tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27383388873049649082024-03-13T14:06:57.479+00:00The Long CommuteThe Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comBlogger351125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-18888960396598041872016-11-19T11:06:00.000+00:002016-11-19T11:06:58.224+00:00New Website!We'd like to announce that we have (finally) managed to upgrade our blog to a proper website. You can find it at:
www.cycletruant.com
Our short posts on Facebook can now be found at:
@cycletruant
This site is being retired. You can find all the old posts on our new site.
We hope you'll enjoy the new sites! If you get lost along the way, send me an e-mail and I'll help you The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-65839703802972148202016-07-20T21:32:00.001+01:002016-07-20T21:32:01.283+01:00All Hail the The Doom-MongersCrossing the flyover at Inveresk's Cowpits road, I glance down on the hurtling by-pass traffic and the nagging boards predicting "dangerous heavy rain". An incongruous prophecy illuminated by a balmy sun and an innocently clear sky heavy with humidity. They're not the only portenders; the weather bloggers are in gloating anticipation and have been for five days; the Met Office have been The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-46660595746971259962016-06-22T18:09:00.001+01:002016-06-22T18:09:47.462+01:00Rite of Passage"Some local authorities offer concessionary travel schemes which enable local residents who are elderly....." Elderly? So it's official! I'm Elderly.For my eighteenth, give or take a day or four, I got to leave home. For my twenty-first I got two non-steel screw-gate carabiners; for my twenty-fifth, a responsible job. Thereafter it's been downhill all the way. Forty came and went; it was, after The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-61940225587148742092016-03-16T10:00:00.000+00:002016-03-16T10:00:29.689+00:00Detritus Anthropologist It's in the nature of the life, we spend a considerable amount of a riding day in close proximity to the roadside verge. A long, vast and divergent landscape, full of question, explanation and prediction. One that can both entertain and educate, amuse and bemuse.Whilst riding towards La Paz, Bolivia, the trash consisted, in the main, of discarded compact discs. A sentiment with which I would beThe Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-73131052032787018492016-03-13T10:00:00.000+00:002016-03-13T10:00:07.685+00:00Cartagena: Days and Ploys.Some travellers interrogate their guide book, note all the recommendations and set forth on a prescriptive tour. All power to them, they'll need it, they'll also be in need of treatment; for a cultural religiosity overdose and a par-boiled nose, blistering toes and auto-jitters. I, on the other hand, like to set a search, not for a geographical point, more a ploy for a concept. Then set forth in The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-79723273547242589772016-03-09T11:00:00.000+00:002016-03-09T11:00:20.985+00:00A Tale of Two Cities. For those in the know: Barranquilla ( fourth city of the nation) ~ Ruta 90A ~ Cartagena (first city of gringo central). Northern Colombia. Today was the best of times, the worst of times. Barranquilla is a working city, one that has little time for a tourist industry, its infrastructure has little time for pedestrians. Or so it would seem, which is odd, as a lot of that populace walk. A place, The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-82131579414320160312016-03-06T06:00:00.000+00:002016-03-06T06:00:16.119+00:00Confusion, but it's Fun.Lemon and cereal rambles.
First it was called 'Agua de caña', then it became 'Limonada del rancho', morphing into ' Agrapa' somewhere around Medellin and now it's disappeared. An 'jugos naturales' or at least one of the many offerings of 'natural juices: a non-alcoholic cordial made from sugar cane. Not to be confused with 'aguardiente', the distilled cane juice version, whose major selling The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-36087330342412959172016-03-02T11:00:00.000+00:002016-03-02T11:00:21.173+00:00Where There Be Dragons.I might be six thousand miles from home, six thousand miles away from a nation's history. Yet tonight I'm within one day's cycle from one of the pivotal crossroads to that history. The Colombia paper map is spread out on the floor, we're considering our options for the finish to this tour. It's definitely the city of Cartagena, but by which way will we arrive there? Only my eye keeps getting The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-58096997531938682412016-02-28T11:00:00.000+00:002016-02-28T11:00:10.021+00:00Gas StationAmericas In Argentina it's gas and asado, full catering with café con leche, air conditioning and stuffed sofas. In Uruguay it's gas and free maté water with the key to the trucker's shower. In Bolivia it's gas: only sometimes, and then foreigners are charged double. In Chile it's gas and all polished marble, with Europa pricing. In Perú it's gas that's sold by the US gallon and stations that come in The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-57434182933284228272016-02-24T18:35:00.001+00:002016-02-24T18:35:11.694+00:00Vignettes from the Road - the Montellanta Every petrol station has a 'montellanta'. The pariah, shunted to the outer reaches of the forecourt, a tyre fitting and puncture repair shack. An hutment of corrugated tin roofs that shelters a compressor tank and its attendant snaking hose winding across a quad of oil-infused gravel. Columnar pillars of part-worn and entirely bald tyres are built alongside, awaiting re-cycling. Either ontoThe Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-76762139090520556442016-02-21T11:30:00.000+00:002016-02-21T11:30:08.969+00:00FreeRider....Two. The location: Glasgow Sheriff Court, circa 1955.The charge: Whilst riding a cycle, the accused was noted to be holding onto the rear of a coal lorry ascending Main Street, Garnethill. The defence: "the lorry was so slow I had to push it up the hill". The verdict: Guilty, fined Ten shillings.Posted with BlogsyThe Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-9502777557883526742016-02-21T10:38:00.001+00:002016-02-21T10:38:35.028+00:00Free-Rider...The Evidence.Trying to capture the 'free-rider' has proven problematic, that is until we get stopped at some road works. I get a he photo, but this time there is no concluding story. There were several transit police around, so I have to assume our stowaway aborted his journey for a short while. Posted with BlogsyThe Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-87678391673546260772016-02-21T06:00:00.000+00:002016-02-21T06:00:00.178+00:00Vignettes from the Road - FreeRiderWe're making our way along the autopista that leaves Medillin, heading for the north and the last few climbs that conclude the Andes. An articulated lorry hauling a shipping container passes. Attached, limpet-like to the back doors is a youth. The driver slows at a roundabout. Stops. The boy climbs down and crouches down to look under the lorry's undercarriage; he's watching to see if the driver The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-50245466184373271482016-02-17T11:00:00.000+00:002016-02-17T11:00:06.874+00:00Lenten Abstinence So what have you given up for Lent?Chocolate?.., it's over thirty degrees, it would only melt all over any inappropriate surface. Cabernet?...not available, what grapes that are cultivated are for the table. Cigarettes?...never been tempted. Cervesa?...are you joking, beer's cheaper than water here, and it's served colder. Coffee?... get real, I'm in the Zona Café Colombia, where the brew costs The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-73745061714468136222016-02-14T11:00:00.000+00:002016-02-14T11:00:03.122+00:00StormFor those in the know: Popyàn, (a colonial town in central Colombia). One is standing, looking down on one's heaving mass of plebeians, one's soldiers ranked before one. One of those stable-lackey chappies is leading one's parade horse. Maybe today one will go and mingle with one's subjects. One notes that those verminous pigeons are back from the Square, back from shitting on Gran-mamma. The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-42451607081926426252016-02-10T11:00:00.000+00:002016-02-10T11:00:37.283+00:00Mangoes or No-MangoesThey're walking down the verge side, linking patches of deep tree shade. Walking home from school. Pristine in white blouse and plaid skirt; starched shirt and pressed chinos: eating mangoes. Instant irreparable stains, a glue juice that possesses its own gravitational field, one with an unerring attraction for the clean. How do they manage this feat? Eating a mango is an art form. Whether to The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-77433987080127544262016-02-07T11:01:00.000+00:002016-02-07T11:01:06.914+00:00SuperlativesChimborazo, Cotopaxi, Cayambe. The furthest, the highest, the nearest. They're all on prescriptions for celebrity, all seeking an oxygen of publicity. All volcanoes with a claim to fame. Volcán Chimborazo: the hill whose summit is further from the centre of the earth than the top of Mount Everest, this statistic the result of the equatorial bulge. In essence, the earth isn't a perfect spherical The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-59358848036652096322016-02-07T11:00:00.000+00:002016-02-07T11:00:19.043+00:00Quitting Quito. For those in the know: Heading north out of the Ecuadorean capital; or, 'picking black bogies'.Our attack on Quito may have been a belated win. Our retreat from the capital more of a draw.The Navigator, true to her nature and her title had interrogated the 'app-map', terrorised it into submission and concluded a route for our escape. A nice simple linear line, a logical route heading directly in The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-7231220162706012672016-02-03T11:00:00.000+00:002016-02-03T11:00:13.788+00:00Attack on a Capital.A six lane autopista feeds the traffic in towards the capital. The road climbs away from the shrouded views of Cotopaxi's slopes. It's Sunday morning and the racing cyclists are out training, passing uphill at speeds we wouldn't contemplate going downhill. Six lanes, for which there appears to be a certain lane apartheid. Outside for cars, middle for trucks, inside for road warriors, hard The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-69204808679834103872016-01-31T11:00:00.000+00:002016-01-31T11:00:13.246+00:00Absence of Consequence For those in the know: Cuenca ~ All that's missing is a chalked outline and a grumpy detective The new, the different, the oddity, all are easy to spot.The lady crouched on the step stitching a belt? her ancient, knurled fingers producing the intricate, detailed repetitive pattern. The tableaux of effigies awaiting incineration on old years night, that days later still leave an ash shadow. A The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-77891804344582324262016-01-27T11:00:00.000+00:002016-01-27T11:00:07.715+00:00Night Interruptions.Cotopaxi lost in cloud.We're using a new tent, one that is in essence a mosquito proof bivvi. A free-standing, rather upmarket bivouac. One, that in extremis will pitch in a bug-infested room. With its vast mesh screen and the flysheet folded back, offers a widescreen view, and on a hot night, one that will capture any cooling breeze that might be passing. That uninterrupted view has another The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-39040159925552578572016-01-24T11:00:00.000+00:002016-01-24T11:00:00.902+00:00It's Not a Panama Hat.Panama hats don't come from Panama. They come from Ecuador. Only they're not Panama hats. They're a Toquilla Straw Hat, or a Jipyapa; this from the plant's indigenous name. But only the very best get to be called a Monticristi, named for the town of origin and the foundation that protects and grades these hats.It's probably the greatest 'term theft' and the least understood misnomer. One that isThe Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-49064220901232376832016-01-20T11:00:00.000+00:002016-01-20T11:00:15.272+00:00Time Travelling GrocerWhen it comes to food provisions, I feel like I've become a time traveling anthropologist, touring the differing points on grocery's evolutionary curve. High up on the altiplano she's called an 'artisanal', a western concept that offers images of specialist crafters, when the reality is necessity and survival. The Andiña pastoralist with her solitary, hand harvested milk cow, who crafts a simpleThe Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-13895304636418220562016-01-17T11:01:00.000+00:002016-01-17T11:01:06.625+00:00Hipermercado Why walk a round trip of several kilometres to the city's hypermarket when there's more ethnic colour to be found just around the corner?I would like to claim research, serendipity and exercise. A chance to measure the incursion of the 'global grazers' and the other trans-national emporiumists. A chance to find some new story or at least a new set of street arts. A chance to stretch some muscles The Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2738338887304964908.post-50479957956371202302016-01-13T11:00:00.000+00:002016-01-13T11:00:02.428+00:00Many Names: One Bread.There's a certain routine to our returning arrival in BA. Collect cargo and clear the airport, bus into town, walk around the corner and head for the metro. Stop by the first vendor and buy a bag of four. (This is our first opportunity to measure the rate of inflation in our six months of absence.. Once it was five.) Of course they will be consumed long before the train reaches San Isidro and theThe Chronicler and The Navigatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14264669610295987161noreply@blogger.com