Overdue Afternoon ogBlay Session / and Another Trip Report

Hello Webbers,

I have returned, scathed, from a strange period. If you read my previous post, about a failed trip to Brighton, then you will know about my descending into a work-consumed life. I descended for a long period, and am still descending into a situation with certain demands and certain set of comforts, and pleasures. Although it's all still positive in the peanut factory, I am ready for a change.

Work (with his cigarette and briefcase), sits on one shoulder, while Play (wearing sandals),  sits on the other shoulder; they feed two opposing ideas through the canals of the ears and into the central operating room where a little version of me (without features) is listening and making decisions, for the rest of me to act upon. Work wants me to prove myself and to excel, to rest infrequently and to trade all joy-bringers for a cigarette and a glass of alcohol after a hard day on the job. Work wants to work more, to speed up time and to drown out the little fella who sits on the other shoulder. Play is whispering in the other ear to run, to stretch, to work my body and meditate my mind, to rest, and to learn. Play wants me to live my life, and more importantly, to have the time to blog about it too.

Recently, a major life-change, the closing of a chapter, has slowly started to well up in the joints around Work's fingers. It has gotten so bad that he's unable to work the machinery, and has reduced his hours in the factory significantly. It's the burn-out that Work knows and avoids, but it's the same fire that he cannot help but stoke and poke. I am relocating to Denmark, with Julie, in the coming weeks! With the decision to bring this idea of our next chapter forward by a year or two. And happily so, because with the move comes the chance to drain the ear canals, and to dredge them, and clean them. Although Work is still the weightier of the two (with his belly that he can't burn off and without the care for the diet to support it), his condition is spreading slowly from the joints in his fingers throughout the rest of the body, and in six weeks time, he will be on his death bed. I have decided to mark his passing with a celebration. Something to blog about!

In four weeks I will finish working my demanding job, and in six weeks I will start cycling with Jake, Pietro, Anton and possibly a new companion, Will, towards my new life in Denmark. Six countries in two weeks. Nothing worth writing a book about, but definitely worth doin' some blogging for.

More to come in the next six weeks on how things look pre-trip, but the important thing is that for the last four months I have had a reason to quit my line work at the peanut factory, and I have had (liberatingly so) something to look forward to! 

The plant from Jake (see previous post), at time of writing. 

Now that you're up to speed with the major life update, I'll follow with a short Trip Report. But first...

'The Main Stem' is a term used in hobo language to describe the most concentrated street in Hobohemia. Where hobos congregated when they were in town. There was hobohemia, and a Main Stem in cities that used to lie on major intersections of different railway lines that crisscrossed the United States. Stations where workers would find themselves passing through regularly, needing a feed, needing to pass the time, and needing to find a new lead for labour. Company wants what company is and it was either in a jungle, a makeshift camp outside of town, away from the weight of civilised life (and within earshot of the rails) where it was one man's word for work that set a hobo back on the rails bound to said spoken prospect. Otherwise, you'd find them at the Stem. A street in town that the civil in civilisation avoided, and where the hobos could share company, trade stories and spend their earnings. Naturally The Main Stem accepted also, those who felt set apart from society; the maimed, the disabled and others who needed or chose to beg and those working in professions seen as 'unclean'. The accommodation, the eateries and the 'entertainment' of The Main Stem were in mutual reliance with the migratory workers that occupied them. These establishments were flanked only by the necessary union and employment offices that give the workers a time to move on, a place to move on to, and when their earnings run dry, the conviction to get them to where they ought to go. I'm not sure where I was going with this analogy now. I suppose I feel a bit like a bo. Down and out, from one stint to the next. It's a fitting title for my blog when more than half of the trip reports so far involved premature termination and the total disintegration of the will to succeed. Couple that with my working, smoking, drinking, and repairing the limited rotations in my wardrobe, and I'll let you figure out what I was trying to do with that analogy.

Breaking the beautiful bo moment, to revisit my last Trip Report with the satisfaction of not coming up short, the second time.

(I make a lot of references in this post to the previous trip report - which you can read here)

Last time, Jake, Anton and I tried to ride to Brighton, from London, relatively unprepared, without sufficient breakfast and decided to do so 'all offroad'. We were misled by a route that we expected to take the better part of a day. We set off early, as you should, but we reached Guildford (do not look at a map) after lunchtime and we were buggered. On top of being in Guildford, we had short daylight hours, and no lights for our bicycles, and progress made 'off-road' is not comparable to progress made on the tarmac. We took a train from Guildford to Brighton, and swung by The Heart and Hand for a few pints of neck oil. We ended up having a great night, getting flat-fish turbo with Jake's Brighton friends.

Round two. During the earlier preparation stages for our cycle to Denmark, we thought we should revisit our route selection and make a re-attempt of our cycle to Brighton. Needless to say, this one went better.

King's should eat like a king eats; so breakfast was lots of toast, eggs, salmon, avocado, halloumi and fermented hot sauce for that extra propulsion. This combo, plus some coffee, meant we all shed a load from the previous nights' harissa baked hake, and reached a weight equilibrium perfect for riding. Out with the old, in with the new. No great breakfast could have trumped Anton's excellent selection of Komoot route to Brighton. It was much longer than most routes because it avoided main roads almost completely, and took you southbound on peaceful roads over farmland, family estates, past a Scientology Church, up and down lovely hills and in and out of parkland. It was about as beautiful as I have ever thought about England to be, being a hideous country. Somehow, the rain that was forecast for us held off the entire day. It wasn't too hot, nor too cold. The riding was easy for the most part, and just the right amount of demanding at moments. The amalgamation of all these components, meant the 126km, compared to last times 80-odd, felt easy. We had clearly learnt a lot from our mistakes, putting our money where our mouths were the second time around. The thing that struck me most-satisfyingly-so was how all those factors made an easier ride, and consequentially a much more enjoyable trip. The stats were better, but the purity of the riding experience is what really stuck me as worthwhile in the end. We just had a great day. 

Quiet ridin' makes for good conversations

You are what you eat

The author, post lunch stop, vibes are high

Getting ready for what's to come

Every story (even if just for a night) must have a climax, in order to have a resolution. Ours, was Ditchling Beacon. Commonly referred to as 'Dirty Boy' or 'Dangling Bacon', Ditchling Beacon is a big fat steep hill that sits to the north of Brighton. It is (I type proudly) the highest point in East Sussex.

Sitting sadly 100km into our days ride, it is the 'Dirty Boy' that we had to 'wipe clean' in order to put this Brighton trip to rest. Jake had been warning us all day. Oh the Beacon. I've never made it to the top. You think that's a hill? The Bacon Dangler will kill you. The legend goes that it's called 'Dangling Bacon' because of the many micro-plateaus that happen when you are climbing. Where the gradient shifts by a few degrees and your body, already waterboarded and stretched on the rack, thinks that sweet relief is there to greet you. It's only when you realise that you still cannot see the skyline above the road in front of you, that it dawns that it was just a piece of bacon dangling on a string. Our pescatarian (and high fat, high protein, high carbohydrate breakfast) meant we were passing carbon-frame-big-wheeler-motherfuckers, on our dingy little 26" wheels. Low gears, nasal breathing, and a day of good living behind us - we summited the Dirty Boy after forty minutes and handed him a towel. 

On top, the rain arrived lightly, holding out for us until I reached the top (last of the three of us) and we took some time to sit, and look out over all we had accomplished. We took some pictures of some people and they, of us. We knew we had climaxed and Jake promised, as well, that once the Bacon Burger had been assembled, it was all a downhill smear to Brighton. You won't even have to pedal, he said. 

The worst and best photo I've ever been in

'Skat, we made it up the big hill'

'Skat, we made it up the big hill'

Egos inflated, we pulled up at The Heart and Hand, for the second time. We had been thinking about that beer for 126 kilometers. We made friends with a fella, Ben, who was enjoying his recently chosen unemployment with a neck oil. Good idea Ben. We spoke about the day, about cycling, of which Ben had done a lot of in his time, about work, travel, and how we all ended up crossing paths. Ben heard about the blogs, naturally so, we don't shutup about them when there's a potential blogger about - and he graced us with his. Let it speak for itself -- Cycle Lists -- I hope you somehow kept my blog URL Ben, and you one day read this. All hail the new traffic. Traffic is okay when it's on the WWW!

The touch of victory. Where's Phil Collins when you need him?

The Heart and Hand, drinking a few ice coldies. Photo by Ben!

If completing this trip was in part a test of what our ride to Denmark would be like, it was a good one to add to the confidence and a good idea of the millions of moments to look forward to in summer.