So much excitment I can hardly stand(it)

Hello Dear Readers,

Well well well, life is certainly like a box of chocolates.  Except not for me and Chris, because you know we are still committed to P90X and not eating sweets. I think a lot of people here think we should be comittted soemwhere else, but we'll have the last laugh when we look like supermodels.  Ahem.  ANyway, very eventful week in the Lindon in London household. 

Wednesday while at work (around 10 am) I got some garbled messages on Gchat from Chris, about how Patrick ate some shellfish the night before, was throwing up and had a sore throat.  Warning bells went off in my head, as shellfish allergies are very common, so I was trying to contact Patrick to make sure he was all right, direct him to the ER and meet him there ASAP.  It turned out he was on a train to Charing Cross, which was easy for me to get to, except that he wasn't on a London train to Charing Cross, but coming from Folkstone, way out south and east in Kent, and was in the middle of nowhere.  The conversation on Gmail went something like this (I may be exaggerating slightly for storytelling effect, but only slightly)

Patrick: Sore throat, throwing up, had seafood.  Might go to ER, might try to get to London.
Me: Where are you
Patrick: On a train comign into Ashford
Me: GET OF THE TRAIN NOW YOU FOOL, YOU FOOL.  What if you go into shock and stop breathing between stations? no one can do anything for you!  GET OFF THE TRAIN NOW AND GO TO THE ER!  I'll look up hospitals for you! There is one there, get a cab to it as it's far from the station.
Patrick: Yeah, I don't feel so well, maybe I should get off the train........
.....Long Pause.....
Patrick: Ok in the cab to hospital
.......Pause......
What is our doctor's name again? Need it ASAP
......Pause of 3 hours in which I'm sure he's gone into Anaphalactic shock and died and no one will know how to contact his family, or he's died of waiting in the ER due to NHS cutbacks, or it's nothing and he forgot to tell me and is in London by now.

Fortunately he texted me around 4 to say he was ok now, on the train home and he didn't need me to come get him.  Well he didn't say all that but that's how it turned out.  Apparently he does have a shellfish allergy (See? I was right to jump to the worst conclusion! I knew the signs!) and they had to Epi pin him twice when his resting heart rate (normally around 41) went to 140 in a matter of 15 minutes.  Phew.  So he came home and I stayed home to take care of him in his weakened state, and even watched Ghostbusters with him, thanking my lucky stars that he had the good sense to call his sister and then listen to her when he wasn't feeling well, otherwise I would have spent the evening very differently. 

Here he is eating the nice healthy recovery dinner I made for him, complete with Tim Tam for dessert.  Aww, poor little fellow.  Sigh. I do wish baby brothers weren't so much trouble!!


Something Patrick would never do for me is take me on a long cycle, but when I heard a friend was cycling to Brighton this weekend I jumped at the chance, not least because I was assured it wasn't a group of serious cyclists and I wouldn't be left behind.

Well we took this route (approximately) intending to leave at 9:45.  By 11:00 we set off, two of our members were told it would take 30 min to cycle to the starting point (it took 60) and one of them had the chain fall off their bike.  Not even out of London (in Tooting) another member sprang a leak on their tire, had to replace it, and eventually we had to cycle to the nearest bike shop so he could buy a new tire (the old one had a bulge at the rim).

 The driver of the bus you see behind you insisted on coming over to help us, apparently he is a avid cyclist and prides himself on changing tires very quickly.

  Finally, we set off in earnest, climbing one of the first hills of the trip.  I made it cycling all the way, but another girl had a 60 year old bike that would only go into 3rd and 4th gear, and not between them very well either, though she is so hard core she managed to mostly keep up with the rest of us just the same.  Slowly we wound our way south, meeting up with a lot of hills along the way (Chipstead road did me in at the Church, mostly because I forgot that I had front gears as well) and stopping off at the Dog and Duck for lunch and our first pee break (baked Potato with Beans for me).  It was already 4 and we were just under halfway......

  We passed Wakehurst Place (part of Kew gardens, I'm hoping to convince Patrick to cycle out there with me sometime) and up the infamous Turner Hill (made it up that one all the way, thanks to my front gears, and singing Gangnam Style to myself).  All this time we knew we would have to climb the infamous Beacon hill, but I wasn't looking at the map so I coudln't know what kind of progress we were making, how much longer it would take, or how I would fare.  Unfortunately in Ardingly my front gear stopped shifting, so I was stuck in the middle set, ok for going up hills, but that's about it.  It started to get dark (we had lights) and we kept pushing on through dark windy country roads until at last we could see in the dying rays of the sun, the hulking mass of Beacon Hill.

Well I was determined to get up that thing, and started out ok, doggedly pushing one leg then the other, able to navigate only by my lights and the reflective line in the center of the road.  On the one hand the pitch blackness meant that psychologically I couldn't see ahead of me, so I just kept pushing on.  On the other hand it was completly dark, and I was by myself (one cycling buddy had sped ahead to meet us at the top, the other two were lagging beghind, the last pushing her bike from the very start).  I kept going, singing all the songs I knew, telling myself that I WOULD tell Patrick I didn't have to push my bike. 

Finally there was a bit of a plateau, and a clearing where I could see the twinkling lights of West Sussex below (far, far below), and I thought I was nearly there, even with one gear out of commission.  Then a car went by and I saw how much more there was.  I caved. I walked the rest of the way, in the total dark and silence.  The total empty darkness, quiet, and contemplative silence only defeat could bring, as I trudged up and up and up, sure the hill would never end and I would spend all my days, like Sisyphus, pushing this old heavy hybrid bike, alone, up the hill.

Well of course it did end, and my friend Malcom told me that he had done it in 12 minutes, and that he had been waiting about 7 minutes for me. So I hadn't been walking for 30 minutes like I thought, but probably only 5, and I had made it nearly 1/2 or 3/4 of the way up, no way to know for sure.  But I did it.  And I'm DAMN proud of myself, it's my new benchmark for acheivemnt.  I did Beacon Hill, alone, in the dark, with half my gears gone.  I can do anything!

We did get to Brighton eventually, though we didn't touch the sea as we had planned, too tired out and hungry (it was 8 pm) so we sat at The Railway Bell pub next to the station, drinking and recovering until 11 when we caught the train home. 

Much to my dismay, I found out that trains don't run from Clapham Junction ot Putney that late at night, so I had to cycle the 2 miles back to Putney when I got there at 12:30 am.  Much to my pleasent surprise, It hardly took me any time, and I even enjoyed it and managed to carry my bike up the stairs at the end of the night.

So that's my tale of my first ill planned and ill executed cycle to Brighton.  But I did do it, and now, I can do anything.  I just need to summon up the energy for my P90X Kenpo workout this afternoon......


Cheers