Last week I thought that Spring may be on its way, in fact I went as far as putting shorts on for my daily commute to work, and even considered putting the long winter tights away. It would appear that I was a bit premature on that front though, and I’m back in the long tights again this week and sat here in a jumper.
It’s Easter next week and the clock’s move to British Summer Time on Sunday too, so the winter can’t go on for much longer though, can it? Although statistically it's more likely to snow at Easter than Christmas, so maybe I shouldn't start packing the winter gear away just yet. While I’m talking about the never-ending winter, I’ve noticed a bit of a theme in the last few months of blog posts, and no it’s not the fact that they all seem to include reference to rain. It’s actually the overuse of the word “Brutal” that I’ve picked up on. I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that The Dean Audax was “Brutally hard” as was The Poor Student back in January (H’mmm there’s another common theme there, (both start and finish in Oxford and go through the Cotswolds)). My little days out can’t all be “Brutal” though, can they? Perhaps I need to start being a bit more careful with the adjectives I’m using. I mean, I don’t want you all to think that I’m “The boy that cried wolf” and I’m having an easy old-time pootling around the countryside on my bike whilst claiming how tough it is, do I? Anyway, that's enough about the weather and the English lessons, lets get on with what were actually here for and have a look at what I’ve been up to this weekend, without using the word “Brutal”. Saturday’s fun consisted of the Kennet Valley Run, an interesting little 200Km Audax, taking an unusual out and back route. Starting from Reading before heading down through Hungerford to Bratton (just outside Westbury) and back. Being a local ride, I’ve ridden this one a couple of times before and following the River Kennet valley it’s normally a fairly benign ride, along what is a fairly flat, but picturesque route. Although having said that, I seem to recall a year when we still had snow on the ground and a year with a hard headwind on the way out, both of which must have been in my Pre Blog days as I can’t find any mention of either of them in the archives, which dates it somewhat. What would this year have in store for the intrepid adventurer then? Well, looking at the weather forecast midweek, it looked like it might be alright. There was the possibility of a few showers in the afternoon, but nothing of real note. Which is part of the reason why I decided that a 200Km ride wasn’t quite enough, and as the start was only another 25Km (15 miles) from home, then I might as well ride to the start and back too, (besides, the Van won’t fit under the car park height barriers, and although my bike will fit in the Peugeot, it’s a bit of a faff).
To that end I was up with the lark on Saturday morning and on the road just before 06:30, heading for Reading.
With quite roads, the sun shining brightly from a clear blue sky, the birds singing and the odd patch of frost glinting from the roadside verges in the dips and hollows, (it’s surprising how the cold collects in certain spots) it was a beautiful morning to be on the road. The run up to Reading took less than an hour, and thus I found myself with time to kill, sheltering from a cold wind which had started to spring up, huddled in a bus stop, eating biscuits, and waiting for the appointed hour when I could get on the road proper (it’s a glamorous life this adventuring lark). A few biscuits and a bit of a stretch later (much to the amusement of the early morning commuters and shoppers who were waiting for their bus) and we were gathered at the start ready for the pre ride briefing and the big send off. “Mind out for potholes, I’ll see you back here for a brew and hot soup, enjoy the day, off you go then”. Followed by the customary stand and stare at each other for a few seconds until some brave soul decides to take the lead and we all head out for the first leg of what will be many miles. As soon as we set off, it was clear that the wind that had sprung up with the dawn, and was continuing to grow in ferocity, was going to be a problem. It was blowing strongly straight in our faces, and if it was in my face now, that meant that it was going to be in our faces for the next 100Km (62miles). Riding into the wind isn’t much fun. According to the internet (Specifically here, but if you start digging these figures seem to be fairly accurate) you need to be pushing an extra 100+ watts to ride into a 15Kph headwind, and believe you me the wind on Saturday was well in excess of 15Kph for a lot of the time. And an extra 100 watts for 100Km is quite some effort believe you me! Now, we all know that we can make life easier for ourselves by riding in a group and using the riders in front to slipstream behind. In fact, we can save up to 40% of our effort by doing so. There are a few things to know about riding in a group though. Firstly, I find it incredibly stressful. It’s great all the time everyone in the group knows what they are doing. But you’ve got to be riding inches from the rider in front to get any benefit. Which means you can’t see what’s coming, and your totally reliant on them keeping going at a steady pace. If they can’t, or their pace is different to yours, then your going to ride into the back of them if you’re not careful. That’s fine in the Tour de France, when everyone’s a professional, and you all know what your doing. But on a Saturday morning Audax, that’s not always the case. So you really need to be fully concentrating the whole time, and preempting the actions of those in front, whilst hoping that the people sitting on your wheel are equally attentive. Secondly, everyone’s got to be willing to take a go on the front. And again, you’ll often get the weaker riders sat on the back taking advantage of the slipstream and free tow, but when they get to the front, they can’t always push the extra power required to keep things moving forward and it all falls apart. And thirdly, and this is a big one for me, you’ve got to be concentrating 100% on the riders around you. So you don’t get the chance to look around, take in the scenery, and enjoy the ride. I can guarantee that the second you look away, the rider in front will slow down or move to avoid an obstacle, and you’ll be straight into the back of them. Which left me with a bit of a dilemma. Do I sit with a group and enjoy the easier ride into the wind, whilst taking my fair turns at the front, or do what I normally do, find a space of my own and enjoy the ride? From the off the first group went out incredibly fast considering the conditions, with a few strong riders pulling everyone else along, and there was no way that I could sustain that all morning. I did quickly find myself in a smaller group that was moving at a steady pace though, and I spent a while with them. I wasn’t enjoying myself though and nearly got caught out when everyone slowed to a crawl for a corner that could easily have been taken at the speed we were previously going. Easier day, or safe and enjoy the ride? That wasn’t a hard decision to make. So, I did the polite thing, moved to the front and did a long stint into the wind towing the rest of our little group behind as a thanks for their efforts thus far, and then when the road went downhill, dropped off the back and left them to their own devices. Whilst I pressed on into the wind alone, at a pace I thought I could sustain. Back on my own, I was happier. Yes, I was working harder, but I could hear the birds singing again, I had time to look around, and the only person I had to worry about was me. Bliss! Hungerford came along surprisingly quickly, and I took the opportunity to refill my water bottles and grab a “Pain Au Chocolate” (Purely for proof of passage receipt purposes obviously, and not at all because I’ve got a sweet tooth).
I’m not even going to try and pretend otherwise. The Next leg was tough. The wind was fully in my face for the entire 32 miles and was strong enough at times to almost bring me to a halt.
What made it even worse though, was the rain showers, which sprang up sporadically with a mix of hail thrown in for good measure. Not much fun at all. The first few miles progressed relatively easily, fuelled on “Pain Au Chocolate” and still fairly fresh, but towards the end I was suffering. Hunched into the wind, my back was crying out for a rest, my legs, aching from the endless effort of pushing into that wind, screamed out for respite, and my mind, normally attuned to blocking out the discomfort, had fully given in and decided that it had had enough for one day. Eventually though, after what seemed like, felt like, and was, hours of toil, the little café at Bratton hove in to view. Entering the little café and looking around, my fellow Audaxers all looked like I felt. Exhausted, haggard, windblown, and tired. But there was still an air of optimism and general good humour in the air. "It can’t be as hard on the way back can it, surely the wind will be behind us." A brew, slice of delicious Victoria sponge cake and a sit down worked wonders on my tired legs and general air of despondency. Although watching the rain lash down on the café windows as I sat in a warm, comfortable, chair cuddling my brew, did little for my desire to get back out there. As the rain eased, I decided that there was only one option if I was to actually get home again, and dragged my weary bones from the warm, comfortable sanctuary, to face the conditions again. Back on the bike, as I peddled away from the little oasis of cake, the smile was straight back on my face. The wind was indeed now behind me, and the exertions of earlier were replaced with the feeling of flying, as that viscous headwind that I’d been battling just minutes before, now helped push me home. Gone was the hunching over the bars trying to be as small as possible to reduce the effort, replaced with stretching out, looking around, enjoying the scenery, and wondering what all the fuss had been about. This was more like it! Miles that had gone so slowly on the way down fairly flew by on the way back. Fast familiar roads, sweeping bends, the Kennet and Avon canal for company, fields of cows, sheep with lambs in tow, pretty little villages, and all the time the wind lending a helping hand to propel me back the way I’d come. By Mid-afternoon I was back at Hungerford and pushing on for the final few lumpy miles back towards Reading. The route back diverts at Hungerford from the way down, and whilst the way down is mainly flat, the way back is a bit lumpier, but at the same time, more interesting. Nothing to serious, but with legs that have already done over 100 miles, you start to feel the inclines. Nothing's going to compare with those miles into the wind in the morning though, and before I know it, I’m rolling to a stop back where I started, to be greeted by a hot brew, the offer of beans on toast and the shared camaraderie of fellow riders, each with their own tales to tell of the day’s efforts. Unusually, the days not over yet though, as there still the small matter of the 15 miles back home to go. Another 15 miles. Refreshed, refuelled and with a hot brew in my belly, that’s not going to be a major issue is it? As darkness descended bringing another great day out to a close, so I made my way along the familiar roads back home, arriving back just under 13 hours after having set off with another 156 miles in my legs. More than ready for a hot shower, brew and a late tea with "The Emma" before an early night. Yes, it had been a testing day out, the weather in the morning was certainly against us. But in the afternoon, with the wind on my back, the sun breaking through, and the smell of spring in the air, there was nowhere I’d rather have been than sat on my bike. A hard day out into a vicious headwind, certainly, but “Brutal” definitely not. And on that note, I’m off the check the thesaurus for alternatives to “Brutal” ready for next week.
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Right, if it won’t stop raining, then I’m just going to have to get wet (again). To that end, I’ve been getting wet this weekend, although maybe just getting wet isn’t quite descriptive enough! In fact, I think “and muddy” needs to be added to that for the full effect! “Wet and very muddy”, yes that’s far better.
I suppose I’m going to have to elaborate on “wet and muddy” though or this is going to be the shortest blog post ever. I’ve actually been running, or more accurately that should probably be “slip sliding around in the mud” because the conditions were what would be termed "Heavy" in horse racing circles, and as such there wasn’t actually that much running going on. Sunday was a new event for me in the form of the Sevenoaks Circular, a 30 mile route through what is undoubtedly some glorious North Kent countryside, hosted, fabulously, as ever, by our friends at the Kent LDWA. I’d been looking forward to this one ever since I’d signed up for it back in the depths of winter, and despite the gods of road works trying their hardest to stop me getting there by closing the M25 ,I was determined to have a good day out. Hearing about the planned M25 closure a couple of weeks ago I'd actually considered pulling out of this event. But a look at the map showed that it should still be possible to get there, even though it may take a while, and I’d warned “The Emma” that if the traffic was bad on the way down then I’d just stay Sunday night too and go direct to work on Monday morning, thus avoiding the road closures. As it happened the M25 closure had little effect on my journey (in fact it was probably better than it normally is) and I had a good journey in both directions. Having planned on being delayed I’d set off early Saturday afternoon, and thus found myself with a couple of hours to kill before bedtime Saturday night. A situation which was easily remedied by a wander round Sevenoaks and a quiet pint, whilst watching the world go by, before bed. A later than normal start on Sunday (09:00) meant for a leisurely start, and as I sat in the van having a brew, I actually thought that I might have got lucky, and the forecast rain hadn’t materialised. How wrong could I be though, because by the time I actually got to the start, the blue skies had moved on and a steady rain was falling from the skies. Checked in, rain jacket securely fastened, one last biscuit, shoes tightened, and route loaded onto my sat nav. Just before 09:00 I was ready to go. The rolling start and need to reach the prescribed checkpoints within their opening / closing times, meant I set off alone, the slower walkers having already departed, and the faster runners, still thinking about getting out of bed. Just me, the sound of rain falling all around me, the squelch of wet feet underfoot and the joy of being outside, I can live with that!
From the off it was incredibly muddy. A 2” deep layer of slippery mud coated most of the paths. Mud which had been churned up by multiple feet through the winter, and made worse by the never-ending rain over the past months. Mud which made running almost impossible, as the gloop filled the treads of my trail shoes and left a smooth, slick, surface, which was impossible to gain any traction from.
Slow progress wasn’t a problem through, the footpaths were deserted, the road crossings quiet, and the steadily falling rain, bought a peacefulness to the countryside, as I progressed slowly along. Church bells rang in the distance, calling the faithful to prayer as they have for a millennia before. Sheep, their fleeces wet, matted, and dirty, from the weeks of rain, gazed intently from the fields either side. Magpies called from the trees, Blackbirds hunted through the wet leaves underfoot in search of a tasty morsal, and squirrels scampered back to the safety of the trees as I passed. None seemed overly bothered by the falling rain though, so why should I?
By the time I reached the first checkpoint approaching the 9 mile mark, the rain had eased, leaving a steady drizzle in its place. I could have gone into the checkpoint, had a brew and a chat with the lovely volunteers manning their station, but would I have come back out to face the mud and rain again?
Probably, but why tempt fate. Besides, I was only 9 miles in, there’s no need to stop yet, so I had my number noted down to prove my passing and pushed on.
The next leg was a loop, reducing the need for additional checkpoints and adding miles to the route without additional support requirements. Not that that detracted from the beauty of the area and the outstanding views from the high points (not that you could see far in the drizzle and general murk, that still pervaded).
By late morning the drizzle had abated and by the time I got back to the checkpoint the day was slowly warming up. Jacket off, water refilled and a marmite sandwich from the large spread on offer, courtesy of the volunteers manning the checkpoint to enjoy as I pushed on, and I was soon on my way again.
Surprisingly the next few miles were really boggy. Picking up the North Downs way and following the high ground, I had thought that this section would be fairly dry. Those hopes were soon dashed as I started what turned out to be the first of a few miles sloshing through waterlogged fields. The water oozed between my toes, cold, muddy and wet. My soaked socks clung to my feet, and the water was pushed and pulled through the thin fabric of my running shoes with every step. The views from the top of those hills provided distractions from the discomfort of running with wet feet though, and whilst progress was slow as I sloshed through the endless puddles, I was making progress and the miles left to go, were slowly ticking down.
Leaving the high ground of the North Downs Way behind, the waterlogging actually improved, and a few miles along better drained trails and quiet country roads provided the opportunity to make up a bit of time.
Time that was rapidly lost again as I approached the next checkpoint and struggled with the routing. I wasn’t the only one though and within a few minutes there was a small group of us, discussing where we should be going. “The GPS says this way”. “Seems about right, from the route sheet”. “But why would we be going this way, the checkpoints over there"? A short diversion to get back on track, a slog up a really muddy path, and finally the checkpoint hove into view, along with the opportunity to grab a biscuit and a slice of fruit cake (purely for sustenance) and a few seconds admiring the expansive view from the checkpoint, before pushing on for the final few miles.
One last push to the finish then, and after the mornings rain the sun tried valiantly to make its presence felt, as morning turned towards afternoon. More miles along mud heavy footpaths, the sticky gloop pulling at tired leg muscles, as I slipped and slid around, arms flailing for balance, knees and ankles protesting at the endless twisting.
I was making progress though. One final long, steep, climb, and then back onto the familiar, muddy footpath that I had followed in the opposite direction hours earlier ,to take me back to the start, and the bitter, sweet, feeling that the conclusion of every brilliant day out brings.
Not a fast day out by any stretch of the imagination at 6:20 for 30 miles, but a time that I’m happy with considering the conditions of the day. And whilst the conditions underfoot had been pretty dire for most of the day, it had still been a brilliant day out. A day out that I’m raring to complete again when the weathers a bit more beneficial, and the going's a bit better, as I really don’t think that I saw this route in its best light.
In fact, if it was that good when the weather was against it, imagine how brilliant it will be when the sun’s shining, the woods are full of Bluebells and spring fills the air. This is definitely one to come back to again.
And just before I sign off for this week, we've got new neighbours at home, and they've evicted the wildlife that lived at the bottom of their garden.
I might have mentioned before about the family of Sparrows that live in our roof. They shouldn't be living in our roof, but I haven't got the heart to evict them, and in fact they seem to be doing quite well up there and have managed to expand their family over the last few years. Due to their rapid expansion, half of the family moved out from our roof and moved into the bush at the end of next door's garden last year, and continued to flourish in their new home. Flourish that is until the new neighbours moved in and proceeded to cut down their home. I'm not sure why they've cut it down, as it's now in an unsightly pile in exactly the same pace as it was when it was growing and providing a bit of colour, but dead and decaying instead of green, verdant and full of flowers in the summer. The Sparrows though are looking lost, having lost their home for no apparent reason, and to that end "The Emma" suggested that they might need a new home, and suggested that I might know where to find one. I’ve just had a look at the spreadsheet, which I use to keep track of my running and cycling miles, and for Saturday 11th March 2023 it just says “The Dean 2023 – Brutal”. Which is an unusually short entry, but a fairly descriptive one in not too many words. That one word, tells me that it was a hard day out, probably with some inclement weather thrown in for good measure, and the word “Brutal” makes me wonder why I would ever think that putting myself through the same again would be a good idea? A question I asked myself on more than one occasion this Saturday! I’m sure that you can guess from that last paragraph, that Saturday was the 2024 edition of The Dean. A cheeky 300Km jaunt through some of the most picturesque scenery that southern England has to offer, and as we all know, picturesque normally means hilly! Starting from, and finishing at, an almost deserted car park on the outskirts of Oxford. It’s a long old loop (Just over 300Km to be precise, which is 195 miles for the imperial reader) taking in the Cotswolds, The Forest of Dean and the Severn Bridge, before heading back home via two white horses, Malmesbury, Marlborough and the luxurious Membury services on the M4, to end up back at that deserted car park. Even by Audax standards this is a “bare bones” event. There are no organised controls, no pampering, no rescue service and no one to hold your hand. It’s a cheery wave off from the start, and a stick your completed Brevet card in the box when you get back, type of event. Obviously in the 365 days between swearing that I’d never even think about taking on The Dean again, and entries opening for this year’s event, I’d completely forgotten that I was never putting myself through that again, and signed up. In fact, I was even looking forward to it! I did have a touch of second thoughts in the week. When looking at the weather forecast mid-week it looked remarkably similar to last year and the memories of being alternatively frozen, soaked, blown dry, soaked again, and almost frozen solid again, came flooding back. But, as the minus 6 bit seemed to be missing from this years forecast, I remembered that I was supposed to be a tough endurance athlete, (or something like that) and had better get on with it. Besides, if I pulled out due to the chance of a bit of inclement weather then A) It would obviously be the hottest, driest, nicest, March day ever, and B) What else was I going to do on Saturday (Don’t answer that, and yes I know that the grass needs cutting, the windows need cleaning, there’s an MX5 in bits in the garage, and it’s “The Emma’s” birthday tomorrow). Which is why I found myself dragging myself out of bed at 04:30 on Saturday morning, ready to be stood in a cold, damp car park, for an 06:00 start. Heading out of Oxford in the dawn light, with the birds singing, fellow cyclists all around, and the prospects of a good day in front of me, I wondered what all the fuss had been about last year. With the rolling countryside passing silently beneath my wheels, the breeze on my back, pretty Cotswold villages, their inhabitants still slumbering peacefully, to occupy my mind, and fresh legs, the early miles passed quickly and easily. The first control at Stow-on-the-Wold came and went without fanfare, and despite the long, dragging climbs through the Cotswolds towards Winchcombe slowing progress slightly, and necessitating a removal of layers, the flatter land towards Newent facilitated faster progress and I was at the second control at Newent before 10:30 with the first 100Km done. A quick sandwich stop at Newent and onwards, next stop Chepstow, but not before the small matter of the long, steep climbs up through The Forest of Dean. There’s no doubt about the fact that The Forest of Dean is a beautiful part of the country, with some stunning scenery, great places to visit and an all round mecca for anyone with a love of the outdoors. There is also no doubt about the fact that it’s bloody hilly. In fact, I don’t think that there is a single flat part in the entire area, and I’m pretty certain that it’s almost all uphill! Climb after leg sapping climb, lead up quiet county lanes, though heavily wooded hillsides. Birdsong and the sound of cascading water tried valiantly to drown out the panting as I pushed up another steep ascent. Lambs frolicked in roadside fields providing distraction as my heart tried to leap from my ribcage as the road continued steeply, endlessly, upwards. Eventually though, the scenery changed, and the view opened up to reveal the Seven estuary in all it’s majesty, the river, wide, dirty brown and fast flowing heading to same way as I was, towards the sea and the Severn Bridge. The descent into Chepstow was fast and over far too quickly, the climb back out the other side not so much, and the head wind, which was blowing strongly across the Severn Bridge was decidedly unwelcome, even more so as it was going to be my companion for the next 90 miles! Learning from last years mistakes, where I pushed on eagerly towards Malmesbury, and paid for it later. I took the opportunity to grab a burger from the Severn view services which are now eerily quiet since most of the traffic takes the newer bridge, and sat in the weak, early spring, sunshine, sheltered from the wind, enjoying a few minutes off the bike and watching the world go by. My memories from last year were of the leg between Chepstow and Marlborough being tough, and this year didn’t disappoint. Having turned into the wind at Chepstow, it looked like 90+ miles into a headwind was on the cards. Not the most attractive way to spend a Saturday afternoon, and it’s surprising how much harder pushing into the wind makes things. There’s not much you can do about it though, other than get your head down, try and distract your mind from the seemingly impossible task ahead, and get on with it. The miles came slowly through the afternoon. The traffic seemed heavier and less cooperative than in the morning, the hills, when they came, more uphill and harder, and the road surfaces worse. Tired legs played a part, the headwind wore me down, and as the time in the saddle grew longer so keeping the thoughts of stopping from my mind became harder. Eventually though Malmesbury arrived and with it the chance for a brief stop, and more importantly the chance discovery of Waitrose lemon and white chocolate hot cross buns. Man, if your ever in need of a treat, or a pick me up, these are the things to go for. Sweet, chocolatey, lemony, carb loaded goodness, oh yes! Pushing on, refreshed and revitalised (right), the wind was still a nuisance, and it’s a long uphill slog out of Malmesbury, but reinforced with hot cross bun goodness, my legs eventually dragged me to the top. There’s a couple of steep climbs between Malmesbury and Marlborough and I’m not going to pretend that I even considered expending the extra energy required to ride up them, instead opting for the opportunity to stretch tired leg and back muscles, by dismounting and pushing up. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed, a few minutes off the bike, a stretch of the leg muscles and a change of position and your good to go again, and that’s exactly what happened Saturday. By the time I got to Marlborough it was getting dark and I spent a few minutes sorting my life out, putting my head torch on, changing batteries and generally preparing for the dark. But, by the time I got going again a few minutes later, everything seemed better. The wind had died away with the arrival of the dark, those couple of minutes off the bike and the earlier walk up the steepest hills had worked wonders for my tired muscles, and the familiar road between Marlborough and the next planned stop at Membury seemed to help with a much needed injection of pace. The miles to Membury came easily. The road flowed beneath my wheels in the dark, the traffic had died away as everyone ran for home in case the bogey man got them in the dark, and the pool of light, which guided my way, held a comfort, restricting my vision to the meters in front, and focusing my attention to the road ahead. The tall mast with it’s evenly spaced red anti-collision marker lights, familiar from a thousand trips down the M4 to see “The Boy”, acted like a beacon from miles away, drawing me slowly closer to Membury, where the garage forecourt provided a proof of passage receipt, a bag of salty crisps and a few minutes of leg stretching, whilst the normal, car bound clientele, looked on at the strange cyclist magically transported into the midst of their world. Leaving Membury, there were just 30 short miles to go. The days back had been broken. The mornings climbs, and the afternoon headwinds, fast rescinding memories, as I pushed on towards Oxford and days end in the dark. A lack of concentration meant a missed turn in the dark, and an extra half mile added to the days total, before I realised that I was off track. A brief rain shower, reminded me how lucky we had been with the days weather, and the fast-flowing descent following the last of the days real climbs to bring us back over the Ridgeway and into Lambourn, left me with a glowing smile on my face, and the joy of feeling the wind in my hair, wind not caused this time by a headwind blowing in my face. As the clock swung though 22:30 and 16 hours and 30 minutes after setting off, I rolled back to a stop for the final time in the non-descript car park that I had left so many hours, and so many miles before. Tired, stiff, sore, but happy, with the relief and satisfaction, that, that, was the day done! And what a day it had been. I’m not afraid to admit, that this was another tough one. It would appear that my recollections from last year were spot on. It’s a long, hard, hilly day out. But with great effort comes great reward and sitting here a couple of days later I can only reflect on what a great day out it had been. I said to “The Emma” when I got home Sunday morning with stiff legs, aching muscles and a sore backside from my time in the saddle, that “I’m not doing that again, it’s brutal”. But, I said that last year too, and if I’m honest, they’re hollow words. Because sat here today typing this, I’m already thinking about next years “Dean”. Because, yes, it’s a tough day out, but it’s a brilliant ride through some lovely countryside, and at the end of the day, it’s never going to be as tough as it was in 2023 when it started at minus 6 and rained for most of the evening, and if I can survive that and come out the other side smiling, then I can survive anything! And anyway, what else would I be doing on a Saturday in early March? In other news, and you’ll no doubt be pleased to know that there isn’t much, I got some more seeds sown at the start of the week. So that’s 3 types of Tomatoes, 3 types of Chilli, normal Peppers, and a selection of flower seeds, all sat on the windowsills at home ready join the bits that I sowed in the greenhouse last weekend, once they’ve germinated, which moves us a bit further towards Spring in my eyes. I also note that the Pear tree in the front garden looks like it will have it’s first leaves in the very near future (which is about all that it ever has, as it’s never borne fruit) and the Apple, Plum and Cherry trees have some lovely looking buds on them too. That, and the fact that the hedgerows are just starting to turn green, the big willow tree that I pass on my run in to work is just coming into leaf, the farmers are busy preparing the soil ready for this year’s crops, and the little hedgerow birds all seem very busy, all continue to give me hope that the worst days of winter are almost behind us and things are soon going to start improving. And finally, I’ve never bothered to get a picture of this before, but it’s amazing how much bike chains stretch. Both of the chains in this picture start at the same point and are stretched out along the garden wall.
The one on the left has done a couple of thousand miles, whilst the one on the right is new. There’s probably a bit of life left in the worn one yet, but the last thing you want when your 100 miles from home is a chain failure, or for it to keep slipping out of gear, so it’s time for a new one!
It’s that time of year again, the evenings are starting to draw out, the weather has no idea what it’s doing (as if it ever does), and that means two things. Firstly, it’s time to start thinking about sowing the first seeds in the greenhouse, and secondly it must be time for the Steyning Stinger.
With the greenhouse clean, shiny, and looking better than it has done in many a year, I had a very pleasant couple of hours on the allotment Saturday morning sowing the first of 2024’s seeds. With the sun trying valiantly to break through the clouds, the birds singing from the hedgerow which borders my plot, and the Squirrels which inhabit the same hedge looking intently on, I dug the seed trays out of the shed and set too. 4 trays of Sweet Peas, a tray each of Spring cabbage, Sprouts, Broccoli, Kale and Winter cabbage, and two trays of Broad Beans. Followed closely by a packet of Leeks and a good sprinkling of Carrot seeds into an old recycling box, which will start off in the greenhouse and then get moved outside once the weather warms up a bit, got things off to a good start. I should probably have added the first of the Peas to that list too, but for some reason I omitted to pick them up with the other stuff and didn’t realise until I’d got to the plot and couldn’t be bothered to walk all the way back home again (which was extremely lazy of me), but there’s plenty of time yet and I’ll get a tray of Peas in when I go up next weekend instead. I really need to start thinking about sowing some flower seeds and the Chilli's and Peppers too, but they’ll have to live in the house for a month or so yet, which means I really need to wash some pot’s and trays before I can bring them home, and if there’s one thing I really hate (apart from painting) it’s washing seed trays, so that job can wait until next weekend too. The important thing is that were off to a start, and from here on in the growing season will pick up pace and my focus of attention will need to slowly move from hiding in the garage and workshop, to more allotment and garden related activities, and if I’m honest I really can’t wait. It’s been a long, damp, dreary winter, and finally seeing things starting to come to life, hearing the birds singing again in the mornings, leaving the house in the dawn light instead of the dark to cycle to work, and seeing the early spring bulbs bursting to life has been like a rejuvenating breath of fresh air in my life.
With the admin out of the way, I took the van down to Steyning on Saturday afternoon and took advantage of being that way by dropping in to see “Kathryn Stinks” and her tribe for tea, before settling in for the night, ready for an early start on Sunday morning.
I’ve run the Steyning Stinger marathon a few times before (2020, 2022, 2023) and if there’s a theme running through each run, it’s that it’s a hard, hilly route, with loads of ascent, and it’s normally muddy, slippery and wet underfoot. With the rain we’ve had in the past few weeks Sunday’s efforts looked like they were going to follow the same pattern, the only difference being that when I arrived at the start it wasn’t, raining, foggy, blowing a gale, but cold, crisp and still, with the promise of a glorious day to come. The Stinger’s unusual for an organised Marathon in that it has a rolling start, with the option to set off whenever your ready between 07:30 and 08:00, which to my mind makes for a relaxing start to the day. There’s no waiting around for the off, no jostling for position and no getting cold at the start, just turn up and go when you’re ready. Brilliant!
As expected, things were muddy from the off, but in the early morning sunshine, with a light frost glistening from the grass, conditions were pretty good considering the rain we’ve had over recent weeks.
The first few miles are fairly benign compared to what’s to come and provided the ideal opportunity to warm up stiff legs and settle into a steady pace, before the path goes steeply uphill for the first ascent onto the South Downs. The muddy, slippery path climbed steeply through the wooded hillside, hiding the view until sufficient height had been gained to reveal it in it’s true glory. Heart beating hard, lungs fit to burst, slip sliding through the mud, the trees came to an abrupt halt and the view opened up. Low laying mist littered the countryside, church steeples poking bravely through. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys far below as families went about their morning chores, and all was well in the world. I’ll take weeks of rain for the odd day like this. It might take some effort to run up the steep hillside, but it’s so worth it, and mid race or not, stopping for a few minutes to take it in in its full majesty was more than worth it.
I can’t spend all day taking in the view though, so reluctantly I pull myself away and continue onwards, slowly catching back up to, and gradually overtaking the runners who came past as I stood and stared. I can live with losing a few places and a bit of time though, there’s more to life than racing through it, and there’s no point in going to these places if I’m not going to take in the surroundings and make the most of the opportunities offered to me.
Another steep climb follows and then a flatter section and a long descent to reach the first checkpoint. On the flatter part I pick up another runner and we fall into conversation for a few minutes, discussing future plans, past adventures, and generally enjoying each other’s company to pass a few minutes as we progress steadily on.
I push straight on through the first checkpoint and loose my companion as I slog up the next long, steady, climb. He comes back past as I reach the top, and again stop for a few seconds to take in the view, and from there we spend the next few miles leap frogging each other, in a classic case of “The Tortoise and the Hare”. I’m slightly faster but quite happy to stop whenever an interesting sight catches my eye or a view requires my attention for a few seconds, whilst he pushes on, head down, pacing well, and then the cycle starts again as I once again tear myself away from whatever had my attention.
By the halfway mark the early morning frost had been burned off by the low laying sun, and despite steadily stripping off hats, gloves and layers, the day was warming up into a beautiful early spring day.
On the top of the downs, with the skylarks singing, the sheep grazing happily, and the sun beating down it’s hard to imagine that you’re only a mile or so from the traffic locked, congested, South coast. Look to your South from the hilltops and the entire stretch from Brighton to Worthing is one sprawling mass of housing and roadworks, wedged in between the South Downs and the Sea. Whilst a glance to the North is almost all open countryside until you reach the North Downs, some 30 miles to the North.
Contemplating peoples housing and living options, wasn’t getting the miles done, although it was certainly helping to pass the time. But as we drew closer to the urban sprawl and came into staggering distance from king car, so the paths became more churned up and muddy, where a thousand feet had turned the surface from hard packed soil to a slippery quagmire, reminding me again of our proximity to civilisation.
Mile after mile of slippery mud bought my average speed down, made my shoes heavy as it clung to the soles and sides, and tore at my calf’s as I plodded steadily on, slowly wearing away at my resolve and wearing at already tired muscles. The mud’s all part of the fun though, and somehow, it’s often easier to run on the slippery stuff, than it is to walk. An unfortunate slip on a particularly muddy section sent the person just in front sprawling, emerging seconds later from their unfortunate slip looking like the creature from the black lagoon, caked all down one side in wet mud. A quick check that they were OK and a double confirmatory “you sure”? Confirmed that no harm had been done, and once they were back on their feet we pushed on through the quagmire.
By the time the 22-mile mark had come and gone, the worst of the mud was behind me and all that remained was one more long hard slog to regain the high ground, followed by an easy couple of miles downhill back to the finish.
Twinges of cramp rippled through my calf’s as I slogged up that final ascent, paying testimony to the efforts of the day and possibly reflecting a lack of fluids over the previous miles, but as the slope slowly eased, I knew that the worst was over, and it was all downhill from here.
Plunging back down the slippery hillside through the trees, most of which have attained the size they have today in the past 35 years, having been flattened in the “Great Gale” in the late 1980’s, required some extra concentration to keep my footing on the slippery slope. One careless step now as I sped downhill could spell disaster and the phrase “more haste less speed” seemed apt.
Another mile across muddy fields and a final sprint to the finish and that was job done. 4:10 of muddy fun in the early spring sunshine, does it get any better than that? In this case, yes, because the real draw to the Steyning Stinger is that not only is it a brilliant route through glorious countryside with outstanding views around every corner, but you get a cooked breakfast at the end. And it really doesn’t get any better than that! |
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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