I don’t want to tempt fate, but the sun is shining (although there’s a bitterly cold wind blowing) and everything outside is starting to look suspiciously green and verdant. Is this going to be the start of Spring or are we going to be back to the endless rain again next week?
Let's hope not, because I’ve really had enough of the wet, and I really need the allotment to start drying out so I can get some digging done. While I’m talking about digging, and the allotment, I managed to get up to the plot for a couple of hours on Sunday morning, and have finally managed to get the main season potatoes in the ground. Tradition states that you plant potatoes at Easter, but as Easter moves around, that seems like a bit of a stupid idea, and even more so when you consider that statistically it’s more likely to snow at Easter than Christmas. (I assume it stems from the fact that people had a day off at Easter which gave them time to do it). Either way, the ground was far too wet at Easter to even consider digging, although I did get some early spuds into big pots, and as a bit of an experiment buried some more in last year's compost pile to see what happens. But getting anything into the ground has had to wait until this weekend (which some years would have been Easter anyway. See I told you it’s a silly tradition). I note that the potatoes in the compost heap have already broken the surface, so we will see in a couple of months if they're any good, although I suspect not as I’m guessing that the slugs will get most of them. A few years ago I planted Pumpkins into the compost pile in a similar experiment and they did really well, so I think it’s worth a try and there’s nothing to lose except a couple of seed potatoes. The seeds in the greenhouse are all doing ok too. It’s surprising how much warmer it is in the greenhouse, sheltered from the wind and with all the glass radiating the sun's warmth. The summer bedding flowers that I pricked out into individual modules last weekend are starting to get established in their new homes and I’ve had to move the Sweet peas and most of the Cabbages, which are going great guns, into the cold frame to make space for other stuff. I’ve also sown French and Runner beans this week, which are now in the cold frame waiting for the sun to do its magic, and I think that that’s most of the early seeds sown for now. There’s still plenty of stuff to get sown directly into the soil once it warms up a bit, but for now, I think it’s time to get on with some digging, ready to start planting stuff out in the coming weeks.
Strangely, it’s been a quiet weekend on the running and cycling front too. Looking through all the events in the local area, there was nothing on either front for this weekend. I guess that the London Marathon is the focus of everyone's attention on the running front, but I don’t know why there’s no bicycling fun going on.
The fact that there’s no organised fun to get involved with doesn’t normally stop me though and this weekend has been no different. Last weekend I pushed my cycling commute home on Friday afternoon out to 60 miles, just to get a few more miles in, which worked quite well, so this weekend, with nothing else to do, I've taken that idea one step further and pushed it out to 170 miles (180 if you add in the ride in to work on Friday morning) with a night out in the hammock on Friday night to make it a bit more of an adventure. I sorted out what looked like a reasonable route one evening in the week, The plan being to head out straight from work on Friday afternoon. Before heading up to the edge of the Cotswolds, and then looping back to end up back at home on Saturday afternoon. So, to that end, I dug the camping gear back out from the loft where it’s been languishing, feeling lonely, since my little adventure at Easter and as soon as I could escape from work I was away. Friday afternoon, had a viscous, cold, wind, blowing that made for some really hard miles. With the predominant wind direction being South-Easterly, I thought that I’d get away with it, but for the first time in forever, the wind on Friday was somehow coming from the North-West, also known as straight in my face all afternoon! Not an ideal situation, but all character building stuff. Although if I’m honest, I think that my character has had enough building for the time being, and it would be nice if the wind and rain would take a break and the sun would just come out for a bit.
An afternoon of fighting to make progress against the wind saw me in Witney for tea time, where I treated myself to one of Lidl’s finest donuts as a reward for my efforts and spent a few minutes huddled out of the wind, trying to stay warm enough to enjoy it.
With a planned 170 miles for the two days I ideally needed 85 on the Friday to even the mileage out, and looking at the map as I munched on my doughnut, it seemed that 85 miles would see me somewhere between Burford and Northleach, which seemed achievable. As is often the case, as the afternoon turned towards evening the wind died away, and whilst the climbs between Witney and Burford were somewhat testing on tired legs, there was plenty to keep my mind occupied and distract me from the task in hand, as I passed through pretty little Cotswold villages with expansive views across the rolling countryside from the hill tops. By 19:00 I’d reached Burford and took the opportunity to pick up some water ready for the night and for my breakfast in the morning, as well as the obligatory bedtime cookie. (There’s no point in putting in all that effort if you can’t treat yourself once in a while is there?)
Pushing on from Burford with one eye open for potential overnight Bivvy spots I had a few really pleasant miles in the evening sun following the River Windrush as it made its way from its source to link up with the Thames at some point downstream.
Having discounted a couple of possible overnight spots, I finally found somewhere suitable to hang my hammock just as darkness was descending, and called it a day, with 87 miles on the clock (98 if you include the 11 in to work in the morning). Setting up for the night the skies were clear and the full moon provided plenty of light to see by. In fact it was such a beautiful evening that there didn’t seem to be much point in putting the Tarp up, and I settled into bed with a beautiful view of the night sky silhouetting the naked trees above with the stars shining through. Beautiful!
Less than an hour after settling down for the night I was rudely awakened by spots of rain falling onto my head and the wind whistling through the trees. The moon which had been so bright less than an hour ago was long gone, and I was getting wet!
Struggling back out of my warm sleeping bag I had a mad rush around in the dark to try and get the tarp set up before everything got soaked. Whilst the still strengthening wind tried its best to hamper proceedings by pulling things in every direction I didn’t want them to go in, and generally making a nuisance of itself. Finally back in bed again, I lay for a while listening to the wind in the trees and some Deer off in the distance calling to each other, before drifting back off to sleep. Now, I’m pretty sure that I didn’t dream it, but around midnight I awoke to the sound of footsteps on the road which was a few meters away. Between my arrival just after 20:00 and midnight there hadn't been a single vehicle passing down the road, but footsteps, that was strange. And not just any footsteps either, but the rhythmic footfall of a runner. Laying still, the footsteps grew louder, before passing along the road a matter of feet away from my little hideaway and progressing steadily up the hill. I’d say how strange, and I’m pretty sure that I didn’t dream it. But a runner, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, really? If it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve been that runner, progressing steadily through the darkness on more than a few occasions, I’d say that I was definitely dreaming. But in actual fact, I probably wasn’t, and it probably was someone else out on their own adventure through the night. Either way, dream or reality, good luck fellow adventurer, I hope your night time exploits were rewarding and enjoyable, and thanks for not disturbing my slumbers!
By the time the dawn chorus alerted me to the start of another day, the overnight wind and rain had moved on, and the day dawned, cold and clear, with the hints of a light frost glinting from the roadside verges.
Sitting in my hammock with a hot brew warming my fingers and watching the sun slowly rise through the trees is always a magical moment, and Saturday morning was no different. I couldn’t spend all morning swaying gently in the morning sun though, as there was still the small matter of another 85 miles to cover if I was going to get home today. So to that end I was packed up and on the road, with the cold, frosty, air nipping at my fingers by 06:30. With no sign of my night time companion I made steady progress along the quiet country roads as the inhabitants of the roadside houses slumbered on, blissfully unaware of my passing. Through Northleach, Cricklade and on to Royal Wootton Bassett where I stopped and joined the early morning shoppers to replenish my supplies and pick up a second breakfast.
From Royal Wootton Bassett it’s all familiar roads. Roads that I’ve ridden a hundred times before on days out and longer adventures. They're always different though and there’s always something to see that you've never noticed before.
That’s the beauty of travelling slowly, you’ve got the time to notice things that you’d never see in a car. They would either be gone in a flash or you’d be too busy looking at the road to even notice. Not by bike though. There’s time to look around, time to take in your surroundings and time to learn the lay of the land and how different places and roads interact with each other.
Lost in my daydreams, the miles ticked steadily along. Marlborough came and went, as did Hungerford. And before I knew it I was on the home straight. One more long drag of a climb, one more steep one, and then it’s all downhill from there.
There was time for one more brew stop first though. Another chance to sit in the sun whilst I waited for the kettle to boil and one more chance to sit with my back against a farm gate and watch the world go by for a few minutes. Before I knew it though it was all over. By mid afternoon I was back at home with another 85 miles in my legs, just as “The Emma” was getting up from her night shift. Plenty of time for a brew, sort my kit out and chill out for a couple of hours before tea time. And that, in my book, isn't a bad way to start the weekend. 170 miles, a night out in the Hammock, sunshine, moonlight nights, rain showers, stunning expansive views, the freedom of the road, strong winds and most importantly a few hours of freedom with nothing to worry about except turning the pedals and where to stop for a brew. That’ll do me, thank you very much!
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It’s been a bit of a milestone this weekend, not only is it mine and “The Emma’s” 14th wedding anniversary on Monday (God only knows how she’s put up with me for that long), but more importantly it’s ten long years since I ran my first half Marathon, and it’s all “The Emma’s” fault in the first place. You see, back in the dark mists of time, when I was only running just for a bit of fun and to keep fit, we were sat on the bus going into town one afternoon for a few beers when she said, “Why don’t you run a half marathon”. Obviously, I replied with “Don’t be stupid, do you know how far that is”. But the seeds of an idea had been sown, and a couple of months later I’d signed up for the Reading half, and instantly started regretting it. Roll on a few months later and on a chilly, but dry, early spring day, there I was lined up on the start line ready for my first ever competitive run. I still remember it like it was yesterday. The pre-race nerves, the excitement, the exhaustion, the exhilaration of finally crossing the finish line, the stiff legs the next day, the feeling of having done something a little bit special, and the thought at the time of “I’m never doing that again” which was soon replaced with “What next”. My time that day of 1:44:15 was nothing to write home about, but at the same time, I think it was quite reasonable for a first attempt at that distance, in an organised race. Obviously, I’ve learned from that, and put that learning into practice at numerous races, over ever greater distances, over the years, but the Reading half still holds a special little place in my heart. Which is why, I found myself once again taking to the start line on Sunday morning for a tenth anniversary reminder of what a great little event it is. I’d been looking forward to this one ever since I signed up back in the dark evenings of January, and the weather God’s appeared to be on my side for a change too, as Sunday morning dawned clear, still, and dry, with the promise of a cracking day ahead for a change. An easy drive up to Reading, followed by the short shuttle bus journey from the park and ride to the start area at the Madejski Stadium, left plenty of time to cheer on the kids competing in the Green Park Challenge as they raced for the finish line in the stadium, some with parents in tow, some running on their own for the first time, all of them an inspiration. It's the little things like the children running the Green Park Challenge that give me hope that the world isn’t quite the crazy, messed up place that it often appears to be. Maybe if those kids keep on running then they won’t end up following the rest of us in believing that the only way to get anywhere is by car, and we can end our reliance on “King Car” and start making the roads, and great outdoors, a safer, more pleasant place to be. While I’m off track and talking about things that bring me hope. I often used to see a family out horse riding on my cycle to work. The Mum was always at the front on the biggest horse, with 3 children of decreasing age and size, all following on, each riding a horse to reflect their size and always in size order. I’ve not seen them for a while, so I hope that they are all still riding and all still well, but every time I saw them it brought the biggest smile to my face and filled me with joy. What a beautiful sight! Anyway, back to the task in hand. It's been a long time since I’ve run a half Marathon on the road, I think we’d have to go back to pre blog days, so I had no real idea what I was capable of running time wise. Looking at last week's Southampton Marathon where I ran the first half quite comfortably in 1:45, I guessed that I should be more than capable of cutting a chunk of time off that for a half, but 1:30 seemed a bit too fast, considering that it’s been a long time since I’ve done any real fast training. 1:35 seemed a bit more realistic. 1:35 needs an average of 7 minute 15 second miles which is far faster than my average Marathon pace, but probably just about achievable. So, with that goal in mind, I lined up behind the 1:45 pace runner in my appointed start group and awaited the start (see last week's blog for my rant about people starting in the wrong start group!). With little fanfare, the elite group of runners set off bang on time at 10:15, and we moved forward to the start line, setting off a matter of seconds later. As expected, our wave set off fast, with the normal jostling for position as everyone tried to funnel smoothly past those who still insist on starting in the wrong place. The only advantage out fast is that you don’t tend to have to deal with the chancers for too long, as it soon becomes clear if you can’t hold the pace being set, and they soon get left behind. The 7:15 mile pace seemed pretty fast to me too, compared to what I’ve become accustomed to running at, and as we climbed the first of the day's ascents the group was whittled down further and the pack spread out, leaving plenty of space to settle into a steady rhythm. The first few miles passed quickly as we found our pace and formed a small group, all aiming for the same finish time, all equally matched, all fighting our own battle against the clock and not each other. With the sun shining down from a clear blue sky, the crowds were out in force, lining the streets and cheering on not only their own runners, but all who passed. The cheers from the crowds joining in with the ladies choir in the university grounds, the steel drummers in the underpass as we made our way into the town centre, the pub patrons, eagerly handing out samples to thirsty runners (not today thankyou) on the climb back out of the city centre, and the hundreds of children with their placards cheering on Mummy or Daddy or offering their little hands for a high five as we passed. How can you not give your best or be encouraged when everyone has turned out to cheer you on? By the time half way had come and gone I was in my stride, holding the pace well and actually having a good time. The second half of any run can go one of two ways though. It either becomes a slog, as your legs and stamina fade. Or if you've paced it well, it’s just a case of counting down the miles until the end, whilst enjoying yourself. The last of the uphill sections came at mile 9, and I pushed uphill, trying to hold on to the magical 7:15 pace required for that 1:35 finish. Legs screaming with lactic acid, lungs bursting with the effort of trying to get enough oxygen in to work those tired muscles, heart beating hard to try and propel those red blood cells round to where they are needed most, and all the while the crowd cheering us on. Eventually the top arrived and with it the relief that it’s all flat or downhill from here. Surely, I’ve got this one in the bag now? There’s still the small matter of 3 miles to go though and they're not easy miles either, so there’s no time for complacency. After all, “it’s not over until the fat lady sings”. Concentrate, hold the pace, watch for the man weaving around in front as we pass, mind the drain grating and the drop, watch the kerb as the person beside moves over to try and cut a corner edging me out, catch back up with those in front as we accelerate back out of a corner, but most of all keep pushing. I’m not going to get that 1:35 unless I want it enough! The last couple of miles at Reading are always hard. It’s a straight run along a dual carriageway, and whilst the road is wide, allowing everyone to spread out, it’s also dead straight, meaning you can see how far there still is to go. It’s pan flat, leaving no respite for tired legs, and there’s never anyone to cheer you on as they're all either in town or at the finish, where the facilities and best views are. It’s just a case of head down, enjoy the feeling of the tarmac moving smoothly under your feet, share the moment and pain with those around you, and push on. After what seems like weeks on the never ending dual carriageway, the sound of cheering slowly increases as we swing off to pick up the final few metres to take us to the finish in the Madejski Stadium. One more small climb with a hypnotic techno beat reverberating through the air and push on round the back of the stadium to enter via the back entrance. And then you're in the stadium, skirting round the edge of the pitch where a thousand dreams have come to an end at various football and rugby matches over the years, and the crowds roaring you on as you push for the finish line. Across the line, stop your watch and check the time. 1:34:54! That’ll do for me. I set off to do 1:35 and I’m 6 seconds inside that time. No wasted effort, just a job well done. Even more impressively, the 1:35 pacemaker that I set off with crosses the line a matter of seconds behind me. He might have been tasked with doing a 1:35 as the pacer, but I don’t think that he could have done a better job than that! It’s been a long time since I’ve run a road half, and what better place to do it than Reading where it all started 10 short years ago. And what a brilliant day out it was too. The sun shone, the crowds were brilliant, my fellow runners considerate, and enjoying the day out as I was, and the 1:35 pacer couldn’t have done a better job if his life had depended on it. Just out of interest I had a look at my previous Reading half times and they’re surprisingly consistent. Obviously the slowest I’ve ever ran was 2014 during that first momentous day, and I’ve got a feeling that 2019 is a personal best for the half (I can’t think that I’ve ever been quicker than that). But either way, it’s pretty consistent, and considering that I’m 10 years older than I was in 2014, I’m more than happy with that.
2024 – 1:34:54 - https://www.readinghalfmarathon.com/pages/results 2019 – 1:28:36 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2019_v3&r=5939 2017 – 1:39:26 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2017_v1&r=8060 2016 – 1:40:05 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2016_v2&r=1419 2015 – 1:30:06 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2015_v5&r=9870 2014 – 1:44:15 - https://rat.run/reading-half-marathon#!s=RHM2014_v2&r=8543 What I do occasionally wonder, is what I could be capable of if I actually took this seriously? When you consider that I ran a respectable Marathon 7 days before, and did another 20 miles training through the week, plus did 70-mile efforts on the bike on both Friday and Saturday, so was already starting from a fatigued state. Then what could I do if I focused on some speed work, focused on only 1 event, instead of punishing my legs every weekend, and trained specifically for one big effort? I could probably do quite well? But where’s the fun in that? What are we going to talk about this week then blog followers? Well,I know for a fact that whatever I’m on about won’t be exciting as last week's adventures, but then every week can’t be spectacular can it, and to be honest, I think I actually got the best weather over the Easter weekend, because it certainly hasn’t got any better over the last week has it. As I mentioned at the end of last week's update, I was actually off work last week, and whilst I didn’t get up to anything special, I did manage to get a few odd jobs wrapped up and made some progress on both the allotment and the MX5 project. The MX5 stuff isn’t really worth mentioning and certainly isn’t worth any pictures, but I have spent more than a few hours over the last week on my back, scraping underseal and rust off the bottom of the car. Dirty, horrible work that will never be seen again once the rust has been repaired and it’s all been repainted and re-undersealed, but if it’s going to be saved, it's a necessity. In more interesting news, I’ve finally got round to replacing the fruit trellis on the allotment. This one's been on my to do list for a while, but I’ve been waiting on an opportunity to get the metal delivered when I was actually at home to take delivery. That opportunity appeared over the Easter break, so before I went on my adventure I ordered the stuff which arrived Wednesday night (typically having been in all day, I went for a shower at 18:30 and the delivery guy pitched up as soon as I got naked). Anyway, having used wooden posts for the trellis since I got the allotment, I’m now on at least the third set of posts, and some of these have rotten away already or are loose, so I’m giving up on the wooden post front and whilst metal posts are more expensive I’m hoping that they’re going to last far longer that the wooden ones do, and therefore over their life the costs will actually be better. Besides the metal ones look far better and are now at least 3ft in the ground so are solidly planted, something that you never seem to be able to achieve with the wooden ones. On other allotment news, the greenhouse is now in full Spring sowing mode and the benches are starting to fill up with seed trays. I’ve now got, Broad Beans, Sweetcorn, Spring and Winter Cabbage, Sprouts, Kale, Broccoli, Sweet Peas, Normal Peas, Summer and Winter Squash, Leeks, Spring Onions, Lettuce, Courgettes, Carrots, Beetroot, Parsnips and a selection of flower seeds in the greenhouse, with Tomatoes, Chilli’s, Cucumbers and Peppers all doing well on the window sill at home. All we need now is for it to stop raining for more than 2 seconds at a time to allow the ground to start drying out a bit and I’ll be able to get the Potatoes into the ground to join the Garlic and Onions, which have been braving the never ending rain out there all winter. I suppose we can’t have a blog update without some running or cycling fun though can we. So to that end, I’ve been running, and it wasn’t even my favorite sort of running. Sunday saw me lining up on the start line for the Southampton Marathon and if there’s such a thing as a good Marathon, then in my book, a road Marathon certainly isn’t it. That’s not to say that I wasn’t looking forward to this one. Just that 4 hours running round housing estates, industrial estates and other assorted city center infrastructure, doesn’t have quite the same appeal as 26 miles through glorious countryside, along muddy trails, out in the peace and tranquility of the countryside. Oh, and there’s always the little issue of 26 miles of running on tarmac being viciously hard on your knees and feet to contend with. Why do it then? Well to be honest, it was the only thing I could find to do on Sunday, to satisfy my need to punish my body on a weekly basis! I could have gone and run the Test Way Ultra, but I’d foolishly promised the day to visiting family months ago, so it was going to have to be either the Southampton Marathon on Sunday, or nothing for the weekend, and we can’t be having that can we. And besides, it’s good to do the odd road Marathon every now and again to remind me how much better trail running is! That said, and as I’ve already mentioned, I was actually looking forward to this. My late entry required an early start on Sunday morning as I had to get to Southampton to pick up my race number before the start. Expecting it to be busy I made sure I was there well before start time and had picked up my number and had plenty of time to get myself ready, wander around for a bit, and have a good warm up, before taking my slot on the start line ready for the off. If there’s one thing that I really hate about the bigger road races, it’s people's inability to start in the right group. Every big run always asks for a predicted start time when you enter, and then goes to a lot of trouble to try and sort out the start so you depart with runners that are capable of running at the pace required for your predicted finish time, which should lead to a smooth start and give everyone time to settle down, spread out and generally enjoy the first few miles. What actually happens, is the organisers go to all the trouble of trying to sort everyone out, but people are either incapable of being honest with their predicted time (I’m going to run sub 3 hours when my fastest ever time is 6 hours 30). Or just totally disregard their allocated start position in an effort to start at the front, despite the fact that your time goes on when you actually cross the line, and not when they say go, so it’s irrelevant where you actually start (you could be the last person over the line and still win, if you're the fastest runner). All of which means that instead of everyone getting smoothly away because you're all running at the same pace, there will be some idiot trying to do 6:45 pace in amongst those doing 3:45 which brings everyone to a halt while they try to get past and just leads to mayhem. Why do they do it? It happens at almost every big run, with Sunday being no different. As such instead of getting smoothly away when the man and the mayor with the big hat and loudspeaker said “Go” we spent the first couple of miles trying to get into a steady pace, whilst jostling around trying to get past those that are incapable of actually starting in the right place! While I’m having a rant the other big bug bears are the people that are incapable of running in a straight line (these will be the same ones that cant walk down the pavement in a straight line, and spend their time on the motorway endlessly going from 30 MPH to 90MPH and then braking before repeating the whole episode again). If they just ran in a straight line then everyone else wouldn’t have to keep swerving and slowing down / speeding up to get out of their way! And the idiots that think they need to stop in the middle of the road to get a selfie, or just as bad, swerve across everyone as you approach a drinks station, pick up a drink and then stop dead to take a sip from it (these will be the ones that stop dead in shop door ways, escalators and other inconvenient places or swerve across 7 lanes of traffic at the last second when they finally decide to pay enough attention to realise that they are about to miss their exit on the motorway too). Strangely, all of these phenomena appear to be specific to road running. It may just be that the average trail run has less participants, so it’s not so obvious, but knowing that you're going to spend half your run weaving around people, trying to avoid being tripped up, and generally having to try and pre-empt what those around you are going to do, tends to put me off road running (as if the boredom and smashing your knees isn’t enough). For me, it’s a bit like cycling in a group, it’s fine if everyone knows what they’re doing, but if not, it’s best avoided, or it’ll probably end in tears. That said, once everyone sorted themselves out and settled down, the first few miles, through a quiet Southampton, in the early morning spring sunshine was quite pleasant. What wasn’t quite so pleasant was when we turned into the wind, which was absolutely howling in off the sea. The crossing of the Itchen Bridge was particularly nasty, with the wind swirling around strongly enough to trip you up as it surged around your ankles, and the stretch along the promenade with what should have been views of the spring sunshine glinting off the Solent, was downright viscous, with the wind straight in your face, trying it’s best to push us back the way we had come. I settled into a fairly comfortable pace quite quickly though, falling in with the 1:45 half marathon pacers. A pace which whilst undoubtedly too fast for the full distance, felt fairly comfortable for the first half. Being a 2 lap run, it’s hard to know how you're doing in the big scheme of things. But, as the half way point approached and we peeled off for lap 2, it became clear that there weren't many runners doing the full race, as the majority went the other way! With the numbers considerably thinned down, and 1:45 on the clock for the first 13 miles, the second lap was going to be a case of trying to hold my pace for as long as possible, whilst trying to enjoy the endless city center roads for a second time. If anything the wind had picked up as we crossed the Itchen Bridge for the second time and battled our way around the promontory, a task made all the harder by having no one to hide behind and already having 16 odd miles in my legs. Having already been round once, I had a pretty good idea of what to expect on lap 2, including the long climb, at what would be mile 22 or 23, just when the mileage would be really starting to bite! Bite it did too. A long slog of a climb, which unsurprisingly hadn’t seemed quite so hard on the first lap! No pretty scenery to distract myself with. No distractions from the task in hand. Just an endless stretch of tarmac reaching ever upwards in front of me. Eventually though I reached the top of that endless slog, and turned onto the flatter terrain of the last few miles. Miles which ticked slowly down, until with 3:37 elapsed, the finish line hove into view. And I’m happy with that. I think that 3:37 is a fairly respectable time, and is actually slightly faster than I was expecting, having set off with the goal of 3:45 in mind. Maybe, I went out a little fast, and if I could have maintained the pace from the first half I’d have been closer to 3:30, but that was going to be a big ask.
Road running isn’t really my thing, so it’s hard to know how competitive you actually are until you put yourself against a measurable crowd. But I would say that considering the strong wind along the coastal section and the route. That 3:37 here compares favorably with my last road marathon, where I did a 3:34 at London in October 2022. So, I may be older, I’m certainly no wiser, but I don’t seem to have lost that much pace in the last 18 months either, despite having spent most of last year out injured, and I’m more than happy with 3:37. Maybe in another 2 years I’ll do another road Marathon and see how I’m getting on. But I’m certainly in no rush to repeat the experience. It’s much more fun off-road!
A different approach to my blog writing this week as you'll see below. Whilst the words below have been edited for spelling, that's all I've done since I wrote them. So if bits don't make sense, it's because I was probably cold and wet when I wrote them. I think it's a more authentic take on my thoughts at the time to leave any grammar errors, tense, and context changes in place though.
Right, this is about the stupidest idea I've ever had, but here goes. It's Easter, which means Adventure time. I've got a full week off and whilst I'm not planning on spending the entire week adventuring, I'm not planning on spending it sitting at home either.
To that end, I came up with a brilliant plan to tie in a bit of walking, a bit of bivvying, and the chance to have a look at what will hopefully be a long run in the summer, all in one go, and walk the 77 mile Pewsey Vale Circular Way route. The only problem is, it's currently Thursday, which just happens to be the first day of my leave, and no one seems to have told the weather that it's supposed to be behaving. It's currently throwing it down with rain, which is forecast to continue for most of the day, and the winds going to pick up through the afternoon with gusts of 50MPH plus. I've never let the weather stop me before though, which is why it's currently 12:15 and I'm sat on a train heading for Hungerford. “The Emma” did offer to give me a lift all the way to the start, but starting an adventure from the car seems a bit rubbish, so I declined her kind offer, opting for the train instead, which seems a far more exciting and a far better way to set off. I'm going to try something new over the next few days if everything goes to plan, and have a go at writing my adventure up as I go. I've always written my days out up after the event, so this will hopefully be a bit different and might shed a different light on things. We'll see how we get on though, as I’m expecting this to be a difficult few days. As I've already mentioned, it's currently lashing it down, and the ground is already heavily waterlogged, so I'm expecting things to be cold, wet, and very muddy, which is going to be challenging. Even more so as my backpack weighs far more than I'm even remotely happy with, due to having to try and cater for every eventuality. Let's see how we get on then. Fingers crossed my knees will hold up with the extra weight, and the weather will improve. If I can just survive Thursday night into Friday morning then I think it'll be OK. But, as I said to “The Emma” when she dropped me off just now “I'll either see you tomorrow or Monday”. Right, the trains on the move, it's 12:22 on Thursday 28th March, let the adventure begin!
16:45 - Miles Covered 7
I've just stopped for a brew, 7 miles in, and it's all been kicking off in the last couple of hours. The wind is absolutely whistling through the trees, there's thunder rumbling around and its pretty grim. On the positive side, I stopped and watched a pair of Kites trying unsuccessfully to make progress against the wind, and I've seen a Hare and a couple of Deer braving the elements, so if they can do it, there's no reason why I can't.
19:00 - Miles Covered 12
I'm calling it a day at that, it's been pretty awful since my last update, with some really vicious, wind driven heavy rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning. Not long after my brew stop I got caught in a really exposed open section with the rain hammering down in sheets and thunder rumbling all around. Progress was almost impossible, and in the end I sought refuge on the Lee side of a handily abandoned water tank until the worst of it blew over. I stopped off briefly at the shop in Upper Bedwyn to pick up water to see me through the night (you wouldn't think that finding drinkable water would be such an issue would you), before pushing on up a heavily flooded woodland section, the top of which is where I've set up for the night. The wind is still roaring through the trees, but I've got my Hammock up and with the tarp set low overhead I'm dry, warm and hoping for a good night's sleep.
Friday 07:30 - Miles Covered 15.
Well that was a pretty good night all things considered. Being pitch dark and raining I was in bed for 20:00, which was nice. And although there was quite a lot more rain overnight I stayed dry and warm enough. It was still raining when the dawn chorus started, heralding the start of another day, but by 05:30 when it was light enough to see the rain had eased off, so I took the opportunity to pack up whilst it wasn't pissing it down and got on my way. It's continued to rain for the last hour or so, but it's currently stopped so I'm taking the opportunity to have a break and some breakfast, sitting just off the track overlooking the Kennet and Avon Canal, who's towpath I've followed for the last mile. It's a nice little spot too, sheltered from the wind with the birds singing. If it stays like this for a couple of hours I'll be more than happy.
10:15 - 19 Miles Covered
I've had to stop to pull a splinter out of my second toe. God knows how that got in there, but it's been annoying me for the last hour. While I'm stopped I'm treating myself to a bit of “The Emmas” home made flapjack that she made specially for me yesterday morning. There's no doubt about the fact that she's good to me. It's much needed calories too, as it's been a steady climb since I left the canal at Wooton Rivers, to get to 279m at Martinsell Hill. It's been worth the effort though as despite the overcast skies, the views are spectacular, with Marlborough on one side and Pewsey on the other. You can really get an appreciation of the route the canal takes from this vantage point as it threads its way along the flattest route.
14:00 - 27 Miles Covered
I've made steady progress through the morning, despite some heavy showers, one of which was more sleet than rain. This afternoon’s been pretty hilly, and had a fair bit of climbing, with the wind whistling round my walking poles and trying its best to push me off course. It's nearly always worth the effort of gaining height for the views that brings though, and this afternoon has been no exception. Between the squalls the sun's made the odd appearance, which has enhanced some lovely landscapes, and the wildlife seem to be making the most of the breaks in the rain too, including a large herd of deer busily munching their way across a field of crops which were clearly visible from my vantage point and worth wasting a few minutes of staring time on. I'm going to have a quick brew stop now before pushing on, with the aim being to get 20 miles today. The kettles on, I'm out the wind, my spare socks are hanging out to dry on my walking poles, there's a skylark flitting around just in front, and there's a lump of chocolate to accompany my brew. It doesn't get much better than this.
19:00 - Miles Covered 37.
Well that bit didn't quite go to plan. After my little brew stop the route came down off the highroad, which was really pleasant. The sun came out and as I got lower the wind wasn't quite so vicious, to the point that by late afternoon I was down to just a base layer and jumper for the first time since I'd set off. I'd set my sights on reaching All Cannings where according to Google there was a shop which was open until 18:30. My plan being to resupply the biscuit stash, top up the water and then find somewhere to stop for the night with a nice round 20 miles in my legs. Except, the shop didn't shut at 18:30 it shut at 16:00 and by the time I got there it was 16:30. Bollocks! I've mentioned before that the biggest problem when you're out and about is finding water. Biscuits I can live without, water on the other hand means no brews, no tea, no breakfast and bugger all else. I had a mooch around all the likely spots for a tap (Churchyard, village hall, school, etc) and whilst the church had a tap, it didn't have any water in it. Which left a dilemma. I either needed to knock on someone's door, which I'd rather not do as it inevitably leads to all the questions and instant suspicion that you're a crazed murderer (crazy yes, murderer no) or find a decent water supply that I could filter and boil. Looking at the map, there were a couple more small villages and then the route crossed the river Avon, which is fast flowing and normally clear and clean. So I pushed on, hoping to find a tap, but with the Avon as my backup. As expected, “Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink”. I was wading through the bloody stuff most of the time, but was any of it drinkable? Was it F***! The river Avon came to my salvation in the end, although it pushed the day's mileage up to 25 miles, and my feet were protesting by the time I did get there. Handily though, there was a nice little camp spot, right by the river, so I didn't have to go any further, and although the river looked a bit murky after all the rain, running it through my filter seems to have cleaned it up OK, and it's all getting boiled too, so I don't think that it'll kill me. So to that end, it's just after 20:00, I've had my tea and a brew, it's pitch dark and the stars are shining brightly, so I'm going to call it a day, and provided the river doesn't get any higher overnight, I'll see you in the morning.
10:00 Saturday - Miles Covered 42.
What a difference a day makes, I woke up this morning to a full orchestral recital courtesy of the dawn chorus. Peeking out from under my trusty tarp, the sky was just starting to lighten (not that it had been that dark overnight) and there was a light mist rising from the river in front of me. Venturing out from the warmth of my sleeping bag, it was a cold morning, not cold enough for a frost, but there was a definite chill in the air, but it held the promise of being a far better day than Thursday and Friday had been. By the time I’d had a brew and breakfast the sun was bright in the sky. A sight I don't seem to have seen in quite some time, and although the ground was still saturated and there was a heavy dew, things were looking good. A few easy miles to warm my legs up got things off to a good start, and by the time I started the long steady climb to take me up to the fringes of Salisbury Plain I was down to just my base layer and jumper and enjoying the feeling of the sun in my face. A further few miles along the Salisbury Plain perimeter track (it’s got a name but I’m blown if I can remember what it is), has got me to here, where I’m having a brew, second breakfast and doing my best tramp impression with all the wet gear billowing from a handy fence, making best use of the sun and wind to try and dry everything out.
14:00- Miles Covered 50.
Afternoon brew time, and the miles are fairly flying along, helped along by the sun beating down. In fact at times, mostly when I’ve been toiling up yet another hill, it’s been almost too warm, but I’m certainly not complaining about that. I’m sat here waiting for the water to boil with my boots off, a dry pair of socks on, courtesy of the wind and sun, and having a whale of a time. It’s surprising how different the world looks when it’s not raining. The fields to the side of the track’s which yesterday looked drab and waterlogged, look far better today, and this afternoon I’ve seen a couple of farmers working Oil Seed Rape fields which are just starting to come into blossom. I’ve also seen 3 different types of Butterfly today, which are the first ones I’ve seen this year. As I’ve already said, it’s amazing the difference a little bit of sun makes.
18:45 - Miles Covered 57
That’s going to do for today, after yesterday's near marathon effort, I’m going to call it quits at 20 miles and chill out for a bit. Plus I’ve found a nice little spot for the night, and having just lugged an extra 2Kg of water up a massive hill, to see me through the night, it’s time for a break. It’s been a far better day today and I’ve really enjoyed the walking. It’s been lovely to be able to look across the Kennet valley to where I was yesterday, heading in the other direction and see the White Horse cut into the hillside that I passed within meters off yesterday lunchtime, and to pick out the hills and landscape that I slowly traversed, in the distance. The landscape has been different today as I’ve worked my way around the edges of Salisbury plain. More rolling and arable farmland than the canals and steep sided hills from yesterday, which has been pleasant in the spring sunshine. I’m going to have to leave it there for today as my tea’s ready, and it’s too dark to type. But the blue sky is being replaced with the black of night, the first stars are just making an appearance and I’ve just seen my first bat of the year, so that’s another first. I must remember that the clocks change tonight, not that it makes any difference when you go to bed when it gets dark and get up at dawn, but time still has some meaning, no matter how much I wish it didn't!
Sunday 11:30 (New time) - Miles covered 66
Brew time with 9 miles under my belt already. The miles seem to have come easily this morning. The weather’s not so good with the wind back to haunt me, although it's not as bad as Thursday/Friday, and it's overcast with a forecast of rain for later, but we'll see what happens. I had a great night's sleep last night, tucked away on the edge of some woods. With no rain forecast I took the risk of not putting the tarp up, and there's something absolutely magical about laying in the Hammock, swinging gently in the breeze and looking up through the trees to the stars above. Even when you wake up in the night (which isn't unusual) and you can make out the outline of the trees silhouetted by the moonlight and hear the barking of deer in the distance and the closer call of owls above and scurrying of the little critters in the scub below your Hammock, it's something to relish, and makes me realise how lucky I am to be able to do the things that I do. Whilst I'm talking about realising things. It's been fascinating to pick up on the landscape around me and realise how it interlinks. There's been a few occasions over the last couple of days when I've thought, “I've been here before on some adventure or another'' or popped out at a road crossing and thought “Ahh, I come along here on my bike quite often”. Which is exactly what happened a mile or so back when I popped out at Oxenwood with its Manor house and Chapel with a funny tower thing. Geography has never been my strong suit, but the lay of the land fascinates me, and is a topic which I'll come back to if I get time. On a similar note, I've just been listening to a pod cast (The Adventure Podcast - Jon Gower - Why Words Matter) with Jon Gower who talks about the Welsh language and how place names are descriptive. It's a fascinating listen if you've got a spare hour (and if you haven't got a spare hour, try to make one, because I think he's an engaging character and a terrific storyteller). Right, I need to push on, but whilst I've been sat here I've seen my first ladybird of the year (That's Bats, Butterfly's, and now Ladybirds in the last 3 days) and there's been a Wren hopping about in the trees and a couple of rabbits going about their business less than 10 meters away, and totally unfazed by my sitting here quietly.
14:00 - Miles Covered 70.5
Result. I'd been a bit worried about this section as I knew there were no shops (and definitely no shops as its Easter Sunday) and the options for getting water were slim to none. In fact there's not even a handy river between my last overnight stop and the end, which should, if all goes to plan, come tomorrow. In the back of my mind though was the outdoor centre which is just off the route, and if anywhere's going to have an accessible water supply, even when they're shut, it'll be an outdoor centre or a youth hostel type place. So, as you've no doubt guessed, my hunch was right, and I'm currently stopped, doing my best camel impression, and making super noodles as a late lunch, whilst sitting on the floor with my boots off, and watching a Red Kite and Crow perform some spectacular aerobatics. (I keep telling you, it's a glamorous life I lead). That's a massive result though, and a weight off my mind, and means I can crack on, safe in the knowledge that I've got enough water to see me through the night. What's not a result, is that I know the terrain that's in front of me for the next few miles, and lugging the extra weight of water up the hill that's in front of me is going to be no joke. I think though, that I might have an extra brew here, knock the climb out and then think about calling it a day if I can find somewhere decent to pitch up for the night (Which might be problematic in its own right, as the next few miles are quite scenic and within car parking distance for most people, so it'll be busy, although I think there's some more heavy weather due in the next few hours which might send them home). If I stop early, that'll just leave another morning’s walking tomorrow, to get me back to the start and the train home. (I could probably push it out today, but I'm not sure of the train situation, it'll be a long day, and more importantly, where's the fun in that!)
16:00 - Miles Covered 73
Sometimes you slog up a viciously steep slope and when you get to the top, sweaty and breathless, you just drop off the other side again, despite being able to see the place you're heading too directly in front. And you think to yourself “What the F*** is this all about, it's the wrong way, why the hell are we going this way”. And then you get to the bottom of the next viciously steep slope, knees screaming, calves aching from going downhill, and you catch sight of the 15th Century Church nestled in the valley, and you realise why the routes gone this way. Yes I've got to slog back up that steep, uneven, unforgiving hillside. Yes, it's added miles to the day. But, yes, sometimes it's worth the extra effort. And besides, a couple more biscuits sitting quietly in the sun in the Churchyard will give me the energy to get back up that hill. And sometimes, despite the fact that I'm not a religious man, it's worth stopping for a few minutes to say thank you for all that's around us. Now, let's get back up that sodding hill!
18:00 - 76 Miles Covered.
That'll do for today. I've covered enough miles, and I've found what will hopefully be a corking bivvy spot, so it's Hammock up, kettle on, and feet up time, and well deserved I think it is too. It's been another corking day too. When I looked at the weather yesterday, it was forecast for rain this afternoon, which hasn't materialised, although I suspect it will overnight. I can cope with that though, it can rain all it wants when I'm asleep. I just wish it wouldn't insist on doing it when I'm awake! This morning started off clear and sunny, but by the time I'd had breakfast and got going a cold mist had rolled in, and I was actually cold for the first hour or so, despite working hard. It got better as the day wore on though, and despite a cold wind and the sun only rarely breaking through the clouds, it's been a nice enough day. It's been a mixed day terrain wise too. The first few hours were pretty much downhill, whilst the last few hours have seen some sharp climbs and descents to take me up to Inkpen hill at 291 meters (I think this is the highest point in Hampshire) where I'm camped, hopefully well hidden, in a few scrubby trees just off the trail. Considering that I'm almost on the ridge, the trees are doing an excellent job as a windbreak, as I can hear the wind whipping around, but it's calm and still, tucked away in here. In less interesting news, I made the mistake of making a hot chocolate in my mug earlier and now my tea tastes faintly of chocolate, just as I made pasta with pesto in my flask for my tea last night, and despite giving it a good clean out, this mornings porridge tasted vaguely of Pesto, more of the glamorous life hey! Also of no interest, I had a long chat with a guy on a mountain bike earlier in the day, who was very chatty, and mentioned that he'd done the Isle of Wight coast path last year (on his mountain bike, but camping on the way). The Isle of Wight coast path has been on my radar for quite some time, either as a run or walk, but he said it was good, so maybe I need to look into the logistics of making that happen sooner rather than later. I keep saying that I need to do more walking, as I love the slower pace of life walking brings. I suppose there's only one way that's going to happen though, and that's down to me making it happen! On that note, I'm going to love you and leave you for the night. I can hear thunder rumbling around, and I need to get some tea made and the tarp up and sort my kit out before it starts raining, which isn't happening all the time I'm sat here in the Hammock gently rocking and writing waffle. 07:00 Monday - Miles covered 76.5 Well that was a rookie mistake. When I left you I was gently swaying in my Hammock, extolling the virtues of my camp spot and singing my own praises. As predicted the rain arrived just after I'd turned in for the night just before 21:00, and I drifted off to sleep to the sound of rain bouncing off the Tarp, inches above my head. I'm not sure what time the rain stopped, but about 02:00 the temperature dropped and the wind changed direction. Instead of being sheltered by the trees they were now acting like a funnel, and my Tarp set up wasn't helping matters, directing the full force of the icy blast straight onto my tired body. I snuggled down further into my sleeping bag and pulled a down jacket round me, in an attempt to keep warm, but despite dozing fitfully for another couple of hours, by 04:00 I was getting really cold. Cold to the point where I couldn't sleep. A situation. not helped by the tarp flapping, where it was now facing into wind, and my needing a wee! I managed to lay still with my eyes shut, in the hope I'd doze back off until 05:00 when I finally gave in to the need for a wee, before diving back into my sleeping bag to wait out the dawn. As soon as it was light enough to see I was up, and with all my layers on got packed up as fast as possible, before making a break for the edge of the hill and a respite from the icy fingers of the bitterly cold wind. I'm sat here now, less than half a mile from my camp spot, at the bottom of the ridge, with a brew on, waiting for the porridge to cook, wondering what all the fuss was about, as it must be a good 10 degrees warmer out of the wind. I guess that'll teach me not to check the wind direction before bed, and I should know better by now not to camp on the top of a hill, as it's bound to be windy. Although, thinking about it, the bottoms of hills tend to be cold, as the cold air sinks, the middle of hills are too steep for camping, rivers are prone to flooding and cold traps, woods risk trees falling on you in the night and tend to be damp, farmers fields are full of crops and scary horses, so they're out too, which just leaves? Oh for F****s sake, where the hell are you supposed to camp!
10:15 - Miles Covered 82
Time for one last brew before I get back to the Kennet and Avon Canal and my start point. Not because I particularly want a brew (That's a lie, I always want a brew), but more because I don't want my little adventure to end. The sun's shining again today and it's already pleasantly warm as I wander along. The going's been a bit boggy in parts, but it's been easy walking, as I've made my way back towards Hungerford for the train home. I've just said that I'll be sad to see the end of this one, and if it wasn't for the fact that I need to be at home on Wednesday morning for a delivery, I'd be quite happy to resupply in Hungerford and just push on and go round again. I've other plans for the rest of the week though and there's other things that need my time. So I'm just going to have to enjoy this last brew sat in the sun, listen to the birds singing and the wind whistling through the bare trees one more time and then head for the station and a return to reality.
12:00 - Miles covered 85
That's it then, all over and done with bar the shouting. A few final miles back along the canal, which looks significantly different today in the glorious spring sun than it did Thursday afternoon in the midst of a torrential downpour, saw me back in Hungerford with just enough time to get a train ticket before the train arrived to whisk me swiftly back to normality. Whilst I said at the start of this little adventure that the train is the best way to start any adventure, I'm not so sure about it being the best way to end one. When your dirty, sweaty, tired, and faced with the 2 mile walk back home at the other end because “The Emma's” gone out playing trains for the day, it's not quite such an attractive prospect. Oh well, I'm sure another 2 miles won't kill me.
Postscript
Tuesday morning and I’m back home again with the post adventure blues. I’d been planning this little outing for a while, and when I saw the weather forecast in the days leading up to last Thursday it filled my heart with dread and I almost canned the whole idea. I could have just moved it back a few days as I’m off work this week. But, as I mentioned earlier, I need to be at home for a metal delivery on Wednesday morning that’s too big for “The Emma” to deal with, and I’ve got plans for next weekend too, so if it wasn’t Thursday I couldn't slip it much further. In fact though, I’m really glad I went when I did. Yes, the conditions on Thursday afternoon and Friday morning were testing, to say the least. But, and it’s a big but, I coped fine. My feet got wet, but that was it, and that’s to be expected, and the least of my worries. And anyway, as soon as the sun came out, I managed to dry my socks, and by Saturday afternoon, I had dry feet again and everything was fine. More importantly, my sleeping system worked fine and I stayed dry overnight and slept well (a bit cold on Sunday night but that was my own fault). Likewise I knew that finding water may be a problem at certain points, but again, that wasn’t the issue that I thought it might be. And most importantly, despite carrying more weight than I was really comfortable with, my knees and back held up fine. In fact both feel better today, having walked 85 miles with a heavy backpack, than they normally do after a day sitting behind my desk at work, which tells us a lot! The big thing to take away from this little adventure though is that I’ve learned a little bit more about myself. I took on some testing conditions, and came out the other side with a massive smile on my face. There’s a post-it note stuck on my desk at work that says something like “How do you know how tall you are if you can always touch the bottom”. I don’t know where I got it from, but I take that to mean that all of the time you're operating within your comfort zone, you're not going to grow as a person, and if you stay within that comfort zone, you're never going to find out what you're truly capable of. Using that analogy, having spent quite a lot of time operating outside of my comfort zone (often well out of my depth) I’d like to think that I’ve got a reasonable idea of how tall I am. But, having yet again taken myself outside of my comfort zone on Thursday / Friday morning, it would appear that I’m actually a bit taller than I thought I was. I’ve learned a bit more about myself, and what I’m actually capable of doing, and I’ve learned a bit more about what works and what doesn't when I’m out and about. Maybe, knowing how to spend the night outside when it’s pissing it down and blowing a gale isn’t a particularly useful skill to have in the modern day, where we spend most of our time sitting on comfortable chairs, in heated homes and sleeping in nice warm beds. And you’d probably be right. But the mental fortitude, and resilience, that comes from taking on those conditions and not only surviving, but thriving, is. No matter what the world throws at me on a daily basis, that mental resilience and strength of character is going to stand me in good stead. And you know what. I still don’t know how tall I am, so I guess that I’m just going to have to keep on getting out there, testing my boundaries and seeing what’s possible, until I do find out. Which takes us into an entirely different conversation regarding failure, because there’s no harm in failing as long as you learn from it, and when you're playing around on the boundaries of what you're capable of doing, then occasionally there’s going to be failures, but they’re all part of the growing process too. And just in case you're wondering, I’m about 6ft 1” in height, but I’ve got no idea how tall I am, and I’m not going to find out all the time my feet can touch the bottom! Double Postscript (Is that even a thing?) Having been side tracked by how tall I am. It’s interesting to note how my writing changes and my subject of conversation changes over the days of my Easter adventure. There’s two things of note that change over the days. Firstly the weather improves, so I’m more willing to stop, stare, and take in my surroundings, and then think about my feelings and put them into words. But secondly, I get into my stride, my brain has the time to process all the rubbish of the week before and clear itself of random thoughts, and the walking becomes more therapeutic, meditative almost, which again leads to taking more of an interest in my surroundings. Both of which I think are probably reflected in my words above.
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.
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!
I’ve tried this year I really have, but I’m finally, and somewhat disappointingly, going to have to admit defeat. I’m not giving up and I’m going to keep chipping away at it, because at some point in the future I will get back on track. But for the time being, I’m going to have to surrender to the inevitable, and admit that I just can’t keep on top of the weekly blog updates at the minute.
There’s about 3 years’ worth of weekly waffle within these pages, and I’ve had a great time relating all my tales on a weekly basis, but for some reason, this year, I just can’t seem to keep on top of it. I think the main problem over the past few months has been work related. Being the idiot that I am, I can’t just sit back and do as little as possible, as many people seem quite content to do. If I see a problem, and I’ve got a solution, I feel compelled to try and sort it out, no matter how much extra work that creates for myself. That often comes back to bite me on the backside through, and recently I’ve bitten off a big old challenge at work, which has massively bitten me back. I’m winning now though, and starting to make a real difference, but over the last few months my work life has been one long fight to get things put in place to try and help the people that I’m supposed to be helping, whilst half of the people I have to deal with have tried to stop me, or make my task as difficult as possible, in order to make their own lives easier. Like everything in life, that has a knock-on effect, and I suppose the biggest knock on from that, is that having spent all day up to my neck in e mails and spreadsheets, the last thing I’ve really wanted to do is sit down in front of another keyboard and start tapping away at my bolg. Which is a massive shame, because, sitting here putting my thoughts into words is massively therapeutic, and without doubt, helps to clear my mind, and work through the trials and tribulations that daily life throws my way. There’s no point in struggling to keep on top of something which at the end of the day is only a vanity project though, and at the end of the day, I never set out to create a blog with multiple pages and weekly updates. I set out on this journey to update ‘The Old Cheese’ and a few other friends and relatives on what was going on in my life. To share a few pictures without having to resort to Facebook or such like, and generally make note of what I had been up to over time. to that end the self-imposed weekly update has really become a bit of a millstone around my neck at the moment. So, for the time being, I’m not even going to try and keep on top of the weekly thing, I’m just going to dip in and out, as, and when I’ve got time. And instead of weekly updates, it’ll just be a bit more irregular. I still love writing, and there’s nothing more satisfying than looking back at the older posts and remembering what I was up to at that point in time. So, I’m not going to give up, far from it, this little Blog project has become an important part of my life over the past few years. I’m just going to take the pressure off, be a bit more realistic in what I can achieve and do with my limited time and add updates as and when I can. So, to that end, let’s have a quick catch up on what I’ve been up to over the past 3 weeks.
Well, for a start there was the Punchbowl Marathon. That’s always a good little day out and despite the heavy rain shower, this year didn’t disappoint. 30 miles through the glorious Surrey countryside is always a treat, and rain or shine the long slow climb up to the Devils Punchbowl at Hindhead is always worth the effort. Even this year when the top was shrouded in mist and drizzle!
Despite the rain shower the distance felt good, and as with the Winter Tanners I managed to pace my efforts well, maintaining a steady pace throughout and covering the 30 miles in 5:22 which is a time that I’m more than happy with. I can’t just leave that there without saying a big thanks to all the marshals, who as usual went out of their way to make the day brilliant. It may not have been wall to wall sunshine, but a smiling face at the checkpoints as they check your number through, a big slice of cake and a refill of your water bottles and a cheery ‘Good Luck’ as you depart for the next one, more than makes up for a bit of drizzle.
I’ve had a couple of weekends of Audaxing too, to break up the running a bit, one of which went exactly to plan, and the other, well, maybe the less said about that the better.
First, we had the Chiltern Grit 200Km Audax from Aylesbury. I’ve ridden this one a couple of times before and it’s normally a good day out. From Aylesbury it’s a fast run down to Reading and back on major B roads to allow for the winter weather, followed by an afternoon loop to the North of Aylesbury, and I’d been looking forward to this one for some time. At the start I was still well up for the day’s adventures, but as soon as I set off, I knew that it wasn’t to be. I don’t know why but I just couldn’t get my head in the game. Within the first 30 minutes the time was dragging, and the lumpy, potholed, road surface was getting on my nerves. When you’re feeling good and the legs are working like they should, you can block out the relentless battering from the broken chip seal tarmac, the cars screaming past inches from your elbow, and the endless thumps and jarring on your wrists as the front wheel descends into yet another pothole that you can’t avoid because there’s a car sat right beside or behind you. When you’re not feeling it, those same things that you can normally ignore, by immersing yourself in the beautiful views, the birdsong and the joy of being outside, quickly become all consuming, and there’s no escape from the endless monotony of peddling ever onwards towards your fate.
The first few hours of Chiltern Grit , as I made my way towards Reading were just like that. All-consuming self-pity and the endless desire to stop.
I pushed on towards Reading, through the morning mist and drizzle, but by the time I got there with 33 miles in my legs I wasn’t having much fun. That fun was further eroded by a route change from previous editions which took us right into the center of Reading, along a mixed-use footpath for no real reason, and required an proof of passage receipt. On my arrival at the advertised checkpoint there was no shops (apart from a coffee wagon and a supermarket with no bike parking) to get a receipt, and that as far as I was concerned was day over. I really couldn’t be bothered hunting round for somewhere to provide a stupid receipt, just to prove that I’d cycled into the middle of Reading for no real reason. The 33 miles back to Aylesbury would give me a 100Km day, and that would do, my heart wasn’t in it, I wasn’t having fun, and I couldn’t be bothered hunting around to try and find somewhere to get a receipt from as ‘proof of passage’. By the time I got back to Aylesbury again a couple of hours later, I felt a bit happier, and was actually enjoying myself a bit more, but my mind had been made up at Reading, so I called it a day at the halfway point. That’s an unusual decision for me. It’s unusual that I don’t finish something I started, but cycling is supposed to be fun, not a chore and I wasn’t having fun, so why put myself through the pain of continuing? And that’s always the risk of routes that pass back through the start / finish on the way to somewhere else too. It’s just to easy to give up!
You’ll all be please to know that I’ve made amends for my miserable Chiltern Grit failure by getting out and actually finishing what I started this weekend though.
Saturday saw me on the start line for a new ride in the form of The Winter Warmer. A slightly easier endeavor, in that it was only 100Km. But, being along new roads I was looking forward to this one, and getting up Saturday morning after a cozy night in the van, I felt good and more than up for the challenge. I’ve said it before, but it’s surprising the difference a week makes in your mind set, and with the sun shining, frost on the roadside verges and the promise of a good day out, I rode up to the start from my overnight hideaway with a spring in my step.
A later than normal start and a shorter route seems to attract a bigger crowd (I’ve no idea why) and the village hall at the start was thronged with people getting ready for the days adventures when I arrived. Still slightly early, there was just time to grab a brew and a bit of toast, before the obligatory pre ride “mind the potholes” brief and the off.
There’s not much to say about this one, apart from the fact it was a brilliant day out. The early morning sunshine didn’t last long, with the skies soon clouding over and by lunchtime some heavy drizzle falling, which put a bit of a dampener on things, but did little to hamper progress. Without doubt the best bit about Saturdays ride, and why it will remain firmly lodged in my memory wasn’t the scenery, the weather or the route, good as they all were, but the catering and welcome at the controls. The first stop atop Winterfold hill had what can only be described as the best spread of goodies ever to grace a remote woodland car park. It may have been a wet car park in the middle of nowhere (not quite nowhere, at the top of a bloody great hill is where it was), but no expense had been spared. Hot brews, cake, bananas, more cake, and yet more cake, was being used to weigh down the gazebo that it was all sheltered under, and I can tell you for a fact, that with that weight of cake holding it down, a hurricane wouldn’t have moved it! The finish control was outstanding too. A warm welcome, hot brew’s, bacon butties and yet more cake. Exactly what’s needed after a long morning in the saddle, and an outstanding effort all round from all involved in organising Saturdays ride. I may have got wet, it may have been a cold, dreary and drab winters day, but a ride like that and the effort made by everyone involved in putting on a superb day can’t help but put a smile on your face, lighten your mood and leave you hungry for more. Roll on the summer is all I can say, if I’m having this much fun in the middle of winter, just imagine what’s to come as the weather gets better, the evenings get lighter, and the days get longer!
And finally, before I go, lets have a quick look at project MX5 and the allotment. There’s not actually much to report on the allotment, although I did spend a full day up there last weekend removing all of the glass from the greenhouse and scrubbing it clean. It’s amazing how dirty it gets, and it’s not had a really good clean for a few years, so it was well overdue.
It’s not the best of jobs to be doing on a cold winter’s day. But it’s the only time to do it when it’s not full of plants, and it’s a good job out of the way ready for a start to the sowing and growing season, which is fast approaching. It’s surprising how much difference a good clean makes to the amount of light coming in too. While were talking about things growing, I notice that the daffodils are in full bloom when I’m out and about (and in the garden), as are the first of the polyanthus, and the roses have got plenty of new growth showing too. There’s no doubt about it, springs just around the corner and hopefully I’ll get the time to sow the first seeds in the shiny and clean greenhouse on the allotment next weekend.
There’s been some progress on the MX5 over the past few weeks too.
Originally, I’d bought this knowing that it needed a load of work doing to it, the plan being to scrap most of it and use the running gear as the basis for a Kit car. Once I started driving it, I got a sort of soft spot for it though, and whilst the suspension and underside is in a sorry state, I kind of think that it’s worth saving as opposed to stripping for parts. The bodywork is in surprisingly good condition for its age, and it’s clearly had some love and money spent on it over the years. So maybe it deserves a reprieve and a bit of a restoration, and the chance to bring a few more smiles to someone’s face. To that end it’s now in the garage on axle stands with most of the front end removed and the R/H suspension stripped out whilst I have a good look at the work that’s going to be involved in saving it and make a final decision on what to do with it. My head says Kit car, but my heart says restore it, and heart normally wins! Whatever the final outcomes going to be, it’s going to be here for the long term in one way or another. But disappearing out to the garage for an hour after work to chip rust of a rusty car is a great way to unwind and quite therapeutic. Plus, it gives me a challenge to get my head into and something to think about on all those long, wet, runs and cycle rides, whilst I try to figure out my next step or problem. And as we all know, if there’s one thing, I love it’s a challenge.
It’s a BOGOF this week folks. That’s a Buy One Get One Free for the uninitiated, and it’s a BOGOF if more ways than one. Firstly we’ve got two weekends of excitement (or not as the case may be) to catch up on, but I’ve also been playing the same game both weekends, so we've got two remarkably similar tales to talk about.
As is often the case at this time of year, we’re in a bit of a lull on the running and Audaxing front. For some reason no one wants to go out to play in January, so it’s a case of making your own fun, and that’s just what I’ve been doing. The big advantage of no one else wanting to go out to play, is that you can get some really cheap Travelodge rooms in January. Fridays are normally cheaper than the other days too (I guess all the workers have gone home and the weekend trippers only want Saturdays) and Fridays in January are often the cheapest of the lot. With not much else going on, that's exactly what I’ve been up to the last 2 weekends. For the grand sum of £65 I’ve had 2 overnight adventures, and whilst a night in the Hammock is always great fun. In the middle of winter, when you don’t know what the weathers going to be doing, a warm and dry Travelodge room is a bit of a winner. Where have I been then? Well, last weekend the services on the A303 above Salisbury, provided the destination, whilst this weekend, the Services at Fontwell on the A27 beckoned.
Neither are particularly attractive destinations, but it’s not about the destination, it’s the ride there and back that matters. It’s dark by the time I get there, and it’s dark when I leave again in the morning at this time of year, so as long as it’s warm and dry, then that’s all I’m bothered about.
Handily, both locations are about 60 miles from work and home too (although Fontwell needs a bit of a diversion to bring the miles up), which makes it a good afternoon’s riding after work on Friday (Friday being POETS day (P**s Off Early Tomorrow's Saturday)), and a pleasant morning ride back on Saturday morning. Meaning I can still be back home in time for a late lunch on Saturday and a bit of pottering around in the afternoon with 100+ miles in the bag. What’s not to like about that then? Well, the only bit not to like as far as I’m concerned was the mean little head wind that blew in my face all the way to Salisbury last weekend, making for a tiring journey. That extra effort was more than made up for by the beautiful sunrise on Saturday morning, and the glorious, spring-like weather, for my journey down to Fontwell this weekend though. That’s enough waffle about that though, suffice to say, the winter Travelodge game is a great way to get away for an overnight in the middle of winter and a great way to see a bit more of our glorious countryside. It’s not the best accommodation, but it’s better than sleeping in a muddy puddle, and if you can find a cheap room, it’s almost rude not to take advantage!
What else have I been up to in the last couple of weekends then?
Well, I know what I haven't done, and that's sit down and go through the seeds that are left over from last year and get my seed order in for this year. It’s only a couple more weeks until the first things will need to get sown so I’d best get on with that little job. "The Emma's" on evenings this week so that'll be a good little job for one evening when I'm "home alone". While we’re talking about the allotment and things that I still haven't done, I really want to take the glass out of the greenhouse roof and clean all the moss and general murk off before the growing season starts and the greenhouse fills up. Typically, on the days I’ve been free and could crack on with it, it’s either been raining or blowing a gale, neither of which are particularly conducive to messing around with big sheets of fragile glass. There's still a few weeks yet before the sowing starts so hopefully the weather will play ball and I'll be able to get that little job ticked off. I really must get on with making some new staging for the greenhouse in the next few weeks too. After 20 odd years of faithful service, the legs on the staging I made when I got my first greenhouse all those years ago finally gave up the ghost when I moved it out of the greenhouse to make way for the Tomatoes at the start of summer last year. I’ve been meaning to get on with it ever since, but like everything in life, other jobs take precedent. I’m almost backed into a corner now though, so I suppose I’m going to have no choice but get on with it in the next few weeks if we’re going to have any veg for the plot come the spring! The reason I haven’t got around to all the things that I should be doing is that I’ve made a start on chipping away at the next big project. If you remember back a few months I picked up a cheap and not very good looking MX5. The original plan being to strip it for parts and use the bits as the basis for a kit car. Having driven it around for a few weeks, I’ve developed a bit of a soft spot for it though and I’m starting to feel sorry for it. As such I’m in two minds whether to strip it for bits, or restore it back to its original 1998 glory. Whatever I decide, there’s plenty of things that I can be getting on with that will be of benefit whichever way the coin falls, and to that end I’ve been hiding in the garage pottering around doing bits on that. And I must say it’s quite therapeutic. Taking something that’s been unloved, putting a bit of elbow grease and effort into it, and starting to turn it around, is quite satisfying. Whatever I end up doing with it, this little project is going to be with us for a while. I’m guessing that there’s at least 2 years of tinkering away between other jobs to keep me occupied, so it’s certainly going to be around as a project for a while!
Oh, and while I was busy running and pottering around in the garage on Sunday "The Emma" was busy too! Bread and Butter Pudding, Pain Au Chocolate and Ginger Biscuits - My favourites!
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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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