• The London

    by  • May 5, 2012 • 0 Comments

    If I told you that I spent the other weekend trying to make people cry, you would doubtless think that I was cruel and unkind.

    Well I did. And I’m not.  Having failed to gain a place in the London marathon, I did my duty and went to support the runners.

    I saw the elite athletes go past. They were working hard and going fast. To my mind though, the most impressive runners are those who don’t look like they’re built for running, but they do it anyway. Those are the ones who suffer.

    The London, as its friends are allowed to call it, is an impressive marathon. Nowhere else do so many people raise so much for charity. Nowhere else is there a marathon so well supported.

    The two times I’ve plodded around the course, I’ve been amazed at how much of the route is lined with supporters – supporters who lose that famous British reserve and shout and scream encouragement at the runners. It makes such a huge difference.

    When the runners get near the finish, they’re invariably tired and emotional.  So here’s the trick: find the most shattered-looking runner, the one who looks like they’re really suffering. Maybe they’ve dropped down from a run to a walk. Maybe they’re at their lowest ebb. Then start screaming their name – so many people have this printed on their shirt. Start telling them how proud they’re making so many people. How great their time is. How little they’ve got left to go. How amazing it is that they’re running the marathon. What a great cause they’re running for.

    However tired they might be, they’ll be overcome with waves of emotion and energy-providing adrenaline. If you’re lucky you might just see their top lip start to quiver and their eyes start to water. But the best bit is that they might just start running again.

    It’s almost as satisfying as running the thing yourself. Almost.

    Crippled in the Caucasus

    by  • April 25, 2012 • 0 Comments

    ‘Oh for a Landcruiser and a pair of snow chains’ I thought as I desperately dug snow out from under the wheels of my rental car. Ironically it was only when I decided to turn back that I got stuck.

    Anyone who skies will know that it’s a fairly simple proposition that mountains get covered in snow over winter. I spend a lot of time in various mountain ranges, but invariably only in the snow-free summer months.

    I’d picked up the car at Tbilisi airport.  I knew the road north would be bad but it came as something of a surprise to find the High Caucasus covered in feet of snow.

    I had planned to drive North from Tbilisi along the Georgian Military Highway to the little hamlet of Kazbegi, now known as Stepantsminda, just a stone’s throw from the Russian and Ossetian border.  I had wanted to fit in a bit of mountain running as early spring training.

    Looking forward to warm spring weather, I pictured that I’d be able to dump my car in the village and disappear for a run across beautiful mountain meadows, with snow capped peaks in the distance. What presented me were virtual blizzard conditions.  Not at all the training weather I’d hoped for.

    It was after the village of Gudauri – altitude 7,200 ft –  that the road really got bad. I could feel the car squirming as I moved slowly over the snow, sliding gently every now and again as I veered across the road to avoid huge potholes.  Even at my slow speed the car’s anti-lock brakes kept firing and unpleasant noises were coming from the suspension struts.  Several times I had to reverse then accelerate hard to get up particularly slippery climbs.

    There wasn’t much traffic on the road.  A few tough looking military trucks emerged from the gloom every now and then, with wheels bigger than my car and snow chains to match.   I slowly began to realise that this wasn’t the place for a Toyota Yaris.  I’d have to try reaching Kazbegi another day.

    I drove on a little further considering my options but quickly the wind picked up and the visibility dropped to virtually zero. I could hardly see past the bonnet.  I was getting hungry and was increasingly conscious that getting stuck in the snow would not be a particularly enjoyable situation.

    So I made a snap decision to turn the car around and head back. I touched the brakes, the ABS fired and the car slid gracefully into a six-foot high wall of snow on the side of the road.

    I quickly popped the automatic transmission into reverse but outside the front wheels just spun worthlessly.  I turned the steering wheel and tried again. Still nothing. I was stuck.

    Through the gloom and snow I couldn’t see more than a dozen or so meters.  I looked out of the side window and along the road. Suddenly I felt extremely vulnerable. If another truck came along it surely wouldn’t see me until it came crashing into my side door.

    I turned the steering wheel full lock and fiddled with the gearbox to engage a higher gear, but however gently I was with the accelerator, the wheels just kept spinning.

    Exasperated, I climbed out of the car, listening carefully for the sound of trucks above the howl of the wind.  I started scraping snow out from under the front wheels with my bare hands.  I tried reversing again. Nothing.

    I got back out of the car and rummaged around in the snow for rocks that I could move to provide extra traction.  Only then did I start to think what else I had in the car that I might be able to shove under the wheels to give more traction and how much I might risk letting the tyres down.

    Back in the car I gave the accelerator the lightest of touches. The car dithered for a moment then shot back into the snow on the other side of the road.  I engaged forward gear and set off a little too fast back down the road, deliriously happy to be free.

    I found a hotel in Gudauri and set about trying to find something decent to eat. Even the simplest of food tasted great after a long day in the car. I went to bed promising myself that I’d make it to Kazbegi the next day.

    In the morning the weather had cleared, but the roads had frozen over, making them even more treacherous than before.  The views were stunning but so too were the drops into the valley.

    Retracing the route of the previous day was even more taxing. I was driving at little more than walking pace. With just the most basic maps on my GPS, I worked out it would talk the best part of the day to make Kazbegi, if I made it at all.  I cursed myself for not splashing out on a bigger car.

    But Landcruisers and big 4x4s can get you into more trouble. As you drive into a small town they draw more attention than you might wish to have.  They encourage you to take more risks. And digging a Landcruiser out of snow is a much bigger job.

    And besides, it’s always good to have the car wimp out before you do.

    Baku Bound

    by  • April 9, 2012 • 0 Comments

    The British Midland flight to Tbilisi does something rather odd. It flies right over Tbilisi, as if the pilot has forgotten to disengage the autopilot. It carries on for another hour or so across the Caucasus before landing in Baku. After landing in Azerbaijan, the crew twiddle their thumbs for 40 minutes whilst refuelling...

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    On Tour

    by  • March 26, 2012 • 0 Comments

    The last time I was on the Col de Vence, it wasn’t pretty. The little town of Vence, on the Cote d’Azure, is the first town you come to on the Ironman bike route after leaving Nice.  In the foothills of the Alps, the brutal category 1 climb leads you out of town. After...

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    New Nighthawks

    by  • February 26, 2012 • 0 Comments

    Loneliness in the company of others. Many of Edward Hopper’s images portray a sense of reflection and isolation, perhaps none more so than Nighthawks. Two figures sit deep in introspection.  Perhaps seething on a recent argument, perhaps discussing a failing relationship, perhaps sharing a mutual loss. Spoken or unspoken, there’s a lot of communication...

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    P.S. I Love You

    by  • January 22, 2012 • 0 Comments

    Ok, dear reader, let’s not get carried away.  That P.S. isn’t a romantic little postscript.  No – the P.S. – that’s Palm Springs. I’d booked flights to LA some time ago – at least in part to try Air New Zealand’s new Club seat  - but then totally forgot to plan anything else for...

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    The Wharf at Sunrise

    by  • December 21, 2011 • 0 Comments

    Some runs are more memorable than others. Most of the ones that stick in the mind tend to do so because of the stunning landscapes.  While that normally means mountains, lakes and forests, just occasionally the built environment makes your jaw drop too. Here a stunning sunrise was the perfect ending to my morning...

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    It’s All About the Paper

    by  • December 17, 2011 • 0 Comments

    On my summer holidays, on a far-off island in the Med, I like little more than a week-old copy of the Economist.  Or a three-day-old copy of the FT. Devoid of daily editions, and short of reading material, I’ll read them from cover to cover, savouring obscure articles until the paper becomes worn and...

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    Powerless at LAX

    by  • December 4, 2011 • 0 Comments

    “Please return to your seats, fasten your seat belts, put your seat into the upright position and stow your tray tables for landing” You know the drill: the familiar sound of the flaps descending; the whoosh of air as the undercarriage deployes.  The end markers of the runway come into sight, then – hopefully...

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    To Fly. To Serve. To Can’t Be Arsed

    by  • November 26, 2011 • 0 Comments

    To fly. To Serve. This is British Airways’ new advertising slogan. Sadly they weren’t doing much of either last Sunday when I was due to fly back from Brussels. Fog had yet again crippled Heathrow, whose resilience to bad weather is comically poor. My first flight was cancelled. And the second delayed by nearly...

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    Moving On – Again

    by  • November 14, 2011 • 0 Comments

    Things are looking a bit different around here.  You see, I’ve moved.  Both to a new town – more on that later – and to a new web server.

    For a while I’ve wanted to do a bit more with this blog than was possible with a blog hosted on wordpress.com.

    So while things might look a bit different, it’s the same content. And the same rules.

    Green PR Machine

    by  • November 14, 2011 • 0 Comments

    Greenpeace’s new flagship, the Rainbow Warrior III pulled into Docklands for a bit of corporate PR earlier this week. Beware of anyone speaking French and looking a bit shifty.

     

     

    Do or Die

    by  • October 24, 2011 • 1 Comment

    It’s taken me a while to finish writing this account of my run of the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc. I think I’ve probably avoided writing about it till now because I couldn’t face to reliving the trauma.  What follows is a rather rambling report of a very long and ugly race. It’s written...

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