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.