It's been a pretty quiet one here at the lair this weekend and I've actually been at home all weekend for a change. Not, that the weathers been conducive to getting out and about, although Friday was beautiful and Saturday just about bearable, so we can't really complain. As such it's been another weekend of catching up on all the odd jobs that I've been neglecting whilst I've been having fun all summer. The list never seems to get any shorter though. Which I guess is partly my own fault, because as soon as I find a free moment or get towards the end of one project, I'll be scheming the next one, and I've already got enough ideas stored away to see me into retirement and long past! So what have I been up to this weekend? Well, for a starters there been a bit of "Shit Shovelling"! With the growing season now well and truly over, the opportunity presented itself to get a bit of manure spread on the allotment, and to that end I took delivery of a big pile of poo on Friday afternoon. A couple of hours in the late autumn sun saw it moved and spread out out across the plot where the worms can do their work over the winter before it gets dug in, in the spring. The birds that live in the hedge alongside my plot were very interested in proceeding's too, and having taken the roof net off of the fruit cage last weekend, they've now got free access to the best pickings. Regular visits from a Robin, a couple of Blackbirds and a Thrush (unusual visitor) provided a bit of company as I worked, whilst a Magpie maintained careful watch from its overview in a nearby tree, and the Red Kite which must live nearby as I often see it soaring majestically overhead, put in the odd appearance as it maintained it's endless search for food. It's going to need another load to cover the whole plot, but I'm actually waiting on a delivery of fruit bushes (Raspberries, Blackberries and Rhubarb) which will replace the Gooseberries which I never knew what to do with, and have really suffered from caterpillar damage for the last few years, and a bed of Blackberries that have been in place for the last ten years and are getting a bit tired now. Despite being ordered at the back end of summer they're currently delayed, it's been to warm to dig them for dispatch as they're still growing, but I'm hoping to tie in a second manure delivery with the fruit bush delivery, so I can get plenty of goodness dug in with the new plants and the rest will cover the bits of plot that still have stuff growing in them. Whilst I was on the Allotment I took the opportunity to pick the last of the Chillies too. To be honest they've done better than expected, and now I need to find something to do with half a ton of Chillies. As a bit of an experiment I threw some into the dehydrator to see how long they would take to dry. I've previously had excellent success by hanging them up in the airing cupboard, but it's time consuming to thread them all up, and it takes about a month for them to fully dry, so I thought that the dehydrator might be easier. It's not an experiment that I'll be repeating though, as after 20 hours of drying, only half of them are fully dry, and whilst I don't think the dehydrator is expensive to run, it does take up loads of space on the worktop, and the airing cupboard is totally free, so the remainder are going to be going in there for a few months. In other news, "The Emma" had lucky escape in the week, when she hit a deer on the way to work in the early hours one morning. Now, I've seen a few car's that have hit deer and it normally makes a real mess, but she got really lucky (the deer not so much), and considering the forces involved came away pretty much unscathed. Her little Peugeot's going to need a new bonnet at the least though, and that brings us to the next dilemma. Car insurance. Now, between us we pay a lot for vehicle insurance every year (we've got 6 vehicles between us, so it soon adds up) and there lies the conundrum. Her little 206 is brilliant, it's in great condition and it's a GTI and there's not many of them still around. But as far as the insurance companies are concerned it's only worth £1000, so for the damage to be repaired it won't be worth it and I can almost guarantee it'll get written off, plus she'll have had an insurance claim, so next years premiums will go up. And even if they do pay out for the full value, she's not going to get another car that's in the same condition as this one for £1000 (plus it's just had £300's worth of suspension parts thrown at it too). So what do we do? Claim and end up out of pocket in every way and still have to find a replacement car? Live with the damage? Pay to have it fixed privately, without involving the insurance companies? We'll I'll tell you what we did. We spent half of Saturday, sat in the van, travelling around the local scrap yards in search of parts. And that's where she got lucky for the second time this week. As although we probably did 150 miles in the van going to various places, we managed to find a bonnet, front grill, radiator fan housing and assorted clips and bits of random broken plastic bits, all of which are in the right colour for £100 all in. There's a few rust bubbles on the replacement bonnet that will need dealing with at some point in the future. But for £100, a couple of gallons of diesel for the Van, a bit of driving around, and a couple of hours in the drizzle swapping parts over, she's back on the road and another little 206 lives to fight another day. Now that's what I call getting lucky in more ways than one and that's my idea of recycling!
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A bit like your Sunday best, there’s good running and cycling legs and not so good legs. Obviously, you can’t bring your best legs out every day or they wouldn’t be your best legs would they, they would just be legs! So, you hope that you can save your best legs for the big days out and use your other legs for all the training runs and other mundane stuff.
The days when you turn out with your good legs on, tend to be the magical days, when the running and cycling is easy, the miles pass smoothly, and you feel like you could go on for ever. They’re the days when you’re near the front of the pack, when it’s effortless and you’re feeling good. Some days though, your legs don’t feel quite as good. It’s all a bit harder and a bit more of a struggle. The uphill bits bite harder, and it’s a bit trickier to hold your pace and enjoy the moment for what it is. That isn’t a problem though, it’s all part of the game at the end of the day. If every day was easy, it wouldn’t be so rewarding when it does all go right. What's more of a problem, is when your stood at the start of a 40 mile Ultra and you realise that not only have you not got your best legs with you, what you’ve actually got is that old tatty pair that you’ve been saving in the back of the wardrobe for working on the car, or decorating. You know, the pair that’s got a few patches on, the hems are all frayed and faded, and your better half told you some years ago that you’re not allowed to wear out in public anymore (which incidentally is most of the clothes I own). Which is where I found myself Sunday morning as I lined up at the start for Rolys run, a 40-mile jaunt around the South Downs in memory of a local runner and general outdoors type, that is sadly no longer with us. As soon as I got out of bed, I’d known that it was going to be a hard day. My legs felt heavy, stiff and "crampy" from the offset and that’s never a good sign. What was a good sign however, was that the sun was shining. Not what I’d been expecting as I lay awake in the night listening to the rain lashing down on the van roof. A situation that was still ongoing at 06:00, but had somehow miraculously cleared, leaving a bright and dry, if somewhat soggy underfoot, morning, by the time we were ready to go. Normal pre run prep completed (multiple brews, breakfast, number safety pinned to my shorts after having removed the pin from my leg, shoes tied and retied multiple times, pre run wee, and repeat ad infinitum until it’s time to go) and ready for the off at 08:00 sharp after a few nice words from the organiser in memory of her brother (nice touch). As is always the case, I set off too fast, needlessly chasing the person in front, until I realised that A) they were incredibly fast and B) that my legs were already stiff and tired. Luckily, by the time I saw sense I'd only gone half a mile, and remembering that there was still 39.5 miles to go, settled into a steady pace just behind the 3rd place person.
From the off the route took us off road, and almost immediately started a gentle ascent to take us out of Swanmore and into more open countryside, where we picked up sections of the Wayfarers Walk (see blog) which lead us slowly towards our first checkpoint at Lomer farm, where we turned onto the South Downs Way, and the climbing really started in earnest.
From Lomer farm it’s all uphill until Beacon hill, nothing to strenuous and nothing compared to what’s to come, but it’s a steady incline none the less. An incline that’s more than rewarded by the view from the top. I remember to get my head up as I go over the top and take in the view towards Meonstoke which is our next destination, and then it's straight down the steep side.
I’ll happily admit that I’m rubbish at going downhill, but this was treacherous. The path was covered in a thin, slippery, layer of mud over the underlaying slippery chalk, and the grass just off the track was not only at a 45-degree angle but slick with the nights rain. “Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey” as I slithered my way downwards, watching intently as the person just in front came a cropper on the greasy surface, resulting in a wet and muddy backside. No harm done though, and we soon regained the momentum as the path flattened out in the valley floor for the easier run into Meonstoke and the next checkpoint.
Straight through the checkpoint at Meonstoke, I think I’ve still got enough water to see me through to the next one, and I’ve got a couple of hot cross buns in my bag for sustenance, so there’s no need to stop just yet.
From Meonstoke it’s straight back uphill to get over Old Winchester Hill, and then the long climb up to the Sustainability Centre and another checkpoint, where I do stop for water, grab a bit of cake, and have a quick chat to the guys in 3rd and 4th place, which means I’m now in 5th.
The main topic of conversation is the person who’s in first place and is clearly head and shoulders above us mere mortals. Were 18 miles in by this point and the person in first place must be at least 20 minutes ahead of us, followed by the person in second, who’s a good ten minutes behind him. In fact, they’re both on their way back down from the Sustainability Centre before I’ve even started the ascent, now that’s what good legs can do! No time to spend commiserating though, there’s still a long way to go yet and we set off in slow pursuit, knowing that there’s no chance of catching up, but not yet ready to admit defeat (yeah right). The next sections all new to me, I’ve covered the majority of the distance to get this far before on different runs, but from here on is all new, and I’m looking forward to it. Back down the hill and straight on at the bottom, heading towards East Meon where the church steeple is just visible, and the village is bathed in sunshine, as we struggle up the stupidly steep slope to skirt around the village.
A quick chat with a couple of walkers as I make my way towards the next checkpoint and the climb up to Butser Hill, confirms what I already know. The gap between 3rd and 4th is growing steadily (along with the lead of the first placed pair) and whilst I can still see 4th place, I know I’m slowing, and I can’t help but think it won’t be long before I get caught by the person behind.
That thought becomes reality as I start the long climb to regain the high ground on the way back towards the Sustainability Centre, as the first placed lady breezes past me on the lower slopes with a steady pace and a great running style, which makes me look like an overweight rhinoceros as I clomp along like I’m standing still! I’m still moving though, and I can see the man I’ve been chasing getting passed as easily as I was as I make my way into the checkpoint at the Sustainability Centre for the second time. Again, we exchange a few words, as he leaves just as I arrive, and I know that’s the last time I’ll see him today!
No point standing around moping though, and after a brief chat with the lovely marshal manning the checkpoint I push on, heading back the way we came, to climb back over Old Winchester Hill before picking up the disused railway line which now forms the basis of the Meon valley trail for a flat run into the final checkpoint at Meonstoke and a real treat. Christmas cake and mince pies, possibly the best thing ever for piling on loads of calories and energy boosting sugar just when I need it most!
I’ve lost another place between Old Winchester Hill and Meonstoke though. Not that I’m complaining, as the second-place lady came bounding past looking fresh and sprightly, as I struggled across the top of Old Winchester Hill with my head down, feeling sorry for myself! There’s only a few more miles to go though, so I push on as best I can, running the flat and downhill bits and walking as soon as it gets too hard. I think I’m doing OK too as the miles are slowly ticking down and then I come face to face with the traditional sting in the tail, as the trail goes vertically up the side of a valley, climbing so steeply that there are steps cut into the hillside through the mud.
And then it really is all downhill to the end (apart from the uphill bits which clearly aren’t, and just seem to be there to torture my tired legs). One last push and I’m finally finished though, over the line in 7:19:26.
I’m more than happy with that, I knew from the start that it was going to be a hard day out and I wasn’t disappointed on that front. In fact, there were a few times when I thought about calling it a day. But, no matter how dark those thoughts of stopping got, I kept going and got through it. And that’s where the reward comes from, no matter how hard it is, no matter how uncooperative my legs and brain may be, I’m going to face that challenge and come out the other side of it. And I’m glad I did too, because it was a beautiful run through some stunning scenery. The volunteer marshals were superb, friendly and welcoming, the organisation and course marking were beyond reproach, and as for the welcome at the end with a hot brew, a big portion of delicious vegetarian chilli, and all the cake you could eat, well what’s not to like about that! Yes, it’s a pretty challenging route. Yes, my legs and head weren’t in it. And yes, I’ll certainly be back for another go next year. In fact, I can’t wait!
Before I sign off for the week, I don't know if you've noticed but it's been rather wet recently.
In fact, after what seemed like months of endless sunshine, I'd almost got to the point where I'd forgotten what it's like to get rained on. But, that's been well and truly remedied in the last few weeks, as I seem to have got wet almost every day! It's not been too bad so far though. Although it's been wet, until recently its still been very mild for the time of year, and until this weekend I've still been wearing shorts on my cycle commute to work. Like all good things though the warm spell had to come to an end and this weekend marked the end of summer when I dug out my long cycling trousers and thick gloves from the back of the cupboard where they've been languishing, unloved, since the start of May. It's a good job I did too, as leaving work on Monday evening the skies opened and it absolutely threw it down. Not that that's been unusual in the last few weeks, but what was different today, is the wind was also howling in my face and the rain had a real icy cold edge to it. Due to my own stupidity I had the wrong jacket on and it wasn't long before I was soaking wet, my gloves had soaked up a few pints of ice cold rain and my shoes had filled up with cold, wet rain too. In fact I was having a pretty miserable time. Slogging through the rain, into that howling head wind, trying to avoid the razor sharp hedge cutting detritus and general filth that covers the road at this time of year, it wasn't long before I started to get pretty chilly. My fingers were numb, my face stung where the cold rain was being driven into it by howling gale that I was cycling into, and I wasn't having much fun. In fact, by the time I'd got 1/2 way home I was starting to wonder why I ever thought cycling was a good idea. I mean, I could be sat, warm, dry and insulated from the real world, with the radio on in my nice warm car now. Not slogging through the rain freezing my bits off! But then, as I climbed the final hill before I pick up the urban sprawl of Basingstoke, the rain stopped, and as I neared the top the low winter sun broke through the scudding cloud cover and shone brightly for a few seconds. That little glimpse of the winter sun shining bravely through the trees sharply highlighted the now bare tree branches and glinted brightly from the few wet leaves which still clung bravely on, resisting the autumn gale. And those few seconds of sun working it's magic on the beauty of the season were all it took to remind me why I do this and bring a smile back to my face. That sun shining through the trees, those beautiful autumn coloured leaves being blown around by the wind, the cows still grazing in the fields, caring not a jot whether it's raining or not, the crows calling loudly to each other as they head back to roost as the evening draws in, and the million other things I'd miss if I was sat in the car. Yes I might be wet and cold, but it's still got to be better than sitting in the car stuck in traffic. And, when I do get home, feeling refreshed, invigorated and with a smile on my face, they'll be a brew and slice of home made cake waiting for me, and it doesn't get much better than that, rain or not! After last weeks lengthy missive, you’ll all be pleased to know that this week’s update is going to be short and sweet, mainly because the highlight of my weekend was a trip down to Cardiff to watch the rugby and have a few too many beers with some old friends. Whilst sitting in the pub all afternoon is great fun, it’s not exactly exciting blog material, and if I’m honest, feeling like death warmed up on Sunday after Saturdays excess’ is even less riveting and not exactly conducive to getting anything else done. What I will say though, is if anyone’s ever looking for somewhere to go for a weekend away, then Cardiff is well worth the trip. It’s a bright, clean and metropolitan city, with a lovely atmosphere, some beautiful shops, museums and a castle to look around, and some great nightlife, bars and restaurants, and in my opinion a real success story of regeneration from industrial port to tourist destination. Oh, and as planned, “The Boy” made the journey back home with me on Sunday afternoon and has now been reunited with his car, so that worked out a treat too. Whilst we are talking about things working out well. As always I was keen to be taking full advantage of my trip down to Cardiff, so I set off in the van after tea on Friday night, planning on stopping off on the way to get a bit of running in on Saturday morning. I’d initially planned on going down towards Castell Coch and picking up the Cambrian Way for a few miles from there, but instead elected to cut short the drive by dropping into a little night stop I know in Chepstow and picking up the Wye Valley Walk from there in the morning. And a good choice it was too. Saturday morning dawned surprisingly warm and dry, with just a little early morning mist restricting the views back towards the Severn bridge from my overnight spot, and by 08:00 I had my running shoes on and was out on the trail. Now I’ve walked the first few miles of the Wye Valley Walk before and to be honest I can’t wait until I’ve got enough spare time to go and do the entire length (roll on retirement), as from the little I’ve seen it looks spectacular. Saturday morning didn’t disappoint either. With no real plan and no real destination, I set off along the near deserted trail in the early morning sunshine, with a bounce in my step and lightness of foot. Progress along those first few miles was difficult though. Not because of the mud, hills or terrain, as is normally the case, but simply because every few yards there was another breath-taking view, that I just had to stop for. The trail snakes along the steep sided gorge, the ground worn away by the passage of the river Wye far below, as it's made its way to the sea for millennia, leading to some pretty spectacular running. Plodding slowly along it wasn’t long before I reached a branch in the trail. Left for The Eagles Nest or Right and see what’s down that way. Right, it was, and I followed a little track that got gradually more overgrown and less visible, downhill towards the river. The odd glimpse of water still far below showed I was going the right way as the trail got fainter and fainter. Over fallen trees, around patches of brambles, across rocky and boggy sections until finally, the trail I had been following petered out. This was trail running at it’s best though, and whilst progress was slow as I continued to pick my way over endless obstacles, I was in my element. No time worries, no fears about the distance to cover, just out in the fresh air enjoying the freedom of movement, the peace and solitude and the environment around me. Eventually, as I pushed through the undergrowth, I could go no further, as the river blocked my path. Stop, get my breath back and consider my next move. It looked like there may be feint path to the Right, so I went that way and after a few minutes my suspicions were confirmed and I picked up a bigger trail, heading back up the steep sided valley. Head down and climb until A few minutes later I found myself back to the same turning again. Left this time then, and head towards The Eagles Nest viewpoint. The next signpost said, “left for the easy path or Right for the hard ascent”, well that’s a no brainer. Right it was. Uphill again, the work interrupted for yet more photos as the landscape opened up around me and the trail led me tantalisingly on. Eventually though the summit appeared, and I picked the Wye Valley Walk back up, cresting gently along the wooded hillside for a couple of miles before descending back down to the river at Tintern Abbey, where I finally turned and headed back the way I’d come. Retracing my steps, was no chore. Heading the other way, the views are different, the grounds different, the uphill’s downhill and vice versa.
Back up to The Eagles Nest, down to the little stream crossing, with the slippery stepping stones, through the tunnel, hewn from the rock by hand at some long lost point in the past, stop to stand and stare for a few minutes at the viewpoints again, and eventually two and a half hours after setting off, I’m back at the van. Hot, sweaty, but overjoyed at the beauty of the landscape I’ve traversed in that short timeframe. I may have only done 13 miles, it may have taken me an age compared to my normal pace, but it was one of the best runs I’ve done this year, and without doubt up there with the best ones of all time (and I’ve run in some pretty spectacular places). Some days it just all falls into place. You’re running well, the legs feel good, the trails good, the routes interesting and just keeps drawing your onwards, and the whole thing just seems effortless. It’s days like that, that you spend all year dreaming about and training for. It’s days like that that keep you going when it’s cold, wet, your legs hurt, and you’d really rather be doing anything than heading out running. But when they do happen, it’s just magical!
In between working on yet more cars I’ve been back on the bike again this week for the Upper Thames Audax, but before I get onto that I need to say a big thank you.
As I got to the start of this week’s cycling fun I got accosted, in the nicest possible way, by a fellow cyclist by the name of Jeff (and please forgive me Jeff, but I never got your surname, or checked how you were spelling your first name, so if it’s wrong please accept my apologies). Now, there’s nothing unusual about stopping for a chat. Cyclists, or at least the ones I tend to mix with, are normally a friendly bunch. I’m guessing that because of the amount of time we spend lost in our own thoughts as we progress silently around the countryside when there is someone to talk too, we tend to grab the opportunity. But what was unusual in this instance, is that Jeff said, “I like your blog” which wrong-footed me and caught me totally by surprise. No one (apart from my mum) and especially not a complete stranger had ever said that before! Now, I know my readership isn’t massive, and I know that a lot of my activities (running and cycling) fall into a pretty niche group. There's not many people stupid enough to think that spending all day riding your bike in the rain is fun. So, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to know that fellow cyclists like reading about similar stupidity. But Jeff's kind words really bought a smile to my face. A smile that even the wet start to the day could do little to dissipate and as my day unfurled, those miles of peace and solitude gave me plenty of time to think about Jeff's words and what they really meant to me. Back in the mists of time when I started this little blog project, I really did it for myself. I’d never considered myself a writer, in fact my handwriting is barely legible (even I can’t read it) and it took me 2 attempts to scrape a pass at GCSE English when I left school. In fact, I'll happily admit that writing and school full stop for that matter, never came easily to me. But, back in 2016 when I was cycling round the country (Home, Lands End, John’O’Groats and back again), for some reason, as my trip progressed, I thought that I should be taking some notes about my adventure. I ended up with a couple of pages of random musings and idle thoughts, from my month on the road, and when I got home, I shared it with “The Old Cheese” (my Mum). Who, being my Mum, and probably remembering the barely literate idiot that had left home all those years ago, thought it was wonderful. And that was the end of my writing ambitions for a while. In fact, I don’t think I wrote anything else until I had a magical weekend away running and cycling in the Elan Valley, which bought back loads of memories from my younger years, and again tempted me to put pen to paper, or more accurately fingers to keyboard. A few more months passed and then I rode Windsor – Chester – Windsor in 2019 (I think) which again tempted me to put pen to paper in the form of a few notes and my thoughts on achieving, what at the time was my longest single ride, which I again shared with “The Old Cheese”. Obviously, “The Old Cheese” thought my random drivel was wonderful and sung my praises to anyone that would listen, and anyone that knew her would probably confirm that once she was in her stride you didn’t have much choice but listen. But her enjoyment of my ramblings, plus a deep-down feeling that maybe I should be keeping a diary of some sort, so I could look back on all these little adventures when I’m old and feeble (older and feebler), got me thinking. And so, after a bit of research, one wet August day, this little blog project was born. My initial thoughts were for the odd post, just to keep a few notes and pictures of my adventures, which I could look back at in the future. But, within a couple of posts “The old Cheese” was again singing my praises to all and sundry, and more importantly, she seemed to be getting as much from my writing as I soon found I was. Once I got into the swing of things, I started to find putting pen to paper quite therapeutic, helping to sort out those memories and record for posterity my thoughts on what are often busy weekends away. I’ll also confess that I’m not very good at talking about myself, in fact I’d go as far as to say I absolutely detest it. But putting my thoughts into writing, hidden behind screen and keyboard, seemed a lot easier, and knowing that “The Old Cheese” was enjoying the weekly updates and following along with my adventures, made the writing seem worthwhile and enjoyable. I managed to get through a year of weekly blog posts, and with it all being new and exciting, found that I had something different to talk about most weeks. But after that first year I seemed to be going over the same ground again and again, cycling, running, allotment, and spent quite a bit of time “umming and arring” over whether to continue or not. I mean a years worth of drivel is more than enough for anyone isn't it? At about the same time “The Old Cheese” wasn’t well, but she was still reading and was still singing my praises. So for her as much as me, I carried on, and strangely I found new things to talk about. Yes, it might have been the same ride as this time last year, but I still noticed different things, so there were different things to talk about. Yes, it might be spring on the allotment again, but it’s all slightly different to last year, so I kept on writing, and she kept on reading. By the time “The Old Cheese” passed away in June last year, there was more than just her following along with my adventures, but again I thought about calling it a day. At the end of the day, writing is time consuming (even more so when your only a 2 finger typist), and whilst I’d started this little project for me as much as anyone, knowing that she was getting a lot from it kept me plugging away at it. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her phoning me up mid-week on more than one occasion to find out why there wasn’t a blog post, I’d probably have given up ages ago. Something kept me going though. I’ve already mentioned that putting pen to paper is incredibly therapeutic, and looking back at the end of the year, or whenever, refreshes those memories of days away, overnight adventures, or the little highlights of life that I would probably otherwise forget about in the daily hustle and bustle of a busy life. There’s still lots of times when I think, “can I really be bothered with this” though. Sometimes, when I’ve got behind on a few weeks’ worth of adventures and posts, I think, “is it really worth trying to catch this up, or should I just call it a day now”? Over the months and years, the number of people following along and reading my drivel, has slowly crept up too. Numbers aren’t massive, but there are people who are taking the time to read what I’m writing, and for that I’m extremely grateful. But who are they? They’re obviously not my Mum anymore. “The Emma” never reads (“what’s the point I live with you” which I think equates to your boring) and I don’t think that “The Boy” can read (stand by for furious phone calls if it turns out he can). Which just leaves “The Old Man” and possibly “Kathryn Stinks” and “I forget I’ve got a Brother” (A.K.A my sisters) as readership. That annoying analytical thing that the website host thinks I’m interested in, (which I’m not), shows that there’s more than just 3 people out there reading though. Which is the whole point of the last 1250 words. Because it turns out that one of those people is Jeff, and Jeff taking the time to comment on my ramblings, not only bought a smile to my face (which is still there) but was actually incredibly inspiring. Knowing that other people are interested in my dull and boring life, makes the time taken to sit down, think of things to say and put pen to paper incredibly rewarding. As I’ve already mentioned, this started as a project for me, and at the end of the day, will always be a project for me. Something to look back at when I’m too old and tired to run anymore, or when my cycling days are bought to an end by some careless car driver (unfortunately realistically likely). It will hopefully be a reminder of a life lived to the full, something to awaken those long-forgotten memories of silly adventures, nights spent sleeping in hammocks under the stars, or waking up with my sleeping bag covered in frost. Memories of the miles covered with like minded adventurers, outstanding views from ridiculous runs, suffering, elation, the failures and the successes, and the hundreds of other highlights and feelings that I’ve recorded for posterity. But most importantly, it bought a smile and a little bit of enjoyment to “The Old Cheese” in her last days, and if I can continue to bring to odd smile to those of you that read along or inspire someone to take on their own project or adventure, no matter how small or large, then it’s all been worthwhile. So, Jeff, thank you, not only for your incredibly kind words Saturday morning, but for inspiring me too. You said yourself during our short conversation that you were setting off early as you were going to be getting full value from your days ride. But you set off in the drizzle, with a smile on your face, knowing full well that you were going to be in for a long, and probably wet day. When my younger legs allowed me to catch up with you on the long climb up to Christmas Common, you still had a smile on your face, greeted me with a cheery hello, and looked like you were having the time of your life. And if that’s not the inspiration anyone needs to get out there on their own adventures, then I don’t know what is. So, thank you and safe cycling!
Right, in case anyone’s still reading after that load of old waffle I suppose I’d better get on to what I’m actually supposed to be talking about.
As I mentioned last week and briefly referred to earlier, I’ve had “The Boy’s” car sat outside for a few days waiting for the opportunity to have a look at a few problems he’s been having and get it through the MOT (not that I'm any sort of car mechanic). Well, you’ll be pleased to know it failed it’s MOT quite spectacularly, to the point where the MOT garage suggested that it wasn’t worth saving and I’d be better off scrapping it. Which, fair play to them, at the price they quoted to fix it, it wasn’t! Luckily for “The Boy” though, I’m not that easily deterred and it’s actually quite a nice little car. “The Boy” has already spent quite a lot of money on getting a new cam belt fitted, generally maintaining it and getting it how he wants it, so I think it’s worth saving. Anyway, cutting a long story short, Sunday was spent dodging the heavy rain showers, and for the second time in as many weeks, replacing; both front Shock absorbers, both Wishbones, Drop links, Steering arms, and Bottom Ball Joints, front Brake Discs and Pads and the R/H Brake Caliper! All of which still came to significantly less that the garage had quoted for just the shocks and wishbones. Although to be fair to them, I don’t have to earn a wage, run a garage, employ someone to answer the phone, etc, so its hardly comparable, but does show the advantage of doing it your self if you can, even if you have to spend money on tools etc in the first place (I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned that I’ve got a bit of a tool fetish and you can’t ever have enough tools (often the bigger the better)). I think that the garage was a bit surprised to see it back again when I dropped it off on Tuesday morning for tracking and the MOT retest. But I can confirm that it passed with flying colours, and they were very complimentary about my workmanship (and the fact that I’d actually fixed it) which was nice. And, on an even more positive note, it handles a lot better now and it pleases me to know that not only is “The Boy” back on the road, but he’s got a nice little car, which I know is safe, properly maintained and should see him through another couple of years of happy motoring. All that remains is to get it back to him, which as he lives in Cardiff is easier to say than do, although I think we’ve got that one covered as I’m off to Wales next weekend for a long overdue catch up with some old friends, so I’m sure that we can work something out then.
Which brings us almost up to date again, apart from the small matter of what was the main event of the weekend, The Upper Thames 200km Audax. Another exciting little jaunt around some beautiful countryside along quiet country roads, taking in both the Cotswolds and the Chiltern hills and a crossing of the River Thames.
And what I ask you, is there not to like about that, apart from the weather forecast which was for heavy rain, getting heavier and windier as the day went on! As with last weeks ride, I’ve done this one a few times now, (2021, 2019, plus others) in fact it was the first Audax I ever rode, so it’s got a special place in my heart, along with many others it would seem, as it’s always got a good turnout. But, and it’s a big but, I don’t think that I’ve ever ridden it and not got soaking wet. It’s always raining at either the start, in the middle, or at the end, and it’s always windy on the way up to Chipping Norton too, which makes that uphill leg a real slog!
Luckily, considering the time of year its still not cold, so setting off at 07:30 into the morning drizzle, having already partaken in biscuits and a brew courtesy of the well organised organisers, wasn’t too much of a hardship. Jacket zipped up, leg warmers and winter boots on and off towards the steep climbs of the Chiltern hills and Henley-on-Thames.
Steady progress through the gloom and drizzle, saw me in Henley well ahead of the morning rush hour, avoiding the worst of the traffic that normally has the place in gridlock. Routing through Henley itself, is a recent change to an otherwise familiar route, avoiding the normal, stupidly steep and pot hole riddled descent from Bix. I’m not sure if this was an improvement or not though, as avoiding the steep descent bought the route onto the A4130 which in its own right seems to have a pretty awful road surface and some pretty busy traffic too. The long steady climb up to Christmas Common was dispatched without fanfare, followed shortly afterwards by the fast descent into Wallingford and then onwards to the first stop of the day at Waterperry gardens, where they were doing a roaring trade in late breakfasts. No breakfast stop for me today though, electing to push on whilst it wasn’t raining. A few flat, fast miles up to Bicester and then the long, slow, endless climb into the wind, to take us up in to the Cotswolds and Chipping Norton. I don’t think that I’ve ever done this climb and thought “that wasn’t too bad”, its always, “my god how much further can it be, surely I must be nearly there” and this year was no different. Eventually though, with tired legs, Chipping Norton and its pretty high street emerged through the murk and general dampness, and along with it the chance to dismount for a few minutes, have a stretch, grab a bite to eat and get my Brevet card stamped by the nice man, sat warm and snug in the café. Onwards, and the last of the big climbs are almost behind us, there’s just the stretch between Chipping Norton and Minster Lovell to get through then it’s all downhill, well flatter, back to the start. One final short pause in Charney Bassett to answer the question for the “Info Control” as proof of passage and then off into the growing darkness for the final stint to take us back to the start. With lights ablaze and the rain falling steadily, the final miles ticked down. Just one final short climb and there below us in the darkness is the lights of Cholsey. Safely back where I started from, 9 and a bit hours and 128 miles previously, with a warm welcome, a hot brew, a bowl of soup and a chunk of homemade cake, it doesn't get much better than that! As I said at the start. What’s not to like about that? Yes, the weather wasn’t brilliant, but it wasn’t that bad either, I only got wet a couple of times, and at the end of the day, if you don't accept getting wet as part of the deal in the UK, then you’d never do anything! Most importantly though, no matter how many times I do these rides, they’re different. You notice different things, the views are different due to the weather, you look up at different times and see things you’ve missed before, and you get to share a great day out with some like minded people, all of whom are having their own adventures and experiences. Yes, there’s nothing not to like about 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
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