Dilithium Crystals
The weatherman said that it was gonna be 4 degrees at dawn this morning. I'm up early watching the 5am crapola BBC weather forecast whilst scoffing breakfast number one. Irrespective of the cold start it's gonna be a nice day so they say. It is officially spring; quite noticeable simply by the number of loud mouthed birds up at the same time as me. 'What's the weather going to be like today?' they shout through megaphones at their partners who simply look up into the cool bright airs and shout back... 'Nice!...'
I've now had several weeks locked up at home only broken by the voluntary delivery service I do for the local butcher. I'm effectively still isolated never less than 2 yards from any front door with only the cool meat and the warm seats in the newly acquired money pit. No not a new partner - it's a Range Rover with 'it's normal mate' expensive broken bits to keep me company. Drivable and safe it is but I reckon it will come second place in my lifetime list of 'things never to buy again'; first will be the yet to be bought 'so you like to burn 50 quid notes do ya?' 35 foot yacht when I get it.
It's early, very early for a bike ride but I do it. I dress up warm for the 4 degree start and go out for a ride along the pastry again avoiding all folk cos they're on the longest vacation ever so wont be out of bed until 10am. I really don't want to go out like this but the infrequent rides on the magnetic trainer, infrequent cos even with the best music playing in the background they're as boring as hell, means that to keep anything like biking fit I need to go for a ride on my bike.
The trees along the pastry are loaded with emergent greenery unlike the teenage trees in my garden which remain in bud because like the teenagers that they are cannot be arsed to get out of bed at this time of the year. The birds are arguing all around me about this morning's weather forecast. 'They said 4 degrees!' some shout - 'nah its more like 7!' others tweet. I tend to agree with the latter as I'm now stopped atop the Naburn railway swing bridge over the river Ouse gently steaming like an old chuffer - which I am of course.
To my left I see the sun rise. Gloriously golden at first gently forging to a solid silver light as cirrostratus clouds imperceptibly wander across its face. It's beautiful. I am alone with my bike. Gloriously alone except for the black birds, a black cat which did cross my path and the grey rabbits and trees. At this time of the day everything looks as though its in monochrome with everyone and everything waiting for the Sun to get fully out of bed and add a bit of colour to the day.
My warp engines - my legs - feel crap. I've obviously not used the magnetic trainer enough. I'm trying to pedal, so it feels, with zero energy dilithium crystals in my legs. I try to convince myself that its cos I'm riding into a headwind; cos I've had no carbohydrates for breakfast; cos I did not blow up the tyres before crawling off. In fact every excuse under the silver Sun except the truth. Which is.. I'm 57 and unless I keep on top of things my body is gonna start to fall to pieces.
As London Alan said to me last year the great thing about cycling as apposed to walking is that you feel like you are in the moment on every ride. Walking just gives you time to fret about things. Walking's like being on the magnetic trainer. Cycling outdoors does not give you the time for that. Things around you change much faster. I'm riding through it not trudging on it. With the wind in your face, the silvery sun still bereft of any warmth to your side and surrounded by the smell of the trees and the sounds of the birds and the flash of the sunlight through the emergent undergrowth, well there's no better place to be.
I'm travelling along at warp factor one cruising past the planets on the hyperspace pastry - sizes and distances to scale - set on steel and stone pillars at the side of the path. My legs feel tired. I pass the other Wayne, well the plaque that reminds us of him to my left and I wish him a very good morning. As I approach Riccall I squint and can see small L.S. Lowry shaped matchstick figures in the distance, silhouetted in the early morning light at the very end of a verdant green hyperspace tunnel.
I'm about 8 miles from home. I've been telling myself repeatedly that when I get to the end of the pastry I'm gonna turn around and zoom all the way back. That will be enough for today. I reach Pluto and instead of doing the preverbal handbrake U turn I suddenly change my mind and push on into Riccall - a region of space associated with the Dog star - with the intention to zoom around the OORT cloud for a while before pushing back for home. Well I may have decided to go on a bit but for sure my legs did the U turn at Pluto and enthusiastically zoomed off back down the pastry at warp factor 9 having ejected my 20 stones or so of blubber during the turn.
I'm in the OORT cloud. My engines are dead. She 'canna make it cap'n' barks Audrey II as I make slow headway through the outer reaches. Then I hit the solar wind as I turn back towards home. My Dilithium crystals ran off with my legs at Pluto leaving me, as us sailors say, 'in irons' into a headwind. I'm now on impulse power. I must get home.
I've now had several weeks locked up at home only broken by the voluntary delivery service I do for the local butcher. I'm effectively still isolated never less than 2 yards from any front door with only the cool meat and the warm seats in the newly acquired money pit. No not a new partner - it's a Range Rover with 'it's normal mate' expensive broken bits to keep me company. Drivable and safe it is but I reckon it will come second place in my lifetime list of 'things never to buy again'; first will be the yet to be bought 'so you like to burn 50 quid notes do ya?' 35 foot yacht when I get it.
It's early, very early for a bike ride but I do it. I dress up warm for the 4 degree start and go out for a ride along the pastry again avoiding all folk cos they're on the longest vacation ever so wont be out of bed until 10am. I really don't want to go out like this but the infrequent rides on the magnetic trainer, infrequent cos even with the best music playing in the background they're as boring as hell, means that to keep anything like biking fit I need to go for a ride on my bike.
The trees along the pastry are loaded with emergent greenery unlike the teenage trees in my garden which remain in bud because like the teenagers that they are cannot be arsed to get out of bed at this time of the year. The birds are arguing all around me about this morning's weather forecast. 'They said 4 degrees!' some shout - 'nah its more like 7!' others tweet. I tend to agree with the latter as I'm now stopped atop the Naburn railway swing bridge over the river Ouse gently steaming like an old chuffer - which I am of course.
To my left I see the sun rise. Gloriously golden at first gently forging to a solid silver light as cirrostratus clouds imperceptibly wander across its face. It's beautiful. I am alone with my bike. Gloriously alone except for the black birds, a black cat which did cross my path and the grey rabbits and trees. At this time of the day everything looks as though its in monochrome with everyone and everything waiting for the Sun to get fully out of bed and add a bit of colour to the day.
My warp engines - my legs - feel crap. I've obviously not used the magnetic trainer enough. I'm trying to pedal, so it feels, with zero energy dilithium crystals in my legs. I try to convince myself that its cos I'm riding into a headwind; cos I've had no carbohydrates for breakfast; cos I did not blow up the tyres before crawling off. In fact every excuse under the silver Sun except the truth. Which is.. I'm 57 and unless I keep on top of things my body is gonna start to fall to pieces.
As London Alan said to me last year the great thing about cycling as apposed to walking is that you feel like you are in the moment on every ride. Walking just gives you time to fret about things. Walking's like being on the magnetic trainer. Cycling outdoors does not give you the time for that. Things around you change much faster. I'm riding through it not trudging on it. With the wind in your face, the silvery sun still bereft of any warmth to your side and surrounded by the smell of the trees and the sounds of the birds and the flash of the sunlight through the emergent undergrowth, well there's no better place to be.
I'm travelling along at warp factor one cruising past the planets on the hyperspace pastry - sizes and distances to scale - set on steel and stone pillars at the side of the path. My legs feel tired. I pass the other Wayne, well the plaque that reminds us of him to my left and I wish him a very good morning. As I approach Riccall I squint and can see small L.S. Lowry shaped matchstick figures in the distance, silhouetted in the early morning light at the very end of a verdant green hyperspace tunnel.
I'm about 8 miles from home. I've been telling myself repeatedly that when I get to the end of the pastry I'm gonna turn around and zoom all the way back. That will be enough for today. I reach Pluto and instead of doing the preverbal handbrake U turn I suddenly change my mind and push on into Riccall - a region of space associated with the Dog star - with the intention to zoom around the OORT cloud for a while before pushing back for home. Well I may have decided to go on a bit but for sure my legs did the U turn at Pluto and enthusiastically zoomed off back down the pastry at warp factor 9 having ejected my 20 stones or so of blubber during the turn.
I'm in the OORT cloud. My engines are dead. She 'canna make it cap'n' barks Audrey II as I make slow headway through the outer reaches. Then I hit the solar wind as I turn back towards home. My Dilithium crystals ran off with my legs at Pluto leaving me, as us sailors say, 'in irons' into a headwind. I'm now on impulse power. I must get home.
The solar wind - I love the wind - is particularly strong today. Shields are down. Coronal Mass Ejections rake hard against my aged outer skin. I may as well be back on the magnetic trainer for all the progress I'm making today. Again I ask myself why I make it so hard? So I slow down, lift my head, spot the sun now on my right hand side and notice its warmth gently washing over my cool body.
It's about now, somewhere around Stillingfleet, that my legs - all agog and happy and whizzy like a young child racing on ahead of mum or dad - decide to look around to check if I am still there. Being that I failed to make the U turn at Pluto my legs had that sudden aw feck moment just before the panic set in and off they went searching the outer regions for a dense gravitational field which would eventually draw them to me.
Somewhere around Naburn my legs arrived. I can't explain it as I had not a jot of food nor water with me but about 5 miles to go to home they're back. Audrey II looks up with a smug grin on her face waiting for praise for getting some power back in my Dilithium Crystals.
Before I know it I'm back home. It's 7.30. The roads are starting to busy up as the early risers make their way to stand for an age in the queues which are neatly forming outside my local Tesco superstore. At home I dock and put the starship to bed. Breakfast number 2 is poured down my throat along with a pint of tea. I'm recharged and ready for what the weathermen say is going to be a glorious day.
It's about now, somewhere around Stillingfleet, that my legs - all agog and happy and whizzy like a young child racing on ahead of mum or dad - decide to look around to check if I am still there. Being that I failed to make the U turn at Pluto my legs had that sudden aw feck moment just before the panic set in and off they went searching the outer regions for a dense gravitational field which would eventually draw them to me.
Somewhere around Naburn my legs arrived. I can't explain it as I had not a jot of food nor water with me but about 5 miles to go to home they're back. Audrey II looks up with a smug grin on her face waiting for praise for getting some power back in my Dilithium Crystals.
Before I know it I'm back home. It's 7.30. The roads are starting to busy up as the early risers make their way to stand for an age in the queues which are neatly forming outside my local Tesco superstore. At home I dock and put the starship to bed. Breakfast number 2 is poured down my throat along with a pint of tea. I'm recharged and ready for what the weathermen say is going to be a glorious day.
It's amazing how often the European sourced forecast on TV no longer resembles reality. So I take a leaf from the birds book of weather forecasting, look out of the window and up into a bright blue sky and say.
'It's gonna be a nice day today'.
'It's gonna be a nice day today'.
Wayne
ReplyDeleteHow are you mate ? Hope your enjoying retirement. You deserve it. Be a few years yet before I'll be able to afford to retire !
I chose the start of the year to go self-employed as an IT Audit Consultant. My timing never was good. Three months in and I'd started to establish a client network in Broxbourne, Coventry, Hackney and Telford. Only for the Covid pandemic to completely stop me in my tracks.
Hey it's only money. I read your blog on fund raising for cancer charities. Well impressed. That cycle from Cornwall to Scotland must have been brutal. Must have taken some stamina.
I still keep in touch with a few guys from BT Internal Audit. Me, Andy Hickey and Mark Tyler have a jolly boys weekend each year in Italy. Ironically we always stay in Bergamo. Controversial... Think there's a good chance we'll skip Milan, Lake Garda and Verona this year.
Hope your surviving this Covid business. Sending me somewhat stir crazy. That and trying to stop my two daughters killing each other !
Take care and stay safe.
Pete