Cycling and writing

Sunday and we have torrential rain here in Cheshire. Okay, not the real downpours poor Queensland, Brazil and in other places in the southern hemisphere, but heavy for around here. On Australia and Brazil I am reminded of when I used to teach the Geography of Natural Disasters. We’d debate the issue of whether the regular monsoonal Bangladeshi floods were a Natural phenomenon or an avoidable human issue. It is mainly the latter, and the same goes in Queensland and Brazil. How many times do ecologists and hydrologist have to say to town planners: Don’t tear down forests on valley slopes, don’t build airfields or other large open tarmac areas on hills and don’t build homes in flood plains? Ignore these obvious simple rules and after torrential rain you will get mudslides and rivers in flood. QED. I feel pangs of sorrow for people caught up in the disasters but anger at the mindless authorities allowing people to live in the wrong places.
So, today I set out on my Sunday bike ride in pouring rain. I cut it short to only a two hours 25-miler up into Wales, Hope Mountain, buy a paper at Higher Kinnerton and back again. I felt warm with the temperature being 10C and stopped halfway to strip a layer and swap full gloves for mitts. Rain doesn’t bother me as much as it used to, or should, since August. I’d returned from a South Wales writing week, taking 2 and half days to do the hilly 150 miles in a deluge. The main problems are: drivers can’t see me so well, I can’t enjoy admiring views, and my brakes don’t work when wet. Otherwise, I enjoy the leg rotation and while cycling solo can allow my imagination to think through plot problems and nightmare up new characters. I saw the aftermath of an accident this morning. A flashing Ambiwlans (ambulance for those who find the translation difficult!) already had the injured man while his motorbike lay on the grass verge on the Old Mountain Road at the junction with the A5104 at Penymyndd. My velocity was already low on account of the gradient – steep for the previous 3 miles – and the fact that I’d forgotten to empty my panniers, before I left, of shopping during the week: cans of kidney beans, packet of soya flour, a now stale packet of scones and miscellanea. Even so, I slowed more thinking that could be me in the ambiwlans having been hit by that blue car, who’d probably not seen the motor bike coming up the hill from Broughton, Chester. On the hand, motor bikes go much faster and have so little time to brake and take avoiding action as push bikes. I felt a bit safer after that and continued to fill my panniers more at the Higher Kinnerton convenience store.
My urban fantasy / historical novel, Xaghra’s Revenge is now being considered by a publisher on the island of Malta. It would be marvellous if it was published in the islands the action is based on. This is thanks to a fellow player on the web-based itsyourturn.com, who lives on Malta, and has a friend, who is a published novelist, John Bonello, see his books published by Merlin Library. John is recommended Xaghra’s Revenge to Allied Publishing, who publish The Times of Malta. Fingers and eyes crossed!

Post-Cyprus 09

Between cycling a rented  bike in the Akamas National Park, hiking along the coast,  and feasting with friends, I hardly had time for writing. Nevertheless, the TV was in Greek and as exciting as Gibraltar TV so I did achieve some lowly fiction targets. I managed to find an internet Café (when will cheap hotels wake up to their guests’ needs?) in Coral Bay, so that meant another bike ride or two. I downloaded batches of stories I am judging for this year’s Whittaker prize and spent evenings reading and grading them.

 

It was a thrilling moment to huff and puff the rented bike up to Pegia  (sp?) where Eleanor was married and have a snack lunch of banana and nuts at the actual spot. My bike can be seen in the photo.

 

We writers explored the 6^th century ruined Basillica at Agios  Georgias, only 100 metres from our hotel but the event that intrigued  us the most was an  abandoned  hotel next door. The pool contained about a metre of horrible murky water. We had to investigate because at night the frogs made such a din. Of course they stopped when we closed in but soon started again  when we froze for a few minutes. We couldn’t figure how they got out of the pool. We didn’t see even one of them, only hear what seemed to be hundreds. Unless those frogs have learned to jump out of water and up the pool ladder at dawn, we remain mystified.

 

The meat-eaters and drinkers among us made the most of the tavernas and told me the food wasn’t cheap but tasty. The only vegan food I found on the menu was Village Salad, and only then when I asked for the Feta cheese  to be excluded. What remained was a bowl containing tomatoes, lettuce, onion swimming in a tasty but samey olive oil and  vinegar dressing. Occasionally an olive or celery snippet would be in there.  You’d think that a society that had evolved into civilization 2000 years before the Brits  were living in mud huts, would  know to add peppers, avocado, fruit, houmous, cress, nuts… Never mind, it was tasty and healthy. I expect if I paid more than 5 euros and travelled farther than the local village, I’d have found more vegan variety.

 

I swam every day but only in the hotel unheated pool (approx 15C brrrr at first but Ok for vigour). The sea attracted one of our number who’d brought flippers and snorkelling gear. Temp he estimated at 18C but he found no life in the local harbour though we saw  tiny fish in sunnier spots.

 

I’m glad I went. Talk is of Kerala in India next year.

 

There are some photos on a page in progress here

I have enough  photos to throw together an article  for  Cycling World and I made some progress on my fantasy, Xaghra’s Revenge.