Stunned in the Desert

Your scribe will, I trust, not be without sympathy from the reader as he
sits here, crack-ribbed and somewhat despondent. It is fortunate at
least that, as a man of a certain age who lives alone, I am not without
experience of one-handed typing.

This morning dawned bright and clear. The sky was pale blue, but the
roofs of the bungalows in front of my house were white with frost - an
excellent day for a unicycle ride, and yet, had I known what misfortune
lay ahead, perhaps I would have retired to my armchair with a stiff
whisky and a Laurel & Hardy DVD.

I arrive at the Forest Pines car park to find no sponsored rides,
mountainbike races or car rallies in progress. Instead, there are
large and gaudy signs advertising a Christmas tree sale. Given that it
is mid November, this ought to be one of the deliberate mistakes, but
unformtunately, it is true.

It's still bitterly cold, and I do a few stretches and some half
hearted warm up movements before mounting the KH24. I ride out of the
car park, past the Go Ape! adventure course and soon I am on a long
easy trail through pine forest. Within a couple of hundred metres, I
meet an elderly man walking his dog. He greets me with a cheery
"Hello!" then comments as I ride past, "That's unusual." Maybe for
him; not for me.

At the first opportunity, I turn left, and start to climb an easy path,
my tyre almost silent on the carpet of pine needles. Then I turn right
and ride through broad leafed woodland, losing height until I meet one
of the hard-surfaced main tracks. I go straight across, wallowing a
little in a patch of soft sand, then climb up a rough sand and gravel
path, gaining height fairly rapidly. I hear mountainbikers on the easy
trail behind me, and one of them shouts a comment about me to his
companions.

Just past the top of the hill, I find the pond - I have no idea whether
it is natural or not, but the pond is about the size of a swimming
pool, and has no obvious feeder stream. It is well established, with
reeds and rushes, and a path that goes all the way round it. I ride
round the back of it, looking for a way into the forest, and find one,
and set off down a gentle slope through woodland. The sun is bright,
and the air is clear, so that the tree trunks are quite harshly lit on
one side, and very dark on the other, with clear sharp shadows. The
leaves that are still on the trees are gentle yellow; the ones on the
ground are richer shades of orange and gold. It's a beautiful place to
be.

Half a mile later, I find an unexpected featu a clearing, with quite
a steep slope down to a broad path below. The grass in the clearing is
long, tussocky and wet. The ground is bumpy, and the long grass makes
it difficult to read. I swoop down the hill, at some moments too
confidently, at others, wrestling to regain control of the uni. I make
it to the bottom with a "Whoop!" of success, and start to plod my way
through the wet grass towards the main path.

Suddenly, the wheel finds a concealed obstacle. I react too late and
UPD. At first I think I can run out of it, then I decide to roll. It
all goes horribly wrong. I fall on my left side, the back of my hand
towards the ground, the palm towards my chest. The hard plastic palm
of the wrist guard hits the buckle of my Camelbak, and as I hit the
ground, the buckle is driven into my rib with the full force of my
fall. I am stunned and winded, and lie on my side panting like a
wounded doe for 30 seconds or more before I realise that the wet is
soaking through my shirt. I clamber to my feet, wincing at the pain in
my rib.

A minute or two later, I remount and carry on my way, taking easy
trails through mixed woodland, struggling a little to regain my rhythm.
It was a silly UPD, at low speed on a soft surface, but it has entered
the charts at about number 5 - which considering this is my 19th year
of unicycling, and I've been in Accident & Emergency twice as a result
of unicycling, is pretty bad.

A mile or so later, I find a familiar junction, and make the effort to
turn the opposite way to usual. That takes me along an easy undulating
path for a few minutes until I pop out onto a wider forest road. As I
consider my options, my wheel finds the only large loose stone for 10
seconds' ride in any direction. The stone is triangular in section, so
it won't roll. It slides for an instant, then stops. I UPD, the shock
of my foot hitting the ground is transmitted up to my bruised rib.

I walk through a gate, then remount and follow an easy ballast path up
the hill, approaching one of the highest points in this area of forest.
Near to the top, things have changed. It appears that forestry
lorries have carved away at the verge on the outside of a right hand
bend. My plan is to turn left onto a narrow path at a junction on the
very crown of the bend. The ramp up is far steeper than I remember it,
and I toy with the idea of carrying on round the bend. I decide to go
for it, and impress myself when I make it up the little ramp very
easily.

But now, a problem: this is beech forest, and there is a uniformly
thick layer of autumn leaves. The path is seldom used, and the fallen
leaves are undisturbed. There are no clues as to the direction the
path takes, and I have to improvise, zigzagging between tree trunks
until my wheel sinks through the dry leaves into deep mud and I UPD. I
stop to get my breath back, and admire the way the sunlight filters
through the trees onto the golden forest floor. Some people see the
beauty; others see dead leaves, the end of summer, and the approaching
winter.


--
Mikefule

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mikefule's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/879
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006

The next path is a difficult one. It is dead straight for a mile or
more, sometimes descending, sometimes climbing fairly steeply. In
places it is firm, in others there is deep gloopy mud. Parts are
smooth, and others are rutted. Unfortunately, from a unicyclist's
point of view, it is almost completely concealed by a deep bed of dried
oak, beech and chestut leaves. Every 100 metres or so, the wheel
discovers a hitherto unsuspected obstacle - sometimes a log, or a deep
pool of mud, sometimes a wheel rut, and sometimes near to the edge of
the trail, the gaping mouths of animal burrows - mainly rabbit and
squirrel. I UPD more times than I can remember, my language becomes
informal, and any passers by could be forgiven for thinking that there
was a loyal and vocal group of cyclists from the Cotswold village of
Bucking Farstead somewhere in the forest. Possibly even members of the
Bucking Farstead Hunt.


--
Mikefule

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mikefule's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/879
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006

Finally, I make it to the top of the next hill. From here, it is a
fairly easy descent, with caution, with the only obstacles being
patches of loose sand and gravel, and occasional tree roots. At the
bottom, I dismount and clamber over a bank, a ditch and a bank to get
to the track that leads to The Desert. After a short walk, I climb
over the obstacles placed to keep people out of The Desert, then mount
and ride under the graffiti-decorated railway bridge and out onto the
rough area next to the Black Lagoon.

Long-standing readers of my wride ups will perhaps recall the Black
Lagoon: a disgusting oily pond with burned out cars and rusted chemical
drums in it, and surrounded by dried quicksand, with the dead branches
of willows and the charred skeletons of cars and scooters protruding,
frozen in a tormented dance of the damned. It is an evil place.

Well, it was evil, anyway, but now The Authorities have filled it in
with sand. It will win no prizes for beauty, but appears marginally
less evil. Anne Robinson after her platic surgery springs to mind.

I ride past The Sandpit Formerly Known as the Black Lagoon, then
scramble over deep gravel and wheel ruts towards The Desert. In doing
so, I do some of the most technically demanding riding of the day so
far. Much has changed since my last visit. The wheel ruts are deeper.
there is severe erosion from flooding. Parts of the road have
completely collapsed, with crevasses opening up to hollow chambers a
metre or more down. This is no exaggeration. It's as if there had
been an underground stream following the course of the track and the
track had fallen away during heavy rain. Weird.

A few metres later, I am on an easier track. The Desert is to my left.
I can hear the frantic chainsaw rasp of 2 stroke trail bikes.
Normally there would be cars and vans parked all along here, but there
is only one big 4 wheel drive car. Two men are standing by it, and
they grin and make daft but friendly comments for me to overhear as I
ride past. To my left is an artificial earth bank about 2 metres high
designed to keep the off roaders off The Desert. I am scanning this
bank looking for a gap, and I see a tiny little quad approaching. It
has two young children on it,and I hear one of them shout out in
wonderment as he sees me ride past.

At last I find a gap: there is a short and easy climb over the bank,
and a gradual drop down onto the sand of The Desert.

The Desert may need some explaining for newer readers. This is near
Mansfield in mid-north Notts, which was coal mining territory until
about the mid 1980s. In the background of The Desert is a massive ugly
black spoil tip. The Desert itself appears to be related to a sand and
gravel quarry. The main area is undulating sand, probably a kilometre
in each direction. On the far side is a deep pit where I think the
sand is still extracted, or was until recently. At weekends, the whole
area is used unofficially by dozens of 4 wheel drive cars, trail bikes,
quads and, er... about one unicyclist.

So, onto The Desert, where the sand is just right: it is damp but not
too wet. Where the land Rovers have left tyre tracks, it is packed
hard and easily bears the weight of the unicycle. On a bad day, the
sand is either too dry to ride on, or so wet that I sink in it. Today
is a good day, and I am making easy progress, whilst conscious that I
am impressing some of the trail bikers who are racing past me.

To my left, I see a big 4 wheel drive car, stuck half way over the hump
that separates the access road from The Desert. It is the one that I
passed earlier, with the two young chaps who made friendly comments.
I see that the two lads are standing on the rear bumper, jumping to
rock the vehicle as a third sits at the controls and spins the wheels
wildly. The car is completely beached, rocking on its chassis, with
the wheels dangling and barely making contact with the ground.

I stop to offer assistance. We find bits of rope, patches of old
carpet, some broken pieces of abandoned vehicles, and try to build up
the ground under the wheels to aid traction. The driver revs the
engine. The wheels spin until the tyres smoke. I keep to one side,
not wanting to be crushed if the vehicle tips back. The two lads are
less cautious and are simply pushing on the back bumper. I am rewarded
for my caution with a mouth full of grit as the tyre bites momentarily
and sends up a shower of sand and gravel.

A few minutes of this results in the vehicle finally clawing its way
forward enough to make traction, and it scrapes over the hump. Just as
it it goes, I see that it has collected a large rock with its chassis
and is dragging it forward. I shout. The vehicle stops. One of the
lads removes the rock.

Moments too late, a Land Rover turns up. The driver offers assistance.
"It's all right thanks. This bloke on the unicycle has helped us to
sort it out!"

There are smiles all round. As I am about to remount, I say, "Four
wheels looks way to complicated. It's difficult enough on one." I
ride away across The Desert in classic "Who was that masked man?"
style, with friendly laughter and amazed comments following me. I am
relieved that I make it over some difficult bits of soft sand and some
impressive little bumps and hollows and it is a good couple of minutes
before my first UPD.

Ask anyone you meet in the street and they will tell you that riding a
unicycle on sand is hard work. Listen to them. They are exactly
correct in every detail. It is physically and mentally exhausting.
The wheel slips sideways at the slightest provocation. Every little
uphill is an opportunity for it to lose traction. Every little
downhill is a chance for it to slip away from beneath you. All you can
do is stand on the pedals and pick your way along step by breathless
step. Add a badly bruised rib to the mixture and it is even worse - I
am still suffering from my fall right back near the beginning of the
ride.

A couple of UPDs later, I am almost at the bottom of a sand, earth and
gravel bank that is too steep to ride up. I push and carry to the top
then stop to recover my breath. I am now starting to regret that I
brought no food with me. I have only the cold water in my Camelbak. I
decide to take a long rest, admire the view (the beautiful spoil tips
on the horizon...) and ring Ruth. I sit on the ground, my phone to my
ear, the unicycle unceremoniously dumped to the side of me. A 4 wheel
drive pulls up behind me, the driver checking if I am hurt, which is
kind of him. I wave him on with a rare smile.

Back in the saddle, I plod up a long gradual slope of mud, sand and
puddles until I reach the highest point. there are two motorcyclists
there, and one points me out to the other. Perhaps his friend is
eceptionally unobservant: there is nothing in my direction for 500
metres except sand and gravel and one unicyclist. I would like to
think that someone who rides a motorcycle has better observational
skills than to need to be told about the unicyclist.

As I ride past, the first biker grins and says, "That is the maddest
f***ing thing I have ever seen!" I thank him politely, then choose the
steepest descent I dare and make it to the bottom without incident. As
I pick my way across the sand towards the quarry, I hear him say to his
(presumably unobservant) companion: "Did you see that?"


--
Mikefule

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mikefule's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/879
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006

I notice that only 50 metres further on, the rails are missing. That is
fairly conclusive proof that the railway is no longer in use! I
remount and ride until the concrete sleepers give way to wooden ones,
with sharper angles. This is too much like hard work and I walk the
next 20 metres or so to a bridge, then scramble down through gorse
until I reach the top of a low brick wall, about a metre and a half
above the bridlepath that runs under the bridge. I know where I am
because I've ridden under this bridge a few times over the years.

Picture the scene, gentle reader: I am in cycling shoes, short socks,
Lycra cycling shorts, and a proper cycling top. I am wearing a cycle
helmet and wrist guards, and scrambling down a steep railway embankment
through gorse and briars, carrying a unicycle with a 3" section knobbly
tyre and pinned pedals. The image is pretty hardcore, is it not? Even
at a cursory glance, I could not be mistaken for a novice. So when I
see four bicyclists riding along the trail below me, why does one of
them say, "Where's the rest of your bike, mate?" with a hint of
derision in his tone.

I have thought long and hard about this, and I have reached the
conclusion that the answer involves him being a complete and utter
pillock.

The other three cyclists seem equally unamused by their companion's
foray into comedy, and make polite comments. They are waiting to go
through a gate, and wonder whether I wish to go ahead of them or to let
them go first. In fact, I am going in the opposite way, but I thank
them for their courtesy. I drop down off the wall, mount and ride
under the bridge, hearing three lots of comments expresing mild
amazement, and one lot of forced laughter. The guy may not know it,
but he is only one inadvertant "Dit dit diddle iddle..." from an 18
speed, disc braked, twin shock suppository. Well, I suppose that
would be three shocks, but you know what I mean.

I soon find myself at one of the BMX areas. There are no BMXers around
to impress, but I do a traditional lap of the bumps just for the sake
of it, then pop out onto the main path, and cross behind the bench seat
and into the narrow path that leads into the woods.

50 metres later, I reach the place where I spoke to some amiable
mountainbikers a week or two ago. One of them had urged me to ride
down one of the steep sections. Cunningly, I had ridden down one of
the easiest, but hammed it up a bit for the audience. Today, for my
own amusement, I rode up the bit that I rode down on that day - which
shows how easy the descent really was! I am still chuckling to myself
as I reach the top, then I stop chuckling with remarkable suddenness as
I sit back down with eye-watering clumsiness.

My left knee has been hurting for some time. My right leg was
scratched by the gorse. Now I don't know which hurts most: my left
leg, my right leg or something in between.

Boom boom!

Regaining my composure, I ride along the narrow single track, about 5
metres above the main track below. I hear the macho shouts of
mountainbikers, and at a crossroads ahead, one passes from my right to
my left, takes off and flies down the steep bank. To be fair, it's
quite impressive. Another appears and does the same, more cautiously.
The third appears and hesitates. I look down the slope and see that
the first has his camera out and is urging the third to ride down the
slope. As he does so, I pass behind him, amused that the photo of his
"great deed of daring" will have a cross country unicyclist in the
background, apparently riding the same route.

The photographer is one of those irritating people who, unable to think
of anything amusing to say, laughs anyway in the hope that people will
join him. When they don't, he intersperses his laughter with comments
like, "Look! Look!" I ignore him and ride down a fairly steep
gravelly ramp - steep enough to be genuinely impressive, I think - and
am rewarded with the comment, "You, Sir, are a legend!" He spoils this
with more forced laughter, and is still forcing it as I crest the next
hill and turn a corner and pass out of sight, although not earshot.

By now, I am really running low on fuel. My rib is hurting. My left
knee is giving me gip. It is definitely time to turn towards the car
park. I follow well-known paths through the pines until I reach the
watchtower. Although this has nothing whatsoever to do with military
plans against glider borne invasion forces (see a previous wride up) it
really does exist. As usual, I climb it and enjoy the view, such as it
is. Around me there are uniform rows of spruce and pine. The pines
are just coming to the end of their season, with only a few pineapples
remaining on the floor more or less eaten away by the crows.

I watch a small posse of mountainbikers pass beneath me. I gather my
thoughts and strength for the last leg of the journey and climb down
from the tower. It is now only a couple of kilometres back to the car,
and I take pleasantly interesting paths through the wood rather than
just taking the direct route along the main "yeller brick". By the
time I reach the outside seating area near the café, my GPS shows about
9.7 miles. It is only a number, and I head directly to the car, rather
than making a point of clocking up the full 10. I've ridden further
many times, but this has been one of the toughest physical rides I've
ever done.

Bizarrely, the GPS shows my maximum speed as 14.5 mph. That is strange
because I can't hit that on the KH24 on a flat tarmac. I guess it's a
rogue reading. The average for the ride is a less impressive 5.5 mph!

Several hours later, typing this, my rib is very sore. Possibly
bruised, possibly cracked. Who knows? The symptoms and treatment are
pretty much identical. Due to other commitments I am unlikley to be
riding for a week or two anyway, which is one reason why this wride up
is longer than usual.

There are two deliberate mistakes in there. Uusal rules: they are
errors of general knowledge. You don't need to be a unicyclist or a
regular reader of my wride ups to spot them. They are nothing to do
with grammar or turns of phrase, and there are no deliberate tricks
where I mix up my lefts and rights or ups and downs. They are things
you could check in any general knowledge book or encyclopaedia. If you
spot them, PM me. Please do not post the answers or comments about the
mistakes to this thread - it might spoil it for someone else, even if
you don't want to play. Answers and winners to be announced in a
couple of days. For bonus marks, why the title?


--
Mikefule

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mikefule's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/879
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006

Mikefule wrote:
Moments too late, a Land Rover turns up. The driver offers assistance.
"It's all right thanks. This bloke on the unicycle has helped us to
sort it out!"

LOL. Surely the bruised rib must have been worthwhile just for that
moment.



The guy may not know it, but he is only one inadvertant "Dit dit diddle
iddle..." from an 18 speed, disc braked, twin shock suppository.
Well, I suppose that would be three shocks, but you know what I mean.

Priceless.


--
Danny Colyer

http://www.colyer.plus.com/danny/
Subscribe to PlusNet http://www.colyer.plus.com/referral/
"He who dares not offend cannot be honest." - Thomas Paine
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Danny Colyer's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/11637
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006

I guess it was the day for it today. I hope you haven't hurt your rib
too badly.

Usual comments about your write ups apply.


--
cathwood

Cathy
------------------------------------------------------------------------
cathwood's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/9425
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006

wow i could never type 3 pages


--
skianduniaddict

dont hop onto tippy stuff
ski sugarloaf uni bradbury
my cat bob ate four kids

Bear wrote:
I am Bear. I can ride a unicycle. How are you dooing?

bear is my new main man
------------------------------------------------------------------------
skianduniaddict's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/11868
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006

nice read as always!!

Chase


--
Unitik908

All hail the exhaulted Sigpoose, for he is forever king...
R.I.P Unibiker
R.I.P Gazzaloddi
R.I.P Paul Hester
R.I.P James Doohan
R.I.P Mitch Hedberg
R.I.P Peter Jennings
R.I.P Pope John Paul II
R.I.P James_Potters_Cat
YAMS

-last edited by the dave and sigpoose on 2005-09-05 at 08:56 pm -
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unitik908's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/8690
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006

skianduniaddict wrote:
wow i could never type 3 pages



It was more than that - about 8 pages as a Word Pro document before I
posted it. It took ages to slice it properly to post it as there is a
maximum of 10 000 charcters per post.

So far, only one PM with an answer to the "delibrate mistakes".

There are two deliberate mistakes, and one bonus question (why the
title?).

Rib still very painful. I went to see Motorhead last night, and spent
an uncomfortable couple of hours trying to protect it in a rowdy
crowd.


--
Mikefule

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mikefule's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/879
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006

Mikefule wrote:

I ride past The Sandpit Formerly Known as the Black Lagoon, then
scramble over deep gravel and wheel ruts towards The Desert. In doing
so, I do some of the most technically demanding riding of the day so
far. Much has changed since my last visit. The wheel ruts are deeper.
there is severe erosion from flooding. Parts of the road have
completely collapsed, with crevasses opening up to hollow chambers a
metre or more down. This is no exaggeration. It's as if there had
been an underground stream following the course of the track and the
track had fallen away during heavy rain. Weird.
QUOTE]


When I first came here I lived for a while in a house share. The top
room of one of a block of four townhouses. The brickwork of "our"
house showed that there was significant subsidence, and could be seen
visibly sloping downwards towards the corner of the house. It was
rented accomodation, and as such was not going to repaired any time
soon. The road outside had the odd minor undulation, but nothing too
concerning. One bright and sunny morning I looked out of the window
to see a black mark in one of the undulations. I went out to
investigate and it was a 6" wide hole in the road. Poking a stick down
it, the hole was an inverted V shape, and at least 6 feet deep. I could
hear water somewhere below.

So, in public spirited mode, I placed a bright yellow bucket, with a
couple of heavy bricks in it, over the hole and went back in to make a
couple of cardboard warning signs. When I came out a BMW had hit the
bright yellow bucket, in full summer sunshine, and its rear wheel had
gone down the hole. Idiot! He actually shouted at me for leaving a
brick filled bucket in the road, and at the same time confessed he had
intentionally decided to run over the bucket. I was hoping to see the
whole car disappear, but was disappointed. Minimal damage had been
caused to the car, and it seemed to drive normally once hauled out.

This was caused by a underground stream, which had caused the house
subsidence, and I later learned, was the cause of cracks that appeared
in the swimming pool in the garden of the house across the road,
draining it one night. "Our" house was demolished a few years later.


--
Naomi

Give a man a fish and you will feed him for the day. Teach him how to
fish and with any luck he will spend the entire weekend down by the
canal.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Naomi's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/3322
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/55006