Well, we seem to have survived the big freeze last week and now it’s back to situation normal. I’m not sure what’s worse though. Freezing my bits off despite wearing all my clothes all of the time, or nearly being blown off the face of the planet during my cycle commute this week, whilst trying to dodge the massive puddles which have reappeared.
Last weeks cold temperatures were a bit extreme. I ran the ten miles into work on Friday morning and it was cold enough that the water in my camelback had frozen by the time I got there, which is pretty extreme. (Especially as it’s right next to my body, with the associated heat that gives off whilst running). It’s all part of the fun though, and the variety adds to the experience. The sudden temperature change between Friday / Saturday and Sunday morning caught me out a bit this week though as we’ll see in a minute. Sunday saw a long-awaited return to some proper running, in the form of The Winter Tanners 30 mile Ultramarathon. It’s been a long, often depressing, slog, to get back to a position where I thought 30 miles was possible again and what better way to do it than The Winter Tanners . The Winter Tanners is always an excellent day out and the lovely people at Surrey LDWA who put the event on manage to come up with a different route every year, which always showcases some of the best scenery, and walking / running routes in Surrey. Having done this event a couple of times before I had a rough idea of what was to come (2022, 2023) although the route would be new, the organisation was likely to be superb, as was the welcome at the checkpoints, and I wasn’t disappointed. A comfortable night in the van, meant that I was up ready and raring to go for an 08:30 start time, although having gone to bed with the thermometer hovering just above freezing, it seemed a bit strange to wake to rain falling on the van roof, and the feeling that the temperature had climbed somewhat overnight. Getting dressed and sorting my kit out after breakfast it dawned on me that the temperature change may be a bit of a problem. Having packed for the Arctic, I had a down jacket, but no waterproofs with me, and plenty of thermals, but no thin tops. Not an ideal start to the day, but with a bit of ingenuity I managed to gather up enough sensible clothing to cope with the changed conditions and set off hopeful that what I did have would see me through the day.
It didn’t take long to realise that it was actually even warmer than I had first thought, and within the first couple of miles I’d had to stop and discard the jacket that I’d started in, which wasn’t an ideal situation as it wouldn’t fit in my small pack, so it was going to have to be tied around my waist for the day, where it would generally annoy me as it flapped around. You’d think that by now, I’d have learned to prepare for every eventuality, but it would seem not, and in fact, the opposite is probably true as familiarity sets in.
Poor dress choice wasn’t going to stop me having fun though, and I set off at a nice steady pace, planning on just taking the day easy. If I could just get round on my dodgy knee, then that was going to be the result that I was looking for, and if that meant running the first part and then walking the rest, then so be it. But the first few miles passed fairly easily, and I was feeling surprisingly good as the first of the days climbs loomed out of the countryside in front of us. The climb up past Denbies vineyard with its views over Dorking and back towards Box Hill is always a delight and today was no different. It’s a long slog but eminently run-able, and I slowly made my way towards the top at a steady pace, gradually catching up with the walkers and slower runners who had set off ahead of me, passing each with a cheery good morning, and an “enjoy your day” as I made my way slowly past. A checkpoint at the top of the climb ensured that no one had sneaked a shortcut, and then onward along the hilltop towards the pretty church at Ranmore, before dropping off into the woods to make our way towards the first of the day’s proper checkpoints at the 7-mile mark.
The first checkpoint had not long been open when I arrived and there was already a queue of people waiting patiently in line to get their cards scanned as proof of passage in front of me. That’s another joy of these events, because they’re not timed and there’s no results published (just a finished or not) there’s no pushing and shoving to get scanned and on your way as fast as possible, no bad tempers at the delay, no rushing!
It’s all far more civilised, no rush, stand in line and have a chat with the person in front, hold the gate open for them if they’re close enough, have a chat with your fellow runners and walkers on the way round, stop to admire the view if you’re that way inclined. That’s my idea of a good day out, you can keep your results and jostling for position, I’d rather have this any day. A couple of minutes later (not long enough to get cold) I was back on my way. Card scanned, water topped up, and a couple of chocolate digestives in my hand as way of reward for the efforts so far. With only 7 miles down it was going to be a long 10 mile stretch to the next checkpoint across unfamiliar ground, but I was still feeling good, the sun was trying valiantly to make an appearance, and although the wind had a cold edge to it when it caught you in its blustery grasp, I was still having fun.
Steady progress through the morning saw West Horsley come and go, and the dry tracks underfoot saw a marked changed to the same event last year when I seem to remember spending the middle miles wading through flooded fields.
The old airfield at Wisley can as a surprise out of nowhere as the footpath spat us out right into the middle of the old runway, before heading back into the woods on the other side, a different proposition from the days when the airfield was built as a satellite to the aircraft works at Brooklands where they were busy building some of the most iconic aircraft of WW2 and the 1950’s and 60’s (Wellington Bomber, VC10, parts of Concord, Hawk, to name but a few). Another delight awaited just as we approached the next checkpoint too, in the form of a Semaphore tower at Chatley Heath. It’s hard to comprehend in this modern digital age, where communication is almost instant, that less than 200 years ago, this iconic building formed part of a chain of such towers and was used to relay messages via Semaphore from the Admiralty in London down to their ships in harbours around the coast. How the world has changed in such a short time frame.
Maybe I could have sent “The Emma" a message via the semaphore tower to let he know that I was doing ok and with 17 miles down, was now heading back in the right direction. Mid Ultra marathon probably isn’t the best time to stop and learn semaphore though, and at the end of the day, she’s got better things to do than get messages from an idiot that thinks running 30 miles is a good idea. So, I made do with a chat with the nice people at the checkpoint, a sausage roll and a biscuit from the table groaning under the weight of their goodies, and pushed on.
The next few miles were a bit of a slog if I’m honest. The miles seemed to pass slowly, with little of interest, except for a few minutes chatting with a nice man who was running his 100th Ultra and was happy to chat for a while as we plodded along, and, just as interestingly a collection of pretty little bridges carrying farm tracks over the footpath (someone did mention a name for these as we passed but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was).
Despite the miles passing slowly I was progressing, and gradually, 23 miles became 24, which passed on to 25 and the milestone of 26 just before the next checkpoint at Tanners hatch.
The good news was that with only another 4 or 5 miles to go and it was mostly downhill from here, and good news that was too, because the miles were starting to take their toll (or more accurately the lack of miles in the preceding months were taking their toll on unconditioned legs). Sore feet and stiff muscles played a constant reminder over the last few miles, of the miles already covered. But I was still moving well and more importantly I was still running, and my knees were holding up ok. In fact, my pacing strategy had obviously paid off as I was still slowly gaining on, catching, and overtaking plenty of people in front of me, many of whom were coming towards the end of the shorter 20-mile route, whilst I had an extra 10 miles in my legs.
Coming back into the outskirts of Leatherhead all that remained was the last few hundred meters along the road back to the finish, and with tired legs, but happy at the days outcome I scanned back in at 13:50, 5:28 after setting off.
And you know what, five and a half hours for 30 off road miles in the middle of winter is a time that I’m more than happy with (and that compares well with previous efforts). Although, I’m most happy with the fact that after all those months of not running last year, I’ve finally managed another Ultra, something which for a long time I didn’t think was going to be possible. Yes, my legs are sore today and my knees feel a bit tender, but I was straight back on the bike for my normal commute to work on Monday morning, and despite feeling a bit stiff, my knees feel none the worse for Sundays efforts, so fingers crossed, now I’ve “broken my duck”, I can continue getting scores on the doors and my Ultra running career isn’t going to be over with a miserly 62 Marathons. I mean, surely there’s a few more in me yet, and there’s the small matter of the LDWA Punchbowl Marathon in a few weeks’ time. So, watch this space and let’s see what happens over the coming weeks, maybe my running career isn’t quite over yet!
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It looks like winters finally arrived, or at least it certainly has here, it’s blinking freezing! In fact it’s been a “double gloves” week all this week for my ride into work, and I’ve been sitting at home in the evenings with 2 jumpers and a wooly hat on!
On a more positive note, it’s surprising how quickly the evenings are drawing out. The week before Christmas it was dark by 16:30 as I got home from work, this week it’s 17:00, and I’ve noticed that the first of the spring bulbs have broken the surface in the back garden. So, better days are certainly on their way.
While we’re talking about better days, I managed to get in a good solid week of running last week for the first time in many month’s, clocking up 41 miles for the week, which included 16 on Saturday morning. Considering that a few months ago I was wondering if I was ever going to run again, I’m really happy with that. Obviously, it’s too soon to make any predictions for the coming year, but if things keep moving forward, maybe I’ll be able to get some decent running come the summer.
Running wasn’t the main focus of the weekend though, that was the Watership Down Audax. It’s only a 100Km, but this is one that I’d been looking forward to for a while, and had been trying to tie into my calendar for a few years, but had never managed before, as it always clashed with something else.
Starting from Winchester it’s not a million miles from home, so it made sense to extend the day a bit by riding to the start and back, which took the 100km up to a nice round 100 miles, making it an ideal winter's day out. Starting from home also had the added bonus of a full weekend sleeping in my own bed. Not that that’s necessarily a good thing, and I will confess that I love my nights out in the van. If I have too many nights at home I start to get itchy feet for a bit of adventure! On a cold, dark, winter’s night, sitting in front of the fire seems like a pretty good option sometimes though.
An 09:30 start from Winchester meant a sensible start from home too and it was nearly 07:30 by the time I got on the road, which is a nice relaxing Sunday morning by my normal standards.
Quiet Sunday morning roads made for a pleasant ride down to the start, and with the added bonus of the sun coming up as I made my way through the quiet countryside, it was an ideal start to the day. Arriving at the start with plenty of time to spare, I was greeted by a village hall full of people, and the offer of a hot brew and slice of homemade cake. Homemade cake, for my second breakfast? Well I suppose I’ve already put 20 miles in my legs, and I’m sure I’ll burn those extra calories off without too many problems today, so why not?
By the time we set off from Winchester, the weak winter sun had made an unusual appearance, and the temperature had climbed to just above freezing. Cold, but not too cold, dry, and wind free, you can’t ask for much better cycling weather in the middle of January!
Not being that far from home, many of Sunday's roads were familiar, although joining them up in a different order always makes for a different ride. As does traveling the same road in a different direction. In fact there were quite a few times on Sunday when I thought, “I’ve no idea where I am” only to come to the next junction, or turn in the road, to realise that I actually knew this road well but had only travelled it in the opposite direction previously.
For a 100Km it was a pretty hard day out too!
From the start the route was “Lumpy”, but at the same time there was nothing too hard for the first few miles, and we made good progress through the Hampshire countryside. By the time the first checkpoint arrived at Upper Chute, “lumpy” had become “hilly” and I was starting to feel somewhat overdressed as I toiled up yet another long, steep, leg burning climb. I suspect those 16 miles of running that I put into my legs on Saturday weren’t helping matters, but I was certainly starting to feel those climbs. Revitalised by a couple of mince pies at Upper Chute the climbing continued as we made our way through the North Wessex AONB. (Why aren’t mince pies available all year round? Crumbly pastry, mince meat, hundreds of calories, they’re the ideal pick me up for a tired adventurer, although a hot cross bun comes a close second) A long series of relentless climbs through beautiful countryside, made for some slow progress as we toiled slowly towards the next checkpoint, which would signify the turn for home. But eventually, as we crested the top of the long, steep, climb to Combe Gibbet, the endless uphill gave way to flatter terrain and screaming legs got the respite they so desperately needed. With a respite from the steep, endless, inclines, the miles came quickly, along familiar roads. Roads which I must have traversed a thousand times over the years as I’ve made my way by bike on various adventures. No matter how often I travel these quiet countryside back roads, they still enthrall me, and invoke the same spirit of adventure and investigation as they did the first time I made my way this way all those years ago. The roads may be familiar, but the excitement at what lays around the next bend or over the next hill remains a constant. One last steep climb took us over the days namesake at Watership Down. Steep, twisting, loose gravel loosening the back wheels grip, lungs bursting, heart beating, the efforts always worth it for the view from the top, and today in the early afternoon sun it didn’t disappoint. No chance of photos today though, there’s no way I’m taking off two pairs of gloves and disturbing all those layers that are keeping me warm for the sake of a view we’ve seen before!
The final big climb of the day over, all that remained was the small matter of 20 lumpy miles back to the start. Miles which seemed easy on the way out appeared much harder on the way back, and hills which had hardly registered on my radar a few hours earlier appeared to have grown in steepness and length in the intervening hours.
As is often the case, the feeling of wishing for the road to flatten and the day to end is often replaced with a feeling of regret and disappointment when you do cover the final miles and the day does come to an end. Why did I wish those miles away, when all I really needed was ten minutes off the bike and a cup of tea and I would have enjoyed them? Today though was going to be my lucky day, because despite being back at the start there was still the small matter of the 20 miles back home to cover. A slice of delicious home made cake, a hot brew (and a refill), a few minutes of small talk with the other riders who were steadily coming into the finish, their days done. Another slice of cake? Oh go on then! And then back out into the late afternoon sun for the short ride home. A ride which was far pleasanter than those final few miles back to the start a few short minutes before. Considering I was traveling the exact same roads through identical terrain, it’s amazing the difference a short stop, and a few sugary calories can make to the way you feel! Arriving home as dusk descended, spots of rain fell on the garage roof, neatly bringing to a close a great day out. Not a drop of rain all day, and then a heavy shower as I got in, it was almost as if the weather gods had been looking down favourably on me. Or was it just a case of “Fortune favours the bold”?
I’ve come to the conclusion that I must either have a very short memory, or be a glutton for punishment.
If I’m honest, I suspect that it’s a bit of both. But you’d think that having put yourself through hell once, that you wouldn’t think to yourself “Oh, that was a good idea, lets go and do it again” would you? Well, it would appear that I do! What am I on about? Well, Friday night saw me in the van heading up to Oxford ready for an early start on Saturday morning for the Poor Student 200Km Audax. The weather had been atrocious all week, and whilst the forecast was for it to be dry on Saturday, it looked like it was going to be colder than it had been, and there were certainly some pretty big puddles (lakes) still filling the roads in numerous places. The thing that concerned me most though, was my memories of this ride from last year. Memories which came flooding back as I made the short journey up to my overnight stop. I had a quick look at last year's mileage tracking spreadsheet earlier, and for the day in question it just says “Brutal - See blog”. So I had a look at the corresponding blog entry, and my memories of last year's event appear to be correct. It was Brutal! Surely It can’t have been that hard can it? I mean, at the end of the day it’s only a 200Km ride through the hills and valleys of the Cotswolds at the start of January, when it’s traditionally, cold, dark, wet, and muddy! Maybe my mind had been playing tricks on me and I’d imagined the whole thing. There was only going to be one way to find out though, and that was to do it again! Arriving at the start on Saturday morning I was surprised at the number of fellow lunatics who had decided to brave the cold January morning to loiter around a dark, damp, car park, waiting for someone to unceremoniously say “well, off you go then”. I’ve seen far less people on the start line of rides on beautiful days in the middle of summer, so the number prepared to get out there at the start of January was certainly impressive.
Bang on 07:30 we were off, a string of red tail lights shining brightly in the dark as we rolled out of Oxford, slowly spreading out into a long line of cyclists as everyone settled into their own pace.
The first leg up to Shipton-Under-Wychwood was flat and fast and I made good time, arriving amongst the front runners and missing the worst of the mad rush as the poor man in the small village garage was inundated with riders looking for a receipt as roof of passage (I’ve no idea why this is a control point which needs a receipt, it’s a crazy situation and would be far better as an Information (question) type of control. Receipt in hand I didn’t hang around, and was soon back on the road, heading for the next stop at Chipping Campden. The Climb out of Shipton-Under-Wychwood set the scene for the next few hours, long dragging climbs with the views across the Cotswolds from the hill tops obscured by low lying cloud, with only the occasional church spire poking bravely through the moist, rain heavy sky, to betray the location of the villages hidden in the valleys below. By mid morning Chipping Campden, had been and gone and I was onto the long (41 mile) leg taking us towards lunch at Malmesbury. This is the section that my memory recalled as hard from last year, and that memory was certainly correct. A long, steady drag of a climb from Chipping Campden soon became a series of ever steeper, ever longer, climbs, as we progressed against the lay of the land, across the Cotswolds. Slowly winch yourself up one side of the valley, lowest gear, lungs bursting, legs screaming, heart beating hard. Until the top is reached at which point it’s straight down the other side. Destination valley floor. The roads are damp and covered in gravel which has been washed from the surrounding fields in the previous days, the potholes deep and water filled, hiding their extent and location from the unwary. So it’s not a fun filled fast descent, more a hang on for grim death whilst trying to slow a bike that gravity insists should be accelerating on the slippery surface. And when you safely reach the valley floor and slowly uncurl stiff, cold, aching fingers, from around the brake levers, it’s straight back uphill to do it all again. And so it goes on for mile after mile. This is better than last year though. Last year the wind was howling in my face and the rain lashed down, so I’m grateful for small mercies and make the most of the limited views from the hill tops. Enjoy the odd occasion when I can release my grip on the brakes and let the bike have its head for a few meters, and try to enjoy the sound of my heart trying to make its escape from my rib cage on the next climb! Eventually, as I start to wonder how many more of these killer climbs I can manage, the terrain levels out, as we leave the steep sided valleys and progress onto flatter ground to take us towards Malmesbury where a sandwich and short stop awaits. As I sat in the village centre squashing crisps into a sandwich, I thought back to last year when I sat in the same place and poured rain water from my boots before wringing out my socks and putting them back on again. Now there’s a memory for you, and that’s what it’s all about. Making memories that will last a lifetime. It’s never easy, sometimes it’s really hard, but every time I venture outside my front door, there’s a memory to be made, an adventure to be had, and a new experience just waiting to be enjoyed (or not as the case may be). Even those awful days, when the rain falls from the sky like stair rods, your shoes are full of water, your wet, cold and miserable, often turn out to be brilliant in hindsight. If I’d said, “I’m not playing today” and just sat on my sofa eating biscuits, it’s unlikely that I’d have been able to tell you where I was or what I did on the 7th January 2023. But, because I got out there I can tell you that I sat in the middle of Malmesbury and wrung my socks out! Sofa, or wet socks? I know which one wins in my book! Anyway, enough about last year, let’s get back to this year. If the leg through the Cotswolds is hilly, from Malmesbury back to Oxford, is pretty much the exact opposite. Ok, I’ll grant you it’s not Norfolk flat, but it’s not exactly hilly. If I’m honest, I don’t know which is worse. Yes, the hills are hard going sometimes, but at least you get the downhills and the views as a reward. The flat though. Well, there's less to occupy your mind, there’s less to look at, and whilst there isn’t the uphill effort there isn’t the downhill reward either. In fact on the flat, you never get to stop pedalling. The miles came quick and fast as the afternoon progressed. A brief stop in Shrivenham where some mini pancakes provided a tasty treat and yet another proof of passage receipt and then as darkness approached the last few miles into Oxford. The approach to Oxford saw the first real puddles of the day. Nothing too serious, only just enough to get your feet wet, but still a daunting prospect when it’s dark and you can't see how deep it is. Should I go for it? Should I wait for a car to come along and go through to see how deep it is? Should I scoot over the fence and go around via the muddy field to the road side? Should I wait for another rider to catch up and go as a pair? Sod it, just go, the worse that’ll happen is I’ll get really wet when I fall off in the middle! Flood waters safely negotiated the final miles into Oxford were incident free, although another lake required a pavement diversion to get through and some roadworks necessitated the only walking of the day for a few meters. Another great day out then. Maybe not as memorable as last year, but a great day out nonetheless and another 200km (127 miles) in my legs. And that’s a pretty good way to get the cycling year off to a start in my book! 2024 already. How has that happened? It doesn’t seem like 2 minutes ago that we were celebrating the start of 2023, yet 12 months have passed in a blur and now we’ve got another 12 to look forward too!
Who knows what 2024 is going to have in store for us, that’s the beauty of life, every day is the opportunity for a new adventure, experience, or the chance to learn something new, it’s just up to us to grasp the opportunity with both hands and make the most of it. To that end, I’ve started 2024 as I mean to go on, with the now traditional Knacker Cracker (2021, 2023, 2022 didn’t happen due to the Covid kerfuffle). I’ll have said it before, but I Love the Knacker Cracker, it’s the most ridiculous run of the entire year, and for that reason it’s bloody brilliant. It’s only 10 Km, but it’s a brutal 10 Km with multiple ascents of Box Hill, the majority of which are too steep for us mere mortals to run. It’s always muddy, it’s always slippery, most people get dressed up in fancy dress, it’s got a brilliant atmosphere, it starts with a rendition of the National Anthem, there’s always loads of families with small kids out enjoying their new years day walk, all of whom love the fancy dress runners and offer brilliant support, it’s a run that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and there’s always a piper dressed in full regalia to encourage you along. I mean, let’s be honest, how can that not be brilliant? Due to being dressed up as a Minion I haven’t got any photos of the fun to share (who knew that Minions don’t have pockets?) but there are loads of pictures of the stupidity (and a video) on the Knacker Cracker Website if you’re interested. Being New Years day, it was a sensible 11:00 start, so I got the opportunity of being rudely awaken in my own bed at midnight while the world decided to re-enact the battle of the Somme outside, before getting up at a more sensible time for the short, traffic free journey down to the start. I think that in 2021 I stayed in the van the night before as I was coming back from somewhere else, and fireworks right outside your door when your asleep in the van are even less fun than they are when you’re at home I can tell you! Either way, I was ready and raring to go, along with multiple star wars characters, a couple of gangsters, some top gun pilots, a bee, a man with a goose on his head, a group coupled together as a steam train, a dinosaur and a dragon, for the signing of the National Anthem at bang on 11:00. See, I told you this was fun! From the start it’s across a muddy field and then straight up the side of Box Hill for the first time, following a muddy path that’s so steep it’s got steps all the way up. Puffing and panting my way up, I managed to overtake a clown at the first bend, catch and pass a pirate halfway up, and then get overtaken by a lady dressed as a bumble bee as we neared the top. From the top of the first ascent, it’s immediately straight back down the other side, which should be a chance to get your breath back, but isn’t, because it’s almost as hard to go down hill as it is up, and anyway, we all know that I’m rubbish at going downhill (see any previous blog post for my inadequacies in the downhill department). Luckily enough, the downhill is soon over, and it’s a quick spin around a traffic cone, and straight back up the way we’ve just come down. This time though there’s a steady stream of runners still coming down as I work my way up to admire, encourage and share a smile with. There’s Bill and Ben the flowerpot men, Spongebob’s looking good, the dinosaur is just ahead of the dragon, and the jockeys are being closely chased by a Christmas cracker. It's rather warm running in a all-in-one fleece Minion suit though, and by the time I reach the top for the second time, the sweats dripping off me and I’m blowing hard. Luckily it levels off for a bit as we make our way from one side of the hill to the other and I get the chance to get my breath back and cool off temporarily. Families walking off the Christmas excess shout their encouragement. Father Christmas chasing a Pumpkin and Banana along a muddy footpath, probably wasn’t what they were expecting to see on their New Years day walk, but everyone’s in good humour and were all enjoying the spectacle. Although a see a few bemused looking dogs, suspiciously eying a Viking and a Ballerina as we pass. Halfway, and it’s another trip down the side of the hill to come straight back up again. This time though it’s a long slog of a climb back up. Not steep enough to justify walking, but steep enough to have me on the limit as I run back up. Sweat drips from my brow and I can feel it trickling down my legs. Legs which are encased in that fleecy all in one suit, in which I’m starting to feel like a bake in the bag turkey. I lose a couple of places to more sensibly dressed runners on the way up. A bearded man dressed in a flowery summer dress comes past, soon followed by Forest Gump and a man in Bavarian dress, complete with shorts and hat, now why didn’t I think of any of those instead of this sweltering Minion suit? Hot or not, I’m still having a brilliant time. Once more over the top and back down the other side. It’s only one more ascent to take us back up past the Trig point where the Piper is busy squeezing the life out of his bagpipes and we once again get to see those behind as we round the Trig point and push on towards the finish. Hot, sweaty, but still smiling I cross the finish line in 1:01:32 which was good enough for 24th place from the 212 finishers, which gives you a pretty good idea of how hard a course this actually is. As far as I’m concerned the Knacker Cracker’s not about time’s or positions though, it’s about having a bloody good time with some like minded runners and seeing the New year in in the best possible way, and it certainly manages that every single time. It's not very often I wish the time away, but roll on 01 Jan 2025, or Knacker Cracker day as I like to refer to it as! |
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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