Minimalist running and Wicklow Gap

The beauty of running minimalist (no shoes, minimal clothing) is that I can be running along a beach or mountain track and, if an expanse of water affords, transfer to swimming and back to running without the tiresomeness of having to carry stuff, get dried and or change clothing.

For anyone wishing to emulate, I should add that running or cycling for too long in shorts that are wet with salt water will make the skin sore, and that drying oneself by running is inadvisable if the wind-chill adjusted temperature is below say 5'C unless you are much hardier than I am!

Which reminds me of my temperature scale:
below 0'C - freezing
0'C to 5'C - cold
5'C to 10'C - fair
10'C to 15'C - warm
15'C to 20'C - hot
over 20'C - tropical

This afternoon, after various duties, I cycled to the Wicklow Gap and back in record time in order to be back to enjoy a most excellent curry followed by plum crumble with Ali, and am now feeling suitably replete and worn out.

Corriebracks barefoot

The last time I tried Corriebracks was 5 years ago and I didn't make it to the top. Perhaps this defeat was what caused me to try again. Not that it is much of a challenge at 531m, except that you do have to get there if, like me, starting from home. And you do have to get back home afterwards, and it does have to be along a different route, and does have to be barefoot...

My track - 15.1 miles - anticlockwise

Corriebracks on the left, Church Mnt on the rights

Looked like it wanted photographing

The path over the gap starts as a narrow road

But becomes a track

Looking back, our lake in the distance

Looking forward, Church Mnt to the right

At the top of the gap looking down towards Donard

Top of Corriebracks looking East

Top, looking North towards home

Top, West towards Church Mnt

Cool sky and skyline

Cool Me

On the way down, same thingummyjig as in 2012 ascent

Perhaps foolishly I chose to return home via the King's River and lake shore. This entailed fording the river in order to avoid a nasty non-barefoot-friendly fence, and the river came up to my upper chest whilst wading smart-phone in one raised hand.  But the lake is very beautiful.

Back along the lake shore

Looking back

Community is...

...sharing the shower.

One of the folk here visits Kenya and Uganda several times a year to encourage the church there - he ministers not only in preaching but also in practical areas and reported after his last visit some of the needs - like people not being able to even afford soap. And yet when I step into our shower I have to negotiate vast numbers of shower-gels, shampoos, conditioners, women's under arm razors, those horrible fluffy wash poofs. Personally, in the shower I use water and soap, period, and anyway I like the shower enclosure to be free of ancillary stuff, more room for Me. I would not dream of leaving my shaving stuff in a communal bathroom: I can only imagine the cries if I did!

Community is...

Making house rules that everyone is supposed to keep but in the event it actually falls to a few to fulfil.

It's all too easy to say "please could everyone wash their own dishes at coffee time". But do they? Another one from days of yore - if you bring any personal food or drink to the table at community meal time you must offer it to everyone at that table. Such rules get lodged in the fabric of our mutual existence and revoking them never seems to be considered so, like case law, they accumulate. When new folk join the community of course they have no idea about these unwritten rules and no-one, it seems, thinks it important enough, or maybe we are too embarrassed, to present them with a list of do's and don'ts.

Today

Today I ran around the (Kings River end of the) lake. I used to do this quite often several years back, but last year only once and this year only once so far. The lake has to be fairly low, and it needs a couple of hours of spare time. Implied is the swim across where the river enters the lake and, for me, this takes a bit of psyching myself up. But I managed it - I did not panic and I did not drown. The weather was interesting - there was rain about and several times it came down quite hard for 10 minutes or so. Which added interest, along with the mud and stones.

Back to a hot shower and cup of tea, and then Ali and I cooked fish and chips with supposedly petit pois (according to the packet) but they were quite hard work and certainly were not petit. For afters Ali had made me Blackcurrant Pie With Ice Cream and it was most excellent. Some folk here do not like blackcurrants, a position I find hard to credit as they are my favourite. But then the same people don't like gooseberries so I suppose there must be something wrong with them.

Thanks, Ali, for being so nice to me.

Showers of blessing

In the house here and the attached courtyard buildings we have a total of seven showers, over which I have some jurisdiction as the default plumber. I will call them Showers of Blessing because I love having a hot shower (plumbers have to test their workmanship) and showers are one of the great inventions of the modern age along with duvets and smart phones. When I was a child there were none of these, least-ways not where I lived. I remember vividly the discovery of duvets and what a pleasurable difference it made to sleeping and in the making of one's bed the morning after. I remember, also vividly, my first smart phone - actually it was a PDA thanks to a small legacy that my Aunt Mary left me - the amazement of so much functionality within such a small space, and the wonder of GPS (I love maps).

Back to the subject - three are purpose built showers and the remainder are over baths. One of my first pleasurable shower experiences (thus discounting the communal shower at school) was at Oxford. The "bath room" was in the basement of my staircase in the Rhodes building - this open-plan room housed perhaps three full length baths (bliss) and several showers of what we would now call the "wet room" type. The floor and walls were raw cement rendered. Those of you surprised at the lack of modesty - in fact one hardly ever had to share the room with anyone else and, if one did, who cares? I should add that in those days Oriel took only male students. Both showers and baths were fed with large pipework with good water pressure so a bath would fill in minutes and the shower - 3/4" hot and cold feeds, separate valves on each (none of this namby-pamby mixer-valve nonsense), feeding an enormous "rain" shower head - what more need I say? Compared to those paltry devices called showers now-a-days it was heaven. Sadly, I am fairly sure this facility has been removed as part of the modernising process. But I may have said all this before.

Back at home, we have recently remodelled what has been somewhat tongue-in-cheek dubbed "The Best Shower in Europe" (or BSIE) so that instead of leaking into the room below in spite of its low pressure, it is now a power shower and hasn't leaked yet. Give it time, I hear you saying.

Back to the subject - my most recent "fix" is to improve the electrically heated shower in the turquoise bathroom (EHSITB). Hitherto this has never been satisfactory due to low and varying water pressure, the water coming from a shallow-well pump with a pressure vessel. Anyone familiar with such a setup will understand. The rest of you don't need to, as the point I am making does not depend on it. The improvement has been to feed it with a preset mix of hot and cold from the pump that supplies the BSIE, thus increasing the pressure and giving the electric heating a sorely needed kick start.

I had naively assumed that anyone in the first world now-a-days would have used and be familiar with how an electrically heated shower operates. These horrible devices are typically not thermostatic and have two knobs - one has three positions selecting: neither, one or both heating elements, the other adjusts the water flow rate and thus, indirectly, the temperature. A knowledge of some rather basic Physics is implied in understanding this operation.

I had naively also assumed that anyone would realise that many shower heads (aka roses) have several spray settings e.g. fine spray, vigorous focused spray, etc.

I had naively assumed that folk would appreciate the difference between an electrically heated shower and a conventional shower control that is supplied with separate hot and cold feeds, and that the later is usually but not always thermostatic, and that "thermostatic" implies a device that tries to maintain a constant temperature.

Having told a certain person (well known to me) of my improvement to the EHSITB, she kindly volunteered to try it out. Her report was not negative but I quickly realised that she was in fact not at all familiar with electrically heated showers or their difference from conventional showers, and had no idea that most shower heads can be adjusted.

Which only goes to show that you should never assume anything.

Community is...

...being the first one up in the morning, going to the kitchen to make a cuppa, and finding tons of dirty dishes...

Community is...

...having folk around that will encourage me - will even notice - when I am feeling low.

Community is...

...figuring how best to communicate with others who don't do email, or don't do Facebook, or don't think the same way, or who you know will misconstrue whatever you say.

Am I mad or is it The Others?

Went across the yard to get a screwdriver or something and this guy was repeatedly raising enormous weights and throwing them down - the ground vibrating under my feet with the impact. Later same gent upside down pushing his body up and down against a wall board in a manner that would have exhausted me in seconds. This evening I pass a girl on the stairs, panting with exertion, and dressed in strange garb, carrying a digital weighing scales for some purpose beyond my ken. We (the community at large) provided a room for Their equipment, but They have long outgrown that and taken over the byre (awaiting renovation) and want more. The byre is besmirched with ropes hanging down, boards against the wall, soft mats, strange steel frameworks, and of course a plethora of weights and bars. Not to mention the treadmill in the basement of the house proper. This fad involves a significant proportion of the folk who live here. I say "fad" because it is a relatively recent phenomenon. More recent than my barefoot running for example. Although I would deem even that fairly recent. I hope for Their Sake that it is more than a fad (because fads come and go).

Do These Folk really need to do all this stuff? Girls with muscular arms. It is an obsession far beyond my barefoot running. And it occupies so much time, time when I would have thought They had other stuff to do but who am I? And costs so much in equipment: and now we are glibly talking about spending a huge sum on a purpose built gym, though we have not finally agreed on that. And why do They have to wear such strange clothing to do these stunts? And how is it that when a job that involves lifting needs done, these Folk mysteriously are not to be found? I suppose at least this gives me the opportunity to exercise my own biceps.

Am I really a Christian?

The thing is... I don't enjoy meetings. And yet meetings are an integral part of at least our genre of Christianity.

I hear comments like how wonderful the meeting was this morning, how it lifted me up, etc. But I cannot remember that I have ever enjoyed a Christian meeting and I have been to a few in my life! As a child I could boast that I attended 5 meetings on a Sunday and several more during the week. I had just assumed that one was not meant to exactly enjoy them but that, rather like cabbage or going to the dentist, they were good for you. Don't get me wrong - I do not dislike singing, but I'd like it better if it were more musical. And I am sometimes encouraged by what is taught or preached, but the term "enjoyment" is not one that comes to mind.  Not in the same arena as, for example, experiencing the film Avatar in 3D, or listening to Bruckner's 8th, or eating a bar of Irish Cadbury's Dairy Milk (if indeed they still differentiate after the Kraft takeover)

Community is...

Community is living with differences that cannot be resolved.

One group says we should grow as much of our own food as is feasible.  Another group points out that it is cheaper and easier to buy produce from Aldi.  One person wants the heating set high, others want it cooler. Those with Latin blood love tortillas and spicy food, others yearn for spuds and two veg.

The thing is - how will I react to another's foibles? So then each of us will give an account of himself to God. Therefore let us not pass judgement on one another any longer, but rather decide never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of a brother.

Castle Drogo

Sentries

Whereas my daughter's blog declares it is to keep family & friends informed of my actions/movements on the other side of the world, my blog achieves the same end only as a sort of by-product. Which of course begs the question...

It is for this reason that I feel under no particular obligation to inform my readers how the past few weeks have been a wild succession of trips and food and late nights (this being my excuse for not posting). Due to the conjunction here of all four of my children and progeny, K visiting from Oz and J&R+ from AK. About which I may share more highlights some other time.

One of our many trips was to Castle Drogo on the northern edge of Dartmoor. It is or was a stately home built of local granite stone in a modernistic castle style and boasting a leaking roof. It is now owned by the National Trust who are graciously repairing the leaks at considerable expense aided by the entrance fees we were obliged to pay.

Temporary roof whilst leaks are being fixed

You can of course find out the details yourself - we found it amazing that anyone should have private funds to build such a structure and, having the funds, should choose to spend them in this way. The scale is colossal. A pity they didn't pay more attention to the roof design.

Consider carving this granite block - one of many!

In its day electricity was not widespread - but Castle Drogo had its own d.c. hydro generating scheme, electric lighting and even electric lifts.

The electricity distribution room

The National Trust is also restoring the hydro scheme so we had to check this out. We found an off-cut of the new cable and descended to the floor of the Teign gorge via the cable excavations.

3-phase cable - looks like low voltage

Is somewhere under my scantily clad grandson

The turbine house was obviously at the end of the cable, though the other side of the river. The next must-do was to find the weir. It turned out to be a local swimming hole and so I stripped to underwear and jumped in, my aim being to check out the new water extraction details on the other side.

The weir and fish ladder. I swam to the right.

This whole area is another of the many, many places I would love to explore more thoroughly sometime, but I am coming to think that my life may not be long enough to satisfy such desires. I would run, barefoot, the length of Teign gorge with swims whenever the mood took me.

OS map of the gorge

Why did the river decide to create this gorge rather than taking what would appear (in my next map) to be an easier and more direct route to the sea? Strange, but so far I have not found an answer - geology sites I have visited seem to take the present course for granted.

Course of the Teign river
Crown copyright and database right, CC BY-SA 3.0

Community is...

Community is...

...having three of my grandchildren living in the same house so that I can see them every day. But is also having my other four living in another community in AK...

Something called good

courtesy BBC

This guy Hartman who built and maintains a 25 acre theme park firstly for his disabled daughter, and now is free entry to any guest with a condition. He stands to loose a million dollars a year short of fundraising and partners. I don't know whether this man believes in God and you can talk about dead vs. spiritual works for all you like but I see in the actions of this man something good.

Morning with Marty

Marty in the Morning is an early morning show on Lyric-FM and I like his repartee. Yesterday morning, on the way to the airport to pick up these visitors, I was spoilt by his choice of Cat Steven's well-know rendition of Morning Has Broken

followed by Haydn's Trumpet Concerto In E Flat and then Terry Wogan's rendition of the Cornish Floral Dance, all of which brought back sweet memories.

Checking up on the Floral Dance I find the song is all the better for being based on the composer Kate Moss's actual experience.  Wikipedia has it that the music and lyric were written in 1911... The song tells the story of an incident that apparently actually happened to herself on a visit to Helston during the springtime 'Furry Dance' celebrations and the song was reportedly written directly afterwards as she was going home on the train. She introduces the original Furry Dance tune in the piano part just as the singer is describing the sound of the band.

As for the Furry Dance, Wikipedia tells us it is one of the oldest British customs still practiced today. It takes place every year in Helston, Cornwall, early in the month of May. Regrettably Terry omits some of the lyrics.

As I walked home on a Summer night

When stars in Heav'n were shining bright

Far away from the footlight's glare

Into the sweet and scented air

Of a quaint old Cornish town

Borne from afar on the gentle breeze

Joining the murmur of the summer seas

Distant tones of an old world dance

Played by the village band perchance

On the calm air came floating down

I thought I could hear the curious tone

Of the cornet, clarinet and big trombone

Fiddle, 'cello, big bass drum

Bassoon, flute and euphonium

Far away, as in a trance

I heard the sound of the Floral Dance

And soon I heard such a bustling and prancing

And then I saw the whole village was dancing

In and out of the houses they came

Old folk, young folk, all the same

In that quaint old Cornish town

Every boy took a girl 'round the waist

And hurried her off in tremendous haste

Whether they knew one another I care not

Whether they cared at all, I know not

But they kissed as they danced along.

And there was the band with that curious tone

Of the cornet, clarinet and big trombone

Fiddle, 'cello, big bass drum

Bassoon, flute and euphonium

Each one making the most of his chance

All together in the Floral Dance

I felt so lonely standing there

And I could only stand and stare

For I had no boy with me

Lonely I should have to be

In that quaint old Cornish town.

When suddenly hast'ning down the lane

A figure I knew I saw quite plain

With outstretched hands he came along

And carried me into that merry throng

And fiddle and all went dancing down.

We danced to the band with the curious tone

Of the cornet, clarinet and big trombone

Fiddle, 'cello, big bass drum

Bassoon, flute and euphonium

Each one making the most of his chance

Altogether in the Floral Dance.

Dancing here, prancing there

Jigging, jogging ev'rywhere

Up and down, and round the town

Hurrah! For the Cornish Floral Dance

Kate Emily Barkley Moss 1911

Inconsolable grief

Non-family readers of this blog may not realise that a great family reunion is taking place. C&L with three of our grandchildren and J&S both live here already. J&R with four more of our grandchildren are visiting from Alaska, and K is visiting from Oz. Not only that but we also have an (unrelated) family with four children visiting, and a single woman visiting. So we are full to the gills. And things get noisy too.

So strange to think that my wife, four children, and seven grandchildren would not be if I had not (as a butterfly) flapped my wings those 40 years ago or so. Of course, in this story of life we are never told what would have happened.

The other night I dreamed that J and his family were leaving, I know not where too but I knew I would not see them again, or at least not for a very long time. And I was overcome (in my dream) with inconsolable grief. I felt like I would go on crying for ever, or at least for a very long time. And yet, curiously, another part of me knew that I could to some extent control this grief, that I was choosing to wallow in it and, given time, I would get over it and life would proceed as normally as it ever does. And it made me wonder what grief was made of.

Vast numbers of pictures are emanating from this reunion some of which and will, I suppose, appear either in this blog or on social media at some stage but frankly it is rather busy here at the moment and I don't know how I am even finding time to write this.

The man who swims to work

I saw this in a news channel and I salute the man who swims to work - it is the same sort of lateral thinking as goes into barefoot running. Kind of flying in the face of tradition.

Dunkirk

Last night I joined the young lads here on a trip to the Big Screen to watch Dunkirk. I was impressed though harrowed. One could hardly fail to be impressed. And if you were not harrowed then you are inhuman. Although it might have helped to have read up about it beforehand as I am slow to join the dots... There is no point in me describing the film - check out the reviews if you will - but I will make reference to the sound track - which was Awesome. I loved Hans Zimmer's rendition of Elgar's Nimrod when the boats finally arrive, a fitting plagiarism for what was so very eminently an English thing. And Zimmer's use of the Shepard Tone - which reminded me of my blog post titled Cathedral sounds.

Thou shalt not

Timothy update 26 Jul: no new is good news, but still limited contact with other people in order to reduce the chance of infection.

Asher update 24 July: This is Asher's first bath in over 8 weeks! We are down to one tiny little dressing that I can redress every day.

Good news, but the journey is not through yet...