Breaking news: blogging prevents rain

The ridiculously fine weather in Glasgow over the last 5 days proves that weather can be controlled by blogging: start a blog about rain and the rain is guaranteed to stop. The length of the effect is still to be determined.

Glasgow sky: ridiculously blue

Since starting her blog '366 Words for Rain' upSlope Aunty reports that rain in Glasgow has dried up and that the last 5 days have been entirely rainless. 

upSlopeAunty explains that this is part of the 'watched pot' effect, ie that it is possible delay a kettle reaching boiling point simply by watching it. upSlopeAunty contends that if enough people were to blog about Glasgow rain the prevailing weather patterns in the town may shift to a less blogged location. Livingston seems a likely place.

National route 7 through a thin veil of misty hazey haar type stuff

We had planned a ride along the Glasgow Harbour to Bowling section of  National Route 7. We expected fabulous weather. We should have known better: we wake to find that the glorious sunshine in Glasgow has been obscured by a mist. Or was it merely a haze? If we were over in Edinburgh we would probably apply the lovely term 'haar' to the phenomenon. What ever we call it, it persists all day.

Glasgow sky: indistinguishable from river

We followed the plan anyway. All along the route it seems that people are behaving as if it was the promised glorious day. Lots of people about. Smiles everywhere, polite sharing of paths, dogs and children kept under control. This in stark contrast to parts of the route which are thick with broken glass. I wonder  where the angry anti-social lot that created these hazards have got to. No sign of them today in this would-be-sunny-if-it-wasn't-so-misty fineness.

There were many fellow cyclists about. Nearly all breeds spotted. But sadly not anyone from the frog family. Help! My Chain Came Off gives a great demonstration of this cycling family style. Where were those frogs today? Maybe off somewhere with the bottle smashers.

Largely dry rain

That totipotent rain from last week became largely not rain. It did for a while transform itself into smir, but mostly it was distinguished by its absence.

This morning I awoke to hear the Radio4 weather report announce that there was very little rain about. I rarely rely on these without some head out the window verification action. Radio4 headline weather is always about the South-East of Britain. Very often this is the opposite to the West of Scotland. But today even the 'North of England, Northern Ireland and South West of Scotland' section warns that we will be 'largely dry'.

Largely. How large is that dryness I wonder. Head out the back window I see only bright blue. Head out the front shows black. So probably we will be largely dry if that big section of black moves somewhere else. And so it did. We had a glorious day.

Glasgow sky: the border between largely dry and largely wet

Local bike shops: are they all bodgers?

I have limited experience of cycling and very little experience of bike shops. But once again I take a bike for repair and get a bodge job done. Does this word exist in Scotland or England? Where I come from it means a botched or kind of slaphazard job. 

The other half's newly acquired Union is taken to a new local bike shop because a pedal keeps falling off, the thread on the crank seems stripped. The bike shop guy replaces the crank. But after this, the crank and pedal on the other side can no longer clear the chain guard. So the bike shop guy's fix for this is to remove a bit of the chain guard. His explanation is that the bike must have been left leaning on something. But when pressed further his only answer is 'dunno'. So the pedals turned fine before he touched it, but don't now but he has no explanation. Nor does he have any proposal to fix, beyond taking more bits of the chain guard off.

The Union, a fine Dutch ride

I'll take the Union to a different local bike shop.

The other shop can be pretty bodgy too, but they are cooler and more friendly so I don't mind so much. On my own bike they have bodged my gears a bit. My Shimano 7 gear shifter jammed. They replaced with an 8 gear shifter. It's what they had in the shop. Another time they replaced my chain but then couldn't get it so it would go on to my super-low gear. "No-one could use that gear anyway" they told me. Well, as a person who likes to ride up all inclines without getting out of my seat, I could use that gear. But the guy was cool and I didn't want to appear to dorky with my stay-in-saddle style so I live without my super-low gear. Now I am down to six gears on my eight gear shifter.

As far ask I can tell this is normal bike shop service. Perhaps bike repair is not about perfection but more about making do. Perhaps I should learn to do this bike fixing myself. 

Totipotent: rain that could become any other type of rain

Just like some stem cells can become any other type of cell, this type of rain could become any other type of rain.

Of itself it hardly seems like rain. There are big drops but they are spaced wide apart. It is light enough to decide an umbrella is more bother than it's worth and to rely on the hoodie or scamper defences. In other lands you would think this rain is the precursor of a downpour, or maybe the tail end of one. But here it might go on like this all day, in which case it will probably become marathon rain (it has paced itself so it can last). Or it might go on like this all week in which case it will probably be relentless rain. Or it might go on all month in which case we will call it Seattle rain.

This recent post on RideBlog cheered me no end, there is a place as rainy as Glasgow.

Glasgow sky: totipotent rain

Blar-aon-deug: the battle with the #11

It was the First buses that drove me to riding a bike. First and their manky passengers. Are the buses in Glasgow just full of disgusting people or does the experience of being on the bus cause them to behave like this? It is the great autobus nature vs nurture debate. Whatever the reason I want no more of it. I no longer wish to wade through floors ankle deep in discarded newspapers and bus tickets. Or to take my seat amongst the half-eaten serves of chips and empty bottles of Irn Bru. Getting on my bike means I no longer need sit opposite that clarty woman who threw her half-eaten sandwich on the floor of the bus. No chance of mayo and salad messing up my ride these days.

Possibly I could have put up with the filth if First could have managed to provide a reliable service. On their #11 route they put the oldest buses with the rudest drivers. This is the route for buses and men about to be retired or sacked. I wasted days of my life waiting for the 11 to turn up. Getting on my bike means the end of the battle with the 11. What a relief.

ICBW: you could be on the bus

A wee while ago I decided to use a bicycle for my daily commute. This is despite my living in the west of Scotland where the predominant weather pattern is rain. A mind-boggling array of rain. Definitely in my first year of cycling I was wet more than I was dry. But no matter how wet I got I always thought "it could be worse: you could have the misfortune to be on the bus".

Rainbow over the high flats, St George Cross