Well, it looks like I opened my mouth a bit too soon regarding the weather taking a turn for the better, as no sooner had I said that than the rain returned. That’ll teach me for getting my hopes up! While were talking about getting my hopes up, I seem to be struggling for motivation at the moment, which is never a good place to be. I suppose the weather isn’t helping. You get a tiny glimpse of spring and then the rain returns putting a real downer on things. But, more importantly, and I suppose the real reason for my glum mood, I’ve injured myself! I suspect that as per normal it’s an overuse injury, but whatever I’ve done it’s putting a stop to my running and hanging there like a niggling doubt, eating away at my resolve to keep pushing on. A couple of weeks ago I knelt down in the van on my left knee and felt a real sharp stabbing pain, deep in the lower front of the joint. Initially I thought I’d just moved wrong, but the next day whilst on the floor stretching, the pain was still there. Walking and cycling was fine, poking it around was fine, but kneeling down with my weight pushed forward, well that hurt a lot. I had a couple of rest days and then ran The Cerne Giant Ultra last weekend with no real issues. That pain was still there when I knelt down though, and it wasn’t going away! A bit of Googling (I know, that’s not what you’re supposed to do) suggests a few possible reasons, all of which are related to overuse. Which would make sense considering the abuse I tend to put my body through. Knowing what’s wrong with it doesn’t really help though, what I need to know is how to get better, but I know that the first thing any doctor or Physio is going to say is “stop doing the things that make it hurt” so it makes sense to do just that and see what happens in the next couple of weeks and go from there. The problem is, if I don’t keep doing something than I’ll go mad, so I’ve cut out the thing which tends to do the most damage and puts the biggest load through your knees, running! I’ll give it a few weeks and see what happens, if it’s no better after Easter then I’ll book some Physio, but at least by then I’ll be able to say “not running’s made no / some / lots of difference) and I might have a better idea what caused the issue in the first place (apart from doing too much). None of that’s helping with my mental health though. Having that nagging doubt sat in the back of your mind saying, “this might be the end of my running career” “what if it never gets better” gnaws away at you like a headwind (more of which later) and makes you wonder if all the hard work and training miles were worth it. If I can’t run, then there’s nothing to stay fit for. If I’m not running then there’s no need to get up early, so I might as well have another beer, and so the downward spiral begins. None of which helps on the motivation front. So, at the end of the day, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself, find something else to focus my attention and efforts on for a few weeks, whilst my knee hopefully magically fixes itself and then go from there, which unfortunately is easier to say than do. On the positive side, I happen to have a little household project up my sleeve for the Easter period. Mind you, it might not be the ideal project when your knees already hurt, but it doesn’t involve running or cycling silly mileages, so should give those tired muscles a bit of a break. What have I got planned? Well, you’ll just have to wait and see. But what I will say is that when “The Emma” mentioned it to some of her workmates, they all unanimously said “Is he nuts, there’s no way I’d take that job on” and I’ve just mentioned my plans in the office here and got the same answer! Right, now that I’ve got that off my chest (or should that be knees) what have I been up too this weekend? Well, obviously I haven’t been running, but there’s other ways to get out and about, namely cycling and to that end Saturday saw me lined up bright and early for the London - Oxford - London 200Km Audax.
That’s 130 miles of bicycling fun, starting from Ruislip on the outskirts of London, before heading out to Oxford through the Chiltern Hills and via a small excursion out towards Aylesbury just to add a few miles. From Oxford it’s just a case of back along the other side, Abingdon, Didcot, Wallingford, a brutal descent and immediate long climb at Chinnor and then a few easier miles back to the start. And what’s not to like about that? Well, I’ll tell you what’s not to like about that, a howling head wind all the way to Oxford is what’s not to like about that! No, I’m being unfair, that’s all part of the game, and I’ll get onto the howling head wind in a minute, but first, my lack of desire to go out to play. I don’t know why, but my head and heart just weren’t in it when I got up on Saturday morning. As I sat in the van having a brew and eating my breakfast, I could hear the wind whistling round the skylight and looking upwards the sky looked dull and dreary. I dragged myself to the start (almost literally) and collected my Brevet card, but was already having serious thoughts about continuing, and I hadn’t even started yet! From the off, the terrain was what I would call lumpy, not hilly enough to make it hard going, but lumpy enough to keep you working in order to make any progress, a situation which wasn’t helping with my low mood. Within a few minutes of setting off I was already looking for reasons to stop and slink back to the start. “I’ll just do an hour, then find somewhere to get a brew and turn round” at least I’ll have got a few miles in, and my day won’t have been a complete waste of time. As I headed out from the outskirts and suburbs of London and crossed the M25 things improved a little. Moving from the urban sprawl into open countryside gave me something to look at and the reduced traffic made it a bit easier to relax, but I still wasn’t enjoying myself and every meter gained seemed like a mental battle not to stop and just go home. Eventually though, that first hour that I’d set myself as an initial target passed, and with the sun now shining, maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Maybe, I’ll push on to the first control, have a brew there and then head back, I’m halfway there now, so that seems like a reasonable day out and a good plan. Coming through Wendover I passed the train station and my mind was transported back to the early summer morning in 1990 when I’d arrived by train at that very spot, excited, nervous, and apprehensive, ready to start my RAF Trade training as an Aircraft Technician at RAF Halton. Wendover looked familiar from that fateful day all those years ago, and the train station looked exactly the same, the scene of desolation that unfolds as you climb out of Wendover where they are forcing the new HS2 trainline through the countryside, less so, but I guess that’s progress, and people probably said the same about the building of the canal’s all those years ago. With memories of my early RAF Career, a decision which has undoubtedly shaped my life ever since and lead on to a million other adventures filling my mind, the next few miles passed in a blur and before I knew it the quaint windmill at Quainton appeared in my peripheral vision, along with the first control point. Stood in the spring sunshine, sheltered from the wind, things didn’t seem as bad as they had first thing in the morning and all thoughts of quitting seemed to have slipped from my mind. “I’ve got this far; I might as well just carry on now”. A decision that I instantly regretted 2 seconds later as I rolled back out of Quainton straight into a howling head wind. I’ve said it before but the wind just grinds you down. It makes what should be a good day out a tiring slog. It’s an invisible and never-ending force trying to push you backwards and before you can move forward you’ve got to expend enough energy to overcome that force. When it’s in your face as it was all the way to Oxford it’s hard going and there’s no respite. On the flat it’s trying to stop you moving forwards, on the hills it’s adding it’s force to the force of gravity that your already trying to overcome, and as for having to pedal downhill to make any progress, well don’t get me started on that one. Finally though the spires of Oxford appear on the horizon along with another reminder that warmer days must be on their way when I get the first abuse of the year shouted at me from a car window for having the temerity to be on what is obviously their road. It’s strange how this doesn’t seem to happen in the depths of winter when everyone’s got their windows shut, but as soon as it warms up enough to roll your window down, shouting abuse at cyclists seems to be popular pastime. Minutes later as I work my way through Oxfords busy Saturday lunchtime traffic I get another reminder of the joys of cycling when I get another mouthful of abuse for not stopping and getting out of another motorists way, despite it clearly being my right of way and there being more than enough space for both of us to proceed without stopping anyway. Ahh the joys of life on the road! Just to rub salt into already open wounds the headwind that I’d been counting on becoming a tailwind after Oxford continued all the way to Didcot. That wasn’t the end of the world though, I’d got this far and I wasn’t going to stop now. Finally, after Didcot we turned out of the wind, just in time for the afternoons climbing to start! I’d rather go up hill than into wind though, so I’m not complaining, and anyway there’s always a good view from the top of a hill and today certainly didn’t disappoint in that respect. The views across Oxfordshire from the hilltops after Watlington were as stunning and far reaching as they always are, making the effort of getting up there more than worthwhile. And then it’s onto the home stretch, just another 30 or so miles on tired legs. Through High Wycombe, skirt around Beaconsfield and then through the Colne Valley to head back to the start as afternoon turns towards evening. Another 200Km done, on a strange day, my heart and head really weren’t in it in the morning, but once I’d started getting a few miles in things turned around and I actually had a really enjoyable day. Yes, I struggled in the wind, but that’s part of the game and it’s always a demoralising slog when the winds in your face, and at this time of year it’s not an unusual occurrence. I think we’ll put this one down to experience and see what next weekend brings, hopefully I’ll have cheered up a bit by then, and it would be nice if the weather would too, I’m supposed to be doing a 300K and I really don’t fancy another 17 hours in the rain!
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Good news everyone, apparently, it’s the start of Spring, both meteorologicaly and calendar wise, which means things will continue getting better on a daily basis from here on in. Obviously, that’s ignoring the almost traditional snow at Easter, April’s torrential showers, the endless gales that tend to blow through April which strip all the fruit blossom off my fruit trees, and a last-minute late frost in May which will kill everything that’s trying to grow on the allotment.
No of course not, it’s all going to be plain sailing from here on in, and to that end this weekend I’ve managed to sun burn the bald bits on my head and enjoy some unseasonably warm moments on the allotment. OK I’ll admit that it was only really warm in the greenhouse, but why let the truth overshadow a good news story. So, what have I been up too this weekend then? Well, for a start as I mentioned above, I had a few hours on the allotment on Saturday afternoon, mainly spent in the greenhouse alternating between hiding from the showers and slowly roasting when the sun came out. It’s all or nothing this time of the year! A couple of hours pottering around saw the greenhouse staging re-erected, although if I’m honest I’m not sure how much longer it’s going to last. I made this set of staging when I got my first greenhouse back in 2002 and considering that it spends all summer outside and the rest of the year in a damp greenhouse it’s lasted pretty well. It’s getting a bit rickety now though and I think it’s time that I made a new set before this lot totally collapses and takes everything else with it, that’s not going to happen any time soon though. Maybe a job for next winter! Anyway, staging aside, those couple of hours were pretty productive and I managed to sow, Sweet Peas, Cabbages, Sprouts, Kale, early Carrots, early Peas, Nicotonia and Broad Beans in trays in the greenhouse and get some Shallot sets into the ground outside too, all of which join the Chillies, Geraniums and Petunias that got started in a propagator on a warm windowsill at home midweek. There’s still a long way to go until the hazy days of summer, but those first signs of new growth are coming thick and fast. The new Rhubarb crowns and Raspberry plants that I bought and planted at the back end of last year are all showing signs of new growth, although the Blackberries that I got at the same time don’t seem to be up to much. All of the established fruit bushes have lots of buds on them, and I noticed that the fruit trees at home look like they’re about to burst back into life too. Likewise, the daffodils are in full bloom and the Polyanthus are adding their splash of colour to the gardens along with the Crocuses, although the wallflowers seem to have succumbed to the really cold spell we had earlier in the year which is unusual. You can’t win them all though and that’s part of the fun of gardening (allegedly).
Odd jobs, bike cleaning and the misery of shopping wrapped up, along with getting things off to a start on the allotment, left the rest of the weekend to the main event. The Cerne Giant 30 Mile Challenge event, another of the LDWA’s showcase challenge events, starting and finishing in the picturesque village of Cerne Abbas, deep in the Dorset countryside.
Before I get into the roots of the event itself, I just need to comment on the dark! Having taken the van down on Saturday night ready for an early start on Sunday, I found a nice quiet little spot in the middle of nowhere for the night. The rain had cleared leaving a clear sky and without the light pollution that I’m used to coming from the metropolis of Basingstoke, I was treated to an almost idyllic night sky. Warm enough to sit outside with a brew, I spent a good few minutes gazing up in awe at the brightness and clarity of the night sky. I’m no star gazer, but without the light pollution we normally live with there were stars aplenty to admire, it’s just such a shame that we can’t normally see them against the background of streetlights! Sunday morning, just as the sun started to brighten the night sky, I was treated to the sound of new born lambs coming from the field opposite my parking spot, and birdsong from the trees behind, as I lay in bed thinking about waking up. Idyllic! Peering outside once I’d had a brew, it looked pretty idyllic too, the sun was shining, the ground was wet from yesterday’s rain, the lambs were frolicking in the fields, Daffodils shone brightly in the morning sun, and everything looked good with the world. With the sun quickly warming the morning it wasn’t hard to make the decision to abandon the running tights and thermal top that have been my faithful companion through the long winter days in favour of shorts and a lighter top, thin gloves, and not much else. Walking down to the start with the fresh air blowing round my ankles which have been hidden for so long was refreshing and reminded me of those summer days still to come, although I carefully packed some long trousers and a jacket into my running pack just in case. Better to lug extra clothes round for 30 miles then get caught out and suffer!
Booking in and collecting my route card was a slickly organised affair and after a few minutes making final adjustments to my kit, then doing it again once I’d realised that I was still wearing my glasses which needed packing too, I was ready for the off at just after 08:30.
I’ve probably mentioned before that LDWA challenge events are a bit like Audax in that you have to prove proof of passing through the relevant checkpoints within a certain time frame. As we all walk at different speeds (it is supposed to be a walking event at the end of the day) checkpoints open and close to suit the pace of fast and slower walkers, and as such, as a runner it’s possible to get in front of the checkpoint opening times, resulting in standing around waiting to get timestamped for your proof of passage. To that end it makes sense to depart towards the end of the start time window, giving the walkers a head start and slowly catching them up as the day progresses. A final few words with the lovely volunteer checking us out, and I was off into the unknown. Unusually, nervous butterflies played with my mind as I set off. Having not run all week due to my knees being sore and painful, there’s always the feeling that today might not be my day and should I actually start? (Not that a week’s rest made any difference, but I set off regardless knowing that I could always pull out or cut the day short if needed). The weeks rain had left the first few miles along well-trodden footpaths, muddy and slippery underfoot, but with the sun shining and the route soon climbing steeply away from the valley floor onto drier ground I was in my element. Within the first few miles any worries about my knees had rescinded to the back of my mind (although running probably wasn’t the best idea as they’re stiff and sore today) and I soon settled into an easy pace, taking the time to ensure my head was up taking in the views.
Those first few miles fairly flew by, and bar a short diversion where I missed a turning and everyone behind followed me, it wasn’t long before the first checkpoint at Lyscombe hove into view. This is the real beauty of these LDWA events, I’d never in a million years have found this idyllic little spot with its 12th century chapel and ruined cottages. But the local knowledge of the organisers had ensured its inclusion for today’s route and all of the LDWA events which I’ve been to have done a fabulous job of showcasing the hidden gems in their locality, which makes travelling just that little bit further than I normally would worthwhile.
I can’t stand around sightseeing all day though, there’s still a lot of miles to cover before the day is done and it’s straight back up hill as the route climbs back out from the shelter of the valley.
Steep sided valleys, with picturesque villages sheltering from the wind and weather at the bottom provide a welcome distraction from the miles ahead. The long steep climbs are rewarded by outstanding views across miles of countryside from the high points. Sheep, some with lambs in tow graze on the grassland as they have since man first tamed this wild countryside, shaping the terrain and vegetation with their endless grazing. Crystal clear streams transport rainwater from the hill tops on its way to the sea. Bird song fills the wooded areas where Catkins adorn the trees and signs of new life are starting to burst from the undergrowth. Yet the winds still got an icy edge to it when it catches you on the hilltops, or as it whistles down the valleys, reminding us that winters not quite done with us yet. Taking no notice of that chilly wind, Skylarks sing from the grassland, competing with the sound of farmers going about their business, ploughing, seeding, and checking on their sheep, making ready for the start of another productive year. And slowly the miles tick down. Proof of passage in the form of a self-administered clip mark on my route card at Binghams Melcombe. The marker hanging neatly from the post-box as the route sheet said it would, accompanied by a polite note informing the inquisitive of its purpose and requesting it remain in place to be collected at days end by the tail marker. And then onwards to the next stop at Buckland Newton. And what a stop it is, the lovely volunteers have outdone themselves. Trestle tables groan under the weight of homemade sandwiches and delicious cakes, whilst a friendly voice asks if they can get you anything, water, tea, squash, cake, biscuits, nothing is too much trouble, and it’s with a heavy heart and full stomach that I have to tear myself away from this little haven of British hospitality and generosity, to push on.
Moving on as the morning turns towards afternoon, the sun continues to shine slowly burning my exposed head, and all remains good in the world. Despite the mounting miles my knees seem to be holding up, and I feel like I’m still moving fairly well. In fact, I must be doing OK as when we re-join the 20-mile route I’m steadily catching and slowly passing those in front that have taken the shorter of the day’s options.
Slowly the miles tick down until I approach the final checkpoint at Sydling St Nicholas where the GPS route that I’ve been following takes me away from the quiet stretch of road that had been leading the way into town and onto a footpath beside a stream, which then becomes a dead end. At which point my GPS indicates that I’m off route? Retracing my steps, whilst looking confusingly at the little screen, I come across the two runners who were just behind, who are also looking confusedly at various GPS implements. Retracing our steps back to the road it looks like the road will take us to the next checkpoint anyway, so we set off that way. A few minutes lost, but that’s not a major problem in the big scheme of things, and a nice lady, busy tending her front garden, soon confirms that the village hall we are aiming for is indeed just down the road, so we push slowly on to the final checkpoint and another warm welcome. Cards scanned and clipped, confirming attendance and proof of passage, I refill my water bottle, grab a slice of cake from the delightful spread and a handful of salty crisps and push on, devouring my tasty treats as I work my way back up the next climb, as the guys I’d arrived at the checkpoint with slowly extended their lead as they pull away up the hill.
It shouldn’t be much further now and that’s confirmed as I slog up another steep incline with rapidly tiring legs and come up behind a smartly dressed gentleman, complete with Tyrolean hat and walking poles out making the most of the spring sunshine. Slowing my ascent to say “good afternoon”, he enquires after my destination and then informs me that it’s almost all downhill from here.
It’s with a lightened heart at that bit of good news that I bid him farewell and push on, ready to enjoy those last few miles of glorious downhill which he’s promised me. 20 minutes and 2 miles later and I’m still slogging uphill. Granted it’s not that steep, but with 28 miles in my legs it’s hard work. Why - oh – why did I believe that nice gentleman with his promise of it being all downhill! There’s even a great big aerial which I can see at the top signifying that the next turning point must be the highest point around! Eventually, I arrive at the top and instantly start the promised descent. This isn’t much better through as my tired leg muscles scream in protest at having to try and slow my descent down the steep slope and my feet struggle for grip on the greasy, muddy, slippery, surface.
One more small climb, and then around the next corner, confirmation that the ends not far away, as the Cerne Giant, looking resplendent in the sunshine, fills the view, with the village of Cerne Abbas and the days final destination nestled in the valley off to the Right hand side.
And that’s it, another mile and the days done. I’m back at the start with 31.8 miles covered in 6 hours and 15 minutes, to a warm welcome, a plate of delicious bean stew and a bowl of rice pudding. As far as I’m concerned you can keep you medals, commemorative T shirts, route marked courses and goody bags. I’ll take a beautiful route, a warm welcome, a slice of home-made cake and a bowl of rice pudding any day thank you. There’s no doubt about it the LDWA certainly know how to put on an event, and I can’t wait to come back and do this one again!
And just before I go, it was "The Emmas" birthday last week. Can you guess how old she is?
I’m going to have to start this week with a bit of an apology regarding the recent lack of pictures, which unfortunately doesn’t get any better this week, so if your just here for the pictures and the stunning scenery, then you’re going to be sorely disappointed again.
It’s not that I haven't seen anything worth taking pictures of, in fact exactly the opposite is true. This weekend alone (more of which later) there’s been snow capped hillsides, new born lambs, stunning sunrises and icy lanes, it’s just that my activities haven’t really been conducive to stopping for photos. Last weekend I was allegedly running a race (in the loosest possible terms) and whilst I do often stop mid run, we’ve had all the views from the The Steyning Stinger before, so there didn't seem to be much point. This weekend and the one before Steyning, I’ve been Audaxing, and whilst in the summer stopping for 2 seconds to whip the camera out isn’t an issue, it’s a different matter in the winter. In the winter it’s a case of trying to find a safe spot to stop that’s not going to get me run over, or end up knee deep in a muddy puddle, then wriggle out of 2 pairs of gloves, then undo the multiple layers of clothing and ferret around trying to find my phone. Then repeating the entire process in reverse before I can get moving again. And that’s a lot of messing around for a picture I probably won’t even use! So, I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept my apologies and bear with me on the pictures front until the weather warms up a bit and I can start shedding layers of clothing, or my cycling and running becomes a bit less organised and more freestyle, when it’s easier to time my stops for the views.
Anyway, enough of the apologies, let’s get onto the important stuff and the highlight of this weekend, The Dean 300Km Audax. Yes, that’s right, 300Km of bicycling fun in what was probably the most rubbish weekend weather so far this year, and there's been some pretty stiff competition for that award already, check out some of January's cycling tales if you don’t believe me!
So, The Dean. An early season, bare bones, no frills, Audax stalwart. Starting and finishing in the dark from a non-descript car park in Oxford. From where the route heads out through the Cotswolds to Stow-on-the-Wold, and Newent, before turning South through the Forest of Dean to Chepstow, where we cross the Severn Bridge, before heading back home for tea and medals via Malmesbury, Marlborough and Membury. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that the weather last week wasn’t brilliant with snow and plenty of rain, and the forecast for Saturday didn’t look too clever either with freezing overnight temperatures, to be followed by a strengthening wind and rain or sleet in the afternoon. Proper cycling weather as I referred to it as midweek, or ‘the type of weather that only an idiot would go out in’ as ‘The Emma’ more succinctly put it! As I’ve said before though, if I only ‘played out’ when it was sunny and nice, then I’d never get to ‘play out’. So, to that end I packed up the van Friday night and headed up to Oxford ready for an early alarm call on Saturday morning. And it was an early alarm call too, being an 05:30 start! Roused from my fitful slumbers at 04:15, it looked like at least the first part of the weather forecast was true as it was blinking freezing. Van heater on, kettle on, breakfast, drag myself out of bed and don as many layers as possible, and then venture out into the frozen, frosty world for the short ride down to the start. (Despite starting from a car park, as is often the case, it’s got height barriers, so the van doesn’t fit, which requires some pre planning for a lot of events). Despite the freezing temperatures and the early start there was still a fair few, hardy, like minded lunatics milling around and making ready as I got to the start location and collected my Brevet card. Just time to have one final kit check and load the first part of the route onto my GPS, and then we were off, or more accurately, me and a couple of others were off, whilst everyone else finished faffing around and getting organised, before setting off to join us as we headed out into the dark.
From the off I had a choice to make, either follow the planned route through picturesque, yet possibly icy, country lanes, or take the less appealing, yet gritted and maintained A44 to Stow-on-the-Wold. With the temperature being well below freezing and there being a high likelihood of ice due to the recent snow and rain leaving the roads wet, taking my chances with the traffic on the A44 won the day. An option that proved safe, quiet and ice free at that time in the morning, and one that I’m surprised few others seemed to follow.
I had expected some of those behind me as we left the start to follow on, or at least call me back to tell me I was going the wrong way, but no, it appeared not, and I was on my own. Chatting to some of the other riders at the first checkpoint it appears that they had encountered a fair few slippery points on the approved route, so it seems that unusually I made a good decision there, and one that added very little to the day's mileage tally. The rapidly lengthening days meant that I didn’t have to suffer the darkness for long, and within minutes of the start I was cheered to see a beautiful sunrise behind me slowly turning the sky from black through a multitude of pastel colors as the first flush of day announced its welcome. Unfortunately, the sun never really had a chance to work its magic on the cold temperature, as It clouded over soon after dawn, leaving a cold and overcast morning, but even that was better than what was to come later in the day. A quick stop in Stow provided the required ‘proof of passage’ receipt, and then onwards through the stiff Cotswolds climbs and descents, to the flatter ground in Gloucestershire and the next destination at Newent. Making good time I didn’t hang around in Newent, planning to push on through the Forest of Dean and have a lunch stop in Chepstow. A few flat miles soon gave way to some long, hard climbing, including a real leg tester as we made our way through Bream and up towards St Briavels. The stunning views, the woodland alive with the sound of birdsong, and the lovely, almost traffic free route more than made up for the efforts though, and by 13:00 I was in Chepstow, tucking into a supermarket sandwich with 90 miles completed. Coming out of Chepstow to head back into England proper required a slight diversion to use the South side of the Severn Bridge, the North being closed for maintenance. A routing which exposed us to the full force of the ice-cold wind which was now screaming up the Bristol channel, making the bridge crossing an unusually unpleasant and hard experience. Heading Eastwards the wind continued to play havoc with my average pace and morale as the afternoon continued, and when, shortly after the long hard climb up to the Somerset Monument, the rain joined in the fun, the suffering really started, making every mile gained a hard slog. Stopping in Malmesbury for the required receipt, I treated myself to a couple of Hot Cross Buns as a bit of a morale booster and some much needed calories, before pushing on into the icy rain heading for Marlborough. The steep climbs between Wootton Bassett and Marlborough in the wet conditions did little for my waning morale, with even the long fast descent into Marlborough being a miserable experience as the wind drove the ice cold rain into my face, each raindrop stinging my exposed skin and soaking into any exposed clothing. On more than one occasion I tried to deal with the Devil, imploring him to take the miserable rain away in exchange for my soul, but it appears that he has little interest in my soul and the suffering continued! I’ll happily admit that by the time I arrived in Marlborough I wasn’t having much fun and with the returning darkness so the temperature started to drop (it wasn’t exactly high to start with mind you). Stopping to sort my head torch out, I donned my waterproof trousers for some much-needed warmth and turned my hat around, moving the wet bit to the back in an attempt to cure the ‘ice cream headache’ the wind chill was giving me. Warmer, yet just as wet, I pushed on into the darkness. If I could have quit in Marlborough I probably would have, but I’d still have had to get back to Oxford, and bikes probably the quickest way, so push on it had to be. Slogging up a climb on a narrow road, in the dark and rain, between Marlborough and Hungerford my worst fears became reality. H’mmm the back of the bike seems a bit more bouncy than normal, H’mm that bump seemed a bit harder than normal. Nooooooooo! Puncture! With no other option I dismounted and pushed up the narrow road, searching for a space to get off the road before a car came tearing up behind me in the dark and really ruined my day. Within a few meters a muddy track into the woodland which edged the road provided just enough space to take refuge in, and I was able to spread my worldly possessions in the mud and whip the wet, oily, dirty, wheel out to change the inner tube. Working by the beam of my head torch I couldn’t find any reason for the puncture and with wet (and now muddy) hands I set about removing the tyre. With the tyre off I removed my gloves and had a good feel round the inside but was still unable to find any culprit for the puncture. Assuming that whatever had caused my misfortune was no longer present I fitted a new tube and started pumping it back up again, only to be met by the sound of escaping air yet again. Luckily, this time I could see bubbles forming on the wet tyre where the leak was and identify a tiny, razor-sharp, sliver of black flint firmly embedded in the black tyre! Flint removed, inner tube replaced again and this time it held pressure. (I only carry two spare tubes, so if this didn’t work it could be game over. And whilst I always carry a puncture repair kit, getting the patches to stick to a wet inner tube is never guaranteed to work). Strangely, getting back on the road after my little setback things didn’t seem quite as bad as they had before. I think that groveling around in the mud had stretched some of my tired muscles and the short break off the bike seemed to work wonders for my morale. While I’d been faffing around in the dark a number of other riders had passed too, each checking that I was Ok as they passed, for which I’m extremely grateful. Some of whom I could now occasionally see in the distance, their red lights blinking cheerfully in the darkness, reminding me that I wasn’t the only one out on such a miserable night. Pulling into the motorway services at Membury for the day's final control there were quite a few other riders, each equally as wet and cold as I was, but each making ready to head back out for the final 30 miles to take us back to the warmth and safety of home, further reinforcing the point that there were plenty of others out in the darkness too. Those last few miles were actually quite pleasant. The rain had eased off to a light drizzle and with the evening drawing to an end the flatter roads after Lambourn were quiet, making it easy to avoid the potholes and puddles without fear of being knocked down and helping to bring the average speed up a bit too. Plodding on through the darkness the overwhelming fatigue of a long day continued to build, and I again started to wonder how much longer I could keep going for. Eventually though, as 23:00 approached the lights of Oxford, and my final destination hove into view. One final Proof of Passage receipt from the 24-hour services and 17 hours and 20 minutes and 197 miles (317 Km) after setting off my day was done! And done in more ways than one too. I’ll happily admit that this one took me to places, both mentally and physically, that I didn’t want to go too. The cold wind and rain wore relentlessly at my morale, whilst the never-ending hills sapped my strength and left me crawling along at what felt like a snail’s pace (a situation probably not helped by having run 62 miles and ridden another 120 in the previous 6 days). But I got through it, and I got back to the van, had a sit down and warm up, a brew and something to eat and wondered what all the fuss had been about. It wasn’t any harder than normal, it was just that the conditions weren’t ideal. But you know what, I persevered and I won, and next time it’s all getting a bit difficult I’ll be able to look back on this one and say, ‘well it can't be worse than that day and I got through that’. There’s no doubt about it ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ and every time I go out there, I learn a little bit more about myself and I get a little bit stronger.
PostScript.
Proof reading this before posting it a couple of days after I wrote it, it seems a bit me centric. But that couldn't be further from the point. I wasn’t the only one out there in the rain and I’m certain that I wasn’t the only one that found it tough going. In fact, I can almost guarantee that if I was struggling then everyone else was too. Reading it back it sounds like a bit of a slog fest, but that’s not the case either. Even in Saturday's rubbish conditions the route stood out. Great roads, great scenery, The Cotswolds, The Forest of Dean, Two white horse carvings, the snow capped Black Mountains in the distance, snow through the Cotswolds, The Severn Bridge, and so the list goes on. In fact, it’s a brilliant route through a lovely bit of the country and one that's firmly at the top of my list for a revisit come the warmer, drier, months! And Chapeau to all those that battled and overcame Saturday’s testing conditions too.
Another week gone and another step closer to spring, not that it feels like it this week, but we must be getting closer as there’s lots of Daffodils in full bloom and I notice that the Roses and Clematis in the garden have got fresh growth on them, so it must be getting warmer, even if were having a bit of a relapse this week.
The days are drawing out too. It’s just about light when I set off on my daily commute to work now and it’s still light gone 18:00 which means there’s a bit more time for getting out and about and sorting out all those jobs at home that I’ve been avoiding all winter. Having mentioned it last week, I finally got my seed order for the allotment and gardens in last week too, which arrived at the start of the week. I’m starting to think that I might have overdone it a bit though. It all looks so tempting when you’re flicking through seed catalogues on a dull winters evening and there’s so much promise in all those little packets. I’ll give it another week or so for the current cold snap to end and then it’ll be time to start getting the greenhouse ready and sowing seeds. I really can’t wait!
All that’s to come yet though, so more importantly what have I been up to this weekend? Well, for starters you’ll be pleased to know that the little Bangernomics Peugeot passed its MOT with flying colours, which makes the bit of work I did on the brakes worthwhile. On the downside, the possible head gasket leak that I’ve been monitoring for a while looks like a definite case and will need some attention in the very near future.
When I mentioned it to “The Emma” the other day she said, “That’ll give you a nice little project to think about then” and I suppose she’s right. I don’t like making work for the fun of it, but I do like something to get my teeth into and even more so if it makes me think a bit. Hopefully it’ll limp on until the weather warms up a bit but watch this space for a bit more car tinkering at some point in the future! Sunday saw my now annual outing to the Steyning Stinger, a cheeky little marathon length romp up onto the South Downs, by way of a couple of cheeky little climbs, and to that end I loaded up the van on Friday evening and set off into the unknown, planning on a bit of cycling Saturday morning and a quick visit to “Kathryn Stinks” for tea on Saturday evening before the running fun on Sunday. With Saturday dawning overcast and cold, but dry, I managed to get in a few miles (67 to be precise) to add to the years tally. Nothing special, or overly taxing, but it was a nice little route along quiet county lanes, all of which were well adorned with Catkins dangling magnificently from the roadside Hazels, and the odd spattering of wild daffodils and Snowdrops all standing proud against the chilly wind. Sunday looked even better weather wise and after a quiet night I was up bright and early, ready for an 07:30 Marathon start. As I mentioned earlier, this is a run that I’ve done a couple of times now (2020, 2022) and I’m pretty sure that this is the best weather I’ve had so far. Previous years it’s been windy or misty, or both, but this year was just about ideal running conditions, and a distinct lack of mud, making for some predictably fast times (not from me though!). It’s a lovely route too, despite those couple of ferocious ascents to get up onto the South Downs ridge line, the views from the top more than make up for the effort of getting up there though!
Unfortunately, I haven’t got much to say about the actual run, which is probably a good thing. Taking it slow and steady I didn’t push particularly hard and must admit that I probably enjoyed myself more than those previous times.
The slightly slower pace left time to take in the views and enjoy the running, instead of constantly clock watching and fretting about the odd lost second here and there. And with it being pretty much ideal conditions, I know that I can’t compete with the fast guys (especially not having put 60 miles into my legs yesterday on top of a full week’s training) so why punish myself for a fast time? There’s a time and a place for that lark and this wasn’t it. That’s not to say that I spent the morning dawdling along. Somehow, I still managed to cross the line in 4:03, which considering the terrain, is a time that I’m more than happy with. Yes, it’s not the fastest I’ve ever run, in fact I’ve done the same route 20 minutes faster previously, but as I said before, I certainly enjoyed this year’s more than those fast ones. And to top it all off, the customary cooked breakfast at the end tasted just as good! |
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
March 2024
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