Disappointingly there’s still very little snow around these parts this morning. I was actually hoping to run to work in the fresh snow but it’s too icy underfoot from the bit we got on Saturday which has now frozen. So I get the bus and hope for a deluge later. I’m the wearing running gear on the bus; everyone else seemed to be wearing duffel coats and wellies. The bus is on time and the roads totally clear. All a bit of a damp squib as usual.
It plays at snowing for most of the day before finally getting the hang of it around 3.30. It looks as if my run through the snow is on after all. Despite slightly bemused looks from my work colleagues I set off on my usual route through Chaddesden, where I sometimes hop on the bus. The conditions are excellent, fresh snow is great to run in, very soft underfoot, not slippery at all.
In Chaddesden, the live bus times say there’s one due in five minutes. I don’t believe it and I carry on to Spondon. Now the boards are saying seven or even eight minutes to the next bus. Somehow I’m out pacing the bus or else it’s stuck somewhere. I carry on to Borrowash, where the signs are now saying ten minutes. Gosh, I’m quick tonight...
Decision time though. Do I wait here or push on the extra couple of miles to Risley. I decide to go on. I just get into Risley and the bus catches me up, so I jump on. Seven and a half miles I reckon. Not bad.
I intended to get off the bus in Bramcote and run the last three to four miles to home but once settled on the bus and kind of snug, I change my mind. I’ve done my stint and stay on the bus all the way home.
The bus driver turns out to be a bit of a psycho. The roads are pretty good really, until he gets on to the bus lane through Bramcote which hasn’t had much traffic on it. It doesn’t stop him doing 40+ on it and you can feel the bus sliding around a bit and there’s no seatbelts on the R4. Well at least he’s having fun. Then a car pulls into the bus lane to turn left and I think if the car doesn’t get around that turn sharpish we’re going to shunt him from the rear... Phew that was close.
An hour or so after getting home I walk the dogs to meet L who is walking back from town. Now it’s not so much fun. The temperature is dropping and the paths are rapidly icing up. Not easy when you’re under collie power either, causes a bit of wheel spin.
(Tuesday 30th November)
Showing posts with label Bramcote. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bramcote. Show all posts
Monday, November 29, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
A New Training Device
It’s too cold to cycle, maybe even a touch icy, or is that just the inner wimp in me speaking. L probably delays me deliberately, out of concern for my safety. Bless her.
The other option if I’m not cycling would have been to run in but I have to be out of the house before 7am to catch the right bus to do that. I’m way too late for that. I will run home instead.
Almost with the first email of the day L hits me with an enquiry about next year’s Bupa Great Manchester Run. Entries opened this morning at 08:30 and usually sell out pretty quick. The race has a 38,000 limit, which is big, very big. Entry is available on a first come, first served basis, until the final 10,000 places are left when the entry is changed to a ballot.
I suppose we might as well enter now, avoid the ballot and snap up numbers 1 and 2... Ten minutes later we’re both in but I don’t think we got 1 and 2. They’re probably saving the low numbers in case Gebrselassie really does come out of retirement.
Apparently the race goes through Coronation Street but even that didn’t put me off entering. I’m not that interested in seeing it, well not since Frisky the cat died.
My coaching course tonight is cancelled. Typical council. It’s only week two and they’ve cancelled one already. They probably forgot to book the room. I suppose it’s convenient with me having a gig tonight. I’ll probably see the organisers there. My worry though is what will it clash with when they rearrange it. I haven’t got that many gaps.
I had tonight kind of sorted, my course was scheduled to finish at 9.00 but could well have finished earlier and I was quite confident of a 9.30 stage time for the Gaslight Anthem anyway. There are two supports and doors aren’t until 7.30. Although they usually come on early.
After work I jog up to Chaddesden, get the bus to Bramcote and then run home from there.
Now I have most of the technological training devices on the market but tonight I eschew the GPS and Nike Plus devices and just run with the good old fashioned ipod and my watch. I do after all know how far the route is and there’s no evidence to suggest these things actually aid speed.
It’s not far home from Bramcote, around four miles but a nice leg stretcher, which I do at a nice steady pace. Jogging perhaps. Ambling even. At which point I see a training aid that I really could use. This one is cheap technology. Well upfront at least, though the ongoing costs may be huge. It might also be difficult to source.
A whippet, all decked out in woolly hat, Lycra and avec pony tail, practically elbows me out of the way as she comes past. Ok she might have asked politely first but as I was all ipod-ed up so I wouldn’t have heard her, and then she rocketed off into the distance like... well, a whippet on steroids. Obviously that annoyed me. I had to chase her down and did eventually catch her. Though I didn’t dare get too close in case (a) she thought I was a weirdo who was about to attack her or worse (b) she got worried that I was going to overtake her and speeded up.
So I kept a polite distance and used her as a pacemaker. Had this actually been a race I would obviously have had to overtake her or at least embarrass myself failing. Her pace was just what I needed and much more effective than all these gadgets. I’m just not sure what L’s going to say when I ask her for a whippet for Christmas.
It’s an early start for Leamington Spa's Sharks, a 7.40 stage time, ten minutes after doors open. I'm stuck outside in the queue and suspect Sharks are playing to about fifty people but no. It's packed inside when I finally get in; they're already hanging from the rafters. What I see of Sharks is quite promising and thankfully they have nothing in common with the 70’s band of the same name. The only 70’s thing about them is lead singer/guitarist James Mattock’s sleeveless Exorcist t-shirt, a film that pre-dates him by a couple of decades.
He strikes a confident figure, has a strong voice and overall I like their lively punk sound. They’re also a good test platform for my new camera. Well they are until, amid much confusion, they abort their set a song early due to a broken drum kit. Just how do you break a drum kit? Not seen that before and how does it hold you back. One drum, possibly a snare, surely does not matter much but they go off anyway. I’ll forgive them; they’re a young band who haven’t learnt the art of improv yet. Then again many experienced bands haven't or simply can’t be bothered to improvise when required.
The chap who walks on next and slings his jacket on the floor before tuning up an acoustic guitar could have been a roadie but how many roadies do you see in a flat cap? No this is Chuck Ragan who certainly fits the experienced description. The American singer/songwriter has been a member of Florida rock band Hot Water Music since 1993.
Like the Gaslight Anthem’s last UK tour support, Frank Turner, Chuck is another ex-punk rocker who has picked up the acoustic and gone folk. They like their maverick acoustic performers do the Gaslight. I’m obviously going to say Frank is better and he is. Chuck was good though, a bit more ‘throaty’ with his vocals than our Frank and whereas Frank has an entire band to back him, Chuck just has his side kick, John on the fiddle. It’s all very, well folk. All we need now is a spot of harmonica, which duly arrives on track four. Anyone called Chuck has to have a harmonica. At which point things do veer dangerous into barn dance territory but between them they ignite Rock City with their sheer energy, Chuck n John quite a match. Move over Kate n Wills.
And so to the Gaslight, who again come on stage a good ten minutes early. Isn’t that refreshing? Provided of course you’re not running late yourself, and thankfully with my coaching course cancelled I’m not. They’re known for playing ‘value you for money’ slots but will be up against one of Rock City’s immovable curfews, so it’s good that they’re getting started early.
Opening with their recent single, odd choice though it was, ‘The Spirit of Jazz’ they get the place jumping straight away, through another newbie ‘Boxer’ and the cracking ‘Casanova, Baby!’
Then Brian Fallon launches into one of his huge monologues before they play ‘The Diamond Church Street Choir’, about cakes, and his mother, who told him that rock 'n' roll was from the devil and gives you STD's and he probably mentions other things but they are largely indecipherable due to his thick New Jersey accent. He rambles a bit, as perhaps you can tell and he’s fascinated by the balloons which have lights in them, so he bursts one to see how it works... and some lag predictably likens it to a condom, which is perhaps how we got on to STD’s and his mother, and maybe cakes but who knows. He’s prone to ramble a bit. Have I mentioned this?
Oh and he also has his flat cap on... and the band have a flat capped roadie. So there’s flat caps everywhere tonight, just shows what I know.
He could have probably talked all night but he’s wasting serious music time. Which when it comes is seriously good. Then he picks up a harmonica in middle of ‘Old White Lincoln’, what else.
Of course nobody can mention the Gaslight without mentioning Springsteen and the band are now clearly sick of the comparisons but they did dig themselves a rather large hole with their second, albeit brilliant, album ’The 59 Sound’ and then shovel the soil in over themselves by going on and on about it.
Now they say they’re moved on, grown up, but they will never get away from it. Though to be fair their new album ‘American Slang’ sounds nothing like Springsteen. It sounds like plenty of other things but not ‘him’. More importantly it sounds like them. Whilst despite the popularity of ‘The 59 Sound’, probably the reason for the near sell out tonight, their best album remains, in my opinion anyway, their first album ‘Sink Or Swim’ from which ‘We Came To Dance’ and ‘Wooderson’ are both particularly electric tonight.
On CD the new album comes over as perhaps a bit too glossy. Whose third album isn't? Live, as ever, it sounds much rawer. 'Stay Lucky' particularly appears faster and punkier, whereas some of the slower tracks sound much more epic and ‘The Queen of Lower Chelsea’ is a stand out moment.
Naturally there are a couple of covers. Wilson Pickett’s ‘In the Midnight Hour’ is instantly recognisable but Wayne Cochran’s ‘Last Kiss’ is met with many a bemused look and sends me scrabbling post-gig for someone with a stolen set list.
Then finally chance for the Brucie lovers to go ape with the closing duo of ‘Great Expectations’ and ‘The 59 Sound’ for which Chuck Ragan returns to the stage to assist.
The title track of 'American Slang' opens the encore but the highlight has to be ‘1930’ from 'Sink Or Swim' which follows. Before the slower ‘Miles Davis and the Cool’ leads us into the usual rousing finale of ‘The Backseat’.
A damn good night. They missed a few faves out but very few bands rotate a set list like these guys do, and they’ll be getting those in Leeds tomorrow.
(Tuesday 16th November)
The other option if I’m not cycling would have been to run in but I have to be out of the house before 7am to catch the right bus to do that. I’m way too late for that. I will run home instead.
Almost with the first email of the day L hits me with an enquiry about next year’s Bupa Great Manchester Run. Entries opened this morning at 08:30 and usually sell out pretty quick. The race has a 38,000 limit, which is big, very big. Entry is available on a first come, first served basis, until the final 10,000 places are left when the entry is changed to a ballot.
I suppose we might as well enter now, avoid the ballot and snap up numbers 1 and 2... Ten minutes later we’re both in but I don’t think we got 1 and 2. They’re probably saving the low numbers in case Gebrselassie really does come out of retirement.
Apparently the race goes through Coronation Street but even that didn’t put me off entering. I’m not that interested in seeing it, well not since Frisky the cat died.
My coaching course tonight is cancelled. Typical council. It’s only week two and they’ve cancelled one already. They probably forgot to book the room. I suppose it’s convenient with me having a gig tonight. I’ll probably see the organisers there. My worry though is what will it clash with when they rearrange it. I haven’t got that many gaps.
I had tonight kind of sorted, my course was scheduled to finish at 9.00 but could well have finished earlier and I was quite confident of a 9.30 stage time for the Gaslight Anthem anyway. There are two supports and doors aren’t until 7.30. Although they usually come on early.
After work I jog up to Chaddesden, get the bus to Bramcote and then run home from there.
Now I have most of the technological training devices on the market but tonight I eschew the GPS and Nike Plus devices and just run with the good old fashioned ipod and my watch. I do after all know how far the route is and there’s no evidence to suggest these things actually aid speed.
It’s not far home from Bramcote, around four miles but a nice leg stretcher, which I do at a nice steady pace. Jogging perhaps. Ambling even. At which point I see a training aid that I really could use. This one is cheap technology. Well upfront at least, though the ongoing costs may be huge. It might also be difficult to source.
A whippet, all decked out in woolly hat, Lycra and avec pony tail, practically elbows me out of the way as she comes past. Ok she might have asked politely first but as I was all ipod-ed up so I wouldn’t have heard her, and then she rocketed off into the distance like... well, a whippet on steroids. Obviously that annoyed me. I had to chase her down and did eventually catch her. Though I didn’t dare get too close in case (a) she thought I was a weirdo who was about to attack her or worse (b) she got worried that I was going to overtake her and speeded up.
So I kept a polite distance and used her as a pacemaker. Had this actually been a race I would obviously have had to overtake her or at least embarrass myself failing. Her pace was just what I needed and much more effective than all these gadgets. I’m just not sure what L’s going to say when I ask her for a whippet for Christmas.
It’s an early start for Leamington Spa's Sharks, a 7.40 stage time, ten minutes after doors open. I'm stuck outside in the queue and suspect Sharks are playing to about fifty people but no. It's packed inside when I finally get in; they're already hanging from the rafters. What I see of Sharks is quite promising and thankfully they have nothing in common with the 70’s band of the same name. The only 70’s thing about them is lead singer/guitarist James Mattock’s sleeveless Exorcist t-shirt, a film that pre-dates him by a couple of decades.
He strikes a confident figure, has a strong voice and overall I like their lively punk sound. They’re also a good test platform for my new camera. Well they are until, amid much confusion, they abort their set a song early due to a broken drum kit. Just how do you break a drum kit? Not seen that before and how does it hold you back. One drum, possibly a snare, surely does not matter much but they go off anyway. I’ll forgive them; they’re a young band who haven’t learnt the art of improv yet. Then again many experienced bands haven't or simply can’t be bothered to improvise when required.
The chap who walks on next and slings his jacket on the floor before tuning up an acoustic guitar could have been a roadie but how many roadies do you see in a flat cap? No this is Chuck Ragan who certainly fits the experienced description. The American singer/songwriter has been a member of Florida rock band Hot Water Music since 1993.
Like the Gaslight Anthem’s last UK tour support, Frank Turner, Chuck is another ex-punk rocker who has picked up the acoustic and gone folk. They like their maverick acoustic performers do the Gaslight. I’m obviously going to say Frank is better and he is. Chuck was good though, a bit more ‘throaty’ with his vocals than our Frank and whereas Frank has an entire band to back him, Chuck just has his side kick, John on the fiddle. It’s all very, well folk. All we need now is a spot of harmonica, which duly arrives on track four. Anyone called Chuck has to have a harmonica. At which point things do veer dangerous into barn dance territory but between them they ignite Rock City with their sheer energy, Chuck n John quite a match. Move over Kate n Wills.
And so to the Gaslight, who again come on stage a good ten minutes early. Isn’t that refreshing? Provided of course you’re not running late yourself, and thankfully with my coaching course cancelled I’m not. They’re known for playing ‘value you for money’ slots but will be up against one of Rock City’s immovable curfews, so it’s good that they’re getting started early.
Opening with their recent single, odd choice though it was, ‘The Spirit of Jazz’ they get the place jumping straight away, through another newbie ‘Boxer’ and the cracking ‘Casanova, Baby!’
Then Brian Fallon launches into one of his huge monologues before they play ‘The Diamond Church Street Choir’, about cakes, and his mother, who told him that rock 'n' roll was from the devil and gives you STD's and he probably mentions other things but they are largely indecipherable due to his thick New Jersey accent. He rambles a bit, as perhaps you can tell and he’s fascinated by the balloons which have lights in them, so he bursts one to see how it works... and some lag predictably likens it to a condom, which is perhaps how we got on to STD’s and his mother, and maybe cakes but who knows. He’s prone to ramble a bit. Have I mentioned this?
Oh and he also has his flat cap on... and the band have a flat capped roadie. So there’s flat caps everywhere tonight, just shows what I know.
He could have probably talked all night but he’s wasting serious music time. Which when it comes is seriously good. Then he picks up a harmonica in middle of ‘Old White Lincoln’, what else.
Of course nobody can mention the Gaslight without mentioning Springsteen and the band are now clearly sick of the comparisons but they did dig themselves a rather large hole with their second, albeit brilliant, album ’The 59 Sound’ and then shovel the soil in over themselves by going on and on about it.
Now they say they’re moved on, grown up, but they will never get away from it. Though to be fair their new album ‘American Slang’ sounds nothing like Springsteen. It sounds like plenty of other things but not ‘him’. More importantly it sounds like them. Whilst despite the popularity of ‘The 59 Sound’, probably the reason for the near sell out tonight, their best album remains, in my opinion anyway, their first album ‘Sink Or Swim’ from which ‘We Came To Dance’ and ‘Wooderson’ are both particularly electric tonight.
On CD the new album comes over as perhaps a bit too glossy. Whose third album isn't? Live, as ever, it sounds much rawer. 'Stay Lucky' particularly appears faster and punkier, whereas some of the slower tracks sound much more epic and ‘The Queen of Lower Chelsea’ is a stand out moment.
Naturally there are a couple of covers. Wilson Pickett’s ‘In the Midnight Hour’ is instantly recognisable but Wayne Cochran’s ‘Last Kiss’ is met with many a bemused look and sends me scrabbling post-gig for someone with a stolen set list.
Then finally chance for the Brucie lovers to go ape with the closing duo of ‘Great Expectations’ and ‘The 59 Sound’ for which Chuck Ragan returns to the stage to assist.
The title track of 'American Slang' opens the encore but the highlight has to be ‘1930’ from 'Sink Or Swim' which follows. Before the slower ‘Miles Davis and the Cool’ leads us into the usual rousing finale of ‘The Backseat’.
A damn good night. They missed a few faves out but very few bands rotate a set list like these guys do, and they’ll be getting those in Leeds tomorrow.
(Tuesday 16th November)
Monday, February 1, 2010
A Long Standing Tradition
Yesterday’s ice gives way to an old favourite, rain. So I bike. As I meander through the estate I can see L and the boys up ahead of me. I can also hear them, well one of them, MD. He seems to be in good voice this morning.
I pull up at a red light in Spondon but the cyclist behind me simply carries on regardless, as do the two cars behind him. I know it’s a long standing tradition that at every set of traffic lights at least two cars jump the red light but the cyclist should have known better and all of us cyclists get the blame for that. He’ll stop one day though, when he meets those two cars coming the other way.
One of the events I’d fancied doing for a while was the Humber Duathlon in April but now I’m rapidly going off the idea. Mainly because there were only 27 entries in the last one, so I could end up doing the event and hardly seeing a soul for most of it. This defeats half the object of doing a ‘race’. This April’s event would be the third running of it. They had 41 entries for the first one but then it dropped to 27 for the second... so it’s getting less popular, either that or they lost the other 14 over the side of the Humber Bridge... I expect it's a bit blowy going over the bridge. Depending on where they land, that would make it a triathlon, technically speaking.
I was describing to L the other day my plan for avoiding a head on collision when a car overtakes another car and is coming towards you on your side of the road. This is when cycling. Basically it’s a case of getting ready to hurl one’s self sideways and home there’s a soft landing, like a hedge, there. I nearly got to put it into practice today on my way home. It was a close run thing.
My eventful journey continued a few miles down the road when I got a puncture going through Bramcote. I pull over and install a new tube, getting nice and cold doing so. I do the usual check for nails, shards of glass etc, which may be imbedded in the tyre. Nothing. I do notice that tyre is very thin though. Is that a hole? Hmmm, to be honest I have known that these tyres were on the way out, since... well, before Christmas. Half a mile down the road, whoosh, all the goes out of the tyre again. Another tube blown. It must be the tyre. I have another tube but I don’t wish to waste it, so I walk the remaining mile home.
All this means that I don’t get my swim again but still I get home at almost exactly the same time as if I’d been. Not the best day on the bike.
I pull up at a red light in Spondon but the cyclist behind me simply carries on regardless, as do the two cars behind him. I know it’s a long standing tradition that at every set of traffic lights at least two cars jump the red light but the cyclist should have known better and all of us cyclists get the blame for that. He’ll stop one day though, when he meets those two cars coming the other way.
One of the events I’d fancied doing for a while was the Humber Duathlon in April but now I’m rapidly going off the idea. Mainly because there were only 27 entries in the last one, so I could end up doing the event and hardly seeing a soul for most of it. This defeats half the object of doing a ‘race’. This April’s event would be the third running of it. They had 41 entries for the first one but then it dropped to 27 for the second... so it’s getting less popular, either that or they lost the other 14 over the side of the Humber Bridge... I expect it's a bit blowy going over the bridge. Depending on where they land, that would make it a triathlon, technically speaking.
I was describing to L the other day my plan for avoiding a head on collision when a car overtakes another car and is coming towards you on your side of the road. This is when cycling. Basically it’s a case of getting ready to hurl one’s self sideways and home there’s a soft landing, like a hedge, there. I nearly got to put it into practice today on my way home. It was a close run thing.
My eventful journey continued a few miles down the road when I got a puncture going through Bramcote. I pull over and install a new tube, getting nice and cold doing so. I do the usual check for nails, shards of glass etc, which may be imbedded in the tyre. Nothing. I do notice that tyre is very thin though. Is that a hole? Hmmm, to be honest I have known that these tyres were on the way out, since... well, before Christmas. Half a mile down the road, whoosh, all the goes out of the tyre again. Another tube blown. It must be the tyre. I have another tube but I don’t wish to waste it, so I walk the remaining mile home.
All this means that I don’t get my swim again but still I get home at almost exactly the same time as if I’d been. Not the best day on the bike.
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