Middle of Nine

Cycling In The Middle Ages

2011-03-31T01:00:00.000-07:00

Approaching 40 seemed a good time to invest in my first ever brand new bike. Now I have had my share of hand-me-down, second-hand and rebuild bikes so it was not going to be a minor life change. Or so I thought...

Now, two years later, on silver side of 40 and on reflection it is clear things have changed. The bicycle is a folding Ridgeback Attache with Shimano 7 speed hub geers. For the none technical, hub geers are the kind that predated those fancy french deraillieurs. Good old Sturmey Archer manufactured the ones on my Nan's bike!

So the folding bike has changed me, not because I fold it very much. Firstly, being brand new it was precious and so my parking behaviour changed. Unwilling to leave it out for either the weather or criminal elements, it came with into the house and office. Initially it came in folded, which is quick and easy but since it is always easier to wheel than carry, this became less the case.

The real change was in my style of cycling and the way traffic treated me. Before, on a hybrid that amused fellow cyclists no end when the crank fell off mid-cycle, cycling was all blood and thunder. Most of the thunder was to work past the fact that old bikes do not run smooth. I was fighting friction.

Then I would typically arrive perspiring but not any more. The new bike's small wheels slowed me down yet it was so much more of a joy to ride. With a rack and panniers there was now no need for a rucksack - also know as back-sweat extractor! I could arrive fresh, no need for a shower, thus any slowing in journey time was made up by not needing to rehumanise.

The second aspect that changed was the effect the new bicycle had on the way traffic treated me. Drivers make snap judgements about cyclists. Somehow, being middle aged, helmetted and wearing fluorescent bib astride a new looking folding commuter bike brought some respectability. This still was perhaps the biggest surprise yet in hindsight it should not be. Human nature is like that.

What is clear is that it is not just those new to cycling who can benefit from a rethink. A tweak in your transport can change things markedly, affecting not only your behaviour but that of others. For me, these changes have made my commuting so much pleasanter.

Primary School Maths - Too Clever By 0.5

2010-09-10T15:22:00.000-07:00

I was looking at the BBC news web pages and came across this item - "Why parents can't do maths today". It reminded me of a parenting moment.

When eldest son was still in primary school - penultimate year it was - he was given the following maths problem:

You are given two bags. One bag contains coins each with a face value of £7; the other bag contains coins each with a face value of £9. The sum total amount of both bags is £2500. How many coins in each bag?

So my son asks me for help with this one. Now I am not a mathematician but I studied maths to gain entry to University and I used a lot of it in my PhD. I can program too after a fashion. Realising that we have only one equation and two unknowns but knowing that the answers had to be natural numbers I wrote a quick script to iterate through all possible answers that resulted in natural number values for the number of £7 and £9 coins totalling 2500. (It was a while ago so don't ask for the code - all I remember was there 42 answers - Douglas Adams would have been proud!).

So I wrote to the teacher expressing a concern that this level of question was a bit steep for primary school...

In the mean time I posed the question at a gathering of people who think they knows maths - PhD in Maths, Physics, Geophysics, Engineering etc. They were all a bit perplexed!

So the teacher's letter came back and explained that the Heinmann maths text the children followed suggested the following method:

£2500 - well that is a bit like £25 if you ignore the zeros, so

( 2 x £9 ) + ( 1 x £7 ) = £25

therefore

( 200 x £9 ) + ( 100 x £7 ) = £2500

So it turns out my son had been told this method about disregarding the zeroes. Had my son told me it would have helped...

But would the teacher mark the other 41 possible answers wrong? I think they would.

Football - An Englishman in Scotland

2010-06-28T01:23:00.000-07:00

Being born in England but working in Scotland, one is left under no illusion about where the Scots support is when England play in the World Cup.

The local supermarket had a "Win A Holiday To The Country That Wins the World Cup - Anywhere But England!". Somebody must have complained because it did get get removed.

Meanwhile sales of German replica tops will go through the roof this week in Scotland.

In our work sweepstake the one who drew England immediately conceded it would be a fiver well spent if he lost it. Such is the Scottish vitriol to England football team.

My one other English coleague phoned the Sky TV centre during the match as her tv went on the blink. The call centre in Dunfermline erupted with joy as Germany scored, then the operative tried to apologise for the noise.

The vitriol is mostly banter and rarely spills into anything more serious. Another work colleague said "I rather hoped England would beat Germany and then get absolutely hammered by Argentina, but taht would be too risky!"

So for Sunday's game I decided to go for a long cycle with my son. The group stage had shown that England were not in the zone to get anywhere and Germany were bound to exploit that. It was a beautiful afternoon and I was not going to waste it in despair.

So, enjoying quiet roads and cycle paths we saw the odd Germany flag flying but not a single St George's Cross. Heading up through the remote Pentland Hills we stopped off at a fishermans' hut to buy a can of juice and some chocolate. The gentleman serving recognised the Englishness of my accent and positively revelled in informing me that Germany were 4:1 up with ten minutes to go. I smiled and muttered something about choosing the right option by getting out instead.

The history of the dislike is not down so much to the Act of Union or the old battles but actually more linked to English media constantly harking back to 1966. The fact that England won the World Cup back then, before I was born, is now an albatross around the neck.

England need to move on.

But in the same way so do Scotland. When the identity of nation is based on a negative relationship with its neighbour there is no clear path forward.

Preparing For A Family Camping Trip

2010-05-31T13:35:00.000-07:00

You might think that, after all that wrestling with snakes, mountains and whirlpools, a simple family camping trip would be a easy. (Yes it is pay-back for that long weekend away.)

However I am terrified as I try to work out how I get Mrs Middle-of-Nine and the offspring through a weekend of wilderness camping. Now, even if we had bears in Scotland, it would not be them I would be worried about. It is the expectations!

Oldest boy will want his own tent and he can carry it. I'll carry the 8.4 kg tent for the rest of us, perched on top of my rucksack. But it is not the weight or the distance, it is the expectations.

Younger boy will plonk down in the first bit of mud and start playing. We might as well pitch there 'cause we won't move him.

The girls, including Mrs Middle-of-Nine, will no doubt remind me of what I have not brought. I will remind them of what they have brought and who is *%&$@! well carrying it!

Quite how I am going to satisfy everyone's wishes I have not a clue. Like many outdoor type families we try to do our share of healthy living but the offspring take it in turns to veto:

"Where are we going?"

"How about orienteering?"

"I hate orienteering, why can't we ever do cycling?"

"You always choose cycling, why can't we just go to a cafe?"

"What do normal people do?"

"Not canoeing that's for sure"

"..."

So my tactic is hush-hush, top secret, skullduggery! Let them worry about how bad it will be, don't try to calm their fears, just go with it. Maybe I'll make them wear their wetsuits to confuse them...

Scottish Islands Peaks Race 2010 - The Squeeky Mouse that rOARED!!!

2010-05-29T05:18:00.000-07:00

Those dark winter days spent in the office desk under fluorescent lights are when the dreams of adventure come... in the form of an email that gets through the spam and "never-ever-again" filters. After last year's ordeal of Survival around the Mull one could be forgiven for hitting the delete key...

The glory team of last year on Marisca had split. Olly Stephenson chose the (easier?) option of the Paddy Buckley round in North Wales (60 miles, 28000 feet of climb and 47 summits). Debbie MacDonald had decided to compete in the tourist class as a runner this year. And Alastair was taking his yacht Marisca on a therapy tour of the Clyde in attempt to banish the flashbacks to '09!

So only Chris 'Doc' Oliver and I were left from last year's Class 3 winning team. The search for a all-rounder crew team for Chris's good yacht Mara began. A SIPR sailing veteran Dougie Bell was joining us, but for him running was new experience. We also had SIPR newbees Caroline Coyle and Abby White signed up, although with a week to go Abby had to pull out.

Salvation came in the shape of Ramon Garcia, the right man at the right time. Although new to the SIPR he came with impressive credentials - Mont Blanc Challenge being serious stuff!

So the team Squeeky Mouse was in place for Scottish Islands Peaks Race 2010. Why Squeeky Mouse? The Squeeky Mouse was a much sought after hill running prize for the (slowest) combined times for Manor Water and Pentland Skyline hill races. Chris and Caroline had vied for that title the previous year...

Oban

Arriving with Ramon by train on Thursday night we met up with the crew at Oban. Chris, Dougie and Caroline were already there. We were getting some amused looks from the other teams as glam Caroline had a flower in her hair, pink suitcase on wheels and other baggage more suited for a Caribbean cruise than a yacht race...

Once we had all our luggage on the yacht we had a wee dram (all except the teetotal Ramon) and undertook to approach the race with a "let's finish rather than be competitive..." attidude. Hmmm...!

Nervous

Friday morning, race about to start as we picked up some last provisions from Oban Tesco. Caroline notices that I was rather nervous.

Caroline: "Why are you nervous?"

Me: "Because I have done the race before!"

Caroline was recovering from a knee operation. Dougie had not run further than 14 miles. Ramon was hopefully fine but in many ways an unknown. Chris occasionally mentioned his plantar fasciitis and I was recovering from a wipe out in the Ben Lomond Race. Sea-sickness was probably the least of my worries!

Off To A Crawling Start

The Oban Run passed unevently. The slippy steps caught some other poor runner this year! We were soon backt to Mara and underway - slowly!

Chris and Dougie had fixed rollocks on so we could row and row we did. We crept passed several yacht out of Oban harbour, probably about half-way up the fleet that was busy dodging the CalMac Ferries!

The sail up the Sound of Mull was slow but very beautiful. The Morvern coast rising on one side, Mull on the other. The yachts with spinnakers just about filling looked like so many colourful flowers drifting across a pond. The Bristol Pilot Cutter looked stunning with its yellow hull and many sails. Dougie put Chris's Runrig CD on which blasted out as we passed rival yacht from last year Ogun. We would see a lot of them over the next 70 hours...

Ben More in the Dark

Caroline, Ramon and I set out from Salen on the Mull leg. It was getting late.

"We should slow down and keep a steady pace so we can pass runners on the return."

"Not that we are competitive?"

"No, I am not competitive..."

We reached the summit of Ben More in the gloaming. The final scramble to the summit was a new experience for Caroline. The descent into the dark proved interesting. Ogun's runners joined us. The checkpoint in on the Dhiseig Burn appeared to be lower than it should according to Ramon's fancy altimeter watch. It usually is!

It was headtorches now as we we contoured round the head of Gleann na Beinne Fhada to the col. The descent into Glen Clachaig was slow. Caroline yelped in peril... only for us to be told she had seen a toad!

Sail to Jura - Whirlpools and Sea Creatures

Back on the yacht Dougie and Chris had a fantastic meal of Caroline's lasagne warm and ready for us. The runners got some rest as Dougi and Chris inched us back down the Sound of Mull.

Rising from slumber to find we were still in the Sound and just approaching Duart Castle with yachts all around spurred us into some rowing action. Out with oars, Ramon and I - though not competitive(!) - were willing and eager. Passing other yachts a fair amount of banter was exchanged. In particular, a rivalry between ourselves and Ogun, who were not even in our Class, arose...

Tide was helping us along to the Sound of Luing but progress was slow. Behind us, many yachts were still stuck by Duart Point and we were leaving them far behind. Helming through the Sound was a thrilling roller coaster as the sea, other calm, boiled in the tidal races. Soon the Gulf of the Corrievreckan, famous for its whirlpool was to our starboard. We passed it.

By now the tide was changing. As evening approached we needed to get out of the counter-tide and we rowed to a safe anchorage of Lussa Bay, out of sight of the pursuing yachts. A very quick swim to wash off the Mull mud was most refreshing.

At 1 am the alarm went off. The tide was turning back in our favour as Chris, rudely awakened, came up one deck. The anchor was lifted and we rowed silently out with the stealth of Jason on the Argo so as not to alert the serpent fleet behind.

As the tide and the very slight wind pulled us to Craighouse, dolphins came to play with Mara. Maybe five of them, their paths marked by the phosphorescence in the dark water, escorted us along. It was a magical moment. Too dark for the camera - but all the more special for that.

As daylight came Mischief was catching us as we rowed in past the Small Isles. Coming into Craighouse their dinghy work meant they arrived ashore ahead of us. Caroline, Chris, Ramon and I were ashore and heading for the kit check.

Paps of Jura - Snakes and Eagles

Jura is another world. The kit check was thorough. It needs to be. Jura is very remote and very rugged. There are no paths.

Climbing in the warm sun up from the burial ground at Keils we were making steady progress. Overhead an eagle soared and our eyes followed it. "Watch out!" There on our path was an adder, Britain's only venomous snake, right by our feet - hissing. After that we proceeded with more caution, only for another to appear even closer hissing at Chris' ankles as he cleared the trail.

A team of runners passed us and then took a low line. We met them again by the Lochan on the ridge before the first Pap. Navigation, slow and steady, makes a difference on the Paps.

The first Pap rose above us like an impenetrable fortress. At first glance there appears no way up but by following dribbles of heather between the scree it is possible to make steady progress to the ridge. The descent however is something else, riding the scree down. Chris likened it to skiing and was an instant convert. Ramon took it steadily. For Caroline it was a whole new world that her mother would never believe...

The next Pap was similar, with a tough descent but the final one had two teams waiting on the summit - one of them Ogun's runners. They joked they were waiting for someone to show them the way off. One team took their own line and Ogun's runners followed us in search of the "Golden Scree Run". Dropping through a hollow further along the ridge we found the line. The trodden scree is yellower than that around - truly golden amidst the bigger, more difficult boulder scree. We descended steadily, Chris loving it and preferring the scree to any line of heather. "Easier on the knees." he said...

The return run from the loch at the foot of the last Pap is in two stage - across the moorland and then along the road. Caroline set a scorching pace over the moorland, sinking deep into the boggy sections. Reaching the road we washed off in the river before heading along the road. Caroline was tiring. Ramon and Chris forged ahead. When they stopped we thought they were waiting for us. Perhaps they were or perhaps the topless bathers had caught their eye... Oh, well. Without a Caroline, Ogun's runner behind us might be more delayed!

With the finish in sight Ogun's runners were catching us but with a final effort Caroline kept going to hold them off. Then, in the community hall she disappeared to "freshen up" with proper plumbed facilities available!

Around The Mull

Heading southwards the wind was picking up. For the first time Mara started to fly along, exceeding its hull speed as we planed along at up to 7.1 knots. Caroline in her Princess forecabin emerged looking green. Both her and Dougie were sick. Ramon and I got our heads down and slept through the worst of rough sea. It was a rough night for Dougie and Chris on deck. Cold too.

At 3am, Monday, I joined them in the cockpit. Sanda was now behind us . Dougie went below to get some shut-eye before his Arran run. Chris slept in the cockpit while I helmed a 60 degree course for Pladda. Alongside Ogun was struggling. We passed as they fought their spinnaker. Being no sailor and having two sailors exhausted, sticking with the sails as set seemed the sensible gamble. We were at least making progress. At Pladda, Ramon rose and made Chris and me tea and a roll. Very welcome.

Ramon took the helm with Chris. and tacked into Lamlash at about 9am.

Arran Run

Ramon, Dougie and I set off from Lamlash. we were warned about dehydration as we would be running through the middle of the day. We ran the flat and downhill and walked up all the hills. Dougie was motivated to beat Chris's time from last year. (In fairness to Chris he had ran in the dark in foul weather).

In many respects Arran and Goatfell are a doddle. However lack of sleep and cumulative exhaustion of running, rowing and sailing mean that it is still arduous. Navigation though is very simple (in daylight at least) and the compass did not come out of the bag.

With fluids and issue, the cleaner mountain streams proved a real saving. We met several teams who had motored - they were out on the hill for experience.

Descending Goatfell, Dougie set a blistering pace for a non-runner. It took its toll as his knee started to ache. Gamely he ran on the flat bits through Brodick. At Prospect Hill we stopped for him to cool his knee in streams.

Phoning ahead, we startled Chris and Caroline by being early. They had not even put the pasta on!

We finished and rowed out to the yacht, parched with thirst. Unfortunately the boat was out of water - perhaps used to salve the scalding Caroline received from the pasta - so we were forced to resort to beer. Tough life!

Sail To Troon

The sail to Troon was fantastic. The wind was set fair. We had no yachts close. At the marina, dashing up to the offices, we arrived 14 minutes before the 1800hrs cut off time and only 28 minutes behind Ogun.

Amazingly, we were third place in the all-rounders class and 14th boat overall! But most of all, we were finishers of one of the most amazing and varied challenges available. We were the "Squeeky Mouse That rOARED!!!"

Thanks

Thanks are due to our crew: Chris, Dougie, Ramon and Caroline; the organisers and marshalls: many, many thanks; and most of all my family for letting me go.

Links

Scottish Islands Peaks Race

Not very good at this blog thing am I?

2009-01-18T14:32:00.000-08:00

Infrequent posts and content is drivel.

What is new since last post? Lots and lots. Christmas has been and gone. But the main addition to the world of knowledge is my son's invention of the adjective "kettled". When giving instructions on how to make instant hot chocolate he said "Put a couple of teaspoons of hot chocolate in a cup and add some kettled water."

I love the way language evolves...

Like learning to ride a bicycle...

2008-11-20T14:57:00.000-08:00

Something clicked today. Since the beginning of the year I have been swimming regularly. Before that my swimming was always mediocre - barely more than "not drowning". Usually I would have to catch my breath after one or two lengths but today I just suddenly kept going. It reminded me of that wow! when I first rode a bicycle.

Geek Stuff - RPM Packaging

2008-10-31T02:20:00.000-07:00

My recent experiences with RPM packaging have centred on trying to get the packaging to a reasonable standard. The Fedora Packaging Guidelines are good for this. But then sometimes you need to deliver to a box something which breaks all the rules... let us try a proprietary, licensed java package!

There are no easy ways to do this and any method ends up having to compromise on something. I guess that is why they are a challenge. Yesterday however I came across two or three things for me to remember:

AutoReqProv: No is a spec file directive that prevents the rpm build entering any included libraries into the dependency database. This is useful for proprietary java package that bundles with their own sandboxed (in a directory) copies of various libraries. One really does not want any other package depending on these.
Watch the stderr output of any scripts set in specfile. Because we use updaterpms (from LCFG) to install, if their is any verbosity on stderr the LCFG component report failure even if the install is successful.
Started using the %dir directive more to ensure that directory structure is removed when the rpm comes off.

An Inauspicious Start

2008-10-10T14:33:00.000-07:00

Do you ever get the feeling that you are a different person to the people you meet every day? I do which is why I am not entirely certain how to begin a blog. On the one hand it is a deeply personal journal but on the other it is open to all. Which is fine as long as they do not actually know who I am!

Today was one of those days when the different mes (that is plural of me) was evident. During the working day I was deeply involved in geeky sysprep'ing a an XP SP3 image. Lunch on the other hand was spent discussing student issues and the evening visiting a student who has not been leaving his room. Interspersed with this was walking my children to school and ferrying daughter number one to Guides.

Never mind, tomorrow I will be someone else...