Right, having said last week that I was determined to keep on top of things, here we are again, and I’ve actually got something to talk about this week for a change.
As promised, I actually went out playing bikes last weekend amongst other stuff. But before we get on to that, lets just wrap up the little garage refurbishment job for the time being, because apart from a bit more tidying up, I’ve pretty much completed the first phase of my little garage / workspace project. I say pretty much completed, because like everything, I’m sure that over time it will evolve, and I’m still waiting for “The Emma” to acquire me some weights to attach to the solar panel before I fit that. But the space is at least now useable, and the majority of the tools are now in the correct places, so keep watching to find out what I’m going to be using this newly acquired dry space for. But don’t hold your breath, because there’s lots of other stuff going on at the same time, so it might be a while before I get back onto this one!
So, with that little update out of the way, lets get straight on to the weekends main event, the Airbourne 200 Audax, a gentle excursion through the Sussex countryside, taking in the delights of Eastbourne and the South coast, with plenty of opportunities for a bit of plane spotting along the way.
I’ll admit that I’d been a bit nervous about this one in the days leading up to it. I’ve not done any real miles for a few weeks and my knees and Achilles tendons haven’t really been playing ball, limiting any enjoyment and making me wonder if I was ever going to get back into proper bike riding again. So it was with some trepidation that I took the van down to the start at Horsham, and spent an uncomfortably sweaty night trying to get some sleep amongst the heavy rain showers and near 100% humidity that seem to have characterised the summer of 2023. Luckily, after a wet and humid Friday, Saturday dawned dry. Although as I made my way from my overnight spot to the start point, it didn’t look like it was going to stay dry, and it was still an uncomfortably humid morning. Formalities quickly concluded, it wasn’t long before we were ready to start the days fun, and after a quick briefing to warn us of the major hazards and biggest potholes, we were off. Passing through Horsham heading for Horley and beyond, the early morning departures and arrivals from Gatwick Airport provided some airborne diversions from the glorious countryside on offer at road level. Moving steadily Northwards the air traffic slowly changed from the outbound departures to the inbound aircraft as we made our way from one side of the airport to the other, signifying the passing miles in a pleasant way.
Lingfield, famous as a horse racing destination, marked the most Northerly point of the day and provided the first checkpoint, before we turned towards Ardingly and ultimately the coast.
The run down to Ardingly proved fast, on smooth roads with little climbing and little of note. The leg after Ardingly was however somewhat different, with the wind gradually increasing as the morning went on and we neared the coast, proving a forbearer of what was to come in the afternoon. Whilst there was little of note in the mornings leg, with the sun shining and the birds singing it was great to be out. Although, the one thing I must mention is the cycle path alongside the A27 which we picked up for the final 10 or so miles into Eastbourne. If you’re not familiar with this area, the A27 is an awful bit of road. It carries a heavy traffic load, but it’s only a narrow, single carriageway, in each direction, and Saturday, as I imagine it is most days, it was head to tail slow moving traffic, none of which was prepared to give an inch. That said, it’s also now got a new purpose built, segregated cycle / footpath, running adjacent to the road, and it’s brilliant. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that this is one of the best bits of cycling infrastructure that I’ve come across in this country to date (the best bit is probably the cycleway which runs alongside the Cambridgeshire Guided Busway). Traffic free, those miles along smooth tarmac where an absolute delight, and judging by the number of families cycling along, and walkers and joggers enjoying the morning sun, it’s a hit with them too, providing a safe environment to enjoy the outdoors and get to your destination. Other councils take note, this is how you provide segregated travel options, not painting a line on the pavement that crosses the road every 10 feet or putting up a sign, and schemes like this are the only way to increase cycling miles and reduce needless car journeys!
Those lovely traffic free miles couldn’t last forever though and before long we were spat back out into Eastbourne’s lunchtime traffic. Heading through town the sea finally hove into view and as we turned to start heading westwards along the seafront the full force of the wind came into play. This was likely to be a hard few miles!
Not only is Eastbourne on the coast, but it’s also the eastern end of the South Downs Way and the start of the Seven Sisters chalk cliffs. Which means it’s all uphill from the seafront to the top of Beachy Head and beyond. The long hot climb in the early afternoon sun bought a rare treat today though in the form of the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight completing their air display for the Eastbourne Airshow. Slowly ascending to the sound of Merlin engines roaring overhead and the odd glimpse of the Lancaster and Spitfires looping around over the sea was one of the real treats of the day, and by the time I reached the top of the climb and gained a clear view over the sea, they had been joined by a Typhoon, adding the sound of jet exhausts to the melee.
Eastbourne to Shoreham along the rolling coastal road, was a strange mix of fast enjoyable descents, slow gruelling climbs, heavy traffic, and that persistent nagging headwind which made for slow, hard, going.
Eventually though I reached the final turn point, and turning North the roar of the headwind stopped to be replaced with peace and quiet for the first time since lunchtime and the energy required to push forward reduced significantly. Steyning, Ashurst, and Billingshurst, came and went in the late afternoon sun as the miles ticked steadily down. Until, just under 10 hours since departing I rolled to a halt back at the start. And what a great day out it had been. It had been a few weeks since I was last out riding just for the fun of riding, and I’d almost forgotten how great a feeling it is to cover long distances by bike. The sun on your back, the wind in your face, something new to see around every corner. New roads, new places, new faces. Hard climbs, fast descents and the joy of being outside all day. A great route, a warm welcome at the start and finish, the sound of Merlin engines over Beachy Head, the sun glinting off the sea, crowds on the seafront, quiet country lanes and the sound of tyres on tarmac. Brilliant!
After Saturday’s exertions, Sunday was an easier day, and something completely different for me.
Unusually, I was at a loose end, but “The Emma” was signed up to take part in an Autosolo car event at Thruxton, so I tagged along for a day out. Now, anyone’s that’s been following along with my drivel over the past couple of years will know that I have no interest in driving whatsoever, in fact I'd go as far as to say I hate driving! But I do enjoy a bit of tinkering with cars, and I’m more than happy to watch someone else trying to kill themselves, or thrash the bits off their car, especially when it’s not on the road. As I was out and about anyway, I went direct to Thruxton from Saturdays Audax and met “The Emma” there. Well, I say “I met the Emma there”, I got there at the time she told me to be there, and she turned up half an hour later and then complained that I’d parked in the middle of the row of cars and there wasn’t room for her car beside the van. "Errr, no, when I got there, I was on the end of the row, and I kept the space clear for the first 30 minutes before I gave up!! Anyway, minor domestic sorted, I did my allocated duties and swapped the wheels on the Peugeot to the spare set, ready for Emma to ruin the tyres, and then went and volunteered my services as a marshal for the day, for which the organisers were more than grateful. Well, there’s no point just sitting around is there! It was a good day out too. “The Emma” had a great time thrashing the little Peugeot around, and I enjoyed my day sitting in the sun whilst helping to ensure everyone had a good time. And as an added bonus, the cars still in one piece too.
And finally. It’s an awful position to be in, when you’ve got so much veg on the allotment that it won’t all fit in the bucket, and you’re having to use your hat as a makeshift trug!
The allotment’s been really productive this year after a slow start, and is continuing to produce far more than we can eat. The fruit trees in the front garden are heavily laden with slowly ripening fruit too (except the pear, which has never borne fruit, despite being covered in blossom every spring) and I suspect that I’ll have to allocate a couple of hours next weekend to making plum jam. So watch this space, and I'll be back next week with some more uninteresting drivel!
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Well, things are looking up, I don’t want to tempt fate, but I’ve got through a whole week without getting rained on, it’s certainly not summer, but things are definitely looking up. I’ve had a pretty good weekend too, which always helps on the morale front.
So, what have I been up to this weekend then? Well for a start, I’ve done a bit of giving back to the community. Which is always rewarding. Last week I had a spare hour, so I took the strimmer up to the allotment and “strimmed” the paths and a couple of vacant, overgrown, plots. It’s an easy enough job if you’ve got the right tools, but pretty much impossible if you haven’t, plus it’s one of those instant gratification type jobs. With very little effort you can make a massive difference, which is just the sort of job to cheer you up. The lady that organises things on the allotment has been trying to get a working party together to help move a load of rubbish that someone had left on their plot when they moved on too. Watching the Watsapp chat, there were plenty of volunteers when she first asked for some help a few weeks ago. However, as with most things, come the planned day (Saturday), everyone suddenly had other plans or diversions. Knowing that I couldn’t help on Saturday due to my other commitments, I wandered up on Friday afternoon and with the help of another willing volunteer we cleared the whole lot into a skip in under an hour. Another instant gratification job and nothing too strenuous either, just a bit of humping and dumping, and a free workout to boot. Hopefully they will find someone to take over the cleared plot as it used to be a lovely plot, but a change of owner saw it quickly go to ruin (as many do), which I always think is a crying shame. Keeping up with the community spirited approach, I spent Saturday marshalling on the Chawton challenge, an LDWA challenge event with 20- and 30-mile route options and the normal brilliant LDWA organisation. My duties weren’t overly strenuous, just marshalling a couple of busy road crossings ensuring that everyone got across the road safely. Nothing hard about that, but it did get me out in the sunshine for most of the day, although it was a bit chilly early on, and I did get to say hello to lots of runners and walkers that I wouldn’t normally see. Marshalling duties completed, I trekked down to Lymington on Saturday afternoon ready for the weekends main event, the New Forest Excursion Audax. With a couple of hours to spare before bedtime I had an enjoyable evening wandering around the pretty little town and harbour area, before enjoying a pint sat in the evening sun. If anyone tells you that there’s no money floating around, then a short walk around Lymington harbour will probably convince you otherwise, with sailing boats, cruisers and speedboats of every shape and size bobbing happily at their moorings whilst their owners partake of the clubhouse.
Sunday dawned bright and sunny with a blustery East wind that had sprung up overnight doing its best to keep the temperature down, although lathering the sunblock on for the first time this year seemed prudent as I got ready.
Compared to last year there didn’t seem to be as many riders at the start, although I’ve seen worse turn outs. I guess that lots of people who would normally ride would have been off getting their 600km Paris – Brest – Paris qualifiers in, with this weekend being the first opportunity to do so. So maybe that was to be expected. It always seems to be a bit disappointing, not only for the riders but the organisers too, if numbers are down, and at the end of the day if we don’t support these events then they will just die out. Poor turnout or not, at 08:00 we were on our way, heading North out of Lymington bound for the far side of the New Forest at Cranborne. That Easterly wind wasn’t doing us any favours as we made our way North, with it being hard going on the more exposed areas. I use the term exposed areas loosely too, as from what I can tell not much of the New Forest is actually forested, the majority being windswept, open moorland, which left much of today’s route exposed to the full strength of the wind. A situation not helped by the fact that we would be heading pretty much North / South all day and with the wind coming from the east, it always seemed to be hampering progress! The wind’s all part of the game though and it only took a couple of hours to cover the 30 odd miles up to the familiar Audax stopping point at Cranborne garden centre.
From Cranborne it’s a course reversal to head back in the opposite direction aiming for the sea at Lepe. Back we go then, that Easterly wind still not helping but maybe more on your side than directly in front now.
Goldfinches flit from the hedgerows as I make my way down the narrow lanes out of Cranborne, the River Avon glints in the sunshine, the surrounding floodplain green and verdant with spring growth, as we cross it at Ibsley. Buttercups reaching for the sun protrude above the tops of the long grass and Cow parsley, the blooms white against the surrounding green stand tall on the verges. New forest ponies, many with foals in tow, graze peacefully at the roadside, disturbed only by the visitors who abandon their cars in the middle of the road to take photos. Semi wild cattle seek shelter from the sun amongst the forest trees, their owners exercising their rights as commoners to graze this land as their forefathers have done across the years. Approaching the coast, having crossed the forest for the second time, the smell of the sea fills my nostrils and soon after The Solent with the Isle of Wight in the background, springs into view. The beach is filled with day trippers making best use of the warm, sunny, day and the water itself is filled with boats of all description. Sailor’s sail, fishermen fish and jet skiers scream around making a nuisance of themselves, but in the spring sunshine all is right with the world.
A quick stop for some lunch in the salubrious surrounds of a Tesco car park and then onwards for the second crossing of the forest, and back into that wind again.
A few miles into the afternoon session my Right knee started playing up again (that’s the one that gave me issues at Brevet Cymru a couple of weeks back) and as the afternoon went on it was getting worse. I tried moving my position on the saddle to see if that made any difference, then I stopped and moved my cleats a bit to see if moving my feet made a difference, both to no avail. A couple more stops saw me move the cleats a couple more times, until I ended up back where I started from, none of which made any difference. There has to be a reason why this has suddenly started causing issues though, so my next thoughts turned to saddle height. The only problem being I didn’t have the right tools with me to move the saddle. Pondering the issue as I rode along, it dawned on me that putting a bit more tension on the leather of my saddle would probably raise my position by a few millimetres and whilst I didn’t have the tools with me to do that either I could get the same result by pulling the sides in, and all that needed was a bit of strong string. In fact, the farmers favourite, bailing twine, would be ideal and there’s always loads of that laying around in the countryside isn’t there. Not any more there isn’t! Bailing twine used to be everywhere. It held gates closed, it fixed barbed wire fences, it secured notices, it held farmers trousers up, and it even held hay bales together, but it would appear that that’s no longer the case. Or at least now that I wanted a bit, I couldn’t find any! Scouring the roadside as I peddled along, I finally spotted a bit of wire laying on the verge. Rolling to a stop I back tracked and doing my best tramp impression recovered my treasure. It was a bit stiff, but with a bit of fiddling I managed to pull the bit of wire through the holes in my saddle and tighten it up, effectively pulling the top of my saddle upwards and giving me a bit more height. And you know what, I’d probably only moved things up by a couple of millimetres, but the difference was instantly noticeable. I’m not saying it was an instant wonder cure, the damage had already been done, but what was looking like a ride stopping problem suddenly became manageable.
With my legs actually doing what they are supposed to do instead of screaming in protest at every pedal turn, the rest of the afternoon passed without drama. In fact, by 17:30 I was back at the start having crossed the forest and made my way back to the coast for the second time today.
As usual a hot brew, warm welcome and enough cake to feed an army awaited my return at the finish control and whilst the ride organiser checked and stamped my Brevet card, I duly returned the favour by testing a couple of bits of cake and a rather delicious bowl of Chilli and pasta and can assure you that they all passed muster, in fact the ginger cake was almost good enough to tempt me back for another go at what is a delightful ride, through some lovely countryside, again next year.
After my minor success in fixing my knee issues I’ve had a better look at the saddle situation and I’m hopeful that a slight change of height may prevent any more knee problems. I haven’t got anything on next weekend (bank holiday), apart from a million odd jobs that need doing and I really need to sort the allotment out, but hopefully that will give me the chance to get out from home on the bike a few times and I’ll take the tools with me and have a play with saddle height and see what happens.
Watch this space and once I work out what’s going on I’ll report back. I’m having a bit of a struggle at the moment and I really don’t know why. Well, actually that’s a lie, I do know why, which I’ll get onto in a minute, but first I seem to have got behind on the blog front again. Normally, I sit down and the words just flow, but recently it’s seemed like a chore and not the cathartic experience that it normally is. I normally seem to have something worthy of talking about, or some observation that’s worth mentioning and recording for prosperity, but at the moment it’s like getting blood out of a stone. You would think that the hard ones would be the weeks when I’ve not been up to much, or nothing interesting has happened, but that’s not the case. Last week's post is a fine example. I had a brilliant time playing bikes at Brevet Cymru but getting that down on paper was like pushing water uphill, surely the words should just flow, but no! I suspect that it doesn’t help that I’m really struggling for motivation at the moment, and I don’t know why that is either, although I suspect my ongoing knee issues and the miserable weather aren’t helping. No that that should be holding me back, springs here, summers on its way, yet I’m about as enthused as a dead slug (and I wish there were a few more of those around). The weather for the last couple of weeks has been awful too, the Saturday of the Coronation saw rain all day and the Bank holiday Monday wasn’t much better, plus I think I’ve got wet on the work commute more times in May than I did over the entire winter months, what’s that all about? The endless rain’s not helping on the Allotment front either. Normally by this time of year, the plot would be dug and most stuff would be planted out and enjoying the Spring sunshine. At the moment though it’s just a waterlogged mud bath that’s far too wet to dig, and the lack of sunshine means that everything's just sat in the greenhouse feeling sorry for itself (a bit like me). I suspect that my ongoing Knee problems are the root cause of my lack of enthusiasm. I’ve made enough of a song and dance about the left one (which has been ongoing for a couple of months and I’m seeing the Physio about), but the right one causing problems during Brevet Cymru was another knock to my confidence and another set back, although it seems to have recovered fairly well, so I’ve got my fingers crossed that, that was only a temporary setback. I’m still not running though and it’s getting to the point now where it’s incredibly frustrating and there seems to be no end in sight. Unlike most of the population I want to run, but I can’t, and I know that as the weeks go on it will get harder and harder to get back to the same level of fitness that I had before (and maybe impossible) which is somewhat depressing. If I can’t run and my knees hurt from cycling then what's the point? That doesn't mean that I haven’t been doing anything though, far from it. Whilst I haven't been running or cycling for the past couple of weekends (apart from the daily 22 mile work commute by bike) I have been trying to keep myself busy. So in an attempt to avoid boring you all to death, and to make my life easier, let’s catch up the last 2 weeks of pottering around and I promise that normal service should resume next week (if nothing else I’m determined to stop being a miserable so and so and get out there and start enjoying myself again). So, in no particular order, over the last 2 weekends, amongst other things I’ve; Here's an easy one to start with, or it should have been an easy one; A few weeks back "The Emma" said that the horn on her Peugeot had stopped working and could I have a look. I had a look and the wires had corroded through at the plug, that should be a quick 2 minute fix. But hold on with your quick fix, nothings that simple. To get at the plug the bumper needs to come off, but to get the bumper off the grilles got to come off, and to get the grille off the headlights have to come out, and to get the headlights out ............ Well you get the idea. While the bumper was off I also fixed the Cooling fan high speed relay, which likewise had corroded into a green mess, and while there's no pictures of any of that lot, there are a couple of the next issue. It's pretty rare that I drive Emma's cars (normally only when they need fixing) so I was somewhat surprised to find that on starting the "Pug" to move it round to the garage, that it sounded like a bag of spanners falling down a lift shaft. I asked "The Emma" how long it had sounded like that and she said "A couple of weeks, it's getting worse though". Closer inspection showed that the auxiliary drive belt was only half on the tensioner and the tensioner looked like it was about to fail completely. A pretty easy fix once you get out every tool you own, and take the wheel, arch liner, and bottom pulley off. An easy enough fix for a Sunday morning, but it's always good to know that the horn not working is worthy of immediate repair, but the sounds of impending engine failure from under the bonnet don't warrant a mention in "The Emmas" world of driving! The front lawns been a bit of an ongoing project for the last few weeks. It's never had much grass, it's just weeds and moss, which whilst it looks awful, does mean that it doesn't need mowing very often. For some unknown reason I decided that I'd had enough of Moss and weeds though and I'd do something about it this year, starting a month or so back with a good sprinkling of Moss killer. That's been followed up over the past month or so with multiple goings over with the lawn rake which did a really good job of pulling up the moss and revealing how little grass there actually was. So this weekend I've marched up and down stabbing the ground to death with a fork (and ruining my wrists) to get a bit of aeration going, filled in all the holes with topsoil, and generally levelled it out a bit and re-sown it. With lots of nice shade tolerant grass seed. Which no doubt means that it'll never rain again and all my efforts will have been a waste of time and we will have to live with a bare mud front garden until the autumn! This next ones a bit of a setback; A couple of months ago I noticed that the ceiling trim next to the sliding door on the van was damp. Now, the door runner, which is attached to the van roof, is the only part of the entire living area which isn't insulated (because it's impossible) and as such it tends to be where the condensation gathers on a cold day. Armed with this information, I assumed that condensation dripping off the door rail and catching on the ceiling trim was the issue. So I dried it out and started watching it a bit more closely. Roll on a few more weeks and it was actually wet, not just damp. So I took the trim piece out for a better look, dried everything out again, and left it out for a better look. Whilst it was in bits I took the door seals off and cleaned then too, just in case water was getting in through the door seal. I left the trim off for a couple of weeks and couldn't find any issues and everything seemed dry, so I put it back together again, and it was fine for a few weeks. Fine that is until a couple of weeks ago when after sitting unused for a couple of weeks there was actually a small puddle on the floor and the trim was dripping wet! I still wasn't convinced it wasn't condensation, as I couldn't see any way for water to be getting in there. The ceiling was dry to the touch, the area where the insulation meets the door rail felt dry and the only other place water could be getting in was around the skylight, but that also appeared to be dry. Any way, last weekend it was wet again, so I finally bit the bullet and started removing things to get a better look. Cutting a long story short, the sealant around the front left corner of the skylight had given way and during heavy rain water was finding it's way between the skylight and structure. From there it was running down the opening and then tracking under the bottom layer of insulation to come out above the door rail. Why it couldn't have just found it's way down the edge of the skylight I don't know, because if that was the case, which would have been the path of least resistance, I'd have found the problem ages ago and done something about it. Now if you've read "the van plan" you'll know that the roof light and ceiling were the first things to get fitted! Que one nightmare trying to get enough room to take the roof light out to reseal it and then refit the ceiling, once it and all the insulation, had dried out. I got there in the end though and only time will tell if it's successful. Whilst I was there I did notice a minor design flaw on my part, which could have played a part in the water ingress, where I'd joined the roof light support on a corner. So I've redesigned and remade that while I was at it, which will hopefully help, and I've added extra sealing to the cut out in the hope that if it does leak again the water will drip off the roof light opening and not track elsewhere, giving me a better chance of catching future problems before they happen. A wet Saturday morning resulted in a few bottles of Chilli oil (made with home grown Chillies which have been drying in the airing cupboard all winter), which can get put away to mature. And a few jars of "Mymalade" "It's just marmalade but made by me". Obviously, despite the weather doing it's best to hold back progress there's been plenty going on in the garden and on the allotment too. While I'm pottering around fixing stuff, I've been watching the coolant on my "Bangernomics" run around for a few months. When I got it in December 2021 the coolant reservoir looked pretty oily (never a very good sign) although I don't remember there actually being any oil in the coolant, but it had just had a new radiator, so the coolant would have been drained for that! Anyway, at the time I serviced it and changed the coolant and gave the reservoir a clean out and thought I'd see what happened. A year later and the reservoir's oily again and there's been a small amount of oil into the coolant (there's an oil and water passage in close proximity at the head gasket and leaking across is a common fault). Now, I know it's probably leaking, but I don't really want to pull the head off if I can help it. So before I do that, lets reset to a known good point and see how much it is actually leaking. To that end then, it's had a good dose of cleaning fluid through the coolant system, followed by a really good wash out, and before refilling it I cleaned the reservoir out again. Obviously now I know it's definitely clean (something I couldn't guarantee when I got it) I can see what happens over the next few weeks / months. If it really oils up again, then I'll change the head gasket while the weathers good, but if I think I can live with it, maybe with regular coolant changes, then I think that's the best option. At the end of the day it's only a run around so it's hardly worth spending the time and money on. While I was pottering around I also changed the rocker cover and seal for one that I got from the "scrappy" and refurbished (cover that is, not the seal, that's new). As they say "a shiny engine is a happy engine" and that looks much better than the rusty, leaky one that was there. Next up, a Sofa story; When "The Emma" and I first moved in together one of the first things we bought was a Sofa, and while we waited for it to be delivered (8 weeks) we sat on 2 inflatable camping chairs - Happy days. Roll on 16 years and 3 house moves later, that Sofa is starting to show it's age. It was still clean and tidy, but it was a bit low for my old back, and one of the springs had gone (It's had a plank of MDF under the cushions for about 2 years to make it a bit firmer) and the time for a replacement was fast approaching. Wasting a Sunday that could have been far better spent, trawling round furniture showrooms and fighting off useless salesmen, finally resulted in an acceptable replacement which was for delivery this week. The first problem was what to do with the old one? I asked around at work in case anyone wanted it, to no avail, so we stuck it on Market Place and Gumtree for free, but had no takers, which is a shame because it would probably have served someone well for a couple of years. Instead, it had to meet it's maker so I took the big hammer to it and took it to the tip. I'd have taken it in one piece but it was a bit unwieldy to move on my own. Now, when we ordered the new sofa, the nice salesperson said "The feet on all these sofas are a bit rubbish. But we can sell you some different ones for £50 a set". H'mmm let me think about this for a few seconds said I. How about "No". She was right though, the feet on the new sofa are a bit rubbish. They're rubbish as they're really small so all that's going to happen is they're going to sink into our new plush carpet and deep underlay and that'll be the sofa immovable and the carpet and underlay left with great big divots where the sofa sits. What they really need is some £50 feet that are a bit wider to spread the load a bit and stop them sinking into the carpet. And I'm sure I've seen some tucked away somewhere. And there we go. 8 load spreaders for the sofa feet to stop them sinking into the new carpet. Total cost, half an hour of my time, a couple of pounds worth of scrap plywood and thousands of pounds worth of tools (but we'll ignore that). Either way it's still £100 in my pocket and not the furniture salespersons! and as they're going under the sofa they'll never be seen again. And one last one before I go. I think I might have mentioned these a few weeks ago, but after the success of the first set, I've since fixed some more. Shimano rear derailleurs (were talking bike stuff now) come as standard with sprockets that run on pins and bushes (no bearings fitted), which is fine. However, as it's just a metal on metal bush they tend to wear, and as they wear the float and general sloppiness increases and the gear shifting starts to suffer. Obviously, you can get Shimano replacements, but a cost effective option is to upgrade to non OEM parts with roller bearings, which seems to result in crisper and improved shifting across the board. And anything you can do to make life a bit better when your 300Km into a 400 Km Audax, it's dark and raining, and you've already changed gear approximately a million times, is a plus in my book. The roller bearings come with their own issues though. Eventually water and dirt gets past the seals and the bearings jam up. I seem to get at least a year, if not two, of all weather riding out of a set of sprockets, but for the sake of a £2 of bearings you end up throwing £20 of sprockets away. Or is there another option? The first set of these that I changed the bearings on have done over 1000 miles now with no problems and I've just done the set on my work bike (and a spare set too) so we'll see how they hold up.
I don't know how many times I'll get away with pressing new bearings in before the plastic sprocket deforms or splits, but even if it's only once, it's bought a new lease of life to an allegedly un-fixable, disposable, part, and that's a plus in my book. What’s this all about then? 3 Bank holiday weekends in one month, surely they could have arranged the Coronation for June or July and spread the love out a bit couldn’t they? I guess there must be a reason for it and I suppose that I could look it up if I was really bothered. In fact I’m only annoyed about it because I’ve had to cancel a running event that I was supposed to be doing next weekend (06 May), because my Knees still not better, so now I’m hunting around for something else to do instead. If I was running I’d be saying, 3 bank holidays in May, brilliant. But it’s not, so I’m not! Really, I suppose I should get the first bank holiday weekend out of the way before I start worrying about next weekend though, so to that end, what have I been up to? Well, the main focus of attention, which if I’m honest took up most of the weekend, was Brevet Cymru. Not content with knocking out a 400Km Audax last weekend, I thought I’d really kick the backside out of it by doing another one. Yes that’s right, I didn’t learn my lesson last weekend, so I’ve had another go at punishing my legs. I’d been looking forward to this one for a while (Sssh at the back, cycling 250 miles in under 27 hours is perfectly normal behavior, so why wouldn't I be looking forward to it?). Bonkers or not, it looked like a good route, Chepstow, Hay-on-Wye, Llandovery, Tregaron, New Quay, Back to Llandovery and home via Brecon and Abergavenny. Now what’s not to like about that? 250 Miles through some of the finest countryside our great country has to offer, and at one of the best times to do it too, just as all the trees are starting to get their leaves, the fields are full of Lambs frolicking in the sun and the worst of the winter weather is hopefully behind us. With an 06:00 start I took the van down to Chepstow on Friday night and had a comfortable night in a quiet little spot that I’ve used a few times before, before being unceremoniously woken by the alarm at 04:15. I say, unceremoniously woken, but if I’m honest I was actually awake before the alarm went off, so it wasn’t actually that much of a hardship. A brew and a bit of breakfast set me up nicely for the day and with the first light of day brightening the sky I rolled down the hill through a sleeping Chepstow to the start at Chepstow Castle, where plenty of other early morning enthusiasts were already gathering ready for a long day out. Brevet card collected and safely stowed in readiness for documenting the day's passage, all that remained was to loiter with intent as the time ticked down towards 06:00. The pre-race briefing was short and sweet, with only a single pothole worthy of mention, and as the clock ticked down towards the magic hour we made ready to depart. There appears to be a tradition in the Audax community that departures have to be as low key as possible, the ideal being to not even acknowledge it, and today was no different. Whilst the orgaiser may have been releasing 100+ riders off on an epic adventure, he stuck to the traditional format of “Well, off you go then” as if to say “What are you lot still doing here”. And so it was, that in the typically low key manner we were off, straight back through Chepstow and straight back up the hill that I’d rolled down half an hour earlier on my way to the start! It always takes a little while for everyone to find their place in the day's proceedings, faster riders coming up from behind, slower riders dropping back from the front and bigger groups gradually breaking down into smaller groups and lone riders, as the pace settles down, and today was no different. But, with a few miles under our wheels, a couple of short climbs dispatched and onto the flatter roads as we followed the Wye Valley up towards Tintern Abbey things soon settled down and the miles started rolling past at a fast rate on the flat, empty roads. The River Wye proved an amiable companion, with the early morning mist slowly rising from the river in the still, cool, early morning air, as we made our way towards Monmouth, where a change of direction saw us shadowing the England / Wales border as we started to make our way towards the coast. The Black Mountains off to our Left, the scene of some epic running adventures, replacing the river as our companion as we made our way towards the day's first checkpoint at Hay-on-Wye. Tempting as it was to make use of the hospitality being provided by Drover Cycles at the first checkpoint, sitting in the sun, drinking tea and eating cake, wasn’t going to get the days miles done, and besides, courtesy of some fast group riding and the flatter miles up through the Wye Valley it was still too early to be wasting precious time. So, Brevet card stamped, a refill of my water bottles, and with the day quickly warming up as the sun started to work its magic, thick gloves replaced with a thinner pair and I’m off again, next stop Llandovery. Spotting a handily positioned seat a few miles later on I stopped briefly to take my leg warmers off. If there’s one thing that you can almost guarantee, it’s if you spot a seat in the middle of nowhere it’s probably worth stopping to sit on it. You don’t go to all the trouble of putting a seat in the middle of nowhere for no reason, and today's brief stop proved just that with a stunning view back along the Wye Valley. If there’s a better place to take your leg warmers off then I don’t know where it is, but that little seat on the way to Erwood is worth stopping for, if you're ever that way. Back on the road again I was in my element, the sun warmed my legs, the fields alongside the route were lush, green, and full of spring Lambs, the hedgerows, green with new growth, were alive with birds busily nest building and the wooded areas were bright with Daffodils and early Bluebells, whilst off to the side the River Wye sparkled as it wound its way through the landscape. Llandovery and the second checkpoint of the day arrived just before lunchtime, where a pasty and a chocolate bar stood in the sun with the motorbikers, provided some sustenance, and the chance to stretch my legs before pushing on. The next couple of legs held most of the day's hardest climbing and from Llandovery it was a long steady climb for a few miles as we made our way towards Tregaron. I wasn’t going to complain about this one though as we would be coming back this way in a few hours time and as we all know, what goes up must come back down again. Making my way towards Tregaron I had the first inclination that something wasn’t quite right with my Right calf. It felt tight, stiff and sore when pushing hard on the pedals, not right at all and I briefly debated whether I should carry on. I was just under half way by this point and if it was sore now, how would it feel when I got towards the coast and the real hard climbs started? By the time I got to Tregaron it was pretty painful, feeling almost like I’d torn the muscle high up on the outside of the calf. A good stretch whilst getting some much needed calories on board at Tregaron seemed to help and when I got back on the bike a few minutes later to pass through the halfway mark, it didn’t seem quite as bad as it had done earlier. Between Tregaron and New Quay things were pretty lumpy, the long slow gradual climbs that we had experienced up until this point replaced with the more familiar, vertical up, followed immediately by vertically down, real morale breaking and leg killing stuff and really not helping my sore leg which started to complain with a vengeance when I pushed hard on it. Whatever happened I needed to get to New Quay as there was no chance of stopping in the middle of nowhere, so I pushed on, making the best of the downhill sections and taking it as easy as I could on the uphills. As the coast approached the sun was obscured by a low lying, damp, mist, which obscured the landscape and brought a chill to the air which necessitated putting my jacket, which I had removed after Llandovery, back on again. Descending into New Quay a few minutes later the mist petered out and the first glimpses of the sea provided proof that I was over half way and had successfully crossed from one side of Wales to the other in less than a day. Pretty, pastel coloured houses provided a picturesque backdrop, as I got a brew and delicious slice of Pizza from the bakery on the seafront, and joined the daytrippers and holiday makers on the promenade staring out to sea. My leg was still sore, but it didn’t feel any worse than it did when I left Tregaron so I had 3 choices. Push on for the return leg, or find a way back to Chepstow via public transport, or find somewhere to spend the night and hope it was better by tomorrow and ride back then? Another good stretch as I finished my brew and I opted to push on. I knew that there was some steep climbing to come as I made my way back inland, but figured that I could always walk the worst bits and that might actually help to stretch it out. And either way, that was still better than trying to work out how to get home by other means! I was right about the climbing after of New Quay as the road went straight up for what seemed like forever. It did however give me an excuse to walk on the steepest bit’s which as I suspected helped to stretch off my calf. A couple of miles inland the sun came out again revealing a stunning landscape and beautiful early evening. Not so good for the daytrippers who had spent the day in the overcast and mist on the coast, but excellent for the morale of a tired cyclists! Up, Down, Up,Up,Up, Down, more up and very little down, set the scene for the next couple of hours as I made my way steadily back towards Llandovery. Although I was making steady progress through the hilly landscape my Right leg was getting more painful with every energy sapping climb. Arriving in Llanybydder I stopped at a handy shop to replenish my water bottles and grab something to eat and took the opportunity to get some Ibuprofen at the same time. Not an ideal solution to my sore leg and not something I’d ever advocate and in fact normally actively avoid doing, but if it helped relax the tight and sore muscle enough to get me back to the finish, I thought it was a risk worth taking on this occasion. A couple more stiff climbs after Llanybydder saw the worst of the day's climbing dispatched and the more benign route, coupled with the painkillers that I’d taken earlier allowed my sore leg to stop complaining quite as much as it had been and settle down a bit. If things stayed like this then I thought I’d be able to get back to the finish under my own steam. In fact shortly after, things really looked up as we rejoined the route from Llandovery at the top of that hill I’d slogged up in the afternoon sun earlier in the day, for a long, fast, run back down again. Picking up the A40 at the bottom of the descent, a group of hot air balloons launching from a roadside field provided a welcome distraction, and reminded me of some happy times camping with “The Boy” when he was little. Thoughts which occupied my mind and accompanied me to the next checkpoint. A sausage roll and a brew from the Cafe which was staying open specially to cater for us cyclists, provided an opportunity to relax for a few minutes and stretch aching muscles whilst sitting in the evening sun, and I took the opportunity to prepare for the coming darkness at the same time. Leg warmers back on, headtorch attached to helmet, new batteries in my rear light, and off again, the sun setting behind me as I pushed on towards Brecon for the final 100KM. The A40 would be my companion all the way to Brecon and beyond, and although a busy road by day, by the time I left Llandovery, just a dusk was descending, it was deserted, just mile after mile of smooth, flat, easily navigable road. Lights on, head down and go, no need to think, no need to watch out for pot holes, no need to navigate, just let your mind wander and enjoy the peace and solitude of long distance cycling as darkness descends. Owl’s call from the darkness, Bats flit silently around in search of their tea, visible only as fleeting glimpses caught in the light of my headlight as they pursue their prey, a barn owl swoops in from the Left, veering off from a collision at the last minute to follow the road for a few meters, isolated farm houses are visible amongst the surrounding hills, their curtains drawn against the dark night, the warm glow from their windows the only clue as to their existence, and a million stars light the night sky as they have since the existence of man, whilst I in turn continue endlessly turning the pedals, slowly ticking off the miles. Sennybridge and Brecon pass unseen in the darkness and then I make the first mistake of the day as I miss a turn in the dark. I stay on the A40 when I should have turned off shortly after Brecon and unfortunately I don’t notice as the two roads mirror each other for a while on opposite sides of the River Usk and with my GPS zoomed out it doesn't stand out as being wrong. In fact I only notice, as lost in my daydreams I slog up a steep hill on the way into Bwlch, and suddenly realise that Bwlch isn’t on the route! By the time I realise my mistake I’ve probably gone 5 or 6 miles the wrong way. Bugger! Stopping to check my options I discover that it’s not as bad as I first thought and although I’ve added some additional climbing and a couple of extra miles to the days total (something I could have done without) I can actually just head to Crickhowell on the A40 and pick up the correct route from there - Result! My short diversion does no real harm and by 22:00 I’m at the final checkpoint for the day at Llangattock where a brightly lit school hall provides a temporary refuge from the darkness, and some lovely volunteers who have given up their saturday night to cater to the every need of a group of tired cyclists, pamper me with a much needed brew, a bowl of pasta and a slice of cake. Bliss! One last push then, just 30 short miles left to go. Allegedly it’s all downhill to Abergavenny, although no one’s mentioned what’s to come after that! They’re not far wrong either, and although it’s not all downhill, it is pretty benign, and I find myself rolling through Abergavenny just as the pubs have started kicking out, a loan cyclist amongst the tired and emotional drinkers, each making their way unsteadily home, kebab in hand, hangover pending! Usk comes shortly after Abergavenny where more late night drinkers litter the roads and loiter outside takeaways trying to prolong their night out. Shortly after Usk I make the turn onto the B4235 which will take us back to Chepstow, and the fast, easy miles come to an abrupt end, as one last brute of a climb looms large in front, a black stain across the lighter night sky, the lights of remote farms high in the sky ahead, the lights of a solitary car, shining like pinpricks high on the hillside above, clearly showing the extent of the climb ahead. It’s almost another Audax tradition, one last beast of a climb to test your mental fortitude and legs, when you're in sight of the finish line. But in this case there appears to be no alternative, whichever way you go, Chepstow is uphill! And a brute of a climb it is too. It’s long, it’s steep and on legs which have already done 230 miles it’s brutal. On a normal day I could get up here with no problems, but today it defeats me, and I end up walking the steepest parts. Eventually though, after what feels like a lifetime of toil, the top comes and I stop to put on my down jacket as extra protection against the cold which is surely going to bite into my tired body as I start the long descent into Chepstow and the end of my day. The cold night air does indeed try to penetrate every nook and cranny and I pull my jacket zip up tight and adjust my neck warmer as I descend steadily towards the day's end. And then, unexpectedly, I’m back where I started, on the edge of Chepstow, and I’m faced with a dilemma. I need a proof of passage receipt for my Brevet card, but I’ve got 2 choices. The 24 hour services on the far side of town, or a cashpoint receipt from the middle of town which is significantly closer to where I left the van. Surely this is a no brainer. Go to the services to buy something I don’t want, or roll down the hill, pick up an ATM receipt and be tucked up safely in the van in 10 minutes. Rolling through town it’s just gone 02:00 and the next wave of human detritus litters the streets as the late night pubs and clubs kick out and I pick my way slowly through, making my way carefully towards that final receipt and the end of my day. Aaarrrrgggghhhhh, the sodding ATM’s not working, Boll***s! I head deeper into town in search of another option but can’t find anything. Double Boll***s! Eventually I concede defeat and begin picking my way back through the late night drunks as I retrace my steps back up the stupidly steep hill, heading for the other option at the 24 Hour services! I should have just done that in the first place instead of trying to take the easy option, that’ll teach me! 250 Miles, 20 hours and a far better day out than the previous week's adventure at the Tour of the Southern Shires. I suspect though that I’m being unfair there and tiredness played a significant part in my problems the previous week and at some point I’m going to do the Southern Shires route again just to confirm that it is indeed brilliant!
But, Brevet Cymru, well that was just brilliant. The sun shone, the views were outstanding, the roads smooth and pothole free, the climbs hard, the descents fast, the motorists kind and considerate, the organisation superb and I really can't wait to come back and do this one again. It’s what long distance cycling is all about!
Good news everyone, apparently, it’s the start of Spring, both meteorologicaly and calendar wise, which means things will continue getting better on a daily basis from here on in. Obviously, that’s ignoring the almost traditional snow at Easter, April’s torrential showers, the endless gales that tend to blow through April which strip all the fruit blossom off my fruit trees, and a last-minute late frost in May which will kill everything that’s trying to grow on the allotment.
No of course not, it’s all going to be plain sailing from here on in, and to that end this weekend I’ve managed to sun burn the bald bits on my head and enjoy some unseasonably warm moments on the allotment. OK I’ll admit that it was only really warm in the greenhouse, but why let the truth overshadow a good news story. So, what have I been up too this weekend then? Well, for a start as I mentioned above, I had a few hours on the allotment on Saturday afternoon, mainly spent in the greenhouse alternating between hiding from the showers and slowly roasting when the sun came out. It’s all or nothing this time of the year! A couple of hours pottering around saw the greenhouse staging re-erected, although if I’m honest I’m not sure how much longer it’s going to last. I made this set of staging when I got my first greenhouse back in 2002 and considering that it spends all summer outside and the rest of the year in a damp greenhouse it’s lasted pretty well. It’s getting a bit rickety now though and I think it’s time that I made a new set before this lot totally collapses and takes everything else with it, that’s not going to happen any time soon though. Maybe a job for next winter! Anyway, staging aside, those couple of hours were pretty productive and I managed to sow, Sweet Peas, Cabbages, Sprouts, Kale, early Carrots, early Peas, Nicotonia and Broad Beans in trays in the greenhouse and get some Shallot sets into the ground outside too, all of which join the Chillies, Geraniums and Petunias that got started in a propagator on a warm windowsill at home midweek. There’s still a long way to go until the hazy days of summer, but those first signs of new growth are coming thick and fast. The new Rhubarb crowns and Raspberry plants that I bought and planted at the back end of last year are all showing signs of new growth, although the Blackberries that I got at the same time don’t seem to be up to much. All of the established fruit bushes have lots of buds on them, and I noticed that the fruit trees at home look like they’re about to burst back into life too. Likewise, the daffodils are in full bloom and the Polyanthus are adding their splash of colour to the gardens along with the Crocuses, although the wallflowers seem to have succumbed to the really cold spell we had earlier in the year which is unusual. You can’t win them all though and that’s part of the fun of gardening (allegedly).
Odd jobs, bike cleaning and the misery of shopping wrapped up, along with getting things off to a start on the allotment, left the rest of the weekend to the main event. The Cerne Giant 30 Mile Challenge event, another of the LDWA’s showcase challenge events, starting and finishing in the picturesque village of Cerne Abbas, deep in the Dorset countryside.
Before I get into the roots of the event itself, I just need to comment on the dark! Having taken the van down on Saturday night ready for an early start on Sunday, I found a nice quiet little spot in the middle of nowhere for the night. The rain had cleared leaving a clear sky and without the light pollution that I’m used to coming from the metropolis of Basingstoke, I was treated to an almost idyllic night sky. Warm enough to sit outside with a brew, I spent a good few minutes gazing up in awe at the brightness and clarity of the night sky. I’m no star gazer, but without the light pollution we normally live with there were stars aplenty to admire, it’s just such a shame that we can’t normally see them against the background of streetlights! Sunday morning, just as the sun started to brighten the night sky, I was treated to the sound of new born lambs coming from the field opposite my parking spot, and birdsong from the trees behind, as I lay in bed thinking about waking up. Idyllic! Peering outside once I’d had a brew, it looked pretty idyllic too, the sun was shining, the ground was wet from yesterday’s rain, the lambs were frolicking in the fields, Daffodils shone brightly in the morning sun, and everything looked good with the world. With the sun quickly warming the morning it wasn’t hard to make the decision to abandon the running tights and thermal top that have been my faithful companion through the long winter days in favour of shorts and a lighter top, thin gloves, and not much else. Walking down to the start with the fresh air blowing round my ankles which have been hidden for so long was refreshing and reminded me of those summer days still to come, although I carefully packed some long trousers and a jacket into my running pack just in case. Better to lug extra clothes round for 30 miles then get caught out and suffer!
Booking in and collecting my route card was a slickly organised affair and after a few minutes making final adjustments to my kit, then doing it again once I’d realised that I was still wearing my glasses which needed packing too, I was ready for the off at just after 08:30.
I’ve probably mentioned before that LDWA challenge events are a bit like Audax in that you have to prove proof of passing through the relevant checkpoints within a certain time frame. As we all walk at different speeds (it is supposed to be a walking event at the end of the day) checkpoints open and close to suit the pace of fast and slower walkers, and as such, as a runner it’s possible to get in front of the checkpoint opening times, resulting in standing around waiting to get timestamped for your proof of passage. To that end it makes sense to depart towards the end of the start time window, giving the walkers a head start and slowly catching them up as the day progresses. A final few words with the lovely volunteer checking us out, and I was off into the unknown. Unusually, nervous butterflies played with my mind as I set off. Having not run all week due to my knees being sore and painful, there’s always the feeling that today might not be my day and should I actually start? (Not that a week’s rest made any difference, but I set off regardless knowing that I could always pull out or cut the day short if needed). The weeks rain had left the first few miles along well-trodden footpaths, muddy and slippery underfoot, but with the sun shining and the route soon climbing steeply away from the valley floor onto drier ground I was in my element. Within the first few miles any worries about my knees had rescinded to the back of my mind (although running probably wasn’t the best idea as they’re stiff and sore today) and I soon settled into an easy pace, taking the time to ensure my head was up taking in the views.
Those first few miles fairly flew by, and bar a short diversion where I missed a turning and everyone behind followed me, it wasn’t long before the first checkpoint at Lyscombe hove into view. This is the real beauty of these LDWA events, I’d never in a million years have found this idyllic little spot with its 12th century chapel and ruined cottages. But the local knowledge of the organisers had ensured its inclusion for today’s route and all of the LDWA events which I’ve been to have done a fabulous job of showcasing the hidden gems in their locality, which makes travelling just that little bit further than I normally would worthwhile.
I can’t stand around sightseeing all day though, there’s still a lot of miles to cover before the day is done and it’s straight back up hill as the route climbs back out from the shelter of the valley.
Steep sided valleys, with picturesque villages sheltering from the wind and weather at the bottom provide a welcome distraction from the miles ahead. The long steep climbs are rewarded by outstanding views across miles of countryside from the high points. Sheep, some with lambs in tow graze on the grassland as they have since man first tamed this wild countryside, shaping the terrain and vegetation with their endless grazing. Crystal clear streams transport rainwater from the hill tops on its way to the sea. Bird song fills the wooded areas where Catkins adorn the trees and signs of new life are starting to burst from the undergrowth. Yet the winds still got an icy edge to it when it catches you on the hilltops, or as it whistles down the valleys, reminding us that winters not quite done with us yet. Taking no notice of that chilly wind, Skylarks sing from the grassland, competing with the sound of farmers going about their business, ploughing, seeding, and checking on their sheep, making ready for the start of another productive year. And slowly the miles tick down. Proof of passage in the form of a self-administered clip mark on my route card at Binghams Melcombe. The marker hanging neatly from the post-box as the route sheet said it would, accompanied by a polite note informing the inquisitive of its purpose and requesting it remain in place to be collected at days end by the tail marker. And then onwards to the next stop at Buckland Newton. And what a stop it is, the lovely volunteers have outdone themselves. Trestle tables groan under the weight of homemade sandwiches and delicious cakes, whilst a friendly voice asks if they can get you anything, water, tea, squash, cake, biscuits, nothing is too much trouble, and it’s with a heavy heart and full stomach that I have to tear myself away from this little haven of British hospitality and generosity, to push on.
Moving on as the morning turns towards afternoon, the sun continues to shine slowly burning my exposed head, and all remains good in the world. Despite the mounting miles my knees seem to be holding up, and I feel like I’m still moving fairly well. In fact, I must be doing OK as when we re-join the 20-mile route I’m steadily catching and slowly passing those in front that have taken the shorter of the day’s options.
Slowly the miles tick down until I approach the final checkpoint at Sydling St Nicholas where the GPS route that I’ve been following takes me away from the quiet stretch of road that had been leading the way into town and onto a footpath beside a stream, which then becomes a dead end. At which point my GPS indicates that I’m off route? Retracing my steps, whilst looking confusingly at the little screen, I come across the two runners who were just behind, who are also looking confusedly at various GPS implements. Retracing our steps back to the road it looks like the road will take us to the next checkpoint anyway, so we set off that way. A few minutes lost, but that’s not a major problem in the big scheme of things, and a nice lady, busy tending her front garden, soon confirms that the village hall we are aiming for is indeed just down the road, so we push slowly on to the final checkpoint and another warm welcome. Cards scanned and clipped, confirming attendance and proof of passage, I refill my water bottle, grab a slice of cake from the delightful spread and a handful of salty crisps and push on, devouring my tasty treats as I work my way back up the next climb, as the guys I’d arrived at the checkpoint with slowly extended their lead as they pull away up the hill.
It shouldn’t be much further now and that’s confirmed as I slog up another steep incline with rapidly tiring legs and come up behind a smartly dressed gentleman, complete with Tyrolean hat and walking poles out making the most of the spring sunshine. Slowing my ascent to say “good afternoon”, he enquires after my destination and then informs me that it’s almost all downhill from here.
It’s with a lightened heart at that bit of good news that I bid him farewell and push on, ready to enjoy those last few miles of glorious downhill which he’s promised me. 20 minutes and 2 miles later and I’m still slogging uphill. Granted it’s not that steep, but with 28 miles in my legs it’s hard work. Why - oh – why did I believe that nice gentleman with his promise of it being all downhill! There’s even a great big aerial which I can see at the top signifying that the next turning point must be the highest point around! Eventually, I arrive at the top and instantly start the promised descent. This isn’t much better through as my tired leg muscles scream in protest at having to try and slow my descent down the steep slope and my feet struggle for grip on the greasy, muddy, slippery, surface.
One more small climb, and then around the next corner, confirmation that the ends not far away, as the Cerne Giant, looking resplendent in the sunshine, fills the view, with the village of Cerne Abbas and the days final destination nestled in the valley off to the Right hand side.
And that’s it, another mile and the days done. I’m back at the start with 31.8 miles covered in 6 hours and 15 minutes, to a warm welcome, a plate of delicious bean stew and a bowl of rice pudding. As far as I’m concerned you can keep you medals, commemorative T shirts, route marked courses and goody bags. I’ll take a beautiful route, a warm welcome, a slice of home-made cake and a bowl of rice pudding any day thank you. There’s no doubt about it the LDWA certainly know how to put on an event, and I can’t wait to come back and do this one again!
And just before I go, it was "The Emmas" birthday last week. Can you guess how old she is?
I’m going to have to start this week with a bit of an apology regarding the recent lack of pictures, which unfortunately doesn’t get any better this week, so if your just here for the pictures and the stunning scenery, then you’re going to be sorely disappointed again.
It’s not that I haven't seen anything worth taking pictures of, in fact exactly the opposite is true. This weekend alone (more of which later) there’s been snow capped hillsides, new born lambs, stunning sunrises and icy lanes, it’s just that my activities haven’t really been conducive to stopping for photos. Last weekend I was allegedly running a race (in the loosest possible terms) and whilst I do often stop mid run, we’ve had all the views from the The Steyning Stinger before, so there didn't seem to be much point. This weekend and the one before Steyning, I’ve been Audaxing, and whilst in the summer stopping for 2 seconds to whip the camera out isn’t an issue, it’s a different matter in the winter. In the winter it’s a case of trying to find a safe spot to stop that’s not going to get me run over, or end up knee deep in a muddy puddle, then wriggle out of 2 pairs of gloves, then undo the multiple layers of clothing and ferret around trying to find my phone. Then repeating the entire process in reverse before I can get moving again. And that’s a lot of messing around for a picture I probably won’t even use! So, I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept my apologies and bear with me on the pictures front until the weather warms up a bit and I can start shedding layers of clothing, or my cycling and running becomes a bit less organised and more freestyle, when it’s easier to time my stops for the views.
Anyway, enough of the apologies, let’s get onto the important stuff and the highlight of this weekend, The Dean 300Km Audax. Yes, that’s right, 300Km of bicycling fun in what was probably the most rubbish weekend weather so far this year, and there's been some pretty stiff competition for that award already, check out some of January's cycling tales if you don’t believe me!
So, The Dean. An early season, bare bones, no frills, Audax stalwart. Starting and finishing in the dark from a non-descript car park in Oxford. From where the route heads out through the Cotswolds to Stow-on-the-Wold, and Newent, before turning South through the Forest of Dean to Chepstow, where we cross the Severn Bridge, before heading back home for tea and medals via Malmesbury, Marlborough and Membury. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that the weather last week wasn’t brilliant with snow and plenty of rain, and the forecast for Saturday didn’t look too clever either with freezing overnight temperatures, to be followed by a strengthening wind and rain or sleet in the afternoon. Proper cycling weather as I referred to it as midweek, or ‘the type of weather that only an idiot would go out in’ as ‘The Emma’ more succinctly put it! As I’ve said before though, if I only ‘played out’ when it was sunny and nice, then I’d never get to ‘play out’. So, to that end I packed up the van Friday night and headed up to Oxford ready for an early alarm call on Saturday morning. And it was an early alarm call too, being an 05:30 start! Roused from my fitful slumbers at 04:15, it looked like at least the first part of the weather forecast was true as it was blinking freezing. Van heater on, kettle on, breakfast, drag myself out of bed and don as many layers as possible, and then venture out into the frozen, frosty world for the short ride down to the start. (Despite starting from a car park, as is often the case, it’s got height barriers, so the van doesn’t fit, which requires some pre planning for a lot of events). Despite the freezing temperatures and the early start there was still a fair few, hardy, like minded lunatics milling around and making ready as I got to the start location and collected my Brevet card. Just time to have one final kit check and load the first part of the route onto my GPS, and then we were off, or more accurately, me and a couple of others were off, whilst everyone else finished faffing around and getting organised, before setting off to join us as we headed out into the dark.
From the off I had a choice to make, either follow the planned route through picturesque, yet possibly icy, country lanes, or take the less appealing, yet gritted and maintained A44 to Stow-on-the-Wold. With the temperature being well below freezing and there being a high likelihood of ice due to the recent snow and rain leaving the roads wet, taking my chances with the traffic on the A44 won the day. An option that proved safe, quiet and ice free at that time in the morning, and one that I’m surprised few others seemed to follow.
I had expected some of those behind me as we left the start to follow on, or at least call me back to tell me I was going the wrong way, but no, it appeared not, and I was on my own. Chatting to some of the other riders at the first checkpoint it appears that they had encountered a fair few slippery points on the approved route, so it seems that unusually I made a good decision there, and one that added very little to the day's mileage tally. The rapidly lengthening days meant that I didn’t have to suffer the darkness for long, and within minutes of the start I was cheered to see a beautiful sunrise behind me slowly turning the sky from black through a multitude of pastel colors as the first flush of day announced its welcome. Unfortunately, the sun never really had a chance to work its magic on the cold temperature, as It clouded over soon after dawn, leaving a cold and overcast morning, but even that was better than what was to come later in the day. A quick stop in Stow provided the required ‘proof of passage’ receipt, and then onwards through the stiff Cotswolds climbs and descents, to the flatter ground in Gloucestershire and the next destination at Newent. Making good time I didn’t hang around in Newent, planning to push on through the Forest of Dean and have a lunch stop in Chepstow. A few flat miles soon gave way to some long, hard climbing, including a real leg tester as we made our way through Bream and up towards St Briavels. The stunning views, the woodland alive with the sound of birdsong, and the lovely, almost traffic free route more than made up for the efforts though, and by 13:00 I was in Chepstow, tucking into a supermarket sandwich with 90 miles completed. Coming out of Chepstow to head back into England proper required a slight diversion to use the South side of the Severn Bridge, the North being closed for maintenance. A routing which exposed us to the full force of the ice-cold wind which was now screaming up the Bristol channel, making the bridge crossing an unusually unpleasant and hard experience. Heading Eastwards the wind continued to play havoc with my average pace and morale as the afternoon continued, and when, shortly after the long hard climb up to the Somerset Monument, the rain joined in the fun, the suffering really started, making every mile gained a hard slog. Stopping in Malmesbury for the required receipt, I treated myself to a couple of Hot Cross Buns as a bit of a morale booster and some much needed calories, before pushing on into the icy rain heading for Marlborough. The steep climbs between Wootton Bassett and Marlborough in the wet conditions did little for my waning morale, with even the long fast descent into Marlborough being a miserable experience as the wind drove the ice cold rain into my face, each raindrop stinging my exposed skin and soaking into any exposed clothing. On more than one occasion I tried to deal with the Devil, imploring him to take the miserable rain away in exchange for my soul, but it appears that he has little interest in my soul and the suffering continued! I’ll happily admit that by the time I arrived in Marlborough I wasn’t having much fun and with the returning darkness so the temperature started to drop (it wasn’t exactly high to start with mind you). Stopping to sort my head torch out, I donned my waterproof trousers for some much-needed warmth and turned my hat around, moving the wet bit to the back in an attempt to cure the ‘ice cream headache’ the wind chill was giving me. Warmer, yet just as wet, I pushed on into the darkness. If I could have quit in Marlborough I probably would have, but I’d still have had to get back to Oxford, and bikes probably the quickest way, so push on it had to be. Slogging up a climb on a narrow road, in the dark and rain, between Marlborough and Hungerford my worst fears became reality. H’mmm the back of the bike seems a bit more bouncy than normal, H’mm that bump seemed a bit harder than normal. Nooooooooo! Puncture! With no other option I dismounted and pushed up the narrow road, searching for a space to get off the road before a car came tearing up behind me in the dark and really ruined my day. Within a few meters a muddy track into the woodland which edged the road provided just enough space to take refuge in, and I was able to spread my worldly possessions in the mud and whip the wet, oily, dirty, wheel out to change the inner tube. Working by the beam of my head torch I couldn’t find any reason for the puncture and with wet (and now muddy) hands I set about removing the tyre. With the tyre off I removed my gloves and had a good feel round the inside but was still unable to find any culprit for the puncture. Assuming that whatever had caused my misfortune was no longer present I fitted a new tube and started pumping it back up again, only to be met by the sound of escaping air yet again. Luckily, this time I could see bubbles forming on the wet tyre where the leak was and identify a tiny, razor-sharp, sliver of black flint firmly embedded in the black tyre! Flint removed, inner tube replaced again and this time it held pressure. (I only carry two spare tubes, so if this didn’t work it could be game over. And whilst I always carry a puncture repair kit, getting the patches to stick to a wet inner tube is never guaranteed to work). Strangely, getting back on the road after my little setback things didn’t seem quite as bad as they had before. I think that groveling around in the mud had stretched some of my tired muscles and the short break off the bike seemed to work wonders for my morale. While I’d been faffing around in the dark a number of other riders had passed too, each checking that I was Ok as they passed, for which I’m extremely grateful. Some of whom I could now occasionally see in the distance, their red lights blinking cheerfully in the darkness, reminding me that I wasn’t the only one out on such a miserable night. Pulling into the motorway services at Membury for the day's final control there were quite a few other riders, each equally as wet and cold as I was, but each making ready to head back out for the final 30 miles to take us back to the warmth and safety of home, further reinforcing the point that there were plenty of others out in the darkness too. Those last few miles were actually quite pleasant. The rain had eased off to a light drizzle and with the evening drawing to an end the flatter roads after Lambourn were quiet, making it easy to avoid the potholes and puddles without fear of being knocked down and helping to bring the average speed up a bit too. Plodding on through the darkness the overwhelming fatigue of a long day continued to build, and I again started to wonder how much longer I could keep going for. Eventually though, as 23:00 approached the lights of Oxford, and my final destination hove into view. One final Proof of Passage receipt from the 24-hour services and 17 hours and 20 minutes and 197 miles (317 Km) after setting off my day was done! And done in more ways than one too. I’ll happily admit that this one took me to places, both mentally and physically, that I didn’t want to go too. The cold wind and rain wore relentlessly at my morale, whilst the never-ending hills sapped my strength and left me crawling along at what felt like a snail’s pace (a situation probably not helped by having run 62 miles and ridden another 120 in the previous 6 days). But I got through it, and I got back to the van, had a sit down and warm up, a brew and something to eat and wondered what all the fuss had been about. It wasn’t any harder than normal, it was just that the conditions weren’t ideal. But you know what, I persevered and I won, and next time it’s all getting a bit difficult I’ll be able to look back on this one and say, ‘well it can't be worse than that day and I got through that’. There’s no doubt about it ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ and every time I go out there, I learn a little bit more about myself and I get a little bit stronger.
PostScript.
Proof reading this before posting it a couple of days after I wrote it, it seems a bit me centric. But that couldn't be further from the point. I wasn’t the only one out there in the rain and I’m certain that I wasn’t the only one that found it tough going. In fact, I can almost guarantee that if I was struggling then everyone else was too. Reading it back it sounds like a bit of a slog fest, but that’s not the case either. Even in Saturday's rubbish conditions the route stood out. Great roads, great scenery, The Cotswolds, The Forest of Dean, Two white horse carvings, the snow capped Black Mountains in the distance, snow through the Cotswolds, The Severn Bridge, and so the list goes on. In fact, it’s a brilliant route through a lovely bit of the country and one that's firmly at the top of my list for a revisit come the warmer, drier, months! And Chapeau to all those that battled and overcame Saturday’s testing conditions too.
Another week gone and another step closer to spring, not that it feels like it this week, but we must be getting closer as there’s lots of Daffodils in full bloom and I notice that the Roses and Clematis in the garden have got fresh growth on them, so it must be getting warmer, even if were having a bit of a relapse this week.
The days are drawing out too. It’s just about light when I set off on my daily commute to work now and it’s still light gone 18:00 which means there’s a bit more time for getting out and about and sorting out all those jobs at home that I’ve been avoiding all winter. Having mentioned it last week, I finally got my seed order for the allotment and gardens in last week too, which arrived at the start of the week. I’m starting to think that I might have overdone it a bit though. It all looks so tempting when you’re flicking through seed catalogues on a dull winters evening and there’s so much promise in all those little packets. I’ll give it another week or so for the current cold snap to end and then it’ll be time to start getting the greenhouse ready and sowing seeds. I really can’t wait!
All that’s to come yet though, so more importantly what have I been up to this weekend? Well, for starters you’ll be pleased to know that the little Bangernomics Peugeot passed its MOT with flying colours, which makes the bit of work I did on the brakes worthwhile. On the downside, the possible head gasket leak that I’ve been monitoring for a while looks like a definite case and will need some attention in the very near future.
When I mentioned it to “The Emma” the other day she said, “That’ll give you a nice little project to think about then” and I suppose she’s right. I don’t like making work for the fun of it, but I do like something to get my teeth into and even more so if it makes me think a bit. Hopefully it’ll limp on until the weather warms up a bit but watch this space for a bit more car tinkering at some point in the future! Sunday saw my now annual outing to the Steyning Stinger, a cheeky little marathon length romp up onto the South Downs, by way of a couple of cheeky little climbs, and to that end I loaded up the van on Friday evening and set off into the unknown, planning on a bit of cycling Saturday morning and a quick visit to “Kathryn Stinks” for tea on Saturday evening before the running fun on Sunday. With Saturday dawning overcast and cold, but dry, I managed to get in a few miles (67 to be precise) to add to the years tally. Nothing special, or overly taxing, but it was a nice little route along quiet county lanes, all of which were well adorned with Catkins dangling magnificently from the roadside Hazels, and the odd spattering of wild daffodils and Snowdrops all standing proud against the chilly wind. Sunday looked even better weather wise and after a quiet night I was up bright and early, ready for an 07:30 Marathon start. As I mentioned earlier, this is a run that I’ve done a couple of times now (2020, 2022) and I’m pretty sure that this is the best weather I’ve had so far. Previous years it’s been windy or misty, or both, but this year was just about ideal running conditions, and a distinct lack of mud, making for some predictably fast times (not from me though!). It’s a lovely route too, despite those couple of ferocious ascents to get up onto the South Downs ridge line, the views from the top more than make up for the effort of getting up there though!
Unfortunately, I haven’t got much to say about the actual run, which is probably a good thing. Taking it slow and steady I didn’t push particularly hard and must admit that I probably enjoyed myself more than those previous times.
The slightly slower pace left time to take in the views and enjoy the running, instead of constantly clock watching and fretting about the odd lost second here and there. And with it being pretty much ideal conditions, I know that I can’t compete with the fast guys (especially not having put 60 miles into my legs yesterday on top of a full week’s training) so why punish myself for a fast time? There’s a time and a place for that lark and this wasn’t it. That’s not to say that I spent the morning dawdling along. Somehow, I still managed to cross the line in 4:03, which considering the terrain, is a time that I’m more than happy with. Yes, it’s not the fastest I’ve ever run, in fact I’ve done the same route 20 minutes faster previously, but as I said before, I certainly enjoyed this year’s more than those fast ones. And to top it all off, the customary cooked breakfast at the end tasted just as good! It seems to have been an awfully long time since I last mentioned bicycling and that's because it is. In fact I suspect that I've done less miles this month than I have for a long time. It's not that I've not wanted to go playing out, it's just that other things have taken a priority, a situation that's not been helped by February being a short month. The first weekend I had my “Bob the Builder” hat on helping “Kathryn Stinks” with her bathroom, then “The Lurgy” got me and playing bikes was the last thing on my mind, and then last weekend, well I still wasn't 100% and the allotment was in need of some attention before we get back into the growing season, so I didn't get any miles in then either. I suppose then that it's about time that I did something about that lack of miles, and that something started mid week when I had to divert from my normal place of work for a meeting. Now I could have just gone by car, but where's the fun in that, and the fact that my meeting didn't start until 10:00 made the idea of going by bike even more attractive. The question that no one's asked yet though is, where was your meeting? Well, now you've asked it was at Benson, which just happens to be 35 miles from home, and not only is it 35 miles away, it's up a bloody great big hill too! 35 miles is however only 2 and a half hours of leisurely cycling, which meant that to be there for 10:00 I wouldn't even need to get up any earlier than I normally do. Result! So, whilst all my colleagues drove and spent the first 20 minutes complaining about the traffic and bemoaning the 60 pence toll to cross the Thames at Pangbourne. I went by bike, and arrived refreshed, happy and invigorated. Granted I got a bit damp on the way there and got a puncture too, courtesy of a bit of sharp flint, but neither of those things are a problem, and more importantly I added another 70 miles to the years total and had a great time in doing so. Not a bad start to the week then, and all in works time too! Whilst I was messing about playing bikes in works time I had another of my brilliant ideas too. As you'll see in a minute, the main aim this weekend was the Wylye and Ebble Valley Audax on Sunday, which would normally mean getting in some running miles on Saturday. But, in one of my moments of stupidity I thought, why not get a long run in Friday afternoon instead, leaving Saturday free to catch up on an bit of bike maintenance and a few other jobs. Now, I've played this game before and it's rather hard going, but by combining a run into work with a few miles along the canal in the afternoon, followed by getting the train back home from wherever I end up, it's pretty easy to rack up some good miles. So that's exactly what I did. I dragged myself out of bed early on Friday morning, donned my running kit and head torch and set off for the second time that week for work. I've bored you about my work commute before, so there's no point going over that again. But, 10 miles on a cold and frosty morning, leaving home in the dark and running towards the rising sun is always a treat, and even more so now the mornings are starting to draw out and I get to work in the daylight. Brilliant. A bit of a stretch off and a second breakfast and I'm still sat at my desk ready for work before my colleagues get in, not a bad way to start the day by any stretch of the imagination. A few hours at work and having wrapped up everything I need to do, I'm free to escape for the second part of the days adventure. Running gear back on, laptop closed down for the weekend, phone on silent and it's only 2 miles back down the road to pick the Basingstoke Canal back up at Colt Hill Wharf (Odiham), from where I set off bound for Fleet and hopefully beyond. The big positive in following the canal, apart from its dead flat, well surfaced and remarkably pretty, is that the railway line follows the same route, so there's a station every few miles, which means I can just run until I've had enough and then jump on the train to get back home again. Perfect! I'll admit that it wasn't the nicest of afternoons, being overcast with a couple of heavy showers, but the canal was it's normal beautiful self. It's not a busy stretch of water being a dead end, but there were a couple of maintenance boats plodding up and down, the odd Kayaker and Stand Up Paddle Boarder on the water and plenty of wildlife to keep me distracted. The miles passed easily on the flat, smooth surface and within a couple of hours I'd reached the 11 mile point where there's a handy shop. A bottle of water and a pastry for sustenance and I pushed on for another few miles until I reached Ash where the train station brushes the canal side and provides a handy stopping point. Not only is it a handy point for getting the train home but it works well on the mileage front too, being bang on 16 miles from work, which took the days total to 26 miles. An hours monkeying around waiting for trains and a short walk back from the station and I was back home just as “The Emma” was getting up following a night shift and putting the kettle on. Hows that for perfect timing!
And that little lot brings us nicely on to the weekends main event, the Wylye and Ebble Valley 200Km Audax and a timely reminder that I do indeed know how to ride my bike further than a couple of miles, although judging by Sundays performance, some more practice is definitely in order.
As per usual I took the van down to Denmead on Saturday evening after dropping “The Emma” off at the train station on-route to a leaving party for one of her work colleagues and had a quiet and uneventful night. Sunday morning dawned with a fairly considerable overnight temperature drop and a light frost, which the van heater soon dissipated whilst I sat in bed and had a pre breakfast brew, and by the time I ventured out ready for the days start the sun was shining down from a cloudless sky on a crisp and chilly morning. The lighter mornings made for a very agreeable 07:30 start to the days proceedings and it was nice to be actually starting a ride (and likely to finish it) in daylight for the first time in what seems like ages. Brevet card collected and after the normal stand and stare at each other until some brave soul sets off and everyone else follows we were on our way at bang on 07:30, heading for Winchester via a few lumpy miles through the South Downs National Park. Pretty lumpy those first few miles were too, which set the theme for the day, nothing too steep or long, just endless ups and downs as we made our way through the rolling countryside with the early morning sun slowly burning the frost from the fields and hedgerows and the early morning traffic giving us a wide berth as the early large group of riders slowly broke up as we each settled into our own rhythm and pace. The long steady climb up through the outskirts of Winchester, coupled with the low winter sun soon ensured I’d warmed up nicely and I paused briefly at the top of the climb to shed a few layers, which obviously meant that I was cold again as soon as I set off, but it’s often better (and more pleasant) to be a touch on the chilly side than sweating your bits off! Anyway, I wasn’t going to be cold for long as the rolling terrain continued as I made my way towards the first stop of the day at Cholderton Rare Breeds Farm via Stockbridge. With just over 40 miles done Cholderton seemed like an ideal place to grab a cup of tea along with the required proof of passage stamp and I joined the short queue of fellow cyclists who had arrived shortly before me. 10 minutes later I’d moved one place further down the queue whilst those in front ordered weird and wonderful coffee’s, at which point I gave up, stamped my own card and moved on. I’m not normally impatient but all I want is some hot water with a tea bag in it, not the moon on a stick!
Pushing on, the rolling terrain continued as I made my way along familiar roads to the North of Salisbury before picking up the flatter and faster stretch of road that runs alongside the River Wylye. At Wylye itself we turned left to head out of the valley and that’s where the climbing really seemed to start for the day. Some nice railway workers, busy replacing a level crossing, took pity on me and allowed me through their worksite instead of following the signed diversion but I soon started to wish that maybe they hadn’t as the road climbed endlessly steeply upwards.
Lowest gear and keep spinning the pedals, it’ll be worth the effort for the view from the top! Slowly and surely the top arrived, to be followed instantly by a steep descent, and another climb, and another steep descent, and, well I’m sure you get the idea. The next few miles were a bit of a slog as I made my way through the pretty sounding and beautiful villages of Dinton, Bowerchalke and Sixpenny Handley, before eventually arriving, tired, hot and sweaty at the next control at Cranborne garden centre where a much needed brew and slice of amazing cake provided the opportunity to rest sore muscles for a few minutes and some much needed sustenance. With mixed emotions I left Cranbourne and headed towards the New Forest. Mixed emotions because I knew what was still to come, a real slog of a climb, with associated headwind on the way out of Fordingbridge across open moorland, but at the same time, open views, wild ponies, well surfaced roads and the beauty of both the open areas and quiet forested roads. If it was easy everyone would be doing it, but the last leg was a real struggle, both mentally and physically as I pushed slowly back towards the start. The headwind across the endless uphill slog from Fordingbridge towards Bramshaw was as tiring as expected, but on the same hand the endless views across the open moor’s were as picturesque as I remembered from my last excursion into this area. The roads through the forest were as undulating as I remembered, but the wild ponies and cattle which inhabit this area provided more than enough of a diversion for my tired mind and legs. Leaving the New Forest behind it became a case of mind over matter as the route endlessly rolled along for the final miles. Never steep enough to cause major problems, but at the same time never flat enough for easy miles. By 16:00 with the afternoon drawing on the temperature had dropped significantly, and I paused my progress to put back on those layers that I had shed earlier in the day and grab a sandwich from my saddle bag. Layers which were still damp and clammy from the morning’s exertions, which initially did little to warm me back up. A situation which was soon remedied once I got moving again. Warm and revived by that sandwich (and maybe a chocolate bar too) it was just a case of pushing out those final few miles back to the finish. Miles which came slowly and required more effort than they should have on tired legs. But miles which none the less were eventually dispatched, and as hoped for I got back to the van before darkness descended. 129 miles to add to the years tally in pretty much exactly 10 hours. I’ll happily admit though that it was a hard day out, significantly harder than I thought it should have been. The endless ups and downs played havoc with my mind, the steep climbs sapped the strength from my legs and the cold wind drained my spirit through the New Forest. But, I’m not complaining as I still had a great day out, and it’s a route that I’ll happily come back and do again, although maybe I’ll wait until it warms up a bit first!
Hopefully you will all be pleased to know that I’ve survived my brush with death courtesy of the "Lurgy" last week and I’m still alive. OK, so I exaggerate a bit, but I’m not ill very often, so I’m not very good at it, plus I’m a man so even a sniffle puts me at deaths door.
I’ll admit that it did take the wind out of my sails though, and I had to have a couple of days off work at the start of last week. When I did go back in on Wednesday I still didn’t feel strong enough to cycle in, so I drove, neatly spoiling my run of cycling or running to work every day for nearly 2 years! By Thursday I was back on the bike though and I even managed a short run Friday lunchtime in addition to cycling into work and back, so I must have been feeling better. Saturday I had planned on getting out for a few bike miles in the morning, but having listened to the wind howling round the house for most of the night and been greeted by some pretty ferocious wind when I got up, I decided that maybe I needed another recovery day to fully get over my weakened state. So I went to the allotment instead, where I spent most of the day pottering around cutting back the hedge that borders my plot and generally tidying up. Whilst it might not have been the most productive of days they were all jobs which needed doing and it puts me one step closer to being ready for the start of the new growing season in a few weeks’ time (which reminds me that I must get my backside in gear and get my seed order in). With the forecast looking significantly better for Sunday, I decided that I was going to have to make better use of my time, and with the small matter of the missed Punchbowl Marathon and my ongoing Marathon a Month attempt to keep on top of I decided that I’d head down that way and see how well recovered I actually was and look at getting in some proper miles. To that end I headed down to Elstead after tea on Saturday night for a cosy night in the van, ready for an early start on Sunday morning, the plan being to make the most of the promised weather and run what I could of the Punchbowl Marathon route, all be it a week late!
Sunday dawned bright and dry with no real wind and I was out picking up the planned route just before 08:00. With our friends at the LDWA keeping things fresh and interesting there had been a few route changes since last years event and after crossing the River Wey for the first time as I left Elstead there was plenty to keep me occupied as I made my way anti clockwise around the route heading towards Tilford.
Although I wasn’t feeling particularly strong, the sun was shining brightly from a near cloudless sky, the day was warm and still and with the birds singing, the snowdrops brightening the banks and hedgerows, and the squirrels searching for their cached supplies in the sandy soil alongside the route I was having a great morning and making steady, if slow, progress.
Plodding steadily on in the early morning sun I soon reached the 10 mile mark, signifying a 1/3rd of the days planned distance, but I wasn’t feeling as strong as I should have at this point and it was becoming clear, even at this early stage, that I wasn’t likely to be able to run the full distance.
A chocolate bar and brief pause just outside of Tilford whilst I investigated a small cave and some Second World War gun emplacements helped and provided a welcome distraction, but my mind was already considering my options, and as we've seen plenty of times before, when the mental game is lost then so is the day! Tilford came and went, along with the 13 mile mark for the day, and whilst slowing I was still running, all be it slowly, but my mind and body just wasn’t in it. I was still tired and lethargic from my recent brush with sickness and maybe I was trying to do too much too soon. But, most importantly, the sun was still shining and I was still enjoying myself. Reconsidering my options, I came to an agreement with myself that if I could carry on running to Frensham Common with it’s pretty ponds and sailing boats at the 16 mile mark, then I’d slow down and just walk the remainder. Granted it would be a long walk, but it was a nice day and as I said above, I was still enjoying myself.
Arriving at Frensham Common I knew the game was up for the day! My mind had fully bought into the idea of plan B and there was no point in trying to convince it otherwise. Slowing to a walk I spent a few minutes watching the boats on the clear blue water and getting some calories on board, before pulling on my jacket and long trousers which I’d sensibly packed for just such an occasion and heading off again at walking pace.
Walking alongside the pond as I made my way steadily onwards it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I pushed on with a newfound spring in my step. With no requirement to watch my footing quite so closely and the navigation easier at walking pace there was more time to look around. With my head up and jacket undone enjoying the warmth of the day, I started noticing the little things that you miss, or certainly pay no attention to, when your running. The old couple with a full loaf of bread feeding the ducks next to the large sign saying “Don’t feed the ducks bread it’s bad for them”, the young couple walking slowly hand in hand in the winter sun, the families out for a Sunday morning stroll, dogs and kids in tow, building up an appetite for Sunday lunch in a local hostilely, the birds signing from the tree tops, last summer’s leaves, now discarded by the trees, crunching underfoot as you progress and the thousand and one other things that your aware of, but pay no notice to when you pushing on. Plodding slowly on I stopped briefly at the 20-mile mark and sat on a fallen tree eating a sandwich from my pack. Not the traditional eat on the move approach of the marathon runner, but the slower, more thoughtful approach of the long-distance walker. Why eat on the move when you can stop, take the weight off your feet for a few minutes and take in the glory that surrounds you. I’m no longer chasing the clock or trying to convince my mind and body to keep going, I’m just enjoying being outside in the sunshine!
As I progressed the miles came slowly at walking pace, and as I stood atop Kettlebury Hilll, looking over the MOD training area where some Army manoeuvres were in full swing, I again considered my options. There was an ideal point coming up to cut a few miles out of the planned route and avoid the stiff climb up to The Devils Punchbowl. It’s a part of the route I’ve covered plenty of times before, and did I really need the extra miles of walking? No, I think not!
Decision made then, I diverted off the planned route and picked up a road section for half a mile or so, effectively cutting 4 miles off the day’s total. Sometimes I feel bad about changing my plans, it doesn't always seem to sit right in my mind, but at the same time, sometimes, adapting allows me to still have a good day out without hurting myself or suffering unnecessarily and at the end of the day, it’s all about having fun, not punishing yourself for a change of plan or a failure! My little diversion worked a treat too. As I covered the final couple of miles back to the van, I watched the distance slowly increase on my watch until it ticked over the 26 mile mark as I came down the final hill. If that wasn’t meant to be then I don’t know what was! 26 Miles in just over 6 hours than. Incredibly slow by my normal standards, but most importantly I’d had a good day, my legs still felt good, and I’d still enjoyed myself, walk or not. I can’t win every run I go out on and sometimes, acknowledging that it’s not a good day and changing your plans is the best thing to do. Give it a few more days and I’ll feel better, I’ll feel stronger and at some point, I’ll come back and run the full distance, but for today, I’m happy with that, and in my book that's all that matters!
Before I start this week, you might have picked up on a bit of a theme running through the last few weeks blog posts. That theme being the fact that it's been a bit damp recently. You might also recall that I commented a few weeks ago about the bucket that's in the garden that was half full of rain.
Well, you'll all be pleased to know that when I looked on Saturday morning it was no longer half full, it was fully full. Now, I mentioned the other week that I know for a fact that the bucket in question was empty on the 17th December, because I used it to wash my bike and emptied it out afterwards. So from that I can confidently deduce that we have had at least 8 1/2 inches of rain in the last 28 days, most of which is in my shoes!
Now I’ve finished moaning about the weather. Sunday saw a return to muddy running fun in the form of The Winter Tanners. A 30 mile circular route from Leatherhead taking in some of the highlights of the Surrey Hills and surrounding environs. Organised, (superbly as always) by our friends at the LDWA.
The real joy of The Winter Tanners, apart from the fact its running and when is that not fun, is that it takes a different route every year, so it’s always new and exciting, and as such I’d been looking forward to this one for a while. Luckily, the weather forecast for Sunday appeared to show that we might be getting a break in the monsoon, before a colder spell next week, so I’d packed up the van Saturday afternoon, complete with options for just about every weather outcome I could think of, and set off for the start after tea, ready for an early night and an early(ish) start on Sunday morning. Obviously, the weather Gods look down favourably on the LDWA. As, just like last year, Sunday dawned dry but chilly. Having sensibly pre-empted just such a situation, chilly wasn’t going to be an issue and after a leisurely breakfast I headed down to the start, complete with multiple layers, Down jacket and some spare dry gloves and other assorted extra clothes, just in case. As the name suggests, LDWA events are set up for walkers, not us silly runners, and as such there’s no rush to get started. Like Audax, arrival times at the checkpoints are controlled (within a set time window) and as a runner it’s fairly easy to get ahead of the first control opening times if you’re not careful, which results in standing around getting cold whilst waiting for the checkpoint to open before you can get checked in. As such there’s no point departing too early, and there’s no point going hell for leather. It’s all about getting out in the open air, enjoying the day and taking in the majesty of what are always amazingly scenic routes. Today was not exception, and I set off at 08:30, still dressed for the arctic, complete with Down jacket, gloves, arm warmers, hat, scarf and kitchen sink, planning on having a steady plod and leisurely day.
A few easy miles in the early morning sunshine alongside the flooded River Mole, gave me a chance to warm up, and within a couple of miles I was stopped removing my jacket and rearranging my layers for some more sensible running attire. An idea which soon proved sensible, as within the next couple of miles things went sharply uphill as we crossed the A24 and started the ascent of Box hill.
Climbing steadily upwards along tracks familiar from The knacker Cracker the views over Dorking and the surrounding countryside slowly opened out as we crawled steadily skywards, both rewarding the effort and providing a justifiable excuse to pause for a while to both get your breath back and take in the view.
Don’t pause for too long though, the view might be magnificent but there’s still work to be done and what goes up must come back down again. So, over the top and start the long descent back down again. Reach the bottom via the unevenly spaced steps, cross the A25 and were on to flatter ground as we skirt around Brockham.
The flatter ground brings challenges of its own though, in the form of waterlogged and muddy paths. Slip Sliding along, we pass the traffic chaos caused by families trying to get parked for a children’s football tournament. Rather them than me and I’ll bet that there were a few Chelsea tractors stuck on the muddy field at the end of the day. Not my problem though, it’s shank’s pony for me today and I’m making steady progress as I continue on towards Checkpoint one, still trying to dodge the puddles and the worst of the muddy bits. A situation which won’t last much longer, but it’s nice to have dry feet whilst you can.
8.5 miles done and the first checkpoint appears. Present my card to the marshals to register my arrival and then refill my water bottle and grab a hot cross bun from the fine spread on offer, before heading back out again. Minimal stop time and push on. Just like on an Audax, stopping is where all the time gets lost. Grab and go, and sort yourself out once you’re moving again is the best and most efficient option in my opinion.
Any thoughts of dry feet were firmly dashed as soon as we departed checkpoint one. Gone are the nicely maintained, if muddy, paths, and were straight into flatter open countryside, hugging the hedge line of waterlogged fields, ankle deep in puddles and sticky, slippery, mud. I’ll admit that the next 9 miles was a bit of a slog, mile after mile of flat, muddy, waterlogged meadows and slippery, recently cultivated fields. It’s all part of the fun though, and you can’t have the high spots and stunning views without the transitional sections. Head down, concentrate on trying to place your feet and push on. With every step your feet sink ankle deep into the soft waterlogged earth and you have to pull them free again, the wet mud clinging to your shoes like icy fingers from below the surface, threatening to pull your shoes from your feet as you wrench them free, the cold muddy water seeping through your shoes and socks and puddling between your toes, before releasing its grip, allowing you to repeat the process with every step. Struggling for grip going uphill on the gentle inclines and struggling to stay on your feet as you slither down the other side again, it's like ice skating on mud, or a new born Giraffe trying to find its feet. Oh, what fun! I spent my childhood being told off for getting wet and muddy, now that there’s no one to tell me off and I’m doing it by choice, the novelty seems to have worn off a bit! Eventually though, legs caked in mud, muddy water squelching from soaked shoes and socks with every step, checkpoint 2 arrives and with it the friendly faces of the amazing volunteers who have given up their Sunday to provide a little bit of civilisation at the side of a barn in the middle of nowhere. Stop for a quick chat, refill my bottles, pick up a couple of salty crackers and rearrange my backpack for the next leg and then onwards before the cold starts to eat at my wet lower body and sweaty upper half.
Things get better for the next section as we make the turn to head back towards the start location.
Leaving behind the flatter waterlogged low laying areas we head back up hill. A mile or so of steady (and steep) climbing sees the top of Leith Hill with its familiar tower, dog walkers, mountain bikers, picnicking families and couples hoping for a romantic few minutes as they take in the stunning view towards the South Downs and the sea beyond. I’ve not seen a single person for the last few hours (apart from those running and walking alongside me) and now I know why, there all here queuing for a coffee from the little shop at the base of the tower. No time to join the Queue or take in the view today though, there’s a long slow descent to come as I head back towards the North Downs and the next checkpoint, the top of which is clearly visible off in the distance as I start to descend. It’s beautiful running this, gently downhill, along soft, sandy, well drained trails. The next few miles come easily despite tired legs, and I take the opportunity to get a few more calories on board as I plod along. Calories that are going to be desperately needed very soon, as I can see the North Downs with the steep climb that I know awaits, looming large ahead. All too soon that long climb arrives and with it some company, as we re-join the walkers on the 20-mile route who are themselves slowly plodding up the hill. Shared acknowledgment of the struggles and joys in hand are part of what makes these events special. It doesn’t even need a word on most occasions, just a shared glance as you pass like ships in the night, each enjoying the moment for what it is and each happy with their own thoughts, the joy of being outdoors on a fine winter’s day, and unspoken company.
Over the top again, through the final checkpoint and there’s only a few more miles of fairly easy running left now. Surprisingly, considering the distance and terrain already covered I’m still feeling pretty good. My slow start and steady pacing, have obviously paid dividends. Why can’t I do that when it really matters?
Those last few miles seem to pass in a blur and before I know it, I’m heading back into Leatherhead. The birdsong, peace and tranquillity of the open countryside, replaced by the noise of traffic as the “normal” people go about their Sunday afternoons. Muddy, wet, bedraggled, but happy, I pause at the roadside waiting for a gap in the traffic and when it finally comes cross, and gently jog the last few meters back to the start. 31 Miles in 6 hours and 7 minutes, not fast by any measure, but today wasn’t about times. It was about a beautiful route through some stunning countryside, it was about being outside in the fresh air and having a great time. And it more than lived up to that billing. There’s no better way to spend your weekend than with like minded people, all of whom are enjoying themselves and creating memories which will last a lifetime. Hopefully I’ve got plenty more running years ahead of me to keep on creating those memories, and all the time I can keep on running in the great outdoors I will, but when I’m too old and tired to run anymore? Well, I’ll just do what the LDWA was set up to do. I’ll walk!
In other news, I had a message from the person that has the allotment opposite mine one evening in the week, to say that all the sheds had been broken in to again. So I nipped up there in the rain, and yes indeed, some nice person had prised the lock off my shed door and all the others in our block.
It's not the first time and I'm sure that it wont be the last (it's actually at least the 4th time in the last 10 years) and for that reason the locks only held on with little screws and it's only a cheap padlock anyway. My thoughts being that if someone wants to get in to my shed then I'd rather they did it without doing any other damage, so the locks only a bit of lip service to a deterrent. Anyway, as with previous incursions, nothings missing from my shed (what does anyone think your going to have in an allotment shed that's worth nicking anyway?). But what's different this time, is the fact that whoever decided that our property should be theirs, came equipped for the job, as they've neatly cut through 2 layers of chain link fencing to get in. Why they thought that was necessary I've no idea, as they could have just climbed over the fence, but there you go. The council will eventually fix the fence, but don't hold your breath, so I've been up there this weekend and carried out a bit of a temporary repair using a pallet and some stakes from my side of the fence. It won't keep out the bolt cropper equipped idiot, but it might slow them down a bit. Oh, and I obviously don't want my pallet or stakes to get rotten, so it's had a liberal coating of old engine oil to preserve it too. I just hope no one tries to move it, because old engine oil is a right bugger to get out of your clothes!
And finally for this week, something completely different.
Last year, when my little run around Peugeot went for it's MOT, it had an advisory for uneven braking on the rear axle, and the tester said that although it was an advisory he had struggled to get a pass on it and it really needed looking at. Anyhow, being the conscientious person I am, I did indeed have a look at it, and replaced the brake shoes, hardware and cylinders and bled through all the old brake fluid. However, whilst I've done all that work, I never actually found anything wrong with it, so I've no idea if it's fixed or not. Which left me with a bit of a problem. Do I just put it in for it's MOT this year and hope my previous work fixed the issue? Or do I do a bit more investigation while I've got the time, and try to prove where the problem may be? Well, I decided that the latter is probably the best approach and the next logical step would be to see what brake pressure we are actually getting at the rear wheels. If both sides are the same we can happily say it's probably fixed, and if not then it's a brake shoe issue. But if they're not both the same then the problem still exists and its something else. The easiest way to confirm what brake pressure we've got is to fit a couple of gauges into the system. The only problem being, the cheapest set of test gauges I could find were £150 and I wasn't paying that for a one off job! So, thinking hat on. All I needed to do was get from the brake cylinder bleed screw fitting, to the test gauge fitting, one of which was an M8 male thread, and the other of which is a female 1/4" BSP. Nothings ever simple is it! After a bit of thinking (running provides plenty of thinking time), I sourced a couple of gauges and a selection of fittings for less than £30 and set too. Now, in the interest of transparency and just to prove that my ideas don't always work, my first idea was to drill out a bleed nipple to fit a bit of brake pipe, solder the two together and then join everything up from there. Which I did last week. However whilst this seemed to work, I wasn't very happy with the soldering, and wasn't convinced that it would hold the pressure required. So I jiggled together a bit of a test set up, and as predicted, the first version started weeping at 500 PSI, and the second one held at 1000 PSI, but I still wasn't happy!
With version one a bit of a non success, I had 2 options. Either carry on down the same route, but the next step would be to braze the fittings which should hold (have you seen the price of brazing rod and flux though), or make a solid adaptor.
So a couple of hours in the shed whilst it was tipping it down on Saturday morning, and;
So now all I need, is for it to stop raining for long enough to actually get under the car without getting soaked and we should be able to see what we've got brake pressure wise, and all for considerably less than the cost of the cheapest off the shelf version I could find anywhere.
Granted I've used thousands of pounds worth of tools to do so, but we'll just ignore that little fact! |
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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