Month: February 2008

Vans, tans and plans

On By PhotoIn Other stuff, Photography3 Comments
Milford Sound, originally uploaded by Alex Leigh.

The hedgehog truck has finally reached the East coast on our last full day in the South Island. We’ve just spent a couple of hours being taught how to swim by friendly seals. Although since a fur seal spends 90{45ac9c3234d371044e23e276755ef3a4dde8f1068375defba7d385ca3cd4deb2} of it’s life sunbathing, fighting and shagging, there was also much comedy bobbing about in buoyant wetsuits waiting for them to go seaborne.

And because I am sure you really aren’t interested in what we did on our holidays, I am instead going to talk about the hierarchy of camper vans. But before that, it is worth explaining that Carol and I are just about mountain’d out. As we crested yet another spectacular mountain pass sheltering fathoms of perfectly formed azure lakes, glances were exchanged and a quiet nod confirmed that’d just about do, thanks.

On the way back to ChristchurchWanaka lake

Because when the superlative barrel is well and truly scraped and a million electrons slaved to capture the picture perfect*, a certain blase replaces the ground state of awe and wide mouthed pointing. When we’re stuck in traffic on a shitty late winter’s day back in the UK, we;ll laugh about that. Probably.

Anyway, Vans. On the South Island, every third vehicle is a truck** which- as they perambulate wildly at almost no speed – must really piss off the locals. About three companies corner a hugely profitable market with the rest forced to scrap it out with beaten up cheap vans or niche offerings.

The Love BusFalls

I must admit to a spot of motor-home envy during the trip, a worthwhile discourse to be properly covered in a later post. Our happy bus is a big diesel Merc with the standard slabby body kit bolted on. The engine is well into its’ third century of kilometres and the interior design is only a couple of woodchip walls away from the whole seventies experience.

Continue reading “Vans, tans and plans” →

Do you want to go Mountain Biking?

On By PhotoIn Mountain Bike Riding, Other stuff, Photography3 Comments
Gimboid, originally uploaded by Alex Leigh.

After calling the Vatican to confirm the Pope was still a Catholic, I hot-footed down to the bike hire store at Hanmer Springs and hired an “executive” MTB. For my extra $10, disc brakes accesorised a suspension fork that excelled at holding the front end up. It didn’t appear to offer any other damping functions other than emitting a howling click on encountering even the smallest bump.

On the upside, it was attached to a mountain bike and a morning of virgin, dustry trails – baked hard under a perfect blue sky – awaited my desperate-to-ride persona. For the next four hours, I was essentially lost – signage in NZ is generally fantastic due mainly to the fact there are only about 10 roads but the $1 map lacked a certain accuracy when measured against scale and terrain.

But the trails were mine alone and after some false starts, mappage faffage and a blatent “sorry, I’m a tourist” approach to some walking only routes, improvement was rapid. A couple of sketchy descents on commuter pedals only lightly gripped by knackered VANs, it became clear that stacking here would result in a slow lingering death by hungry sandfly.

So proceeding carefully in the manner of a man lacking both riding skills and spacial awareness, I was amazed to divine a dusty trail that smelt of woody singletrack. And for the next 7 kilometres it rolled out a bonaza of sculptered corners, rooty drops, a smattering of ohfuckme North Shore and limitless hand crafted berms.

Hero LineBeer

The local MTB group has clearly put a huge amount of work in, so it seemed a bit mean to only ride it once. I pushed half way back up, scared myself a couple more times before having to choose between another attempt at full speed or a beer.

Well, OBVIOUSLY, I went for beer.

Some people may brand my posting an MTB blog while on holiday a bit obsessive. So for the purposes of balance, here are some pictures of lakes and glaciers encountered on a moist walk to the Franz Joseph Glacier.

Franz Joseph GlacierPeters Pool

Anyway I’m off to take the local spring waters follwed closely by taking rather more of the local hop waters. Tomorrow we’re off to swim with seals although Random insists we’ll be in the water with eels. She is not – as I sort of remember from what feels like far away corporate speak – with the programme 😉

PS. Sorry for piss poor spelling. Running out of internet time and $10 buys two beers!

Kia Ora!

On By PhotoIn Other stuff, Photography1 Comment

Lake Pukaki, originally uploaded by Alex Leigh.

As the famous beverage advert almost goes. A week has already passed in a blur of stunning scenery, epic mountain passes and a thousand comedy moments in the big sleeping truck. Somewhere between high speed jetboating, more relaxed boat trips through fiords, glow worm caves and innumerable photo stops we’ve covered a thousand kilometres on the South Island.

Now we’re going to kick back a bit as it has become obvious that three weeks doesn’t even scratch the surface of this fantastic country. We’d like to spend less time on the tourist trail and a little more time exploring. Our biggest regret so far is not pushing on one night to stay at the side of Lake Gunn on the road to Milford Sound.

The whole camper van experience has been great fun. It works fantastically well with kids and while the big camp sites are cheap, clean and convenient, being totally self sufficient provides the perfect opportunity to just park up in a DoC rural site and enjoy the solitude. Except for the kids of course who seem to have embraced the whole experience with the kind of cheery noncholance that we could all do with a bit more of.

We’ve less than a week left on the South Island and have started to cull our list of things to do. And that leaves plenty of time to head out to the Franz Josef Glacier, dive into the hot springs at Hamner and wallow around with dolphins in the sea at Kaikora.

Heading over to the North Island, I’m really looking forward to the Te Papa Mauri museam in Wellington. The kids are looking forward to it as well, as I’ve promised them they can return to splashing and giggling in return for looking intelligent and interested in some history for an hour or so.

There are so many things we’re not going to have time to do, it seems I’ll need to find a grandmother to sell or rent out hides for “cabbage watching” so we can come back. Right now, with the warmth of the summer and the New Zealand people, this seems like the best place in the world to be 🙂

I had a dream

On By AlexIn Other stuff1 Comment

But not in a Martin Luther King way. I spent most of last night dreaming of violent plane crashes and motorhomes plunging down steep sided cliffs.

I’ve decided not to share this with Carol as she is clearly already a women on the edge. After ten years of marriage, I recognise the signs – manic house cleaning, packing and repacking the bags, screaming “Don’t MAKE ME GET ON THE PLANE“, that kind of thing. I like to think that empathy is one of my strong suits so I’ve restricted myself to the odd helpful grunt.

And not mentioning the entire family dying in a flaming pyre of wreckage.

We seem to have packed few clothes but many electronic devices which could be the wrong way round, but this would be a bad time to question the logistical planning of my long suffering wife. My contribution was counting camera batteries and googling “Nicest beer in New Zealand”

What’s that I hear? Yes. yes, alright we’re definitely going now 🙂

If the Devil designed websites…

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Site Stuff3 Comments

He would look approvingly on the labyrinth of hell that is American Express Internet presence and declare his work done. After nearly converting the laptop into a discus, I’ve come to the conclusion this is a cunning ploy to ensnare you in a web of vaguely related sites until you’re forced to call the premium phone line. Never have I seen anything so under performing, so badly laid out, so bereft of any usefulness and so insanely hard to navigate. Well, except maybe for Belgium.

Old Lucifer could then turn his horns onto Valentines day which is a real triumph of marketing. Dapper gentlemen with speech impediments machine gunning each other in 1920’s America were magically converted into a multi billion pound love industry. So mainlining that grumpy vain, I decided to send Carol my Valentines wishes by email. That’s almost as good isn’t it? It wasn’t as if I actually forgot*. I mean she’s not going to think I didn’t try is she?**

Work is basically flipping between “ARRRRGHHHH” and “GRRRRRRRR“. All I will say is if you are not prepared to accept the answer, don’t ask the sodding question. It is fine timing that we are going on holiday, otherwise my frustration may lead to mugging innocent members of staff as I angrily vibrate down the corridors of cower***

Are we ready to go on holiday? In a word, no. In a few more words “has anyone invented a time machine?”. Carol is rigorously enforcing the luggage limit by ruthlessly returning what the kids demand are mandatory items. In Random’s case, this includes the house. She’s not totally grasped the concept of a motorhome and seems to think we’ll be sleeping under bridges. Which considering my Valentine faux pas, I may well be. Or with the fishes, if we’re going back to the original concept of the day.

My packing involves hiding money for beer, and unearthing cleanish shorts, sunnies and a novelty hat. And finding a way to decouple the part of my brain that is suffering from PMT ****. And between now and actually arriving in a place where email doesn’t, there are days of travel hell which represent a similar amount of pleasure as passing a hedgehog shaped poo. I expect the pain to last almost as long as well.

And on that happy note, I shall begone to warmer climbs. There is the slimmest chance of some outside broadcast hedgehog should the twin planets of sobriety and Internet access align themselves in my personal geography. Failing that, enjoy the rest of your winter and expect photographs and lies when I’m back.

Which is on March 10th. I cannot tell you how good it feels to write that 🙂

* Okay I did

** She is

*** Like power only with more terror.

**** Post Management Trauma.

Chicks digs scars.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff11 Comments

I’m sorry to disappoint all you cultivating bloodied puncture wounds, but this statement is a a bit of a porker. Oozing with unpleasant substances, bad for your health and about as sexually attractive as venereal disease. So here’s the truth – chain rings dig scars as graphically demonstrated by the grizzly tattoo on my calf. In fact, the whole leg appears to have gone ten rounds with a lunatic armed with an industrial staple gun.

This was one of the only two downsides of a weekend ride under sunny skies on mostly dry trails. Obviously now we’re off to summer at the other side of the world, I care not if it buckets with hail and snow for the next three weeks. On thinking such pernicious thoughts, a brief glance at the Internet proxied weather tea leaves informed of pissing rain in New Zealand. This is either a meteorological blip during their otherwise fantastic summer, or the start of the monsoon season.

The second downside was more a downsize. Of a chain which mistook an innocent shift to the granny ring to instead somehow escape the front mech ,and wedge itself firmly betwixt crankset and chainstay. After some scratching of heads, dismantlement of the majority of the bike and some keen action on the chain tool, my 27 geared steed was reduced to a somewhat more humble 5.

I’m blaming a combination of Gimp-on-board(tm) cackhandness, rushed builds and bad karma from silently mocking my friends’ singlespeed a few minutes earlier. “Hah when it gets hilly, I shall unleash my vast array of easy pedalling ratios” I carelessly gloated.

But this loss of cogs hardly ruined the ride – the Cove is fantastic everywhere; light and quick uphill, terrifyingly competent in the twisties and nonchalantly banzai when heading downhill. My efforts to fall off were easily dealt with until a log based endo saw the spinning chainrings of doom harvest a few inches of skin.

A spot of beer focussed research selected the easy option of throwing some money at the problem. That’s fixing the thuggery of the chainset rather than the bleeding of the leg. Although you could hear the “Cry of the Lesser Haired Wuss” for many miles when bloodied stump hit hot bathwater.

It’s a keeper this one* and I really think the selection of rather lovely bicycles may be complete for some time to come**. This may be for the rather practical reason that our offer on “Cabbage-Land” has been accepted. I’ve no idea what this means, except that I am now funding the Devil’s lawyer and financier to complete the transaction.

This calls for a beer to reflect on what an interesting year it has been already, and to wonder of the experience that decamping to a county where only out of towners have 10 digit hands.

Well not really, I just fancy a beer 😉

* I can hear you laughing. And I’m ignoring you. But taking names come the revolution.

** And don’t chortle. It’s unbecoming.

Bought!

On By PhotoIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography7 Comments
Hummer, originally uploaded by Alex Leigh.

On the nicest day of the year, I decided to abandon the family’s plea for some outdoor action, instead closeting myself in the barn to build this Titanium lovely. Ti is a frame material which has received much mullage from the experts-in-their-own head found on Internet forums. Apparently it is the silver bullet, the cookie-cutter, the pinnacle of the periodic table. That’s bollox obviously but didn’t stop me lusting after one for many years.

And years ago, I did have one but discarded it as a smelly kipper once it became apparent that exotic frame materials do not beget awesome trail skills. I know better of course now because this one was far more expensive – even second hand – so must be pretty damn begetting in dishing out those elusive inflamed wedding veg.

My friend Mike – who understands such things – tells me frame materials are largely irrelevant to how a bike rides. There is no inherent springiness of steel, stiffness of Alu or mythic ride quality associated with Titanium. And, of course he’s right but the PA and Wanga have gone, while this has taken their place. It’s already way better than the Voodoo because it has lots of gears. Which after some angst and shouting, I was able to wrest from their recalcitrant starting positions.

Mike also tells me this bike will last me for ever. Which – based on my bike rental approach – is interesting, if not entirely relevant. But tomorrow, on the anniversary of shoulder-gate, it’ll get clothed in the Emperor ‘s new mud. Of more interest to Carol is my direct return to the house without a diversion to Accident and Emergency.

Worshiping at the altar of Mong would have Consequences what with two weeks of camper van driving a mere week away. But I’m not sure I can ride any more slowly. Anyway a quick cheeky footpath test showed the bike to be both stiff and frisky.

So I’m thinking of calling it the “Penis“. Like rider, like bike eh?

SOLD!

On By AlexIn Other stuff2 Comments

Well sort of. As of about 20 minutes ago, we accepted a cash offer for our house. Now being a simple sort of chap, I naturally assumed a van load of used readies would be immediately delivered in unmarked suitcases. Apparently, this is not the case, and it shall be necessary to peruse the entire lexicon of property law between now and a mythical beast known only as “completion”

I know nothing of this journey other than it seems strewn with the kind of obstacles that may well damage my liver and add a double scoop of hair pulling* stress.

On the plus side, we’ve sold it to some friends of ours at a tad less than the asking price, which had the estate agent foaming at the mouth. “We can get the full asking price if we screw them over, lie, cheat and start a bidding war with the other interested parties” was their opening negotiating gambit. “Yes, but that will make me a cock of epic proportions and you’ve failed to factor in good manners and karma” said I chewing a lentil.

Although we have set the snarling capitalists snapping at the financial heels of the estate agent from whom we wish to buy. Because, frankly they deserve each other. Although, as this is Herefordshire, negotiations have stalled over the exact bartering value of a frisky goat. But assuming we can debug the complexities of ungulate to sterling ratio, there’s a ludicrous plan forming to get the hell out of here during the Easter holidays.

However, so many things can go wrong that an entire new field of mathematics will be required to count them. It shall be based on the “every bugger wants their cut” numeracy system overlaid with “Stamp Duty, fucking hell haven’t I given enough already?“. The prospect of dealing with both estate agents and solicitors** during a compressed period of hemorrhaging money seems devil sent to ruin our lives.

Still focusing on the positives for a second, this is a bloody great excuse to get drunk. While i crack open the champagne and open champagne over some crack***, here are a few pictures. The first two show some cheeky riding five minutes from the door and a wintery view over the Malvern hills. And because a few of you aren’t obsessed with Mountain Bikes, a couple more depict the “Welcome to Cabbage-Land” garden aspect, and a picture of the house. Which is odd, but you’d expect that.

Tallot (91)

So we’ve not really sold in the true sense of the word and we’ve currently nowhere to move into. All the detailed transactions over the next month will be carried out using whatever transmission methods are available in a camper van, 12,000 miles away from the action. And the full horror of fixing up the new house is likely to permeate my sober moments.

If anyone has any chickens that need counting, send ’em over !

* And let’s face it, that’s a pretty scarce resource where I’m concerned. Two difficult phone calls and I’m bald.

** Which is an anagram of Clitoris. Okay it isn’t, but it should be.

*** It’s a play on words Mum, ok?. Don’t call the police.

Return of the rant

On By AlexIn Bikes9 Comments

Lordy, I am pissed off. In days gone by, I would have been well within my rights as an angry Englishman to go and shoot some Welsh*, follow that up with a ten course banquet – big on identifiable dead animal and small on cutlery – before launching into an all night carousing session with a dozen floozies of my choice.

Assuming I was Henry the VIII anyway. Instead my vocational bucket is overflowing with a million things all of which have the twin characteristics of a deadline sometime in the past and being – in my considered opinion – somebody else’s fucking problem. I used to love the sound of deadlines as they whooshed by whilst I merely ducked under the desk and refused to acknowledge their existence.

Still next years’ budget is taking shape but what fucking shape I do not know. Joining the dots of our financial planning process would very likely bring the duck billed platypus into being. Or the dodo. I can say no more, so amuse yourself for a moment while I attempt to beat the All-Bucks-Swearing record (muttering darkly category)

Somewhere between a million phone calls (if God had wanted us to have 10 simultaneous conversations, he would have specified decagon heads with an ear on each plane. Not voicemail. People should remember that. And be reminded with frequent beatings if necessary) and the ongoing non sale of the house, a Customer Service Representative** took a jolly tone with me. Apparently it was my lucky day because the mighty Honda would have failed its’ first MOT had they not had a tyre in stock. But not just a pneumatic tube with a few grooves in; on no, I now am the proud owner of a jewel encrusted rotating splendor.

Because one tyre CANNOT possibly cost that much. And, of course, it doesn’t if you’re not being held hostage by the robbing bastards hiding behind a neon sign and shiny showroom. I expect the chippy dog lobber was straight down to “Ron’s Remoulds” cashing in a few extra quid on MY tyre which’d miraculously sprouted an extra inch of tread. Their invoicing system was about ready to explode as reams of paper piled up to about waist height as the bill was printed out. The final total was displayed on an extra long strip to get all the zeros in.

It’s out of warranty now which is good as I’m out of cash. That’s the last time I’ll be darkening their towels again unless it’s under the cover of darkness and I’m acting suspiciously in the vicinity of the safe. With all this and trying to complete some airily promised camp site booking for NZ, it seemed the perfect time to engage on a spot of bike rationalisation.

What this has proven – quite unequivocally – is that I am a bloody idiot. Having adopted a slash and burn approach to my inbox, the remainder of the evening has been a difficult composite of spanners, swearing and sweat as I serially dismantled, packaged, lost bits, un-packaged, banged head on wall, had stern talk about use of hammer, repackaged, tidy and wept quietly in a corner.

I am getting pretty good at buying and selling bike bits. In volume anyway, if not in any measurable commercial terms. For example, the Wanga is standing me at about£50 a ride and it was a shit ride at that. The true worry out of all of this is not the dangerous H&S situation awaiting anyone viewing the barn with bike parts strewn, hung and abandoned in every corner, but the immutable fact that my bike total has been reduced by one.

Sunday night, downstream of half a bottle of wine this seemed a really good idea. This evening, with the barn pictorially describing the phrase “Blast Radius” and my level of irritation reaching danger level, I wonder if it was. I think it is way past the time to try and find the answer in the second half of that bottle.

* My choice of victim for some less than friendly arrowing is, in now way, based on the travesty of justice that was last weekend’s Rugby result. Oh no.

** Ian, suggest you start recruiting, there’s going to be a BIG increase in “Pitters” this month.

Internet searches…

On By AlexIn Other stuff6 Comments

… are extremely useful when you need to find something out or make something up. But in the same way that “Converting a Vacuum Cleaner to a Sex Aid” solicits a million responses of which almost zero are useful*, searching for “Things to see in New Zealand” returns only the odd useful nugget. And since that’s about 10 pages behind useless sponsored links, I’ve generally mosied off to the beer fridge before getting there.

So help me out here.

Mappage

We arrive in Christchurch – assuming my limited conflict management skills in customs don’t get us deported – and collect the big family bus for 14 days. 10 of these will be spent on the South Island and four to rendezvous with a hire car at Auckland.

Milford Sound, the Maori museum in Wellington, a drive up the West Coast of the South Island and a stop at Picton before the ferry are all penciled in. I’m trying to keep driving down to a max of three hours a day and there are clamors from the lower orders for Whale watching and swimming with dolphins. Carol wants the whole thing to be as interesting but stress free as possible and – apart from Jet Boating which I have to try! – I’m happy as long as the beer is cold.

So if I search the intellectual might of H(edgeog)Oogle, what am I offered?

* But does mine a rich vein of specialist web sites. Or so I’ve been told.