Finding Balance

Like all those who complete a 1 year lifestyle challenge, I had a choice at end of my Fixed Gear Year in January. I could either continue in the same way, travelling everywhere by Fixed Gear bike like I did in 2012, or I could return to my old ways from before.

In reality I’ve what I’ve done has been half way between the two. I felt like a bit of a traitor at first, moving from my hard earned ideals, but as it stands I have to confess the following.

I’m currently insured to drive my girlfriend’s van… this has allowed me to

a: Go places with her, since she doesn’t cycle

b: Take gigs which are impossible to do by public transport (which is 90% of them really).

I still cycle everywhere possible, and my Fixie is still my only bike.

Also, a big discovery that I made as a result of my Fixed Gear Year was that I wanted to live in a Yurt. So I bought and moved into a Yurt August, and moved out just before Christmas.

Another confession: I moved into a house.

I’ll be honest – it was buttocks-off freezing and below. In further honesty, it took me a couple of months to fully physically recover from the harsh conditions of living in a cold, damp yurt. Some people can do it. The

y must be hardcore.

Now, the Yurt has been re-pitched in a new location: my girlfriend’s garden. I also rent a room in the house where I can keep and use electrical stuff and musical instruments.

Some of you will be thinking that this is a good half way house – moving towards an environmentally aware future by cycling wherever possible, and at least in part practicing sustainable living through having an alternative dwelling…

Some of you will think me a traitor to begin driving a vehicle, and renting a room in a house… next I’ll be wearing a suit and buying Tesco’s shares.

Photographic evidence shows that the bike racks are empty on a Saturday night – the people of Exeter NEED me.

Ultimately I have to believe that there’s some contribution I can make by  living and writing about my not-so alternative lifestyle and cycling exploits now that the 1 year challenge is over.

Yurt Living – A Summary

I hereby pledge to post more often. Months ago I promised articles about my life in a Yurt and various other things, and none have materialised, so here is a summary of life so far.

Last August I moved into a Yurt. It all happened rather fast, and my dreams of sustainable living were coming true almost faster than my life could adapt to. Before I knew it, I’d bought a 2nd hand yurt on eBay, christened it “The Ornamental Hermitage” and found some ideal Gardenlords in my neighbours.

The Yurt before assembling

Yes, I moved into the next door neighbour’s garden, in the shortest and easiest move I have ever made, despite having to assemble my new dwelling as well as move into it. Goodness knows what my Gardenlord’s 8 year old daughter must have been telling people at school

“No really, there really is a woman living at the bottom of our garden”.

I had no electricity or running water, but some limited access to the kitchen and bathroom in the house I used to live in. The 12ft Yurt was single skinned (not really suitable for winter living) but soon I had a woodburning stove too and a little gas stove for cooking.

Managing a music teaching job, gigging and trying to live a fast paced life in a basic and slow paced dwelling was exactly the sort of borderline madness I much enjoy. I felt physically exhausted and spiritually fulfilled.

To add to the challenge, it was important for me to move towards sustainable living. I wanted to burn waste wood for heat, so after work skip diving and taking firewood home on my Fixie, became a daily ritual.

I didn’t want to contribute to the mass production of yet more petroleum candles, and couldn’t afford beeswax (£50 for a month’s candles), so weekend trips to the Carboot for 2nd hand candles was a must.

Not only that, but I pledged to make any furniture I needed from recycled materials, and did so. I also embarked on a flurry of knitting to supply me with a wardrobe of warm clothes, the likes of which those who live in even the most unheated of houses would never need.

You’ll notice I’m talking about all of these events in the past tense. That’s because I don’t live in The Ornamental Hermitage anymore…

Well… trying to fit all of these extra tasks around a regular job was proving too intense. I was trying to build my new life whilst living it (which of course, is the only way it can be), like trying to inflate the dingy after having jumped ship. After 4 months, after a particularly bad week in which my thermometer showed minus numbers every night, I made the decision to move inside.

A panoramic shot of the interior of The Ornamental Hermitage

I have to say that this felt like a huge cop out for me. I was determined to see my first winter through no matter how difficult. I would never have considered looking for somewhere to rent, and would never have moved inside if it hadn’t been for 3 important points.

1. A room in a house was actually offered to me.

2. It was only available for 2 months (i.e. for the winter) after which time I’d be exorcised back to the Ornamental Hermitage.

3. The room is in my girlfriend’s house.

As soon as I moved inside it became obvious how totally run down I had become by Yurt living. This was not because living in a Yurt is an unsustainable, tough way of life. It was simply because my Yurt was not well equipped enough to be comfortably habitable.

Morning light on the Yurt roof – my view from in bed. Who could pass this up for house-dwelling?

Without electricity and running water and using wood for heat, every aspect of living, from cooking to staying warm took more time and effort. Yet my life in the real world was busier than ever, with more teaching and gigging than I’d ever had. The two things just didn’t add up to something that was working. And yet I was happy in a way I’d never been before, because I truly love how alive it made me feel to live more like a human animal.

The Yurt, now with a rain cover on the door, signs and a woodpile

Now, my 2 months inside is nearly up. The Yurt still stands where it ever was. For the last 2 months I have been going there once a week and lighting a fire to keep the canvas from rotting. When I’m there I feel like I’m recharging – like a Yurt junkie getting their fix. I didn’t know if moving inside would just seem easy and make me give up the dream.  Actually, it’s only served to fuel my desire to eventually build my own home and live sustainably.

I want to get back in the Yurt some how. Houses are just too wall-ish. And yet, there needs to be some compromise this time, between slow and fast lifestyles, otherwise I’ll just end up in the same situation as before. Perhaps I’ll need to rent a room in a house as well, as office/study/studio space. Perhaps I’ll build an eco recording studio from scratch some day – a sturdy building made from recycled materials, where all of my instruments and electrics won’t be destroyed by damp.

Many people are put off alternative ways of living and travelling because they think it involves cutting themselves off from the rest of the 21st Century. Living in a basic dwelling for 4 months was in direct conflict with being part of a modern world that I don’t want shun completely. I’m just trying to remind myself that I don’t have to make this lifestyle change all in one go. 1 step at a time is enough, and I’ll let you know what the next step is as soon as I’ve thought of it.

Ending my Fixed Gear Year with a crash

One woman, one gear, one year!

Last year, on December 27^th my van died. By January 3rd it had been sold to a Mercedes Sprinter campervan collector as a project. I decided not to replace it, but to travel everywhere by Fixed Gear bicycle instead. Now, 1 year later, the challenge is completed.

My bike at the start of this weblog, 1 year ago

I ended the year with a crash. A few days ago I had a gig in Moretonhampsted, 16miles from where I’m living. I knew it would be a tough route but a few things conspired towards making cycling there the most feasible option. Boy was there a lot of uphill, and I was carrying a guitar on my back too. Fortunately, since getting a bike frame that fits me I can finally wear a helmet and a guitar at the same time – something about the angle I sit at with the new frame makes that possible.

Anyway, I was feeling quite proud to be fit enough to make it through the solid hour of climb that the short route presented. It was as though everything I’d been working towards in the past year had come together for this last big trip of the year – I was on my way to a gig that was inaccessible by public transport, and wasn’t daunted by a tough ride. It was the sort of trip that proved that I really could go anywhere by bike if I wanted to, and that was what I’d been aiming for all along.

It was all going well. I was fit and I had all the right kit. I was happy with my two sets of front lights that showed me the road sufficiently even under tree cover. My winter tires thought nothing of the rain, and my full set of lycra kept me warm and comfortable. I was really starting to think I’d done it, and was feeling rather smug as I hit the downhill into Moretonhampsted.

It was a long downhill and I took it slowly since it was wet, and was grateful for the fixed gear, which allowed me to brake with my feet so my hands didn’t get tired on the brake levers. It was lucky that I was going slow, because it was around about this time that I saw a huge pothole which encompassed the whole of my side of the road. It was so big that there was no way I could have seen it in time, and before I knew it I was lying in the road in front of my bike.

It happened so fast that I was shocked to find myself on the ground looking upwards at the sky, when I was so sure that just moments ago I was on a bicycle looking down at the ground. I checked that my arms and legs moved ok. I looked over and thankfully my guitar was lying beside me, not under me.

I got up and out of the road before any cars came by. I opened the guitar case before looking at the bike. Yes, the body was intact – I ran my hands all the way around it to make sure. Then I heard a knocking sound…what was it? Ah, the distinctive sound of the guitar’s headstock knocking against its neck as it hung dangling by it’s strings.

Guitar damage. The other half of the headstock is only being held on by the strings.

Ouch! The head of the guitar must have been the first thing to hit the ground instead of my head!

After that I didn’t want to look at the bike. I tried to flag down passing cars, convinced that if I looked I’d fine the front wheel buckled and the bike un-rideable. When nobody stopped I finally went over and picked it up, spun both wheels…miraculously they were fine. I got back on and shakily cycled the last mile to the venue, where they gave me ice and arnicare for my bruises, and ginger beer for my ongoing addiction to ginger beer. Someone lent me a guitar for the evening and the gig went fine.

I haven’t crashed a bike for 10 years and it felt odd. Fortunately I tend to feel elated after exercise, so the previous hour’s climb had somewhat cushioned the emotional effects of the accident. I only had minor injuries.

Elbow damage

I tried to feel stupid, but the fact was there wasn’t anything to feel stupid about – I’d been doing everything right. I’d been going slowly and carefully, was well lit, and I’m a good bike handler. Some might say that I shouldn’t have been cycling around after dark, with a guitar that I could break, but that’s what it means to be a cyclist. My bike is my vehicle. What if someone said they wouldn’t drive their car after dark, or take their work stuff around by car in case they crashed the car? That would seem ridiculous.

I didn’t feel that shaken by the experience either, for some reason. Obviously I’ll keep cycling, and obviously I’ll do everything I can to avoid accidents, but there are always some accidents you can’t do anything to avoid, and for some reason I’m ok with that. It’s life.

My bike, at the venue, after the incident, seemingly unharmed.

I don’t know if I have the money to fix the guitar, which is something of a difficulty because it’s my only acoustic guitar and I use it all the time… but something will work out. I have been advised to contact the council to ask about compensation, because of the pothole nature of the accident, and I will.

So at the end of my Fixed Gear Year I find myself in an unexpected place. My main motivations for starting this challenge were to enjoy the health, environmental and financial benefits of cycling rather than driving. Now, all in all I don’t care as much about those 3 things as I thought I would.

As to health, yes I’m the fittest I’ve ever been as a result of riding a Fixie, but I’m no longer trying to get fitter (even though I probably could), because I just want to enjoy the ride. The environmental benefits probably stand, but I think of them less often than I did. As to the financial benefits, well I haven’t done the maths, because it’s probably something of a massive joke. At a guess, I imagine I’ve spent more than a couple of grand this year on the bike, locks, clothes, repairs, lights, luggage, upgrades and a cycle holiday (and now I’ve got to fix my guitar).  Of course, one could argue that the physical stuff I’ve bought will last me the next 5 years, so maybe there are still some financial benefits.

My bike as it is now

So if my 3 main motivating factors have gone somewhat out of the window, what have I got out of my Fixed Gear Year?

A philosophy and a way of being that now permeate the rest of my life: It’s about simplicity, focus and achievement. The thing is that riding fixed gear is such a simple form of cycling that it just locks me into a zone where I’m totally connected to my body. In this place, I gain the physical and mental strength to climb hills I never knew I could climb, and be stronger and more focused than I ever knew I could be. I feel aligned. Yes there’s only 1 gear, but I always feel “in gear”, right in the center of myself.

I’m at peace riding my bike, and I feel real. I find out who I am and what I can really achieve, and go to whole new levels of experience. Learning this on the bike, I’ve taken those ideas, and weaved them into my whole life. I’ve changed things, made life simpler, cutting down on unnecessary possessions and distractions and focusing on what’s really important to me. On a very practical level, Fixed Gear cycling has become part of my spirituality. We are taught that less means lack. What my fixed gear year has taught me is that less means clarity, and that having too much is a distraction from that clarity. Distraction is the worst kind of enemy because it robs us of happiness and contentment so quietly that we may not notice until it’s too late.

The funny thing is, I’m not saying everyone should go out and get a Fixed Gear bike. Yes, that’s been my route to understanding this principle in a very physical way, but it’s not the only way. It’s through my cycle tour that I made the decision to live in a Yurt, and that’s not something that’s going to be right for most people either.

I’m not even sure if I’ll continue to ride exclusively Fixed Gear, but I’ll take what I’ve learned from this year into my body permanently. It has and it will change my life.

-FullTimeFixie

Why I haven’t posted for months:

 

So the last post I wrote was about living in a yurt. I said that I was going to tell you more about that. Then…silence.

The reason for this is simply that living in the yurt I didn’t have electricity. I had such limited computer use that I couldn’t post. Now, I have moved into a houseshare for a couple of months to get through the winter, so the backlog of posts I’ve been writing in biro can finally be put up, if slightly in the wrong order.

Yes, you’ll learn about how vaguely successfully I managed to live in an un-insulated yurt with no electricity or running water, a woodburner for heat, a tiny gas stove and only a bike for transport, whilst trying to hold down a music teaching job and play gigs too.

But first, to tell you about then end of my 1 year Fixed Gear challenge.

Writing a post from my phone – a test

Sorry not to have posted for a while. Hermit life and limited computer use mean that I’ve been using all my battery hours for work’s paperwork. But I should be in contact more often since today I’ve found a way of posting from my phone. How’s it looking?

I’m not so keen on brakeless Fixies, but I draw the line at brakeless Mountain Bikes

My week of breaking the Fixie Gear rules, by riding around on a rusty 2nd hand Mountain Bike:

At the start of 2012, I challenged myself to go car free for a year and travel by Fixed Gear bicycle instead. I’ve always had one bike at a time, and I’d think of having more than one as a bit over the top. Many people don’t think this way. In fact, I read a website that stated that the correct number of bikes to own is S minus 1 (where S stands for “single” and is equivalent to the number of bikes that would cause your spouse to throw you out).

But more and more I’ve been needing a spare bike for times when my main one has a puncture and I don’t have time to fix it, or it’s off being repaired etc.  Last week my main bike was off having it’s frame changed by Magic Mike, so I needed a spare bike.

BTW: this is not a post about my new bike frame. I’ll save that for later.

I thought to myself “Do I get a rubbish roadbike from gumtree, or a recycling center, or try to throw together another Fixie as cheaply as possible?” I certainly wouldn’t want a Mountain Bike. I’ve disliked them ever since I was 11 and went off to Halfords with my folks to get my first ever roadbike (it would also be my first ever brand new bike). Somehow, although we went in to get a roadbike, we came out with a MTB! How did this happen?

This was probably what I got. Looks quite nice. Probably rides ok until the cheap components start to break and I sell it to someone who leaves it outside for 6 months, who then sells it to you, by which time it rides like riding a camel riding a cactus.

I always regretted it, especially when I realised over the years that everything that sales assistant had said wasn’t true. I think my mother, more than anything else was taken in by the notion that I could use cyclepaths with it and wouldn’t have to use the road. What a lie – I could have used cyclepaths with a roadbike. It also isn’t true that straight handlebars with bullhorns are a substitute for drop handlebars, or that cheap front-fork suspension is a good idea. Honestly I don’t understand why I was sold an off-road bike when I mainly wanted to ride on roads, cyclepaths and occasionally pretty tame grass.Cheap, rusty mountain bikes are the plague of devon cycle paths. If someone’s got one, pity them, but don’t get too close or you might catch one yourself.

I’d never buy a MTB for road use ever again…

never…

ever…

ever..

So anyway, last week I acquired (guess what) a rusty 2nd hand mountain bike!

My very own rusty MTB. Just in case reading this post makes you want to buy your own just the same as mine, they are apparently available from Walmart…

It was what I could get hold of at the Car Boot Sale for £20. When I first got the tires inflated and the chain oiled I thought to myself ‘this isn’t so bad’. The gears actually shift sometimes and it didn’t feel terrible when I rode it up the street and back.

Then I rode it to work, and remembered why I don’t ride cheap 2nd hand bikes anymore.

A while ago I wrote a post that contained a guide to getting up and cycling on a minimum budget. The idea was to show how it could be done; bike, helmet, waterproofs and all, for less than £100.

I take it back.

After last week, I really wouldn’t recommend the budget option. As a teenager I’d ride to school, then college on a cheap MTB that my dad and I picked up from the dump. I re-discovered how unpleasant it can be to scrape along on something all crunchy that doesn’t quite fit and that keeps going wrong. I’d forgotten how wet you can get without mudguards, even if it hasn’t rained for hours it it’s just that there’s still a thin film of water on the road. Then your bike becomes an upwards-rain-machine.

Ok, I was quite unlucky with my Car Boot Sale MTB. The front brakes didn’t work, and couldn’t be adjusted because they were too rusty. Likewise the saddle wouldn’t move, so it was too low and I had to ride like a frog (like a frog, riding a camel, riding a cactus). The back inner tube was punctured in several places. I’d got bored after I’d fixed 3 and decided that if it made it to work half inflated, I’d buy a new inner tube. I told The Bike Shed that I must have done something wrong in a previous life, and as a result I’ve got to ride this bike for a few days. I got the inner tube, changed it after work and then found out that my MTB-only hand pump didn’t actually pump at all.

Finally a helpful cycling stranger stopped and pumped up my tire. As I bid them farewell and set off home I pulled on the rear breaks and they locked shut, stopping the bike moving at all. Like the front brakes they were too rusty to be adjusted, so I unhooked them. Now I had no breaks. I’d just heard a story this week about a friend of a friend who tore his ear off on a wire fence in a crash which happened when the brakes on his bike failed (he subsequently also found out that his birthday was the same as that of Van Gogh). Fortunately I know how to push my shoe against the back tire to stop, and the journey home was fine.

So my point is this: every day people are having this horrible experience of riding a worn out, badly made mountain bike, and getting entirely put off cycling as a result. This is a great tragedy to me, because it’s putting people off a form of transport/leisure/fitness that’s they might otherwise enjoy and that’s good for the planet too.

My advice to everyone (whether you want it or not) is this: get a half decent bike if you want to start cycling, not the cheapest 2nd hand bike you can find. They are NOT enjoyable to ride and won’t make you feel motivated to keep on riding. Spending a bit more money if you have it will pay off in the end, as you feel more inclined to cycle instead of taking the bus/car. When I wake up in the morning, I look forward to riding my Fixie to work because I know it’s gonna feel like flying there, spending every minute of the journey thinking ‘hey, I’m floating on air!’

Coming Out As A Hermit: A prelude to some posts about “Yurt Living”

As some of you may know, I live in a Yurt. Actually, it’s a 12 ft Ger, but no-one knows what a “Ger” is, so I tell people it’s a Yurt (they are both quite similar, wood framed, canvas dwellings).

It’s got two sheepskin rugs, and a woodburner. I’m still using the candles I got from the car boot sale as my only source of lighting. It’s so damp that my stuff goes moldy and I have to keep anything electrical and most of my instruments in the main house to stop them from perishing. I’ve got a 5litre water bottle and a camping stove. The temperature drops to between 6-8 degrees C at night, but that’s ok because, as I mentioned before, I have two sheepskin rugs. Fortunately I’m also addicted to knitting so ROLL ON WINTER!

A few weeks before I moved in (in August) I had posted an advert on Facebook looking for somewhere to pitch my yurt. It was called “Ever Wanted Your Own Hermit?”. Some very wonderful people answered the ad, and so here I am under canvas.  Straight after I found my pitch, you may have noticed that I deleted the advert, and all references to the Yurt. Why? Well… at first I didn’t want there to be any evidence of my Yurt dwelling online.

“Why not?!?!” you ask. “After all, everyone seems very interested and is always asking about your alternative way of life, wanting to visit the new yurt, see pictures etc. Why don’t you post in your weblog about it?”

Well, there were a few reasons I’ve held fire:

Firstly, although my yurt-dwelling is legal, the way I’m doing it (I’ve checked extensively), I do worry that I might get grief about it anyway, or that the laws might change, so I haven’t wanted to publish my lifestyle on the internet.

Secondly, I’d worry about security, so for that reason I’m not going to give my specific location. Let’s just say I’m somewhere in the Exeter area.

I have thought long and hard about whether or not to write about my Yurt dwelling on this weblog and finally, I’ve decided: YES.

I have changed my mind for one very important reason: I never would have been able to realise my dream of living in a yurt if it weren’t for OTHER PEOPLE’S WEBLOGS.

Reading the writings of those who are living alternative lifestyles has been invaluable research for me on my quest, and I’d like to give something back by writing about my way of life.

In the past year, on my path to a more basic form of transport and a more basic form of living, I’ve read, re-read and learned so much from the following people’s words:

• The Original Ditch Monkey: A guy who lived in the woods for a year without a tent to raise money for the woodland trust. http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20060714120000/http://ditchmonkey.blogspot.com/index.html
• Igor Kovse: An obsessive ultralight cycletourist who will tell you everything you need to know about travelling ultralight. http://ultralightcycling.blogspot.co.uk/
• Richard the Piano Tuner: A 30year old man who lives in london as a permanent cycle tourer. He is technically homeless, but I tend to think of him more as “houseless” – someone who chooses to live outside in a bivi bag, whilst keeping one foot in the normal world by having a full time job. http://www.piano-tuning.co.uk/blog/
• The late great Sheldon Brown has provided the ultimate website on Fixed Gear Cycling (now maintained by his widow, Harriet Fell). http://sheldonbrown.com/fixed/index.html
• Mark has chosen to live without money (in a caravan, cycling everywhere and collecting firewood on his bike, a bit like myself but much more hardcore). http://www.justfortheloveofit.org/blog
• The “Living Car Free” section of Bike Forums http://www.bikeforums.net/forumdisplay.php/226-Living-Car-Free
• Jay Shafer lives in a minimal Tiny House, and sells people plans to builg their own. http://www.tumbleweedhouses.com/

Another reason I was apprehensive about Yurt-posting is that this was meant to be a Cycleblog, not a Yurtblog. However, I’ve come to the conclusion that this doesn’t really matter. For me, the simplicity of Fixed Gear Cycling fits perfectly with the ethos of simple off-grid yurt living. My cycling journey has certainly led me to this place, so actually it IS relevant after all.

Perhaps I should change the name of it to “Zen and the Art of Fixed Gear” or something, to convey my lifestyle commitment to using no more than you need.

Do you need more gears on your bike?

Do you need a house and a mortgage?

These are important questions for me, because in my experience, having anything I don’t need just gets in the way of living, loving and happiness. I firmly believe that too many people worry about lack, when they should be worrying about excess. I think the Dali Lama says some sort of relevant thing in a book I’ve got, but I can’t find it right now.

Anyway, more coming on the Yurt soon, including pictures and inside tips.