The Golden Globe

If you ever got stuck in a lift in Leeds, London or Liverpool with three strangers what would you expect the 'Ice breaker' to be?
The answer is something that bookmakers would not even take bets on - The Weather.

We seem totally obsessed with talking about it.

Comments about the weather seem to have the same importance and promote the same passions as ones favorite football team.

When people snarl on monday morning, muttering that it was a 'bloody diascrace', its difficult to work out whether or not they are talking about Hull Citys woeful performance or that of the local weather man.

Daily courtesies have been hijacked - with the traditional 'Good Morning' being replaced by 'Hasnt it been cold lately' 

I have to confess with five apps on my phone relating to the weather I too have been influenced
Almost hourly looking to see how wet, windy and warm it may or may not be.

Whilst others might be gauging this phenomenon for the possibility of golf, gardening or alfresco gastronomy. For me its about Cycling.
The early season sportives have supplied weather conditions so adverse that I would not normally consider recreational riding.
High Winds, driving rain and plummeting temperatures were delivered in good measure, its been so grim.
However having forced myself to take part, I have now become conditioned.
Poor weather seems to have become part of my cycling arena.

If I was being reviewed by a Psychiatrist and they showed me association cards it would be easy peasy

Down hill Skiing = Snow
Beach Volleyball = Sunshine
Cross country Skiing = Snow
Sand castle competition = Sunshine
Snow ball Fights = Snow
Sailing = Wind
Kite Surfing = Wind
Wet T shit competition = Rain
Mud Wrestling = Rain
Cycling = Wind, rain , Freezing Cold
100%

Its not such a bad thing though - It takes away any deliberation.
Before I used to talk myself out of rides.
'Its far too windy'
'Its far too cold'
'Its too wet'
I now just go out and pedal........... and let the weather take care of itself.
If its poor,
I expect it.....If its better than poor
I smile because its always a bonus.

On one such recent day we took off to Dalby Forrest in North Yorkshire.
It was a chilly start, but soon we saw this Golden Globe in the sky which seemed to emanate a greater degree of light and some unaccustomed warmth.
Coats, and arm warmers were discarded, dark lenses were clicked into eye frames and perspiration was encountered.
After much debate we decided that the celestial object might be the sun, but none of us could quite remember what it looked like.

As Bobby was wearing his Arizona Cycle jersey with the sun brazened across the chest we thought that it may have been seen as some sort of Celtic offering of appeasement to nature.
That the Gods had seen his Cycle Jersey and blessed us.
What we all agreed on was that it was welcome.

A great day was had by all and other days soon followed.
Summer may have arrived as far as the Calendar is concerned but the Winter Gloves, booties and Coat are still in the hallway.



One of our American Mules Dani Hochleutner recently summoned up the weather far better than I ever could :-

The COLD just makes me angry, so I have learned to be well equipped.

The RAIN makes little difference to me, surprisingly. I simply adjust my speed and feel a bit like a little kid again.

The WIND. I looked up the definition of wind and it said "air in its natural movement" which sounds harmless enough. But HEAD WINDS and CROSS WINDS batter at my confidence and have me question my resolve. Thoughts like "go home", "just quit", "turn around" hit me with each peddle stroke. And then that infamous TAIL WIND whispers false confidence that I am better than I actually am.

So I learn something about myself every time I get on my bike. I learn how to be with the reality of who I am, in a world I can't control, and to adjust. Easily, calmly and thoughtfully I move into alignment with the elements of my resistance to becoming something better, faster, and stronger. And eventually I make it back home.
Happy Cycling

Waves to Wine - The Grapes of Wrath

In John Steinbecks heralded Novel 'The grapes of Wrath' he traces the fortune of the Joad family.

They travel  from Oklahoma to California leaving behind them their arid flat lands which have turned into a dust bowl.

There journey takes them in search of 'better' land on which to till and toil, and ply their trade.

Like most of Stienbecks work, the richness of this novel is as much  to do with the characters as it has to do with the story. He not only takes the reader on a physical journey across the United States but traces out the respective internal journeys of his subjects.

He lets us feel their pain, their anguish and sometimes their desperation.

Having spent much of my life travelling, both geographically and emotionally, I like Steinbecks literary inspiration.

For me any journey of consequence, is an adventure.
The more 'bolt ons' the bigger the adventure.
Often the experience can become ingrained inside you and deliver up long lasting multiple emotions.
Mostly positive, but other times, as in the case of the Joad Family things don't quite live up to their expectations.

In September there was mini migration of Mules following a similar ambition.
For us it was to take part in a two day charity ride called 'Waves to Wine'.
No ordinary journey - but from San Fransisco way up into the wine region over some big lumps on the way !!!!!!

The Mules came from afar.
Some from the arid flat lands of Houston, but others from further a field, China, Boston, and for myself Beverley in East Yorkshire.

Like the Joads we set out to California to find something different, something life changing, something spectacular.

In the Grapes of Wrath Steinbeck introduces his own Mule of sorts in his character- Muley Graves.
Muley is stuborn, he sees the attraction of moving, but fears the unknown and ultimately remains in Oklahoma.
How many times in your life do you say 'I wish I didn't go?
How many times do you say 'Awwwwwwww I wish that I had gone ?'

Its curious, as I get older, experience would traditionally dictate that I take less risks.
I'd be expected to look for my pipe and slippers, before my cleated shoes and helmet.
But putting tradition aside 'Experience' can also be liberating.
It teaches you that you must grasp things sometimes, or the chance will be gone for ever.

Like San Fransisco, I prefer my life with peaks and troughs - rather than stagnating in the flat lands


And so for the trip.......
As the plane swooped down over the surrounding mountains and made its final approach I could see the land on one side and the sea the other.
Fish nets and Fruit Trees,
Trawlers and Telecom Industries,
Wine and Waves.
Good name choice for the ride I chuckled to myself

Walking the streets of San Fransisco was certainly different from Houston.

For a start - there were pavements that you could walk on.

Secondly, you did not feel like you should be carrying a tin full of coins and carrying a plaque.
I'm sure you would have seen it - drawing attention to the fact that your dog was ill and that you had not eaten for a week.

Lastly when you walk in SF you are accompanied by others, hundreds of them - a living rainbow of diversity.

Cosmopolitan with a big Capital C.

With limited time to fully explore I found my 2nd visit ending like my first.

With a mental note to myself - demanding a future visit.

Us  Mules  turned our wheels at 7am on a Saturday Morning in late September.
We left San Fransisco along the Coast towards the 'GGB' as we affectionately called it.
By rights its burnt ochre structure should have been shrouded in fog or low cloud, but sensing our arrival it decided to show off.

The wind was turned off, the morning light intensified, and the clouds were chased off towards the horizon.

The Golden Gate was golden alright.
In its true majesty, It strutted across the watery void like an arrogant king.

As I crossed the divide I enveloped it and tried to memorise every second..
I knew what I was experiencing was a big tick, very close to the top of my bucket list.

After crossing the bridge we dropped down into Sausalito hugging the shoreline up Richardson Bay.

The water was so close you could smell the seaweed.

By this time the Morning coolness had departed and as the sun warmed our shoulders.
The calm waters provided an alluring aquatic invitation.

Thankfully I was strong willed, so my wheels remained dry. 

We followed Highway 1 north of Sausalito before turning north, towards Stinson Beach.

Not wanting to delude myself, I knew there was some real cycling to do before we might get sand in our shoes.

Ahead of us was 2,571 feet of rock in the form of - Mount Tamalpais

The only way was up, made possible by a steady succession of switchbacks.
Prior to the ride we had all promised to stick together as much as we could, but accepted that when it came to the climbs we all had to go at our own pace.
After watching Charles move steadily away from me and Lee come alongside, I remained focused and tried to keep a comfortable rhythm whilst being as relaxed as I could.
On the switch backs I was forced out of my  saddle much to Paddys annoyance by neglecting my domestique duties.

Even though it was tough - I loved the climbing, the scenery was  breath taking.
With constant turns and switchbacks there seemed to be a visual gift behind every corner.

Although some of my fellow Mules (The antipodeans)  were great climbers this was not really their territory, they were more used to the Texas flat lands.
Going up was great but coming down was very Technical.
It was like flirting with the devils daughter, exciting but F**king dangerous, and I flirted like mad.
I am sure my fellow riders 35 mph descent was thrilling and very exhilarating.

My 48 mph roller coaster ride to Stinson beach was just plain bonkers.
It was also by far the greatest cycling experience of my life.
Yes even better than my chance encounter with meeting Bradley Wiggins.

The rest of the day was tough. It got hotter and hotter and as we moved inland the lush green turned to  a scorched arid terrain. The climbs came thick and fast and we reassembled to look after one another.
Charles asked Paddy sympathetically  'How you doing mate did you go into the red Zone.
Paddy replied solemnly. 'Charlie..........I have never left the red zone.'

By own support for Sam also back-fired.
As we climbed the wall in the Midday sun Sam very flatteringly used me as a pace maker.
At one point she started to slip back so realising I was close to the top, encouragement was the obvious course of action.
Come on Sam I cried....nearly at the top.

Moments later I reached the visual crest only to see the road rise up again even steeper.

The smile on her face lasted only a few seconds, as I finished my first sentence.
Sam........Its not the top.

As we moved closer to the finish the thought of beer came to mind.....Cold Beer.

Not far away.

In such a momentary lapse of concentration I failed to see what could only be described as a small chasm on the road in front of me.
My last minute bunny hop only made things worse as my back wheel landed in the hole.
It was my first puncture for the year but I was in good company.

The hazard took a number of scalps as a samll posse assembled around, rider after rider cursing the highway agency.

It did not stop there after we had got going we then had puncture after puncture.

I felt guilty. Obviously I was jinxed by my earlier downhill dalliances with the devil and brought a curse upon the Mules.

Eventually we made it 104 miles of love and hate, pain and pleasure........Waves and maybe a few drops of wine.

On the journey I made some great new friends, not only my fellow riders of Charlie, Lee, Sam, John, and Dave but also BJ and Sonni who without there help in transporting our gear the trip would not have happened.

They also did 'Intel' checks on the beer and Vineyards.

Now thats what I call support.

Sonni from Aus is also a blogist who writes about Houston and what attractions you can find on and off the beaten track. Its called Finding Houston

When I was not drinking or cycling Sonni and I bored everyone else talking about writing.

She also tried to make sure I had a hangover every morning.

Thank you Girls

By the time I get to Phoenix

After hearing about our American exploits one of our premier Anglo Mules 'Bobby', decided that he wanted to experience some of it and did some 'Muling' in Arizona at the end of November.

Being Scottish he was even able to find a sympathetic town called 'Scottsdale' which was 'newer than than a single Malt'. Whilst out for a ride he came across a film crew who were by a lake making a film about trout fishing.

Now Bobby knows a thing or two about this subject matter and decided that he would share it.

Within the time it takes for a pedal to rotate the Camera was nicely focused on his 'Travels with my Mule shirt' (And him) where Bobby imparted his own experiences.

Although this started with Fishing, he soon skillfully diverted the interviewer to cooking fish - Scotland - Mountains - Cycling and finally 'THE MULES'.

Continuity was never his strong point.

Anyway it was all broadcast on the local news- Well done Bobby