Bad Losers

Fake winner

Bad Loser

I couldn't help but notice the similarity in the responses of Lewis Hamilton and Donald Trump when someone piqued their self interest yesterday. Lewis Hamilton has an ego and vanity of Kardashian proportions. When Nico Rosberg won the Formula 1 championship yesterday, despite Hamilton's infantile spoiling tactics, he could hardly bring himself to congratulate his teammate. Hamilton could only utter a terse comment to the effect that if only he had had a car as reliable as Rosberg's.

Maybe its something to do with Hamilton's driving style, despite being ferociously quick he has never managed to beat any of his team mates by many points over the season. Button, Alonso and Rosberg have always been his equal as they competed in the same cars. He crashes more often, is hard on tyres, gearboxes and engines. Despite being lucky enough to drive for the outstanding team in 6 of his 10 years in Formula One, he has won only two championships. Schumacher, Prost or Senna would have won 4 or 5 championships in similar circumstances. More recently Vettel has won three out of three.

Meanwhile Trump has responded to the call for recounts in three states in the Presidential election by saying that he would have won more easily had it not been for all the illegal voting. No evidence was given other than a tweet from one of his supporters. This despite the fact that he lost the popular vote by 2.9 million and there does seem to be some voting anomalies in Wisconsin, Michigan and Pennsylvania that would count against him.

It was the similarity of responses: making excuses for failure and the need to win at all costs. They lack empathy for others, they are intolerant of challengers and insensitive control freaks with an anger laced with vengeance and retribution. Could it be that they suffer a narssistic personality disorder. They certainly were both born to rage against the machine.

Lime Craig: a winter's trail

Ben Lomond from the route up Lime Craig

Over recent years I have made only slow progress towards completing a long standing target of 200 runs up the nearest hill, Lime Craig. It is a mere 340 metres of ascent and 5.2 kilometres from home, a few hundred metres west of Aberfoyle centre. In my racing days a regular training run taking 26 or 27 minutes to the top, my pb to the summit from home was 23 minutes 42 seconds in August 1990 during a year when 21 ascents were made. 

Many of these were with Matt Ogston, a hill runner from Hunter's Bogtrotters, who would come round on Sunday mornings, often with some club mates. I was new to hill running but the trails to the summit and comparatively steady inclines meant the speed I had from road running allowed me to beat all comers to the summit. Not so on the descent down the steep west face where the hill runners allowed gravity to speed them down whilst I had more trepidation, always conscious of the five titanium screws in my right leg.

 

It has become more of a challenge nowadays taking between 33 and 36 minutes. I only tackle it three or four times a year, usually in the winter months when the visibility is at its best. Today the early morning temperature of -7°C had prompted me to postpone my early morning run but the blue skies and hard frost persuaded me to tackle Lime Craig along the sublime forested trails above Braeval. It was almost 11am before I ventured out, the pavements still frosted but the sun bright and the visibility excellent.

I took my altimeter to check the height gain but decided after stopping for a couple of photos on the lower slopes to forget about times, it was going to be slow but so what. Suddenly the run became joyous, every stride a chance to garner new views. I arrived at the summit feeling fresh despite completing the final 200 metres of ascent at a reasonable pace. I stood at  the top on the base of the old Police radio station, removed my gloves and began to box the compass for views and some photos.

A walker arrived as I was photographing my distressed gloves that have served me for ten years on winter runs and climbs. He was amused and we began an animated conversation for twenty minutes or so about wildlife on the Scottish mountains before another walker, armed with a Scottish Tourist Board leaflet of the walk up Lime Craig arrived. The discussion suddenly changed to where the best cakes could be obtained as a reward for their walks. 

 

I left them deliberating and met another two pairs of walkers nearing the summit, pausing to take photos of a mother and daughter combo who were new to the hill and infatuated with the views. I freewheeled with a stretched rhythm down the long incline with  3 or 4 switchbacks, past the Go Ape site, over the footbridge by the lodge and then coasted down the cycle way to the village. I was back for lunch; no cakes just lentil soup and the satisfaction of another brick placed in the wall of 200 runs, just ten more to go.

Above Dounans camp

The carse looking to the Campsie hills

Approaching Braeval

Nearing Lime Craig summit

Stop Binnein and Ben More

Ben Lomond behind Craig Mhor

Past their best hand warmers on summit platform

Descent from the Lodge

Cnoc Coinnich

The last leg to Cnoc Coinnich

Monday 21 November 2016
Ascent:       765 metres
Distance:    11 kilometres
Time:          3 hours 4 minutes

c     Cnoc Coinnich         763m         1hr  46mins

The surveyors had recalculated the height of this hill and it was a metre higher so Cnoc Coinnich was added to the table of corbetts earlier this year. Fortunately it is quite near home and it is an interesting area boasting splendid views down Loch Long and Gairloch to the Clyde estuary. I had crossed the flanks of this hill during a mountain marathon 25 years ago but corbett means corbett so a visit to the summit was now necessary.

It was the coldest morning of the year, -4°C, as I left home and a cold fog accompanied the frost. By the time I was driving up the A82 alongside Loch Lomond the skies were blue and it looked a perfect day for walking. I turned off the Rest and be thankful road at the visitor centre and followed the single track road for 3 or 4 miles to a car park at the foot of the Coilessan burn. The car park had been taken over by forestry contractors; massive dumper trucks, earth movers and equipment were assembled. There was major road construction taking place and the forestry tracks would have been impossible mud tracks had it not frozen hard in the overnight frost and the temperature wasn't going to get beyond freezing today.

I crossed the bridge beyond the car park and turned right to follow the construction road through the forest. There was a lot of activity and I had to jump off the raised road every time a lorry carrying ballast came chugging up the incline. There is a long section where the trees have already been felled as the road climbs to 350 metres before a footpath signposted for the Cowal Way begins a far steeper climb rising 150 metres to the top of the forest and on to the col between Cnoc Coinnich and the Brack, the adjacent corbett to the north.

There is a gate that leads onto the open hillside at 450 metres. The snow level had started at about 400 metres but from the gate it was deep soft snow all the way to the summit. There were deep footprints from a walker that took a good line so I followed them to the start of the summit ridge that runs south-east for over a kilometre. It was hard going in the soft snow and after a week with a heavy cold, I was in no hurry. I coughed and wheezed enough to clear my airways and hope that recovery is now assured. A fresh north easterly breeze was also beginning to blow through me and the sweat from the lower slopes became a fond memory. I had not bothered with an ice axe but there were sections with slabs of ice below the snow that made it necessary to use a walking pole to avoid sliding down the slope. I reached a col below the final ridge and the last 200 metres of climbing was steep but served to provide vigorous exercise to keep the cold at bay.

The summit was in the grip of deep snow on all sides but provided a superb viewing platform for the Arrochar Alps, the sea lochs draining into the Clyde estuary and the less familiar hills behind Lochgoilhead. The wind had stiffened and I had to find some shelter below a swirling outcrop of schistose rocks at the the summit to enjoy a flask of coffee.

I managed to take a few photos from the summit before beginning the return, pleased to be escaping from the freezing conditions and nursing some circulation into my hands. It was easy walking with snow lubricating the descent. I was soon off the summit ridge and plodding through the deep snow to the top of the forest. Conditions here were benign, so hat and gloves came off as I sauntered down, eating an apple and dodging the occasional dumper truck of grey gravel. I was back at the car before 2pm, something of a record, and home by 3pm. It had been the perfect outing to resume exercise after a winter cold.

Start of the walk at the Coilessan car park: Loch Long

Dumper on Coilessan track

The gate at the top of the forest

Below the summit cairn for coffee

Loch Long, Loch Lomond and Ben Lomond

At the summit, Beinn Ime and the Brack

Clyde Estuary

Loch Long and Gairloch

Post-lies

Post-truth was announced as the word of the year by Oxford Dictionaries yesterday. It was defined as "relating to circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief." The notion that desired outcomes are more important than facts was a key reason why the UK voted to leave the European Union and Donald Trump won the electoral college to become President-elect.

Post-truth Foreign Secretary

Post-truth free loader

It becomes more evident with every passing day that the Brexit frontmen: Johnston, Farage, Gove et al. made up stories that contradicted facts or else were desired wishes rather than realistic propositions. Post-truth seems a kinder adjective than the Brexiteers and much of the right-wing press deserve for their concoction of deceit that they avalanched onto an electorate who had given up believing a government that has significantly reduced the quality of life for the majority of working people.

The cheerleaders of the Brexiteers have no record of supporting the NHS, safeguarding benefits, opposing the impact of austerity measures or introducing more progressive taxation. They are firm advocates of the neo-liberal conspiracy that delegates responsibility to raise living standards to the markets. But for whom? There is a wealth of evidence that the financial and corporate establishment who gambled our pensions and savings in hedge funds and offshore tax havens, designed tax evasion schemes, indulged in mega-mergers and then increased their income through PPI selling, currency trading and higher bank charges should not to be trusted with rescuing the economy. They are the incarnation of post-truth businesses, but they have been one of the few growth industries and provide much of the advertising for the post-truth media empires. There is now emerging a strident but risible argument that the highly paid executives in the financial sector are vital to our economy because they make a far bigger tax contribution. Just like Sir Philip Green and his erstwhile friends.

Pants on fire liar

In the United States, it was notable that when the facts were checked of statements made by the two main Presidential candidates the Politifact Donald Trump scorecard showed that he had lied in 70% of all his statements, 17% were so bad that they were classified in post-truth terms as "pants on fire". Only 17% of his statements had some modicum of truth. The Politifact Hillary Clinton scorecard found she had lied in 26% of her statements, and 2% of her statements were classified as "pants on fire". 50% of her statements were in the truth categories. So Donald Trump was three times more likely to lie than Hillary Clinton but eight times more likely to tell porkies. Donald Trump, like the Brexiteers, had the temerity to appeal to the common man and achieve a democratic mandate for lies that are now defined as post-truth.

All of this leads me to believe that we need to define what should happen in a 'post-lie' world. An era that sheds the cynicism and narrative of post-truth and aims for more egalitarian values, progressive taxation, quality services for all citizens, and regulation of rogue corporations and businesses. Surely this has to be the objective as we challenge the post-truth opportunists of their collective greed and sinister involvement in trading, trafficking, warmongering and tax evasion.

It requires a commitment to a more participative democracy built at the local level, a guarantee of human rights, a global commitment to climate change measures and a universal right to education and health. A United Nations that polices global corporations as well as oligarchical regimes and a world bank that supports indigenous industry not tax advantages for the corporate behemoths. Those who dance the post-truth fandango will reject much of this for reasons that illustrate their very lack of humanity.

Oh Vienna

Vienna skyline from the Leopold Museum

Vienna is probably my favourite city in Europe after a second visit this week. A tribute only accorded in the past to established favourites like Athens, Rome, Paris, Florence and Venice. Winter is a good time to go as the cold clear air sharpens the outline of the magnificent city buildings and makes walking the streets a bit like rediscovering the magic of childhood. We were there on the night that Donald Trump became President-elect so the melancholy of the flawedAmerican Democracy was offset by the extravagant and timeless beauty of Vienna.

Post-Brexit there are some remarkable deals for city breaks and despite the parlous state of the pound, it was possible to manage 5 days in Vienna, hotel included, for only slightly more than it would have cost for the rail fare down to London on Virgin Trains. It was also quicker than a trip to London with Vienna airport seamlessly linked by a fast train to the city centre and costing only a quarter of the price of the so-called Heathrow, Gatwick or Stansted expresses. Flight paths into Vienna sensibly avoid the city so that it remains a quiet city, even the trams have suppressed the sound of their bogies.

The hotel was on the edge of the city centre close to the museum quarter and had a level of comfort that was exceptional. The Austrian attention to detail and cleanliness is evident in buildings and the external environment. We found a local cafe so that I could fuel myself with apple strudel and coffee for the long days on our feet. Despite an excellent public transport network of underground and trams, we walked to almost all the attractions. The streets are spotlessly clean and, apart from the longish wait to cross the Ringstrasse, pedestrians more or less have the streets, gardens and squares to themselves.

Our previous trip to Vienna four years ago had allowed us a chance to visit just some of the many attractions. I had half read the 'World of Yesterday' by Stefan Zweig an autobiography of his life in Vienna from the turn of the twentieth century until his exile in London and New York. He covers the collapse of the Habsburg dynasty with references to all the leading artists, composers and philosophers who were part of Vienna's Cafe culture early in the twentieth century. I battled through more pages but as always on city visits I preferred gathering impressions by walking, observing, listening and visiting the endless range of attractions.

We spent a day in the Kunsthistorishes Museum, a monumental building opened in 1891 to display the impressive Habsburg collection of antiquities. The Italian and Dutch collection of paintings with Pieter Bruegel the elder prominent was the highlight and the cafe under the cupola was the epitome of elegance. The collection consumed most of the day leaving only time for a saunter around the historical centre with its parks, palaces and cafes. The city is going through a massive phase of refurbishment of its impressive array of buildings along the Ringstrasse. The parliament is to be moved to a temporary site for 3 years to allow the modernisation of the building. The streets in the centre are largely car-free apart from government limousines, horse and carriages and an occasional hybrid bus. The massive open car park by the Hofburg palace is the only blight on this people-friendly city.

Over the next couple of days, we visited the Albertina museum with its collection of Picasso and Monet together with an exhibition of Pointillism including a good range of Van Gogh and Seurat together with an inspiring collection of woodcuts of Viennese Art Nouveau from the secessionist period.  An evening at the Volk opera was a revelation with the comparatively low prices allowing hundreds of school children and young people to enjoy their Mozart heritage.

We had saved the Leopold museum for the last day having visited before. It is a modern building at the heart the museum quarter purposely designed to display the work of Egon Schiele and Gustav Klimt along with their contemporaries from the secessionist movement. It is one of the best curated museums and the exhibits are shown to best effect in the minimalist salons. On a quiet late November afternoon, I could think of no better use of time with Professor Leopold's widow providing a filmed explanation of the outstanding collection of Egon Schiele paintings.

On our last day, the Christmas markets were opening with tented bars, decorative baubles, fine local foods and a warmth of welcome that surprised us. Alas, our time was up but we had witnessed the peerless intimacy of Vienna, a place that is regularly voted as one of the best cities in the world to live in. As well as its magnificent buildings, green space, outstanding museums and pollution-free streets; the urban realm panders to people and the worst excesses of corporate retailing have failed to take hold. There is a palpable egalitarian feel about the city that would have been anathema during Habsburg dynasty. Representative democracy using the electoral college has shifted that sort of outmoded hegemony to the United States.

Traffic free roads

Michaelplatz

Secessionist Toilets on the Graben 

Stephansdom church

Winter street markets

Festive florists

Shopping on the Graben

Rathaus from the Volksgarten

Hofburg 

Ceiling in the Freyung Passage

Parliament Building

Rathaus

Rathaus quadrant

Kunsthistorishes Museum

Cafe in the central concourse of the Kunsthistorishes Museum

Täufers -Salome. A lost parable on the day that Trump became President

Picasso line drawing

Picasso from there Batliner collection

Norwegian Blue, not dead just reproduced

The Leopold museum hosts Egon Shiele and Klimmt

Egon Schiele self portrait

Schiele -

Leopold window

Running the First Frost

In the forest

Condensation on the windows
A sphere of breath as I step outside
The crackle of frosted leaves
Wispy white clouds
Reveal intense blue skies above
Still air, the sound of silence
Amplifies the cadence of my running
Through the forest, ears pricked for quiet sounds
Acorns falling onto the wooden bridge
Beech leaves rustling as they settle
A gaggle of geese going west
Tilted head to watch a buzzard patrol the sky
And the vapour trail of a transatlantic jet
Step aside for the calor gas lorry
And mums with buggies returning from school runs
Welcomed home by a robin
It perches next to me on the bench
Gloves, hat and shoes come off
Exercise over and breakfast pangs

Endorphins released 

Enriched by running
The first frost on the first of November