Another Friday afternoon in the office.
After at least 20 cross referenced weather checks over the course of the day I am confident of a good conditions window. Taking full advantage of my flexi-time I am a blur at 4.01pm. I do not even allow my PC the grace of a full shutdown, flicking the switch at the back I am clattering down the metal fire escape stairs and getting changed for my Friday afternoon bike ride home. The best ride of the week.
With office bods keen to get home I cut loose into the hometime traffic. It’s the most dangerous time of the week on two wheels and as ever I cut every red light in between point A and B. Its always a mission, a mission that only I know off, there are no competitors but every one I see on two wheels is racing me. I embrace the sillyness of it all, the traffic, the pedestrians, the angry white van drivers, the drivers in a trance, the full schmorgasborg of road life. Its chaos and dangerous but I love it.
Home in 15 minutes. Once again I am a blur of activity from room to room. I immediately get changed into my mountain bike gear while simultaneously heating up some pasta from the fridge. My blood sugar and carbohydrate levels are low and I will be needing both in the next 90 mins. I scoff the pasta while I pack my puncture repair kit and check tyre pressures, they are soft, they have bled air and need to be rock hard for speed.
I fire a double espresso into myself and vapourise some weed before closing the front door and hitting the street. I know I am in for a whirlwind 90 mins on the bike with some Bouldering at Salisbury crags in the middle.
On the street my cadence is fast but light, I’m building up as I head through Victoria Park, I can feel the excitement building and adrenalin bleeding into my legs. As I exit the park I’m on ramming speed, its dry, its Friday, and I almost forgot, I’m stoned out of my gourd. The heavy breathing has metabolised the vapourised marijuana mist and delivered a ringing, buzzing high. I am functioning on full gear. I’m in my own little world and cranking the pedals furiously. I ponder the spectators perogative for a moment as I approach Holyrood Palace, I must look like I am on the run from something or someone. There is a full brass band playing in the courtyard of the Palace and there are cops everywhere, I better cool it or I will be flagged down before I nail a pedestrian ( again ).
I slow to 5-6 mph and bob and weave to give the air of the disarmed approachable cyclist, not the eyeballs bulging two wheeled highwayman on an imaginary speed training mission.
I take the steep meandering mountain road that ascends Arthur Seat, I am Salisbury Crags bound and the hill is hard work. I’m a little too stoned to accurately calibrate pace, I pass two cyclists on the hill to the top, they share my suffering.
I traverse round the girth of Arthur Seat into a tough headwind and buckle down into a short battle with the elements, I am struggling for air, as ever demanding more than I am given. Another turn and I see the crags, I’m off the road and cycle the final 200 yards up to the South Quarry, my old friend.
Skirting the crags I drop the bike and wobble a bit as I stand on terra firma, it’s the slightly drunken wobble of the cyclist who dismounts after hard effort, all sport cyclists will know it, the tell tale sign of digging deep.
As I shuffle about removing my climbing gear I feel pretty hollowed out. My head is ringing and I am sweating like a man on the run from something, something heavy.
But there is no fear. I am no fugitive ( well except for the weed and traffic offences ) and I sit on a rock and let my rapid breathing mellow with a quick drink of water. With shoes and chalk bag on I’m onto the rock for some traversing. The rock is volcanic and bone dry. I feel stiff at first but soon I’m flowing on well learned lines along the crag, right to left, then left to right, then I do the classic black wall traverse of the quarry.
My shoulder feels tweaky so I put my cyling shoes back on after a half hour climbing and get back on the bike. With cops everywhere around Holyrood I make a decision to head right through the cities busy southside and up the Meadows walkway. I know the mound and the Hanover street downhill will offer some action and equal measures of real danger.
Its about 6pm and its as busy as I anticipate. On getting to the top of the Mound its one long rollercoaster to the bottom of Dundas Street. As I swoop to the bottom of the Mound I am doing 30mph at least, I rifle between two lanes of 15mph traffic. Fully aware of the exposed nature of my predicament I fire up the first half of Hanover Street, nothing stops me and I cross George Street at 20mph and I see a green light at the Queen Street crossing 200 yards away.
I sprint like a man possessed, watching the green light, willing it to stay green. 30 yards away it changes Amber and Red but I’m commited now and make a sketchy full speed crossing in front of a mix of maybe 100 pedestrians and motorists. If there are police I’m definitely dicing with a potential chase, but unless they are motorbike police they could never catch me. Either way the gamble pays off and I skip another Red light on the downside of Dundas Street stopping only at the last light when when I realise that this one doesn’t feel right.
Its taken me maybe 1 minute to get from the top of the mound to the bottom of Dundas Street, a kamikaze ride that that I enjoy frequently but seldom at the tempo of todays foray! I can feel the heat on me, the CCTV images I have left, the comments of motorists washed into the Friday afternoon, I escape onto the safety of the cycle path.
The rest of the ride home is a recovery spin as my stoned conciousness contemplates the madness of the rush hour downhill.
I am tired and ringing, I feel 101% alive.
After a year of minor injury I feel thankful for my current level of fitness.
As I finish writing this at 7.20pm its been raining heavily for 20 mins. Its been showery for a whole month now and I bask in the sneakyness of beating the damned weather.
The weekend forecast is very wet, the drudgery of indoor climbing lies ahead but I’m happy I managed to bag a little outdoor.
Life is good today.
After at least 20 cross referenced weather checks over the course of the day I am confident of a good conditions window. Taking full advantage of my flexi-time I am a blur at 4.01pm. I do not even allow my PC the grace of a full shutdown, flicking the switch at the back I am clattering down the metal fire escape stairs and getting changed for my Friday afternoon bike ride home. The best ride of the week.
With office bods keen to get home I cut loose into the hometime traffic. It’s the most dangerous time of the week on two wheels and as ever I cut every red light in between point A and B. Its always a mission, a mission that only I know off, there are no competitors but every one I see on two wheels is racing me. I embrace the sillyness of it all, the traffic, the pedestrians, the angry white van drivers, the drivers in a trance, the full schmorgasborg of road life. Its chaos and dangerous but I love it.
Home in 15 minutes. Once again I am a blur of activity from room to room. I immediately get changed into my mountain bike gear while simultaneously heating up some pasta from the fridge. My blood sugar and carbohydrate levels are low and I will be needing both in the next 90 mins. I scoff the pasta while I pack my puncture repair kit and check tyre pressures, they are soft, they have bled air and need to be rock hard for speed.
I fire a double espresso into myself and vapourise some weed before closing the front door and hitting the street. I know I am in for a whirlwind 90 mins on the bike with some Bouldering at Salisbury crags in the middle.
On the street my cadence is fast but light, I’m building up as I head through Victoria Park, I can feel the excitement building and adrenalin bleeding into my legs. As I exit the park I’m on ramming speed, its dry, its Friday, and I almost forgot, I’m stoned out of my gourd. The heavy breathing has metabolised the vapourised marijuana mist and delivered a ringing, buzzing high. I am functioning on full gear. I’m in my own little world and cranking the pedals furiously. I ponder the spectators perogative for a moment as I approach Holyrood Palace, I must look like I am on the run from something or someone. There is a full brass band playing in the courtyard of the Palace and there are cops everywhere, I better cool it or I will be flagged down before I nail a pedestrian ( again ).
I slow to 5-6 mph and bob and weave to give the air of the disarmed approachable cyclist, not the eyeballs bulging two wheeled highwayman on an imaginary speed training mission.
I take the steep meandering mountain road that ascends Arthur Seat, I am Salisbury Crags bound and the hill is hard work. I’m a little too stoned to accurately calibrate pace, I pass two cyclists on the hill to the top, they share my suffering.
I traverse round the girth of Arthur Seat into a tough headwind and buckle down into a short battle with the elements, I am struggling for air, as ever demanding more than I am given. Another turn and I see the crags, I’m off the road and cycle the final 200 yards up to the South Quarry, my old friend.
Skirting the crags I drop the bike and wobble a bit as I stand on terra firma, it’s the slightly drunken wobble of the cyclist who dismounts after hard effort, all sport cyclists will know it, the tell tale sign of digging deep.
As I shuffle about removing my climbing gear I feel pretty hollowed out. My head is ringing and I am sweating like a man on the run from something, something heavy.
But there is no fear. I am no fugitive ( well except for the weed and traffic offences ) and I sit on a rock and let my rapid breathing mellow with a quick drink of water. With shoes and chalk bag on I’m onto the rock for some traversing. The rock is volcanic and bone dry. I feel stiff at first but soon I’m flowing on well learned lines along the crag, right to left, then left to right, then I do the classic black wall traverse of the quarry.
My shoulder feels tweaky so I put my cyling shoes back on after a half hour climbing and get back on the bike. With cops everywhere around Holyrood I make a decision to head right through the cities busy southside and up the Meadows walkway. I know the mound and the Hanover street downhill will offer some action and equal measures of real danger.
Its about 6pm and its as busy as I anticipate. On getting to the top of the Mound its one long rollercoaster to the bottom of Dundas Street. As I swoop to the bottom of the Mound I am doing 30mph at least, I rifle between two lanes of 15mph traffic. Fully aware of the exposed nature of my predicament I fire up the first half of Hanover Street, nothing stops me and I cross George Street at 20mph and I see a green light at the Queen Street crossing 200 yards away.
I sprint like a man possessed, watching the green light, willing it to stay green. 30 yards away it changes Amber and Red but I’m commited now and make a sketchy full speed crossing in front of a mix of maybe 100 pedestrians and motorists. If there are police I’m definitely dicing with a potential chase, but unless they are motorbike police they could never catch me. Either way the gamble pays off and I skip another Red light on the downside of Dundas Street stopping only at the last light when when I realise that this one doesn’t feel right.
Its taken me maybe 1 minute to get from the top of the mound to the bottom of Dundas Street, a kamikaze ride that that I enjoy frequently but seldom at the tempo of todays foray! I can feel the heat on me, the CCTV images I have left, the comments of motorists washed into the Friday afternoon, I escape onto the safety of the cycle path.
The rest of the ride home is a recovery spin as my stoned conciousness contemplates the madness of the rush hour downhill.
I am tired and ringing, I feel 101% alive.
After a year of minor injury I feel thankful for my current level of fitness.
As I finish writing this at 7.20pm its been raining heavily for 20 mins. Its been showery for a whole month now and I bask in the sneakyness of beating the damned weather.
The weekend forecast is very wet, the drudgery of indoor climbing lies ahead but I’m happy I managed to bag a little outdoor.
Life is good today.
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