whilst on the surface seemed to help, underneath they added to my own personal angst.

What I have now, that I didn't have then, is a long list of skills that I learned in order to get through my own, partly self-induced, confinement. I take each day separately, not daring to look far into the future. That serves no real purpose. Let's just get through today and then see what tomorrow brings. It's living in the moment, kind of. It most certainly isn't a spiritual awakening, just a necessity to help me through this tough time. After all, I only have to entertain myself, I don't have children who are missing school, bored with home and going stir crazy.

This year saw my sixtieth birthday arrive and depart in January. It was going to be a special year spent with Teresa, cruising through France on our bikes for six weeks or so. Covid 19 has put a stop to that but I like to think my mind is fertile and still produces ideas when I least expect them. Creativity is a gift, one you have to cultivate and grow. Anybody can be creative, it's part of human ingenuity and intelligence. Once you get over the fact that we have been told so many times that we have to be good at stuff you can simply get on with enjoying doing it, regardless of skill level.

Ever since I sold Kermit, my recumbent trike, I've missed him. I've missed the laid-back lifestyle and the I-Max view of our beautiful world. I've missed the slower pace and sense of travelling in style that comes with three wheels and most of all I've yearned to find a way back to another one.

Trawling through countless, babbling YouTube videos I came across the story of the Sun Race, a cycle race from Europe to China. This one is a little different. For a start, most people don't race. For many of them it's a massive life challenge (18,000 KM?)  and a chance to travel under their own steam. Secondly, they all use electric assist bikes. The twist in the plot is that they can only get one charge from the outside world during the whole event. The rest of their charging comes from regeneration of energy and solar power. On top of that they have to maintain their own bikes and selves as they go. It peaked my interest.

The box makes a great workbench!

I love things like this. Always have. I could feel the excitement rise as I watched. I wonder. Who knows? It seemed like a true adventure, but let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I don't understand anything electrical aside from flicking a switch and have things magically work. Imagine a self charging Ebike? I did, and I liked the thought of it. The routes the Sun Race users follow go through many countries, some hotter than others. They generally use much bigger motors than we are allowed in the UK. This helps them maintain higher speed levels with average ability.

In the UK, it may seem a little optimistic that we might ever have enough sun to recharge a cycle battery once, let alone regularly, but it got me thinking. Not about joining the race, but about creating a machine that was effectively self-charging. The more I considered this, the more that I wanted to walk down that road and see what it felt like. At sixty years of age I have pushed my body to its limits for decades. Could now be the time for something more gentle? A little technical assistance?

Now those who know me will also know that, given the opportunity and the right frame of mind, I don't delve into new territory gently. I dive in from a great height and see what happens next! As far as I could tell there were several obvious stages to go through. Firstly, I don't have a suitable bike/trike. Secondly I know nothing about electric assist, other than the fact it helps people access cycling by reducing the effort needed significantly. Thirdly, I haven't a clue how electrical things work, so finding out should be fun. In my mind I leapt from idea to plan in an instant.

Now, recumbent trikes are rare beasts in the UK, although more and more are slowly appearing. I sold Kermit after five years of him being my daily transport for everything, including some long and arduous tours. He took a hammering and I learned that Azub trikes are superb and exactly what was likely to go wrong/cause problems over time with any trike.

White, to match the domestic appliances :)

As soon as you mention trikes to anybody who rides, they all shout I.C.E. Inspired Cycle Engineering in Cornwall produce the best trikes in the world. Beautifully crafted and finished with a huge choice of customisation available. Azub, are close behind, but the Kudos that ICE have built up takes an age to replicate. The problem was that both of these brands were so far out of my reach that my new-found dream would end right there, even if I contemplated an older, second hand version (pre-owned for any millennial readers). New, you are looking at the fat end of £3500 by the time you add mudguards, racks and the like to one of these. Possibly £6500 if you want electric assist! No thank you. I want a D.I.Y project, something simpler, something to own when it's done and feel proud of.

Starting with an older vehicle just didn't feel right. Worn chains and sprockets. Unknown history. It's a bag of worms and still expensive as ICE trikes hold their value well. Was there another way to go? If you can get past the ICE trike mantra from the rightly pleased crowd, there are other manufacturers around. They are not comparable to ICE, but that's another market. Unfortunately, they are all in the Far East or the United States. Import duties add 40% minimum to going down that road and again, that was beyond my means.

I've been around bikes and trikes long enough to know that many of the components that get used at the high end aren't necessarily longer lasting. You pay a lot of money to lose a few grams and if you want durability you need to add grams rather than remove them. In short, basic groupsets work well enough, not perfectly slick like a Ferrari, but that only matters if you race, doesn't it. They work and are ultra reliable. That is why many riders choose 8 speed based gearing over more up to date equipment. It is proven to be durable, easy to maintain, cheap. It's also readily available almost anywhere.

KMX Karts.com is a company that just happened to have been set-up by a friend of a friend many moons ago. In the recumbent trike world they are often seen as the poor relation. Is that fair? I don't know. They are not in any way showy, being built in square tubing with a slightly industrial look. They have no advanced features, but maybe that is a strength? Simplicity. How many times do we hear that simple engineering is a good thing? The word on the street is that they are seen as toys, an introductory trike before you progress to the real thing. Is this fair? I have no idea about that either, yet. Price wise they are accessible to most. We are still talking a minimum of four figures to get going on a baseline adult model. That would buy a lot of bicycle in the other world. Sadly, recumbent trikes still don't sell in big enough numbers for the price to drop significantly. Small numbers means big prices as the companies, like all others, have to be profitable to keep going.

I really like the industrial look.

KMX do have a reputation for durability. The MX part of the name stands for Moto-Cross,  or playing off-road. I personally think this is why they are seen as toys. The first ones were designed for the owners own children. People liked them so much that they started to sell them. And so it went until they were exporting them all over the world.

My own knowledge had me thinking that the things the wear out are mostly moving parts and bearings. Those are not so different whatever you buy. As a solid structure to work with I couldn't really see a big problem arising. It may not handle as well. It wouldn't fold and it may be a bit less advanced in the way it is built. But they work and are proven so I leapt in and grabbed one, to be delivered to my abode in a few days time after calling them up to find a warm and friendly welcome. When it arrived two days early I was ecstatic.

KMX trikes arrive in a box almost completely in pieces. If you are mechanically-minded, this is part of the fun. A three dimensional jigsaw puzzle for you to construct. The instructions are pretty clear and the parts all bagged in a way that makes it easy to find the right bits as you go along. I spent another couple of days of lockdown carefully solving the puzzle. I much prefer this as I know exactly what got greased-up, rather than either hoping it had been or deconstructing it to find out the answer. If it goes wrong it's my own doing, rather than a being Friday afternoon bodge because somebody would have rather they were at the pub than been at work.

It lives. Life outside, but not as we know it.

KMX have made quite a few changes to their adult trikes and I was surprised at how well thought out and put together it seemed (for the price). On my first ride the direct steering took me by surprise. It is very sensitive (twitchy?) but I soon got used to it. I put a triple chainring set on the front to give me 24 gears and changed the tyres for better quality ones that I had in my shed. That seemed to liven it up a bit and for general riding it feels every bit as good as other trikes I have ridden to date, which I think is a compliment.

Most importantly, I am on three wheels again. I have a good base to build on and I'm grinning like a Cheshire cat once more. Stage one is complete. Time to enjoy it. Stage two will be to find out more about electric assist and then decide what kind of set-up I would like to start with. In the meantime I shall save pennies by staying at home, protecting the N.H.S and saving my own life by riding my trike.

Until next time..........................

Opportunity Knocks.

I have just finished my daily walk, the government backed short stroll for exercise that's permitted in this worldwide health crisis. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining down on Devon's rounded and lumpy landscape. Light seemed to be sprinkled randomly on dappled pools of water that in turn rippled gently over the pebbles that formed their bed. I saw nobody as I trod gently the same path I have for the last week. Some say it's groundhog day, the same one recurring over and over, presumably until we see the error of our ways and break the cycle?

Every day is another day in your life and one to be lived, restricted or otherwise. Each walk and cycle ride I do shows me the wonders of nature:  different birds chirping their songs on every occasion. Different animals appear in places where they weren't yesterday. Different trees blossom ever-greener in the spring sunshine. Everything changes, even the sheep sitting, lying, running towards me in the hope I might be there to feed them. Nothing is ever the same twice.

We have been given a golden opportunity to slow our lives, step from the gravy train for a while and to see what surrounds us. This is our chance to notice what is really important to us? Perhaps it isn't those shoes that cost hundreds of pounds, nor that shiny, fast car after all. Just maybe, it's the joy of being able to enjoy our immediate world for what it really is and to learn why we need to take care of it beyond surrounding ourselves with consumables and experiences that are bought and sold at the cost of our planets own health.

There's a gentleness in the air again. An overriding sense of quiet peacefulness. Others reiterate this to me. It's a sense I only usually feel in wild places and mountains. Is that because in those places I take the time to notice? Places with little human occupation have always drawn me to them. How often do we get the chance to just sit and be amongst all of this beauty and quiet and why do we find it so difficult to be still? Our world had become one of incessant noise, a constant barrage of sound, doing and achievement. If you don't have a major challenge going on, what's wrong with you? We have created a world where we have grown to hardly notice anything at all other than what we desire from it. Now it's gone, at least in the short term. Our world is speaking to us. Will we listen?

As I've aged I've watched successive generations work longer and longer hours, often for less and less money. Our downtime is such that many feel the need to fill it with personal challenges and tasks that leave us little time for thought and contemplation. I used to be one of those people myself but my mind and body (thankfully) stopped me in my tracks and demanded something different from me.

Without the choice but to listen I set off along a very different path. It still had some big physical and mental challenges but it lacks the old intensity that threatened to burn me out completely unless I changed. That intensity blinkered me to everything else in a single-minded haze and was slowly replaced with an quiet understanding that I wouldn't swap what I had, ill health or not, for anything. I loved my years climbing rock and flying paragliders. I got to do what only a few did back then and I treasure those memories and the people I created them with. Now I have a greater inner peace, an acceptance that I'm happy with what I already have, no longer chasing life but enjoying it.

Where there was speed and strength I have now found more calm and thoughtfulness. Where I was head down and pushing as hard as I could I'm now glad to be out enjoying simply being amongst the countryside, feeling it. It's all a matter of pace and it took me decades to realise that patience is the virtue some have always claimed it is. Like so many young people, I was in a hurry without knowing where I was heading.

I'm as happy cycling ten miles now as I am if I'm out all day long. I'm ecstatic when I see a child I have taught to ride  a bicycle pedal away from me to begin their own two- wheeled adventures. I smile as I watch their little legs spinning around furiously as they grin like maniacs, something all cyclists understand and remember and I feel a warmth in the knowledge that I have taught them a life-skill they will have forever. 

This moment of world crisis has given them and us the chance to ride outside with hardly a threat from vehicles at all. It's an opportunity to ride on the road with their parents, practise their skills we taught them in relative safety and prepare for a lifetime of virtually free fun and exploring. I wonder how many are actually doing this, how many have even thought along these lines?

And that is possibly a problem. We've been sold the notion that this virus and lock-down is a terrible thing, which to some extent it is. But there is always an opportunity in everything, either to be something different or to change our viewpoint and see things differently. Opportunities come and go but you have to sometimes grab one, hold it up to the light and get under its skin. In a world where many people seem afraid of going outside we seem to be rearing generations of children whose natural inquisitive nature is being ground away in readiness for something much more mundane than developing and exploring their imaginings, their own personal notions of our what life is and how it could be. Are we stealing their dreams blinkering them to what's beyond a computer screen?

As far as I can tell, social distancing is what has been happening since the advent of the World Wide Web. People getting up in the morning, steeping out to travel to work by car or train (another box), not speaking, locked in their own thoughts. And if you dare to speak to somebody you are often met with disdain. It just isn't done. You then work all day long and return home in the same manner only feeling more exhausted. Is this the future we want for the worlds children?

The things we label as leisure activities are perhaps those very same things that give us quality of life. I learned by accident how little money I can live on and how much I could still do despite that fact. Forced into a corner, partly of my own making, I had little choice and that was a life lesson I'm glad I was taught. Forced to look at what I really value, I found travel in my own country and under my own power was liberating and freeing in a way I had perhaps forgotten. I rediscovered that my freedom to move around is the most important asset I have in my armoury. Without that freedom we have nothing.

Now here we are. Freedom curtailed, feathers clipped. Our collective restlessness, for that is what I think it is, has seen us travel further and further for shorter periods of time as we try to make sense of life and justify the way we live. You have to travel to far flung places and I feel it's too easy and too cheap by far. Should it not reflect the cost to the planet to jump on a plane and head off somewhere exotic? We even have a name for it: Wanderlust, the desire to travel constantly, see new things and experience new cultures. Travel undoubtedly broadens the mind, but a weekend getting drunk in Barcelona or Praha, does that qualify? How about two weeks in a rich haven where every whim is catered for (and included in the price) on a beautiful island in the Pacific or Caribbean? Do those who choose that really get a cultural experience, or do they simply destroy and consume the very beauty they go to see through mass consumerism? I'm not judging, just asking if our planet can sustain this level of mass travel.

We go further because we can. Air travel is easy, cheap and quick. It takes little effort outside of choosing a destination, pressing a button on a keyboard and travelling to an airport. A couple of hours later you can be anywhere in Europe, almost. Sit back, relax (if you can!) and bingo, you get a magic carpet ride to take you thousands of miles away for your two week summer vacation. But should we do that? It'd not a question I can answer, other than for myself.

Now we can't do that I'm seeing more and more posts about how wonderful it is to pedal on quiet roads, he kind I remember riding on as a child. Many of those people are asking whether we could stay like this, make a choice to travel less. I ask you, could we?

Until next time...................

It's life Jim, but not as we know it!

It was cold and breezy as I stepped out of my front door. I'm not used to being at home any longer and as I wheeled out my bike I felt a pang of thankfulness that I could still ride. Most of my cycling recently has been teaching others how to ride on the road through my Bikeability work. Now, it's just for exercise and pleasure.

I use the word pleasure reservedly. It has been a while since I've ridden any hills around the area where I live. That's not just due to work. I've had a particularly bad winter regarding my asthma. Now armed with a second inhaler, I use two in the morning and one at night (plus the reliever), the elephant that had been residing on my chest seems to have gone for a walk.

Entering this new world, one without  the constant noise of aircraft, constant droning of traffic and general air of peacefulness, I was projected back the those days when as a child my friends and I would head out across the fields to play without a care in the world. This lasted some three minutes until I was found puffing my way up the steep Park Rd toward Hatherleigh Moor.

In all fairness, I have had a viral illness since Christmas. No not that one. Symptoms went away after about four weeks but I have't ever really fully recovered. Hence my visits to the asthma clinic. I'm about 20% down on my usual lung capacity and that makes a massive difference to my performance. Luckily I had all day to make this journey to the doctors to pick up my prescriptions and had every intention of enjoying my time away from home.

Out in the lanes, as my breath slowly returned and the strong South easterly wind battered my face, I rose above the houses to that wonderful view of  Dartmoor in all its magnificence. It was then that, once again, I was struck by the peace surrounding me. Bird song ruled the roost. There seemed a much greater quantity of birds chirping than my in my recent memory. Perhaps they were laughing at us. We had watched when avian flu took it's toll on them. Now the tables had turned it was their turn, maybe.

Perhaps the biggest single difference to all the other thousands of times I had ridden this route was the lack of noise from aircraft some thirty-thousand feet above my head. It was eerily quiet, no cars, vans, planes. just a few dog walkers. It was like being thrown back 50 years in time to a slower quieter world. Perhaps that's the point? Is Covid-19  natures way of showing us what we need to get back to? Whatever the reason, I was still enjoying being out on my bike, despite achy legs and struggling lungs.

Further down the lane, that wound tortuously towards Okehampton, I came across a buzzard sat on a low branch of a tree. I'd never seen this before as they usually fly away just as I approach. He stared at me eagle-eyed, the sun reflecting on the golden yellow of his own eyes. I didn't seem to ruffle his feathers at all. I said hi and we sat in mutual admiration of the beautiful scenery that surrounded us.

After a few minutes I left, needing to get to the pharmacy prior to it closing for lunch. I had advice from my doctor that I should wait outside until the pharmacy only had one or two people in and then pounce. It transpired that there was no reason to have worried about people. On arrival, aside from staff, there was nobody there.

It was a hit and run, without the hit. There was even a two metre gap between those picking up prescriptions and the desk on which they were placed. I sat wondering how my one-metre long arm was supposed to stretch the two- metre distance to pick up my prescriptions when I remembered that the pharmacist also had a one-metre long arm too.The gap was clearly marked using yellow and black striped tape, the sort you expect in any hazardous environment. I was no sooner there than I had my prescriptions in my hand and could go home again. That felt like a relief.

Despite the lack of traffic, one driver took exception to my (correct) road positioning and eventually passed me by as close as he took while tooting the horn on his car. Why is it that the idiots are still driving? Oh yes, they tend to be the selfish people, don't they? I didn't care. I didn't even raise my voice. I was too busy enjoying the tail wind that had previously been my mortal enemy.

My legs and my mind felt weak. I think all this Coronavirus onslaught is taking it's toll on my mental stability. I try not to watch too much news, preferring to lose myself playing my piano, but whatever my thoughts it's hard to escape what's going on. Instead I find I am turning to all those strategies I have learned over the years like: meditation and mindfulness with a little yoga thrown in for good measure. I managed to find a gentle rhythm as I rode down the valley, away from Okehampton. It always makes me smile as I ride away from towns. It's nothing personal, I just much prefer to reside in the countryside surrounding it.

I turned away from the small road that usually masquerades as a major artery/ rat-run and was taken by the daffodils and primroses that were quietly growing in the sheltered aspect of an old stone bridge across the river near the just as old ex-post office in Brightley. The river shimmered and glittered, sparkled and shone in a way that captivated me. I stopped, resting my weary legs and I just stared, listening to the burbling river making its way toward the sea, feeling myself filling up with nature.

It was a haven of tranquility. Nature was celebrating spring, even if we weren't. Pussy-Willlows hung from bushes and Catkins too. Primroses seemed to have taken over the grass, their soft yellow flowers perfectly contrasted in the lush green grass. Nowhere ere there any signs of the ravaging storms that tore at us for weeks on end, flooding the roads and fields, along with many houses. There was a new peace upon this part of the world, as though  the world is sighing with relief that, finally it had at least temporarily stopped the human onslaught that faced it daily.

I saw no cars on the way home until almost in Hatherleigh. Despite feeling weak mentally and physically I remembered why it was my bike was so important to me. It takes me into nature in such close proximity that nature ignores me. I become part of the scenery, part of the world, not in a destructive way, but as a passive observer of its wonders and a willing participant in it's natural gentle flow and ebb.

Last night as I sat dog-tired on my sofa, Boris announced that new, more restrictive measures on our movements, My heart sang when he clearly announced that we could still go out once a day to exercise by walking or cycling. For eleven hard years my cycle has helped me maintain better mental and physical health, providing exercise, routine and mindfulness. The irony that, now I feel better than  I have in many years I am restricted to a life similar to the one I lived all that time in solitude and often despair, isn't wasted on me.

For those feeling so restricted, remember this: You have been asked to stay home for twelve weeks, maybe longer. Some people are restricted to that kind of lifestyle for many years, without proper support. That is why I have written so much and spoken so openly for over a decade now. Nothing I could have said or done would ever have made the point better than the crisis we are facing at the moment. Think of others. Support those you can and remember those whose lives are always this way and stay well yourselves.

See you next time..........................

Once upon a time in the west.

There are times when what you intend to do and what actually occurs are something quite different. When this happens, you may be left mildly inconvenienced or you may find yourself in some epic adventure that you feel you don’t any longer have control over. We tend to call it Sod’s law; a world where bad things happen in multiples of three (allegedly) and a world where shit definitely happens, just not when you expect it.

Now I think you can see where this is going, can’t you? I have just had a big birthday, my sixtieth to be exact. I don’t know how I got this far, but I’m glad that I did. Having spent my life riding motorcycles, climbing cliffs, flying paragliders and cycling on and off the road, chances are that I should have been dead long ago!  But by hook or crook I’m still here and by Keith Richard’s standards I’ve led a gentle and sheltered life.

Teresa asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday. Bearing in mind that nobody wants to party on the second of January, I decided that I would like to do a short tour. Maybe we could spend a few days riding back from Bristol, where Teresa grew up, to Dawlish where she now lives. Nothing too strenuous, a gentle new year introduction to 2020.

Not expecting the weather to be as warm as summer (It nearly was) we booked ourselves into a night with a Warm Showers host and a second at an Air B and B. Teresa was staying with me and part of the reason we were making this trip was to retrieve her Specialized Vita from her mums house, where it had been for two years. Therefore, we would initially travel independently. I would cycle to Eggesford from Hatherleigh and catch the train to Exeter whilst Teresa would catch a bus from my house to Exeter station. We would meet up, just as planned, and then travel to Bristol together. Along with one bike, get it? No, neither did the nice man we booked our tickets from during a twenty five minute phone call that only cyclists get to make, and pay for!

We had taken a quick look at the Vita on a previous visit to see Teresa’s mum and everything seemed to be in order. Even this was an omen; we couldn’t open the shed. It was stuck, and when I eventually forced it to let me in I then spent the next hour trying to rebuild a mortice lock that stubbornly did anything other than what it was designed to do. Having got nice and cold outside repairing the lock it was then time to ride Chuggaboom, my motorcycle, back to Devon, which was not ideal. The traffic was horrific on this journey and it took over twice the time it normally takes. But I digress.

The magic day arrived, and we were all ready to go. Excited like a child at Christmas, but a week late, I set off to ride to Eggesford station with plenty of time to spare and a great café to sit in at the station. The bike rode really well. It’s light and responsive nature made me grin and the vibration from the carbon-forks, when I braked, reminded me of skinny steel forks from times long gone.

It was cold, and windy, but it was also sunny and bright. The ride had two halves. Being only about twelve miles long it was mostly uphill for the first half and downhill for the second. Glorious Devon scenery of rounded, rolling hills in many shades green, unfolded like a woollen blanket as I slowly pedalled along. All the time I was getting closer to the warmth and the coffee that awaited me at the station café at Eggesford, a private run affair with excellent food and beverages.

I rumbled over the railway crossing and there was a big sign saying, ‘café open.’ I grinned. I love it when a plan comes together. I walked across to the narrow alley that leads to the door and there, all but hidden from public view, was another, much smaller sign saying ‘Café reopens on 6^th January 2020.’ Bugger. I spent the next 45 minutes shivering and shaking, waiting for the train, on a platform especially designed to allow and amplify maximum wind flow. The train arrived eventually bringing warmth and some comfort to my old bones.

Ah well, there are always a few hiccups. On arrival at Exeter St David’s I met Teresa and lunch was enjoyed by huddling in the Starbucks and pretending we had bought our sandwiches there along with the extortionately priced coffee. At least we were warm. On collecting our tickets from the ticket machine there was no bike reservation, despite the promises made during the excruciating long phone call with the man at GWR, who was actually a man in India who could hardly speak English. Having spent twenty-five minutes on the phone trying to book our bikes onto a train and paying for the privilege, I now had to go to the ticket office as well. A hopelessly useless and discriminatory system for reserving one of just two spaces per train.

Making our way to the suggested platform we noticed that there seemed to be a bit of a kafuffle going on. The screens had gone down and nobody knew what was happening. Our train, that originated in Plymouth, was delayed, first by minutes but growing all the time. Then we heard the Manchester train needed to arrive and terminate at our platform and we shouldn’t get on it. This was followed quickly by all the advisory boards going blank and then coming back online to say that they had been lying about that Manchester train and that we should all get on it if we still wished to go to Bristol and hadn’t lost the will to live. We were all confused.

Even the guards were clueless as this process repeated itself until nobody had any idea, nor cared, what was happening. Eventually we did board the train and aside from the guard constantly apologising for not being able to organise a piss up in a brewery every five minutes, we trundled off worry free to Temple Meads in Bristol.

A pleasant evening was spent with Teresa’s mum and the dawning of a new day saw us forgetting the hassle of getting here yesterday. It was bright and sunny as I removed the bikes from the now mended shed, Sadly, as soon as I did, the lock went again! After a short burst of swearing, and remembering what I did previously, I soon had it ‘fixed’ and we were on our way.

We were heading out of Bristol toward Clevedon when we came across the first hill of the day. I changed gear and was settling into a rhythm when the scraping noise of non-compliance from Teresa’s bike caught my attention. It wouldn’t change down at the front. Of course, I hadn’t checked that, being in a hurry to depart Bristol on our previous visit. It had been nagging me. Don’t tour on an untried bike, my mind kept repeating. This thought had been with me for over a week, but I kept suppressing it. What a fool I am?

For the next thirty minutes I was a whirring mass of spanners and swear words. I hate front mechs. They are fiddly and all seem have a mind of their own. I don’t mind when I’m at home with my tools, but not out here at the side of a main road whilst others stared as they went about their morning run. Why didn’t I try this prior to leaving? I kept chastising myself, unnecessarily. Oh well, needs must, as they say. I did fix it eventually, noticing the partly shredded cable that you couldn’t see until I removed it! I wonder if that will last I thought, as I remembered that I hadn’t packed a spare cable, something I always do. I also wondered whether the bottom bracket was the right one as the changer would only travel so far, but that’s another story.

We set off again into a world of ever-increasing peace and quiet. The noise briefly rallied to a sharp crescendo as we pedalled over the motorway bridge, containing masses of vehicles all travelling somewhere to the sales after the Christmas break. It was with great pleasure that we turned away from this and picked up the route we needed to follow to Clevedon.

National Cycle Network route 410 saw us riding through Pill and Easton in Gordano. Easton in Gordano is a much nicer place than anyone who has been to the services might think, strewn with pretty cottages. Pill made us laugh, especially the Pill Clinic. Anyway, we didn’t get the last laugh because as we climbed the hill somewhere in this region there was a loud crack from Teresa’s bike, and she had to stop. This had happened twice previously, but now it became obvious what was going on. The pedals turned quite freely without driving he wheel around at all. The freehub was broken. I knew from experience that if I could get some lubrication into it that it might free up the pawls that I suspected were all gummed up from the bike sitting around for two years in a garage. We sat by the pavement sorting this out and a nice chap from one of the local houses came out offering support and possibly a lift, if we needed one. We chatted about all and sundry and I worked on freeing up the not-so free-hub. Eventually it was done and working, kind-of. I’m sure it would get us back to Bristol, if ridden gently, and we decided that that was it, game over. How could we trust this to get us back to Devon? We couldn’t, so it was back to Bristol to decide what to do next, get it fixed or go home.

We said goodbye to the lovely man who and set off again. It seems that every time you have difficulty when touring that somebody will appear from nowhere to help. It’s very uplifting and alters your view of the world and the people that live in it as it is so often sold through the media.

We headed back through Pill and Gordano, picking up National Cycle Network 41 into Bristol along the south bank of the Avon river below Leigh Woods (famous for its mountain bike trails). This route was suggested by the lovely man we had been talking to earlier. What a surprise. It was stunning. We had both wanted to come this way for a long time and not yet made it. Yet here I was squelching through the muddy trail of my imaginings by accident and enjoying every minute.

Slowly, slowly, we made our way along the ten miles back into Bristol. Given the timings and the weather forecast, we had all but decided that we were being told to go home on the train, after which we could ride around with impunity in our local environment. For me, those miles brought great memories. I haven’t seen the Avon Gorge climbing areas since I last climbed there back in 1984.

My mind whirred, remembering he climbs that I had completed there with my friends, one of whom now lives just up above the cliffs in Clifton. They were fabulous days and fond memories and I savoured them as we rode under the suspension bridge as I recalled the routes I climbed on that great buttress of limestone, belaying under the bridge itself.

My mind jerked back to the present. We had a plan. Find out about the train and then eat. On arrival at Temple Meads we found that their monitors had gone down here also and that they were not able to book our bikes on the fast train. We looked at each other and laughed. They did manage to book us onto another, less direct train at a much later time and we could still try to gain access to the earlier, faster train. As if that wasn’t enough, the lovely lady behind the window told us that we couldn’t get a train from Exeter to Dawlish as everybody was on strike. We would have to ride, broken bike or not, the twelve miles home along the estuary as replacement bus-services don’t take cycles. We sloped off feeling that we really weren’t supposed to have left home at all but that we were having a great adventure none-the­-less. We had seen things we wouldn’t have if it had gone to plan and were still riding the same distances, despite not going in the same direction as intended!

Luckily, we made it onto the first, faster, train, finding the awkward-to- use bike cupboards a real challenge. We’d had a good feeling about getting aboard this train and we alighted in Exeter a while later knowing we could always dump the bike Ride On and catch the bus. Well we would have been able to if Ride-On was open. We later found out that it was still closed for Christmas holidays. It looked as though we were meant to ride back to Dawlish, so we just got on  with it.

The gentle ride down the Exe Estuary was stunning. The sun shone intermittently, with soft showers of rain and distant rainbows making our eyes sparkle. Tinted in shades of yellow the water almost sparkled as the sun sank low in the sky. There was nobody around, just us, and whilst we were pleased to arrive home, we felt we had had a proper adventure, just a different one from the one expected. Needless to say, the bike ran, and continues to run, faultlessly ever since. A few beers helped us to mellow out after the stresses of the day and we soon felt dog-tired from our efforts.

The next day we took the Vita out for another ride after I had done a little work on her. We cycled the lanes around Dawlish and Exminster, far from crowds and surrounded by peaceful and soft countryside. Sometimes you do what you plan and sometimes you do something you are forced into. Both are enjoyable and both have their own purpose. The bike that had let us down now showed no signs at all that it wouldn’t have got us home had we chosen to continue.

Uphill and down dale the Vita shone, and Teresa smiled. She loves this bike, and I have now promised to rebuild it for her. If I was shut in a garage for two years, I would complain. That’s what the Vita did. Now released from captivity, she is enjoying life as it should be, covering miles with smiles that only cycling can bring. The moral of the story is simple: never leave a bike alone for years, and if you have, give it a good service prior to riding it any distance.

Life goes on

Life goes on.

This picture was taken on May 2nd 2011. I was leaving to cycle over 4000 miles around the UK coast to raise awareness of mental health issues and to try to combat the stigma that still seems attached to all mental health problems. Since then things have changed beyond recognition. People are talking  to one another, exchanging their experiences in a way that I never dreamed of back in 2009 when I began my Riding2Recovery process.

To me now, it all seems such a long time ago. My life has improved beyond all imagination. I am working part-time and have recently become engaged to a wonderful woman. The work I am doing is the best work I have ever undertaken: I teach young children to cycle.

Most of my time is spent teaching these youngsters how to ride correctly on the roads around Devon, whether they are tiny lanes or the streets in towns and cities. It seemed to me to be the best possible way that I could help the widest audience of people to manage their own mental health, by giving them access to something that seems to help people relax and let go of  the stresses and strains of life. In short, to be mindful.

As a Bikeasbility instructor, you wont earn a great deal of money. You are self-employed for a start and that can bring its own worries with it if you are not careful. That said, you are then privileged  to be able to work with tiny people and see their faces when they first ride a bicycle. Or adults who missed out and now lack confidence in their own ability to ride. You get to work with young people, many of which don't even walk to school. When you ask what they think Bikeability is about they almost always talk about safety first, or the possibility of dying. How sad is that? Did you ever think about dying when you were young? No, me neither (until I got ill and that doesn't count).

Many of these young minds have already been poisoned into believing that riding a bicycle on the road will lead to imminent death, when the fact is that cycling is much more likely to prolong your life than to shorten it. We have to combat that negativity every step o the way, from making sure young people can cross roads safely to much more advanced riding on multi-lane roads, round-abouts and suchlike, in most cases by the end of year seven (11-12 years old). We also need to tackle parental attitudes that don't help, like driving short distances to drop children at schools, clogging p the roads around the area, instead of riding or walking to school and campaigning for better cycle/walking infrastructure along with public transport.

There are just two hours spent off road to teach and revisit Bikeability level 1. After that, it's out on the roads (quiet ones) to learn all about how to use them to your best advantage (and when not to). For many children this is real awakening, something they haven't really considered as possible. To ride a bike on the road is a huge undertaking and not one they have considered.

Unsurprisingly, once they have undertaken a few 'on-road' exercises they start to enjoy it. They ask questions like 'are we going for a ride,' and get all excited as they realise we will be riding to a location away from school to use the local infrastructure or road junctions. By the end of a level 2 course, most are ready to start exploring the roads, some with guidance from parents and carers and others independently.

By year seven, they can undertake a level 3 course, much more advanced riding on busier roads. Some are ready for that, other need to mature further first. And that's where we hit a problem. Secondary schools, with a few notable exceptions like West Exe in Exeter, don't play ball. They feel that time taken away from the classroom is detrimental to the childrens learning. But what about life skills, sustainable living, tackling obesity and getting children to see that time away from screens can be cool too?

These courses are free for the schools that sign up and in my humble opinion, all children should undertake all of the courses from Balancability to Bikeability level 3. Why? Because it potentially unlocks so much freedom, helps to create a healthier population, will increase demand for cycle infrastructure as more people feel they can cycle to school/work and make our streets a more pleasant and varied place once more by removing some of the power from those who drive everywhere.

I'm not suggesting for a minute that everybody should cycle around. Not everybody wants to. But everybody should have a chance to learn, shouldn't they? When I was young it was a right of passage to learn to ride a bike. I still remember the feelings of adventure as I set off as a seven year old with my sister and a bag of jam sandwiches to explore the area we were about to move to. Regardless of what screens and computers have given us, which is a huge amount, being outside, using your physical ability and resting your mind will perhaps have a greater and greater place in our lives as we rely on intellect more and more in our workplaces.

Cycling for health has perhaps never been more important as we face a world that simply can not cope with our demands to buy, consume and throw away goods at will. We have to change and we have to do that now. Cycling, and teaching it, is the small contribution that Bikeability instructors are making. No matter what you believe about cycling, better infrastructure will take more people away from cars, unclogging the roads a little, helping clear city pollution. It will help young people to be healthier and have longevity in their lives and along with that it will help reduce the burden on the NHS at a time when it is creaking under the strains put upon it by our lifestyles.

Cycle for health? Cycle for fun and the health comes free.

See you next time.

It's been many years and two websites since I last posted on this blog.  I've now cycled extensively around Britain and have taken my wheels to France. I've written three books and am ten years older. Most importantly, I'm no longer in a mental health crisis. A decade disappeared in that all consuming darkness. I fought and tried, battled and cried, struggled and almost got consumed before finally finding some release, peace and mindfulness. I feel as though I'm returning to my roots by writing here. Cycling for health is no longer an ambition to circumnavigate the coast of Britain. That is done. It's now a lifestyle. It isn't any longer a series of journeys to raise money for charity. It is me, and I am it. I am whole. Or at least as whole as I ever will be.

I am now working again, part-time, as a Bikeability Cycle Instructor. I'ts the best work I've ever done. I get to teach kids to cycle on the roads (adults too) and get paid for it. It beyond my wildest dreams that I have got this far from where I was in 2009 when I began this blog. I am simply unrecognisable from that person, although there can be no doubt that both of them are me.

Who was the one who pulled me through? It was every facet of me that did that.  The adventurous one created the challenges that helped me feel life was worthwhile again. I tried to take care of him and the little person, the frightened one who had no confidence, so they could both grow into something new. Like twins they argued and challenged one another. The adult not always understanding the fear of the little one and the little one wondering why nobody was listening to his point of view, unable to feel his pain.

Eventually they did both listen, to one-another and to the world outside that they were both so afraid of. A calm overcame them slowly, one piand a light switched on that guided them to where they are now, living side by side in one man, separate but conjoined parts of the same being.  And the sum of those parts is me: Graeme, a man I have grown to like and enjoy being, not one wracked in pain and inadequacy but a content and fulfilled man.

It feels as though the shackles have been thrown off. I am free as a bird. There is no cage now and I can truly fly. My mind and my life are much calmer. I cycle gently, without a thought of performance, distance or speed of travel. I simply pass over the ground, sometimes slowly and sometimes with a little more urgency. I have cycled to work at dawn and returned in the darkness. I have introduced new people to cycling and the joys of using a bike for transport and leisure.

That has to be the biggest joy in life: giving somebody a new life-skill, one that they will have for the rest of their lives. It helps me square my own consumption of planetary goods and wares, safe in the knowledge that another person may walk lighter than I have in their lives with their newly acquired cycling skill and ,I hope, a sense of adventure with the desire to explore. You can see the light come on when somebody rides a bike for the first time. That sense of freedom and speed felt for the first time in a young life. The smile that accompanies it says it all, at least for me. It seems to say: Wow, I never knew you could have this much fun on a bike.

Young and old are no different. Older people smile just as widely when they learn to cycle or gain confidence to use their bike daily. And I smile too, happy in the knowledge that I helped them to gain the skill or confidence to stride out alone and explore a new (to them) world.

So my journey continues apace. I have a wonderful partner and friend with whom I share everything. We walk, cycle, eat, laugh and generally goof around. We sometimes work together and even that is a pleasure as we make such a good team. There is never enough time for us to spend together  as we would like and separation feels unnatural.