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.
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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.
Well, we seem to have survived the big freeze last week and now it’s back to situation normal. I’m not sure what’s worse though. Freezing my bits off despite wearing all my clothes all of the time, or nearly being blown off the face of the planet during my cycle commute this week, whilst trying to dodge the massive puddles which have reappeared.
Last weeks cold temperatures were a bit extreme. I ran the ten miles into work on Friday morning and it was cold enough that the water in my camelback had frozen by the time I got there, which is pretty extreme. (Especially as it’s right next to my body, with the associated heat that gives off whilst running). It’s all part of the fun though, and the variety adds to the experience. The sudden temperature change between Friday / Saturday and Sunday morning caught me out a bit this week though as we’ll see in a minute. Sunday saw a long-awaited return to some proper running, in the form of The Winter Tanners 30 mile Ultramarathon. It’s been a long, often depressing, slog, to get back to a position where I thought 30 miles was possible again and what better way to do it than The Winter Tanners . The Winter Tanners is always an excellent day out and the lovely people at Surrey LDWA who put the event on manage to come up with a different route every year, which always showcases some of the best scenery, and walking / running routes in Surrey. Having done this event a couple of times before I had a rough idea of what was to come (2022, 2023) although the route would be new, the organisation was likely to be superb, as was the welcome at the checkpoints, and I wasn’t disappointed. A comfortable night in the van, meant that I was up ready and raring to go for an 08:30 start time, although having gone to bed with the thermometer hovering just above freezing, it seemed a bit strange to wake to rain falling on the van roof, and the feeling that the temperature had climbed somewhat overnight. Getting dressed and sorting my kit out after breakfast it dawned on me that the temperature change may be a bit of a problem. Having packed for the Arctic, I had a down jacket, but no waterproofs with me, and plenty of thermals, but no thin tops. Not an ideal start to the day, but with a bit of ingenuity I managed to gather up enough sensible clothing to cope with the changed conditions and set off hopeful that what I did have would see me through the day.
It didn’t take long to realise that it was actually even warmer than I had first thought, and within the first couple of miles I’d had to stop and discard the jacket that I’d started in, which wasn’t an ideal situation as it wouldn’t fit in my small pack, so it was going to have to be tied around my waist for the day, where it would generally annoy me as it flapped around. You’d think that by now, I’d have learned to prepare for every eventuality, but it would seem not, and in fact, the opposite is probably true as familiarity sets in.
Poor dress choice wasn’t going to stop me having fun though, and I set off at a nice steady pace, planning on just taking the day easy. If I could just get round on my dodgy knee, then that was going to be the result that I was looking for, and if that meant running the first part and then walking the rest, then so be it. But the first few miles passed fairly easily, and I was feeling surprisingly good as the first of the days climbs loomed out of the countryside in front of us. The climb up past Denbies vineyard with its views over Dorking and back towards Box Hill is always a delight and today was no different. It’s a long slog but eminently run-able, and I slowly made my way towards the top at a steady pace, gradually catching up with the walkers and slower runners who had set off ahead of me, passing each with a cheery good morning, and an “enjoy your day” as I made my way slowly past. A checkpoint at the top of the climb ensured that no one had sneaked a shortcut, and then onward along the hilltop towards the pretty church at Ranmore, before dropping off into the woods to make our way towards the first of the day’s proper checkpoints at the 7-mile mark.
The first checkpoint had not long been open when I arrived and there was already a queue of people waiting patiently in line to get their cards scanned as proof of passage in front of me. That’s another joy of these events, because they’re not timed and there’s no results published (just a finished or not) there’s no pushing and shoving to get scanned and on your way as fast as possible, no bad tempers at the delay, no rushing!
It’s all far more civilised, no rush, stand in line and have a chat with the person in front, hold the gate open for them if they’re close enough, have a chat with your fellow runners and walkers on the way round, stop to admire the view if you’re that way inclined. That’s my idea of a good day out, you can keep your results and jostling for position, I’d rather have this any day. A couple of minutes later (not long enough to get cold) I was back on my way. Card scanned, water topped up, and a couple of chocolate digestives in my hand as way of reward for the efforts so far. With only 7 miles down it was going to be a long 10 mile stretch to the next checkpoint across unfamiliar ground, but I was still feeling good, the sun was trying valiantly to make an appearance, and although the wind had a cold edge to it when it caught you in its blustery grasp, I was still having fun.
Steady progress through the morning saw West Horsley come and go, and the dry tracks underfoot saw a marked changed to the same event last year when I seem to remember spending the middle miles wading through flooded fields.
The old airfield at Wisley can as a surprise out of nowhere as the footpath spat us out right into the middle of the old runway, before heading back into the woods on the other side, a different proposition from the days when the airfield was built as a satellite to the aircraft works at Brooklands where they were busy building some of the most iconic aircraft of WW2 and the 1950’s and 60’s (Wellington Bomber, VC10, parts of Concord, Hawk, to name but a few). Another delight awaited just as we approached the next checkpoint too, in the form of a Semaphore tower at Chatley Heath. It’s hard to comprehend in this modern digital age, where communication is almost instant, that less than 200 years ago, this iconic building formed part of a chain of such towers and was used to relay messages via Semaphore from the Admiralty in London down to their ships in harbours around the coast. How the world has changed in such a short time frame.
Maybe I could have sent “The Emma" a message via the semaphore tower to let he know that I was doing ok and with 17 miles down, was now heading back in the right direction. Mid Ultra marathon probably isn’t the best time to stop and learn semaphore though, and at the end of the day, she’s got better things to do than get messages from an idiot that thinks running 30 miles is a good idea. So, I made do with a chat with the nice people at the checkpoint, a sausage roll and a biscuit from the table groaning under the weight of their goodies, and pushed on.
The next few miles were a bit of a slog if I’m honest. The miles seemed to pass slowly, with little of interest, except for a few minutes chatting with a nice man who was running his 100th Ultra and was happy to chat for a while as we plodded along, and, just as interestingly a collection of pretty little bridges carrying farm tracks over the footpath (someone did mention a name for these as we passed but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was).
Despite the miles passing slowly I was progressing, and gradually, 23 miles became 24, which passed on to 25 and the milestone of 26 just before the next checkpoint at Tanners hatch.
The good news was that with only another 4 or 5 miles to go and it was mostly downhill from here, and good news that was too, because the miles were starting to take their toll (or more accurately the lack of miles in the preceding months were taking their toll on unconditioned legs). Sore feet and stiff muscles played a constant reminder over the last few miles, of the miles already covered. But I was still moving well and more importantly I was still running, and my knees were holding up ok. In fact, my pacing strategy had obviously paid off as I was still slowly gaining on, catching, and overtaking plenty of people in front of me, many of whom were coming towards the end of the shorter 20-mile route, whilst I had an extra 10 miles in my legs.
Coming back into the outskirts of Leatherhead all that remained was the last few hundred meters along the road back to the finish, and with tired legs, but happy at the days outcome I scanned back in at 13:50, 5:28 after setting off.
And you know what, five and a half hours for 30 off road miles in the middle of winter is a time that I’m more than happy with (and that compares well with previous efforts). Although, I’m most happy with the fact that after all those months of not running last year, I’ve finally managed another Ultra, something which for a long time I didn’t think was going to be possible. Yes, my legs are sore today and my knees feel a bit tender, but I was straight back on the bike for my normal commute to work on Monday morning, and despite feeling a bit stiff, my knees feel none the worse for Sundays efforts, so fingers crossed, now I’ve “broken my duck”, I can continue getting scores on the doors and my Ultra running career isn’t going to be over with a miserly 62 Marathons. I mean, surely there’s a few more in me yet, and there’s the small matter of the LDWA Punchbowl Marathon in a few weeks’ time. So, watch this space and let’s see what happens over the coming weeks, maybe my running career isn’t quite over yet!
I’ve come to the conclusion that I must either have a very short memory, or be a glutton for punishment.
If I’m honest, I suspect that it’s a bit of both. But you’d think that having put yourself through hell once, that you wouldn’t think to yourself “Oh, that was a good idea, lets go and do it again” would you? Well, it would appear that I do! What am I on about? Well, Friday night saw me in the van heading up to Oxford ready for an early start on Saturday morning for the Poor Student 200Km Audax. The weather had been atrocious all week, and whilst the forecast was for it to be dry on Saturday, it looked like it was going to be colder than it had been, and there were certainly some pretty big puddles (lakes) still filling the roads in numerous places. The thing that concerned me most though, was my memories of this ride from last year. Memories which came flooding back as I made the short journey up to my overnight stop. I had a quick look at last year's mileage tracking spreadsheet earlier, and for the day in question it just says “Brutal - See blog”. So I had a look at the corresponding blog entry, and my memories of last year's event appear to be correct. It was Brutal! Surely It can’t have been that hard can it? I mean, at the end of the day it’s only a 200Km ride through the hills and valleys of the Cotswolds at the start of January, when it’s traditionally, cold, dark, wet, and muddy! Maybe my mind had been playing tricks on me and I’d imagined the whole thing. There was only going to be one way to find out though, and that was to do it again! Arriving at the start on Saturday morning I was surprised at the number of fellow lunatics who had decided to brave the cold January morning to loiter around a dark, damp, car park, waiting for someone to unceremoniously say “well, off you go then”. I’ve seen far less people on the start line of rides on beautiful days in the middle of summer, so the number prepared to get out there at the start of January was certainly impressive.
Bang on 07:30 we were off, a string of red tail lights shining brightly in the dark as we rolled out of Oxford, slowly spreading out into a long line of cyclists as everyone settled into their own pace.
The first leg up to Shipton-Under-Wychwood was flat and fast and I made good time, arriving amongst the front runners and missing the worst of the mad rush as the poor man in the small village garage was inundated with riders looking for a receipt as roof of passage (I’ve no idea why this is a control point which needs a receipt, it’s a crazy situation and would be far better as an Information (question) type of control. Receipt in hand I didn’t hang around, and was soon back on the road, heading for the next stop at Chipping Campden. The Climb out of Shipton-Under-Wychwood set the scene for the next few hours, long dragging climbs with the views across the Cotswolds from the hill tops obscured by low lying cloud, with only the occasional church spire poking bravely through the moist, rain heavy sky, to betray the location of the villages hidden in the valleys below. By mid morning Chipping Campden, had been and gone and I was onto the long (41 mile) leg taking us towards lunch at Malmesbury. This is the section that my memory recalled as hard from last year, and that memory was certainly correct. A long, steady drag of a climb from Chipping Campden soon became a series of ever steeper, ever longer, climbs, as we progressed against the lay of the land, across the Cotswolds. Slowly winch yourself up one side of the valley, lowest gear, lungs bursting, legs screaming, heart beating hard. Until the top is reached at which point it’s straight down the other side. Destination valley floor. The roads are damp and covered in gravel which has been washed from the surrounding fields in the previous days, the potholes deep and water filled, hiding their extent and location from the unwary. So it’s not a fun filled fast descent, more a hang on for grim death whilst trying to slow a bike that gravity insists should be accelerating on the slippery surface. And when you safely reach the valley floor and slowly uncurl stiff, cold, aching fingers, from around the brake levers, it’s straight back uphill to do it all again. And so it goes on for mile after mile. This is better than last year though. Last year the wind was howling in my face and the rain lashed down, so I’m grateful for small mercies and make the most of the limited views from the hill tops. Enjoy the odd occasion when I can release my grip on the brakes and let the bike have its head for a few meters, and try to enjoy the sound of my heart trying to make its escape from my rib cage on the next climb! Eventually, as I start to wonder how many more of these killer climbs I can manage, the terrain levels out, as we leave the steep sided valleys and progress onto flatter ground to take us towards Malmesbury where a sandwich and short stop awaits. As I sat in the village centre squashing crisps into a sandwich, I thought back to last year when I sat in the same place and poured rain water from my boots before wringing out my socks and putting them back on again. Now there’s a memory for you, and that’s what it’s all about. Making memories that will last a lifetime. It’s never easy, sometimes it’s really hard, but every time I venture outside my front door, there’s a memory to be made, an adventure to be had, and a new experience just waiting to be enjoyed (or not as the case may be). Even those awful days, when the rain falls from the sky like stair rods, your shoes are full of water, your wet, cold and miserable, often turn out to be brilliant in hindsight. If I’d said, “I’m not playing today” and just sat on my sofa eating biscuits, it’s unlikely that I’d have been able to tell you where I was or what I did on the 7th January 2023. But, because I got out there I can tell you that I sat in the middle of Malmesbury and wrung my socks out! Sofa, or wet socks? I know which one wins in my book! Anyway, enough about last year, let’s get back to this year. If the leg through the Cotswolds is hilly, from Malmesbury back to Oxford, is pretty much the exact opposite. Ok, I’ll grant you it’s not Norfolk flat, but it’s not exactly hilly. If I’m honest, I don’t know which is worse. Yes, the hills are hard going sometimes, but at least you get the downhills and the views as a reward. The flat though. Well, there's less to occupy your mind, there’s less to look at, and whilst there isn’t the uphill effort there isn’t the downhill reward either. In fact on the flat, you never get to stop pedalling. The miles came quick and fast as the afternoon progressed. A brief stop in Shrivenham where some mini pancakes provided a tasty treat and yet another proof of passage receipt and then as darkness approached the last few miles into Oxford. The approach to Oxford saw the first real puddles of the day. Nothing too serious, only just enough to get your feet wet, but still a daunting prospect when it’s dark and you can't see how deep it is. Should I go for it? Should I wait for a car to come along and go through to see how deep it is? Should I scoot over the fence and go around via the muddy field to the road side? Should I wait for another rider to catch up and go as a pair? Sod it, just go, the worse that’ll happen is I’ll get really wet when I fall off in the middle! Flood waters safely negotiated the final miles into Oxford were incident free, although another lake required a pavement diversion to get through and some roadworks necessitated the only walking of the day for a few meters. Another great day out then. Maybe not as memorable as last year, but a great day out nonetheless and another 200km (127 miles) in my legs. And that’s a pretty good way to get the cycling year off to a start in my book!
Here we are again, fast approaching the end of another year and the start of another chapter in the wonderful world of me. But before we get too maudlin, there’s still another week left of 2023 and there’s a week’s worth of adventuring to catch up on before we get that far.
So what’s been going on in the last week then? Well, not a great deal if I’m totally honest. The weeks leading up to Christmas are normally quiet, but this year seems to be even quieter than normal. I know it’s an easy scapegoat, but the weather’s not helping matters. In the weeks leading up to Christmas last year we had snow on the ground, but this year’s just been dull, damp and dreary. That's not stopped me getting out and about though, and I’ve been managing to get a fair bit of running in. In fact I was only at work Monday and Tuesday this week, and had planned on running in my lunch break on Tuesday. But, looking out as lunchtime approached, it was throwing it down so I did what I do best and reconsidered my options. The forecast predicted it would stop by 15:00, so Ok I’ll just run home instead. Which left the little issue of my bike and a pile of dirty washing being left at work over Christmas. There’s always a solution though. And in this case, whilst I wasn’t supposed to be at work on Wednesday, my solution to the little conundrum was to just run back in again on Wednesday morning whilst “The Emma” was was sleeping off her night shift, and pick my bike and stuff up that way. Personally, I thought that this was a brilliant idea. 20 miles of pleasant running, and an extra 11 on the bike for good measure, and all for free. It would appear though that everyone else just thought I was nuts. As I left work on Tuesday evening to run home I said to the lads at work “Happy Christmas, I’m not in tomorrow but I’ll probably see you when I run back in to pick my bike up”. 30 minutes later and I was still there explaining why I was going to run home and then run back again the next day when I didn’t need to, and trying to justify to the disbelievers that, yes, this is fun and that, yes, this is a good idea. Those 30 minutes were nothing compared to the look I got when I stuck my head round the office door on Wednesday morning to say hello before cycling back home again though. It was like I’d grown an extra head! “I told you last night that I’d pop in today to pick my bike up” “Yes, but we didn’t really think you would” And that my friends is the difference between me and them. I could have just laid in bed, or sat on the sofa, but there's better things to do with my time than that. It’s all about getting the miles in and taking advantage of every opportunity, no matter how small or how ridiculous the idea might seem, you’ve got to get out there and make the most of it. And anyway, I was still back home by 10:00 just as “The Emma” was getting up and I’d put an extra 10 running and 11 cycling miles into my legs without even thinking about it. Result!
In another attempt to squeeze as much into every day as possible I had another bright idea this week, involving going down to see “The Old Man”. I really needed to go down and see them before Christmas, but you know how it is, I hate driving, and, well it’s a long way, and, stop making excuses!
I could have just driven there and back in a day like any normal person, but where’s the fun in that. A far better idea in my opinion, was to drive half way, and then cycle the rest. Double brilliant, not only do I have to do less driving, but I get a bit of cycling in and see a few new roads and places too. To that end, I took the van down to Horsham after tea on Wednesday evening and had a quiet night in the van (I don’t know why but I always find that I sleep really well in the van) and was up ready and raring to go early on Thursday morning, for the short journey down to “The Old Man’s” and back.
It was a bit of a strange day Thursday. For a start there was a strong wind blowing, but more unusually it was really warm. I wasn’t exactly dressed for the Arctic when I set off, but even so, within the first ten minutes I was stopped, discarding my buff and thin hat, and undoing my jacket, and within 20 minutes I was cursing my winter gloves and wishing I had shorts on.
According to my phone, it reached 15 degrees by mid morning. I’ve already said that this time last year we had snow on the ground. But 15 degrees, we’d be glad of that in the summer, let alone December! Unusually high temperatures and strong wind, (which did its best to push me into the gutter most of the way), aside, I had a great ride down to Dad’s, and it was lovely to spend a couple of hours catching up on the gossip and enjoying their company. Heading back towards home in the afternoon was a bit harder going. The Wind that had been on my side in the morning was now a full on head wind, which made for some hard, slow, miles. I’d planned on being back at the van before dark, and very nearly got caught out, having forgotten quite how early it does get dark at the moment. With darkness fast descending and a dozen miles still to go, It suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t have a head torch with me. It’s not a major issue, I only need it to read the map and in case of emergencies anyway, so I wasn’t that bothered, but it’s always nice to have that safety blanket. (try fixing a puncture in the dark without a light). By 16:00 the light was really fading fast and I still had a couple of miles to go, when coming up a short, sharp climb I heard the unmistakable sound of escaping air. Bugger, puncture! Coming to a stop, there was still just enough light to see by, and it didn’t take long to identify the source of the problem in the shape of a bit of flint protruding through the edge of the tyre. If you can find the source of the puncture before taking the inner tube out it’s normally possible to fix it without taking off the entire tyre, which luckily proved to be the case today, and within ten minutes I was back underway. Those ten minutes made a big difference though and by the time I got going again, it was totally dark. Sometimes I think luck’s on my side. If I’d set off ten minutes later, or been that bit slower pushing into the headwind, or even just stopped for a few minutes on my way up. The chances are that I’d have got that puncture in the dark, then I’d have been walking the last few miles, because there was no way I’d have been able to fix it in the dark without a head torch. Or maybe I wouldn't have gotten the puncture in the first place? Either way, I’m looking at it as luck being on my side and I’ll take that as a win!
While we’re talking about luck. The fan on the oven at home has been making a bit of a racket recently. I’d been meaning to take the oven apart and have a look at it, suspecting that it was just unbalanced due to accumulated grime or rubbing on the back of the housing, but like everything, I only ever thought about it when the oven was on, and then it was a bit hot to do anything about!
Anyway, Friday I was busy making sausage rolls and Christmas ham, which reminded me about the noisy oven fan. I say it reminded me, the fact that I was standing in the kitchen with ear defenders on and you could hear the oven from the end of the garden gave me the kick up the backside I needed to finally have a look at it. Once it had cooled down enough to get it apart my guess that it was just greased up turned out to be incorrect and the bearings on the motor are shot. Not an ideal situation a couple of days before Christmas. A bit of googling found a replacement, but by the time I’d ordered it it was half past 5 on the Friday before Christmas, so there was no chance of that getting here before the big day. Not to worry though, I’d just have to cook Christmas dinner with my ear defenders on. Imagine my surprise then when at 15:00 on Saturday there was a knock on the door and the postman presented us with a parcel (that's unusual in itself because they normally only appear on special occasions). And what was in the parcel? The replacement fan motor for the cooker. That’s pretty impressive service. Less than 24 hours from ordering to delivery, and it wasn’t even ordered until after closing time on the Friday before Christmas! So now the oven’s fixed too, and we’ll be able to cook Christmas dinner without the fear of going deaf. Result! Worn out bearings seem to have been a bit of a theme this year, in addition to the various bike ones which I seem to spend half my life replacing, there’s been the washing machine, the oven fan, “The Boy’s” car gearbox, and the Peugeot rear axle, and that’s just the ones that come immediately to mind. Bearing that in mind we’ll see what 2024 brings. Right, a joke’s a joke, and I can take a bit of humour as well as the next man, but I’ve had enough now! Since the middle of September, I’ve been on 7 Audax’s (The End Of The Lines and Wye Gravel, The Ticking Tortoise, The Mid Sussex Hiller, The End Of Summertime and this weekend The Upper Thames and with the exception of The Ticking Tortoise, where it was only drizzling, it’s absolutely thrown it down with rain for all of them! And for the one before that at the start of September (The Morris Major) it was so hot that only a few of us actually started, for fear of heatstroke! I mean, seriously, how can it only rain at the weekend? Looking back through my diary at work, I’ve gotten properly wet commuting to work 13 times so far this year, and on the weekends, it’s 11 times. Now, considering that I commute to and from work every weekday, but don’t cycle every weekend, and there’s 5 days in the week and only 2 at the weekend, that must mean it rains a lot more at the weekends than it does during the week! And how can that possibly be? I’m guessing from my little rant above that you might have gathered that I got a bit wet this weekend again! What you might not have guessed is that for only the second time in my Audaxing career, and the second time in as many weeks, I DNF’d (Did Not Finish) again on Saturday, and I’m bloody annoyed with myself about it! Saturday was the Upper Thames 200KM Audax, which is a cheeky little jaunt around the edge of the Chilterns and the Cotswolds. Now I’ve done this ride a few times over the years, and I can’t think of a single occasion where it didn’t rain at some point in the day, but that’s never stopped me before, and it’s always a good day out. This year though the weather in the last couple of weeks has been pretty dire and the forecast for Saturday during the preceding days had been for more of the same, so rain wasn’t unexpected. Unsurprisingly then, Saturday morning I woke to the sound of rain falling steadily on the van roof, each and every drop of which added to the puddles already on the roads and the rivers cascading off the fields, which is never a good sign when you've got a 200KM day in front of you. By the time I’d had breakfast and made my way to the start it was still raining, and the skies showed no signs of clearing any time soon. The few unhappy looking faces at the start and the table full of uncollected Brevet cards seemed to echo the grey skies outside, and if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such despondent looking faces and general apathy to start a ride as I saw on Saturday morning. As we stood in the rain waiting for the 07:30 start time, it was clear that this was not going to be a pleasant morning. Eventually though 07:30 came and we slowly departed, heads down, shoulders hunched, each probably wondering, as I was, what the hell we were doing. Rivers ran in the gutters, puddles the size of small oceans hid potholes the size of open cast mines, sharp shards of flint mixed with mud and general debris coated the roads, each laying patiently in wait whilst valiantly trying to find a way in to puncture a tyre, and still the rain fell from the sky like a shower in full flow. Within minutes of our departure the rain had penetrated my gloves and filled my boots with cold, dirty, water, and the cold, absent in past weeks, had started to penetrate my defences. Battling up the first of the days climbs against the river which was flowing strongly down the hill restored a bit of warmth, but I was certainly already colder than I had been for many months, which is never a good sign when you're only a few miles into a long day. Pushing on, trying to stay warm, as I approached the first of the days checkpoints the rain eased, and I’m even tempted to say it may have stopped for a few minutes. Any relief was short lived though, as minutes later I was wheel hub deep in a small lake, the filthy water filling my boots again as I fought my way through the flood water, whilst trying valiantly not to fall off in the knee-deep ocean! By the time I reached Henley I was really starting to feel the cold, and spotting a small supermarket I stopped in search of washing up gloves to add under my cycling gloves in a last-ditch attempt to warm up my hands. Pulling on washing up gloves which are at least two sizes too small (that's all they had) onto soaking wet, freezing cold hands, is no mean feat, I can tell you. But having managed to get them on, at least my hands were sort of dry at last, and as I set off again it was with renewed hope that I might make it through the day. Minutes later, those hopes were cruelly dashed as the rain returned with a vengeance as I made my way slowly up the long slow climb past Stonor Park to regain the high ground of the Chilterns. This time however, the extra energy expenditure of the climb failed to work its magic, and the cold continued to seep slowly and inexorably into my core. Approaching the top of the climb a handily placed shelter hove into view and I pulled up in another vain attempt to get warmed up again. Knowing the weather was going to be against me, I’d packed a spare pair of dry socks and an extra top, and I took the time to get out of my wet socks and into some dry ones, adding a couple of plastic bags that I'd acquired at my earlier stop, before putting my sodden boots back on in the hope that they may keep the worst of the water off my new dry socks, and donned my extra (emergency layer). As we all know, what goes up, must come down, and shortly after the climb came the long, fast descent into Wallingford. Coming down the steep road the rain fell in sheets, stinging my face and obscuring my view as I hung onto the brakes, trying desperately to control my speed on the steep descent, whilst at the same time get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible. This just wasn’t fun! Coming back out of Wallingford, as if a sign from God, I noticed a small road sign pointing in the opposite direction, stating that it was only 4 miles back to the start. Initially I rode past, and then I slowed, my mind trying to convince my heart that continuing wasn’t a great idea. A few meters further and I’d rolled to a stop. Standing in a muddy field gate, with the rain pouring down, I spent a few minutes contemplating my fate. I was wet, I was cold, there was no chance of drying out and warming up unless the rain stopped, which didn’t look likely, and even if it did, the wind was picking up. Was this really fun? But at the same time, two DNF’s in as many weeks. I’m supposed to be a big tough endurance cyclist, not a scared of the rain, stay at home weakling! As I stood there with the rain dripping down my collar, the cold biting into my wet fingers and toes, and my bike gently rusting beside me, it wasn’t a hard choice to make. 4 miles back to the warmth of the van, or another 90 in the rain. What would you have done, in that situation? I’m still bloody annoyed with myself though. A couple of hours later, the rain had stopped, and the sun made a brief appearance. There’s no doubt about the fact that if I’d just pushed on for another hour or so, I’d have got round, and probably have had a great day with it. The fact is though I made some silly mistakes early on, mistakes that I shouldn't have made. I knew the weather was going to be bad, so why did I leave the washing up gloves which fit well and keep my hands warm and dry under my cycling gloves at home? If I'd started with those on, as I normally would on a wet winter ride, my fingers would never have got wet, or cold. Likewise, I realized Friday night that I didn’t have any plastic bags with me to put between my boots and socks, a neat little trick which is about the only thing I’ve ever found that comes even close to keeping my feet dry(ish). Why didn’t I just go out and get some instead of thinking ‘It’s not that cold, it’ll be alright’. And why the bloody hell didn’t I start in waterproof trousers! There are 3 little things there, which had I acted on them and dressed accordingly, would undoubtedly have meant I’d have finished Saturday's ride, warm, dry, and comfortable. But because I’m an idiot, I ignored all my previous learning, and thought ‘I’ll be fine, it’s only a bit of rain’. Idiot!!!!! Typically, Sunday was a far nicer day with only a couple of light showers in the afternoon, not that that was a lot of help, because there was no cycling planned. We did have other plans though, so there was no lazing in bed, and I was up bright and early with “The Emma” in tow.
Having “The Emma” in tow is unusual in itself, but I needed her assistance, so she was going to have to get up early too. In fact, we were on the road before 08:00 on a beautiful Autumn morning, heading for the South coast. I can hear you all thinking “Ahhh, a romantic day out at the seaside, how nice” but you’d be wrong. Yes, we were having a day out, but we were actually off to look at another car, not sit on the promenade eating jellied Eels and Whelks or build sandcastles. You’ll note that I said “another” there and not “a” because if I’m honest the car situation is getting a bit out of hand now, and this one brings the total to 7 between us. The ironic thing being that I do far more miles a year cycling than I ever do driving. In fact, I hate driving. But “The Emma's” got to have her hobbies too, and I’ve got plans for this one that don’t actually involve driving it for the foreseeable future. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we had a pleasant drive down, spent a couple of hours looking at my latest purchase, went and had some breakfast, and “The Emma” drove the latest acquisition home (see I told you I needed her help). I did offer to drive it home myself and she could drive the van back, but she muttered something about rather having needles poked in her eyes, grabbed the keys out of my hand and was gone! So, in addition to the rest of the fleet (1 camper van, a 206 GTI, a Fiesta ST, 2 Subaru Impreza’s, and a Subaru Brat) we’ve now got a 25-year-old MX5 that just about scraped through its last MOT and is about as likely to pass the next one as I am to fly to the moon under my own power. But that’s not a problem, because my intentions are to drive it until the current MOT expires (or preferably until I’ve finished a couple of other little projects) and then it’s going to be used as the donor car for a kit car project. See, I told you a few months ago I had plans for THIS LITTLE SPACE.
Hmmmm, it would appear that last week turned out to be a bit damp, or was it just me?
Last week's weather was certainly a bit changeable. Sunday night was so cold at home that we lit the fire for the first time since last winter and my cycle into work was a bit chilly to say the least with a hard frost on the cars when I set off on my bike Monday morning. Wednesday morning at the same time, the thermometer said 15 degrees when I went to work, and since then I don’t think it’s really stopped raining. Despite the rain, I’ve had to get all my shorts back out again, having said on Sunday 'That's it I won’t need these again. Winters here’! The rain isn’t currently stopping play though (although it did make me think about it Saturday morning) and I’ve been out and about all weekend. Saturday was the Mid Sussex Hillier Audax. You’ll note the ‘Hillier’ there, because I could have just done the ‘Hilly’ version, but where would the fun be in that? To that end, I took the van down to the start Friday night, expecting a leisurely drive down and an early night, but oh how wrong could I be. I normally try to avoid traveling too far, so this weekend's fun was at about the limit of my vehicle based travels, and Friday was a reminder of why I try to avoid it. An accident on the M3 caused a delay, followed by the normal slow traffic at the M3/M25 interchange, and then to top it all off, some idiot had managed to to roll their car at the M25/M23 junction closing the motorway! So what should have been under 2 hours actually took 3 and a half, and reminded me that I hate driving at the best of times. 3 hours on the bike in the pouring rain, with the wind in my face, that's bearable. An hour sat in the van with the heating on, a hot brew in my flask and the radio for company? No thanks, I’d rather be out in the rain! Which I suppose in some ways is lucky, because when I woke up on Saturday morning the rain was lashing against the side of the van, and the forecast said it was in for the day. In fact the forecast, and the sound of the rain was enough to make me seriously consider if I was going out to play, or should I just stay in bed? In the end though, sense prevailed, and by the time I made my way down to the start at 08:30, the early heavy rain had petered out to more of a heavy drizzle. Luckily, I wasn’t the only brave soul that was prepared to face the weather, as there was probably a dozen or so other idiots milling around at the start discussing the great British weather by the time I got there, which was somewhat reassuring, in a kind of British eccentricity type of way.
Unfortunately, due to the wet and soggy conditions there’s a shortage of pictures from Saturday's ride, so you're just going to have to believe me when I say ‘ It was wet, humid, and hilly’.
I’ll admit that it didn’t rain all of the time. But when it wasn’t raining, there was still rain in the air. And the one time I did consider taking my jacket off, because it was far too hot to be wearing it, just the thought was enough to make it throw it down again 2 seconds later, as if to say ‘don’t even think about taking that off’! That’s not to say that it wasn’t a good day though. In fact I’d go as far as saying I had a great time out in the rain. There’s something special about taking on the weather and being outside when everyone else is hiding away indoors complaining that it’s too grim to go out. It’s the same as riding into the night. Everyone else is going to bed, but I’m pushing on so I must be winning. There’s that shared camaraderie with the other riders and more often runners (they seem to be hardier than the cyclists), that you get when the weather's grim. We're all in this together, and we're obviously all bonkers, but we’re still out here getting the miles in and that deserves a nod, or raised finger, of mutual respect as you pass each other like ships in the night.
It was a great route too, and one that I’d imagine would be fantastic if the weather was good. With plenty of far reaching views from the hill tops, and numerous beautiful country lanes to occupy your thoughts, there was more than enough going on to make the time pass in a blur. The fact that it was still a treat in the rain, with wet leaves and loose gravel covering every descent and causing the rear wheel to slip as soon as you got out of the saddle on the climbs, pays testament to how good a route it was.
Good route or not, it couldn’t go on forever, and at only 100 Km by early afternoon I was back at the start. I may have had wet feet (in fact my boots were still wet when I put them on to go to work on Monday) but I’d had a great day out, and looking back I really don’t know why I was even considering not starting due to the rain. At the end of the day it’s only a bit of water, and it’s pretty rare that it rains all day, I guess I must just be getting soft in my old age!
Having been in two minds about going out to play on Saturday morning, I was still in two minds about what to do Saturday afternoon. With the rain continuing to fall and no sign of it abating, I had 2 choices. I could either head for home, or find somewhere on the way back to park up for the night with a view to getting in a bit off gentle running on Sunday morning.
A look at the map with a brew and a biscuit for places on the way home, threw up the North Downs Way at Guildford as a good start point. The North Downs Way is on sandy soil there, so as long as the rain abated at some point during the night it shouldn't be too muddy, and it left me close enough to home to not have a long drive on Sunday afternoon. Now, I’m not holding my breath on the running front, but I think things are finally on the mend and I’ve started slowly putting a few miles in again. I’m not counting my chickens before they hatch, and I’m forcing myself to really limit the miles and time on my feet, but I’m hopeful that I may eventually be able to get back some form of proper running, even if it’s nowhere near where I was at the start of the year. Sunday morning dawned clear and bright and pulling on my running shoes after a light breakfast felt familiar and exciting after such a long lay off. (Apart from a few brief miles in June I haven't run properly since the Cerne Giant Marathon back in March!). But those first few steps on the sandy soil with the cold morning air biting at my exposed arms and legs, the birds singing and the sun shining down from a clear blue sky instantly reminded me how much I’ve missed running and especially off road running over the past few months. Plodding gently along the sandy trail, following the North Downs Way signs, watching my foot placement on the rough ground, dodging the puddles and other obstructions on the narrow path and admiring the beauty of the British countryside, I felt like I’d never been away. The depressing days thinking I might never run again, hobbling up and down the stairs, struggling even to ride my bike some days, instantly forgotten as the first mile unfolded under my feet. From the off, the path wound slowly uphill, leg muscles that haven't been called on for months slowly remembered what we were doing, whilst the familiar, but forgotten, feel of my breathing, regular and in time with my footfall, provided a steadying reassurance and a reminder not to push too hard. I didn’t really have a destination in mind when I set off, but I knew that St Marthas Church wasn’t too far away which seemed like a reasonable aiming point, and then I could see how I felt when I got there. What I didn’t expect was to feel like I did when I did get there! Surprisingly it wasn’t as far as I thought it was and within a couple of miles I was cresting the climb up to the church. I’ve shared pictures from here before, and on a good day you can see all the way to the South Downs, and even on a bad day the view is worth the effort of the climb up. Sunday though, as I turned the final corner and came out from the tree lined path and the view opened out in front of me I was stopped dead in my tracks. The valleys below were filled with low lying mist, whilst the sun shone down from the clear sky. A train rattled along in the distance, the birds sang from the trees surrounding me, a pair of squirrels bound effortlessly across the path and into the trees on the other side, and instantly all was good with the world again This is why I run and cycle, this is why I’ll put up with the cold and the rain, this is why I’ll struggle on with frozen fingers and toes on a winter's day, this is why I’ll put up with inattentive car drivers trying to kill me on a regular basis, and this is why I am going to get back running eventually even if it kills me! It’s the odd day when you round a corner and are met with a view like this that makes it all worthwhile.
I’ve said it before and no doubt I’ll say it again, but what a difference a week makes. Last week was so hot that it was almost unbearable, and this weekend I’ve got absolutely soaked twice. Although the rain is still pleasantly warm, so getting wet isn’t the disaster it is in the middle of winter, when it’s icy cold and chills you to the bone in a matter of seconds.
How come I’ve got wet twice in one weekend then? Well, in an unusual turn of events for this year, I’ve done 2 Audax’s in as many days. Saturday was the End Of The Lines 130Km starting from Bristol to take in a loop into the Cotswolds, and whilst I was there, why not take advantage of the travel and do the Wye Gravel 120 Km on the Sunday too! Although it wasn’t a particularly early start on Saturday, in fact by Audax standards it was a positive lay in, I took the van down and found myself a nice out of the way spot for a relaxing evening on Friday night, leaving myself plenty of time for an extra brew on Saturday morning, before riding the mile or so to the start.
The normal pleasantries completed, it wasn’t long before we were off, heading for the day's first destination at Calne, via the Bristol and Bath Railway path. But not before having to stop within the first half mile to don my waterproof jacket, as first a few spots of rain brushed against my bare legs, and then the heavens opened into a torrential downpour. Oh well, it saves having a shower later I suppose.
Luckily the rain only lasted for an hour or so, although whilst it was coming down it was pretty heavy, but by the time we’d reached Chippenham and pushed on towards Calne it had stopped and the sun was making a valiant, if unsuccessful, attempt to make an appearance. A brief stop as we crossed the Wilts and Berks Canal to get the required information for proof of passage, provided the ideal opportunity for a quick sandwich and a quick look around at the canal. I’d never heard of the Wilts and Berks Canal before, so this was a nice diversion and to me is the beauty of these rides. No matter how well you think you know an area there’s always something new to see or learn about, and it’s always interesting when I come to write my little adventures up, to sit and have a read about the new places that I've been too. Canals and railways fascinate me at the best of times. I think it’s the sheer endeavour and labour that went into digging these impressive structures that triggers my imagination, so finding a new one is always a delight.
I can’t spend all day investigating canals though, so eventually I tear myself away and push on towards the next stop at Tetbury where I stop for a brew and a delicious slice of bread pudding at the Whistle Stop Cafe, which is housed in the old goods shed which served the Tetbury branch line before it fell victim to Mr Beechings cuts in the 1930's.
Refreshed and revitalised I pushed on through some glorious Cotswold countryside, making steady progress along secluded county lanes, puffing and panting up long steady climbs and for possibly the first time ever, dismounting to walk down what was one of the steepest paved roads I’ve ever come across at Waterley Bottom. Although I’ll admit that the potholed, uneven road surface and the hairpin bends on the way down did little to inspire my confidence to ride down it.
Back in the saddle all that remained was to push out the final few miles to take me back to Bristol, via some of the flatter parts of the Severn valley and Thornbury. In fact, I was back at the van having a brew and a late lunch by 15:00, just as the rain returned, not the torrential rain of the morning, but the make you wet and miserable type, that really gets you down, so I suppose I should count my lucky stars that the majority of the day’s fun had been dry.
And what fun it had been. New roads, new places, new hills, climbs and descents, and a generally lovely route with a nice mix of well surfaced tracks and trails and quiet country roads with plenty to see and investigate on the way round and certainly one to come back and do again if the opportunity arises.
But wait, there’s still more cycling fun to follow, because I got to do it all again on Sunday.
After a comfortable night in the van, Sunday dawned overcast, dull and damp, with the distinct feel of Autumn in the air and the forecast of heavy rain for later in the day. A forecast for a bit of rain wasn’t going to put me off though, you never know it might not happen! So I pulled on my shoes, which were still wet from yesterday's fun, packed my still damp rain jacket, and set out for the start with a smile on my face at the joy of riding through the deserted early morning streets of Bristol for the second time in as many days.
To be honest I wasn’t too sure about Sunday’s ride, and the other bikes at the start did little to dispel those uncertainties. The ride name of Wye Gravel should give the game away, and the majority of steeds on view were indeed fully equipped for a day off road. Big chunky tyres, no mudguards, 1x12 chain sets and all the other trendy “Gravel” accessories that accompany the latest trend. In fact, my 32mm tyres and mudguards looked positively out of place, but at the same time, people were riding on paths and tracks long before “gravel bikes” were invented and I’m sure they managed perfectly well, so let’s see how we get on, and at the end of the day, if off road isn’t working, then the roads just there! There was no problem or need for Gravel bikes as we set off in the opposite direction to Saturdays ride for some easy road miles to take us to the Severn Bridge, where we crossed over to Chepstow to dip our toes into Wales, and almost immediately left the safety of the local roads to pick up the Wye Valley Greenway.
Those first few miles along the Wye Valley Greenway were a real treat. Smooth gravel surfaces made for comfortable miles and the journey through the Tidenham tunnel was brilliant. At a 1000m long and deep underground the tunnel is the perfect roosting spot for a number of bat species and as such it’s only opened at certain times of the year and even when it is open is barely lit with a strict no lights policy to protect the bats.
In the dark and gloom, it’s easy to imagine the toil of the Navvies that hacked the rock apart to build the tunnel, and the hard graft that went into building it, and it was almost a shame as the small pin prick of light that marked the end of the tunnel grew gradually larger, until we were spat back out into the daylight and a return to normality.
A few more easy miles along the Greenway eventually led to the first of the day's numerous crossings of the River Wye, which, still tidal at this point, was flowing strongly upstream. A change of terrain here saw the smooth Greenway and tarmacked roads replaced by a rough bridleway along the riverbank.
Beautiful scenery following the river upstream, but hell on the wrists, as we plodded slowly along the rough grass track. Eventually though the bridleway petered out to be replaced by more gravel paths with sections of road in between, and the painfully slow progress picked up slightly.
With the morning progressing, and the forecast rain holding off for the time being, it was approaching 10:30 when the first checkpoint at Biblins campsite and tea room hove into view.
This is another hidden gem of a place, accessible from the opposite riverbank via a suspension bridge which sways and bounces worryingly as you cross, it’s nestled deep in the shadow of the Wye valley with steep wooded hillsides to other side, and it is a sheltered, tranquil, jewel of a place, and does an excellent line in cake, including some lovely Bara Brith.
With the day advertised as having 2000m of ascent over the 120 Km, at some point the easy miles were going to have to be replaced by some pretty big ascents, the first of which came immediately after the first control where the track went steeply uphill, to climb the valley side, and remained resolutely uphill for what seemed like forever.
Just before I reached the cloud base, the climb eased off and we re-joined the road for a few easy downhill miles of tarmac. Shortly after starting the descent, I noticed my chain jumping between gears, occasionally at first, and then with a growing frequency. Adjusting the rear derailleur cable made no difference, and it took a while of trying to catch glimpses of what was happening between my legs, whilst still paying attention to the road ahead, to work out that one of the chain link side plates had snapped, resulting in the chain being unshipped from the cog every time it went through the derailleur. Pulling in at the first convenient stop, a proper visual inspection confirmed that indeed the side plate had totally separated on one side, and the chain was only held together by half the link. That’s not a problem though. I’ve been lugging the tool for this exact eventuality around for the last 10 years and 50k miles, and in fact I’ve often looked at it and though “Why am I lugging that around with me”? Well todays why! 10 minutes later and I’d unpacked the tool kit, removed the damaged link, replaced it with a quick link that I’d been lugging around for the same length of time, repacked everything, eaten a sandwich from my saddlebag with dirty greasy fingers, and was back on my way. There’s no doubt that when you're miles from home, it pays to be prepared, and the slight weight penalty from carrying a decent set of tools and a few spare parts to get you out of a pickle, certainly pays dividends on the odd occasion that you actually need it.
Another long steep climb followed my unscheduled stop, taking us away from the river again to re-ascend the steep valley side, from where we picked up yet more narrow off-road sections and fire tracks, which clung precariously to the valley side.
Somehow, in the hour or so that followed, I managed to get off track a couple of times, resulting in having to retrace my steps, and by this time the novelty of off-road riding was definitely starting to wear off. The constant having to pick my way around obstacles, watch for stray rocks and tree routes, mind the muddy sections and bits of loose gravel, and the constant feeling of only moving through a narrow tree lined path, with no views to either side and nothing to look at, but more of the same, was wearing thin. So, when it started to rain, I really wasn’t having much fun off road. A few minutes later, as the rain started to fall in earnest, I realised that yet again I was off route, and by this time I’d really lost interest. Looking at the map there was a road intersection ahead, and if I took that, I could roll down to the valley floor and pick up the road which runs alongside the river Wye, which would take me directly back to Chepstow.
The second my wheels hit that tarmac, my mood lifted. Yes, it was still raining, in fact it was even heavier now I’d left the tree cover behind. Yes, I was back to mixing it with the traffic and impatient car drivers. Yes, it was still just as hilly. But it was back on familiar territory for me, and it would appear from recent off-road excursions, back where I seem to be happiest.
My speed lifted as soon as the road smoothed out, I had time to look around again without worrying about falling off the edge of the path, and on the road, I know what I’m doing, it was like coming home after a long trip away. Heading back towards Chepstow along the valley floor in the pouring rain, I had some decisions to make. If I headed straight back to Bristol my day would be a DNF (Did Not Finish) or with it being an advisory route, I could just find a road route to take me to the next checkpoint, get the required information and then head back to Bristol with a validated Brevet card. Being back on the tarmac I had plenty of time to study the map as I made my way towards Chepstow, and it didn’t take long to identify a route that would take me back to the next checkpoint after my little road diversion. The only question now was “Did I actually want to extend my day in the lashing rain with an uphill slog to the next checkpoint, or should I just call it quits and head for home”?
As is often the case, that conundrum answered itself. As when the time came to make the decision I just turned off the main road and headed uphill towards Shirenewton without even thinking twice about it. That was obviously meant to be or I would have had to think about it!
The ride up to Shirenewton from Chepstow in the rain was nowhere near as steep, or long, as I’d thought it would be, and in fact I suspect that my diversion may actually have been faster than staying on the supplied, more direct route. Either way, within a few minutes I’d got the required answer to the “Info control” and was back on route, heading back to Bristol and ultimately home. The wind, as I crossed the Severn Bridge for the second time that day, had picked up since the mornings crossing and was now throwing the rain straight into my face, where it dripped from my helmet, ran down my legs and filled my shoes, and tried to find its way through any gap in my jacket, no matter how small. However, once back over the bridge, the wind was more behind than in my face, and the rain gradually eased off, leaving just a few short miles to push out before the “Arrivée” hove into sight, signifying the end of another day out. Despite the rain and my apparent dislike for off road cycling, it had been a great day out too. As with Saturdays ride, I’d been to some places that I’d never been to before, I’d seen some stunning scenery, crossed a suspension bridge, crossed the Severn Bridge twice, been through the Tidenham tunnel that I’d never even have known existed if it wasn’t for this ride. I’d fixed my bike en-route, further reinforcing my ability to cope with any situation, and remain self sufficient whilst I’m at it, and chatted to some jolly nice people on my way round. And what’s not to like about that?
Well, this is a turn up for the books isn’t it, after weeks of rain during what should have been the Summer, as we start to move towards Autumn it’s 30 degrees and wall to wall sunshine. What’s that all about then?
Whatever the weathers up to, hopefully it’ll keep doing it for a few more days and I can reap the benefit next weekend, but until then I suppose that we had better get up to date with last week’s exciting adventures. And I’m afraid that you might be disappointed on that front, because the weekend was neither exciting nor adventurous. I have however been out and about, instead of just sitting at home complaining about being bored, and in fact I spent most of the weekend in the New Forest. Saturday saw a return of the International Autojumble at Beaulieu after a hiatus due to the Covid kerfuffle, so I took the van down on Friday night and Saturday morning joined the thousands of others heading towards Beaulieu. Now, before we go any further, I know what your all thinking. An Autojumble, isn’t that just a massive car boot sale for car parts and other assorted junk? What’s our intrepid adventurer doing there? Well, bear with me on this one, because it’s a bit of a trip down memory lane. Back in the dark ages when I was in my early teens, my stepdad (Ernie) was heavily into the Vintage and Veteran motorbike scene, which with my inquisitive nature and mechanical bent, fitted in well with my formative years. Tinkering with old engines, visiting motorbike rallies and riding round the countryside on the pillion, or in the sidecar, of whatever old motorbike he had at the time, was all great fun as far as I was concerned. Finding spare parts for motorbikes etc, which have long been out of manufacture, is a problem though, and that’s where the Autojumble thing comes in. Everyone that’s got surplus spare bits gets together, and you go on a big treasure hunt searching for the bits you need, that hopefully someone else might have. Now, having not only an interest in old motorbikes, but a predilection to collecting anything that didn’t move, meant that we always had a house full of stuff that Ernie had collected, and my mother wanted shot off, and that’s where my initial involvement with the Beaulieu Autojumble came in. Because what better way to get first dibs on everyone else’s junk, than by trying to shift some of your own by having a stall at Beaulieu! I’ve got fond memories of the years that we went with the caravan and trailer full of stuff to set up stall and spend the weekend trying to flog most of it. So, when someone told me that the Autojumble was back on this year and it transpired that I didn’t have anything else arranged for the weekend, I thought a trip down memory lane might be in order. And you know what, It was, and I had a really good day out. Unsurprisingly, because I don’t need a rusty cylinder head for a model T Ford, or a fuel tank with a hole in it for a 1912 Triumph, I didn’t buy anything. But from the moment I got there all those memories came flooding back. The joy of hunting through boxes of rusty spanners looking for the ones with bike manufacturers names on whilst Ernie directed proceedings. The delight of wandering around the stalls of old engines, car and bike parts, and other paraphernalia, which probably helped to cement my love of all things mechanical, and the willingness with which those stall holders would impart their knowledge on an impressionable teenage lad when I showed an interest. The haggling over price which always seems to be a part of any non-shop transaction, whether that be buying or selling. The dirty fingers from a day handling old bits of metal, the smell of old oil and grease, and maybe on a less positive note, my mother’s desperation as yet again we went home with more treasure than we had arrived with! Oh yes, happy memories indeed, and whilst I probably won’t rush back again next year, I had a really good day out wandering around the various stalls and poking through piles of rusty old metal, it was just like being a kid again. Although, I suspect that if you ask “The Emma” she’ll tell you that I’ve already got enough rusty old metal and projects to last a lifetime and bringing home more is strictly forbidden. Which sounds very similar to my Mother, and just like Ernie did with my mother, I’m turning a deaf ear to her too. Although, come to think of it, that approach didn't work out too well for Ernie, so maybe that's not the best idea!
Whilst I was down in the New Forest it seemed like a good idea to take advantage of the journey and get a bit of cycling in. So, after my fun at Beaulieu and a lazy evening watching a game of village green cricket whilst having my tea in the van, and a quiet night, I was up early for a few miles of bike fun.
Nothing to strenuous, just a gentle 100K around the periphery of the New Forest on quiet country roads amongst the ponies, trees and open moorland. On the road before 07:00 there was a distinctly Autumnal feel to the morning with a low-lying mist obscuring the sun and adding a heavy dampness to the air.
It didn’t take long for the late Summer sun to work its magic, and by the time I’d reached the coast from my start point, the mist was long gone and the sun was burning down brightly from a cloudless sky. Sail boats, their white sails standing out against the blue water dotted The Solent as I made my way towards Lymington, before turning inland to leave the coast behind, as I made my way around in a large loop.
I’ve ridden these roads plenty of times before and spoken at lengths about the joys (or not) of the New Forest, so I’ll let the few pictures that I did take do the talking for today and just say that the entire morning was a joyous experience. The sun shone, the roads were quiet and smooth, the hills gentle and the wind on my back for most of the day. Brilliant! |
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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