Hound Dog

Hound dog would be a fine name for my bike but perhaps too light. And besides, it's already taken, by Elvis no less. And so, I have decided upon Hound of Hell (when it's not Pegasus or Red Crow or Sancho, my bike has multiple personality disorder) since that's what it does with my hands on the reins: she hounds those who bring hell to this Earth. This means predominantly the polluters, the defilers, the violators, the unresponsive, and the un-presenced. I had to shout at someone the other day for gazing into their phone whilst cycling (almost straight into me). Today, I hounded a few car drivers for similar nonsenses, using my limited knowledge of sign language. And the dog-walkers (whose dogs are not hounds) normally get some hounding too if their leashes stray across my path. And so 'Hound of Hell' it is. Elvis lives! Elvis cycles!

Short Circuit 3: Kilpatrick to Westerton via The Slacks

Taking the long way round is a delight when the long way is as serene and scenic as this one. I've always maintained that the physical routes you take in life determine your psyche, so a route through the hills compared with a route alongside a busy roadway is like comparing the mind of the Buddha to that of an office manager. Never take a road when there is a more peaceful route available in other words, and I have stuck by this rule for the past twenty years even if it does mean an hour (or two) instead of fifteen minutes. In other words, don't drive, dérive! Don't psycho, cycle!

Basically, from the pink stone on left to white pebble on right via the black stone at top... This way we avoid all the noise and built-upness and collect instead space, wilderness, and nothingness.

Collect enough nothingness and you yourself will become nothing (as everything).

Pedals of the Great Flower

Pedals make petals, just as cycling and using your own steam as Nature intended - flowing - creates flowers. And this is the great flower - fed by these locomotive routes (roots) through the strath, and consisting of hundreds if not thousands of petals.

An old map with some trails and routes... This particularly map developed its own gills such was its companionship on my earlier cycles into the hinterland. 

My block mounted map with some inner and outer perch sites. (Murray Scott at Scotia Visuals in Finnieston did it for about £75 in 2012).

Short Circuits

Short circuits short circuit! They cause a break in the otherwise smooth functioning of a given circuit. The given circuit here is of course the circus and the sideshow (society) that man has made for himself through the wilful exploitation of Nature, and which has turned him into a geek. So, the short circuit is essential for anyone wishing to get away from the freakshow not just physically but psychologically and spiritually. And around the Glasgow strath, short circuits (into the hills and back again) abound. Indeed, for the past twenty or so years I have been performing the short circuit (the pastoral excursion by train, bicycle, and on foot) as a religious exercise. Because it is. Spirit derives from breathing naturally and aboriginally. Cleanliness of mind (which allows you to feel this spirit) derives from natural spaces and your own locomotion into them. So that when you cycle into the hills, alone, unworlded, and embodied, you recollect this spirit by the bucketload, and you realise through the shock to your system that full-blown Nature presents us with what a madhouse and disneyland society and civilization actually are.

Moreover, and as you can see, each circuit seems to add another petal to the overall flow-er that is the animal in harmony with its natural environment. This is my flower - the fruit of all those enquiries and travails. And you can have one too, if you apply the same discipline and quest for vision and wisdom.

Petal # 1: The Jimi Hendrix Tree (dotted lines are my steam, solid lines are railway steam).

Bike... Bird

 

Bike... Bird... almost the same word... is it not?

Heaven & The Hunter-Gatherer

Modern man is the sublimation of the hunter-gatherer. And yet, this sublimation is anything but sublime for modern man is a dis-ease that infects everything he touches because he doesn't touch anything anymore but gets machines to do the touching for him. It is this venture into the pseudo and the subliminal instead of abiding in the Real that has caused man to descend into a virtual hell.

But you needn't be in hell. You can easily get out of it and start ascending into Paradise. Paradise derives from Sanskrit 'paradesha' meaning elevated region, so all you need to do - really - is hike a hill. This means embodying yourself and renewing yourself through locomotion in natural spaces. This is 'the hunt' and 'the gathering': sourcing (originating) and re-composing your Self originally. When you return to the primal you return also to the prime and the pure, and it is this purity that reveals heaven before you.

The Bike-Putt: The Five Foot Field Gate

My bike weighs a ton.  That's the problem with having once cycled the lightest bike in the world, my once trusty Cannondale. Nevertheless, trust does not last forever and now my Cannondale, even lighter without wheels, pedals, and handlebar, is a permanent fixture in my kitchen beside my spider plants. 

The art of lifting your bike over a gate. It's a sort of weightlifting au naturel. 

My once trusty steed, Cannondale. No longer trusty having thrown me twice, Cannondale now resides with the plants as a part of my ongoing kitchen gallery.