Bogle

Bogle:03- Friday AM

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Okay, there�s not a lot of Bogling going on at the moment. The plan is to go into town this afternoon and sort out when and where I�m needed. In the meantime, I have a whole load o� database to build (back in Brum again on Monday).

Thinking about what Brian said, it is a shame that The Stroll isn�t as big as it used to be. The problem is, this would require someone to work almost full time publicising the event, practically from right after the previous one ended. They could get in touch with local hiking and cycling clubs, sending out missives every month or so saying X days until the walk, how many people do you plan to enter, etc. etc. The route goes past at least two Territorial Army bases, so it could be sold to them as a big challenge- see which TA team could get round first. There�s bound to be more- magazines, local news etc. There�s no way a student group could be organised enough to sort all of this out. But it doesn�t mean I won�t get drunk tomorrow night and tell people this is what they should do.

Every road goes somewhere

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or A Bogle veteran/cynic speaks

I’ll get this out the right at the start. I’m now divorced from Bogle. We have irreconcilable differences. I was Bogle equipment officer from ’90 to ’92, I spent ’93 in a van and walked it in ’94. In my first year we had over 1,100 walkers and grossed over �35K (with running costs of �8-9K). Frankly, we were lucky that year. The inter-hall money raising competition was at it’s peak and the good weather got us at least a hundred extra applications on the night. There was no way we could sustain this but it doesn’t stop you from feeling disappointed when it starts to decline. Each year there were less walkers and our later efforts to cut costs were half-arsed at best. It’s painful to watch an event that you put so much effort into wither on the vine.

In the year I walked I completed 44 of the 55 miles (that year only about about 25% of the walkers completed the distance, as the numbers have decreased the percentage finishing has increased). Friends who were driving vans that year commented that when they saw me walking in the later stages that I looked very determined and that they thought I would make it (I’m guessing they were being polite). The truth was that I was in agony from blisters and dropped out at the next checkpoint. Hiking up Blackrod (old route) after walking all night is painful.

To be honest, I would love to see this event take off again but I know it’s not going to happen. Unfortunately it’s not easy to give up hope.

Road To Nowhere

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Or: Mr. Spinneyhead drives the Bogle
It’s nearly Bogle time again. I’m going to try and blog Bogle in surreal time this year, with photos if I can borrow a digital camera. In the meantime, this is a little reminisce from Bogle ’99 (or maybe 2000, it’s all a blur)
You’ve got to have traditions. Everyone needs some traditions. Something you can reminisce about (and bore/ confuse the spouses and partners gained in the intervening period) when you all meet up years later. Bogle is one of my traditions.
The Bogle itself started some thirty five years ago as a pub crawl of epic proportions for Manchester students. The late twentieth century nannying instincts overcame it and it devolved into merely a sponsored walk of epic proportions. (Fifty five miles and hundreds of walkers, making it one of the largest events of its type.) My first contact with the beast was in 1990, when I was stupid enough to walk it and finish it. The experience taught me an important lesson, and ever since I’ve been involved in the support operations but not the slog.
I collected one of the minibuses- Playbus 2- on Friday afternoon and immediately used it to do my shopping. Upon return to UMIST Students Association, home base for the exercise, I did my first bit of waiting. Months of planning go into this thing and then on the day everything is in place by five PM. Which is annoying, as the walkers don’t set off until nine. I wandered around the building.
Downstairs, Tim was playing records and putting together a Stroll selection. Over the following day it would encompass Walking On Sunshine, Road To Nowhere, These Boots Were Made For Walking, Walk On By, Stuck In The Middle With You and Step On.
Upstairs, Ickle Paul and Louise were playing Battle of Britain, with a great big map of the route and markers for all the vehicles and the first and last walkers. Later in the night they donned the tin helmets and handlebar moustaches and were heard sending messages with a few too many ‘What Ho’s and ‘Old Chap’s in them. I set up the coffee maker and became a temporary hero.
More of the old school arrived, then left again because their names weren’t yet on the van or minibus insurance. And finally I was sent out, at ten o’clock. I moaned a lot about being a driver who was stuck on checkpoint two going nowhere, but secretly I enjoyed being in the middle of nowhere with Vicki, Louise and Emily (or was it Louise, Vicki and Emily?), comparing torches and size of Leathermen.
Walkers started arriving at eleven o’clock and stopped at two AM. We left someone else to shut down the checkpoint and I took the girls back to base. There was a tearful goodbye (well, I was sad to see them go) as they were bussed to another checkpoint, then I was sent for pizzas. At this point tiredness takes over and I can’t quite remember what happened. I know I was sent to another checkpoint, I think I drove through Stockport, I may have dreamt the giant Digestive I saw as we went past the McVities factory. I got to lie down on a bench in the bar at half past four. I’m informed that I got some sleep, because Penny was driven out of the building by my snoring.
I awoke, perhaps not refreshed, but certainly less likely to sleep at the wheel, at eight. I still had the keys to the minibus, and was becoming possessive. It would be mine for the rest of the Stroll. The old school had returned, having slept in proper beds (bastards!) and the tag team of Jukes, Sims and Pattinson reduced the youngsters to tears of laughter with our witty reminiscences about The Good Old Days. For some reason, the children decided we should do some pointless driving.
I went to checkpoint nine, which was in a pub carpark. But the pub was closed. Then I went to checkpoint ten, which turned out to be checkpoint eleven, so I went back to checkpoint ten via a short cut down a cul-de-sac. Other drivers pointed at me and laughed. At checkpoint ten, another pub carpark, I listened to crap radio and began my fruitless quest for the remaining iced doughnuts. Damian turned up, talked really fast, and went away again. One day I may understand what he was on about. After a while I got bored and made up an excuse to go back to nine.
After this I wasn’t really needed to transport marshals around anymore, so I didn’t get to meet the girls again- and just when they were beginning to put up with me- so I became the Playbus 2 taxi service. By now the radios were being used as much for jokes and insults as anything else. Damian said something about my age which might have been insulting if he still had all his hair.
The last walkers hobbled in at half past six. The bar opened at seven. We made work in the intervening period, then went to get drunk. Quite how I managed to down four pints in my knackered state I don’t know. Bogle was over for another year. There was the return of all the vans and minibuses the next day, through a St. Patrick’s Day traffic jam, but that’s another story.

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Today’s pic.

I didn’t take many pictures of Bogle, but I’m sure at least one will make an appearance here next week.

I’m thinking about putting more graphics on the front page, it is a bit…. sparse isn’t it?

In the meantime, another little bit of The Eliza Effect-

Fake_It_�Til_You_Make_It:

George sat across the desk from Sharon Walker, hoping the sweat wasn�t soaking through his shirt�s armpits. She looked at the diagram, not really understanding it, but looking like it impressed her. Then she read George�s overview, which said less than the technical description, but managed to do it with far longer words. George tipped his coffee cup, to glance down into it surreptitiously. There was a large drop of black liquid in the bottom.

The silence had lasted too long. �Of course,� George offered, �when they came to me they only had half an idea. I gave them some input and told them to go ahead with it.�

<flashback>

George flicked through the forms on the screen. Mike and Paul were trying psychic suggestion to get him to hurry up. Finally, he delivered his opinion, �Fewer of those silly icons you keep using, okay. And I don�t want this interfering with your real work.� He closed the database and went back to the Sheffield United web-site to show he was finished with them.

</flashback>

Walker glanced up at George, just enough acknowledgement to encourage further comments. �And then, when people started to show an interest, I just let them sell it.�

<flashback>

Paul had taken point, hovering around George�s desk to intercept him the moment he came through the door. Out in the open-plan, Mike and a tall, grey haired man were watching a monitor over the head of one of the more photogenic users. All that was needed was another five minutes or so.

The door opened. George. He straightened, checked his posture, wiped his tie flat and strode across the room as carefully as possible. Thursdays were his liquid lunch day with the boys from marketing. He was desperately trying to schmooze his way into a position with them. Paul checked the open plan. The grey head was bobbing, the back was stiffening. Any moment now he would ask a question.

�Who�s that with Mike?� Paul shrugged, but George provided his own answer, �Shit, that�s Bill Walsh.�

�Who?�

George was dumbfounded for a moment. �He�s the head of sales!�

�Oh. I hope Mike doesn�t say anything embarrassing then.�

�He�.. What�s he doing?�

�We thought he might be interested in the stock control system.�

�He�s not meant to see�.. I was going to show him that.� George adjusted his tie again, shrugged his jacket into a sharper position and strode into the open plan.

�I bet you were.� Paul headed back to the office.

</flashback>

Walker laid down the paper, then slid it toward the pile she had been accumulating all day. �You put all this effort into the project, and yet, I see you applied for a job with Marketing.�

�I�. Erm, well�. You�ve got to keep your options open. You know.�

�Oh yes, yes, I know. You�re a very ambitious person. That�s to be applauded. Which direction would you really like to take?�

�Well. It�s. You know.� George had pinned the end of his tie to the desk with a finger and was gently stroking it with his thumb.

�I know some people in Marketing. I could put in a good word for you.�

�Umm�.. Thanks.�

Walker smiled at George. �I�ll get back to you about this.�

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I hurt a bit. It was Bogle yesterday and the weather was, if anything, worse on all those days I wimped out of training rides- snow, sleet, hail and gusts of wind which brought me to a standstill or shifted me a foot or two to the side. I managed three loops- 78 miles. On a better day, I think I’d have managed three and a half. Stats- at the end of the first loop (just under the claimed 26 miles) my average speed was a respectable 12.9 miles per hour, by the second run it was down to 12.5 and on the third- which perversely had the worst weather of the day on the first half and the best on the second- I was down to 11.9 mph overall. The wierdest thing is that this is better than my average for the one loop which I did as a training ride in far better weather a month or so ago.

Yesterday’s pic. And today’s.

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In one of those wierd things you do, I picked up shiny new bike, rode it through the park on the way home, caressed it lovingly for a while- then put it away and went off for a thirty mile ride on my other bike. I thought I’d train for Bogle by covering the actual route. It would have been easier if they hadn’t changed it. I’ve gone round the old one, by bike and van, so many times that I sailed past the turning which is new for this year. Hey ho, did it in the end. Next week I’m going to try for two circuits.
Page Sixteen of Bulletproof Poets. And another bit of The Eliza Effect-

Seat_To_Keyboard_Interface:
Kate could argue employment law with people on ten times her income- and win more often than they�d like to admit- but she always came to Owen for the simplest of computer problems. She was sitting on the edge of her desk swinging her legs as he fiddled around in the code window. They were nice legs, not quite cyclist�s, but definitely toned on something, but he tried not to be distracted by them. �I thought you�d finished?�
�I�m just putting some error trapping in.�
�I don�t make mistakes.�
The assertion elicited a chuckle. �We all make mistakes.� Like moving down to the Slough office, he didn�t add. �This is the algorithm for checking customer numbers.� He tapped the screen, �I built it, so you get it for free. Don�t tell anyone else, or they�ll all want it too.�
Kate leaned forward and a corkscrew of red hair hung down toward the keyboard. She had put a lot of thought into just how big a braid could escape without looking untidy. �It can be our little secret.� She bounced off the desk and grabbed the chair from across the way. �Tell me how it works.� She said, sliding in close to Owen.

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Hmmm, that last entry was a bit abrupt, wasn’t it? That’s what happens when I post from work. I have to keep flicking back and forth through windows, adding a little bit and then going back to the database I’m working on.

I’m in training for the Bogle Roll, which is only 130 miles by bike. Did nearly 25 miles yesterday, and my legs still hurt.

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Yesterday’s pic. And today’s.

Holiday’s almost over. I still keep bottling out of frontside turns and put a little too much weight on the back foot, but I am way better than when I got out here.

I now own a chocolate fondue thingy, snowboarding Action Man, scale piste basher (or Preparatore Piste Bully as it says on the pack) and one of almost every comics magazine published in France this month [including the rude ones, except for ‘Bede SM’- not my style]. I reckon the fondue’ll be the hardest thing to get through customs- they have a special ‘Kitsch to declare’ line at the new Liverpool airport.

I am off alcohol until at least the 15th of February (supposed leaving date) and I have to start practising for the Bogle Roll. 75-125 miles on a bike, in a day, past Bury and Bolton. And, as it’s in March probably in the rain as well.

And I’ve got to start eating healthily as well……….