Normally when I announce my latest plan, scheme or brilliant idea to ‘The Emma’ I get one of 2 responses. I either get a look of general confusion, pertaining to a lack of understanding (normally reserved for technical project type stuff which she’s not really interested in), or I get a raised eyebrow, which seems to mean ‘I think you're a bit of an idiot, but if you think that’s a good idea then you crack on’. Which is why the response to this week's brilliant idea came as a bit of a surprise.
Having finally got most of the feeling back in my fingers after last weekend's frosty escapades. Note, I said most there, as the tips on my big fingers and thumbs still feel a bit numb, although I’m sure the feeling will come back to them eventually. By Tuesday my thoughts had turned to this weekend, and I was looking around for stuff to occupy my time. As I mentioned last weekend, there’s not a lot going on at the moment on the running and cycling front. I guess all the sensible people are sitting at home staying warm and dry, so yet again, I was at a bit of a loose end. I really need to spend a few days cutting back the hedge on the allotment before the spring comes, but for some reason I’m struggling for motivation on that one at the moment, and I’ve got the stuff to change some brake lines and the rear shocks and springs on the van sat in the garage, but again the thought of laying on cold concrete under the van doesn’t exactly fill me with joy either! So, what was I going to do? Well, for a starter’s I thought about a cheeky overnight bivvy to get the years camping tally off to a start. Laying on the floor under the van for an hour, no thanks, a night out in the cold under the stars, that's a far better idea! I even got as far as thinking about where to go and planning a rough route, but then mid-week a new idea caught my imagination. One last look through the running and Audax calendars, revealed that I could go and do a multiple loop marathon along the Thames path, but as I’m not a lover of repeat loops along the same track that was always going to be a last-ditch option. Or, there was a 100Km Audax starting from Bristol. That would be alright and waste a Saturday, but it’s a long way to go just for a 100Km ride and doesn't really fit into my ethos of only trying to drive less than the distance of the event (i:e only traveling 100 miles maximum for a 200Km Audax). And then in a moment of sheer brilliance on my part I thought, why drive to Bristol, I’ll just go on my bike. I’ll ride down Friday afternoon after work, ride the 100K on Saturday and ride home again on Sunday. Brilliant, a 170-mile round trip by bike for a 65 mile Audax, what's not to like about that idea! So, Travelodge to the rescue again, and another value for money accommodation option in Bristol for 2 nights sorted. Audax booked, route planned and bike ready to go, all I had to do was let ‘The Emma’, who happened to be working nights, know my brilliant plan. Which takes us nicely back to the start of this week's post. Que, one text message to ‘The Emma’ in which I casually revealed my latest brilliant idea, to which I got the response ‘You do know that you're certifiable don't you? What sane person does that in January’! No raised eyebrow, no quizzical, confused look, just straight in there with ‘your bloody nuts’. Which just confirmed to me that it was indeed a brilliant idea!
My Friday morning at work passed at its normal glacial pace, and as soon as I was able, I made my excuses, wished my colleagues a pleasant weekend and hit the road, Bristol bound.
Wrapped up well, the cold day proved little challenge after last weekend's excitement and apart from the odd patch in heavy shadow the icy patches of last week had been consigned to history. If I’m honest, there’s not a lot to say about my trip down. Familiar roads made for easy miles as I headed West towards the setting sun. Through Newbury, Hungerford and Marlborough with its long steady climb to cross The Ridgeway, followed by flatter, easier terrain as you criss cross the M4 corridor, before another long steady climb opens out the view across Bristol with the Severn Bridges in the distance and Wales beyond. Country lanes, pretty villages each equipped with a church and war memorial, bare winter trees with the low sun silhouetting their branches against the grey winter sky. Sheep raise their heads in interest as you pass, a nod of the head and a raised finger in acknowledgement of a cyclist heading the other way. A brief stop for a sandwich in Hungerford and a biscuit or two as the sun sets and I add a layer and fit my head torch in preparation for the last few hours in the dark. With the darkness, the temperature drops quickly. Cold but bearable and a big improvement on the start of the week. Things must be going well though as the first time I think to look at how much further it is, I’ve covered 80 miles just leaving another 18 to finish off the day. It’s always a good indication of how much I’m enjoying myself, it’s hard going if you're counting down the miles. Less than 90 minutes later I’m safely ensconced in my temporary home, kettle on, fingers warming up and satisfied with another good day's work. 98 miles, which includes the 11 into work in the morning, isn't a bad tally for the day, and it was a lot more fun than sitting on the M4 in the van!
After the worst night's sleep ever, I was up and raring to go in plenty of time for Saturday's start. I don’t know why as I normally sleep like a dead man, but I spent the whole night tossing and turning, I even got up at one point and had a brew, not that it made any difference, and I was still awake again before 5.
Anyway, enough of my insomnia. The 6 miles from the hotel down to the start location made for a nice warm up and by the time I’d picked up my Brevet card, fiddled around with the GPS, put my gloves back on and taken them back off half a dozen times and generally messed around it was time for the off. There’s always something special about a new route. Heading off into the unknown, a possible world of wonders ahead, and today's ride didn’t disappoint. There weren’t any of the breath-taking vistas, no impossible climbs or fear-inducing descents, just mile after mile of pleasant country roads on a cold but dry winter's day. Out from the outskirts of Bristol we were soon following the Severn Valley on a meandering course, heading generally North. An early Info Control at Littleton-upon-Severn kept us on route and ensured the day's mileage was correct. A slow few miles’ stuck behind a horse box, which in turn fought the light traffic coming the other way, but generally a fast start to the day on flat, well surfaced roads. A quick stop at the first control point for a stamp on my brevet card and then onwards, bound for the edge of Gloucester and the turn to take us back Southwards. Different terrain for the return leg, gone are the fast easy miles, replaced with more rolling terrain, wooded valley sides, sharp turns across streams and rivers, crossings of the M48 making it’s way North, all punctuated by some longer steeper climbs, ideal for getting your heart rate up and keeping the winter chill at bay. Eventually though, with hunger pangs nipping at my belly and legs rapidly tiring, a final climb bought us to the final checkpoint at Tortworth Farm Shop Cafe, where they’ve specially stocked an outside table with treats designed to test the temptation of even the hardiest Audaxer. A hot brew, possibly the best sausage roll I’ve ever had and the second-best bit of bread pudding I’ve ever had, provided sustenance to see me through the final few miles, whilst the enforced rest as I stuffed my face gave me a chance to stretch rapidly stiffening muscles ready for the final leg. (Incidentally, the best bit of bread pudding, (which is one of my favourites), came from a bakery when I was running the Brenda Parker way, at a time when my belly thought my throat had been cut, but that's another story). There’s still work to be done and sitting around won’t get it done, so I push on before I get too cold. The last few miles tick down quite happily and before I know it I’m back where I started from, just leaving a couple more miles to get me back to Travelodge paradiso, where a hot brew, a warm shower and an early night beckons. Another 78 miles to add to the year's tally then. But not just 78 miles. That’s 78 miles along new roads, roads that have taken me to new places and opened up new areas that I’m going to have to come back and explore in greater detail at some point in the future. And if nothing else, it was worth going all that way and burning all those calories just for that sausage roll and bread pudding
Looking out into the dark on Sunday morning the forecast for another dry day appeared to have been wrong as the streetlights reflected back through the heavy drizzle. Oh well, not brilliant but it could be worse. An hour or so later as I ventured out into the still dark morning, it was still damp, but the drizzle wasn’t actually that bad, which was lucky as I didn’t have any waterproofs with me, just the windproof jacket I’d had on all weekend and an emergency down jacket in case I had to stop somewhere, neither of which are very waterproof!
I think the best way to describe Sunday's weather was muddy. There was plenty of drizzle, (enough to get me wet at times), but even when it stopped it was still incredibly damp and the roads were just, well, muddy. Mud that gets everywhere, it coats your bike, it gets flung up and leaves your legs damp and dirty, it gets between the brake callipers and rattles and squeaks, and it builds up on the inside of your mudguards until it starts rubbing on the tyres, until the rain starts again and washes it back out or you have to stop to scrape it back out again. It wasn’t all bad though. The temperature was far pleasanter than last week, the roads were quiet whilst everyone hid at home and my legs felt surprisingly good considering the efforts of the previous days and I made good time as I headed towards home. In fact, having set off at 07:30 I was rolling into Marlborough a few minutes after 11:30, with 45 miles done and just over halfway home. Time for a quick sandwich and then push on into the misty drizzle. Moving steadily through the damp, overcast, countryside I was having a great time. This is the 3rd time in the last few weeks I’ve been this way and it's almost as if the bike knows the way home. All I’ve got to do is peddle and watch out for the potholes which litter our roads and will spell disaster for the unwary. Sometimes it all feels like hard work, but not today, the miles roll effortlessly along and in fact before I know it, I’m back home. It’s hard to believe that in exactly 6 hours I’ve travelled from Bristol to Basingstoke, you can see how the bicycle opened up the world. It would have taken days to make the same journey by foot or horse, but by bike, well I’m not going to pretend it’s easy, but it’s not that hard either!
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Good news everyone, my feet are finally dry. Granted, I can’t feel them, or my fingertips for that matter, but at least they dry for a change and we’ve got to be grateful for small mercies. In fact it’s been so cold this week that my bucket, which was full of rain, is now inside out, but at least it’s empty again!
So, now I’m dry again, what have I been up to this weekend? Well, it would appear that we’re in a bit of a drought on the running and cycling front, as despite hunting round for things to do I couldn't find anything that caught my imagination within a sensible distance, so I’ve just stayed at home, sat on the sofa and eaten HobNobs.
No, of course I haven’t. When I realised that I didn’t have anything planned, I did what I always do and invented my own fun. A quick trawl round the Travelodge’s in the vicinity, yielded a room at Amesbury for Friday night for the very reasonable sum of £31. That’s cheaper than an organised Marathon, and significantly cheaper than putting fuel in the van, so it’s a bit of a no brainer. Plot a route, cycle down to Amesbury after work on Friday, have a luxurious night away (Have you ever stayed in a Travelodge at the services? Luxury it isn’t. Warm, dry and clean, it certainly is, and with their bike friendly policy, they’re still the budget accommodation of choice) and ride back home Saturday morning. Brilliant! The overnight Travelodge game works really well at this time of year when there’s not much else going on and you need somewhere warmer than a bivvy bag for the night. It allows you to spread your wings a bit wider than just cycling from home and gives you a reason to actually get some decent miles in. Accommodation sorted, it’s just a case of putting the destination into Cycle.Travel, or any of the other route planning websites available, and within minutes you're good to go! Bike loaded Thursday night, although you don’t need much if you're happy to live like a tramp, all I had to do was get through a long, slow, Friday morning at work and I'd be good to go. After a cold commute in to work on Friday morning, my enforced delay left plenty of time for the winter sun to work its magic, and by the time I managed to escape from work it was a pleasant winter's afternoon. With the low sun doing its thing and the miles rolling steadily along, it wasn’t long before I was working my way through the afternoon traffic in Winchester and working hard up the long, steep, climb back out of town, on my way to Salisbury. Picking up the Avon valley at Salisbury, evidence of the recent rains were much in evidence, with the cycle path alongside the river underwater and the roads alongside littered with deep, cold, puddles. Following the river between Salisbury and Amesbury the river was still in full spate, spilling steadily over it’s banks to flood the fields and floodplain alongside. With the temperature rapidly dropping as the sun made its final descent from the sky and the afternoon turning to evening, it didn’t take long to knock off the final few miles and before I knew it I was safely ensconced in my temporary abode. Warm, dry and satisfied after a good afternoon's work, having racked up another 73 miles to add to the month's total.
An early night meant I was up and on the road again by 07:15 and heading out into the cold and dark whilst the world slumbered on around me. Dawn was just breaking on the Eastern horizon as I climbed away from my overnight accommodation, bound for Upavon and Marlborough, before turning towards home on more familiar roads.
Whilst clear skies meant cold temperatures (more of which later) they also held the promise of a stunning sunrise and beautiful day to come, and as I reached the top of the first ascent of the day a glance behind confirmed that the first colours of dawn were slowly leaching into the Eastern sky with all the glories of another day. Pulling to the side of the road I took the opportunity to stand and stare, the pale pastels slowly brightening the sky, the lights of Salisbury and beyond still clear in the dark below and a solitary deer, sitting quietly taking in the same view, or more likely contemplating moving to it’s safe hiding place as the day approached, sat in the field opposite, quite unbothered by my presence.
Standing and enjoying the view isn’t going to get me home though, so with the frost nipping at my fingers I pushed on. Rolling through Upavon a short while later the dawn revealed the frozen landscape in all its majesty and provided a timely reminder of the dangers of being on the bike at this time of year.
Turning off the main road, the smaller, quieter roads were heavily iced in places. The result of the recent rain continually running off the surrounding fields before freezing and being polished smooth by the continuing traffic. Luckily, the miles I'd already covered in darkness had been on a busier, ice free road, as the new found daylight highlighted the ice risk. The icy patches stood out against the drier road surface, allowing plenty of time to dismount and walk the worst parts. Keep your wits about you and pay attention and it should be Ok, but it only needs a moment's inattention to allow a front wheel to stray onto an icy patch and that'll be game over.
Continuing North, the hump backed bridge over the Kennet and Avon Canal offered a fine view of the frozen canal below, the brightly coloured barges firmly entombed in the frozen surface, their occupants snug and warm sat in front of the fire or going about their morning chores.
Pushing on the Alton Barnes White Horse provided some distraction as I climbed the steep hills overlooking Pewsey. Photographers, silhouetted against the blue sky were clearly visible on the hilltops, each engrossed in capturing the beauty of the new day slowly revealing itself behind me. And then as I descended slightly from the peaks a change, as the sun was eclipsed by a freezing mist. The wind chill as I slowly descended, still wary of the icy patches which littered the road, tore at my face, the only exposed skin accessible to its ice cold fingers, whilst it's icy grasp probed at my jacket and double layer of leggings, trying unsuccessfully to find a way in. Marlborough came and went, and still the mist hung heavy, clinging in freezing icicles to my bike and clothes, freezing my fingertips through my thick winter cycling gloves, leaving my water bottles frozen and coating my panniers with a thin film of ice. Pausing briefly after Marlborough I wrapped my frozen fingers around my thermos as I sipped at the warm brew I’d prepared earlier, bringing enough feeling back to set them tingling as I stood swinging my arms and stamping my feet in an attempt to bring back some feeling.
Oh, for a return of the sun and its warming rays. It may be low in the sky and weak on these winter days but it’s still better than the freezing mist which obscures the view and chills my bones.
Eventually, as I passed through Hungerford, well on the way towards home, the sun won its battle against the mist and made a triumphant return. Slowly the feeling returned to my fingers, gradually the frost melted from my jacket and helmet, little by little the ice fell from my handlebars as the sun worked its magic, and still I pushed on, heading for home, on familiar territory by now. Another hour and within a couple of miles from home my ears picked up a new noise. Not the familiar hum of tyres on tarmac or the wind whistling across the handlebar extensions and GPS mounted between them. Not the recognisable sound the chain makes as it passes through the jockey wheels and sprockets, and not the occasional swish as my winter boots rub against the cranks. More of a rattle, and that's never good. Running through the normal checklist I tried to narrow down the source of the new noise. Stop peddling to discount the drive-train. No it’s still there but not as pronounced. Stand up and wiggle the bike. No, it’s still there, worse if anything. It’s not a normal noise. If it’s drive-train then it would happen every pedal revolution. If it was tyres it would be every wheel revolution. But it’s neither. It’s every pedal stroke, it’s every bump in the road, it’s an almost constant rattle. It takes a while, but eventually as I approach home, my day almost at an end, I figure it out. The temperature increase has obviously been enough to start thawing my water bottles and the road vibration has broken the ice within into little bits. With every vibration those little bits of ice are now rattling and clattering around within the bottles. It’s like being sat on a cocktail shaker as the ice rattles around!
It might only have been a cheeky overnight trip, but what an adventure it had been. Beautiful sunrises, flooded fields and roads, frozen fingers, ice covered roads, Deer, Barn Owls swooping away in the predawn, birds singing in the winter sun, bare trees, stiff climbs and fast descents.
Yes, I’ll take that as a win. And I’m pretty sure I’ll remember the day my clothes froze far better than I would a weekend sitting on the sofa eating Hob Nobs!
After an easy evening sat in front of the fire most of the feeling had returned to my fingers (I say most, as my big fingertips and the end of my thumbs still feel a bit numb, but we'll worry about that later) I was back out Sunday morning for a few running miles around one of my local running routes.
Nothing too dramatic, just an easy 16 miles out into the countryside surrounding home. It never fails to amaze me how quickly I can be out of home and into open countryside and on a chilly, clear, winters morning, its lovely to be out there. Deserted roads and trails, the cold keeping the sensible people at home. The winter sun warming the fields and slowly melting the heavy overnight frost. Frozen tracks, un-passable last week when it would have been a sea of slippery mud. Frozen puddles, the ice freshly broken by the farmers and gamekeepers who have been out early checking on their livestock. The sound of a chainsaw in the far distance as someone works on replenishing their wood pile. The small hedgerow birds flitting around ahead, a robin watching intently from his perch, and Pheasants puffed up against the cold rise startled from the undergrowth as you approach. If they just stayed still you'd never see them. Squirrels, woken from their slumber, scamper around in search of long buried treasure as you pass, and the Red Kite patrols silently overhead, in search of it's next meal. But best of all, coming home with glowing cheeks, frozen fingers and that feeling of satisfaction that only a foray into the great outdoors can bring, to a hot brew and hot buttered toast with home made marmalade courtesy of "The Emma". Life doesn't get much better than this!
Before I start this week, you might have picked up on a bit of a theme running through the last few weeks blog posts. That theme being the fact that it's been a bit damp recently. You might also recall that I commented a few weeks ago about the bucket that's in the garden that was half full of rain.
Well, you'll all be pleased to know that when I looked on Saturday morning it was no longer half full, it was fully full. Now, I mentioned the other week that I know for a fact that the bucket in question was empty on the 17th December, because I used it to wash my bike and emptied it out afterwards. So from that I can confidently deduce that we have had at least 8 1/2 inches of rain in the last 28 days, most of which is in my shoes!
Now I’ve finished moaning about the weather. Sunday saw a return to muddy running fun in the form of The Winter Tanners. A 30 mile circular route from Leatherhead taking in some of the highlights of the Surrey Hills and surrounding environs. Organised, (superbly as always) by our friends at the LDWA.
The real joy of The Winter Tanners, apart from the fact its running and when is that not fun, is that it takes a different route every year, so it’s always new and exciting, and as such I’d been looking forward to this one for a while. Luckily, the weather forecast for Sunday appeared to show that we might be getting a break in the monsoon, before a colder spell next week, so I’d packed up the van Saturday afternoon, complete with options for just about every weather outcome I could think of, and set off for the start after tea, ready for an early night and an early(ish) start on Sunday morning. Obviously, the weather Gods look down favourably on the LDWA. As, just like last year, Sunday dawned dry but chilly. Having sensibly pre-empted just such a situation, chilly wasn’t going to be an issue and after a leisurely breakfast I headed down to the start, complete with multiple layers, Down jacket and some spare dry gloves and other assorted extra clothes, just in case. As the name suggests, LDWA events are set up for walkers, not us silly runners, and as such there’s no rush to get started. Like Audax, arrival times at the checkpoints are controlled (within a set time window) and as a runner it’s fairly easy to get ahead of the first control opening times if you’re not careful, which results in standing around getting cold whilst waiting for the checkpoint to open before you can get checked in. As such there’s no point departing too early, and there’s no point going hell for leather. It’s all about getting out in the open air, enjoying the day and taking in the majesty of what are always amazingly scenic routes. Today was not exception, and I set off at 08:30, still dressed for the arctic, complete with Down jacket, gloves, arm warmers, hat, scarf and kitchen sink, planning on having a steady plod and leisurely day.
A few easy miles in the early morning sunshine alongside the flooded River Mole, gave me a chance to warm up, and within a couple of miles I was stopped removing my jacket and rearranging my layers for some more sensible running attire. An idea which soon proved sensible, as within the next couple of miles things went sharply uphill as we crossed the A24 and started the ascent of Box hill.
Climbing steadily upwards along tracks familiar from The knacker Cracker the views over Dorking and the surrounding countryside slowly opened out as we crawled steadily skywards, both rewarding the effort and providing a justifiable excuse to pause for a while to both get your breath back and take in the view.
Don’t pause for too long though, the view might be magnificent but there’s still work to be done and what goes up must come back down again. So, over the top and start the long descent back down again. Reach the bottom via the unevenly spaced steps, cross the A25 and were on to flatter ground as we skirt around Brockham.
The flatter ground brings challenges of its own though, in the form of waterlogged and muddy paths. Slip Sliding along, we pass the traffic chaos caused by families trying to get parked for a children’s football tournament. Rather them than me and I’ll bet that there were a few Chelsea tractors stuck on the muddy field at the end of the day. Not my problem though, it’s shank’s pony for me today and I’m making steady progress as I continue on towards Checkpoint one, still trying to dodge the puddles and the worst of the muddy bits. A situation which won’t last much longer, but it’s nice to have dry feet whilst you can.
8.5 miles done and the first checkpoint appears. Present my card to the marshals to register my arrival and then refill my water bottle and grab a hot cross bun from the fine spread on offer, before heading back out again. Minimal stop time and push on. Just like on an Audax, stopping is where all the time gets lost. Grab and go, and sort yourself out once you’re moving again is the best and most efficient option in my opinion.
Any thoughts of dry feet were firmly dashed as soon as we departed checkpoint one. Gone are the nicely maintained, if muddy, paths, and were straight into flatter open countryside, hugging the hedge line of waterlogged fields, ankle deep in puddles and sticky, slippery, mud. I’ll admit that the next 9 miles was a bit of a slog, mile after mile of flat, muddy, waterlogged meadows and slippery, recently cultivated fields. It’s all part of the fun though, and you can’t have the high spots and stunning views without the transitional sections. Head down, concentrate on trying to place your feet and push on. With every step your feet sink ankle deep into the soft waterlogged earth and you have to pull them free again, the wet mud clinging to your shoes like icy fingers from below the surface, threatening to pull your shoes from your feet as you wrench them free, the cold muddy water seeping through your shoes and socks and puddling between your toes, before releasing its grip, allowing you to repeat the process with every step. Struggling for grip going uphill on the gentle inclines and struggling to stay on your feet as you slither down the other side again, it's like ice skating on mud, or a new born Giraffe trying to find its feet. Oh, what fun! I spent my childhood being told off for getting wet and muddy, now that there’s no one to tell me off and I’m doing it by choice, the novelty seems to have worn off a bit! Eventually though, legs caked in mud, muddy water squelching from soaked shoes and socks with every step, checkpoint 2 arrives and with it the friendly faces of the amazing volunteers who have given up their Sunday to provide a little bit of civilisation at the side of a barn in the middle of nowhere. Stop for a quick chat, refill my bottles, pick up a couple of salty crackers and rearrange my backpack for the next leg and then onwards before the cold starts to eat at my wet lower body and sweaty upper half.
Things get better for the next section as we make the turn to head back towards the start location.
Leaving behind the flatter waterlogged low laying areas we head back up hill. A mile or so of steady (and steep) climbing sees the top of Leith Hill with its familiar tower, dog walkers, mountain bikers, picnicking families and couples hoping for a romantic few minutes as they take in the stunning view towards the South Downs and the sea beyond. I’ve not seen a single person for the last few hours (apart from those running and walking alongside me) and now I know why, there all here queuing for a coffee from the little shop at the base of the tower. No time to join the Queue or take in the view today though, there’s a long slow descent to come as I head back towards the North Downs and the next checkpoint, the top of which is clearly visible off in the distance as I start to descend. It’s beautiful running this, gently downhill, along soft, sandy, well drained trails. The next few miles come easily despite tired legs, and I take the opportunity to get a few more calories on board as I plod along. Calories that are going to be desperately needed very soon, as I can see the North Downs with the steep climb that I know awaits, looming large ahead. All too soon that long climb arrives and with it some company, as we re-join the walkers on the 20-mile route who are themselves slowly plodding up the hill. Shared acknowledgment of the struggles and joys in hand are part of what makes these events special. It doesn’t even need a word on most occasions, just a shared glance as you pass like ships in the night, each enjoying the moment for what it is and each happy with their own thoughts, the joy of being outdoors on a fine winter’s day, and unspoken company.
Over the top again, through the final checkpoint and there’s only a few more miles of fairly easy running left now. Surprisingly, considering the distance and terrain already covered I’m still feeling pretty good. My slow start and steady pacing, have obviously paid dividends. Why can’t I do that when it really matters?
Those last few miles seem to pass in a blur and before I know it, I’m heading back into Leatherhead. The birdsong, peace and tranquillity of the open countryside, replaced by the noise of traffic as the “normal” people go about their Sunday afternoons. Muddy, wet, bedraggled, but happy, I pause at the roadside waiting for a gap in the traffic and when it finally comes cross, and gently jog the last few meters back to the start. 31 Miles in 6 hours and 7 minutes, not fast by any measure, but today wasn’t about times. It was about a beautiful route through some stunning countryside, it was about being outside in the fresh air and having a great time. And it more than lived up to that billing. There’s no better way to spend your weekend than with like minded people, all of whom are enjoying themselves and creating memories which will last a lifetime. Hopefully I’ve got plenty more running years ahead of me to keep on creating those memories, and all the time I can keep on running in the great outdoors I will, but when I’m too old and tired to run anymore? Well, I’ll just do what the LDWA was set up to do. I’ll walk!
In other news, I had a message from the person that has the allotment opposite mine one evening in the week, to say that all the sheds had been broken in to again. So I nipped up there in the rain, and yes indeed, some nice person had prised the lock off my shed door and all the others in our block.
It's not the first time and I'm sure that it wont be the last (it's actually at least the 4th time in the last 10 years) and for that reason the locks only held on with little screws and it's only a cheap padlock anyway. My thoughts being that if someone wants to get in to my shed then I'd rather they did it without doing any other damage, so the locks only a bit of lip service to a deterrent. Anyway, as with previous incursions, nothings missing from my shed (what does anyone think your going to have in an allotment shed that's worth nicking anyway?). But what's different this time, is the fact that whoever decided that our property should be theirs, came equipped for the job, as they've neatly cut through 2 layers of chain link fencing to get in. Why they thought that was necessary I've no idea, as they could have just climbed over the fence, but there you go. The council will eventually fix the fence, but don't hold your breath, so I've been up there this weekend and carried out a bit of a temporary repair using a pallet and some stakes from my side of the fence. It won't keep out the bolt cropper equipped idiot, but it might slow them down a bit. Oh, and I obviously don't want my pallet or stakes to get rotten, so it's had a liberal coating of old engine oil to preserve it too. I just hope no one tries to move it, because old engine oil is a right bugger to get out of your clothes!
And finally for this week, something completely different.
Last year, when my little run around Peugeot went for it's MOT, it had an advisory for uneven braking on the rear axle, and the tester said that although it was an advisory he had struggled to get a pass on it and it really needed looking at. Anyhow, being the conscientious person I am, I did indeed have a look at it, and replaced the brake shoes, hardware and cylinders and bled through all the old brake fluid. However, whilst I've done all that work, I never actually found anything wrong with it, so I've no idea if it's fixed or not. Which left me with a bit of a problem. Do I just put it in for it's MOT this year and hope my previous work fixed the issue? Or do I do a bit more investigation while I've got the time, and try to prove where the problem may be? Well, I decided that the latter is probably the best approach and the next logical step would be to see what brake pressure we are actually getting at the rear wheels. If both sides are the same we can happily say it's probably fixed, and if not then it's a brake shoe issue. But if they're not both the same then the problem still exists and its something else. The easiest way to confirm what brake pressure we've got is to fit a couple of gauges into the system. The only problem being, the cheapest set of test gauges I could find were £150 and I wasn't paying that for a one off job! So, thinking hat on. All I needed to do was get from the brake cylinder bleed screw fitting, to the test gauge fitting, one of which was an M8 male thread, and the other of which is a female 1/4" BSP. Nothings ever simple is it! After a bit of thinking (running provides plenty of thinking time), I sourced a couple of gauges and a selection of fittings for less than £30 and set too. Now, in the interest of transparency and just to prove that my ideas don't always work, my first idea was to drill out a bleed nipple to fit a bit of brake pipe, solder the two together and then join everything up from there. Which I did last week. However whilst this seemed to work, I wasn't very happy with the soldering, and wasn't convinced that it would hold the pressure required. So I jiggled together a bit of a test set up, and as predicted, the first version started weeping at 500 PSI, and the second one held at 1000 PSI, but I still wasn't happy!
With version one a bit of a non success, I had 2 options. Either carry on down the same route, but the next step would be to braze the fittings which should hold (have you seen the price of brazing rod and flux though), or make a solid adaptor.
So a couple of hours in the shed whilst it was tipping it down on Saturday morning, and;
So now all I need, is for it to stop raining for long enough to actually get under the car without getting soaked and we should be able to see what we've got brake pressure wise, and all for considerably less than the cost of the cheapest off the shelf version I could find anywhere.
Granted I've used thousands of pounds worth of tools to do so, but we'll just ignore that little fact!
Surprisingly I’m going to start this week by saying “That wasn’t as much fun as it should have been”, which is pretty unusual! I suppose that that doesn’t really tell you much though, so let me elucidate.
Saturday saw the traditional January running of the Poor Student Audax. 200 Km’s of wintery cycling fun through the glorious Cotswolds. Running clockwise this year, to take in the glories of Oxford, Chipping Campden, Malmesbury, Highworth, and a thousand pretty little towns and villages in between. Now, as I sit he writing this I can hear you all thinking “How can that not be fun, it sounds brilliant”. Well, did you see the weather on Saturday? Having been watching the forecast all week, things didn’t look to good for Saturday, and having spent a comfortable night in the van, the sound of rain drumming on the roof and the wind whistling round the skylight when I awoke, confirmed that the forecast appeared to be accurate. Oh well, it can’t be much worse than last week, can it? In fact, as we gathered in the dark at the start, it didn’t seem too bad. It was only drizzling, and the wind would be on our backs for the first leg up to Chipping Campden, making an easy start to the day, so it wasn’t all bad. More surprisingly considering what was to come, I wasn’t the only idiot out that morning as there were 109 similar idiots stood around waiting for the off. In my opinion that’s a good number considering the time of year and the weather and it surprised me after the lack of numbers through most of last year (even at the height of summer lots of events were poorly attended) so maybe things are starting to get back to normal after a couple of rough years? Back to the subject in hand, and bang on 07:30 we were off, into the dark and drizzle, a steady stream of red taillights in front as we fell into line and found our own rhythms, stiff legs slowly turning the cranks, gently warming up for the day’s efforts ahead. With the wind behind and fresh legs the miles rolled quickly along and before I knew it, I was tucking into a warm steak slice at the first control of the day at Shipton under Wychwood. 17 miles down, 110 to go, next stop Chipping Campden, but not before some lovely miles through pretty little villages, which now that it was finally light, I could actually see. Pretty little villages wrapped up safely against the weather and devoid of the tourists which normally occupy the village greens and open spaces on a summer’s day. Down country lanes, wet from the nights rain, across hump backed bridges crossing streams in full spate from the water running down from the surrounding hills, and up steep inclines, fighting against the water still cascading down the gutters. In fact, at this point, things were looking good, the miles were ticking slowly down, the rain had temporarily abated, and it was actually quite warm. Warm to the point where I seriously considered stopping to take off a layer or 2. I suspect that I might have spoken too soon though, as just before Chipping Campden the rain returned with a vengeance! Not the soft pitter patter that had accompanied my short ride to the start, but the hard, fling it in your face and bounce back up off the road type. Oh, well, I can’t say that it wasn’t forecast, and I should be used to it by now!
This next leg was always going to be the hardest, being the hilliest, but just how hard it was going to be was an unknown as I made my way out of Chipping Campden, heading for Malmesbury.
Straight uphill, straight into the wind and straight into the rain, and that’s pretty much how it felt like I spent the next 4 hours. I’ll grant you there was the odd break in the rain, but by that time my boots were already full of water and my gloves soaked so it didn’t make much difference. In fact, the sun actually broke through the clouds on a couple of occasions, to reflect brightly back off the wet road surface, causing me to squint tightly against the brightness, which was particularly unpleasant in it's own right. (You just can't please some people can you!) Even without the rain, the wind continued to do its worst, the only respite being on the long steep uphill sections, which seemed almost constant and never ending, when the lee of the hill provided some shelter, until you neared the top, when its full force returned. Don’t get me wrong though, it wasn’t all bad news. The birds were still singing, there were still other people out and about, the odd walker and a few horse riders braving the weather, as we were. The views from the top of the climbs were still stunning, with the low, fast-moving clouds providing constant change to the sky. The climbs were taxing, but the downhills exhilarating and crossing paths with other riders provided the comfort of shared suffering and the odd brief chat as we each made our way steadily South. Eventually though Malmesbury arrived, and with it the chance to get off the bike for a few minutes, grab a sandwich, change my socks for slightly less wet ones and generally relax for a few minutes, or relax as well as you can when your wet and sat outside! There’s no point in hanging around though, it’s still too cold to sit and enjoy yourself, and getting colder by the minute. Anyway, that should be the worst behind me now, the forecast for the afternoon is better and heading East, the wind should now be on our side again, next stop Highworth, 17 miles away. As promised, things were looking up. The wind was almost helping instead of directly hindering, the terrain was more rolling than brutal, and the rain stayed away. Just over an hour later, with nothing more to report than a few spots of rain, a quick conversation with a lovely couple out for a few local miles whilst sat at some traffic lights and a couple of short climbs, I was in Highworth getting the answer for the info control, before turning right for the last stop of the day at Shrivenham. And that’s where the fun ended! Just before Shrivenham the rain returned with with some real viciousness, and whilst the wind was now firmly on my back and the terrain pretty much flat, which allowed a good turn of speed, as darkness approached so the temperature dropped and that coupled with the rain sapping my enthusiasm and body temperature meant I started to get cold. A chocolate bar at Shrivenham helped restore a bit of morale and I pushed on for the last leg of the day as the rain fell steadily and darkness wrapped its comforting hand around the world. A few miles from Oxford the rain did subside for a while, revealing an almost full moon in all its glory. But by then the damage had been done. I was cold, wet and tired and no longer feeling the love for riding my bike. The final straw came on the outskirts of Oxford where I hit a massive pot hole obscured by the dark and full of water, hard enough to dislodge the batteries in my GPS causing it to shut down (Garmin Etrex if you’re interested (I know proper old school, but it works for me)). I tried to restart it whilst moving, but just couldn’t get the dexterity in my cold and wet fingers to manage it. Admitting defeat and rolling to a stop, I pulled off my sodden gloves and tried to sort things out. However, as is always the case when your tired and wet, it firstly took ages to restart and then failed to reload the route! Stood there with the rain cascading over me in the dark I might have had a bit of a sense of humour failure at that point! After what felt like a week stood at the roadside, but was actually probably only minutes, I sorted it out and was back under way, just wishing for the end, a brew and the chance to dry out. Luckily that came sooner rather than later. As, having reached my wits end, I was only a couple of miles from the end and rolling through the early evening Oxford traffic gave me something to occupy my mind for those last couple of miles, distracting me from my pit of misery and despair. When I finally got there, the end was indeed a relief and a few minutes later I was back in the van with the heater blowing full pelt and a brew in hand, wet clothes discarded, warm and dry again, wondering what all the fuss had been about. I’ll happily admit that that was a hard, hard day. Big hills, atrocious weather and maybe I wasn’t in the best frame of mind anyway, having been wet multiple times in the last couple of weeks. But you know what, looking back, even now, I still had a great time. Just me and a few like minded souls against the weather, making the most of it and getting out there. And, from what I saw between the rain and clouds, it looked like a stunning route, which just means that I’m going to have to go back and do it again and hope I get to see more of it next time!
Having been fully immersed in the weather on Saturday, Sunday looked better. So, being the enterprising chap I am I relocated down to Abingdon on Saturday night, planning on getting a few miles of running in along the Thames path on Sunday morning.
And a brilliant plan it was too, as Sunday dawned clear and bright, with no signs of Saturdays monsoon. Dawn was just breaking as I set out on what should have been some lovely miles along the side of the Thames which was full to bursting and in full spate, as yesterday’s rain rushed noisily downstream to its eventual meeting with the sea. All was not to be though. The riverside track was slick with muddy. The slippery, horrible sort, that makes it impossible to get any grip or keep your footing. Slip sliding from one side of the path to the other and trying vainly to avoid the worst of the puddles I made slow progress for a couple of miles, but all was not well. 3 miles in and I fell for the 2nd time in quick succession, my feet going from under me in the slippery conditions. This was pointless, I was making only limited progress and at this rate I was going to seriously hurt myself for little or no gain. So that was the end of that. I slowly retraced my steps, had a mooch around the lock at Abingdon, watched the river for a bit and called it a day before I hurt myself, and I’m happy with that as a sensible decision. Live to fight another day as they say, and I’m sure that they’ll be plenty more times to get muddy when it does actually matter.
And just before I go, how about this for yet another bit of rubbish. I bought this head torch back in the summer, and I’d be amazed if it’s been used more than a dozen times. Now I tend to look after things as well as I can (if you look after them then they’ll look after you). But due to poor design it’s already broken.
Now I know they need to keep the weight down, but come on, any fool can see that that’s going to be a weak point. Not to worry though, we have the technology to repair and improve. So one bit of copper, neatly trimmed to size and fixed in with epoxy resin and we're back in the game. Fixed, improved and better than before! Here we go again then, the start of another year and the chance to wipe the slate clean and start all over again. Again! Being as we are starting again I suppose the first order of business needs to be wrapping up last year's achievements and whilst I will eventually get around to updating my reminiscing pages to reflect 2022’s happenings, it won't do any harm to just have a quick run through here will it. So in no particular order in 2022 I:
That's not all though, because:
And whilst doing that little lot I spent 57 nights away in the van, which I think fully justifies its expense, and a further 8 nights bivvying out (which is nowhere near enough). Personally, I think that’s pretty good going, especially as I’m not exactly in the prime of youth, and probably explains why I have difficulties keeping my eyes open in the evenings. To be honest, I think it’s going to be pretty hard to get anywhere near those numbers again, but we'll see how 2023 goes, and I’ve certainly got plenty of things in the pipeline, so I guess that we'll just see what happens as the year progresses and go from there. Right then, that’s enough about last year, life's all about looking forwards not back, so let's get on with 2023, and to that end there’s only one way to start a new year off and that’s with the Knacker Cracker! The Knacker Cracker’s become a bit of a New Year's Day tradition for me, although I missed last year due to the Covid Kerfuffle (and that’s missed in both senses of the word (didn’t attend and missed attending)). Missed opportunities aside, it’s a brilliant little run and by my normal standards it is little (10Km). But what it lacks in distance, it more than makes up for in stupidity. It’s always muddy, the majority of the route seems to be either vertical ascent or descent, much of which is so steep that the muddy paths have been replaced with uneven sized muddy steps, and most importantly there’s always a strong turnout of fancy dress. Now what’s not to like about that I ask you? And what a brilliant way to start a new year, muddy running stupidity. Brilliant! Having dug out my Minion costume and trail shoes from the depths of the wardrobe the night before, the late start time (11:00) left plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast and a relaxed drive down to the start. Not that I’d been partying on New Years Eve. I was actually in bed just after 10 having struggled to keep my eyes open that long. I suppose that's what spending the 4 previous days on your bike does for you! I’ve said it before and I’ll no doubt say it again, it’s a glamorous life I lead! Arriving in plenty of time, I picked up my number and joined the other runners milling around waiting for the off. But before we could depart there was the small matter of getting to the start. Previously the start point has been at the top of Box Hill, however the National trust which owns the land has since decided not to allow the use of their car park and as such alternative arrangements have been made, necessitating a short walk to the start. It’s not every day that you get to enjoy the sight of a couple of hundred runners proceeding up the edge of the A24 dressed as Nuns, Minions, Father Christmas’s, Pirates, Wizards and a hundred other silly things, so it’s certainly not the end of the world. Arriving at what should have been our departure point, a further detour was required to alternative start point B. I can think of no better way to explain the reason for this diversion than the words used by the organiser who announced that plan B was being put into action due to “The bridge to get to the start being testicle deep in water” which I think pretty much sums up the spirit of the whole day. Reaching the new start point, a quick briefing covered the alternative routing, ensuring we all knew where we were going (well, some people did), followed by a rousing rendition of the national anthem and we were on our way. On our way slowly, that is, as the first half mile or so took us from the bottom of Box Hilll to the top, up a steep narrow path. Wave to the camera drone on the way past, squeeze past the Nun and fall in for a few steps behind the mexican band, acknowledge the piper complete with kilt whos doing his best to squeeze the life out of his bagpipes (he’s really good really) and crest the hill. Straight over the road for a flatter section, where I gain a few places, passing a christmas present, a wizard complete with long flowing beard and staff, and then get passed myself by 2 top gun pilots. See I told you this was fun! And so it goes on for 10 Km along muddy, rutted tracks. Families out for their new years day walk offer words of encouragement as you pass, their children busy identifying their favorite characters from the multitude of fancy dress costumes, and fellow runners offer their own encouragement as you pass, or cross paths, on the multiple overlapping points. A return to the Piper, now at the lookout point atop the hill, signifies that the day's work is nearly done and offers superb views over Dorking and the surrounding countryside. Just once more down the hill and back up again and we're done. This ones a hard one though with uneven steps cut into the hillside all the way down and back up again. Legs tiring from the effort and with short sharp breaths, it’s a case of head down and climb those steps. Big step, little step, run a few feet, clamber over some tree roots and a few more uneven steps, I’m working my way back up the hill though and there’s not much further to go now. One final push and the ends in sight. Over the line in 58 minutes, a long way off the winning time of 41, but todays not about winning as far as I’m concerned, in fact it’s not even about trying, it's all about having fun and enjoying the day, and enjoy it I most certainly did. Roll on next year is all I’ve got to add, because the Knacker Cracker is certainly the best way to welcome in the new year as far as I’m concerned! In other news and I might have mentioned it a few times in the last couple of weeks, we seem to have had a bit of rain recently. I’ve obviously wittered on today about the bridge to the start at the Knacker Cracker being testicle deep in flood water, and you might have noticed that I mentioned getting wet a few times in my post about the The Full Fat Festive 500. But, even I didn’t realise quite how much rain we have had in the last couple of weeks until I noticed the bucket in the garden, which I know for a fact was empty (because I used it) on the 18th December, which has now got 5” of water in it, (that's 127mm for you metric fans), and it’s still raining as I sit here writing this today! I guess that after the long dry summer we undoubtedly need the rain to refill all the reservoirs etc, but 5” in 15 days, that’s quite a bit of rain!. Just before I go and just to prove that occasionally I do finish what I started and do occasionally do other stuff apart from “playing out” as “The Emma” refers to my running and cycling activities.
Over the Christmas period I’ve finally got around to slapping some paint on the shoe rack which I made back in September and personally, I think it’s turned out ok for the efforts of a talentless buffoon! As they say, you can't rush these things. Oh, and I can confirm that I still hate painting! |
Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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