R. Harrison's Blog, page 17
August 17, 2016
Gear review, trail runners and the Talon 44.
You may have noticed some of the pictures I’ve posted. At least I hope you have. Most are not from places you can easily drive to.
The road on this Welsh mountain isn’t for cars. Not even those little tiny ones they drive too fast and on the other side of the road in the UK.
This view, on the AT in North Carolina, isn’t on the road either.
So I tend to walk. Which means I wear shoes. I used to wear hiking boots.
These are Merrell bare access 4 trail runners. Ones that happen to be used and peat-stained. It doesn’t look quite as pretty as the catalog image. I’ll typically wear only a thin pair of liner socks. There are two approaches to keeping dry feet. Do and don’t. In reasonable 3-season hiking the best approach is to let your feet get wet and then wear gear that dries quickly. These are laced with a “heel lock” which holds them on tightly without requiring extraordinarily tight lacing. It also means that the backs of the shoes don’t wear out and break down. Most trail runners wear out quickly, so I only wear these for walking. They have a thin vibram sole. Mine don’t slip when they’re wet, which is good. Not just good but necessary. The thin sole is a blessing and a curse. You can feel your way, it’s almost barefoot. It also means you can feel sharp rocks and gravel.
After a good few kilometres, I strongly recommend them.
I also need a pack. My trusty REI flash 50 finally bit the dust after several years of hard service. I thought very hard about replacing it with a Gossamer gear or similar ultralight pack. (I have and love a Mariposa plus.) 
Several things made me choose the Osprey Talon 44. It’s made of tougher fabric, it has a top pocket with a key holder, it easily meets airline carry on restrictions, there’s a semi-hidden pocket for passports and spare cash, and finally it carries a reasonable amount of weight without too much effort. This last point is important. I tried an earlier version of Osprey’s breathable frame and it hurt. (This is a personal observation, my son used it for Philmont without any trouble.) Finding where to put water bottles and platypus’s (platypi?) is a little problematic but solvable. There’s even a top strap under the lid so I can drape my raingear over the top and strap it in. It’s definitely big enough for a light-weight backpacker during the three easy seasons.
I always add a couple of extras to my packs. A real carabiner – from the climbing section at REI and not a cheap knock off, is essential. I clip my walking sticks and map case to it. It can also double as a pulley when I hoist my pack in bear country. This carabiner is a locking one which is better for my use than a clip one because it won’t accidentally clip on to things. The other thing is a bandana. Cotton might kill, but a bandana is a life-saver. A pot holder, an emergency hat, when soaked in water it can keep you cool, and um, is useful for washing those delicate areas when they start to chafe. I also tie it to the pack I’m using as sort of a badge of honour.
Happy trails.
August 13, 2016
The Art of Deception 27
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, Roderick and Edward met, somewhat to Roderick’s surprise, Alice and Lucy in Bath. They had an interesting and accidental meeting with an old acquaintance of Roderick’s. This week, the niceties over, the two men head back to the Pelican for as Roderick described it, “Sausages. Presumably made from pigs, but possibly with other, less savoury, ingredients.”
“Sausages for dinner, again?” Edward joked as he and Roderick trudged back to the Pelican.
“I hear they have a new cook; at least I hope so; in any case, the beer has a fine reputation and anything is edible – with enough of it; Did you catch their names and addresses?”
“Wondered how long it would take for you to ask me that, Lucinda,” He looked heavenward, “Lucinda is from Derbyshire, Thornsett, Miss Mapleton from the village of Easterly; I suppose that means we can write two villages off the list.”
“Not necessarily, Edward; the best cover stories are as true as is possible; fewer things to forget; Miss Mapleton did say her cousin was Miss Green … I think that is the name of the family thereabouts.”
Edward stopped, “You don’t think they’re involved?”
“Who?”
“Lady Green.”
“I’m impressed … know your minor nobility?”
“Lord no – they were friends of my parents; at least until Lord Green outran his legs; wonder what happened to them; last I heard they’d retired to the country; had a daughter, much younger.”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
Thornsett is a real village, more of a crossroads now, on the canal between New Mills and Hayfield in the peak district. New Mills (in the picture) is, as the name suggests, a factory town. It’s situated on ample water power and was being built about the time of this story. In 1804 Thornsett was the bigger of the three towns.
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere 
This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
August 12, 2016
About my recent book #LifeBooksWriting
This ought to be an easy post. Every author loves to talk about the last one. My most recent book, at least most recent that’s been released, is Frankenkitty. I’ve got a couple in the can, out at publishers and an agents on spec. Don’t know if that will work, but it’s worth a try.
Frankenkitty is a Young Adult science fiction work. Sort of Young Frankenstein meets Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Except a book rather than a movie and set in a more modern environment.
What happens when teenagers are given the good doctor’s secret formula? Enquiring minds want to know. (Hint it’s humour and chaos.)
This was a blast to write, and a complete change from my usual regency/historical fare. Available at fine online retailers (Well Amazon).
August 10, 2016
Oldbury-on-Severn.
The recent kerfuffle about a nuclear power station brought this trip, from 2013, to mind. It’s just south of it. The area marked as “Settlement” in the ordnance survey map is an ancient town. (Likely pre-Saxon and pre-Roman) This small village, not far from Bristol, has a long history, even by English standards.
It’s a nice walk, there’s a pub in the village (which we didn’t sample, unfortunately). 2013 was hot, much hotter and drier than 2016, so there weren’t as many nice pictures to take. Brown grass on a earthwork, even an ancient earthwork, is brown grass. Simply not photogenic.
The shade by Saint Arilda’s Church was a welcome relief from the hot sun. The church, itself, is on a hill just to the south of the village. It’s something of a conundrum why there isn’t a castle ruin, because it’s an obvious place to put a defensive structure. The church community, in typical English fashion was having a sale of used books, CD’s and nicknacks. It sat on the side of the road, and was on the honour system. I picked up a CD of bagpipe music to play in the car when the bairns misbehave.
The view from the church toward the nuclear power plant.
The Severn bridge is in the distance.
August 6, 2016
The Art of Deception 26
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, Roderick and his companion awaited Lucy and Alice in Bath. The story, this week, starts after they’ve connected with Alice and Lucy. After exchanging greetings, Alice reminds ‘her charge’ that they need to enter their names in Mr Kings’ book.
“Our names must be entered in Mr Kings’ book, or else we won’t be admitted to the assembly; it may be too late for tonight’s ball, but it would be a shame to miss the concert or Thursday’s ball; we must remember to add your Aunt Heather as well.”
Edward gave Roderick a quick glance, “Shall we accompany them?”
Roderick nodded, Names, names and addresses, unless Mr King has changed the rules, “Absolutely,” He offered his arm to Alice, “Miss Mapleton, may I escort you?”
Alice breathlessly, despite her misgivings, nodded her agreement.
The two couples dodged their way through the crowds as they walked towards the pump room; eventually they made it onto the open Abbey square; however, by then Edward and Lucinda were far ahead.
An older man, dressed in the slightly faded colours of an old blue uniform, accosted them, “Sir Roderick, Mon vielle truand! What are you doing in Bath; I was told you were in America, and yet I find you ici with such a prime article on your arm; was she expensive, she looks it.”
Oh God, not now, “Do I know you?”
“Mais of course, General Charles Dumouriez, or have you forgotten our great times in Hamburg already?”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
General Dumouriez is an interesting real character from the French revolution and the Napoleonic wars. He helped to overthrow King Louis, and was an effective general during the war against the British and continental powers that immediately followed. The song ‘The Jolly Duke of York’ refers to one of the battles where Dumouriez handed the British a short sharp shock in the lowlands of Holland. He survived Robespierre’s reign of terror (rain of blood?) and the corrupt directory. However, the brutality and corruption of the revolution eventually was too much for him and he joined the British. (He may also have simply fallen afoul of Napoleon and had to depart in a hurry.) He then advised the British intelligence for the duration of the war.
This weekend:
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
August 5, 2016
Free Science Fiction and Science Fiction Romance
Patty’s Promo has links to a number of books that are free this weekend. Including one by my coauthor, Amelia. ‘The Girl in the Machine’ is actually number 26 in technothrillers. So technically it’s a best-seller.
August 4, 2016
Another Installment.
My coauthor’s put out another installment of our latest. Still looking for a title.
Cats are, sort of, important in the story.
August 3, 2016
There may be chaos still around the world
George Santayana
There may be chaos still around the world,
This little world that in my thinking lies;
For mine own bosom is the paradise
Where all my life’s fair visions are unfurled.
Within my nature’s shell I slumber curled,
Unmindful of the changing outer skies,
Where now, perchance, some new-born Eros flies,
Or some old Cronos from his throne is hurled.
I heed them not; or if the subtle night
Haunt me with deities I never saw,
I soon mine eyelid’s drowsy curtain draw
To hide their myriad faces from my sight.
They threat in vain; the whirlwind cannot awe
A happy snow-flake dancing in the flaw.
Chaos means something more specific to the mathematically inclined. This little picture shows the pattern of convergence for the complex roots of (X^3-1) with Newton’s method. The colour shows which root was found for each starting point. There’s nothing that vaguely resembles a continuous boundary between regions. (The picture’s left-handed – the Red is X = 1.)
July 30, 2016
The Art of Deception 25.
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, after service, she escorted ‘her charge’ Lucy to visit Mr Spode and delivered the details of a proposed trip to Bath. Roderick and his companion await them in Bath. They’re staying in the Pelican, a “historic” coach inn even in the regency. The great Doctor Johnson had stayed there. Hopefully, they’d changed the sheets since then.
“Roddy, old chap, we can afford a much better place than this; it’s old and out of the way.”
“I know, which is precisely why I chose it.”
“But I can’t entertain Miss Haytor here,” Edward stated his real objection.
“True, hire a parlour at the York or the Bell if you want, or simply take her to the pump room.”
“Have you tasted the waters?”
“Thoroughly disgusting and therefore good for you.”
“You are not being helpful, Lord Fitzpatrick.”
“Seriously, Edward; this is for the best; you don’t know anything about the lovely Lucinda; if her companion weren’t so dashed smoky I’d gladly push your case.”
“She’s a sweet, lovely innocent-”
“Accompanied by a skilled French spy; I hope, for your sake, she’s been duped by the dashing Miss Mapleton or Miss Green … if either of those are her real name, which I doubt; because otherwise she’s for the drop.”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
The Pelican was not fashionable. This picture, from the 1920’s, shows the stables. It was relatively inexpensive, and out of the way on the London side of town. Fashionable people stayed at places like “The York Family Hotel” or “The Christopher.” The Christopher was rebuilt after those dashed Germans bombed it, but is now out of business. You can still stay in the York. The Pelican survived into the twentieth century but was demolished before world war 2.
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
July 27, 2016
The Dark Hills
Edwin Arlington Robinson, 1869 – 1935
Dark hills at evening in the west,
Where sunset hovers like a sound
Of golden horns that sang to rest
Old bones of warriors under ground,
Far now from all the bannered ways
Where flash the legions of the sun,
You fade—as if the last of days
Were fading, and all wars were done.
