ONCE AGAIN, WITHOUT THE NET

Tuesday, 12 August 2014

SUNDAY 10th DAY 3 WASHINGTON D.C. Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?

Today was a tourist day. Sometimes you have to bite the bullet and join the masses if you want to see the sights and sounds of whatever place you are visiting. And Washington is a big place with all the historic stuff well spread out. We started by agreeing to purchase two days worth of 'hop on hop off' tickets for The Washington Trolley. This quaint vehicle serves all the tourist areas and with the driver providing live commentary is not only informative but entertaining. We started by taking The Green Line which takes you to the North if the capital, or should I say Capitol. The highlight of the route, over an hour and a half in length, was the area of the city called Georgetown . This is one of the original settlements named after the King of England at the time of founding, George II. Many Presidents had sumner houses up here and needless to say property is exceptionally beautiful and exceptionally expensive. But they ain't so bright up there folks and they ran the gauntlet of annoying my wife by denying her alcohol at well past alcohol o'clock.

Feeling in need of refreshment we happened upon a 'bar and grill'. We, as veggies are not necessarily interested in the 'grill' element of this but hold on reader, we have Merlin with us, who loves the idea of total immersion in American 'culture' which includes experiencing their heart attack jobs, namely burgers with at least six inches between the top and bottom of the burger bun once filling is applied. And that was what he got! But what we got, Trish and me, was a shock! As it was well after the aforementioned alcohol o'clock, Trish decided that a Bloody Mary was the order of the day. Our waitress, as accommodating as ever in this tipping paradise, took our order but then asked Trish for ID. Now, avid readers, this was a hot day 30+. We were pretty frazzled and in need of refreshment. This waitress was walking a suddenly taut tightrope. Did we have ID? No. Was Trish getting her Bloody Mary? No. Was my wife upset? Astonishingly at first No. Unlike her husband who pleaded her case, siting a daughter of 26 and an age of 47, she dutifully ordered a coke without rum or any other alcoholic enhancement. What a Woman! Secretly, I think she was revelling in the fact that she didn't look old enough to drink, here in the U.S of A. You know how women are. Me, a man would be just pissed off. But, I don't think that's ever likely to happen. Not now and not ever.

There followed a tour of the local shops during which Merlin picked up a copy of 'The Marijuana Cookbook, supposedly for son Ossie but.......... And then we were back on the 'Trolley' with 'Slim Dave' or whoever he was for the rest of the ride down to THE CAPITOL.

Of course the next stop was a visit to The White House. Although 'visit' is a loose term. There is obviously no chance of a visit and there is also almost no chance of a decent view, for it is now surrounded by trees and secret service police. The face of the building must now be viewed from afar, with ancient access points now terminated by cops on very fast and chrome heavy Harley- Davidson Motorbikes. Every now and then one of them would go roaring off into the distance in a show of subliminal power, all clad in leather and haha, sweating profusely in this thirty degree humidity. Many of the cops merely have the job of keeping people off the grass, for clearly in the old days the public were allowed to wander at will around the adjacent roads and avenues, including the surrounding green space. Not so now. A mere two step encroachment into an undesired area brings either a whistle or blast on a motorcycle siren. And you don't really want to ignore those warning signals, as you get the impression that all an sundry are poised on hair triggers, waiting for action, that thankfully never comes.......except......well except for the story of some daring nutter who, in a silver Honda, managed, somehow, to join in at the back of the Presidential motorcade as it roared down Pennsylvania Avenue and swept through the massive security gates in front of the White House. He was only discovered when the cars pulled up to allow the President to get out! What happened next was not part of the story told to us on one of our 'Trolley Tours'. At least he didn't tread on the grass!

Monday, 11 August 2014

Saturday 9th August......Deal Or No Deal?

Sometimes luck is on your side. On the off chance I called a taxi company specialising in airport transfers last night, whilst holding a bag of frozen green beans to my left thigh, which had come up like a rugby ball. A rugby ball with no leather covering. I didn't hold out much hope of a favourable price, given that Ade and Fran Duke last week had been quoted £50 for transportation from Toddington to just the other side of Dunstable. Needless to say, the Dukemeister refused to accept this price and haggled them down to half of it with the skill of David Dickenson, but from up North.

Imagine then my surprise when I was quoted a mere £54 from our abode, about two miles from Toddington, to Heathrow. This was £11 more expensive than the train but, as it turned out, an hour and twenty minutes faster. Money well spent. And in true, preparing for the US stylie, we even gave our driver a tip! So there we we were with time to burn and taste the new and latest latest vodka concoctions for free, while we bought bog standard at two for a twenty note. However, no amount of quaffing was going to dull the stinging from yesterday's altercation with the Tarmac. And as I was going to find out an eight our journey squeezed into economy class was not going to help either. The whole experience reminded me of last year in the Caribbean when Merlin and I had joyfully snorkelled for an hour with no sun protection or even a t shirt as worn by the locals. The pain of the following couple of nights as I carefully turned over in bed, sticking to the sheets as a fly to its paper, was exactly the same as the pain from the scraped flesh of the pointy bits of my body, which had taken the full force of yesterday's slide.

The flight to Washington with my two U.S. first timers was uneventful, which is always good, and soon over. The next hurdle was getting through immigration and customs. A massively slow process and one that you have to grimace and bear. The officials are a definite victim of what Trish calls the 'uniform syndrome'. That is give someone a uniform and they turn into an officious jobs worth. They take no prisoners here. And truly some people must seriously test their patience. For a start they don't allow any line pushing. All aircraft personnel line up with us the passengers and when one of the crew jumped line he was sent to the back like a naughty schoolboy. Next it was the turn of a stressed looking business man. He too attempted a line hop and was told to get to the back. Foolishly he ignored this and approached the desk again. Looking up from his paperwork the official said 'what part of get to the back didn't you understand'? So scolded he wisely vacated the local space. I imagined this happening in the UK. The queue jumper would have been directly to the official's boss with cries of disrespect and rudeness. No such here.

The next queue was for customs where my travelling companions foolishly followed me into a line which turned out to be for one post, while the other line was served by three. Too late to change lines our's slowly meandered forward. What was the reason for this? It turned out that we were being served by Mr. Magoo who inspected each and every passport inches from his nose as if each contained a vital clue to some mystery. Eventually we were in a taxi and on our way to Central Washington.

Saturday, 9 August 2014

FRIDAY AUGUST 8th......HIT THE ROAD JACK

Sometimes, surely by accident, not a great word to use given the subject of today's Blog, things happen in one's life, after which a well deserved pat on the back is the order of the day. Today the heavens opened.

It was the sort of rain, accompanied by a stiff gusty wind, that usually has one running for cover in The Caribbean. However, unlikely as it may seem, weeks of clement weather in our region of the UK was interrupted by such a downpour. As the rain lashed our conservatory roof, overpowering the guttering in need of a good clear out, I looked pensively out of the window concerned only for my daily bike ride, which, with the rain, was going down the drain. However we patted ourselves heartily having not seconds before, completed the task of putting away all the garden furniture including the gazebo.

I need not have worried. Caribbean style, the sun was soon out and the foliage began to steam and dry out. Time to get on the road. Another unfortunate turn of phrase. For the reader who has no access to my favoured, rather than favourite, social media site, I have in truth become obsessed ever so slightly with my new speedy bike. I purchased it in May and ever since 'we' have been at war with the clock.

As I ride, GPS tracks me and a smartphone app delivers updates, every kilometre, on my progress. Always against the clock. It's my own fault. I simply can't go out for what I call 'a pointless pedal', and since the arrival of my Boardman Sport, effort on the pedal is rewarded with a return of significant, for me, (not Chris Froome or Bradley Whiggo), speed. It's really quite exhilarating. I have to get out. Sometimes a double reward presents itself, with not only success against tick tock, but also a couple of quick pints at The Albion public house, which is about 10k from home, a third or so of one of my many countryside 'circuits'. I usually aim for a calorie burn of between 900 and 1000 per session, regardless of pintage!

Of course this has pedalled alongside my other obsession from a year ago, that of losing weight. I had to. I was getting problems with my right knee which physiotherapy had part cured over time but which a weight loss of 15kg had even more significantly alleviated to the point of no pain at all. So Mr. Obsession had more than one reason to get out once the rain had abated. Which is exactly how I work when it comes to exercise. Reasons to be active. And getting into trousers and shirts long since abandoned at the back of the wardrobe and a 'new' knee is reason enough. Not to mention a couple of quick pints at Bedfordshire's Pub Of The Year 2013!

As I set off, at the back of my mind was of course the next day's trip to Washington. Previously I have eschewed any 'dangerous' activity the day before a holiday on the grounds of injury which maywell curtail the looked forward to trip to wherever. Usually skiing. Not today. Now as I said before, I'm new to this road biking. These lightweight steeds go like shit of the proverbial shovel with the minimum of encouragement but at speed you do need to be careful. Trouble is, at speed it's pretty exciting, especially in the country side, Up Against The Clock, on relatively deserted roads.

Good job, for as I approached a familiar 90 degree bend I was about to make a rookie error! and one which could of had more serious consequences but thankfully did not. Road bikes have thin tyres. Lack of contact with the road produces speed. They also are, like formula one car tyres, slick. The recent rain on the roads was drying, but combined with the recent warm weather a layer of slippery stuff was awaiting the foolhardy. That was me.

There was no saving myself. As I hit the turn, all traction with the Tarmac was lost. Now I'm pretty used to tumbling. My early skiing days were pretty much all tumble, and since I mastered the art to my satisfaction, tumbles still occur but with less frequency but with more speed. Like this one. But the give from Macadam's invention is much less than from God's White Gold. I was soon rolling around in the middle of the road, not bouncing at all. And there was immediate pain. A lot of it. As I staggered to my feet, thankful for no oncoming traffic or more importantly You've Been Framed witnesses, I felt the burn. The burn you felt when falling in the schoolyard. But there were a number of burns. Knees, elbows and thigh.

I always carry water. So first job was to provide some relief by applying some. WARNING, try not to apply sparkling water to open flesh wounds. But that's all I had. Anyway, the Tour guys crash much worse and get back on their machines And pedal on. So I did, completing the 32km circuit in a truly pathetic time during which The Clock laughed at me all the way round. And no time for a quick pint!