The Trixter X dream – a stationary bike that costs a fortune

There is a tendency here to say ‘just buy a normal push-bike and get some fresh air’, but the Trixter Xdream is billed as more than just a stationary bike. Why? Because it is claimed to be the UK’s first indoor interactive bike that accurately simulates the experience of riding outdoors. An LCD screen is mounted in front of the handlebars and allows the user to steer through 400 cycling trails from arid desert to densely forested highlands.

There are virtual competitors who set the pace and laterally moving handlebars to negotiate corners and avoid hazards.

The problem is, it’s not cheap – how about £5,995?

Personally, I'd rather get out in the fresh air on a real bike. Why spend six grand on a stationary bike when the reality, the real world is more accessible than the unreal world of the Trixter?

Mind you, it does look like good fun.

For further information, log on http://www.trixter.net 

Andy's back!

Just called Andy and he's back from Jamaica. He got in yesterday and is ready for a cycle on Sunday. It looks as if, finally, we're getting back into the old routine. Sunday 0730hrs, Warlingham Green and we'll probably head down to Tatsfield Village, although nothing's ever set in stone and we might feel like a longer run to Westerham or Longford Lake. But I reckon an easy run to Tatsfield village will do.

Andy on Warlingham Green in the summer. He's back from
Jamaica and that means we'll be meeting on the green this Sunday.

I'll probably force myself to go out on Saturday, possibly a run to Botley Hill and back, as I'm feeling a lot better now having shaken off that sore throat and cough.

More general ramblings...

A perfect day for a cycle, but who am I kidding? While I'm not tucked up in bed feeling ill, I'm still ill in the sense that I'm a functioning invalid – coughing and sniffing – although I feel fine. I say 'fine', but there's a general weariness, which this time is part of the illness, and that's a killer first thing in the morning when, it has to be said, cycling is the last thing on my mind. This morning, when I peered out of the window, it was as if somebody had dusted my car with icing sugar. I figured it might be cold out there – another reason not to go cycling in my condition. I'm not sure if I'm still contagious or not – it's been a week today – but I didn't go cycling yesterday either. For a start, I woke up around 0900hrs due to a broken night of sorts (coughing) and while normally a touch of weariness does not mean an 'abort' text to Andy, when I'm feeling rough, cycling's off the menu. Today, though, the cough has subsided a little, so I'm on the mend.

So, I didn't go yesterday or today and I'm wondering if I'll get my act together for next week when Andy should be back from Jamaica. Mind you, he might be suffering from jet lag and then there will be a strong temptation just to lol about, although I'm seriously aware that I need to get my act together and fast as 2011 is getting underway and I've little in the way of exercise since the middle of December.

A still from one of many Here Come the Girls ads from Boots.
See link further down in this post.

The house-lolling continued well into the afternoon. I sat around pretending I could play the guitar (I can't) and getting on people's nerves. There was a plan to visit the shops to spend some money and if there's one thing I despise, it's shopping. I hate it with a vengeance. Shopping is horrible as it always reminds me of the current Here Come the Girls ads for Boots on the television).

God! I hate stereotypes, but worst of all I hate stereotype reinforcment. You know the sort of thing, like when a 'lad's mag' makes the assumption that all men like football more than sex and feature photographs of muddy football boots on carpets with women rolling their eyes. The trouble with shopping, of course, is that you witness, first hand, the stereotype in action: women with branded carrier bags acting as if there isn't a recession – or rather making me feel as if the economic downturn is only affecting me.

As I walked around HMV looking at CDs and DVDs, I realised that there was nothing I wanted or desired enough to actually buy. It struck me that I could do without a DVD or a video or a boxed set of 24 or a special promotional Dirty Dancing CD. I could live without a digital radio that would accommodate my iphone; I simply don't need anything and, if the truth be known, nor does anybody else. What makes people shop is boredom, it's a chance to get out of the house and discover another environment, namely, a shopping mall. But who are these people who regard shopping as entertainment? Who are these people who get excited about a new shopping mall that, no doubt, will be exactly the same as any other, housing the same global brand names? As a group of individuals, women must swell the ranks more than men, and imagine spending the day at Westfield Shopping Centre in West London where all you're going to do is take tops and bottoms off of clothes racks and say to your accomplice, "Does this suit me?" And then, when you're bored, you'll decamp to some food outlet which you've been convinced is quality when, in reality, it's a load of shit – and pricey shit at that! And at the end of the day, you'll be sitting on the bus or tube, possibly with three of four branded bags around your feet – Primark, Next, TK Maxx, Monsoon – the contents of which will soon be on shelves in your wardrobe with all the other stuff. In the same way that food is just shit waiting to happen, new clothes are merely charity shop stock waiting to happen.

I wandered around the mall and I realised that the phrase 'less is more' is kind of bang on in terms of the argument I am putting forward here; we all sit in front of our huge, flat-screen televisions being told what we need by advertisers when the reality is we don't need anything other than food and water and a roof over our heads. Life, I figured, would be so much better without all the shit contained in countless shopping malls the length and breadth of the country. I began to long for a simpler life where I didn't feel I needed the latest this or that and it dawned on me that, as a nation, we're all so fucking greedy in a kind of footballers' wives sort of way.

Our greed, of course, comes out in force at Christmas time, making a mockery of the celebration. But now I'm back to the stereotype, as epitomised by the Here Comes the Girls Boots ads – greedy women who live to shop with their husband's credit card. Cue fat bloke in a football shirt rolling his eyes and asking 'how much did that lot cost?' as his wife stands on the doorstep surrounded by carrier bags and smelling of Chardonnay. And you just know that as soon as he runs out of money, she's off.

The Here Come the Girls ads for Boots, alluded to above, are all characterised by a few bars of brass which I now link with greedy women. Whenever I come into contact with them I hum the tune, either out loud or to myself and cringe inwardly as I do so.

General ramblings...

Andy's going to return from his holiday in Jamaica – tanned and ready to face the world – and I guess he's going to be surprised to learn that no cycling has taken place since he flew off on December 20th. He might remember the snow and the cold weather, but I reckon he'll be slightly disappointed to find out that the usual Boxing Day cycle didn't take place.

The period after Christmas and before New Year, and also the early days of January, tend to be cycling-free for various reasons. Back in December 2008, both Andy and I went down with flu – or something similiar – and that scuppered cycling (more so for Andy than me); but this year, with Andy out of the country, it's been me that has suffered (as detailed in a previous post) and if I wasn't suffering, the icy conditions made cycling impossible. Throw in being away in the New Forest for most of the week leading up to New Year's Eve and that just about scuppers it.

Christmas lights in Corsham, Wiltshire, courtesy of fellow blogger
Michael Prior and from his site michael-priors-pictures.blogspot.com/

In 2009, things were pretty good. I recall a Boxing Day cycle, nobody had flu and things were fine.

Generally speaking, of course, it's a funny time of year. Once Boxing Day is finished, the Christmas decorations take on a kind of irrelevance that intensifies as we move towards the New Year and then, of course, there's those six days in January when the decorations in shopping malls seem to represent the past trying to hang on to life as the new year gets under way. It's odd because there's an air of expectation and a kind of stillness that implies a world getting ready for the fun (or otherwise) to come.

For me, it's always a bit of anti-climax. All the fireworks go off in London and everybody's singing Auld Lang Syne and there's a split second feeling of optimism, which is quickly dashed as I realise that New Year's Day is just like any other, except that the shops close early and the trains are offering a limited service. Then, with 2010's decorations still visible and the new year still in a kind of incubator, thoughts turn to work. I decided not to make any new year resolutions, other than buying myself a rear light to cope with the early morning darkness, but as I write this on January 6th, I still haven't gone down to Evans to buy one.

One thing I must do, though, is shake off this cough and get out there. At the moment I'm vegetating a little, sitting around the house clearing my throat and taking Lemsips and getting later nights than usual. By next week, though, everything should be back on an even keel in terms of the routine of life and, with a bit of luck and weather permitting, we'll be back on the bikes soon.

Our house is now devoid of Christmas decorations. The tree has been banished, naked, to the front garden, the baubles have been packed away and are awaiting a trip to the attic and all the cards have been placed in the bin. Looking around, it's as if nothing has happened; the house is back to its normal state and will remain this way until the end of the year when it all kicks off again.

Sore throat – I think I'm going down with something

Dream maker: a sachet of this stuff
before bed makes for a surreal experience.

For the past 12 months I've been stuffing my face – with oranges. Sometimes, I've eaten as many as five big ones while sitting in front of the television or reading a book. As 2010 progressed, I stepped it up a little: I started eating apples and pears and I'd always been partial to the odd banana or two. Actually, where bananas are concerned, I could eat them all day if I'm honest, I love them.

With so much goodness going into the system, you'd think I'd be pretty bomb-proof when it came to run-of-the-mill diseases and, to be fair, I have been; I haven't had a cold – or anything – since the winter of 2008. But now, as I sit here writing this blog, I have a sore throat. It came on last night and its only saving grace is that I feel fine – no headache, I'm not feeling weak, I'm not feeling ill – if that makes sense, although I don't sound good and I'll probably be clearing my throat a lot over the next few days. You know the deal, you bring up a mouthful of phlegm in company and have to rush to the bathroom to get rid of it. Incidentally, what a lovely word, phlegm. I think there should be a punk rock band called the Phlegmingos, perhaps there is one. Hold on a second while I open another window on the computer and check out Google...no, there isn't, although I now wonder whether or not I have a 'phlegmatic personality'. I'd like to think that I'm low-key, easy going and relaxed, but you know what? I don't think I am so I'll stick to the mucus, as indeed would everybody because it's so sticky.

Sitting here with a sore throat, of course, could have been avoided as the best thing to do is keep out of the way of anybody who has flu or a cold or, indeed, a sore throat and that is where I went wrong. While in the New Forest between Christmas and New Year, we stood out like sore thumbs because we didn't have any ailments. The problem, of course, was that everybody else did have something wrong with themselves, be it a sore throat, a cough, a cold or a mixture of all three and while I did say that we'd be lucky to escape without 'going down with something,' I thought we'd escaped it yesterday even if I did say, whenever smugness arose, that we'd have to leave it two days before discovering if we'd escaped. Clearly, two days later, that's not the case!

The worst thing, of course, is the weather. As I sit here in the conservatory looking out on the garden, I notice lovely blue skies with scattered, light grey clouds and a general stillness, which means it's ideal for cycling. To be honest, I feel okay and now, as I write this, I'm thinking, 'perhaps I should go out', but I know that having a sore throat is one good reason not to go out; it is, if you like, my 'get out of jail free' card, not that I view cycling as some kind of penal activity. Indeed, given the choice between having a sore throat and not having one, I'd take the latter option. I guess that going cycling could make things worse, but because there's no medical expert at hand to contradict that view, I'll remain in front of the computer in the warmth.

The problem with this sort of ailment, of course, is that it lingers. It hangs around like a delinquent teenager on a street corner and leads to utterances like, "I can't seem to shake it off." That sort of remark often results in a trip to the doctor and a course of anti-biotics. For me, however, the worst thing about having a cold or a sore throat is losing one's sense of taste. It hasn't happened yet, and I hope it won't, but there's nothing as bad as eating a hearty meal and not being able to taste it. Of course, such a condition does have its advantages: it means you can eat stuff you don't like – tinned sardines and cottage cheese – but what's the point?

Late last night I scored some Lemsip from the local gas station and, on arriving home, I emptied a sachet into a mug and poured hot water on to the yellow powder, transforming it into a warming lemon drink crammed with various drugs guaranteed to allievate the symptoms. I didn't fancy waking up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth, gagging for a glass of water and it worked. I had a good night's sleep, waking at past eight o'clock and coming downstairs to write this blog post. Now, as I gaze again outside, the sky is even bluer than it was a few moments ago, this really is great cycling weather, but again, I'll have to give it a miss.

The Lemsip was excellent, by the way, as it enabled me to have a weird dream that involved, for some reason, throwing cushions at Nick Clegg, who was sitting on one of my sofas, and being present at a showing of the BBC's Question Time on which both Cameron and Clegg were blatantly pretending to hate each other in an effort to prove they were not joined at the hip. There was much more to the dream, but as I write this, I can't recall anymore of it, although I have a strange feeling it involves the sea as most of my dreams tend to.

Right, time to go and spend the last day of the holidays (it's a Bank Holiday today) 'being ill'. This means not going to see my parents – for fear of giving them my sore throat (although I've just discovered my mum already has one – or my mate Alan, whose wife has just given birth to a baby daughter.

Mind you, there are some positive aspects of having a sore throaty sort of ailment: one, I can perfect a gravelly voice; and two, I can develop one of those insincere, television presenter wheezy laughs that will enable me to laugh at jokes that simply aren't funny. There's an upside to everything.

The last post of 2010...

Before I start, the date reads Thursday 30 December when in fact it's the morning of Friday 31 December.

The Cottage Lodge – click here for more details.

The snow has restricted us and we haven't been out for a few weeks as a result. Andy flew to Jamaica on the 20th of December and then it was Christmas time. I did the usual: mother-in-law's on Christmas Day (I cooked the turkey and drove it over) and then on Boxing Day it was round to my folks. We went straight down to the New Forest on 27th December to visit our pals at the Cottage Lodge,  a cosy bed & breakfast hotel in Brockenhurst and now it's New Year's Eve and at 0720hrs it's still dark outside, although I can hear the birds tweeting to sunrise can't be far off.

Our room.

I considered a ride today but I think I'll leave it until tomorrow unless Jon calls, in which case I'll go to Woodmansterne Green. To be totally honest, I could do with a cycle as I've been stuffing my face with Christmas cake, Quality Street, Roses and beer and a bit of exercise would do me some good, but I doubt if I'll go. Tomorrow's a definite, though.

Pic courtesy of www.zakomedia.com

Nothing else to report, other than I've just eaten a bowl of cornflakes (Waitrose Essential brand) and drank a large mug of tea. I'll probably have a bowl of porridge later – it doesn't get more exciting than that, eh?

Mobile phone version of blog available

Just to say that I've ticked some box or other that makes a special mobile phone version of the blog available. Tried logging on via the iphone yesterday and it works!

Snowstorm latest

In an effort to ensure that his flight to Jamaica takes off on time today, Andy decides to build a make-shift runway outside his house.

Another spooky churchyard photograph....

Snow ruled out cycling and I had to walk to our local
supermarket on Saturday afternoon, which meant another
saunter through the churchyard. I took this shot on the iPhone.

Spooky churchyard scenes are becoming rather familiar to readers of this blog, thanks to the snow. We had a shed load of the stuff fall yesterday around 1030hrs and it went on and on throughout the day, although it wasn't (isn't) as deep as it was on December 1st when over a foot fell on Sanderstead. This time it was about five or six inches, but it's still there now, as I sit in the conservatory looking out on the garden and there's no way the bike is coming out of the garage; for a start, I wouldn't get the garage door open without a fight and I know for a fact that I'd come off within yards of mounting the Scrap.

I'm assuming that Andy isn't waiting for me on the Green and I'm hoping that the airports will be clear for him tomorrow when he and his wife Marcia fly off to Jamaica for Christmas.

"The weather outside is frightful..."

I called my brother and pretended I was out on the bike, approaching Woodmansterne Green and where the hell was he, but the phone had switched to voicemail and I can only assume he hasn't heard it yet. In fact, I know he hasn't, because he called me and I had to explain how I'd left a message for him.

Anyway, outside right now, the snow is falling, quite heavily. Yesterday it fell from the skies in the early afternoon and my car had to be abandoned half way along the Upper Selsdon Road. I went back there around 9pm and drove it home as the roads had cleared. Now, the snow has started again and my thoughts turn towards the Christmas tree, which we haven't bought yet. It looks as if I'll have to walk in the snow to get the food, but hey, I've done that before and it's really no hardship. In fact, it makes for an adventure and the opportunity for me to pretend (to myself) that I'm Scott or Shackleton – or a contestant on 70 Degrees North.

The bike will remain in the garage this weekend, despite Andy and I resolving to go tomorrow; although, who knows? If the temperatures pick up and the snow thaws, we might well get out there. I'll keep you all informed.

No doubt Simon Cotter out in Australia has completely different weather. I mean, the very thought of having my Christmas lunch on the beach makes me shudder, but out there it's probably boiling hot sun and foot-burning sand, not to mention warm seas and ice cream. But not here in the UK.

Anyway, I'll better hang up – or rather stop writing. Oh, on an historical note, this time last year it was snowing too, check out the archive.