What's music about?

 

At first, I thought music was important, and power was inherent within it - but after all these years, I think that might be nonsense. My understanding of chaos theory played a huge role in this - how everything dissolves into fractal chaos, yet there's a beauty and a grace within that disorder. Above all, I think music is utterly hollow until it attaches itself to us. Once that happens, it follows the fractal pattern of our lives, as they seek contextual belonging to a broader world of uncertainty.

My favourite XTC song is "Generals And Majors" - but is it because it's great? Again - I don't think so. It's not their best song; there are many others I admire more, and love more. So, why is it number one? It's all context. I love the song because I can see rows of the sleeves piled up in my local Woolworths in Devizes. I can feel how important it was for me to be connected to music and to a love of these objects. I can see how that single was an object of desire and slotted into everything else around it. The music, of course, is performed by a bunch of blokes from Swindon - it has the bucolic, West Country twang - melancholia, whistling, it feels - distant, yet close. And it's all about Cold War paranoia - I was living on the edge of Salisbury Plain at the time, and I can recall seeing low-loaders with ICBMs being driven through the streets of our village. It normalised armageddon and placed it into the bucolic little place I called home. Again, context. And those blokes from Swindon felt like me, too - outsiders - removed from the big city, slightly cast adrift. 

The power that song has is all contextual. It's power I bestowed upon the song, not power that the song had to begin with. 

I think that's what music is. It's nothing, but it's everything, so long as you can map out that personal context, and tie it to the ever-expanding fractal beauty that lies at the periphery of one's understanding. Beauty doesn't lie within; it lies on the outskirts, at the boundary where fractal lines blur and escape our power to control them.

I can still feel the pavement under my feet

I can still feel the same way I did in 1990, walking these Akasaka streets for the first time. The sense of optimism, of hope and possibility. It's all there, in the air, buildings, and skies over East Tokyo. 

I'm older now, but I've not lost anything over all these years. Tokyo still feels like home to me - or like a home, perhaps. The streets seem to envelop me, and the noise of the city fills my head. I tried to listen to music whilst walking the streets early in the morning - but it was somewhat futile. The earbuds came out, and the city's sound rushed back in; it was all I needed. 
 

I really, really needed that.

 The past few weeks have been vindication for the worst of years: a cavalcade of sensory overload, an embarrassment of riches after the paucity of grief and confusion.

Japan for a week? How could it be anything other than extraordinary? In truth, it was almost overwhelming. A chance to revisit old haunts with friends old and new. So much memory and happiness. The sensation of a life that unfolded around the joy of travel and exploration. Not just of mere countries - but of life itself. I was assailed by nostalgia for something still living in front of my eyes. A dream that refused to awaken. 

And this weekend was the Shiiine festival. A meeting of the tribes, for us - seeing Neds, Stuffies, Poppies, EMF. So many friends. Watching the Stuffies, as we did from the side of a stage thirty-four years ago. Feeling humbled that our lives still afforded us the luxury of feeling the same way. 

I needed these weeks. 

Chasing

 I've been thinking about the music I loved when I was a kid. Why it still has the most powerful hold on me. Why the deep sense of melancholy haunts even the sunniest of songs. I think it's because the music was a window to a bright world - one which I wasn't sure I could even belong in. Those songs, for me, were like the piece of paper that the wind blows out of your hand; you reach out to grab it but swipe the air instead. You can always see the paper in front of you as every gust carries it further away; you remain as close as you ever were, but the distance between your fingertip and that paper always remains. In that small gap is the fluttering heartbeat that holds all of your childhood longing, hope and love. Yet it also holds the sigh of disappointment and unfulfilled dreams. The drift, the languorous pitter-patter of expectations dashed on the rocks of our lives realities. 

It bears repeating

 So, I will.

I've said on here before that I've been assailed by the sensation that time is a circular construct, that I'm buffeted by memories and all that has been and will be. That's come into even sharper focus over the past two weeks. I'm living everything at the same time. It's exhausting in a psychedelically brilliant way. 

I'm grateful for everything I've done, even if there are a million regrets laced into the cloak of memories that swim around my head. Those regrets are the sharp inhalation before the gentle sigh of senses fired into action by the people and places that define me. 

I think I should post this.

 Though my father was a huge Jazz buff, and that music defined and shaped his entire life, there are other things that I associate with him, too.

Dylan, Simon &Garfunkel, Pentangle, Steeleye Span, Dan Fogelberg. But above all (and rather oddly) Gladys Knight & The Pips. I know there's another post in the archives about GK&TP (a tale from a US tour, IIRC), but this one is just...Dad, really. We both watched this performance in May 1976, and he taped it, too, on his SOny TC-377 Reel-to-Reel tape recorder. This faster, funkier mix (performed and recorded especially for TOTP) was unquestionably his favourite and mine too. As a ten-year-old kid, I loved it; as a nearly sixty-year-old man, I love it even more. Every note is sheer, joyous perfection. 

Well, this terrible year got a lot worse.

 My father passed away on August the 25th. I held his hand as he took his last breath. It's been a year of frustration, pain and anguish: but nothing has come close to this. I keep thinking he's just gone on some sort of temporary journey and will be back. He won't. I think it'll hit me later.

It has focused my mind on so many things - an almost constant churn of ideas, memories and emotions. I suppose I'll be processing this gradually. 

RIP, Dad. 

Having a moment

 Whilst listening to Stars Of The Lid. Bloody hell, it doesn't get much better than that, does it? 

Lots of cycling over the weekend, with a ride that saw myself and Phil (ex-JJ road crew) tooling around the Surrey Hills. There was a glorious moment where we got passed by an over-enthusiastic young bloke, only to sail past him on the third ramp up Coldharbour. Pacing is everything, in cycling as in life.

I've also spent the weekend thinking about my next steps. I need more focus, and I need to be tighter, generally. I've not quite worked out how that's going to happen (quelle surprise), but I'll press on, regardless. That's my default setting.

A month drifts by.

 And, I'll be honest: I needed that.

I'll get back to everything, but I had to withdraw, a little. TO regroup and breathe. I was completely unprepared for how much the saga with the tour hollowed me out. It was a voyage into myself, into the heart of what makes me tick. And, of course, you find out some good things, but plenty of bad stuff too. That's life.

I've enjoyed getting back out on the bike, pointing it along the road, and just...going. No real thought for a destination. No real plan. 

Life On the Road

 A lot of people always want to know what it's like? 

Well, it's dull. Lots of gazing out of the window of a van. But, having said that, there's a lot to be said for that sort of drift: the glorious knowledge that you don't have much to do, except wend your way to the next town on the list. One of the things that can help is something to while away the hours. On the last couple of tours, myself, Jerry and Gen have spent some quality time listening to the Madness audiobook "Before we was we". I really can't recommend it enough - it's just perfect. Funny, moving, nostalgic - but more than that, it's a window into the life of a band. All of the myriad ways that a group of people come together, interacting with each other. The bonds that are created, the threads that join everyone together. All bands go on a journey, but it's not just about a path from obscurity to fame; it's the making of a family. That resonates so much for all of us. It was a hugely entertaining experience - and I'm already plotting to listen to it again when we're back in that van.

It also made me dive deeper into Madness' back catalogue: there's some truly wondrous stuff in there, if you did deep enough. And when I say deep, I mean it. My favourite Madness track is this overlooked gem, just an album track from the record that almost marked their career's final phase. But - what an absolute gem.

A recommendation

 We've not had one of those for a while, have we? Anyway - Hands On Bike is a wonderful cycling blog, it's going straight into my links. 

Internal Jukebox

 The jukebox is now playing....

Rachmaninov. I'm such a fanboy - that intricate yet romantically direct style is just perfect for me. His music has complexity, but the purity of intention allows it to move you without your brain constantly having to analyse the content. 

Of all the varying musical genres, classical has suffered the most, I think, from algorithmic laziness. You can ask your smart devices to churn out monolithic music blocks specifically tailored to dinner parties. Or doing homework or sleeping. The resulting sounds are there, merely to wash over you. Rachmaninov has that language of romanticism, which fights so hard against all of that. There's a simple power to his work, a piercing intent. 

I'll try and listen to him, to add context to my own life - and isn't that what music is about, always?

Old, old, school.

 I ventured back into the archives of this blog yesterday. Just wanted to get a sense of what still exists in the long cavalcade of descriptions, links, and more.

Well, a lot of it certainly now suffered from "link rot". So much pop culture detritus, so much merely fallen by the wayside. It's odd, looking back on those sorts of posts; sometimes there will just be something like "Oh wow, THIS is just fantastic!" and a signpost to nothing. I wonder where my head was, what I was searching for, and what made me smile.

But sometimes, it's still there. I'm incredibly heartened to find that this is still active. Ah, the internet. 

Well, it's certainly been a ride

 Hasn't it?

Remind me to not do this for a while. I plan on riding my bike when this is over, to forget about the responsibility and the pressure. All the time I'm heading up those hills, this will be playing on a loop in my mind.

I love being obsessed with things that everyone else seems to have overlooked. A few hundred views, in three years? What the hell is that all about, then?

I was going to tell you about all the other things going in in my life, but they're all under a cloud, for the moment. There are a few other music business things, and some long-term planning, too.

I'd like to think about the future. But I need to deal with the present, first.

Trying to find solace

 And it isn't easy. 

I've been lucky enough to be back outside on the bike, so that's helped. Overall, the past week or so has been fraught with many issues, but above all it's been a case of one issue just creating another. Logistics is like an ever-evolving fractal: it just keeps sub-dividing and expanding. 

One issue makes two more. Then those two make four. Sometimes the biggest test is not solving the eventual issues, but trying to maintain a thread back to wherever it was that started everything.  The album above, has certainly helped put my head into a better space, while the storm rages around me. 

 Meanwhile, It's the Coronation weekend, so I'm hoping for memories to be imprinted. I'm certainly no royalist, but I'm acutely aware of the fabric of our society, how it shifts, and the things which ground our values. Extraordinary days like this are a chance to see history unfurl - you don't have to like that history, or agree with it, or cleave to it in any way; but it's something that shapes your life. I may not be a participant, but I'm certainly a watcher. 

When all of the mania dies down

I'd like to do one thing, and one thing only. I'd give almost anything to be able to cycle up this road just after sunrise. To reach the Lighthouse and look back at the sinking ribbon of Tarmac. To see where I'd been, to know where I was going to go next. Cycling's like life, isn't it?

But seriously, must look at trying to get back. I can't describe the pure joy I felt, heading up that road. Doing it again would square a circle - but it would also quiet the storm. That's very tempting, right now.

Back to reality

 And back to the organisation, planning and plotting. Who knew that tours would be this draining - before they'd even started?

My soundtrack for today has been this:

Originally heard on Peel's show in 1981, I'm fairly sure I had to rely on Small Wonder to find a copy. It's an odd single in that it was reworked by Martin Hannett at one point - so that version should be the one which held my attention. Yet, it didn't. This original mix is far superior - Hannett's is too vague, too lacking in direction. A very rare misstep, that's for sure.

Today is all about rest, too. Managed to drop part of the oven on my foot, bruising it quite badly. Mind you, if you're going to knacker yourself before a tour, it's eminently sensible to get all of that out of the way before the fighting actually begins. 

This hit me like a ton of bricks

 It was such a huge moment for me - reading that. I just have to stand up, stand by my choices, and keep on standing there. Back it all up with my drive, passion and integrity. 

It's all too easy to be assailed by doubts when you're organising so many logistical things. But, if I listened to those doubts, I'd be in serious trouble. I'd get onto that stage, thinking, "Well, if only we'd played that other venue that someone on Twitter mentioned instead of this place. Maybe we'd have got a few more dozen people in the crowd". All it does is distract from the main goal - get out there and make everything work. Show everyone there how good you can be. In that place, at that time. Because you committed to the choice, to the venue, to the piece of merch, to the song, to the job, to the career, to the band, to the life you lead. 

I'm back, tentatively.

That was a brutal weekend. It took a while to dig myself out of that hole - and I still feel hollowed out and useless. Life's tough sometimes; it's not easy, it kicks you when you're down, and you don't feel like getting back into it again. But I have to start working. There are so many things at the moment which demand my full attention - there's a tour, a label deal, a publishing contract, voiceover work, and charity work. Ugh, even writing it all down is enough to throw me back down into the hole again.

But overall, I have to regain momentum. The key to that is the same thing it's always been. Self-belief. Once that takes hold, confidence rushes back in. Then, forward momentum is a given.

Turn it up. Make it work. 

 

Utterly empty.

I crashed hard. Today all of my lifeforce left, like the tide. I was just left behind, wondering where my soul, my energy and my drive had gone. I've put a lot into this week - there have been meetings, and endless phone calls. Logistics, schedules, organisation. I've been left with the burden of responsibility on my shoulders, and today those shoulders buckled. It was all I could do to stay upright and awake. I just wanted to sleep for days and days on end. 

I've felt like this before - when there's been a catastrophic failure of my abilities. To be frank, it's not great. Everything runs in slow motion; everything winds down. I'm hoping it passes soon. 

"Up to my knees now, do I wade, do I dive?
The sea has seen my like before, though it's my first and perhaps last time
Let's call me a baptist, call this a drowning of the past
She is there on the shoreline throwing stones at my back"
 

Time for me to start swimming. 

Life, in timelapse.

 I've loved this song since I first heard it in the early 1980s. It's amazing to think it's been that long: when I first saw the film, its central message seemed to encapsulate a world fraying at the edges. In retrospect, it was actually a golden time compared to the shitshow we're currently living through. Anyway, "The Grid" is the obvious highlight of the record, and its shifting sense of psychedelia has stayed with me ever since. 

Seeing the notation for the song, though, was the moment in which the real importance of the music hit me. It's an unerringly accurate representation of what it feels like inside my mind. Everything is ostinato, and the patterns constantly shift, repeating, jumping, and underlining the power and intensity of the voices within. More than that, the intervals which pulse through those patterns give the impression that the song is moving from half-time to double-time. In reality, of course, the music merely keeps its steady state, moving relentlessly forward. There's a deep sense of wonder to see the shifting components of the song move and fragment - then coalesce once again. It's a dance, and it's the heartbeat of my life. 

What do I ride?

So, I thought it might be good to take a snapshot of my cycling preferences. 

it's been almost three years of intense riding, or tweaking all of my setups, of learning what works for me. This, is all of it.

Shoes: Le Col, also Shimano S-Phyre RC902. 

Socks - Pongo.

Tights - Le Col Aqua zero

Bibs - Le Col lightweight, Le Col indoors, Le Col Pro. La Passione Pro. Wanyudo club kit (Miltag Pro fit)

Jerseys - as above

Helmet - S-Works Prevail II Vent

Computer - Wahoo Elemnt Bolt V.2

HRM - Wahoo Tickr

Trainer - Wahoo Kickr Axis, 2020

Bar Tape - Deda Elementi. Black.

Bars - Giant Contact SLR.

Stem - Giant Contact SL, Specialized S-works, Deda Zero, 110mm

Groupset - Dura Ace 9100, 9150.

Cranks - 50/34, and 52/36 - 170mm

Chain - KMC gold

Brakes - Dura Ace (rim) Ultegra (disc)

Cassette - 11-32

Tyres - Pirelli P-Zero Race, 28mm, also 26mm. Goodyear Eagle, for tubeless, 28mm.

Saddle - Selle San Marco Mantra - various iterations, comfort, Superleggera, Racing Dynamic. Always narrow fit, normally carbon rails. 

Pedals - Assioma Favero Duo power pedals, Look Keo on the trainer, for compatability.

If there's anything I've missed, I'll try and update this list!

 

Museum piece.

 This was a huge surprise - the little fanzine I made in 1985, will end up in a collection in the Museum at Manchester University. 

I really have no idea how this came about, but it feels so bizarre that I can't quite believe it. DWT was my first real attempt at a fanzine, very much inspired by "Groovy Black Shades" (made by Paul Groovy) and "Adventures in Bereznik" (by Simon Bereznik), 'zines which were handed out at gigs I went to, throughout 1984 and 1985. The whole culture of fanzines was very DIY, and inspiring - go out and make your own, get involved! 

So, in the late summer of 1985, when I returned to Lancaster Uni, I got down to business. First, I made collages and cut-outs, from magazines and other found media. Then,I typed out all of the articles, poems, jokes and content, reducing the type so it would fit. Then - painstakingly - it was all assembled and glued together, on two giant "master" pages. These were then photocopied again, so I could fold one huge sheet into a small fanzine. There was a definite plan for distribution, too. These weren't going to be for sale; it was very much a labour of love. I would get a plastic bag full of 'zines, take them to gigs, and give them to people who I hoped would enjoy them. That's why there's a "free?" on the cover. Looking back on my work, it's naive - sure, but it's absolutely in keeping with the way I feel about life and music. you're sharing a little bit of yourself, when you make something like this, and that's the best feeling. I'm gobsmacked that it ended up in a museum, but I'm also enormously proud. 

Bonus points for noticing that DWT ended up as the title of my MP3 blog, a couple of decades later. 

A little pause, for breath.

I had a few days when all of the pressure was really starting to get on top of me. So I withdrew. It kind of helps, but at the same time, it doesn't, if you know what I mean? All you're really doing is kicking that can down the road, but it's essential for your sanity. 

Anyway - back to it. Specifically, organising an American tour,m which is an enormous undertaking. Here's hoping it'll be a blinder.  

Georgie James have been helping me straighten myself out. This is pure comfort, for me. Always has been. 

Skateboarding unlocked my mind

 All these years later, I'm only now starting to understand how much of my life has been shaped by Skating, not just by Skating itself - but by reactions to it and how I looked for the same creativity everywhere. 

Skating taught me that talent wasn't everything - style was. Skills and tricks are fine, but there's an attitude and a flow, which only the greatest skaters have. They display that attitude, even when rolling along, not doing much at all. The video above, of Antwuan Dixon, is a case in point: it's amazing in terms of tricks - hammers, everywhere. But more than that, he is the epitome of a style and flow which is at once effortless yet completely breathtaking to watch. At around 55 seconds, he lays down a nose slide to 270. Every time I see it, I'm stopped in my tracks. It's like he's not even aware of what he's doing or how good he is. He is just....there, in the moment. 

Ever since I stepped on a board, I've been looking for those moments constantly. Not just in Skaters, either: in musicians, TV presenters, actors, friends, and lovers. Do they have that flow, that sense of being at ease, that creative grace? It's like a door you can open to let your true self shine out. 

Dreams, and their reasons.

 I dream of University years a lot. I did it last night. There doesn't ever seem to be an external impetus for dredging up these thoughts: it's something which has been internalised. My uni years were really a story in two parts. Firstly, the opportunities which I seized, which would come to define my life. i learned how to be a DJ, met all of the bands who passed through the colleges and clubs, and made friends and contacts throughout the musical community. Little by little, I was moving towards some sort of career where music would play a part. 

But also, it's a three-year period marked by academic underachievement and disappointment. I never worked, never stretched myself. I never applied my mind to my studies, and that's always a source of regret. Could it be that? Could it be those regrets that still bubble up and bother my subconscious?

Moonlight thoughts

 I love that shot - the moonlight pouring in through the patio window. The light really was like that; there were no filters. Around 10.30pm. 

There I was, looking out at this magical landscape, thinking about time again. I've been obsessed with the idea that time is cyclical (something I know I've referenced before in this blog), but a recent dip into a book about Zen has refined my thinking process. I've narrowed it down to the tension between duality and unity. The thought that the duality of our location in a simultaneous past and future can be anchored by the unity of a grounding in the present. The power of that sudden explosion of perfect stasis, an acceptance of one's current position. 

All of that whilst looking at moonlight on a rug. I love how (without being too tautological) that moment can be truly momentary, yet that's its greatest impact. 

And even more!

 Marmalade wasn't enough. 

Today I made Semolina. With jam. Bloody hell, it was great. 

I'm now listening to Aberfeldy, and I'm just a little overwhelmed at how wonderful they were. I love music when it does this to me; it fills me with a sense of wonder and thanks. Still, it's bewildering to think that I first heard them exactly twenty years ago. The same timespan as this blog. Life stretches out around me, I'm forever thankful for it's marvels. 

More nostalgia

I'm sitting here with memories flooding over me. The Met line was a massive part of my life when I lived in Hatch End. That's partly in terms of the sheer volume of journeys I made, but it's also about how those journeys opened the city up. The Metropolitan felt unique to me, a bridge from the suburbs to the centre of London. The carriages were different to other lines, as well. Because the journey time from places like Amersham or Rickmansworth could be over an hour (or more!), the seats were in transverse blocks. It gave the impression that you were embarking on an adventure, settling in to watch the countryside change from fields to houses to the cut-and-cover of the centre of town. It was in contrast to other lines, some of which you passed on your way to Baker Street. You would take the fast line from Wembley Park down to Finchley Road and pass Jubilee Line trains dawdling past Neasden or Dollis Hill. These looked and felt like city-centre tubes but out in the open. A series of stops in a constant, unbroken line. Whereas the Met line would be powering on, past it all. It felt like a way to unlock the city whilst maintaining your place far from it in a suburban Idyll. 
 

Getting traditional.

 I've no idea how it happened, but I've suddenly felt the need to eat Marmalade for Breakfast. I guess it could be a hankering for stability, nostalgia and comfort, but it's still odd, seeing as I've never really eaten the stuff before. Got to say, though, I love it. that tightrope between bitter and sweet, the refreshing zing of citrus, the perfect wakeup routine. 

And breakfast is all about routine for me. I like to start the day in order, in a calm and steady state. I need to feel predictable, planted and prepared. Marmalade seems to give a roadmap for the day ahead. 

However, it's a roadmap which doesn't include anything outdoors, for now. the bike is still in the shed, and the trainer is still taking the strain. The Ice is subsiding, but it's cold, and miserable out there. Spring may well arrive soon, but it's not here yet. 

I need to get out.

 

It's just one of those days. The pipes are freezing again, we need a plumber. it's cold, misefable and bleak. I want, more than anything, to get on my bike and ride off into the sun. i'd like to be powering up Sa Batalla, or even Coldharbour, for that matter. I'm not fussy.

Memories

And lots of them.

Today I had one of those moments when time stops being linear. I know I've been banging on about this for a while, but my life really does seem to be cyclical - like there's no end and no beginning, but the flow of time is constantly all around me, in all directions.  I was picking milo up from school when I suddenly felt and saw all the other days I'd been there. Through the various stages of his life. The sunny afternoons, the plasters on the knees, the excited clambering up the climbing frame. And it's not just the past, but it's the potential of all the days of his life moving forward, too. It was immensely moving - quite breathtaking. One of those moments when time doesn't just slow down, it rushes outwards, like ripples in a pond. And there I am, in the middle of it all. As I slowly move around, I can see the past and the future. Life's amazing. 

Analogue blues

 I don't know where musical urges come from. I'll be gripped by a sudden need to hear something at certain points. The oddest thing, though, is that it doesn't even have to be a particular song. It can just be a genre, a sound, a feeling, or a memory. It's like grasping for something: pulling a solid shape from a shifting background. 

So today is all about sawtooth waves. SH101's. Analogue synthesisers. I feel comfortable when I hear them: I'm not sure why. It has to be nostalgia - but it's less cut and dried than wanting to hear old records. It's tied in with how they were made and the boundaries that were being pushed in their creation. A feeling of hope and possibility. A feeling that now was tomorrow. A fluttering in the stomach and a spring in one's step. Looking out at a world which was brimming with potential. All of it within reach. 

not learning lessons

 Hammered up the Galibier yesterday. Looking at my stats, I did 94% of the climb at threshold, which is just daft. I did end up with a PB but was exhausted by the end of it. 

There really is something about the Galibier for me. It's that, of all the climbs, it has that sense of dread and foreboding. As you ascend, the landscape becomes ever more empty and barren, unlike Ventoux, where it's lunar, but - post-apocalyptic. There's a sense of battle being joined: just you and the hill. That's the kind of challenge that I relish - but it always ends up being rather too gung-ho for my own good. 

Overall though, there's been a marked improvement in my cycling since I started Xert, and did my best to train properly. My FTP is up, but that's a sometimes inaccurate gauge of ability. Many of my gains can be attributed to learning to pace rides properly. I'm trying not to go off too hard, to drop my watts by about 20 or 30. that means I can sustain the effort. 

Also, a lot of the ennui and nihilistic despair I felt last week seems to have dissipated. There's a lesson: hang on it there; it will always get better. I'm very grateful for that. 

Straight out of the blocks

See that? That's basically last week's big ride. Part one of the Sella Ronda, in the Dolomites. I have this propensity to just go off, way too hard, for the first ten or fifteen minutes. That's an Xert graph, so the purple line is my MPA, or maximum power. As you can see, when you continually crank out the watts, your theoretical maximum power will drop, to the point where your effort crosses that line. That's known as a "breakthrough", but it invariably comes when you've pushed so hard that you can't do much more. All well and good - but perhaps not in the first 10% of a ride!

Thus, I've been working on getting more pacing into my rides. A little more restraint. Will it work? I'd like to hope so!

 

Rehabilitation continues.

 I have to admit, I don't feel quite as down as I did a couple of days ago. Thank goodness for that: it was seriously messing with my mind. Cycling may have taught me to listen to my body, but it's also taught me to listen to my mind, as so much of the battle is not physical but psychological. Consequently, whenever anything is awry, my radar just starts pinging like crazy.

And it meant I could train again with a sense of purpose and direction. As you can see from my Xert profile wheel above, my overall range of abilities is being extended relatively evenly now. I aim to boost my performance in as many disciplines as possible - except for Power Sprinter because I'm hopeless at sprinting. Plus, the effort required to boost my sprinting would require immense amounts of application for only marginal gains.

Today, I rode the Sella Ronda, which was just spectacular. Just check out the views!

All sparks burn out

And that's what's happening to me.

I'm not sure why, but I'm burning out. Like I can't carry the weight of responsibility. Like I need to sleep. I'll be fine in a few days, don't worry - but I just feel very empty right now. I don't think the funeral helped much: the emotional toll is vast. 

I was out on a bike ride today, and even though Strava tells me my Relative effort was huge (historic, even), it just felt like I was riding the whole time badly. No energy, no speed, no power. So it's all very odd.  

But, if there's a silver lining, it's that cycling has taught me to respect my body, to listen to the internal voice and respect the signs it's sending out. It's shouting at me - "relax, take some time to get back to yourself."

So that's what I'm going to have to do. 

Signing off for a day

Got a funeral to go to, tomorrow. Life sucks, sometimes.  

A soundtrack for that planning

Just the perfect piece of music. I love the contemplative, wistful feeling it always evokes. There's a sense of melancholy - for the loss of childhood innocence, with all of its sense of promise and potential. But also, there's the glimmer of hope: that all of this can be remembered and revitalised. 

There's the perfect song for this first week of a brand new year. 

 

Blogging again.

 It's a simple process that I've done many, many times before. Here I am, back in front of a computer, blogging. But what gives me pause is the sheer number of times I've done this, the different locations, the times, the situations, and the years. 

Blogging is a mirror for life, it seems to me. Whereas social media; that's been a mirror for oneself. Or should that be one's self? Anyway, it quickly ended up as something altogether more narcissistic than its original potential. Which, to me, has always been a source of immense anguish. It's a missed opportunity, isn't it? All that guff about being an "influencer". When blogs started, there were pages and pages of lists - people's blogs, their lives. I can recall choosing a few randomly, and each one was glorious: a window into another life. 

Now - you have to follow people's insta. While you're doing that, they sell you things: items, food, clothes, and themselves. It all seems so dreary to me; I just can't abide it. 

I don't really want to sell; I just want to tell. Dumb shit about my life, what it feels like to be me. Or, at the very least, what I think it feels like. 

As I sit in front of this laptop, typing away, I can feel all the other keys of all the other computers. Sitting in my flat in Shepherds Bush or on a table in Queen's Park. At an old wooden bench, in my place in Brighton. Fragments of my journey, all playing instantly, simultaneously, in my head. 

Some of what I've written has been dull. Some of it was done while I was absolutely drunk out of my mind. Some more still, while I was in the throes of a divorce, some whilst I was falling in love. 

I like the fact that there is no "narrative arc" beyond that chaotic arc which bisects all our lives: a messy, undignified scrawl across the sky. Here's to more of that.

And a vow.

A new year means a new start, obviously. But it means a lot more to me. It means I  can rationalise my thoughts, energies, and direction. Little steps to change the way you walk. I'm not sure what these steps will be, but I'd like to continue the path which led me to do things such as stopping drinking for good, or getting fit. Looking at life a different way and reacting accordingly. 

I get stuck sometimes. The same old paths, patterns, and behaviours. It's time to reevaluate once again.

Back to it.

 It's the start of a new year, so it's a good time to be back blogging. Especially so after a rollercoaster year in social media. I didn't tweet much anyway (on my personal account), but since the Musk takeover of Twitter, the site has become quite toxic. Not only that, it just feels...disappointing. Twitter was a place with so much potential and so much value. Little by little, you can feel all of that draining away, to be replaced with conspiracism, misinformation and bile. Ugh.

So - could blogging make a spirited return? I'm not sure, but I'd like to think there's a remote possibility. If a community has been cast adrift by the slow death of Twitter, then that community will be actively searching for a home. Again, I'm curious to see if Blogs can

Represent that home (after all, they are a remnant of the past), but let's be hopeful. It is the beginning of another year, after all. 

It's been a crappy '22, if I'm honest: fragmented, full of lost hopes. It's been another year of riding my bike, though: that's been a constant. 

As I look towards a new year, I'm going to vow to do some things: write more, blog more, ride more, care more, and love more. Keep my eyes and my heart open. Be aware of the power and beauty of the lifeline surrounding and enriching me. Here's to you, 2023. Don't let me down.