Productive Tuesdays

Today was another day off work and I knew I was going to be productive but I didn't know how. I definitely did not expect to be up at 6.11am, my mind reeling from a frankly absurd but inspiring dream. Afraid to forget it I jotted down the more normal part and couldn't stop myself.

A dense, metallic thunk described a gun landing beside my head, the metal shining amongst the thistles that scratch my skin. The owner speaks, a sense of madness and... arousal in his voice. 

'So, with us both being alone here, and you being young and weak, maybe wanting a little spare change. How about we play a game, a game where you take a grenade in your hand and see if you can hold it all night. The way I see it, you don't have a choice.'

At nine I was still writing and needed food, I toasted the last slice of the loaf and so I started the process of baking another, the yeasty mixture bubbling merrily away in a floury crater.

As I was kneading the dough and listening to Radio 6 I was thinking back over watching Red Bull Rampage last night, the pinnacle of danger and creativity in the mountain-bike world. Despite the horrendous commentating it still inspired me to try out the jumps I had found last week.

I quickly changed and leapt out the door. I pushed hard because I didn't want to spend too much time out, I had other things to do today as well. My lungs hurt, my sinuses burnt, was this a cold coming on? My legs were coping though and the colder weather didn't need much change in clothing. I was barely battling the wind that had decided not to blow of the sea.

The wet leaves made for a completely different trail today.

My flatmate claims I'm an adrenaline junkie because I mountain-bike and snowboard. I disagree on the basis that I scare myself often and I don't always crave that fear and the resultant biological response, I do not need the rush, I just enjoy it. Jumping has always been that step further as you are willingly sending yourself into an unbalanced situation and that is why it has taken me a long time to build myself up to jumping despite being comfortable going fast down steep and technical stuff for plenty of years. The small jumps I have done are incredibly fun and I know improving my riding with speed and skill will be intensely satisfying.

Testing myself on a few new lines today proved that as I was whooping and hollering through the trees sounding and looking like an over-excited kid. It just annoyed me that I didn't really have any idea whether I was taking enough speed, clearing the flats and riding the landings smoothly, there just wasn't enough marking in the dirt to see how the changing speeds differed in distance. The fun could only last so long it was my decision not to try a bigger line that put me in a defiant mood. 'Fine, I'll go hit the smaller line but faster and more stylish than usual.'

And of course, I fell, and am looking forward to good sized bruise on my right hip.

On the plus side the marks I made as I slid through the leaves let me know that I was making good distance on the small jumps at least.

The ride home was uneventful, legs stronger than last time, the sky clearing a little. A smile on my face despite the bruised ego.

Time to bake the bread.

Funny shape today, whoops.

And as if to complete the writing stereotype, I'm treating myself to a coffee in a funky shop, typing on my Mac. Shame on me.

Wormit and Beyond

Following my previous jaunt out to Links Wood with just my film camera, I took the little digital out to capture my exploration. Once again the weather played along nicely.

I do like my fish-eye

And I do like the Tay Bridge. Especially when the tide is low.

Still life beneath the bridge.

It's good to capture this from the opposite end of the bridge

Crazy angles makes me smile

Low tide, big skies.

The path into the wood starts on old tarmac, the trees leaning over, as you climb the short hill you reach doorways of vegetation that open out onto the next section, a little different and steadily more secluded.

The moss is taking the road back over. Its slick surface all the more exciting.

In the midst of another 'doorway'.

The next section is covered with pine needles and the dense 'green' smell fills my nostrils.

Eventually the moss has overthrown the tarmac. Steadily the road is replaced by dirt.

The entry into the single-track. Pleasure awaits the explorer.

Above the quarry you wind between trees, the wind carrying the noise of birds into the woods.

Rusted buckets catch my eye.

My obsession with rust continues.

Decaying brambles fascinate me too.

A lonely tyre, cracking in the sun,

Lunch, and a view to fit.

Wormit Why Thank You!

A short while ago I visited you out of impulse to discover you had some wonderful sights to see...

You gave me architecture beyond the industrial brutality of Dundee...

And you gave me my favourite shot of it too.

The details of your parks excite my photographer's organ...

And you made me want to buy my own little castle.

You fed my rust obsession...

And made me want all streets to look like this.

You took me far from Dundee.

Dundee was certainly given a different shine from the other side of the Tay.

Today's journey was again borne almost out of whim. My less than favourable stress levels and resultant chaotic episodes necessitated a return to my old excercising self in order to quell the manic level of RLA, or Real-Life-Anxiety that I presumed was the basis for my desire to drink and perpetuate my less than ameniable attitude to myself and life in general.

My sense of exploration looked out of my kitchen window and across the Tay Bridge. Wormit shall be my destination and beyond that, I have heard rumours of pastoral and woodland, meandering trails seen from the train as you are swiftly swept between the big cities of Scotland.

A late start to the day seemed to have scuppered my chances but following an afternoon coffee I threw on my shorts grabbed a bag and leapt into the road. Instantly I was excited to be back on a proper (ish) ride, running out of Perth Rd I cut right, onto the little trail that I thought remained beside Grouchos, there's nothing left of it and by misjudging the hedge-gap at the end I ensured it was a proper ride.

Colliding with the fence allowed the big cog up front to make itself known on the back of my calf. Embarrassing injury aside I cranked onwards up the lift onto the bridge, my trackstand skills pitifully out of practise.

Once upon the bridge I drew in the view, I quickly recognised the suffering of returning from long exercise-free periods, this was good, I knew I could push on through it and relish in my smoke-free lungs. I cruised through Wormit, enjoying the sites I'd first seen, noticing new ones but willing myself to keep the rhythm up until I had made good distance. Passing out of Wormit I found myself spotting farms and the tracks that wound up the hills around them, all I had to do was find my way up them and the route down would sort itself out.

Continuing along the main road I recognised some of what I had seen from the train and shot out in that direction before getting distracted by a cosy, moss covered road heading up a hill I had espied before.

Instantly I felt enclosed by the countryside, the noise of the A92 dulled and the comforting green mass of nature cushioned my senses. A short and simple climb was topped by the gorgeous Sandford House, the grand window causing an exclamation to escape my lips. Stopping for a drink and to peruse the view I was approached by one of the residents who very kindly pointed out the path to Gauldry, a discreet route that would take me over the hill itself, I thanked her, somewhat bemused by her friendliness.

As I grabbed a photo of the window that had caught my eye on the way up I was approached by the owner of Sandford House itself, doing a little afternoon gardening. She told a short history and the plans for creating self-catered holiday homes, take note, it's certainly a gorgeous place to stay. She also mentioned that the area I had seen from the train had a good network of paths, bloody excellent news! I decided to head for my initial goal and save the Gauldy route for another day, unsure of its difficulty and distance I had photo opportunities on my mind

With the mentality I had inhabited for the past few weeks I had completely forgotten about the places where strangers say hello as they pass. Being on the bike changed that; most cyclists greet each other anyway but being approached with smiles and not scowls was something that had thrown me into confusion for a good minute or so. It felt different out here and I was so happy for that.

Onwards! I pushed off and sped down the slick driveway, throwing a couple of sketchy skids into the mix as the grin grew across my face. I popped out onto the road, zipped past the Moffat and Williamson bus garage and was instantly atop more mossy tarmac, the old main road forging a path for me towards the woods. Once more nature encroached upon the old work of industrious mankind, I wasn't going to be exploring abandoned industries today though. What I found instead was a gorgeous bit of singletrack, overgrown, rooty and just a little bit technical, it was the perfect warm up for my rusty skills. What's more, it appeared to be just a small section of a larger network. My exclamations grew into the double digits as I rode out into an opening, this lake-view revealed beneath me.

Excuse the phone quality. Classy film photos coming soon.

A quick drink, and relax before I was back on my way. Taking the downhill path back the way I came was the most fun I have had in so many months it is hard to describe. I missed almost every smooth line, I almost threw myself off the bike on the only jump and I barely pumped a depression. It did not matter a jot because just being there, for those sixty or ninety seconds, on the edge of control and flashing past trees I forgot everything, absolutely everything that bothered me since the last time I lost myself to the two-wheeled demon. This is one reason why I love cycling.

I tested the slickness of mossy tarmac. Verdict - I do enjoy a good drift on a bike, keeps the heart racing!

I almost achieved my goal of riding across the Tay Road Bridge no-handed, a goal I only realised today. Old-Man-Finger-Dancing was definitely surplus to requirements, and probably very embarassing.

Yup. I totally took that while cycling...

The final climb home stung the thighs but now I'm here I couldn't be happier.

Crank On and Enjoy Life.


Next time on Crank Chronicles... My bike got stolen... again.

Nature Calls for a Laugh

I'm standing at a bus stop, taking a piss.

Let me set the scene, my left leg rests upon the melted remains of a plastic bin, my right upon a weather-beaten fence, my genitals neatly concealed from every conceivable vantage point.

The bus arrives.

I was caught out. Having left a friends house I stood counting my change realising I was several minutes early. Without my usual companions of biker-cum-pub-quizzer I'd realised those extra impromptu beers racing through me. If i was ever going to survive the forty minutes home I would need to release the inevitable evil force amid my bladder. 

So I let go, the tension flowing free, all over the pavement.

Amidst the pitter-patter of my last beer against the slats of the fence I hear and all together different pitter-patter, that of someone running, someone about to intrude upon my personal pee session. My heart races and I question what is worse; openly urinating in front of someone at a bus stop or giving my Jeans a toilet acid wash and making the 40 minute bus ride home a whole lot worse for everyone on board.

Choosing the more charitable route I finish up comfortably and seconds later the bus arrives. I have joined the club of a lucky few

The guy standing behind me doesn't look impressed though.

Denise

14th March 2013 - A Thursday

I open my eyes to view the beauty that is dust sparkling in sunlight, a ray formed between my blind and the windowsill. The easterly orientation of the window lets me know that it is morning. My mind turns to today's tasks, no doubt something academic, what else?

As I un-fold myself upright my bookshelf of developed negatives passes through my periphery on my way to the bathroom. A checklist of photo ideas scrolls past my eyes as I note the sunshine and distinct lack of clouds as I look west. Flushing the toilet I turn on the shower and wish the water would fill my head with essays. All I'm thinking about is that my trusty SLR is too temperamental to use anymore...

Today's goal has been realised.

Belt buckled, laces tied, jacket zipped, door locked - I step energetically forth into the chill sunlight and head townwards.

Full of trepidatious anticipation I push open the door, the blue and yellow logo passing through my periphery. Down the alley lined with vacuum cleaners, towards the forest of musical instruments. My eyes are focussed behind the glass. One, two, three, camera bodies, blind and decapitated without their lenses.

My enquiries leave me disheartened, not a single lens in the shop that would mate with these bodies, nor one at home. I go to leave and search out the other Pawnlands, but wait! I hear the call and return to the desk where she awaits me.

As my eyes follow every curve I know I've seen her before, dreamt about her, longed to feel her tender grip, the sweet sound of her release...

'Denise...' I whisper ecstatically under my breath.

'Sorry?' The assistant looks at me out of the corner of her eye.

'...uh, nothing.'

Shit, they'd have a field day if they knew I already had a name for her... Denise Sloane Lolita-Reagan, our beautiful partnership has begun...

_________________________________________________________________________________

And now just a week short of our Quarter-Year Anniversary I'm going to re-cap some of our greatest moments.

March

I bought her a lens-cap, gotta keep those eyes pretty.

Dundee has some real contrast to it.

She went drinking with me.

Old signage, always pretty.

How quaint, this spray can is in love.

Magdalen Green. Finally some sun. I like the bandstand, you'll see.

April

Also got her a screen protector - safe-screen is fun screen.

All things placed in our streets should be this pretty.

I always think the night adds something to the character of a city.

Alien Grass. It's a potent illuminator.

I like that it's slightly dutch-angle, adds to the horror. Is that a person on the roof?

Phwoar! How's that for April showers!?

Our memories of WWII crumble like dragon's teeth, soon just another grain of sand.

A lonely Tentsmuir resident. Light rain is refreshing on a bike ride.

The view from my bedroom. The flare on the right hand side was a full moon and I spent hours trying to get different shots.

  

Some light sunbathing, pretending to be lost in Tentsmuir

Exercising my manly fire-making expertise. Warming beer like a numpty though.

May

Introduced her to Mr Man Frotto, sturdy chap, bit on the heavy side though. They got on like a chain and anchor, swimmingly.

It can be blue in Dundee sometimes. (Maybe I should remember to change my white balance after shooting long exposures.)

Seymour Lodge. Project Horror incomplete as of today.

I love wrought iron. Daffodils and quiet nights wandering the city.

'Hello? Why yes I did see an odd fellow wandering around with a large stick and a blue jacket.'

The jacket took on a decidedly luminescent characteristic.

Pier 23 - Home to Mr Bright-Buttocks.

Tesco and Riverside from up high. Project incomplete.

I really love light-painting.

Went on a double date with Frotto and his new partner Reme Oat. He's a very patient and quiet guy but I'm getting a sneaking suspicion that he and Denise have a strong connection, they get on very well, they even finish each other's exposures and I'm starting to think they have a passing resemblance to a certain Parks and Recreation character.

Watch this space, more to come...