Wazzock to the Max!

Once again I have disturbed the peace of the Welsh countryside, hoping to encourage donations to CRY: here is a link:

    https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/gideonbaws .

This latest mission involved not one, but two ordeals disguised as enjoyment:

DIHEURBRAWF UN

Accompanied by my good friend Anthony O'Connor (who, despite his Irish name is in fact Welsh and should know better) I re-cycled (?) Yr Llywbr Mawddach - the Mawddach Trail - on Gideon's Marin Mountain Bike. The route runs along the disused rail track between Dolgellau and Barmouth, in Cardigan Bay.

I did this ride a couple of years ago, also for CRY,  when all I had to contend with was incessant rain and a visual migraine. Whilst no changes have been made to the bike in the meantime, changes must have been made to me in the tum 'n' bum department, because I was in agony after the first 100 yards or so. Every turn of the pedals was agony. I tried in vain to find a pedalling rhythm that would not cause me pain in the nether regions.  There was a bit of respite when we stopped for a snack at The George III Pub. I had a superb Snowdonia Cheddar Cheese baguette with relish and grain mustard. Thinking it best not to cycle on a full stomach, I asked to take one half away with me. This caused a bit of a debate among the staff since apparently the place is not licensed for take-away and they wanted me to sign a disclaimer in case I subsequently became unwell off the premises. In the end they couldn't find the disclaimer forms and I was allowed to leave, clutching my contraband half a cheese roll wrapped in tin foil.

Once back on the bike, the pain soon returned. Anthony graciously held open the various gates we met along the way, which was a blessing since dismounting and mounting brought tears to my eyes.
The final stretch of the route is over uneven wooden planks, forming the pedestrian bridge alongside the rail bridge over the Mawddach Estuary. Bumpity-bumpity-effin-bump, with stops every so often to give pedestrians right of way. Sheer bloody torture.

Arriving at  last in Barmouth, Anthony mercifully suggested that we stop for a bevvy. In the searing heat we pushed our bikes round every street in town but all the pubs had changed into restaurants or else shut down. Finally, exhausted, we sat under an umbrella on the sea-front at a combined bucket-and-spade, ice-cream, coffee shop and bar, drooling over our cold pints of Prava Lager. All too soon it was time to set off on the return trip. Over the wooden planks - bumpity-effin-bump again. After a couple of miles Anthony offered to adjust the saddle but it was of limited help. All I could do was pedal in uneven numbers so that after say five rotations I ended up with the weight on the right cheek while another five transferred the pain to the left. After what seemed an eternity, the car park hove into view. The end of the trail.  A mere 20 miles or so, but I have never been so grateful to get off a bike in my life.

DIHEURBRAWF DAU

After an essential day of R and R, the second stage of the trip: climbing Cadair Idris. Of the three well-known trails up the mountain, I chose the Pony Path as being the least exhausting. Huh!

The initial auguries were good. All the car parks serving the major tourist locations in Wales are fiendishly expensive. But here was a sign fixed to the ticket machine: "Ddim yn gweithio" ("Not Working") and footnote in English - "Your lucky day". The weather was fair-ish and Anthony was in charge of the maps. Plenty of food and drink, the right clothing - i bant a ni! (off we go!).

Here's a precis of events:

UP: Climb, breather, appreciate view, let people pass, stop for pee, climb, breather, consult map, adjust back-pack, pull up trousers where back pack has pushed them down, climb, breather, stop for pee, open gate, close gate, climb, breather, take the odd photo, pee, note change of weather, comment on low cloud reducing visibility, put on extra layer, put on waterproof, climb, breather, let people pass, greet people coming back down who passed you earlier, say hello to dogs, say hello to 3 year old passing you, stop for pee, pull up trousers, forget to do up zip.  Repeat for 3 miles or 3 hours until reaching summit where a vicious visual migraine welcomes you. Consume medication and beer. 

DOWN: See UP, but not quite as demanding. (You might on Facebook or elsewhere notice a derogatory photo of me, taken by Ant, which he annotates as me having a pee after consuming vast quantities of ale. This is not the case; it was  simply that my trousers had fallen down.)

"Let's go fly a kite"

On many a wet day at Chateau Baws the cry would go up for "Poppins" and we'd gather round the TV  to watch it for the umpteenth time, although we knew it all more or less by heart. This year, on the 11th October, it would be ten years since Gideon died. I thought it would be nice to haul out the old kite and fly it over the marshes behind Two Tree Island, where we used to go with the kids and the dogs. People sent us wishes of love and remembrance, which I printed out on coloured paper. We bought some gold and silver ribbon and made up a long kite tail with the messages stapled onto it. To hold the ribbon tail to the kite end, I attached key rings, still with their dog tags attached . One was from  Wicked Wanda the Warden's Dog (Doberman/Labrador cross :1987 - 2003), the other belongs to Lola Russell - (Jack Russell : 2004 to present.  She has a microchip, so graciously lent us her dog tag for this worthwhile cause).

I hadn't had a chance for a test flight.  Although there was a stiff wind and the kite was at its best in a light breeze, I thought that with the added weight of the dog tags and the tail, it would fly fine. It was a marvellous day of vivid blue sky, light fluffy clouds,  the sun bringing out the colour of the yellow  wheat stubble and green hills. We walked beyond the end of the golf driving range, along the sea-wall of Leigh Back Creek behind the island. On the second bend, facing  towards Hadleigh Castle, we stopped to set up the kite.

I was in charge of the line, Sam was the 'lift' man, Lucy had the 'phone camera and Suzie made supportive noises. The large kite exerts quite a pull and I was wearing gardening gloves to protect my hands against rope burn. The first flight was brief but encouraging. "Try adjusting the string to lengthen it, Sam!" The next flight was better, but still brief. More adjustment. "That's it!" The big green kite soared aloft before plummeting  to earth with a bit of a thud. Sam examined it. "Strut's broken Dad."  The cross strut is two pieces of dowelling held together by a hollow aluminium tube"Can you fix it Sam?" "No, can't get the broken bit of wood out of the metal." I usually arm myself with at least a cheap version of a Swiss Army knife whenever I go further than the end of the front path, but this time I had no tools EXCEPT the tiny two-ended screwdriver on my key-ring, used to tighten screws on my glasses if they come loose. I managed to prise out the broken bit of dowelling and force the two pieces together again. We were ready to try again.

Up soared the kite, with me letting out line as fast as I could. I had made a really crap winder on a piece of batten, with nails as guides! It held a lot of line but was a bugger to unwind fast enough. The line must have caught the edge of a nail. "The line's snapped!" I shouted with an anguished cry. Away flew the kite on its best (and final) flight of the day. It cleared the slope where Sam was standing, lifted over the water filled borrow-dyke and landed in the wheat field on the other side. There was no obvious way we could get it back.

We gathered together for a group hug. "I think it's rather nice" said Sam. " It's as if Gidz has flown into the sky and over the water. We can't reach him, but he landed safely."

Postscript:

Sam and I did try to retrieve the kite but could find no route onto the other side of the dyke that did not involve  the need for thigh-waders and machetes. I consulted a local map and spoke to a friend who used to work on the estate. We planned to go over when my cold got better. The following day the home 'phone rang. "Have you lost a kite? I found  your number on the dog tags." Nice chap with an old Staffie, he brought  back the kite an hour or so later. I failed to ask him exactly how he got to it, although he said he "often walked the dog there". Never mind. Another flight is planned for Gideon's birthday next March.

Bugger!

Sadly we have had to cancel the 'bike ride round Foulness Island which takes place on the 9th September. What I took to be a sprain on the Wazzock Waterfall descents in July has simply refused to heal entirely - a drop of plantar fasciitis and possibly an injured ligament or tendon methinks. At all events, too painful and not at all what you need for efficient pedal power. Luckily this is an annual event - the 'bike ride, not my injury (ha ha Captain Abrasion) - so we can try again next year.

Meanwhile I shall be conjuring up  more challenging ways of raising funds for CRY - watch this space!

"Return of The Wazzock" - 9th July 2018 - raising money for CRY

"The sun beat down - relentlessly, remorselessly". We trudged across the scorched earth, down the dry, dangerous, stony path, sweat pouring off of us, stinging our eyes,  as we staggered down the steep ravine that might, just might, lead us to water.

Well, it was a bit like that. The Four Falls Trail (Llwybr y Pedair Sgwd) in the Brecon Beacons is a popular walk of around 9 kilometres, easy to access but not to be taken lightly. The descents to each of the four waterfalls increase in difficulty, and the last one, Sgwd yr Eira is a 300m steep path, 100m from top to bottom. In the middle of a heatwave it was quite a challenge. My nickname at home is Captain Abrasion so I was fortunate to escape with only a sprained ankle on the final ascent.

Please visit my Just Giving Page across to the right, where you can find more details and some photos.

More treasures

I have unearthed a stash of transparencies and begun to copy and download them onto computer. There is no end to this process: copy, download, save, print, copy, save, in an endless dance with technology. One day, soon maybe, it will become someone else's problem - or not.

Images of Gideon tear at my heart. I love the spring but his birthday is in early March, and times have changed. Here are some words from a poem of passing, by Wislawa Szymborska:-

"I don't reproach the spring for starting up again
I can't blame it for doing what it must year after year
I know that my grief will not stop the green.
The grass blade may bend
but only in the wind.

It doesn't pain me to see that clumps of alder above the water have something to rustle with again.
I take note of the fact that the shore of a certain lake is still - as if you were living - as lovely as before.
I don't resent the view for its vista of a sun-dazzled bay.
I am even able to imagine some non-us sitting at this moment on a fallen birch trunk.

I don't require changes from the surf, now diligent, now sluggish, obeying not me.
I expect nothing from the depths near the woods, first emerald, then sapphire, then black.

I survived you by enough, and only enough,
to contemplate from afar."

Wislawa Szymborska  (1923-2012) Poems New and Collected Poems 1957-1997

Gideon's treasures

I've made a start.
 I have always been good at  bringing order to chaos - it was probably the basis of my professional career - but this is so close to the bone. Still, there have been some treasures unearthed. I am attaching Gideon's gloriously made-up postcard from his college trip to the USA.  And remember, this is pre-Donald. Here's a sample of the text:

"I am living in a house with people who have just come straight out of the jungle -  and failed auditions for 'Boy Meets World'. Save me please, God. The music I am being force-fed makes Alanis Morisette a welcome form of entertainment"

(Blogmeister's Note: I shall try to catch up on the Basquiat movie. I am against widespread graffiti and would happily throttle Banksy for promoting so much visually depressing harm in exchange for so little inspirational good.  As for David Bowie - don't get me 'started. But then there's Hockney - my main man!)

Anniversaries - The Tenth Year

March 3rd is the date of Gideon's birthday and 11th October is the day he died, in 2008. Another year will have slipped by, the pain of his loss no worse, and no better. Some physical connections remain: family photographs, snippets of sound, his lovely artworks, animation with Shynola, the company he helped to establish and grow. And his clothes, his many, many books, his writings - personal stuff, maybe not meant for others to see? And a collection of small things; toy cars, robots, Japanese bits and bobs ( he loved Japan). And so many Cds and photos he took himself, all to be saved on computer. And then - what? I cannot leave these things to gather dust for ever but the pain of going through them will be hard - touching him again so uselessly.........

Update

Thanks to everyone who donated to our "Wazzock in Wales"  and "Sam/Samantha" fund-raiser for CRY  - you're all wonderful.

Please hit the 'Just Giving' link on the right to see how it went.

Love you all.

“4 Dips - 2 Clips - 1 Trip - 1 Strip!”

  GIDEON BAWS MEMORIAL FUND at CRY

“It is estimated that each week, in the UK alone, 12 young people between the ages of 14 to 35 die from an unsuspected heart condition” (CRY – Cardiac Risk in the Young)

This year will see the fourth CRY cardiac screening which we have managed to arrange close to where we live. Each of these events has the facilities and expertise available to screen up to 100 young people in the age group 14 to 35 in one day. Happily, the majority are found to be fit and well with no heart issues but if problems are indicated then early measures can be taken.

The events are free to attend, and the dedicated medical and auxiliary staff give their services gladly, but of course there are also the costs of transport, specialist equipment, premises hire, insurance and so on. All of which means that this year the fund needs another £2500 by April to cover the event. If we are lucky enough to exceed this figure, any surplus will go towards funding future screenings.

To help raise money, I am going on a little adventure.

                  “4 Dips - 2 Clips - 1 Trip - 1 Strip!”

Two of Gideon’s favourite pastimes were swimming and cycling. When the children were young, we gravitated to Wales each year for the long summer holidays, camping just outside Machynlleth. This is where his passions for the great outdoors were fixed even though the terrain was challenging, the weather changeable and the water ‘a bit on the chilly side’.

The year before he died, Gideon and I spent a magic week in Wales - hill-walking and rambling around. He had promised to have a one-to-one holiday with each of us; he took Lucy to Barcelona and Sam to snow-board in Andorra. Wales was my choice, and very wonderful it was. (Sadly, he never did make it to Venice with Suzie, but we have since made good his promise).

I thought it would be a nice way to raise money in Gideon’s memory by re-tracing those days in Wales, swimming and cycling and walking in Gideon’s footsteps, asking friends to participate by way of a donation towards the cost of the cardiac screening, at say £10 a dip, clip or trip. You can do this easily via the dedicated Just Giving page - the link is in the list on the right, but here it is again:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/gideonbaws

Naturally I shall pay all the actual touring costs myself. So please, please give what you can to make this event possible.

And here’s the plan Stan:

THE DIPS

Aberystwyth. The promenade beach is shingly, curved and uncompromising. The water is unwelcoming and usually quite rough. Seaweed is rife. “Come on kids – you’ll love it once you’re in!"

One summer when we were camping at Machynlleth I somehow forgot to put Gid’s ‘Raleigh Burner’ on the roof-rack. I arranged for it to be collected from home and put on a train at Southend for collection at Aberystwyth station where I picked it up. Many years later, we spent a night here when he had an interview following an offer of a place at the University of Aberystwyth. The School of Art is an imposing building. Being a committed Cambrophile (!) I loved it, but Gideon knew that the course he wanted to follow lay elsewhere – (or else he had never forgiven me for forgetting his ‘bike).

Borth: Mid-way between Aberystwyth and Machynlleth, I have never seen Borth in sunshine. Even to Lynne Truss, the phrase ‘Borth bathed in sunshine’ would present a challenge.  Most outings were spent shivering under a picnic blanket. The beach contains the petrified remains of an ancient forest. I’m surprised that it does not contain the petrified remains of the Baws family.

Furnace: Opposite the farm where we used to stay. This is the site of an old blast-furnace, hence the name. It was powered by water from the River Einion. At this point the river cascades over rocks, to form a waterfall and a deep pool below. This is where we swam. It is unbelievably, breath-stealingly cold but Gideon could not be persuaded to come out until his feet turned yellow and his lips turned blue.

Barmouth : I am sure there is water here somewhere but the tide recedes so far that it is difficult to find. Gideon swore he swam but he was quite dry when he returned, so it must have been a long walk back.

THE CLIPS

A dedicated cycle path runs along the disused railway track along the Mawddach estuary. I shall be riding Gideon’s lovely Marin Palisade mountain bike from Dolgellau to Barmouth, having a dip there before the ride back. I have walked this path and the surface is loose chippings. I shall be protecting both my legs and the sensitivity of onlookers by wearing trousers as opposed to shorts, hence the clips; bicycle, two, for the use of.

THE TRIP

On that last walking holiday, Gideon and I climbed in the Black Mountains near Abergavenny. I shall re-trace one of those walks, to the summit of The Skirrid and Gids will be with me every inch of the way.

THE STRIP

This has nothing to do with the rather saucy photo of myself which appears elsewhere. The clue is Bingo callers’ shorthand for my age. Sorry.

Thank you for your support. Embarrassing photos of myself performing these tasks will appear here and  across the internet in due course. 

AND FINALLY…..

Despite my feeble attempts at learning the language over the course of umpteen years, I remain rooted to the nursery slopes. As an additional challenge, I intend to undertake this mission entirely through the medium of murdered Welsh.

Here's that link again:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/gideonbaws

Thank you very much.

Tony B.

Beaten