Use BOTH Lanes? Repairing Worn out Carriageway!

I had to go into York earlier and ended up on the bypass, where a misleading sign caused me some thought. The sign read "Congestion Relief Experiment - for City Centre Use Both Lanes."
Now, I would have though that using just one lane would have been better. But keen to oblige I straddled both lanes with my van. Try as I might, I couldn't keep both lanes fully occupied though, and drivers kept sneaking down the inside, or overtaking me. Clearly they didn't read or understand the sign, as they were intent on using just one lane. I can't see how it helps relieve congestion myself. I mean if you did use just one lane, then other traffic could use the other and then you'd get twice as much traffic into the City so much quicker. Maybe that is the point. By asking us to straddle both lanes, the volume of traffic entering the city is halved, so congestion within the City Centre is reduced. And maybe the people in the queue get fed up of waiting and go home instead.
In an attempt to follow the directions on the sign I started weaving between the two lanes - this had the effect not only of reducing congestion, but also of slowing the traffic down, as no-one could overtake me any more. A sort of mobile traffic calming scheme, although after a while I did start to feel seasick. And then I attracted the attention of a nice young man in a Volvo with a fancy paint job. And Disco lights.
He explained to me, after the breathalyser test that the sign actually meant I could use EITHER lane, not both. I can only assume that the sign maker had run out of E, I and R but had BO in abundance. Either (or is that Both) that or he had no grasp of basic English. Funny the difference a word can make.

Another Road Sign I liked in the roadworks was one that said "Repairing worn out carriageway." Nothing like laying the guilt back on the motorist is there? We've worn it out, so they've had to come out and mend it. Isn't that what we pay you to do? Don't lay the guilt back on us. And if you are going to give explanations for the roadworks then let's see some real honesty. "Repairing shoddy workmanship." perhaps, or "Removing substandard materials and replacing them with the stuff we should have used in the first place."

I also like the sign that reads "Lane closed for the safety of workforce" and it's cousin, "Speed limit for workforce safety" These are placed in the miles of cones which precede any actual roadworks, and the irony is the workforce they refer to is NEVER EVER present. In fact the only thing they protect is the lanes of parked vehicles and equipment which is not in use. The honest version of the sign would actually read "Lane closed for parking of workforce vehicles." Why can't they park their cars at the services or in a lay by and then walk or be bussed to the works area? They don't all need their private cars there surely?

For this reason Sign writers and Road workers are now consigned to Room 101.

Weight loss

Well here we are at the start of another New Year. Well okay, the post is somewhat belated, so It's actuallt Feb 1st as I write, but the sentiment is there. My New Years Resolution is to get a little bit fitter.
So I have renewed my healthy eating campaign and using my gym more frequently - every other day in fact. I will also resume my cycling to work just as soon as it stops snowing and freezing - there are limits dontcha know. m Meanwhile I am air walking, cycling and using the multigym and even the hated rowing machine. I might even start swimming once a week too.
Already I have been for a run - a quick one miler, but you have to start small and build up. Thusrday is Emmas Dance night, and because it's only 45 minutes it means if I drop her off then drive home there isn't really time to do anything before it;'s time to head back and pick her up again. Normally I've sat in the car in the car park and read a book. Not any more. Now I have a run round the village - and then sit in the car and read a book. But the plan is to run a little further each week, and read a little less.
And the practical upshot of all this? I've lost 5 pounds in 14 days. Call it 15 days, that's a pound every three days. Which means that by March 2017 I will have disappeared altogether!
I'll be happy to get down to 15 stone, but if I can reach a trim 14 I'll be delighted. Not so long back I was tipping 16 stone , so it's going well. And I'm already feeling the benefits in both health and wealth. Pack up lunches instead of take aways. No drastic diets, no stupid mega workouts, just a gentle change in lifestyle.

A stiff Chinky

As previously posted I had some concerns about the hole the previous owner Pablo had cut in the floor of the Cinquecento to install the batteries under the seat. Having spoken with Andy, my tame MOT inspector it was agreed that some strength needed putting back into the monocoque chassis to replace the metal cut out. £15 worth of 1" x 1" steel square tube was duly acquired and a basic frame was stitched and then seam welded to the floorpan where ever it touched - in more than enough places. Near to the seat belt mountings a strip of angle iron was let in to reinforce

the floorpan to subframe area all the more.

With the new frame built up and a dash of paint it was time to make the battery cover. Plywood was chosen for a few reasons - it is a good insulator so won't short out the tops of the batteries if accidental contact is made, it looks okay, it's cheap, it's easy to work with and I had a bit lying around in the garage. This is a budget project remember, so anything that can be used will be used. Including the old suitcase handle I found in the shed, which makes removal of the cover much easier than levering it out with a screwdriver each time access to he batteries is needed.

The seat refits nicely over the frame and only an inch higher than before, only the ill fitting carpet giving the game away that anything might be lurking under there. A new carpet will be fitted at some point once the car is on the road again.

The broken rear light has now got my attention and has been removed with 2 new replacements on the way courtesy of E Bay £4 each plus postage. These are the newer spec with the white(grey?) style indicator lenses. Looking at the old lamp I have removed I think it will be possible to replace the bulbs with LED bulbs to save the 12Volt accessory battery a little, although the indicators will need a resistor in place so they still flash at the right rate.

I'm also hoping the SAAB sourced vacuum pump will arrive tomorrow, so I can get on with the brakes.

Chinky powered up

On a rare day off work, and with a biting cold -1 plus (or is that minus) windchill factor, I spent a day working on the Chiny Electric car today. First job was to replace that troublesome trip fuse which the previous owner Pablo, had bodged with a bit of wire after the fuse failed in service - his temporary fix of a wire bridge had arced to earth, causing no end of headaches. With the trip fused replaced with new normal service was resumed.

Next job was to get the "Heath Robinson" charger up and running. Avid followers of the project will recall that it is to be built on a shoestring budget, so expensive variable electronic chargers are not an option. Instead a chaep 240 volt AC to 110 Volt AC site transformer has been butchered to include a voltage regulator and a variable resistor, giving a useful variable 0 to 110 volt DC supply - a very crude and cheap battery charger.

As can be seen this initially had a mains plug attached for testing purpose, but is now hard wired into the car and a three hour test shows it works - as long as you check the output voltage and don't try and put too much into the batteries at once. About 66 volts input avoids the problem of the thermal cutout activating. Practice and experience will show what is best for the batteries.

With the charger clamped down and a new control knob fiitted it will just need some calibration marks to make it easily useable in future. 66 volts is okay for the 60 volt battery array present at tghe moment, but tommorow may see the additiona of another battery , so that'll take us to 72 volts in the array and probably around 78 to 80 volts from the charger output to charge them. The multimeter shown is not a permeneant underbonnet fixture, it is just there for calibration and testing purposes.

Tommorow should see the fibreglass work done to secure the charger socket in place. A lick of paint will then have that looking finished. Tonight I have purchased a £39 SAAB vacuum pump which should provide the necessary braking assistance to the brake servo. This will need to go somewhere under the bonnet, probably behind the charger.

Then I need to resolve the heating/demisting issues. A motorhome style Ebracher heater is one option, but I'm also considerign a ceramic heater or two (three or four!) fitted in where the original heater matrix was, and utilising the existing heater box and controls.

I have spoken with my tame MOT inspector tonight also, and we beleive that a frame fabricated from square section tubing should replace any strength lost in the floorpan where the aperture was cut for the battery installation under the rear seat. My plan is to build a ladder frame, which will weld into place around the aperture and stretch from sill to sill, and onto that will sit the plywood cover for the batteries, hinged for easy access and locked down with over centre catches. The rear seat may raise by an inch or so, but I don't see a problem with that, I'll probably only ever carry the children in the rear anyway. Plywood is the preferred option to prevent shorts and to resist the possible battery acid splashes better than a steel cover might.

Chinky still lists badly to the left with his flat and bald tyres on that side, so I may be loking to get a couple of part worn tyres to make him sit upright again, or if money allows, maybe we'll get four brand new ones!

Peak of perfection.

In accordance with "The Plan" the team met up at the Judges house in the Cave at 0630 hours, and set off in two cars heading for the Yorkshire Dales to tackle the Three Peaks. This was the second of our increasingly inaccurately named Annual Christmas Beer and Boots weekends, given that it was neither Christmas nor was it the weekend.

Some minor fiddling was needed on mikes car, a loose exhaust shield was rattling. Eerily, my own exhaust shield had fallen off on the previous years outing - maybe the Dales repel exhaust Shields somehow?
Short order was made of the motorway leg of the journey, then a cut through the pre-rush hour metropolis that is Harrogate saw us onto the A59 and in search of breakfast of the bacon and sausage sandwich variety.
We had on the previous event stopped at a roadside lay by cafe which has spectacular views of the Dales near Skipton, and the experience was only somewhat marred by the slightly eccentric proprietor showing off various Air Ambulance related regalia in the misguided but very enthusiastic belief that we were in some way remotely interested. On that occasion we had dropped coins in his tin and beat a hasty retreat. Well it is a very worthy cause.
During the summer I had passed the cafe several times and found it closed, so finding it open we assumed it was perhaps under new ownership. Foolishly we stopped and entered.

The same owner was still in place, and lost no time in telling us that his premises were now regularly visited, indeed guarded, by armed police due to the suspected presence of surface to air missiles in the area. I suspect that local air traffic was at far greater risk than his former HGV converted Cafe, but his earnest account earned him the nickname of SAM from now on. His wife/partner/hostage or whoever she is serving the grub will henceforth be known as Ella. This of course will allow us to refer tot he location henceforth as Sam 'N' Ella's which is just as well, given the quality of the grub and it's startling effects on the human digestive system (see later in this post)
Arriving at our overnight base at Halton Gill the accommodation looked impressive - from outside. unfortunately due to a hiccup we couldn't get in, the caretaker was supposed to meet us or leave it unlocked for our arrival but did neither. No phone signal meant we couldn't even ring the owner to get the key code for the back door. So it was down to Horton, where we could get a signal and sort it out from there, then booted and suited straight up Pen-Y-Ghent. In the summer I tackled the ascent the long way up short way down. This time it was the reverse, a long steepish drag up then that last climb up the sheer slope for lunch at the top followed by the long trek down the slope to Horton again.
Ready for liquid refreshment we headed to the Golden Lion scene of our 2008 visit but found it disappointingly closed. The name of the pub at the other end of Horton escapes me, but did a very nice pint of something warm and wet. A humorous interlude provided by an unwitting local and proliferated by PK venting his spleen on the absurdity of the comment sent Selby into uncontrollable giggles, each succinct barb coming with such perfect comedic timing that Dave very nearly asphyxiated, unable to regain breathing control.
The cause of such merriment? "Afternoon lads. It's a nice day. It's not raining."

Damn. And we'd been walking all day and not noticed. A good job there are such incisive locals to tell us these things. Such a pointless and idle comment drew all sorts of speculation as to the old mans identity. Was he a revered soothsayer? Did folk from the village seek him out for his pearls of meteorological wisdom? Did he perhaps double up as a local newscaster and traffic reporter? Such accounts as "The roads are quiet, there's no cars coming," or "No one in the village died today" must be worth their weight in gold in such a compact community. Folk must come from miles around to ask thing like, "Is it raining, only I've come out without my brolly seeing as how it was dry."

Back at Halton Gill and it was showers all round then a relaxing sauna and a beer or two before another shower and change in to evening wear for dinner at the pub. The pub was just over two miles down the road, so we drove down, but did the sensible thing and left the car there to collect in the morning having had several pints and a Mucky Duck pie. (No That's not a culinary comment, that is exactly what it was called and very nice it was too)
The clouldless sky gave unprecedented views of the milky way and several shooting stars as we slip slided on the black ice covered tarmac back to the bunkhouse. Then the night slipped away with a few more beers and several games of pool. Most enjoyable. Except it was about then that PK's bowels began to let loose a series of violent and foul expulsions, rating 7.2 on the Richter scale and with the sulphuric fury of Beelzebub's bathwater. This was to go on all through the night, relegating cows into second place as the worlds leading CO2 producers.
Settling down to bed PK bagged what he supposed to be the best top bunk in the house, only to find that when the lights went out he was swathed in the bright green luminence of the emergency light, hardly conducive to restful sleep. All other options being taken he retired to the lower bunk.
Friday morning saw three of the four in the group being rudely awakened by some bastard clanging a saucepan with a spoon in the style of the old cowboy films. I was not one of the three so I guess that makes me the bastard. Dave came awake so quickly that he nearly put his head through the ceiling, but Mike was strangely unaffected, remaining as motionless as he had all night, the only one never to have moved in any way, the rest of us creaked and groaned all night on the squeaky but surprisingly comfortable metal sprung bunks. Perhaps it's his miltary background and he doesn't move so as not to give his position away.
The saucepan was put to good use in preparing a full English before we packed up and moved on to West View, another bunkhouse the other side of the Peaks near Ingleton ready for day two of the challenge. Although lacking in the Sauna and pool table areas this was a much smaller and more homely venue and had a TV with Freeview. Bonus!
Parking at the Ribblehead viaduct we set off up Whernside, a tricky ascent given the black ice on some of the slabs and steps coupled with melted mud elsewhere, making the walk as slippery as a cabinet minister.

Left: Martin in "Buzz Lightyear" pose at the Ribblehead Viaduct.

Conversation lead of course to what did the Romans ever do for us? This being despite this being a viaduct, not an aquaduct and built in the 1870's by the Victorians, not by the Romans at all. I'm sure Monty and his Pythons could have gained somethign scriptworthy from our paradoy and the digressive converstion that ensued.
Pen-Y-Ghent has of course been discussed in detail on the blog before. It is, as is well documented, an evil brooding bastard. It is however, honest and up front about it. Whernside on the other hand is a devious, sneaky bastard. It sits there looking all inncoent hiding more than it's fair share of uphilliness and just pretending to be pretty. Don't be fooled by it. I'd rather have done Pen-Y-Ghent again than Whernside. It has a long long climb, and with the wintery conditions it was as slippery as a cabinet minister covered in somethign slippery, standing on a slippery thing, covered in something slippery. Regardless, we eventualy made the top without mishap, if of course you exclude PK's extremely entertaining dance moves to avoid falling over. Such effort went into his many arm and leg movements that falling over would have involved less risk of injury in the long run, but he did maintain an upright position, even if he lacked some poise and dignity at that precise moment.

PK poses by a wall with a waterfall in the back ground. Just behind that wall was a river. And what's going through Kitsons' mind? Probably something like "There good fishing to be had in there!"

Despite the cool temperatures the sun was shining brightly promting Dave of Selby to strip off his lower legs and reveal his whiter bits to the sunlight. He was still in shorts when we stopped at the top to break for lunch. The rest of us were also down to one layer, but the breif lunchstop saw my body temperature plummet, and even with all five layers restored it took a while to get back the warmth I'd lost.

Coming down the hill my old "war wound" started playing up, with the left knee sending spiky bolts of pain at every step. Selby grumbles on the inclines, I was cursing on the descent, up until Mike loaning me his walking pole which releived the leg nicely and once back on the (almost) level I was fine again.

Walks end was the Station Inn at Ribblehead, a fine old Dales pub, with a healthy sense of humour if the sign outside was anything to go by.

After a much deserved pint Mike had to depart back to Hull, unable to get the early shift off work the next day, but the remainder of the team adjourned to West View, the bunkhouse just outside of Ingleton and only a 1/2 mile stroll from the Marton Arms.

We had considered tackling Ingleborough to complete the three peaks in one visit, but with the iminent loss of daylight, coupled with the cold and slippery conditions and my dodgy knee threatening to give in we admitted to oursleves it would be folish to take the risk. Besides, the lure of steak and beer was too strong. And of course, if we complteted the Three, what excuse could we use for coming back next year?

The Marton Arms has a wide range of Scotch - about 96 different brands and blends, but I resisted the temptation, and instead settled on the bitter, of which there were six or seven different choices, (I'm staring to sound like Pub Spy now aren't I?) Dave joined me in sampling a pint of each, but PK stuck with his nancy boy chemical conconction of southern lager, reluctant as ever to drink anything with bits floating in it. Steak was excellant, if perhaps a little too rare - a good vet could have had mine up and running bbout the field again, but very tasty never the less. With eye candy courtesy of a table full of fillies celebrating a Christmas Party just over our left shoulders what could be better?

After a few beers, the conversation, naturally, turned to such philosophical debate as Life, the universe, and ....well everything really, covering topics as diverse as sex, drugs, rock and roll, religion, relationships, law and order, UFO's, aliens, the X Files versus Star Trek, Life on Mars (of course) sleep paralysis, ghosts and hauntings, Monty Python, and well, the lsit goes on really. Only Mikes absence declined for the debate, as I'm sure he woudl have made some valuable contributions. The great thing was of course, that the absence of any women meant this was nothing more than conversation. Has a woman got involved it would doubtless have become an arguement. That I think speaks volumes. I'm not gettign all gay about this understand, it's just that it occurs to me that blokes can get along just fine, even if the have opposing views, providing there are no women present. I'd even go so far as to say that without Eva Braun the second world war might never have happened. Or it would have been a simple pool challenge, a darts match or an arm wrestling contest, the winner magnaminously buying the loser a pint, and nobody slaughtering hardly any jews at all. That's pure conjecture of course, but since we were talking about parallel universes theres a good chance that actually happened.

The night at West View went quietly with much less expulsion of excess wind, and only a sloped roof close to the top bunk caused any source of merriment as I sat up to quickly and stunned myself. The accommodation proved homely and comfortable, and much much warmer than the Golden Lion, so much so that I ended up sleeping outside my sleeping bag.

After a healthy breakfast of bacon and mushrooms in pepper sauce for Dabe and I, and a fried egg and bacon cholesterol special for PK it was time to head east and back to the grindstone for another year.

Having succesfully failed to conquer the Three Peaks we now have the excuse to go and try again, but next time it could be the real thing - all three in one long slog - in the summer - in daylight.

But the winter challenge should hopefully take place next year.

Feeling Peaky

Tommorow sees the rather complicatedly named Operations Branch D Division Roads Policing Section combined Incident Resolution Team Walking and Beer Drinking Club (OBDDRPSCIRTWBDC) making a return visit to conquer the Three Yorkshire Peaks. We probably need to work on a snappier acronym.

I would suggest PRATS. (Policng Roads and Tactical Support) Certainly we must be a bunch of prats to think about going up that evil brooding bastard (Pen-Y-Ghent) in December, particularly after the aborted assault on Whernside in a blizzard last year. But try we will.

The itinery goes something like this;

Thursday; wake at stupid o'clock in the morning and head to the Cave to pick up the rest of the crew. This year we have the old stalwarts of Paul "Nelson" Kitson, (PK) and Dave "Greendale" Selby, but will be joined by Mike Barratt aka The Judge. (Note this is not the Mike Barratt of 1980's Shakin' Stevens Pop fame, although he does play guitar. He also abseils and eats squirrels and rats and could track a Vegan Snow Lizzard through an Arcturan Mega Blizzard, so he;'s a welcome addition to the crew.

It will be a quickish blast up the motorway in whichever direction mad SatNav woman sends us. Until we are hungry and need a bacon buttie, when as usual we will start to ignore her and rely on the sun/stars/mos on the side of trees/intuition/directional sense and if all else faisl a road atlas. SatNav woman is the sexy sounding woman with no previous experience of driving in the UK. This is not surprising, as she lives in a small blue and grey box in my glove box most of the year, and only comes out for these expeditions. Some might say that a software update might improve her sense of direction , but I disagree - she was always like this. Faced with a city centre she will drive you round and round in circles visiting every shoe shop, before takling you back to the first one you saw, presumable to buy the first pair of shoes she tried on. This trait disappears completely if you change to the mans voice, but as he sounds like a constipated Dalek, I'd rather be driven to distraction than driven to boredom.

Anyhow, after a while we should arrive at the bunkhouse to park the car and tackle the toughest of the Peaks, Pen-Y-Ghent before dark. Then it will be a return to the bunkhouse to change before heading to the pub for dinner (that is tea of course for thsoe of us in Yorkshire) Dinner will doubtless be mostly liquid.

With regards to the bunkhouse, last year we let Greendale organise the accomodation - hence we ended up with no central heating and a dodgy cold water shower, and a pub where anything you ordered was out of stock, out of season or out of a tin. We did have an Ingrid though, a barmaid with huge ........ enthusiasm for her job, who sold us watered down beer until we couldn't stand ....

it any more and went to bed.

This year I have to say I have found a much better bunkhouse with a sauna and a free pool table. Sadly this is only available for the Thursday night. We have to move on the Friday to other equally pleasant accomodation but without those luxuries.

Friday mornign we=ill see the catering manager (that's me as well) cooking up a full English to steady us for the longer assault of Whernside and Ingleborough. The Judge is hopefully going to accompany us but then has to leave early to head back hoem for duty on Saturday morning - PK, Greendale and I will be staying another night to attempt to drink dry the local boozer before returning at a more leisurely pace on the Saturday.

So that's the plan. Now watch it all go wrong. Photo's and a full write up of our misadventures to follow soon.

This will be our second annual December walk outing, whcih now makes it officially a tradition. Planning will begin for next years event just as soon as we sober up.

Global warming - again.

I may have touched on this subject before as it is a subject relatively close to my heart - well it'sbollocks, and that's quite close to my heart.

Last time I wrote about it I think I sort of suggested that we nuke China, on the grounds that humans exhale CO2, and the increase in CO2 in the last century is roughly equivalent to the increase in the popoulation of China, therefore logically eradicating China eradicates global warming. I think I may also have relented slightly, suggesting that not all Chinamen are deserving of sucgh a fate, and that perhaps we could nuke Iraq instead.

Anyway, my point is that CO2 global warming is bollocks, the idea that cars and factories are choking the planet is ridiculous. It's natural weather patterns that are causing it, hence the last ice age and the gradual warming since. How else do you explain the glorious summer of 1939? The battle of Britain saw some of the warmest weather this century.

This week comes the announcement that Methane gas is a bigger cause of global warming than CO2. The majority of Methane of course is produced by cows. Suprisingly the Government has not introduced a cow tax, nor has it launched a media campaign to reduce the use of cows, nor have they got tough on cows or the causes of cows.

Last night on The One Show some wishy washy vegetarian suggested that global warming would be redued if we all stopped eating meat. In theory that sounds fine, less people eating cows, equals less cows, equals less Methane. But hang on, what do vegetarians eat, once they have worried all the lettuces and cabbages? That's right, they eat cheese and yoghurt. And they drink milk because they are too wimpy to consider beer as an alternative. Cheese, yoghurt and milk come from cows!

When you think about it cows are probably quite the most ecological animal on the planet. The give milk, which can make cream, or cheese, youghurt or whey, they can be made into steaks or burgers, and their skins are made into leather. And thier bones can probably be boiled down to make glue or something. Even their tails go into soup. The idea of recuding the number of something so useful is preposterous.

So, and here is my serious suggestion, if we are so concerned about the Methane these cows are producing, and the CO2 produced by cars, why can't we compromise? A car will run happily on Liquid Petroleum Gas, which is only a small step away from Metahane Gas. Surely science can up with a way of strapping a cow to every car to make it Methane neutral, CO2 Neutral and still able to provide burgers, steak, cheese, eggs, milk, cream, leather shoes, and superglue prior to it being scrapped for a new Mondeo under the Governments scrappage scheme?