Donnerstag, 25. August 2016
The quest for the Brakkersfelders Knopmetz and a lovely weekend with lovely people plus some morons on top.
It was long scheduled and thoroughly planned. We had arranged a lecture at our favourite ruin about the history of the local language, a dialect of Nether German, the "Plattdiütsch" still spoken by elderly people and some sorry few younger ones. To achieve this, we originally had planned a crossover concept. I had contacted one of the greatest teachers I ever had, and a man I strongly admire, Mr. Prof. (em.) Dr. Heinz Menge for the philological part, and Ms. Friedel Hillner to contribute with some poems and stories in the dialect. We had planned a discussion, over some good food and wine, and meant the best, and, although we were being a bit sceptical due to our experience, we still had a go at it.
But it came to no surprise when Dr. Menge cancelled his appearance due to health problems, and one might suspect he had an inkling about what was to come. But sick is as sick does, and a cough is a cough is a cough. So my lovely and utterly competent companion and soulmate, the magic troll, put up a lecture with a bit of contribution on my part in but three days (and nights) course, which is a feat I encourage anyone to try. Of course we got mad at each other in the process, and of course it did not change anything, and of course we love each other even more for´t. So, even though even Dr. Menge said it could not be done, we did it, and we have another stinky finger to point at the world.
Off to the smithy, looking forward to the rewards that were to come, and hoping for the best. My beloved mother and her partner, the always helpful Fritz, who has taken me out of a lot of fixes already in this life, fetched us by car, and off we were. Entering the yard of the smithy, we were instantly greeted by Ewald, the owner. Of course, he had granted we could use the beamer and of course he came over and stated the light bulb had burned through only but yesterday. I did not believe a word, but chuckled away at it, for it was that obvious. Ms. Hillner were there already, and I welcomed her personally and expressed my gratefulness and apologized for the improvisation that were to come.
I then read through the lecture, for the magic troll did not take much to improvising without the material at hand (which I obviously understood, for I did not like it that much, either). I held the lecture, Ms. Hillner read out some poems, we had a discussion, and we invited all of them along for food. I asked Ms. Hillner if there were anything we could do better, and received her "heartfelt compliment" and she made her excuses she could not stay for dinner and took her people with her. (Last week I learned she is telling everyone the lecture was just for academical airheads and it was the worst thing she ever listened to, as well as the fact that Ewald admitted that he was lying to me about the light bulb, and gave me another tall tale about his brother-in-law not wanting to give him back the beamer, which of course I cannot verify or falsify.)
So, too bad, but begone, the people worth our attention were still there, and good food galore.
...until finally we arrived at the city of Breckerfeld. Now my faithful readers know that I am nearly obsessed with the thought of one day doing an accurate reconstruction of the famed "Brakkersfelders Knopmetz", a knife that made the Hanse community of Breckerfeld famous for their knives, sword blades and daggers in the whole of medieval Europe.
All in all, it was a weekend that started out really shitty with foul characters playing dirty tricks on us... but they can eat their own shit, as far as I am concerned: They did not succeed in ruining our days.
Advice: Trust no one but your friends and family, but do not let it get that far that it ruins your day. Failure is a part of life. Try again, if you succeed one time out of hundred, you are successful still. And no one can take from you the sun on your face, and the wonders by the trailside, the joy of good company, and good food. Take everything as it comes, and they will kick the bucket while they feed on their own bile.
And I find I get ever more detached from the madness. I simply cannot find it in me anymore to muster any more hope or despair. I don´t care about those madmen like the Turkish dictator, or the Russian one or those American ones or the German ones. They are but flesh, and it is rotting while they jibber and jabber and scream and fight and writhe like a can of worms. Even if you go down below the ranks towards communal politicians or even my fellow humans, some few exceptions notwithstanding, and if you are not completely addled in your brain, you cannot but shiver with disgust.
I do not want to bore you with the details of a childhood of being mobbed, a hard time at Kindergarten and school and apprenticeship, and how I overcame the fuckers at the university because I was the best. You know the details of me offering my help and getting driven out of the projects I started, even my own club I helped found and all the smithies except the Bethaus where some fuckers wanted to drive me out. It is happening again, of course.
But it is of no significance.
The sun shines into the twilit woods. And twilight, the namesake and the name, calls me, violently. No, I even do not need to rant on about how the twilight soothes my soul. It does, but it is of no significance. The words do not make any difference. Words are the utterance of a species about to die out, fortunately. My soul will wander on, and I look forward to the freedom of unlimitedness, of space and time, of becoming a new kind of species. Do not get me wrong; I am really enjoying my life, and it´s good to feel alive. And while it feels alien to me, to become so detached from all this foolishness, it actually feels good. For my sentence is not spoken by their behaviour anymore. They can affect my life, true, but I will manage, as I have always done. But they will ultimately kick the bucket. And not because some obscure deity will smite them down with lightning, but because they organized their own rout by their shortsighted greed for success. But even this is of no significance.
Words do not make any sense here.
There actually IS a way out. It is a leap of faith, but it´s still here. If you are brave enough to jump into the abyss of the subsemantic, you can find sense still, not significance.
Dienstag, 19. Juli 2016
!glass! drill bits to get through this material. And this after I thoroughly annealed and deep-froze and annealed once more and I could work it with a file). Not that it was that hard, it just was so ductile that the bore chips came in one long and several short ones. The grates were looking as if someone punched a pudding. Weird.
I look forward to it even if it is so different to my normal line of thought. In fact, I do, BECAUSE it is so different to everything I would normally make, and it might help broaden my view and confirm new perspectives.
Turned out that with a shortcage rear derailleur and a chain that was a bit short and a 100kg body weight that was a combination that was less than ideal.
So Henning tore off his derailleur hanger. #shit, if you ask me. Henning is fighting quite some adversaries taking up the sport, and I am really sorry for this (but cannot help it any). Mountainbiking is a hard sport, and you WILL fall, and you WILL hurt yourself, and you WILL wreck your bike. Mastery comes with controlling the circumstances, so that if you hurt yourself, you do not hurt yourself permanently, and if you wreck your bike, you are prepared to repair it. A torn derailleur hanger, however, is just about SNAFU.
Since it did not work out, Henning packed up and was off for a BBQ, and we continued tutoring Nick and Kathrin. I was really fond of Kathrin, who is making some huge progress at the moment. She has to overcome some mental barriers still (some anxiety and the plain refusal to do some essential things such as getting accustomed to riding with a lowered seat in technical situations, but as is, her composure and body tonus are way good already.
Lowering your seat in technical situations is not only a requirement of style. It often is crucial for survival, and even on some leisurely and casual rides you always encounter steep inclines where a high seat will ultimately send you over the bars. This is often not easy to understand for beginner riders, why you need a high seat for some situations and a low one for others, but it is an essential technical basic to know when to say when. A lower seat, even if you are not accustomed to it, will offer you more control in steep inclines and when climbing over obstacles.
We did some more braking practice and some first practice on off road terrain. Kai gave some valuable additional input with his background in trials and hardcore freeride mountainbike riding.
Folks, it just feels cool to just go out with you, and as I have said on countless occasions - I really look forward to showing you some real rides and to open up the "heart of the wind" for you! But even so, it´s cool to have you around! For this to me is what mountainbike riding is all about: hanging out with some friends at places where it is really cool, pushing your comfort zone and playing around on a bike, and some good foodie afterwards which you can delve into with relish.
Simple. Fun. ;-)
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