SV-Wolf's Bike Blog

[sv-wolf]

Saturday 24 June 2006

The last fortnight promised some good biking: loads of interesting rides or events on the calendar. As so often happens though, things didn’t quite work out as planned: several were cancelled or curtailed. Nevertheless, there's been a lot to enjoy.

A week last Friday one of the Stevenage club members, (a CBR600 rider, owner of four dogs, several hens and more rabbits than I could count) was having a barbecue at his home. He lives in a village about fifteen miles north of my home town of Hitchin. The barbecue was due to start at 5.00pm. I didn’t manage to get there till 8.00pm (Why am I always late for things? I’ve given this much thought and self-examination over the years and I still don’t understand it.) I like riding the back roads north of here. They really are very rural: single track roads with wiggly verges and some great twisty bits. You have to keep very focused if you take them at any speed. Although I ride them from tme to time, I don't know them that well, so a lot of good judgement is called for. I’m getting a lot more confident cornering on the bike these days and that makes riding these roads a lot of fun.

It’s a strange thing, though, there's a downside to getting more confident and relaxed on the bike. Although I'm enjoying my increased ablity to handle the bike well, and that gives me a sense of power and control, I don't get quite the same buzz as I used to. When I first came back to riding, I’d lost some of my nerve, and it has taken me a couple of years to get it back properly. During the first year I spent a lot of time riding and feeling scared sh1tless. This wasn’t the bad type of aargh!-I-can’t-do-this-any-more sh1tlesness, but the wow!-wooohooo!-that-was-scary-let’s-do-that-again’ type. It's the same sort of buzz you get from going to horror films. I miss that regular (very regular) adrenalin zing when you scare the dayights out of yourself on a corner. Riding has become a bit more – dare I say it – ordinary recently. Just a bit ordinary- it will never be wholly like that, of course (well, at least I hope not) but… Maybe I’m just turning into a sensation junkie.

Part of my early enjoyment also came from reinventing myself as a biker and rediscovering the camaraderie that came with it. I guess I was a typical returner: off on his bike for hours every day if I could manage it, neglecting everything for the smell of petrol and the feel of the bike beneath me. Now I take my need to have a bike for granted, as do the people around me.

It wasn’t easy to get back on a bike after such a long time without one. I knew I wanted to, but it took me nearly a year to finally commit. Even then I had to trick myself into buying the bike. Before I'd even talked to a dealer about a machine, I went out and bought myself a very expensive Arai helmet in the belief that once I’d splashed out the cash on that, I’d just have to go ahead and get the bike. It worked!

So here I was, sitting in a garden in the village of Barley with a group of friends from the club eating barbecued sausages. Not a lot of people from the club were there – just a few - most people were unknown to me. It was a good night though. I collected some more sponsorship money. I was able to slob out for most of the time and have my first go on a mini-moto in the field behind the back of the house. I had one small crash, but nothing was damaged apart from a little bit of ego. It was fun, but I don’t think I’ll be rushing out to buy one. The rest of the evening was spent turning the sausages on the barbecue, talking to people, and popping balloons under the manic instructions of one excessively energetic small boy. I think I dropped off to sleep for a while as the evening wore on. I have a reputation for doing this. I can fall asleep anywhere. It is now part of club ritual to take photos of me dozing off in all kinds of positions whenever we go out anywhere together. They now have enough to fill an album. There's a couple on their website.

ON the way home along the Bedford road, I saw a couple of muntjak grazing in the hedge. You don't normally see them out here.

Sunday came, and I rode down to Bike Stop for the rideout (I was ten minutes late, of course) got off my bike and walked into the familiar discussion about where we were going to go. It’s amazing how much half-hearted indecision can be generated when six people get together to discuss where they want to go. That’s how many turned up. Not a lot. A select few. Six people on four bikes – Dan and Sarah came, riding two up on their Buell Thunderbolt, Dave and Theresa on their Trophy, Roger came solo on his old BMW and then there was me on the SV.

The original plan, cooked up several weeks before, was that I would find an interesting route and lead the group out towards Cambridge where we would visit Haywards, a Royal Enfield and Moto Guzzi dealer. I think the idea was to encourage me to go and buy the bloody Enfield and stop messing around. But Haywards was closed on a Sunday, so that was out. Dave (Trophy) had suggested Stratford-upon-Avon and that was what was posted on the website. Dave likes Stratford and goes there quite a lot. It's a good ride. But it is also a long one. As there was another long mid-week ride planned, no-one seemed that interested. Harrold Park was suggested. There’s a good café at Harrold Park next to the lake and it’s an attractive ride through some stunningly beautiful little villages full of thatched cottages. Part of the park is a nature reserve, but it’s the ride, not pootling around among nature that most of the club go for – so we tend to stick close to the café. Eventually, Dan suggested that we go to Thorpeness. Faces, gradually lit up and it was agreed.

This just demonstrates how irrational our collective decision-making processes are. (Don’t know about you but, actually, I don’t think human beings are very rational most of the time, anyway.) Thorpeness is in Suffolk, way out on that bit of the North Sea coast that faces The Netherlands. It’s a way longer journey than Stratford, but suddenly everyone was excited by the idea and wanted to go. Maybe, it was just the thought of going to the coast. That’s what bikers do isn’t it? They go to the coast and… Well, anyway, they go to the coast. What the hell! It was a lovely morning.

The next question we faced was, where exactly on the East Coast is Thorpeness. A quick look at the map showed that it was close to Aldborough and Snape, which is a beautiful area, but just south of Sizewell B, one of the UKs aging nuclear reactors. Can’t have everything, I suppose!

There are lots of good roads out that way. Dan was going to lead on the Buell, which meant there would be no high speed antics (more to do with the Buel's power than Dan's riding.) He chose a route which avoided motorways and dual-carriageways and took us out through rural Essex and Suffolk. It was a good plan. Dan and Sarah, and Dave and Theresa seemed enthusiastic. I was enthusiastic. But Roger wasn’t. He wasn’t up for a long ride and decided not to come. I felt a bit bad about that, but he seemed perfectly happy to go back home and get on with whatever he needed to do there, and he is normally straight about what he thinks.

We set off, with Dan in front, me in the middle and David bringing up the rear. That’s the way we stayed for the whole trip, and though we frequently lost sight of each other for long periods, nobody got lost - even temporarily (that has to be a record for the S&DMCC). BTW, the club always abbreviates its name with an ampersand, ‘&’. I’ve just realised why. We rode down some wonderful minor roads out through Essex and Suffolk. It’s just a pity about the level of traffic on some of them.

It was a lovely day but in leathers, which most of us were wearing, it was HOT. Hot and sweaty, and clammy and airless. Not fun in a full face helmet despite the wind blast. At one point I was struggling for breath. And on these country roads we just could not find anywhere to stop for a drink. We rode for nearly two hours before we found somewhere, and by that time we were all feeling dehydrated and very uncomfortable. It was in a Tesco’s supermarket. Tesco's cafe's are cheap and cheerful, and dependable, but not very exciting.

On some country lanes close to the coast we were overtaken by a Kawasaki going hell for leather. It left us all fairly stunned. The road here was very twisty – very. The guy must have been a local with very intimate knowledge of these roads to have taken corners like that and survived.

At Thorpeness, we had some lunch, took a cursory look at the beach and then decided to hire some rowboats on a nearby lake. At least, Dan and I did. Dave decided to sit it out. Sarah reluctantly agreed to go with Dan and then sat out the next hour in the back of his boat with folded arms pointedly indicating her disapproval. After a long period of indecision, and a pep talk by the boatkeeper who pointed out that nowhere in the lake was deeper than three feet, Theresa agreed to come with me.

I haven’t been in a row boat for years, and was pleasantly surprised that my level of fitness hadn’t completely collapsed over the last year. We rowed across the lake and found some narrow channels on the other side. Moving gently along between the green, banks lined with droops of willow, was so relaxing. A total change of pace from the bikes. It did remind me, though, of the time we took Di out to Hartford Lock last year, and I got a bit upset for a while. I never know when something is going to set me off.

Having been Di's carer for over a year, it’s taken me quite a few months to relax back into a more ordinary way of being. I’m gradually beginning to rediscover what it is like to have a life of my own again and to remember a time before she got ill. And with that rediscovery and rememberance, I’ve really begun to miss her. While I rowed, Theresa and I talked personally about our experiences of death - I with Di and she with her mother.

Theresa did have a go with the oars for a few minutes, but let's just say she'll never get anywhere very fast in a rowboat.

Thorpeness is a pleasant town. Some of these Essex coastal towns are attractive and well-maintained, not like your average sea-side resorts which are usually quite tatty, if cheerful. The buildings here are mostly clapboard. You find that a lot in this part of Suffolk, but it’s quite unusual for the country as a whole. The town also has some unusual features: a huge windmill in a good state of preservation; the 'House in the Clouds,' a house which appears to be built on the top of a watertower and looks out across the treetops' and cafes which uniformly refuse to serve cooked food after two o’clock. I came home feeling pretty hungry.

Getting back was more straightforward. We took the major roads and put some speed on. 'Major roads' in rural Suffolk, however are pretty narrow and busy, and we had to ride some twenty miles before we hit dual-carriageway and a decent traffic flow. But the landscape in Suffolk is beautiful: miles of greenery and not a town to be seen.

The midweek event didn’t happen. On Tuesday evening a bunch of us were planning to ride down to Stonehenge. The idea was to stay overnight to witness the Druids celebrating the summer solstice. Thousands of people turn up every year to see the midsummer sun rising between the two central standing stones and casting its rays in a narrow band over the Helestone. The club goes down there every year. The event is sometimes relayed on TV but I’ve never seen it myself.

I don’t know anything about the Druids or what they believe, but I like the idea that someone is ritually marking such events as the solstice. I always think that though science has altered and reorganised our dependence on the natural world, it hasn’t overcome it; just obscured it a little. The cycle of the seasons still controls most farming activities. Even in a small market town like Hitchin, it is easy to forget that dependence. In the village where I grew up, you were always acutely aware of the changing seasons. You could see it in the fields and hedgerows every day.

I have no religious beliefs about such events, but I like to feel something that keeps me onnected to the natural world. That connection keeps me feeling grounded and prevents me getting too caught up in all the obsessive and artificial concerns of our hermetically sealed lifestyle. It puts me in touch with something more simple and phsical.

Unfortunately, towards evening on Tuesday the weather became wet, very windy and overcast. I foresaw an uncomfortable ride down in high winds, a wet night and no sight of the sun the next morning, so I decided not to go. It seems everyone else had the same idea.

Wednesday evening was the Meldreth Manor bike show. The show is organised by the Royston and District Motorcycle Club, a local rival to the S&DMCC. It’s very small, but on this occasion very well attended. There were some lovely old bikes in the barn, incuding a Douglas (I love Douglas’s). Haywards were there, so I went to have yet another look at the Enfields. BMW were also there. They’ve now taken delivery of the F800ST, which is the touring version of the new model. I went and ogled for ten minutes. I still love the bike, and I’ve got my name down for a test ride from the Hertford BMW dealers in the next couple of weeks. But as I looked at it, a thought occurred to me. It’s belt driven. I then remembered that someone once told me that belt driven bikes are liable to get stones lodged under the belt which can screw things up big time. Some of the roads I would encounter round the Baltic are rough surfaced, especially in Poland. A belt drive might not be a good idea. I would have to look into that further.

Tomorrow, I am planning to go down to the Beaulieu show with Ron. I've never been before and it sounds like a very good day out. It's a long ride, but it's down South, so we'll be riding through some of my favourite country. Watch this space.

[sv-wolf]

Tuesday 27 June 2006

There must be something in the air. There just must be something in the air. In the tweve mile round trip to work today I had to take avoiding action seven times. Seven times!!! Five times I had to brake to avoid being hit. On three separate occasions cars cut into my lane immediately in front of me without signalling, once a bus pulled out of a side road into my right of way while I was leant over on a slow but very tight bend, and once, a car pulled out fast on a roundabout cutting off my exit. Apart from that, I had to hold back on two car drivers who didn't seem to know what they were doing. One was driving at 15 mph in a 40mph zone, running up the white line and signalling first one way then the other. Another was going about 10mph over a run of speed bumps but slowing erratically in between them and weaving about.

You could get really mad (or paranoid) about something like that. I was in a bad mood this morning anyway, so did a fair bit of blasting on the horn and gesticulating. I just couldn't believe it every time it happened. Is the universe trying to give me a message, do you think? Or did I just run into a lot of careless driving?

At least the bus driver pulled up hard to avoid me and had the courage to make apologetic signals: the other bastards just plain pretended I wasn't there, though the guy on the roundabout was clearly embarrassed. One of the cars was driven by someone from work. He didn't recognise me in my lid, but I saw him. It must have been his day off. Tomorrow!!!!

More and more, drivers seem to have laneophobia. I've seen a lot of it lately, cars cutting over the white line, especially on roundabouts or corners, but before today I mostly witnessed it from a distance. What do you do?

[zarakand]

Ah the damned problems of us commuters. They do seem to be getting worse during rush hour don't they?

[sv-wolf]

The SV got its 24,000 mile service today. As I'd been putting it off, though, there were 25,500 miles on the clock. I asked Simon to do it. He's the Ducati man with the garage at Breachwood Green. Breachwood Green is way out in the sticks, so he picks up my bike in his van on his way to work in the morning and brings it back at night. He does a good job and he doesn't charge the earth for it. So I'm well pleased. Unfortunately, in six weeks time he is going to give up the garage and start working for a dealer in Letchworth. He won't be doing general maintenace any more but will be focusing on dyno work.

After Simon brought the bike back I got a call from a friend, Chris, asking if I wanted to go over to see him at home this evening and then go on to the village pub. Sounded like a good idea. Chris lives in Breachwood Green too. It's a good ride out there along the lanes. Coming home afterwards, well after dark, I saw loads of hedgehogs roaming over the road. I haven't seen a hedgehog on the road while riding for several years. So it was strange to see so many. They tend to stop still while you pass, but they can be unpredictable so you have to take care. I doubt if their spines would do any serious damage to a bike tyre, but I don't aim to find out. I also passed several muntjack feeding in the hedgerows down Preston Hill, and closer to home there were two foxes squashed flat on the tarmac. That's becoming more common these days. I wonder if it has anything to do with the recent ban on foxhunting. I can't see how, though. The farmers just kill them by other means. (Maybe they just go out fox sqaushing in their 4X4s!!!!!)

There's a lot of gravel on these roads right now. Some of the bends are treacherous: the road looks clear as you go in, but you oftenhit a pile of gravel as you come back out, usually in the middle of the lane. The roads are narrow, so if there are any cars coming the other way and you hit gravel on a bend, you don't have much room to play with.

Weeeeell I made my decision today. I didn't put the baffle back in, I took the other one out. And the result... What a noise! A real deep, sexy, bass note rumble.

Tomorrow, I take the bike into Bob's Tyres to get a new set of Pirelli Diabolos. The Bridgestones are begining to look a little worn and the back one is now very squared off. I had quite a slide on it a couple of days ago coming off the 'Three Moorhens' roundabout. I wasn't doing any more than thirty mph, but I really thought I was going down for a moment. Whether the state of the tyres had anything to do with it, or whether I hit a patch of diesel or something, I'm not sure. The Bridgestones have been very good up to now, especially in the wet but I thought I'd try the Pirellis for a change. I know lots of riders who use them.

[sv-wolf]

The Bridgestone 014s that I had put on earlier in the year have been great: they've given good road holding; been brilliant on the corners, excellent in the wet, durable, but they're now starting to get squared off, so it’s time for a change. This time I’ve decided to go for a set of Pirelli Diabolos to see what all the fuss is about. A lot of guys in the club have them and rate them highly.

On Wednesday I ring up 'Bob’s Tyres' and ask if they can do the work. I’ve heard some not-so-good things about 'Bob’s Tyres' recently, but then I’ve heard some not-so-good things about all the dealers and bike services around here in one way or another. I think about it and decide to give them the business, anyway. It has to be said that they are very convenient – they're a fifteen-minute walk from where I work, and they can usually turn round a change of tyres in an hour or so. They give me a slot on Friday morning, but tell me the guy who does all the work on bikes (‘Bob’ himself) is going away for a fortnight on Friday afternoon, so not to be late.

Well, I am up late on Thursday night… Friday morning dawns, and I’m dozing in bed enjoying a lay-in and making up for some lost sleep. Slowly my tired brain begins to gather some day-time consciousness, and I start to think of the day ahead. After a while, my thought stray towards the bike (naturally, what else?), when …Ping!… A little memory clicks into place. ‘Bob’s tyres'. Gotta get the bike to Bob’s before the afternoon. I am now sitting bolt upright.

It is now half past ten. I throw on some clothes, rush to the phone, speak to the guy at Bob’s and ask if they can still do the work. I can get the bike to them in, “Oh, ahhh...! half an hour,” I tell them. I put the phone down.

Half-an-hour???? That was said in a panic. I stare at the breakfast things I had started to get ready. How can I get breakfast and get there in half an hour? I can't. No bloody way! So, it's no shave, no breakfast, no checking the post, no time for anything. I get clobbered up, wheel out the bike, fire her up and within minutes I’m heading towards Stevenage Old Town where Bob and his crew hang out.

It’s not a long journey. I get there just after eleven and they are still cool about fitting the tyres. Great!. I leave the bike with them and set off on the short walk to the office. I’m still in my leathers, of course, and it’s a blisteringly hot day. But I’m happy. The situation has been saved and now things are going to plan.

Later on that afternoon, round about two o’clock I get a call on my work phone from a guy I haven’t spoken to in years. He was Di’s manager when she ran a project for Asian women in Luton. That was about two jobs back from her last.

He has heard of her death and is ringing to say how sorry he is. I’m completely bowled over by his concern. Di and he fought over the job. She didn’t like his managerial style and thought he was putting process in the way of helping her clients.

He keeps me on the phone asking questions about her and her death for about half-an-hour. He sounds so genuine in his enquires and so heartfelt in his sympathy that I am really touched. Unfortunately, this all unsettles me rather badly, and after I put the phone down I just stare uselessly at the piles of paper on my desk. I realize I am not going to get any work done that afternoon and I need to be on my own for a bit. I decide to take some flexi-leave and quit work for the day. And it’s bloody lucky I do.

I walk back into the Old Town and head off towards Bob’s. As I approach the workshop, one of the mechanics is out in front and sees me coming. He starts to look at me in a slightly shifty way.

Oh- ho!

The first thing he does is to ask me anxiously if I got his phone message on my mobile. I tell him, no, I didn’t.
“Errr…”, he says, “Ummmm…”
His name is Pete.
Pete takes me into the workshop and shows me the bike.
“Sorry”, he says, “We’ve changed the tyre on the back wheel, no problem, but we can’t get the front wheel off. It’s locked tight. “
(Now this is beginning to sound familiar. The trouble I had getting the back wheel off some weeks ago when I wanted to adjust the chain flashes through my mind.)
My heart sinks.

Pete tells me that Bob sprayed the wheel with penetrating oil and tried to shift the spindle with an air gun, but couldn’t move it. Bob, who has now gone on holiday was afraid to try anything more drastic without my permission in case he split the spindle.
“Who the f**k tightened this thing up,” Pete asks me defensively, trying to find someone else to blame, “They made a complete balls up of it. It’s far too tight.”
I look at him, closely.
“Well, you did”, I say, “When I last brought the bike in to you for a tyre change”.

The subject is rapidly dropped.

I don’t pursue it – for now. I just want to concentrate on getting my tyre changed.
Pete takes down the airgun, fits it to the spindle and gives me a demonstration of how unyielding it is.
“See”, he says, “Won’t budge.”.
The spindle begins to turn.
“Oh!” he says.
“Oh, good!” I reply.
He brightens. “The penetrating oil must have had time to work. OK, I can finish the job off for you in a few minutes.”
“That’s good,” I say. I need to ride down to London tonight. The queston of why I had to get the bike in this morning when Paul is capable of changing the tyre this afternoon, flits through my mind. But it's a good day. I'm not in a combative mood. So, I wander happily out into the yard, sit down on a bit of low wall and close my eyes.

Three-quarters of an hour later Pete has changed the tyre, got the wheel on, balanced it all up and the bike is ready. In the office, I ask him what he thinks about his new 2006 Fireblade, which is standing out in the courtyard. I can see instantly from the fire that lights up behind his eyes, that I am going to be here for a few more minutes yet, so I settle back and listen while he tells me. The time ticks by. He speaks very knowledgeably and interestingly about the Blade, which is clearly the current love of his life. He even has praise for the new damping mechanism that everyone has been complaining about. I enjoy listening to him. I’m learning a lot.

Eventually, I get to hand my plastic over to him. As he is printing my invoice he casually mentions that because the spindle has been over-tightened I should get it torqued up asap.
“Um, can’t you do that?” I ask.
Suddenly this guy, who a second ago was impressively knowledgeable about bikes starts to mutter incomprehensibly. I can see this isn’t going to go anywhere, fast. We lock eyes for a moment, then he brightens:
“Oh!. I’ve got this mate over in the dealership at Letchworth. Give him a ring. Say Pete sent you. If you go now he might be able to torque up the wheel for you tonight”.
I have one last try..
“Don’t you have a torque wrench?”
“Mumble…settings…mumble,” is all I get to understand.

I have to go to Letchwroth anyway, so I mentally make a note to do as he suggests, and leave it at that. I hare off home, pick up the phone and ring his friend who works for the Letchworth dealer.
“Pete suggested that I ring you and ask…”
But, it's no go. The friend is busy and will be going home in fifteen minutes. I ring up another dealer in Letchworth – where a club member works. Luckily, he answers the phone.
“OK, bring her over quick, we are closing in half an hour,” he says.
I get back on the bike and ride over there as quickly as I can, cursing the rush hour traffic. I arrive about ten to five - ten minutes to closing time. The guy I know rips into action. Job done. And I owe him a drink.

On the ride down to London, the new unscrubbed tyres scare the living s**t out of me. I’ve ridden unscrubbed tyres plenty of times before, but these Diabolos feel like skates on a skating rink. A slight cross wind has me wobbling all over the place. I’m not sure if it is something to do with the tyre, with the fact that they are unscrubbed, or something more sinister about my front wheel. Still, thirty miles down to London and back as well and the running back and forth that afternoon will get them scrubbed for me ready for the rideout tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes. But I'm definitely uneasy.

[sv-wolf]

Took the day off today to go up to the Electric Cinema in Portobello Road, London to see a film of last year's EnduroIndia and meet some of the guys who took part.

The Electric Cinema is something else entirely. The seats are tan leather, very comfortable, widely spaced with loads of legroom and leather footrests in front of them. Right at the back of the cinema there are large leather divans that can only really be described as beds. What kind of place is this? There is a bar at the back of the cinema in the auditorium itself. All very comfortable and very civilised.

This film of the enduro was brilliant - better than the last one they made. It succeeded in scaring even more s**t out of me than the last one. Every year, Simon and his team of organisers include more and more off road stuff. As I've never done any off-roading and am nervous of even a surface layer of gravel I do not respond with confidence to what I see on the film. But 'what the hell!' I think to myself as I watch it. It's an enduro, it's meant to test you and push you to your limit. Overall the trip looks brilliant, exciting, challeging, so I remain enthusiastic, even though I'm biting my nails slightly

Then we get to the point in the film where one of the bike goes over the cliff edge. Oh-oh! Do I really want to do this? Fortunately the guy manages to jump off before the bike disappears. I take a deep breath and keep on smiling.

After the showing, I go to the pub next door with some of the guys who went last year and get to hear their words of wisdom. They have some very simple advice:

The most important things to take with you are 1. Immodium 2. Gaffer Tape. 3 A large block of foam rubber. The foam rubber is to fix onto the seat of the bullet as it's the most uncomfortable thing they have ever ridden. The gaffer tape is for fixing it on with.

The most important thing to remember about the Bullet, they say, is that its front brake is useless. Squeeze the lever and nothing - absolutely nothing - happens. When needing to throw out the anchors, their advice is to rely on the back brake (which is good) and the gears. Well, that's what they say and they've done it and been there, and come home pretty much in one piece.

One guy also advised me never to assume that I know what is round the next corner. Indian roads, he said, can change abruptly when you are least expecting it. Several of the guys had stories about leaning the bike round a tight, blind corner, only to discover that suddenly they had run out of tarmac and into soft sand. Ouch!

I also talked with some of this year's hopefuls, Ben and Chris and Jerry and some others - all nutters or dreamers or 'don't give a dodo' types, which sound like the right kind of qualifications for what I've just seen on the film. Ben looks like the youngest of all this year's hopefuls. He's 24. Most of those booked to go look about my age or slightly younger (mid-fortyish I'd say).

So, for the time being, it's back to the fundraising. I've got pledges of just under a thousand pounds so far. I've got a couple of events coming up in the next three weeks. I'm doing a barbecue next weekend on the 22nd July and another one a fortnight later on 5th August. The first one is in a friend's garden (She has a big garden) and the second one at home (It would have been Di's birthday.)

The one on the 22nd is going off half cocked because I should have organised it two weeks ago, but didn't. I hit a bad bout of depression. Six weeks after Di died, just when I was beginning to think that, painful as all this was, I would get through it without going into a heap, a deep case of the blues suddenly hit me and I crumpled. It came out of nowhere and I wasn't prepared for it. It paralysed me for nearly two weeks. I couldn't do anything, not even lift up the phone to ask for help or tell people what was happening. I just had to go with it and wait for it to lift. I'm feeling a little better now, though I'm still quite low in spirits whenever I'm left alone for long.

But I'm back doing again. I'm trying to build a simple web site - a steep learning curve for someone like me who only learned the meaning of the term 'desktop' a few months ago. I'm using a free downloaded web-builder programme from www.nvu.com which even I can understand. I think I've got the main points sussed. I'm now waiting for the EnduroIndia guys to send me some photos to enliven it. With a fair wind and a little bit of luck, you should see a link soon.

I'm getting all fired up again. I hope the mood lasts - or if it doesn't, that I'll be able to handle the lows without getting too stressed out about them and without beating myself up for not meeting the goals I've myself.

[blues2cruise]

that should inspire you. it's from the 2006 enduro.

or this bunch...they look like they had a great time....

[blues2cruise]

And click on this link to read about one fellows 2006 enduro along with some pics.
He is smiling......

http://www.docdeath.freeserve.co.uk/india/main.htm

make sure you click on his picture gallery.

[sv-wolf]

And click on this link to read about one fellows 2006 enduro along with some pics.
He is smiling......

http://www.docdeath.freeserve.co.uk/india/main.htm

make sure you click on his picture gallery.

Thanks Blues.

I think I met this guy. He's a real live wire.

The whole thing sounds like an amazing experience.

The hard thing is the fundraising. Only one in four people manage to raise the minimum to get themselves out there.

[blues2cruise]

Are you too busy finding funding to drop by and let us know how you are doing?

We'd all love to hear from you.