Recovery

Jul. 22nd, 2017 11:34 am
razornet: (Default)
Part 1 in a, maybe, series of posts on recovery from addiction. Probably. We'll see. Preamble here, read it first, all of it: https://razornet.dreamwidth.org/497959.html

Inspired by the questions I've been asked about rehab and recovery I've decided to get my thoughts down in writing, much as I used to do sevenish years ago. For each entry I'll pick a subject that often comes up in conversation or a concept I've been musing on and see if I can't make some sense of it to myself and other people. Before I launch into the actual work it's worth being aware what in general terms is happening and a what some of the things I'm liable to write actually mean.

This post may grow as I find more terms I need to explain.

Recovery: The term recovery is used in the medical sense. You've been ill, you're recovering as from a cold, the flu or a stroke. You are vulnerable and life will, by necessity, be different. Some things you will no longer be able to do, some thing you must do. You must be constantly aware of yourself and your environment and react accordingly. Recovery must be protected at all costs. Failure to do so may kill you.

Selfishness: In fact this means exactly what it does in normal life, the difference comes in the application of selfishness. It's not a good thing in and of itself but in some situations it's simply the only thing to do. You have to own that you will upset people while protecting yourself and that what you do is correct and the only option. You may lose their goodwill, friendship or whatever but frankly, fuck 'em, your life is at stake. If you have to walk away without another word, raise a fuss, use your circumstances to prevent something triggering your illness, so be it. You have to accept the consequences however, it's not a free ticket to sympathy or license to bad behaviour. You just have to ask "is this worth risking my recovery over?" and if not, do what you have to.

Therapeutic environment: The environment surrounding detox, rehab, substance-abuse meetings, or support agencies. The qualities of such are a post in their own right. When I use it I'm likely referring to the rehab I attended treatment and the surrounding community unless otherwise specified.
razornet: (butterfly)
I was reminded today marks a year since Iain Banks died. I didn't have the privilege of being his friend or meeting him more than once though I did used to enjoy a pint or three at conventions with his best mate, Ken Mcleod. The only time I did meet him was something special though and to my surprise it doesn't seem to be written down anywhere.

I was at the SECC in Glasgow for Worldcon (I think it was worldcon, it might have been an eastercon) It was one of those occasions where I was drinking with Ken and a bunch of other authors (this is a surprisingly easy thing to do at cons. Ask me about Harry Harrison sometime). At some point Ken pointed at a guy by the bar and said "nows your chance, Bongo's here." I did a double take and sure enough it was the man himself. I promptly embarrassed my self by scrambling up and offering to buy Iain's entire round. He gave me an odd look and asked if I was sure, I acknowledged I was sure and duly paid an eye-watering sum at the unsubsidized bar. Having achieved my goal, which was simply to buy a man I admire greatly a drink I went and sat back down expecting nothing more to come of it.

Sometime later I was tapped on the shoulder and there was Iain carrying a huge try of drinks. he said he wanted to repay the favour and if I we weren't busy could he join us? I was fucking gobsmacked, I stammered out something affirmative and he sat down with us and just started talking. He knew everyone, of course. It was an unbelievable evening. The drink flowed freely and somehow I never seemed to be buying. I couldn't think of anything to say so I just sat there drinking and goggling.

Much later, and my memory is extremely spotty at this point, I'm sitting out side passing a cig with Iain on a bench by the Clyde. He looks at me and says "You clearly want to ask me some questions. Why don't you go ahead?". I just blurted out "The Wasp Factory. WHY?".

He took a drag and handed the cig back (I think he was meant to have given up at the time and was stealing mine) and said this:

"I can't really explain why I wrote that book except that, like everything I write, it comes from within me. All the nastiness, evil and pain in the book has to be in me somewhere. I'm glad I can write about it rather than it emerging in some less productive fashion."

Then he bought me a whisky. I forget what else we talked about, but I have two further memories. One is of us standing by the railing screaming at the Clyde. I have no idea why. The other I probably shouldn't put anywhere public.

Meeting your heroes is a terrifying experience and sadly a lot of the time they see it as work. They have to listen to the rabid fan gush because, hey, that's part of the job. Iain made me think that I was talking to someone who liked me, was interested in me and definitely wasn't seeing ask a task to be dealt with. He got drunk with me, coaxed me to ask him the questions, whoever often he'd heard them before and he ask me to tell him what I *really* thought. We were there for hours. There's a few like him but it feels like no-one will ever quite measure up to the warmth, intelligence and sense of humour he exhibited. And, aye, the books weren't bad either.

Rest well Iain. You're very much missed.
razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

My good friend robinbloke recommended this guide for installing a new SSD and windows. It's very thorough and simple to follow, almost everything is explained in terms of why as well as how. I didn't follow it down to the last detail because a lot of it looks like unecessary tuning to reap beneifts that aren't experiencable. End result: One W7 installation on a 128GB OCZ Vertex Plus R2 £65.99 from PC world (same as ebuyer strangely) with a few tweaks to avoid unecessary writes and a boot-to-desktop time of about 10-12 seconds.

Some points of reference that aren't covered in that guide if you're trying to recover your old W7 setup though.

  1. Backing up at the very least your *entire* user profile ( /Users/[your username]/ ) is really only sensisble, it'll save you time later getting your themes and settings back the way they used to be. W7 is surprisingly understanding in this regard.
  2. Permenantly moving your personal directory locations (downloads, documents, music, etc) to a non-ssd HDD is covered. What's perhaps not mentioned is that Important Stuff like your AppData roaming profiles will stay on the SSD drive. This isn't an issue and probably doesn't need to be changed, but when copying your old user profile across from an old integrated system drive you'll want to stick AppData and any other top level configs stuff on the SSD not the HDD examples would be AppData/ and any .{directory}/ hidden folders.
  3. If you have less than 8GB of memory it's still advisable to have a page file and it can't hurt to have that page file on a separate non-SSD HDD, the difference in life span of the SSD as a result may be marginal but so is the performance boost.
  4. You may find that you others drives that were previously attached to the old OS are not accessible. This guide shows you how to retake ownership of them.

Having gone through that lot I've now got everthing pretty much back the way it was but smoother and faster with the added bonus that I did a lot of housekeeping along the way. All apps with the exception of the Steam and Origin UI's are on separate drives. A WD 150GB raptor for steam games and Origin and a 500GB Barracuda for everything else.

 

 

 

 

razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

More of a personal note than anything else. 

You may after a while on Android ICS and above experience an issue where the Wi-fi fails to connect to any wireless network. The symptoms are fairly specific, the wi-fi manager will show an attempt to connect, then "acquiring ip address", then it will briefly show "connected" before repeating the sequence. Theres a lot of different fixes offered for this on the web including the apps "Wifix manager" and "FXR Wifi Fix and rescue" on google play, however neither of these worked for me and may actually be intended to resolve different issues.

The issue appears to be with the DHCP files the android keeps. For unrooted users this is problematic as they cannot see these files so this fix only will be useful to those of us with rooted phones. the following worked for me on my Xperia Arc.

  1. Make sure you have a file explorer that can view files as root. Many claim to do this (andro zip, astro) but don't seem to actually ask for root permission and I couldn't find a switch or setting to get them to do so. So I ended up using ES file explorer. To make it browse as root hit menu -> settings -> Root Settings and tick all the check boxes. NOTE: this will allow you to mount your root partition as writeable so be very careful about how you proceed from here. You could break your OS. I claim no responsibility for you cocking this up.
  2. Use the file explorer to navigate to the root (/) directory of your phone. You do this by pressing "up" in the menubar several times.
  3. Once there navigate down through data/misc/dhcp
  4. Delete all the files in that directory.
  5. you should now be able to connect normally.

This method has the advantage of not messing with the country code on your phone or deleting all your preserved wi-fi connections. Of course you need to have rooted you phone and it's a bit tedious but the only other reliable method appear to be a factory reset. Bugger that.

razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

Ready to Go!

 

We started off nearly on time as oppossed to hideously late which is surprising for the Horsman clan when called together to do anything at all. We trundled off initially through a familiar route known to my dad as "The circuit" before turning off on to The Route. Once on the route things took what I expected to be a familiar format with Ian shooting off and myself staying with the "trundle party" in the form of my father and William. We made our way to the first tea stop in Ashwell at the Rhubarb and Mustard, this was preceeded by some fuckwit in a large peice of farming machinery attempting to crush me against a row of parked cars rather than wait 30 seconds for me to clear the row. Not an experience I've had before despite cycling in Cambridge, London and St. Alban's and thouroughly unwelcome. I escaped unscathed and we got some coffee down us before setting off again.

Rhubarb and Mustard, Ashwell

We then moved on towards St. Neot's picking up the other riders who had set off later along the way (you can see where on the Strava recordin below as the route line becomes a cat's cradle around sutton road). Moving on in convoy we set a good pace and largely kept together until we got to St. Neots where food was obtained.

St. Neots

The ride from St. Neots to Whittlesey was largly uneventful as I stuck with Will and Dad while Ian and the others raced off. 2 noteable points:

1. I broke 30mph for the first time on this trip and possibly ever.

2. We lost Ian and Andrew swift as they headed on to Ramsey for adventures of thier own, but they eventually made it back on track.

Whittlesey is a charming enough place if feeling a bit recession-pinched. The Falcon Hotel where we stayed was gloriously running a beer festival as we arrived so we tucked into beers there and then went down the road for some food before heading back.

There was amusing live music from a young lass and aging bloke and we came out with a slight loss from the gaming machine. A not-so early night was had. One of the less salubrious facts of this stage is that for the first time in over 15 years I was sharing the same room as both my brothers. We all love each other but we also could make a trio entry for International Snorer of the Year. Personally it doesn't bother me but the others might have had a rough night... Sorry! 

Random Stats:

  • Number of NDE's: 1
  • Times Dad wound up: Countless
  • Teas consumed: 6
  • Stops made: 4
  • People lost: 2
  • People found: 2
  • Donations made en-route: 13 (I think)
  • Scottish accents imitated: 3
  • Hills done: Lots

 

razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

 

Having set my alarm for "obscenely early" I got off to a good start by locking myself out of the pub while having my morning cigarette. In fact I hadn't locked myself out it just needed a "bloody good shove", having broken things before when assuming this I was glad my Dad let me in. Things rapidly improved when haggis was served with my cooked breakfast. 
 
Dad set off first with Jeff at 8  determined to set a good pace so they'd get in before the 15:30 deadline. David followed them not long after, Andrew and Malcolm next and to no-one's surprise Ian and I last. I think we were all gone by 8:45 though.
 
In store for us was ~60 mile ride over some of the hilliest terrain we'd encountered and the weather forecast wasn't promising but to start with it was dry at least.
 
We started off pretty well with a small steep climb followed by a rapid descent however my tendon was not feeling happy about this and neither were my thighs. I called a stop in Denholm with Ian and told him that I was pretty uncertain about making it to the end, so if it didn't improve, especially as we reached the climbs, he should go-on and I'd call for a pickup. Ian gave me a quick pep-talk and we agreed to do the first climb and review. We saddled up (after I got some cash and fags from the post-office) and headed out of Denholm down the B6405 towards Hassendean. From there we turned north-west on the B6350 and followed it for quite some time. The views, as you might expect were incredible, but due to the tight schedule there was little time for photographs. I did get this as we cycled parallel to the A7, if you look closely you can just make out the Wind power generator between the hills:
 
Wind power over the A7
 
Some of the terrain en-route was actually impassable, marked as paths on the map they turned out to be rough farmland tracks suitable for MTB's, JCB's and other large-wheeled TLA's, certainly not road cycles. 
 
At around 27 miles and 12:00pm we reached the cloud cafe in Townfoot. The cafe is a quirky place, and the toilets have a sheets listing town records concerning the Railway that used to run by. Much talk of Navvies raiding pubs and holding the landlord and daughters hostage for "meat and ale". There's also an interesting bit of recycling in the form of the toilet door:
 
It's a bit small for a meeting...
 
 
The route was multiple-choice depending on how you approached Edinburgh and what you did once you got there. Pre-Edinburgh it boiled down to how long you stayed on the A7. The high road was a bunch of side roads and paths parallel to the A7 much as we had been on earlier, the low was the A7 itself which was likely to be very busy, especially closer to Edinburgh. As we turned out of Townfoot and onto the A road it started to rain, then as lorries thundered passed on corners with scant passing space it *really* began to rain. Ian remembered to ask about my foot sometime around here, I'd also forgotten about it, the concept of stopping now was so repugnant that even if I had been in pain I'd have probably continued.
 
We plunged on down the road making excellent time on the relatively good surface and once the traffic thinned out it was a pretty pleasant ride if you don't count the torrential rain, the wind, the hills etc... At some point Ian pulled in and we jumped into a bus shelter. Witness the condition we were in:
 
Temporary shelter
 
 
We realised we'd missed the turning for the quieter route off the A7 and decided to press on. We made a few phone calls and checked our distance, as my social media puts it:

fbengage

 
Which is the last time my phone was accessible until we arrived. At some point it froze on the lock screen and would not reopen. Ian's also died along the way.
 
We mounted up and cycled as fast as we could manage until it was time to get off the A7. We got separated around Gorebridge and eventually reunited and then joined the Edinburgh cycle path. By this point we were both soaked through and couldn't feel our feet. They cycle path started off very well but rapidly became over grown, ill-signposted and confusing. At one point the sign posts indicated we 12 miles to go then 5 then 8. We got a bit fed up when it seemed as if we had been victim to some prankster moving directions around but shortly afterwards we emerged outside Ian's old halls of residence. We were almost there, we rolled through the innocent railway's tunnel and on towards Bruntsfield and Merchiston. As we cycled through familiar streets I couldn't help but already feel proud, barring catastrophe we were home free. As we approached the turning to West Castle Road I proposed a Fist Bump. This turns out to be a very bad idea when you're tired, malco-ordinated and in the middle of the road. We missed each others fists but not the turning. Cycling down the road we saw no-one, we were too late. I had little way of knowing the time but it looked like we had missed the champagne. Then Mr. C's camera popped out from behind a car along with Mr. C, T and my cousins. We had made it, and we hadn't missed the champagne! I may have made whooping noises.  I lit the Cigarette of Victory.  Photos were taken:
 
Proud.
 
 
That done with we trooped inside for champagne and dry clothing. Gathered in the dining room of my aunt and cousins house we sipped our drinks and exchanged congratulations and greetings. My Dad gave a short speech dedicating the ride to my uncle Graham who died of cancer in 2010 and Paul Tipper who died of cancer in 2009. At the end of this Ian presented Dad with a digital photo frame as a thank you from his sons for all his hard work and suggesting we come in the first place. Thank you Dad!
 
Once watered and dry we made our separate ways to drop off luggage at our accommodations. I was staying with Mr C. as is usual when in Edinburgh. Shortly afterwards we were due to meet in Cloisters with a welcoming committee of uncle Graham's 
Friday night drinking cronies. As the priest at his funeral said "I never thought of Graham as a church goer. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that attended church, religiously, every Friday. Granted it had been converted into a pub!"
 
At Cloisters we caught up, shared stories and had a few drinks (there was a particularly nice Welsh cider on draught) before moving on to our booked dinner. The dinner was a bright and merry affair, wine flowed the food was excellent.
 
Celebration!
 
Afterwards we finally parted ways, each rider to his his own plans for the evening be it further merriment or blessed oblivion.
 
It was done for my brothers and I. For my Dad, Jeff, David, Andrew and Malcolm there was a way to go yet. JDAM (as I've mentally acronym'd them) had started in Land's End and there were still 342 miles to go to John O' Groats where they'd finally win their "T-shirt rights". We wished them well. I'm pleased to say they were successful and you can read about the whole LEJOG ride here on David's blog:
 
 
And that, as they say, is that. There's some more to say about events in Edinburgh, the trip home, my own general thoughts, but they can wait for another day and another post. I hope those who have read this did enjoy it.
 
Thanks
 
I've some general thanks to make to things and companies: Thanks to Strava for providing the GPS tracking software, Google (as if that needs a link) for it's indispensable "Maps" application that saw us home more than once, Monster Energy Drinks, George Romeny's Kendal Mint Cake, all the staff of the accommodation we stayed in and a huge thanks to Just Giving for providing a straightforward, user-friendly fundraising system that helped us raise well over £10000!
 
More personally:
 
Once again my thanks to all who offered donations, advice, cheerleading and many other forms of support. An especially large thanks and congratulations to Jeff Tipper, David Room, Andrew Swift and Malcolm Allen for their incredibly hard work in organising the ride, accommodation, route maps and of course for being such wonderful companions along the way. My thanks and love to my brothers for also being great companions and sharing the experience with me. Finally my deepest love and thanks to Mum and Dad for getting me to do this, supporting me, providing nearly all the gear I would need, training rides, medical advice, transport and financial aid, without you I quite certainly could not have done it. It's been a tremendous experience and a fantastic achievement.
 
 
In Memoriam
Paul Tipper 1951 – 2009
Graham Horsman 1951 – 2010
Pamela Marjorie Room 1926 – 2012
 
*Any differences between David's and my recollection of events is merely a matter of perspective. No animals were harmed in the making of this blog though we might have scared a squirrel or two. Hills may go up as well as down. Your seating may be at risk if you do not keep up regular sudacream applications.
 
 

 

razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

Morning brought a lot of messing around getting tyres topped up, the car loaded etc. Somebody finally managed to take a photo of us setting off, sadly I don't have access to it at the moment. Eventually we got on our way, David, Andrew and Ian forged ahead I attempted to keep up, Jeff elected to ride with Dad for the morning at least. After a minute my phone went crazy as signal was suddenly restored and texts rained down. Battlesteads has a curiously localised blackout zone that seems to cover the pub and extend around 100ft from it. The wifi there though is solid.
 
We headed along the Tyne Valley towards the river Kielder. Most of my aches and pains had subsided by now or at least I'd become used to them so I was doing ok keeping up but the view was gorgeous so I stopped to take a few photos and finally managed to catch some action shots of the riders, Dad and Jeff in particular.
 
Nice view
 
Incoming
 
Outgoing
 
After 15 miles we pulled in at the Visitors Center near the Kielder Dam for tea and cake while Dad forged on. Some superb views of the water were to be had even if the weather was somewhat ominous.
 
Kielder Water
 
Tea in the visitors centre
 
Also more doggies:
 
Doggies!
 
After refreshments we headed on around the water with Mum and Joanne joining us on the way. The going was pretty easy with only one or two Long Annoying Small Gradients and the views were awesome.
 
There's plenty of photos to be had because really in many ways this was the easiest day of all. Once we got round the Kielder we pulled off and rolled down a hill to have some proper lunch in a pub below the castle forest centre where we met up with Dad. The pub was quiet and seemed to be mostly filled with dogs. Two of whom were doing some form of dance, they clearly couldn't figure out who was the dominant one as they'd sniff, growl, bark, drop to the floor, roll, get up, rinse, repeat. We watched this while ordering food but left it still going when we went outside to sit with dad. After a while food came in the form of a "beef roll" which appeared to be most of a Sunday roast on a roll not quite quite up to the task. I went back in for a knife and fork, the dogs were still at it. While we polished off our lunches (Ian looking enviously from his soup to my Mega Roll) Mum and Joanne turned up and decided they'd like to go to the actual visitors centre. Ian and I decided to saddle up and get going.
 
We headed out towards the border across some pretty smooth going though there was a constant drizzle and a lot of encounters with huge logging lorries to contend with. After another 8 miles or so we reached the border. An achievement worth a few photos:
 
Ian at the border
 
Me at the border
 
I mused that this is the first time in over a decade I'd crossed the border on the road, the days of the never ending family drives to grandparents long gone. This was certainly the fist time I'd crossed the border on a bike. 
 
After the border there was an exhilarating descent down the fir lined road into an area I can only recall as "Sheepland." A long winding (and downhill as it turns out) route through the farming areas of the Scottish Borders. Signs warned us to beware of "Young lambs" and it was apparent why, the little critters obviously hadn't grown any road sense yet, their parents often chasing them back off the road onto the roadside. There was a dearth of fencing and at one particular moment when I should have been paying attention I nearly drifted off the edge and into a six foot drop to the river.
 
Not actually where I nearly fell in, but it's a drop to a river, so close enough.
 
After some time rolling along false perspectives we caught up with Dad who was looking at this bastard.
 
Awesome. Just... Awesome.
 
 
A driver helpfully pulled up by us to let us know it "Gets steep from here". We thanked him as best we could. At this point I was feeling pretty worn out, the days and injuries having taken their toll. After a bit of debate I waved Ian and Dad off with the intention of taking a breather, some photos and having my now traditional fag, food and water before attempting the hill. I pottered around a bit and eventually steeled myself for the climb. It seems that nicotine, biscuits and water work wonders because I was able to top the hill only having to walk about 50 yards of it, passing Dad on the way. 
 
At the top I managed to get this of Ian. It's one I particularly like so it's a bit larger than usual:
 
 

From here on in it was pretty damn amazing, if you look at the Strava map you can see once we crested the hill its pretty much downhill all the way to the end point. I left Dad behind and belted my way down the hills singing along to Depeche Mode, Faith No More and Jordan Reyne*. Oddly enough it was at this point I got a bunch of texts from said Jordan so I had the singular delight of returning her call and answering the obvious question: "Half way down a Scottish Mountain! You'd love it here!". That done Dad caught up with me and we both pushed off down the hill again. One corner, then another and we were over the bridge and into Bonchester Bridge itself. Our accommodation for the night was at the Horse and Hounds, we'd had to cut this leg a bit shorter as nearly everything a reasonable distance north was booked out for the Common Ridings.

 
The Horse and hounds provided the usual necessities of Cider, Beer, Soft Seats and Showers (steam showers!) and we quickly got settled. Due to the aforementioned truncated route it was quite early in the day so I had time to potter around and attempt to upload some photos which didn't work quite as planned. There was a lot of discussion of the route the net day, amoung the longest and hilliest. It would also involve negotiating Edinburgh's roads. The weather didn't look fantastic either... We vowed to arise early as we really did have a time limit, we needed to be there by 15:30 latest for the welcome party.
 
Eventually we sat down for dinner which was rather nice. Lots of folk took advantage of the fresh fish dishes, Andrew kept asking for haggis that wasn't on our special Malcolm Party menu. I forget what I had but I barely made it to pudding. Ian thanked David, Jeff, Andrew and Malcolm for arranging our accommodation, routemaps, directions and so many other necessary things and offered to get the next round in. 
 
I declined to partake as I was so knackered and I excused myself and made my way to bed, we had a very early start and a long way to go in the morning. It was going to be the last day but I couldn't help feeling on edge, I was tired, I hurt and I wasn't entirely convinced I'd make it.
 
* If anyone is wondering if I had earphones in, I didn't. I was using my phone gps for navigation and tracking (hence the maps), and it was a simple matter to play stuff through the phone speakers. Antisocial in a bus stop maybe, but on a road when you're whizzing by at 25-40mph I'm fairly sure it ain't that audible to A. N. Pedestrian. Kept me going up hill and down dale anyway.
razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

 

When I arose I realised that the nagging pain wasn't likely to go away, I recognised it as a recurring tendon problem that I've had a few times before. Best guess is between the chain jumping the gears and accelerating hard before going down the hill I'd done it a mischief. After a bit of internal debate I figured I'd trust to ibuprofen again and started to get ready for the day. We'd opted to rise late and just deal with the weather as it came so a cooked breakfast was awaiting us downstairs. Jeff and David had decided to get going early and made do with the continental sideboard that was laid on by the rooms.
 
After brekkie we took over the part of the pub where our bikes had been kept and got things together.
 
Stuff!
 
While this was being sorted Andrew who'd also opted to go late did some work on my bike, tightening up the rear brakes. After the huge, rapid descents we'd had the previous day I was a bit concerned about my bikes inability to bring itself to a full stop so I took it out for a quick spin and agreed, yes, the brakes were *much* more responsive now.
 
That done we were ready for the off. Some last minute conversation with Mum meant I lagged behind a bit and had to put some welly in to catch up, I rapidly did catch up as the rest of the party had hit another sodding 20 degree incline... We huffed and puffed our way to the top where it was necessary to wait on my Dad catching up with us and get Joanne's (Malcolm's wife) bike down from the car. A few more miles brought us over the Tyne to this charming Tea House/Village Shop/Local Brewery Supporter in Wylam. The beer looked very inviting but it was rather early so I settled on coffee and cake for myself and purchasing presentation Kendal Mint Cake for friends of mine unfamiliar with this delicacy.
 
Wylam Teashop
 
 
Once all of this was sorted out we set off again our destination: The Hadrian's wall cycle path and eventually the charmingly named village of Wark with the bizarrely named hot Battlesteads.
 
The Hadrian's wall cycle path is a few things: Picturesque, quiet, rather more used by dog walkers than cyclists, not actually next to Hadrian's wall but rather near to some nice water.
 
Riverside
 
It is also not a few things: particularly well surfaced, signposted or in possession of non-terrifying rail crossings.
 
It was a pleasant ride even with the odd encounter with non-signalled, DIY-gated rail crossing points. OK you could see for miles down the rails in each direction but as one of the generation of school children who got shown the "Don't cross the railway lest you have all your hopes and dreams destroyed. Also your legs cut off" horror eductaional film I couldn't help but treat them with trepidation.
 
By this juncture myself and Ian were chugging along nicely on our own, my tendon was warming up nicely and all was right with the world. Then it started pissing it down again. I did a quick change into my waterproofs and we pressed on, Ian started to get away from me at this point and I started to realise why, I was overheating rather seriously. Ian was waiting for me to catch up and when I did I sent him on as I had started to feel quite faint and wanted to rest and eat lots of sugar. I also stripped off my waterproofs and decided to do the rest of the route without, if I got wet there'd always be a shower and dry towels at the other end.
 
Once I'd got going again Ian was way ahead so I moved on in quite splendid isolation, the weather was far from perfect but the roads were largely clear and the going not too hard. I crossed the Tyne (again) and I got a few nice photos.
 
Views from a bridge over the Tyne.
 
Views from a bridge over the Tyne
 
Views from a bridge over the Tyne.
 
I have to say here that rolling along on my own, at my own pace, listening to music was pretty much as idyllic as this ride ever got. Company is great but ocassionally you find yourself by design or circumstance peacefully alone with few cares to bother you, no one to cajole you along and no real reason to hurry anywhere. This was one such occasion and it's a very pleasant memory.
 
Eventually I rolled down a very fun hill into Wark and the magnificent Battlesteads hotel only a few minutes behind Ian despite my lesiurely pace. Ian reported that Andrew had last been seen shooting off down the hill past the venue. We debated if he would ever be seen again. 
 
Inside Battlesteads I was met by many welcome sights. A well stocked bar with a selection hand pumps, comfortable seats on one of which Jeff was relaxing and next to him this little fellow, his name is Gilroy:
Gilroy the cat
 
I got a couple of pints in for Ian, Andrew (when he returned, he'd gone to the shop apparently) and myself while fussing the cat and generally feeling rather content. Over time the other riders came in The it was time to change and, yes, there were baths. I soaked for quite some time before being called for dinner. Battlesteads, it should be noted, produces *excellent* food. Probably the best I had the whole trip and I gather the meal is included in a bed, breakfast and dinner price which works out very reasonable indeed. After dinner I sat with Will outside smoking and slowly tempting Gilroy back from his night-time wanderings. He entertained us for a bit attempting to down a bat that was making low passes over the road before consenting to be stroked. With that it was about time for bed, so that's what we did.
 
 

 

razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

 

Awaking splendidly isolated in my palatial double room I pottered about getting my stuff together before heading down to breakfast. The breakfast was fine but ordering was complicated by also having to vote on what was to be excluded from the end-of-trip celebratory meal. Andrew managed to send a bowl of some cereal flying and there were grumblings of faff again. However we eventually managed to all get fed and outside at which point there was a lot of throwing around of newly washed and dried shirts, socks and assorted other garments, fettling of bike-mounts for cars and whatnot. The faff accusers showed their true colours relaxing in sun-drenched chairs while my Dad and brothers decided to Just Go and go we did.
 
Faff
 
(note that my recollection differs from David's from whose blog I gratefully klep this image)
 
We had been informed that today's route should be "Practically flat..." apart from "one or two hills at the end". Great! In the beginning this largely turned out to be true. We trundled along in relative idlity scoffing at the layabouts back at the Bull... and a few moments later they passed us.
 
Things got relatively back to normal then. Andrew by now is famed for his ability to get in "The Zone" so effectively he forgets that directions may have some relevance, fairly early on after a wondrous descent we made to turn of the road only to notice Andrew had decided to maintain forward momentum and chase the horizon. A fair bit of shouting got him back on track, eliciting chuckles and advice from some passing pedestrians.
 
Next up we encountered a bit of a snag. Our route had a road closure ahead. These are generally navigable to cyclists so don't usually cause a problem. If you look at the strava map below you'll see that wasn't really the case. NW or Richmond you'll see approximately what happened. A driver who'd been up to it advised us they thought we might get through so we cycled on only to find the road, grass sidinggs and all was completely fenced off. We made out way back and attempted to cross the A1 via a bridge but that only lead onto private land. So back all the way it was where we discovered some shit had turned all the signs round. With some exasperation we figured it all out and plowed on.
 
We reached Peircebridge where the nicest farm and tea shop in the world is. Well I promised I'd say that because they gave us free honey-oatmeal biccies and they had sheeps. Witness:
 
Biccies:
 
'Av a biccy!
 
Sheeps:
 
D'aaaawwww
 
Oh and Dogs:
 
 
 
We came, we ate, we eventually got going again. D, J, A and M had already bailed to make their way to Durham to pick up Malcom's wife. We took a more leisurely pace out. Once on our way again the weather started to sour we kept on going though and at some point this happened:
 
 
Do the locomotion?
 
No, I don't know either.
 
This is where it gets a bit messy... After cruising along in relative comfort for 25 or so miles we hit Co. Durham and we came across quite a large climb. Followed by another, then another. We'd had to walk up sections,  my chain decided to jump it's gears on one ascent (if you've ever experienced this while climbing you'll know how painful it can end up), we ran low on water and energy food. Frankly we were all a bit sick of it. We perched on the top of the latest bastard (as they were now know) and gazed at a bunch of houses along a road at the bottom. That has to be Lanchester. It MUST be Lanchester. Spurred on by this thought I executed operation Bangin' Tunes1 and tore off down the hill, leaving my Dad and brothers chatting, nearing my previous maximum speed. As I descended into the bottom of the valley the town was in my eyes were drawn to a sign pointing up the other side: "Lanchester" it read. I may have let my lip wobble slightly. Still needs must and we pushed and pedaled our way up and out. Arriving, wheezing at the top I muttered "If that's not the last I'm walking the rest." Thankfully it was and a pretty good roll downhill into Lanchester followed. 
 
A bloody great hill:
 
From the bottom
 
View from the top (there's actually More Hill, behind me):
 
From the top
 
 
Another bloody hill:
 
This one is actually the last
 
And another:
 
Maybe this one is...
 
We might have gone a bit out of our way...
 
Quebec? Vous ne pouvez pas être sérieux!
 
 
Once at the King's Head I suffered a bit of a sense of humour malfunction and stomped off to find cider, cigarettes and other supplies. Meanwhile arrangements were made for bicycles and whatnot. 
 
Supplies sorted I got showered, a pint in and after a while we were seated for dinner. I rather foolishly agreed to split a bottle of red with Mum. Over dinner various subjects were discussed including the likely weather for tomorrow (awful) the limitations of breakfast timings (the chef would not be in until 9am) and what we were going to do about it. There were various schools of thought on this the main ones being:
 
1) arise early eschew a cooked breakfast and try to beat the weather.
2) Sleep in a bit have a cooked breakfast and just get wet
 
Opinion was roughly divided but eventually it was settled that Do What That wilt was going to be the plan. I opted for two, the usual suspects opted for one.
 
Also there was a presentation of Belgian choccies to Mum for her hard work so far, no doubt they have been enjoyed :)
 
I spent a bit more of the evening sitting outside with Will. Enjoying a drink and the pleasant evening before turning in to try, once again, to actually write a blog post. Once again I failed spending most of the time making notes and catching up with friends wishing me well. Will made a skype call to a friend in the states which was rather fragmented by the woeful state of his Mac's wi-fi. Eventually it was time for sleep troubled by a nagging pain in my right heel...
 
 

razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

We awoke to the doom-laden phrase "Dress warm and dry lads, it's nasty out there!" We put off looking out the window until we were fully dressed... Oh god it was nasty. Constant drizzle was pattering against the pane and large puddles had already formed all over the car park. Luckily our bikes were undercover but access to them was via one such puddle, also my waterproofs were in the saddlebags. Oh, well there was nothing for it but to eat a hearty breakfast and steel ourselves for the worst. Not only was it raining and looked like it would all day but the wind was against us and this was pegged to be the longest day of the ride at 71 miles. Expressions were grim, mutterings were heard but eventually we had everything together. Here's an impression of us at the off:

 

Ready to go?

Unbowed we trundled off back down the path we'd come in on, turning off just after to find ourselves climbing an excruciating gradient up a not inconsiderable hill! This was Not Part Of The Plan, expect that it was. It's humbling to think that the likes of Jeff (front left above) at somewhat twice my age (I hope I have that right!) considers such things a minor inconvenience! That hill conquered we pressed on out of Lincoln and once again set into a steady pace in the aforementioned groups. Due to the hideous weather there not much to be said about the ride itself, you had to concentrate hard to see ahead of you. Sightseeing really wasn't on the cards. 

Of note was after 10-15 miles of drizzle we can upon, gods-be-praised! a co-op and one stop. The former provided energy snacks, drinks, sellotape and other sundries. More importantly the One Stop provided... Dry socks! A finer thing than dry socks when you are soaking fucking wet and can't feel your feet cannot be imagined. I will forever love that One-Stop. 

We were informed that the advance group had gathered at a garden centre with an open coffee shop a few miles away. By this point my Father and William had caught up with us so we cycled on to meet them. The Garden center was another blessing. Warm, dry and with coffee and tea we were able to change into our dry socks and catch up Team ScubaBike before they headed off again:

Cycling or Snorkling? you decide

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After They had sloshed off we followed shortly afterwards. Myself and Ian had decided to try and travel as fast as we could for as long as we could to shorten the amount of time we were outside in the rain. This was a pretty punishing endevour but despite the weather we managed to keep up a decent pace and at points it was even pleasant as the pace kept us warm.

Lincolnshire continued to be flat after the insane hill at the start and really theres not a lot to comment on until we reached Goole at about 50 miles...

"Goole, like Poole, only grittier" - Ian

Goole is apparently "The Uk's Premier Inland Port". It's also spectacularly ugly, quite clearly a functioning place but on a rainy bank holiday, Venice it ain't. By this point the dry socks had also soaked and I really couldn't feel my feet. We searched in vain for somewhere that looked vaguely pleasant to eat and settled on a Weatherspoon's on a roundabout. Cheap, hot, filling food and massive coffees were partaken while scores of taxi's dropped off glammed up men and women, there was clearly some form of celebration on. Can't think what. The staff were really friendly and interested in what we were doing and in generally it brightened up our day, if briefly. After snarfing an uncredited three page document on the benefits of Real Ale that seemed to have been dropped by a guerilla enthusiast (I may still have this somewhere) we collected our bikes and moved on.

Then I had a bit of a problem. As we were about 10 miles from our goal the support car pulled up by us for a bit of a chat and to check we were ok. We confirmed we were good to finish and the car drove off. In a momentary lapse of concentration I failed to notice a drain grate as I was pushing the bike off. The front wheel dropped into the gap before I was on the seat, physics did its thing and, well, I'll let you do the math. Ow.

None the less we managed the last 20 miles finally pulling into the Old Rectory, Sutton On Derwent with an hour to spare before dinner. We were met at the door by the soft spoken gent who was running the place who took all of wet stuff to be dried in the boiler room. Fluffy towels and warm showers awaited us, but alas no tea as the kettle appeared not to work.

We cleaned up and rested before heading off to the "St Vincent Arms" a lovely freehouse down the road that provided us with much needed food and beer. I had a long conversation with Andrew about the rather tangled history of Sinclair, Acorn, Apple, Arm and Amstrad will wolfing down my pork belly. Soon I realised I was shattered not to mention extremely sore and decided to make my way back for an early night, not entirely sure I would be able to ride the next day. Much encouragement came via folk over phone, text, IM and facebook, for which I am thoroughly grateful. Not long after I was snoring gently away dreaming of rain and long winding roads...

 

razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

For stage 2 we were headed to Lincoln. 64 miles north of Whittlesey where we had stayed the previous night. The weather was good sunny enough without being opressive. Feeling the sunburn I caught yesterday I remembered to cover myself liberally in SPF30 and after getting everything together wet set off. The party eventually split into three again. David, Jeff, Andrew and Malcom shooting ahead, myself and Ian following our own pace in the middle, Dad and William in the rear. Linconshire is an incredibly flat county allowing us to keep a good pace (15-18mph) along the way. This is great but it was quite easy to zone out. The steady rhythm of pedalling along induces a sort of mid-distance reverie that's just about good enough to pick up pot-holes, vehicles etc, suicidal squirrels are on thier own though. Another factor is boredom, when you run out of interest it can be difficult to keep going. Ian deals with this by means of audio books, I seem to get by by running odd scenarios through my head, imagining vidoes to music I know and generally just mentally noodling.

Ian makes a good cycling parter, he sets a good pace for me to follow and keeps up an interesting conversation when either of us want one, but moistly we chug along in our own worlds

At one point we turned down the wrong street and came across this picturesque residence:

 

"Blinded By Patriotism" - Thank's dad!

As Ian said "I learnt two things today: Lincolnshire is very flat and they *really* love the Queen".

 

Later rolling into, Sleaford, we came across these buildings.

Very impressive from the road. Unfortunately we couldn't get close enough for any decent photos. Theres some more information here: http://www.sleafordmaltings.com/. We were left wondering how the new developments (flats and a huge shopping centre) would be supported by the small community of this ailing town. There were also some very new redbrick developments dotted about the place including a gated community just outside the town. After a fair bit of pottering and refreshments (catching up with both the advance and rear party) we set off again to try and make Lincoln before the cathederal shut. 

We made good time but an amazingly busy and steep descent into lincoln meant that we walked in rather than cycled. Once there we managed to confuse the directions and end up horribly lost. I switched on google maps and that guided us to a major junction where the forward part of the team who had visited the cathederal found us and guided us the rest of the way along a towpath to our residence for the evening, The Pyewype. It's a very pleasant place on the canal edge, comfortable with good food and a reasonable selection of drink. The only downsides being that the rooms lacked wi-fi (a continual problem as it turned out) and were some way away from the pub itself.

I settled down with a cider and tried to catch up updating things, but really only got as far as facebook before tiredness overcame me. I eventually retired to the room via a very grumpy night porter and passed out.

The day's record.

razornet: (Default)

Originally published at reflections. You can comment here or there.

I had planned to take a stroll in Hamstead heath with my friend S. for a while.

Our lives are both pretty busy so it had taken a week or two to settle on a day. We both had rather heavy nights the Saturday before but so it was that yesterday we managed to meet up albeit with sore heads and droopy eyes.

he weather held and we were sat or lying on the grass catching up when S. started and said "Oh, that looked bad." Confused I looked around and spotted some kids, one of them on the ground. S told me she'd seen him come off his bike while rolling down the hill. We went over to see if he was alright and it looked pretty bad. The kid (by the name of L.) appeared unconcious but his eyes were moving rapidly. He didn't respond to his name or any other speech. I said not to move him and his mentor, J. called 999 and then handed the phone over to me while he attended to his charge. I did what you're supposed to here and gave them as clear a description as I could of the circumstances, my phone number name and so on, and we waited.

S. was fantastic, talking soothingly, getting as much response from L. as possible and making sure he was covered in jackets. She also managed to keep J. from freaking out completely, given he's a young man in charge of an even younger boy and has the task of informing the parents I can hardly blame him.

To thier credit and despite the fact we were in the middle of the heath the medics got there quickly, no longer than 15 minutes and briskly went about thier business. Less impressive was the attending Hamstead Heath Constabulary officer who decided that the best way to comfort J. was to say "So your his mentor? That's going well then." it's a good thing he isn't a doctor, his bedside manner stinks.

Anyway once the professionals were in charge we got out of the way and walked up to the viewing point which was impressive. people were still flying kites and admiring the view along with us, life continuing as normal while something life changing was happening to three kids down below us. A surreal experience. It was decided food was required so we headed out of the park. As we were doing so we saw a helicopter circling. A few seconds of observation made it clear it was going to land in the park and there really could be only one reason. Concerned we watched as the chopper landed and folk scrambled out. After a minute or two we realised that there was nothing left we could do and headed away. "That's why I never want to be a parent," says S. "I never want to recieve a phone call like that." I found myself thinking of J and how much older he is going to feel now. A hard life experience to have...

I'm trying to find out if there is any way we can find out what happend to L. We're both deeply concerned. I appreciate that things may be confidential so it may not be possible. If I do find a method of finding out I'll update here to share the knowledge for once the web is failing me in this.

ETA: After a lot of asking and ringing around I eventually was dead-ended at the hospital L. was flown to. It seems (understandably) that patient confidentiality is prime so without being able to give full details of the individual concerned I wasn't able to find out more. An article in the Ham & High did mention the accident and said he was treated for his injuries. Apparently we could follow up on the 999 call that i was part of and the subsequent one I made, I'll update again if that bears any fruit. I do hope the kid is ok.

razornet: (Default)
Those of you who have been in contact with me recently will probably be aware of this but now the fundraising begins in ernest. Please read on to find out what I, my Father and Brothers and some friends from my home village are doing this year for charity.

https://www.justgiving.com/teams/tewintoedinburgh

There is a statement on the above page as to why the group are under taking this but I'd like to add my own perspective.

In May of 2010 I received one of those phone calls. The ones that start with "I've got some bad news..." My father had been taken to hospital with heart problems. There was little I could do, a good friend drove me over to see him as soon as we could go and I was reassured that all would be well. Thanks to the excellent care of the NHS all was well and after some time Dad was quite literally back on his bike.

Far less happily in 2010 my Uncle lost his battle with bowl cancer. It was a blow for me but devastating for his wife, siblings and children. That year I had taken up participating in Movember, and I promised myself I would do more.

The opportunity has arrived. When asked to do this by my father I leapt at the idea. Ironically I was about as unhealthy as I had ever been but if there was anything that would encourage me to address that it would be this.

I've now been in training since early Jan and though I'm noticeably fitter I've a long way to go. In 9 weeks I will be attempting to keep up with a crew of far more experienced cyclists. Since living in London I've not been cycling so I have to build my road confidence again as well. It's a big goal for me and one I hope I'm equal to.

So there are a few things I need to do:

I need to train more
I need to quit smoking
I need to get on the road

All of these are being addressed, but support and advice are always welcome.

So though it really began in a pub in Tewin when Dad asked my brothers and I if we wanted to participate the fundraising is now on and in many ways, it begins here.

I'll be updating this and some other blogs with my progress on getting ready and with luck on a successful ride. Please consider donating.
razornet: (Default)
I haven't ever really reconciled myself with this. Those of you who have heard me talk about the first world war in particular know the depth of dismay I experience even thinking about the stupid, pointless sacrifices made in the name of the 11th hour. Wilfred Owen is a clear example of the talent wasted, more poignant though is the 21 year old lad, 2nd Lt James Kirk VC buried next to him in the Ors communal cemetery who knowingly sacrificed himself  to try and achieve their goal. A goal set in the name of prosecuting war until the last second.

I have not bought a poppy, I don't feel greatly either way about those who wear one of any colour. I do donate to charities involved in helping those who's lives are damaged by war. If I observe this day it is for me a specific memorial to those who died in wars prosecuted in the name of freedom but ultimately for the profit of the powerful. It's a bitter remberance, the knowledge that the heroism is cynically lauded by Them What Has. The forelock tugging do-or-die is something emotively powerful to me but falls flat when I analyse. The knowledge that each time the need to prosecute war has overlasted its useful function disgusts me. How many lives must be destroyed to "Send a message"?

I can find solace that heroism has an immediate, lasting and justifiable impact on those there who were saved. I can appreciate the small comfort it must offer those left behind. I can be inspired to defend my principles and offer protection at any cost to those I love and what I believe in. Ultimately the words of the survivors ring true.
"I guess we missed our chance to be heros"

Heros are by default the dead folk and no amount of praise brings them back.
To return to Wilfred Owen. if there is a poem I would read on this day it would be "Dulce et Decorum Est". The bitter, aware, cynicism of that verse speaks volumes as to the motivation behind the suffering of those caught in The Great War.
But I'm not about to cry at work.

OML says it very much in his own way here, starting off my own train of thought: http://omlongden.blogspot.com/2011/11/poppy-season.html

Note I don't argue about the necessity for conflict, that is a different debate and far more complicated.

razornet: (Default)
==This Weekend==

Friday is the office do so I'll be doing that then. May head off somewhere more palatable after a suitable amount of time.

Despite my best efforts life has conspired to prevent me from organising a big party this year. Though topping either my 29th or the combined 30th would take some doing so it might be best to leave them there.

So instead Saturday 4th I'm planning on getting to Cambridge for sometime around 7pm and heading to the Devonshire Arms where I will imbibe beer until it is time to go to The Calling. If anyone would like to join me for either one, the other or both I'd love to see you. Also if anyone can provide crash space that would be awesome.

===Next weekend==

Friday the 10th is my Acutal Birthday, like. There are plans for a meal followed by going to the Icebar (we booked and its now full sadly) and beer and/or clubbing afterward. I can probably put one or two people up in the livingroom but thats about it.

Saturday 11th anyone who would like to is invited to join me for birthday food and drinks at The Revolution Bar in Cambridge, hopefully with <lj user="devalmont">, <lj user="robinbloke"> and Rim WNLJ. Booking a table would be best so let me know if you want to come. 

Anyway, let me know!
razornet: (Default)
Thank you to everyone who looked for, helped me and sat with me, bought me drinks, gave me a hug. Thanks for all of your support.

It's been a couple of days now and I've managed to piece my thought together more coherently. The below contains my remembrance of him and a few photos take from around the place.

Twice as bright but half as long... )
Ozzy posted this in another post and I think it's one of the most beautiful photos of him taken, so I've put here for you all to see. I hope you don't mind Ozzy.

Looking, Courtesy of Karohemd
razornet: (Default)
Anyone in or ex-of the cambridge university computing services who might have a way or know of someone who might have a way of helping me get a server at bullard, earth sciences dept. up asap please get in touch. I have a friend whose masters may hang on this. Not to mention my chances of seeing them again.

Will post this again a few times until the server is up or the cause is hopeless.
razornet: (Default)
Theres something magical about traveling to a party in a different city. Pink Floyd playing, white lines disappearing beneath the wheels, chatting about nothing. The previous night we had watched Kill Bill 1 and 2 and played obscene amounts of ghost squad. As London crept closer I mused upon the people I know and how those disparate groups had grown closer over time. The major catalyst is [livejournal.com profile] mossy and her incredible ability to get on with everyone. May I say once again how privileged I am to know all of you? I mention it often because its worth doing.

The party was righteous and riotous. I introduced a few more people to the wonder that is DAAS

This weekend has been one of the finest I have experienced. Good friends, good food, good times. I am thoroughly broken, the only course of action is laptop, bed and Pink Floyd. Tonight I take a beautiful woman to dinner and fail to get anywhere, because we are better as friends and even in that she's worth a dinner or two :). The Next Big Thing is my 30th on the 5th of December at [livejournal.com profile] robinbloke's place. Be there or don't have the time of your fucking life.

Thank you all, life is good.
razornet: (Default)

Plan mostly klepped from this source: http://www.crunchbanglinux.org/wiki/downloads#alternative_installation. This is just to flesh out the undertaking on the NC4200 laptop. (It turns out TC4200’s aren’t much more expensive when obtained from the states. I’d rather have had one of those, ah well).

NOTE: this *should* work for just about any laptop that boots off USB. The below deals with some of the vagaries of wifi as applied to the NC4200’s wifi chip, discounting that this should be a fairly universal guide.

Anyway. Download Unetbootin run and select the ubuntu x86 NETINSTALL and let it do the work. Once the usb drive has been set up you should be able to simply plug it into the NC4200 and boot it up, if it doesn’t load from the drive go into the bios (F10 on the HP splash screen) and reconfigure the boot order (advanced->boot options) to have USB hard Drive first.

Once you’ve got to the curses based installer its pretty straightforward to follow the steps to get you installed. If you want to keep your old OS (assuming you have one) make sure you select guided partitioning and then the resize option. The installer will also attempt to connect to your network, it will detect the NC4200 wired and wireless interfaces though the wireless interface only seems to work at all well if your network is unencrypted, it purports to support WEP but I’ve not got it to connect under any encryption. If you can hook up via a wire I’d recommend that to avoid pulling your hair out (especially later). In any case once your all connected the installer should happily download and install a minimal ubuntu set up, ask you if you want install any more packages (select nothing and just continue) ask you to remove the usb drive and reboot.

This will bring you to your login screen. Login. If you’re using wireless see the below if not skip to the next section:

For Wireless:

$ sudo iwlist scan # this will get your local wifi networks it will also give you the interface of your card
$ sudo iwconfig eth0 essid “$network” # replace eth0 with your interface if it is different and “$network” with the ssid of yours
$ sudo dhclient # this wil grab an IP address from your routers DHCP client frankly this only worked once or twice for me and I found that I had to re-run dhclient every few minutes otherwise the downloads would just stop. However in a pinch this will make it eventually.

For wired:

$ dhclient

Next:

$ wget http://crunchbanglinux.org/build-scripts/crunchbang-installer-9.04.01.sh
$ sudo chmod g+x crunchbang-installer-9.04.01.sh
$ sudo ./crunchbang-installer-9.04.01.sh

And off you go! The installer will ask if you want the standard or lite version and then for a few “yes”’s from you and then start sucking down the repositories. Depending on you connection th will take from 15mins to a few hours (56K fans!) but eventually you’ll be there. The installer will wish you good luck,k reboot the machine and with any luck the sparse and functional interface of #! should be staring back at you, enjoy.

Mirrored from RiaK..

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