Levanger shock bike brake cycle! An axle of evil?

Bent, abandoned, broken. Drowned, disused, forgotten; de-wheeled and discarded. At times I feel as if I share the town with a serial killer, a mechanic of mayhem. The victims have similar characteristics, they all had 2 wheels at some point, but there are differences too. They are old and new, flash and dowdy, with baskets and bells, or sporting sprockets, suspension and rear mechs. I cannot see a motive, no pattern to follow, just a relentless disregard for the life of a cycle.

I have attempted to document the crimes around me. These were all seen on one day, but there are others. Some of the bodies are only revealed on the lowest tides, some just disappear before I can record their existence and still more must lie un-noticed in the dank places where nobody goes, nobody knows.

Remember; a bike is for life, not just Christmas

This blew me away..

Two days in Hell.

Hell has a bad rep. Too hot, crowds, noisy, the smells and annoying blokes in bad Halloween costumes who explain quantum physics to you, in scouse accents, 24/7.

Try this version: regular train service, easy walk in, dry rock, not too warm (or too cold) and a range of routes to suit all abilities. It’s enough to make you give up being good, even on a Sunday. My college class at HiNT (Hogskolen I Nord Trondelag) spent 2 days in Hell during the week. It is a sport climbing venue and is renowned for steep hard routes. Luckily it also has a selection of more amenable grades for the folk, like myself, who are merely human.

This sport malarkey is an unusual beast for a committed trad climber to tame. It seems to involve climbing on steeper rock than I have ever been on and moving faster than ever on this steep ground to avoid getting pumped. There is no need to hunt for gear, so this previously essential and energy demanding skill lies dormant, probably allowing more brain space to focus on movement.

I think I like it.

It's so nice to be home.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure where ‘home’ is at the moment, or even what home is. Home has been described as the place where you will always be welcome. Using that criterion I think I have several homes and I thank the folk who live there- you know who you are.

The home it is really nice to be at now is the one I rent in Norway, where I have important stuff like my own bed, my sharp kitchen knives and my bits and bats. These things welcome me as I unlock the door and have a far greater mass than their size would suggest. The gentle gravity they exert allows my soul, chi, whatever, to sink down and feel at rest.

Over the last month I have slept in Torp airport, Aviemore, Fort William, Glencoe, Oslo, Voss and Bergen. Some places I stayed for a few hours, some provided 12 days of shelter; some were luxurious, some were very basic.
I have met Eddy and Sally, with whom I will set off on an adventure to Kyrgyzstan in August. I met Steve, Neil and Carolina. I climbed with Roy and discussed many things with Beth. John and Tricia were good hosts and I give thanks to John for the screwdriver. Bruce made me laugh as always, nice hair mate but watch out for the crocs. Bob and Beck tried to give me their grotty cold but I survived. Mum and Dad were great company over a very chilled week with plenty of ‘culture’ and some very expensive meals.

With old and new friends I have gone off route, descended in the dark, climbed in the sun, dropped a camera, walked out of the mist, dug holes in the snow, watched the sun set, captured the moment, seen avalanches, walked over an opera house, backed off and pushed on through.

It has been an amazing month and I want to thank all those who made it the way it was.