The First Run

Yesterday I clambered again onto the old bike and set off for the first training ride this year to North Berwick with Gareth. It was a slightly fraught start to the day when the garage door wouldn't open, a constant recent problem we thought we had had fixed by a joiner. When I prized the door open, eventually, not only did the entire lock mechanism come free from the inside of the door, but I was able to pass the key through the keyhole. This was handy as the key was so completely wedged into the lock that I couldn't get it free.

As a result, my cycling morning started with the unsightly scene of me punching the garage door in frustration. I composed myself just in time to see Emma coming out to ask if everything was okay...

Once we got going it was a fabulous run. A still, clear, bright morning meant we fairly flew down the coast, through Musselburgh along to Aberlady, where we stopped briefly for a rest (and where Gareth called his wife and said he had "popped out for a quick cycle with Murdo"); then through Gullane and into North Berwick for coffee and sausage rolls in the Buttercup Cafe. Back on the train and then I pelted home to see if I would be in time to collect the boys from school, as promised. I wasn't. Emma passed me going in the other direction. I raced to the house, stowed the bike, jumped in the car and texted E to tell her I was on my way to take over.

When I eventually got home with the boys I went out for a run. A staggeringly stupid thing to do. After that I was completely drained and felt twice my age (which left me feeling 94, let's remember).

However, that's 25 miles under the belt. It was a reminder of the shadows which follow any cyclist - the knee trembling weakness in the lower leg when you try to walk after a long stretch, the fire in the lungs on a long slow incline and, worst of all, what G described as the pudendal chafing. I'm still feeling somewhat raw when I resume my seat.

Still, it's good to be back in harness. What it did reinforce for me is how much work I need to do in order to be at all ready for August, and how completely unhinged you would have to be to do triathlons, and particularly Iron Man Triathlons. The fact that my twin brother John is about to embark on his third leaves me in a particularly authoritative position on this. There's a gleam in his eye when he talks about triathlons that rather leaves any thought of brotherly competition completely redundant. He likes murderous competition; I like a comfortable seat, strong coffee and an Australian collapse.

Ricky Ponting resigned today as Australian cricket captain. The captaincy became him, ironically, the more unsuccessful his team. He was at the end the only truly great cricketer in the team since the mass retirements of Waugh, Warne, McGrath, Hayden, Langer and Gilchrist, and he comported himself with grace and humour in interviews (though not on the field, hilariously). There's been a lot of nonsense spoken about how Australia don't select former captains in their side. Not true - Kim Hughes played on after tearfully shedding the captaincy in 1984 - but the last 5 or so have retired on clouds of glory at the end of their careers, whereas Ponting has really resigned, uniquely in the last 25 years, due to a success deficiency. If they don't let him play on it's either because they think the new skipper, who is almost certainly Michael Clarke, doesn't have the strength of character to captain the side with such a strong personality in the room, or because they are, frankly, stupid. Both explanations are possible. They cannot afford to lose a player of his calibre since the new players they have selected over the winter are of the calibre of English players of the late 90s. Not good.

I love it.

A Man for all Seasonings

Jeffrey Steingarten has a wonderful passage in his chapter about salt (The Man Who Ate Everything), in which he refers to the Yanomamo Indians of northern Brazil, who have the most famous blood pressure in the world because it is the lowest. This is frequently referenced by those who deprecate salt intake because the Yanomami eat tiny amounts of salt. Steingarten rather betrays his views on this subject when he says: "Does eating salt cause high blood pressure? Mankind has a great deal riding on this question, because - no matter what some people may tell you - salt is indispensable to good food and good cooking." That "no matter what some people may tell you" says a good deal about the writer.

He then analyses the literature on salt and concludes by making his real point. Apparently almost half of all Yanomami men have killed someone, and a third of all Yanomamo deaths are the result of violence. "By all accounts, the Yanomami are a bunch of bloodthirsty maniacs who make Abu Nidal look like a scoutmaster. Personally, I wouldn't be at all surprised if their tasteless behaviour were due entirely to salt deficiency. I doubt that the blood pressure industry is looking into this".

I don't know how a nutritionist would view this, and I would not be irresponsible enough to insist reliance upon what he says. I just thought this was typically witty an worth sharing.

The Lightfoot Connection

One of the most evocative memories of our first cycling trip (across Skye with John and Norman at the end of the summer in 1981, just before the 6th Ashes Test of that incredible summer) was singing Gordon Lightfoot's Canadian Railroad Trilogy as we cycled. John and I knew the song; Norman didn't but by the end of the holiday he had not only learned all the words and sung along but had dropped my Gord's Gold tape from his paniers in a rainstorm outside Tarbert on the way to the ferry. It was never the same again. He compensated for that in 1994 when, as a token of thanks for my being best man at his wedding, he gave me the CD.

It's the opening verse which is so powerful:

There was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run
When the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun
Long before the white man and long before the wheel
When the green dark forest was too silent to be real

The first two lines are particularly apt for Skye, though the latter two veer away from the directly applicable.

Here's the man himself singing it live on YouTube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NjoU1Qkeizs

I love Gordon Lightfoot. Anyone else would call this a guilty pleasure. For me this is probably at the cooler end of the spectrum of my musical tastes...

This song represents the best of memories for me. Long sunny days on the bike, laughing and singing and joking with John and Norman, blissfully unaware that we would look back on these days as some of the best of our lives. Harris and test matches are a fantastic combination for me. I can tell you every test match which was going on when I have been in Harris for summer holidays since 1976. I understand what this says about me but frankly don't care. 1981 was particularly special and if you don't know why you weren't there.

Barry Norman once said that Keith Miller, the great Australian all rounder, introduced him to another as a cricket nut. It's a label that's easily applied to me as well, and indeed has been, frequently. This blog could be exclusively about cricket but that's not my intention. I simply want to convey how close for me is the connection between Gordon Lightfoot and Mike Brearley.

Cricket, cycling and Gordon Lightfoot. It's a start.