The final entry. 24.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand, that's all! Please vote for your favorites (let's say two. Choose your favourite two) in the comments section. How terribly exciting.

AH! 23!

22 is a nice number:

Solstice contestant! 21:

Everybody, it's 20:

Whoa, 19:

18, in fact:

better-late-than-never, 17:

Sweet as they say 16:

Can you handle number 15?:

Turn an eye to 14?:

And we're back. 13!

day 12-INTERMISSION!

Okay. Half-way there. Take a deep breath. Relax. Don't get over-Christmas-cuted. Here, look at Neil's feet:



(gig in Bremen @ Townside. New song. Exciting.)

Number 11, worth consideration:

Double digits! TEN:

What about this guy? (9)

Let us consider number 8:

Our roundest entrant yet (7th):

A promising 6th entry

And, 5:

4th guy.

Our lovely third entry.

Contestant #2

AAAAAAAAAAADVENT!

Advent, everyone. The time for good times. This year's theme: battle for cutest christmas thing. Votes tallied on the 24th.

First contender:

Little German Story 1, "The Tragedy of Weissbare"

Nearer the beginning of the tour, and of our time at the outer-space hotel in Bremen (right next door to the only Primark in Germany), we took two haribo gummy bears, both red, and placed them each in one of the lovely wine glasses that came with our room.

In the first bear's (henceforth to be called "Weissbare") glass we put water. Just regular Bremen tap water. The equation for this bear as follows:

1 red haribo bear+water

In the second bear's (henceforth to be called "Mineralbare") glass we put water AND one of those fizzy dissolving vitamin and mineral things that turns water orange. So:

1 red haribo bear+water+1 fizzy vitamin thing

Then we waited. We waited for days and days, for an entire week. Science!

Results were shocking.

Weissbare lost all colour whatsoever. In fact, at first, we thought he had dissolved completely, until we detected the faint jiggling outline of an overgrown gummi. Weissbare had, my friends, become enormous, and lost all his colour, but maintained his shape. Until we tried to scoop him out of the water. Then he disastorously glopped into pieces, much to our horror.

Mineralbare, on the other hand, only grew a little bit, but kept most of his colour (final state: medium orange). When we scooped him out of his water he was fit and firm, strong and rubbery.

Still, we liked Weissbare more.

End of German story one.

A true story.

The story of my time in Germany, by Emma Hooper:

They couldn't find the word for deer
no matter how they tried
forest brown and leaping legs
sigh and try and silence drags
they couldn't find the word for deer
no matter how they tried.

Neil's turn to blog.

This time, the blog's on Neil. Or...he's on the blog.

Either way: German touring! (again)

Away, again.

So. The Cedar are on tour in Germany, again. Only this time it's

Longer!

More shows!

More countries!

(We did two shows in Holland. And...drove through France and Belgium on our way here.)

Neil's going to be doing the official blogging this time, and I'll link to those here when he's got them ready. But, in the meantime, a brief update to say:

We are staying in a space-themed hotel. The elevator is black lit with glowing solar systems that move as you ascend. The sinks and counters and floors are all blue and sparkly. There is a "star-walker bar."

I think we might just have the best little label ever.

It was like the olympics.

Last Sunday. Oh, what a day. If you were American (okay, Chicagoan. Okay, Charlian) it was THE CHICAGO MARATHON! (Don't worry everyone, Charlie did not, yet, quite, beat my PB. Mom, Erin, Tori, he did beat yours. I'm sorry.) If you were British it was Nothing Special. But if you were Canadian it was, of course, CANADIAN THANKSGIVING! (Or, as we like to call it: "(just plain) Thanksgiving.")

Anne-Marie and I did our best to educate the British locals. See footage below:

Pancake pancake pancake pancake pancake

Why do I find this so fascinating?

(And, is it just me, or, by the end, has the word "pancake" has been said so many times that it ceases to have concrete meaning and is just aural funniness?)

I ate so much candy.

So. That's it. I biked the length of Britain. From the North-East tip of Scotland to the South-West tip of Cornwall. Total mileage: 978 (miles) in eleven days. This was my first ever bike event/trip/attempt. Why start small when you can start gigantic?



The equipment:
-A beautiful brand new 2010 Trek 1.5 WSD
-Two water-proof panniers.
-Loads of other water-proof stuff.
-Loads of food. Especially candy (Scottish tablet!)
-A tent and sleeping bag (thanks Tori!)
-Naivety, inexperience and an awesome spork.

The ride:
-An average of 90 miles a day, broken up as 30miles (sorry, um, 48km) before breakfast, 30 before lunch and 30 or more before camp and dinner.
-So many hills. Scotland has mountains. Did you know that? It does. And Dartmoor Forrest is the most beautiful place I wish I'd never been. I thought moors were flat? Silly Canadian.
-Headwinds. We learned that most riders do this trip the 'other' way. Because of these winds. Oh. Yeah. Being pushed up a hill you're supposed to be riding down is a little disheartening. There may have been a point, somewhere in Scotland, when I actually had to yell at the wind. Stop it wind. I yelled. It didn't even listen.

The accommadation:
-The breakdown: We didn't want to have to stop riding until we really really had to (ie: the sun was down and it was danger-time), so we didn't have any pre-booked places to stay. This, actually, wasn't the best idea, always. Because, actually, there weren't lovely campsites dotted at even 10km intervals along our route. In fact, there were hardly any dotted anywhere at all. So.
-Campsites: we did find a few. Some even had running water! None of them, sadly, had firepits. No heat allowed in Britain. Ever.
-Other Places: The side of the road, a farmer's field, the front yard of a nice lady named Anne, etc.
-B&B: One night. ONE. After a day of rain and rain and wind and cold, when all our laundry, tents, sleeping bags and selves were soaked and pretty much dead, I convinced Sue that a B&B would be worth the 22pounds. Once. It was heaven. Except when we woke up and discovered all the things we'd hung up to dry hadn't. The never-ending wetness of Scotland.

The People:
-Other cyclists. Although it's pretty ambitious, this is actually a fairly popular ride. Except most people do it with support vehicles and B&Bs. But, still. You see lots of comrades up and down the roads, especially near the beginning and end. Wonderful community comraderie.
-Normal people. Are all shocked and disturbed when you tell them what you're doing. Perhaps more so when you tell them whilst washing your socks and padded shorts in a grocery store bathroom sink.

The Conclusions:
-I scraped up my knee and ankle. Got chilblains and sunburn. Have never been so cold or wet or tired. And had a really really amazing time. My favorite thing: the cycling. My least favorite thing: the not-cycling. Already planning the next one. Maybe with a few more B&Bs....

-Though not one I could continue indefinitely, it's a fascinating way of life, to wake up just before sunrise, and work towards one goal as much as physically possible until sunset. Nomadic and anciently resonant. A life based around movement and light.

Bikes forever, bikes like crazy.

Bikes! Bikes. Today I got a new bike. More about it and our upcoming 12-day, 1000mile adventure soon. But first, a bike story about Chicago:

I just got back from Chicago. And on Friday, in Chicago, I took part in Critical Mass. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds (A passing estimate I overheard was "700ish, a smaller month") of cyclists of every age, ability, costume, all rode together through three hours worth of Chicago city streets, creating the Critical Mass, as they do on the last Friday of every month. So many bikes, that we take over the road. A really pleasant and striking reversal of the usual Car-Bike situation. All the cars just have to wait for us to pass. If they don't want to, random volunteer cyclists stand in front of them until all the bikes have passed.

We even had police-bikers with us*. The law was on our side.

Also cyclists with stereos providing soundtracks, and cyclists with cookies providing welcome snacks.

The most interesting/nicest thing I noticed was that motorists were not angry or upset at us. They were smiling and waving and returning our cries of "Happy Friday!" Especially business drivers: buses, taxis, truckers. There's something about bikes and community spirit.

I've heard that most largerish cities have their own Critical Masses. Maybe yours does? Find out, and happy riding.



*This was especially handy as our route through some of the city's south side ended up taking us right past the scene of a recent homicide (some said double). Pros and cons of the big city, all in one.

The mildly uncomfortable honesty of Scottish children

Played my new favorite festival last weekend:
Belladrum Tartan Heart, way up past Inverness. Small, clean, friendly, has its very own bike race and, oh my goodness, free single malt whiskey tastings every night. Oh. My. Goodness.

All these things were great. But, perhaps the best thing of all was the conversation I had with a 6-year-old fan the day after our gig:

She: Were you the girl playing violin in that band?

Me: Yes*

She: I was pretending you were my mom!




Weird? Great? Funny.



*I left the violin/viola thing alone. Since she was six. Seven, however, is the ignorance cut-off.

Free vitamin water!

So, it's done. I played the gig, the big fat Peter G. gig last weekend. And the playing of the gig was fantastic. The actually being on stage in front of that many people was pretty darn great. Great. Wow. I want to stress that the actual performance was: Great.

But, maybe even more that than, WOW being a musician is _so much_ easier when you're important-enough-to-really-be-important-enough. Points:

-Sound! Festival sound is always a losing battle. You play them because it's fun and there are good audiences, but, always, the sound is horrible. A ten-minute-only turn-around/line-check pretty much guarantees this. But not if you're a headliner on the main stage! Oh, what care, what subtle nuance was devoted to our sound! Our amazing, wonderful sound.

-Headphones! I got to wear one-ear-only headphones. Sure, that doesn't seem like that big a deal, but usually us string players just have to deal with regular headphones balancing precariously so that one ear is on and one is off (so we can hear ourselves and hear the click or whatever). This time someone actually thought about it and invented and provided what we needed. Okay, even if they were a bit big and did slip down a little bit.

-Backstage! A guy who says, 'if we can get it, you can have it.' Like in the movies. But for real. We were a bit overwhelmed and so didn't actually ask for anything. So they brought us chocolate and wine and beer and fruit and shortbread and a cheese plate. Just in case.

The Washing of the Water is a GREAT song.

Hot off the press:

I've got a gig with Peter Gabriel.

Yes.

Peter Gabriel! The sledgehammer Gabriel!

!

Playing in his little string section at WOMAD next weekend.


I've been feeding the rhythm
I've been feeding the rhythm
It's what were doing, doing
All day and night.





I'm not boasting, but, um, yeah, I am*.









*But only because I'm really really really excited. Okay? Okay.

A little recent conversation

Oh, hello teaching violin, how are you liking this hot, humid weather?


Oh. Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that.

Mini-Muddy-Hippie-City

So, I got a little bit blasé this year re: Glastonbury Festival. We played it last year and the year before, so, you know. Glastonbury-Smastonbury.

But then I remembered that it's HUGE and AMAZING and MUDDY and FUN! With a population of 177,000 people (!) over 3.6 square-kilometers, it's way bigger than bath. Heck, it's even bigger than Red Deer.

So, I got excited again and pulled some secret strings to get Erin a ticket (what do you mean she's not Irish?), and muggy-muddy adventures were had by all. A personal favorite was getting stuck on a 3am pedestrian one-way system squished between thousands forcing us to flow from Trash City to Sangri-La. Apt.

Also, I guess it's important to remember that actually being asked to play the festival is a pretty big honour. Even if the free food is kind of, um, runny. And everything's hopelessly out-of-tune and cables are filthy and how-do-you-use-pedals-in-wellies? Still. There's nothing like the power to make crowds of people in rubber boots dance around in ankle-deep mud. And the relative luxury of backstage portapotties.

Bring on the trumpets!

So. I have a problem. But at least I'm aware of it. And at least my flat is spacious enough to deal with the repercussions.

I have a problem. I love instruments. I can't not collect instruments. I want them all. (I want to be able to play them all, brilliantly, too, for the record. You know, for recording records....)

Is it, therefor, very much a surprise that yesterday, at an instrument auction in Corsham, I bought five trumpets?

Five trumpets, (It was only 28pounds! For FIVE!)
a tenor recorder,
and one mystery item.

Oh boy, oh boy. Bring on the trumpets.

(And, the cases are gorgeous, to boot.)

Official Race Report 2009

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, the 2009 Edinburgh marathon has now run its course. And, you’ll be glad to hear, four Hoopers and one near-Hooper successfully ran its course.

It was a already brightly sunny morning when powermom (mom), daddy-long-legs (dad), the ‘professor’ (peter), the runner-bean (emma) and first-try-tori made their way down the cobbled Scottish streets towards the start line, accompanied by their very own roadie, ErinDNC. It wasn’t long before they were split off into their separate starting pens, synching GPS and Nike+, making nervous conversation with Scottish Strangers in Trainers and waiting for the gun.

And then the gun went, and they were off.

The Professor was off to a strong start, carefully plotting and executing his 3’20-something pace. All was golden for the Prof, until, disaster! At mile twenty-two, a no-fun-zone for the best of us, snap! Some kind of tendon emergency in the poor Prof’s leg. Although he tried to adopt a Terry Fox style canter to accomadate, the pain was too much, and our learned friend was forced to walk in the last few miles. Landing him with a still very respectful time of 3 hours, 51 minutes.

The Runner-Bean was nothing if not consistent. Consulting the Nike+ compulsively, she stuck to her just-below 5.35min/km pace like a gel to the inside of your mouth. There was no wall, there was no bonk, there was just 5.35. And a bit of a comedy sunburn. She glided over the finishing mat at 3 hours, 43 minutes (a new personal best by seven minutes) sore and tired, but, apart from said sunburn, surprisingly composed.

Daddy-long-legs harboured no aspirations of grandeur. He has several upcoming use-a-bike-and-use-a-lake events and wasn’t about to let a bit of Scottish road render him out of commission for those. 4 hours and 4 minutes was just fine for him. And us too.

First-Try-Tori was, frankly terrified. The Runner-Bean had told her stories of knees-bending-backwards and grotesque chafing and, at race start, FTT was pale with negative anticipation. She did, however, have a brand new Edinburgeouis running shirt, which made her feel a bit better. Luckily, the Runner-Bean’s tales of woes failed to manifest themselves as true and FTT finished unchafed and with bending-the-right-way knees in a personal best (it was her first race, mind) of 4 hours and 35 minutes. Chin, chin.

Powermom had done her training with the Running Room Cronies; however, was still doubtful as to her ability to complete 42.2 without, “curling into a ball on the ground and crying [sic].” Oh, silly Powermom, hast thou forgotten thy family genetics? Of course, after making a whole slew of on-course-buddies, PM finished upright and smiling more than forty-five minutes faster than her predicted six hours, at 5 hours, 12 minutes.

Fun was had by all. And, for the record, although, yes, it’s more a personal accomplishment than a competition, Emma, I mean the Runner-Bean, won. Just saying.

Freelancing is great. Not only do you get to work all over the place geographically, you also get to work all over the place historically.

Last weekend, for example, I played a gig in 1815. And, what's more, I played it on violin, wearing a curtain.

There was a sword-duel and a pig's head and loads of white gloves and quadrilles. Sadly, due to playing said quadrilles, my dance card remained tragically empty.

Right in the mouth of that Dart!

Festival season has officially begun, I guess.

A fair guess, I'd say, given that we (Bath-chapter) Stringbeans played the Dartmouth festival this past weekend. And, wowee, was it ever great! We played two gigs there,

One: at a restaurant called "Apprentice" which employs people who have trouble being employed and helps them with that AND serves really good food at the same time. (They even gave us some.)

Two: here:

It was sunny, it was full, it was awesome. And, I even got in a morning run along the coastal cliff path. Yes! Festivals!

Zoom! Ka-Pow! Zooom!

Okay. I might be a little bit behind the times, but, um,

have you guys tried the caffeine-long-run combo?!

Oh. My Gosh. In equation-form:


28 years of not drinking coffee or caffeinated tea

+

Mocha clif gel (with caffeine)

+

Erin's pump-me-up playlist

+

32km run

=

ENDORPHIN MADNESS!

Wow. I might have a new addiction. Watch out Edinburgh Marathon (May 31, 2009)

As long as it doesn't get infected.

23km. A nice taper Sunday along the scenic canal path. Way out past the boats, all by myself, lovely, lovely, and then, for no reason whatever, I'm on the ground, twisted and bleeding in a patch of stinging nettles. I blame my Vinyl Café podcast.

Yeah, it hurts, but, I'm kind of proud of it, of the horrified looks I get from the other runners. Yes. I am hardcore. Just an exterior manifestation of an interior athlete psychosis? No pain no...?

Oh Teka, my Teka.

Broken tail, missing tooth, unflappable, hilarious, and sweet, sweet, sweet. We loved you, little guy. Like crazy cakes. Like one million of the craziest, bestest, crazy cakes, forever and ever and ever.

RIP
Oronhyatheka Lion-Face Hooper-Hoyano
2004-2009