Fat Bloke on a Bike

 Well, I’m back at home on my left hand side trying to keep the gas bubble in the correct place again for the next seven days. After the Scotland bike ride on the Friday last week I noticed a disturbance in my left eye. This time looked like a dark bubble on the very periphery of my vision. Now I had been told by the Eye Clinic after my retina detachment back in 2023 that I was at higher risk of it happening again. And if there was any further disturbances, I should go back to them for a check. Of course I kept an eye on it over the weekend which of course made me boss eyed 👀 There was no change but as soon as the eye clinic opened last Monday I went in. I describe the problem ro the consultant. No waiting forever in accident and emergency this time, which was good.  They thought yes this is another retina detachment but all the checks and scanning that they did found nothing wrong. So I was sent home with an appointment for this week to come back and have a peripheral vision...

We're home. Me and Brad the Lad arrived back in York just before 8pm last night. I bought my final calorific take away and entered my house. Hello Wayne, she said. Did you have a nice time dear? Yes I did thank you very much.. And Sleeeep... The way she said it was long and drawn out as though being put under the influence of a hypnotist - so low was her tone. It put me into a coma. There is something about being back in ones own bed that gives such a welcome rest. A deep sleep in which I did not dream? No, perhaps I did. The last 2 weeks were but a dream, surely? The days have gone so fast. Perhaps I didn't make it too clear in yesterday's mad update but the ride into Moffat was bloody stiff. In that uphill all the way kinda stiffness into a very stiff wind. It almost gave me an erection. And squally rain.  No other option though to get to Moffat as there are no trains serving that route and it's where Southside and his wife Geri live. Southside passes the t...

It's a terrible affliction. Ones not born with it. Nature it is not. Something to do with his upbringing methinks. Brad the Lad was born on boxing day 1998. How unlucky huh. To have a birthday that follows christmas day is almost as bad as being born on the big day itself. Would you like a party on your birthday Bradley his mum would say. Even as a three year old he had learnt all four words of no feck off mum which didn't always come out in the correct order but he was trying bless the lad. As a young shaver he got a used bike every Christmas off his dad, a scrap metal dealer and wannabe Steptoe, he kept his son supplied fresh with ex Christmas bikes of other no feck off mum kids at the side of the house. As his father Allan has a lot to answer for. It must have something to do with the fact that daddy always sported a number one or at times even a close shaven head. I think the lad was zapped by the light; the reflections from daddy’s head ever since he followed him into a we...

Did you sleep? So asked the conductor of London Alan as the non-sleeper train navigated the remaining miles into Euston. At the best of times London Alan does not sleep well. Even with his industrial noise cancelling earplugs the slightest disturbance will wake him. But he does sleep. The guard however was worried. No sooner had the second of two knocks hit the cubicle door was it swiftly opened and there stood all wrapped in black spandex with waterproof toe tectors on ready to go was London Alan. Wild of eye and wearing a toothy smile so wide it could have been blown there by any of the hundred of so North Atlantic storms that hit us in the previous days. Gibbering lightly to himself he starts to tell the guard of the stupendous ride he has just done. Of the fantastical scenery, the wind and the rain, of the people he has met, of the huge miles ridden and feet climbed.  With the tray full of eggs and bacon and with Alan’s sausage in his hand the conductor is forced to sit down ...

(This is based on a true situation….) I have a story to tell. Of a man who went tour cycling. Who today is locked up in a mental asylum. Here’s it is … I knew things were going wrong the day I entrusted him to look after the route planning. The risk of death en route like as happens to the unwary who attempt to scale mount Everest for the very first time, was high. Not me though. I am a confident mountain cyclist and anyway had taken this route before. Sadly the deterioration of my energy left me exposed to the planning assessment made by others and their preparations for the team’s ascent. I just no longer gave a damn. Bugger the planning. Let someone else do it for I have had enough already! So I thought… Firstly I departed base camp 5 in Fort Augustus to explore the delights of the meagre washing facilities at the Spar cum filling station (snigger) at base camp 4. It’s a place just beside the Caledonian canal’s sweep of outward bound locks. The provisions store opened at 8 am pro...

Being that I am now in my 60’s and that both my uncles suffered with dementia I figure that there are not too many years left before I won't remember any of this. It is the core reason why I write into this blog and produce - eventually - videos of the journeys that I take on my bike.  Its all for me!  But very happy if you are enjoying some of it too.  🤗 God willing there will be a future where at worst when the care assistant says to me ‘good morning Mr Tyssen watching your videos again are we’ that I will again say not too politely to her ‘feck off’ and then get on recounting my electronic memories. Perhaps one day but not yet not yet.  Until then and because I want a day off from writing poop  here are some things to think about  1. When I finally produce my Scotland 2025 tour video of which we have taken fecking gigatons of the raw stuff it will include some M83 music again very much like this: 2. In conjunction with images such as these - look at the...

Food. An important consumable when doing these tour bike rides. The mad mileage and mad feet climbed places a very heavy load on ones legs and arse and testicles and perineum and knees and lungs and heart and.. well every damn part of ones body. So it has to be fuelled. One never finds a Scot on a bike. That is unless they’ve got good teeth. Like the young uns. One needs to masticate a lot to get the calories in. Down the chute it goes to a vorant Audrey II who is quite into the cycle tour routine again. Pressing the buzzer repeatedly most mornings demanding something calorific down the chute to feed the furnace. And having loaded her old greek airport baggage carousel with the remains of yesterday she also hovers her hand over the green start button ready to hit it any time I might pass the entrance to a toilet. Not only has she fit a new double the horsepower electric motor to really get things shifting shes also greased the bomb bay doors and rails and fit a new datalink to Brian ...