A Virtual Breakdown

You know you're have gone too far when the reason you can't get 'out' on your bike is because the server is down. If even typing that sounds ridiculous, then the truth is even more so.

Of course I don't blame myself, but instead direct my ire at the careless drivers of Auckland. With the days at their shortest, and the city plunging into darkness at 5:30pm, two options face the slightly-keen cyclist. Either get lights and run the risk of being mowed down or retreat to somewhere safe. Not wanting to do battle with traffic - God knows I've witnessed enough near-misses in daylight to know that cycling at night is only asking for trouble - this year I've decided to invest in a bit of technology and retreat to the safety of the garage. And why not? It's well lit, dry and devoid of nutters in steel boxes. 

So with a bit of faffing around..... Okay a LOT of faffing around.... I was all set and ready to take the plunge into the world of virtual cycling. With the training gizmo wirelessly linked to a laptop I would feel every undulation and hill of a virtual course. Want to take a trip down Langdale Valley in Cumbria? No problem, just search for a suitable route and hop on. How about Lauterbrunnen in Switzlerland or test your legs against an alpine climb? Easy. And all while you watch a rendered virtual world, or if someone has taken the time to video the route, a helmet camera view. And it doesn't end there. Want stats? You got 'em. The laptop screen is full of them; heart rate, rpm, speed, slope, distance elapsed. And, yes there's more, if you're finding this virtual world a little lonely you can hook up with other riders and enjoy the virtual company of another cyclist whilst you tour the back roads of France. But without the smell and the endless talk about gear ratios.

Or at least that's the theory. Initially it was more head scratching than pedal turning. 

"Why won't the training unit recognise the laptop? It's there - right in front of you for goodness sake!"

"What do you mean there's no wireless network? Of course there is! Look my phone's found it so why can't you?"

"Shite, the battery's died on the laptop!"

"Bollocks, the power lead won't reach the power socket!"

After a lost hour of training, I was underway and off around Central Park in New York for my maiden journey.

"Bloody hell I'm too hot. Why am I sweating so much Oh, hang on a minute! I don't need to wear this helmet! Idiot! Right where was I? Blimey, this is hard work. Oh, here comes a hill......"

It was a revelation, and even if the wifi signal in the garage wasn't quite strong enough to get the helmet-cam movies to steam properly, it was a vast improvement over staring at a wall and definitely better than inspecting the underside of a truck. 

That lunchtime at work, I found myself browsing the available routes with the glee of a child in a sweet shop who has been given their parents' credit card, furiously saving them to my favourites. I had become a virtual tourist and tonight I had opted for a quick spin through Colorado before heading to my old stomping ground in Darlington. It was going to be great.

Thankfully my meetings all ended on time and I set off towards home, the Rockies and County Durham, even catching the bus to get there more quickly - the irony of which was lost on me in my haste to start cycling. 

Within minutes of arriving home, I was changed and setup ready to go......

'The server is offline whilst we undertake some important maintenance. Back soon'

"Nnnnooooooooooo".

I waited. Five, ten, fifteen minutes but still nothing. I was dressed up but with no party to go to. Virtually stood up. What were they doing? Twenty minutes and still nothing. It was getting lonely sat in the garage. And cold. The server eventually came back on line an hour later but by this point I'd lost the motivation. The Rockies would have to wait. I can say with absolute certainty that this was the first time that I have not been able to ride because of a server failure. I can also say with equal certainty that it won't be the last. I guess one of the perils of being at the forefront of the time zones, is that server maintenance is going to happen, more often than not, during our waking hours.

Well it's a small price to pay I suppose. I have been back in the saddle since the breakdown and, whilst I can't say I've enjoyed every minute of it, it certainly helps fend off the boredom and helps keep things a little interesting. In fact, other than the real thing, it's almost realistic. The only thing missing is the opportunity to stop at a cafe for some cake and tea. But that could be arranged. I wonder if Sarah would oblige? I'll have to ask.....but then again maybe I do fancy my chances against a truck after all?

Best laid plans

I like to think that I am good at planning things. It is, after all, my job. And there is plenty of empirical evidence, you know actual hard facts, to back up this rather boastful claim.

There are, for example, countless examples of trips away with mates where I have come up with the idea in the first place, sorted out travel arrangements and practically packed people's bags for them. Yes, there was that incident where, having done all of the above, I forgot to take my wallet. But I like to consider that as an isolated incident and besides, it could've been a lot worse. At least we were only in Oslo and not the Amazon. Not a that a credit card would've been much use in deep jungle but there are McDonald's everywhere. Right?

So planning is my thing. Or at least I thought it was until today.....

It was an easy enough mistake to make. Being Sunday, the day most runners go for their long run, we'd arranged to meet a friend at a nearby station. In fact the station closest to their house and only a short twenty minute journey for us. From there we were going to do a gentle 18km run around Onehunga ending back up at the station. Simple.

The train was slightly late, but only a couple of minutes or so, so I was still convinced we would be there first. Let's say promptness is not on everyone's priority list. As the train pulled into the station I saw that my predictions were correct. No friend. It was then I realised my mistake. I didn't specify where in the station and this particular one had two separate platforms. Doh! Never mind we'd just check them both out....

Empty. Both of them. "Typical," I thought to myself, "I'd better check my phone to make sure she'd not backed out and decided to have a lie in."

But no new messages. "Hhmmm," I pondered, "I'd better check the original message to make sure it was 9am...."

"Oh!," I quietly exclaimed before promptly going quiet.

"What is it? Is she ok?"

"Errr she's fine, she's just at different station...," I replied, my voice trailing off.

"Well how's that happened?" came the response. 

Before I explain, it's was an easy mistake to make. Especially when you consider that, before selecting this route, I had a number of different options and permutations in my head. When you look at it that way, I'm surprised I only got it a bit wrong...

You see, and I'm sure she will see the funny side of it eventually, I simply got Penrose mixed up with Panmure. I know, virtually identical aren't they! Both start and end with the same letter. And hey, they even both have an 'n' in there as well. It must happen all the time! It's just a shame that Penrose, where we were supposed to meet, happened to be a five minute walk from her house and Panmure was a good 5 miles away. As the crow flies.

No matter, this could be fixed. I was a project manager after all. After a quick call and email to let her know we were fine and not to worry, we jumped on the next train and headed up the line to where we could catch a connecting train. We'd be there in no time. Yup, a quick change in Westfield, hopefully with time to grab a coffee or light snack, and we'd soon be at our new alternative destination. 

Unfortunately Westfield station didn't quite have the facilities we were hoping for. No cafe, not even a snack machine. In fact whilst we're on it, no seats, shelter or toilets. It was so basic I was actually surprised that there was a platform and that trains actually stopped in preference to getting you to alight by jumping for your life. Westfield, and I'm being generous here, was nothing more than an afterthought of a station in the middle of an industrial estate. For those who have had the pleasure of travelling with Northern Rail, think Allens West but without the character.

At least we wouldn't have long to wait.... 

But we would. This was New Zealand on a Sunday. The next train was not for another 45 minutes. There was nothing for it. We'd have to call a taxi. At this point our concern for our stranded friend had waned and we were more than a little concerned for our safety. Not from physical violence, you understand, but from being flattened by one of the many heavy goods vehicles that were scooting around, seemingly oblivious to two oddly underdressed people loitering on the street corner.

Our concern for our own wellbeing was heightened further when the taxi dispatcher stated she hadn't heard of such a station adding, "Are you sure - is there a platform?" After finally establishing that I wasn't deranged or sending them on a wild goose chase for the hell of it, a taxi was duly dispatched and it would be there "Within five minutes". Predictably, the taxi arrived just as the train pulled into the station. 

Another running route was hastily arranged en-route, along with a dozen or so grovelling apologies and mental note of the nearest accident and emergency centre just in case I needed to get a Garmin watch surgically removed. But being such a nice person I wasn't greeted with a barrage of expletives but with apologies; for not realising I was an idiot and for not suggesting I'd got the stations mixed up. I know, remarkable.  

"I did think it was a bit random!," she said before adding, "It's not the easiest place to get to."

I was about to comment that at least she had a shelter for her hour wait but thought better of it. I was quite attached to my Garmin watch after all.

Fortunately the new route was a success and although not half as convenient as the original, once we'd left the busy highway, we were treated to a serene run along Half Moon Bay. Plus an opportunity to nick some lemons and oranges from an abandoned tree. Or at least it looked like it was. Honest. Victory was definitely snatched from the jaws of defeat.

I'll let you decide the moral of the story; whether it's don't accept instructions blindly, always have an exit strategy or all blokes are idiots - even those who seem to know what they're doing. I'm sure you'll have an opinion, although I rather think it'll be the latter.

Numb

I'd forgotten, I really had. But more fool me because the signs were there but I chose to ignore them.

It really should have hit home when we set off from Raglan, the air was cool and the car windows were covered in condensation. But no, I was still oblivious to the fact that the clothing I was wearing was wholly unsuited to the climatic conditions. We continued our journey inland, climbing over the hills to the east of Raglan and started our descent into the mist-bound Waikato bowl, as it often is early in the morning. The mist blanketed fields and forests were stunning to look at, like something out of a Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale. Stunningly beautiful but stunningly cold. 

It took a dashboard light to make me finally make the connection, but it was a slow realisation. At first I thought that there was a mechanical fault with the car. I'd never seen this warning symbol before and with most of the surrounding text in Japanese it was far too difficult to decipher. And besides, I hadn't had my morning coffee so was not up to logical thought or technical analysis of the car's dashboard. But there in the middle was a digital, pixelated ice crystal. If that wasn't clear enough then besides the flashing display there was a zero. Yes, the temperature outside was officially freezing. Could it be right? Surely it isn't that cold.....

Thirty minutes later I found out the hard way and realised the true nature of my mistake. I was about 500m into a 5km run and I could no longer feel my nose, fingers and my toes were a distance memory.   I definitely hadn't run in anything like this cold for over two years and I'd forgotten how much it hurts - each icy breath I took was a painful reminder that I'd gotten far too complacent. 

As the route turned the corner and crossed the edge of the lake on a boardwalk, the cold foggy air enveloped my legs and I suddenly felt under-dressed and a little bit exposed. I even had to glance down to make sure I'd put my shorts back on after a visit to the loo shortly before the run began. "I was in a rush, after all, I thought to myself. Maybe the cold had fuddled my brain....". I began to reason that someone surely would've told me if I hadn't....and then stopped. This was New Zealand and, sure it would've been seen as a little odd but she'll be right. Thankfully I hadn't made a clothing faux pas and I was wearing shorts. Not that it felt like it mind.

It took another two kilometres before I started to feel comfortable and suitably warmed up. The air was still cold but the sun had finally burnt through the fog and was starting to warm everything up. I was reminded of a conversation with a tour guide on Waiheke who claimed "I'd die if a snow flake fell on me" and started to understand his point of view. It wasn't snowing, that would be a cataclysmic event, but it was by far the coldest I have experienced for a long time. 

The weird thing was that I missed it. For a little bit anyway. I guess it's easy to miss something painful when you know it's only fleeting. I knew that, once the sun had got its arse into gear, the temperature in the afternoon would be back into double digits and I'd be on the beach in shorts and a t-shirt.

I have resolved to not be so complacent in the future, take notice of the weather before setting out and put some gloves in the glove box of the car, that's what it's for right? A perfect place you might say. Right next to the sun screen and mosquito spray.