I don’t want to tempt fate, but the sun is shining (although there’s a bitterly cold wind blowing) and everything outside is starting to look suspiciously green and verdant. Is this going to be the start of Spring or are we going to be back to the endless rain again next week?
Let's hope not, because I’ve really had enough of the wet, and I really need the allotment to start drying out so I can get some digging done. While I’m talking about digging, and the allotment, I managed to get up to the plot for a couple of hours on Sunday morning, and have finally managed to get the main season potatoes in the ground. Tradition states that you plant potatoes at Easter, but as Easter moves around, that seems like a bit of a stupid idea, and even more so when you consider that statistically it’s more likely to snow at Easter than Christmas. (I assume it stems from the fact that people had a day off at Easter which gave them time to do it). Either way, the ground was far too wet at Easter to even consider digging, although I did get some early spuds into big pots, and as a bit of an experiment buried some more in last year's compost pile to see what happens. But getting anything into the ground has had to wait until this weekend (which some years would have been Easter anyway. See I told you it’s a silly tradition). I note that the potatoes in the compost heap have already broken the surface, so we will see in a couple of months if they're any good, although I suspect not as I’m guessing that the slugs will get most of them. A few years ago I planted Pumpkins into the compost pile in a similar experiment and they did really well, so I think it’s worth a try and there’s nothing to lose except a couple of seed potatoes. The seeds in the greenhouse are all doing ok too. It’s surprising how much warmer it is in the greenhouse, sheltered from the wind and with all the glass radiating the sun's warmth. The summer bedding flowers that I pricked out into individual modules last weekend are starting to get established in their new homes and I’ve had to move the Sweet peas and most of the Cabbages, which are going great guns, into the cold frame to make space for other stuff. I’ve also sown French and Runner beans this week, which are now in the cold frame waiting for the sun to do its magic, and I think that that’s most of the early seeds sown for now. There’s still plenty of stuff to get sown directly into the soil once it warms up a bit, but for now, I think it’s time to get on with some digging, ready to start planting stuff out in the coming weeks.
Strangely, it’s been a quiet weekend on the running and cycling front too. Looking through all the events in the local area, there was nothing on either front for this weekend. I guess that the London Marathon is the focus of everyone's attention on the running front, but I don’t know why there’s no bicycling fun going on.
The fact that there’s no organised fun to get involved with doesn’t normally stop me though and this weekend has been no different. Last weekend I pushed my cycling commute home on Friday afternoon out to 60 miles, just to get a few more miles in, which worked quite well, so this weekend, with nothing else to do, I've taken that idea one step further and pushed it out to 170 miles (180 if you add in the ride in to work on Friday morning) with a night out in the hammock on Friday night to make it a bit more of an adventure. I sorted out what looked like a reasonable route one evening in the week, The plan being to head out straight from work on Friday afternoon. Before heading up to the edge of the Cotswolds, and then looping back to end up back at home on Saturday afternoon. So, to that end, I dug the camping gear back out from the loft where it’s been languishing, feeling lonely, since my little adventure at Easter and as soon as I could escape from work I was away. Friday afternoon, had a viscous, cold, wind, blowing that made for some really hard miles. With the predominant wind direction being South-Easterly, I thought that I’d get away with it, but for the first time in forever, the wind on Friday was somehow coming from the North-West, also known as straight in my face all afternoon! Not an ideal situation, but all character building stuff. Although if I’m honest, I think that my character has had enough building for the time being, and it would be nice if the wind and rain would take a break and the sun would just come out for a bit.
An afternoon of fighting to make progress against the wind saw me in Witney for tea time, where I treated myself to one of Lidl’s finest donuts as a reward for my efforts and spent a few minutes huddled out of the wind, trying to stay warm enough to enjoy it.
With a planned 170 miles for the two days I ideally needed 85 on the Friday to even the mileage out, and looking at the map as I munched on my doughnut, it seemed that 85 miles would see me somewhere between Burford and Northleach, which seemed achievable. As is often the case, as the afternoon turned towards evening the wind died away, and whilst the climbs between Witney and Burford were somewhat testing on tired legs, there was plenty to keep my mind occupied and distract me from the task in hand, as I passed through pretty little Cotswold villages with expansive views across the rolling countryside from the hill tops. By 19:00 I’d reached Burford and took the opportunity to pick up some water ready for the night and for my breakfast in the morning, as well as the obligatory bedtime cookie. (There’s no point in putting in all that effort if you can’t treat yourself once in a while is there?)
Pushing on from Burford with one eye open for potential overnight Bivvy spots I had a few really pleasant miles in the evening sun following the River Windrush as it made its way from its source to link up with the Thames at some point downstream.
Having discounted a couple of possible overnight spots, I finally found somewhere suitable to hang my hammock just as darkness was descending, and called it a day, with 87 miles on the clock (98 if you include the 11 in to work in the morning). Setting up for the night the skies were clear and the full moon provided plenty of light to see by. In fact it was such a beautiful evening that there didn’t seem to be much point in putting the Tarp up, and I settled into bed with a beautiful view of the night sky silhouetting the naked trees above with the stars shining through. Beautiful!
Less than an hour after settling down for the night I was rudely awakened by spots of rain falling onto my head and the wind whistling through the trees. The moon which had been so bright less than an hour ago was long gone, and I was getting wet!
Struggling back out of my warm sleeping bag I had a mad rush around in the dark to try and get the tarp set up before everything got soaked. Whilst the still strengthening wind tried its best to hamper proceedings by pulling things in every direction I didn’t want them to go in, and generally making a nuisance of itself. Finally back in bed again, I lay for a while listening to the wind in the trees and some Deer off in the distance calling to each other, before drifting back off to sleep. Now, I’m pretty sure that I didn’t dream it, but around midnight I awoke to the sound of footsteps on the road which was a few meters away. Between my arrival just after 20:00 and midnight there hadn't been a single vehicle passing down the road, but footsteps, that was strange. And not just any footsteps either, but the rhythmic footfall of a runner. Laying still, the footsteps grew louder, before passing along the road a matter of feet away from my little hideaway and progressing steadily up the hill. I’d say how strange, and I’m pretty sure that I didn’t dream it. But a runner, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, really? If it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve been that runner, progressing steadily through the darkness on more than a few occasions, I’d say that I was definitely dreaming. But in actual fact, I probably wasn’t, and it probably was someone else out on their own adventure through the night. Either way, dream or reality, good luck fellow adventurer, I hope your night time exploits were rewarding and enjoyable, and thanks for not disturbing my slumbers!
By the time the dawn chorus alerted me to the start of another day, the overnight wind and rain had moved on, and the day dawned, cold and clear, with the hints of a light frost glinting from the roadside verges.
Sitting in my hammock with a hot brew warming my fingers and watching the sun slowly rise through the trees is always a magical moment, and Saturday morning was no different. I couldn’t spend all morning swaying gently in the morning sun though, as there was still the small matter of another 85 miles to cover if I was going to get home today. So to that end I was packed up and on the road, with the cold, frosty, air nipping at my fingers by 06:30. With no sign of my night time companion I made steady progress along the quiet country roads as the inhabitants of the roadside houses slumbered on, blissfully unaware of my passing. Through Northleach, Cricklade and on to Royal Wootton Bassett where I stopped and joined the early morning shoppers to replenish my supplies and pick up a second breakfast.
From Royal Wootton Bassett it’s all familiar roads. Roads that I’ve ridden a hundred times before on days out and longer adventures. They're always different though and there’s always something to see that you've never noticed before.
That’s the beauty of travelling slowly, you’ve got the time to notice things that you’d never see in a car. They would either be gone in a flash or you’d be too busy looking at the road to even notice. Not by bike though. There’s time to look around, time to take in your surroundings and time to learn the lay of the land and how different places and roads interact with each other.
Lost in my daydreams, the miles ticked steadily along. Marlborough came and went, as did Hungerford. And before I knew it I was on the home straight. One more long drag of a climb, one more steep one, and then it’s all downhill from there.
There was time for one more brew stop first though. Another chance to sit in the sun whilst I waited for the kettle to boil and one more chance to sit with my back against a farm gate and watch the world go by for a few minutes. Before I knew it though it was all over. By mid afternoon I was back at home with another 85 miles in my legs, just as “The Emma” was getting up from her night shift. Plenty of time for a brew, sort my kit out and chill out for a couple of hours before tea time. And that, in my book, isn't a bad way to start the weekend. 170 miles, a night out in the Hammock, sunshine, moonlight nights, rain showers, stunning expansive views, the freedom of the road, strong winds and most importantly a few hours of freedom with nothing to worry about except turning the pedals and where to stop for a brew. That’ll do me, thank you very much!
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Last week I thought that Spring may be on its way, in fact I went as far as putting shorts on for my daily commute to work, and even considered putting the long winter tights away. It would appear that I was a bit premature on that front though, and I’m back in the long tights again this week and sat here in a jumper.
It’s Easter next week and the clock’s move to British Summer Time on Sunday too, so the winter can’t go on for much longer though, can it? Although statistically it's more likely to snow at Easter than Christmas, so maybe I shouldn't start packing the winter gear away just yet. While I’m talking about the never-ending winter, I’ve noticed a bit of a theme in the last few months of blog posts, and no it’s not the fact that they all seem to include reference to rain. It’s actually the overuse of the word “Brutal” that I’ve picked up on. I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that The Dean Audax was “Brutally hard” as was The Poor Student back in January (H’mmm there’s another common theme there, (both start and finish in Oxford and go through the Cotswolds)). My little days out can’t all be “Brutal” though, can they? Perhaps I need to start being a bit more careful with the adjectives I’m using. I mean, I don’t want you all to think that I’m “The boy that cried wolf” and I’m having an easy old-time pootling around the countryside on my bike whilst claiming how tough it is, do I? Anyway, that's enough about the weather and the English lessons, lets get on with what were actually here for and have a look at what I’ve been up to this weekend, without using the word “Brutal”. Saturday’s fun consisted of the Kennet Valley Run, an interesting little 200Km Audax, taking an unusual out and back route. Starting from Reading before heading down through Hungerford to Bratton (just outside Westbury) and back. Being a local ride, I’ve ridden this one a couple of times before and following the River Kennet valley it’s normally a fairly benign ride, along what is a fairly flat, but picturesque route. Although having said that, I seem to recall a year when we still had snow on the ground and a year with a hard headwind on the way out, both of which must have been in my Pre Blog days as I can’t find any mention of either of them in the archives, which dates it somewhat. What would this year have in store for the intrepid adventurer then? Well, looking at the weather forecast midweek, it looked like it might be alright. There was the possibility of a few showers in the afternoon, but nothing of real note. Which is part of the reason why I decided that a 200Km ride wasn’t quite enough, and as the start was only another 25Km (15 miles) from home, then I might as well ride to the start and back too, (besides, the Van won’t fit under the car park height barriers, and although my bike will fit in the Peugeot, it’s a bit of a faff).
To that end I was up with the lark on Saturday morning and on the road just before 06:30, heading for Reading.
With quite roads, the sun shining brightly from a clear blue sky, the birds singing and the odd patch of frost glinting from the roadside verges in the dips and hollows, (it’s surprising how the cold collects in certain spots) it was a beautiful morning to be on the road. The run up to Reading took less than an hour, and thus I found myself with time to kill, sheltering from a cold wind which had started to spring up, huddled in a bus stop, eating biscuits, and waiting for the appointed hour when I could get on the road proper (it’s a glamorous life this adventuring lark). A few biscuits and a bit of a stretch later (much to the amusement of the early morning commuters and shoppers who were waiting for their bus) and we were gathered at the start ready for the pre ride briefing and the big send off. “Mind out for potholes, I’ll see you back here for a brew and hot soup, enjoy the day, off you go then”. Followed by the customary stand and stare at each other for a few seconds until some brave soul decides to take the lead and we all head out for the first leg of what will be many miles. As soon as we set off, it was clear that the wind that had sprung up with the dawn, and was continuing to grow in ferocity, was going to be a problem. It was blowing strongly straight in our faces, and if it was in my face now, that meant that it was going to be in our faces for the next 100Km (62miles). Riding into the wind isn’t much fun. According to the internet (Specifically here, but if you start digging these figures seem to be fairly accurate) you need to be pushing an extra 100+ watts to ride into a 15Kph headwind, and believe you me the wind on Saturday was well in excess of 15Kph for a lot of the time. And an extra 100 watts for 100Km is quite some effort believe you me! Now, we all know that we can make life easier for ourselves by riding in a group and using the riders in front to slipstream behind. In fact, we can save up to 40% of our effort by doing so. There are a few things to know about riding in a group though. Firstly, I find it incredibly stressful. It’s great all the time everyone in the group knows what they are doing. But you’ve got to be riding inches from the rider in front to get any benefit. Which means you can’t see what’s coming, and your totally reliant on them keeping going at a steady pace. If they can’t, or their pace is different to yours, then your going to ride into the back of them if you’re not careful. That’s fine in the Tour de France, when everyone’s a professional, and you all know what your doing. But on a Saturday morning Audax, that’s not always the case. So you really need to be fully concentrating the whole time, and preempting the actions of those in front, whilst hoping that the people sitting on your wheel are equally attentive. Secondly, everyone’s got to be willing to take a go on the front. And again, you’ll often get the weaker riders sat on the back taking advantage of the slipstream and free tow, but when they get to the front, they can’t always push the extra power required to keep things moving forward and it all falls apart. And thirdly, and this is a big one for me, you’ve got to be concentrating 100% on the riders around you. So you don’t get the chance to look around, take in the scenery, and enjoy the ride. I can guarantee that the second you look away, the rider in front will slow down or move to avoid an obstacle, and you’ll be straight into the back of them. Which left me with a bit of a dilemma. Do I sit with a group and enjoy the easier ride into the wind, whilst taking my fair turns at the front, or do what I normally do, find a space of my own and enjoy the ride? From the off the first group went out incredibly fast considering the conditions, with a few strong riders pulling everyone else along, and there was no way that I could sustain that all morning. I did quickly find myself in a smaller group that was moving at a steady pace though, and I spent a while with them. I wasn’t enjoying myself though and nearly got caught out when everyone slowed to a crawl for a corner that could easily have been taken at the speed we were previously going. Easier day, or safe and enjoy the ride? That wasn’t a hard decision to make. So, I did the polite thing, moved to the front and did a long stint into the wind towing the rest of our little group behind as a thanks for their efforts thus far, and then when the road went downhill, dropped off the back and left them to their own devices. Whilst I pressed on into the wind alone, at a pace I thought I could sustain. Back on my own, I was happier. Yes, I was working harder, but I could hear the birds singing again, I had time to look around, and the only person I had to worry about was me. Bliss! Hungerford came along surprisingly quickly, and I took the opportunity to refill my water bottles and grab a “Pain Au Chocolate” (Purely for proof of passage receipt purposes obviously, and not at all because I’ve got a sweet tooth).
I’m not even going to try and pretend otherwise. The Next leg was tough. The wind was fully in my face for the entire 32 miles and was strong enough at times to almost bring me to a halt.
What made it even worse though, was the rain showers, which sprang up sporadically with a mix of hail thrown in for good measure. Not much fun at all. The first few miles progressed relatively easily, fuelled on “Pain Au Chocolate” and still fairly fresh, but towards the end I was suffering. Hunched into the wind, my back was crying out for a rest, my legs, aching from the endless effort of pushing into that wind, screamed out for respite, and my mind, normally attuned to blocking out the discomfort, had fully given in and decided that it had had enough for one day. Eventually though, after what seemed like, felt like, and was, hours of toil, the little café at Bratton hove in to view. Entering the little café and looking around, my fellow Audaxers all looked like I felt. Exhausted, haggard, windblown, and tired. But there was still an air of optimism and general good humour in the air. "It can’t be as hard on the way back can it, surely the wind will be behind us." A brew, slice of delicious Victoria sponge cake and a sit down worked wonders on my tired legs and general air of despondency. Although watching the rain lash down on the café windows as I sat in a warm, comfortable, chair cuddling my brew, did little for my desire to get back out there. As the rain eased, I decided that there was only one option if I was to actually get home again, and dragged my weary bones from the warm, comfortable sanctuary, to face the conditions again. Back on the bike, as I peddled away from the little oasis of cake, the smile was straight back on my face. The wind was indeed now behind me, and the exertions of earlier were replaced with the feeling of flying, as that viscous headwind that I’d been battling just minutes before, now helped push me home. Gone was the hunching over the bars trying to be as small as possible to reduce the effort, replaced with stretching out, looking around, enjoying the scenery, and wondering what all the fuss had been about. This was more like it! Miles that had gone so slowly on the way down fairly flew by on the way back. Fast familiar roads, sweeping bends, the Kennet and Avon canal for company, fields of cows, sheep with lambs in tow, pretty little villages, and all the time the wind lending a helping hand to propel me back the way I’d come. By Mid-afternoon I was back at Hungerford and pushing on for the final few lumpy miles back towards Reading. The route back diverts at Hungerford from the way down, and whilst the way down is mainly flat, the way back is a bit lumpier, but at the same time, more interesting. Nothing to serious, but with legs that have already done over 100 miles, you start to feel the inclines. Nothing's going to compare with those miles into the wind in the morning though, and before I know it, I’m rolling to a stop back where I started, to be greeted by a hot brew, the offer of beans on toast and the shared camaraderie of fellow riders, each with their own tales to tell of the day’s efforts. Unusually, the days not over yet though, as there still the small matter of the 15 miles back home to go. Another 15 miles. Refreshed, refuelled and with a hot brew in my belly, that’s not going to be a major issue is it? As darkness descended bringing another great day out to a close, so I made my way along the familiar roads back home, arriving back just under 13 hours after having set off with another 156 miles in my legs. More than ready for a hot shower, brew and a late tea with "The Emma" before an early night. Yes, it had been a testing day out, the weather in the morning was certainly against us. But in the afternoon, with the wind on my back, the sun breaking through, and the smell of spring in the air, there was nowhere I’d rather have been than sat on my bike. A hard day out into a vicious headwind, certainly, but “Brutal” definitely not. And on that note, I’m off the check the thesaurus for alternatives to “Brutal” ready for next week. I’ve just had a look at the spreadsheet, which I use to keep track of my running and cycling miles, and for Saturday 11th March 2023 it just says “The Dean 2023 – Brutal”. Which is an unusually short entry, but a fairly descriptive one in not too many words. That one word, tells me that it was a hard day out, probably with some inclement weather thrown in for good measure, and the word “Brutal” makes me wonder why I would ever think that putting myself through the same again would be a good idea? A question I asked myself on more than one occasion this Saturday! I’m sure that you can guess from that last paragraph, that Saturday was the 2024 edition of The Dean. A cheeky 300Km jaunt through some of the most picturesque scenery that southern England has to offer, and as we all know, picturesque normally means hilly! Starting from, and finishing at, an almost deserted car park on the outskirts of Oxford. It’s a long old loop (Just over 300Km to be precise, which is 195 miles for the imperial reader) taking in the Cotswolds, The Forest of Dean and the Severn Bridge, before heading back home via two white horses, Malmesbury, Marlborough and the luxurious Membury services on the M4, to end up back at that deserted car park. Even by Audax standards this is a “bare bones” event. There are no organised controls, no pampering, no rescue service and no one to hold your hand. It’s a cheery wave off from the start, and a stick your completed Brevet card in the box when you get back, type of event. Obviously in the 365 days between swearing that I’d never even think about taking on The Dean again, and entries opening for this year’s event, I’d completely forgotten that I was never putting myself through that again, and signed up. In fact, I was even looking forward to it! I did have a touch of second thoughts in the week. When looking at the weather forecast mid-week it looked remarkably similar to last year and the memories of being alternatively frozen, soaked, blown dry, soaked again, and almost frozen solid again, came flooding back. But, as the minus 6 bit seemed to be missing from this years forecast, I remembered that I was supposed to be a tough endurance athlete, (or something like that) and had better get on with it. Besides, if I pulled out due to the chance of a bit of inclement weather then A) It would obviously be the hottest, driest, nicest, March day ever, and B) What else was I going to do on Saturday (Don’t answer that, and yes I know that the grass needs cutting, the windows need cleaning, there’s an MX5 in bits in the garage, and it’s “The Emma’s” birthday tomorrow). Which is why I found myself dragging myself out of bed at 04:30 on Saturday morning, ready to be stood in a cold, damp car park, for an 06:00 start. Heading out of Oxford in the dawn light, with the birds singing, fellow cyclists all around, and the prospects of a good day in front of me, I wondered what all the fuss had been about last year. With the rolling countryside passing silently beneath my wheels, the breeze on my back, pretty Cotswold villages, their inhabitants still slumbering peacefully, to occupy my mind, and fresh legs, the early miles passed quickly and easily. The first control at Stow-on-the-Wold came and went without fanfare, and despite the long, dragging climbs through the Cotswolds towards Winchcombe slowing progress slightly, and necessitating a removal of layers, the flatter land towards Newent facilitated faster progress and I was at the second control at Newent before 10:30 with the first 100Km done. A quick sandwich stop at Newent and onwards, next stop Chepstow, but not before the small matter of the long, steep climbs up through The Forest of Dean. There’s no doubt about the fact that The Forest of Dean is a beautiful part of the country, with some stunning scenery, great places to visit and an all round mecca for anyone with a love of the outdoors. There is also no doubt about the fact that it’s bloody hilly. In fact, I don’t think that there is a single flat part in the entire area, and I’m pretty certain that it’s almost all uphill! Climb after leg sapping climb, lead up quiet county lanes, though heavily wooded hillsides. Birdsong and the sound of cascading water tried valiantly to drown out the panting as I pushed up another steep ascent. Lambs frolicked in roadside fields providing distraction as my heart tried to leap from my ribcage as the road continued steeply, endlessly, upwards. Eventually though, the scenery changed, and the view opened up to reveal the Seven estuary in all it’s majesty, the river, wide, dirty brown and fast flowing heading to same way as I was, towards the sea and the Severn Bridge. The descent into Chepstow was fast and over far too quickly, the climb back out the other side not so much, and the head wind, which was blowing strongly across the Severn Bridge was decidedly unwelcome, even more so as it was going to be my companion for the next 90 miles! Learning from last years mistakes, where I pushed on eagerly towards Malmesbury, and paid for it later. I took the opportunity to grab a burger from the Severn view services which are now eerily quiet since most of the traffic takes the newer bridge, and sat in the weak, early spring, sunshine, sheltered from the wind, enjoying a few minutes off the bike and watching the world go by. My memories from last year were of the leg between Chepstow and Marlborough being tough, and this year didn’t disappoint. Having turned into the wind at Chepstow, it looked like 90+ miles into a headwind was on the cards. Not the most attractive way to spend a Saturday afternoon, and it’s surprising how much harder pushing into the wind makes things. There’s not much you can do about it though, other than get your head down, try and distract your mind from the seemingly impossible task ahead, and get on with it. The miles came slowly through the afternoon. The traffic seemed heavier and less cooperative than in the morning, the hills, when they came, more uphill and harder, and the road surfaces worse. Tired legs played a part, the headwind wore me down, and as the time in the saddle grew longer so keeping the thoughts of stopping from my mind became harder. Eventually though Malmesbury arrived and with it the chance for a brief stop, and more importantly the chance discovery of Waitrose lemon and white chocolate hot cross buns. Man, if your ever in need of a treat, or a pick me up, these are the things to go for. Sweet, chocolatey, lemony, carb loaded goodness, oh yes! Pushing on, refreshed and revitalised (right), the wind was still a nuisance, and it’s a long uphill slog out of Malmesbury, but reinforced with hot cross bun goodness, my legs eventually dragged me to the top. There’s a couple of steep climbs between Malmesbury and Marlborough and I’m not going to pretend that I even considered expending the extra energy required to ride up them, instead opting for the opportunity to stretch tired leg and back muscles, by dismounting and pushing up. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed, a few minutes off the bike, a stretch of the leg muscles and a change of position and your good to go again, and that’s exactly what happened Saturday. By the time I got to Marlborough it was getting dark and I spent a few minutes sorting my life out, putting my head torch on, changing batteries and generally preparing for the dark. But, by the time I got going again a few minutes later, everything seemed better. The wind had died away with the arrival of the dark, those couple of minutes off the bike and the earlier walk up the steepest hills had worked wonders for my tired muscles, and the familiar road between Marlborough and the next planned stop at Membury seemed to help with a much needed injection of pace. The miles to Membury came easily. The road flowed beneath my wheels in the dark, the traffic had died away as everyone ran for home in case the bogey man got them in the dark, and the pool of light, which guided my way, held a comfort, restricting my vision to the meters in front, and focusing my attention to the road ahead. The tall mast with it’s evenly spaced red anti-collision marker lights, familiar from a thousand trips down the M4 to see “The Boy”, acted like a beacon from miles away, drawing me slowly closer to Membury, where the garage forecourt provided a proof of passage receipt, a bag of salty crisps and a few minutes of leg stretching, whilst the normal, car bound clientele, looked on at the strange cyclist magically transported into the midst of their world. Leaving Membury, there were just 30 short miles to go. The days back had been broken. The mornings climbs, and the afternoon headwinds, fast rescinding memories, as I pushed on towards Oxford and days end in the dark. A lack of concentration meant a missed turn in the dark, and an extra half mile added to the days total, before I realised that I was off track. A brief rain shower, reminded me how lucky we had been with the days weather, and the fast-flowing descent following the last of the days real climbs to bring us back over the Ridgeway and into Lambourn, left me with a glowing smile on my face, and the joy of feeling the wind in my hair, wind not caused this time by a headwind blowing in my face. As the clock swung though 22:30 and 16 hours and 30 minutes after setting off, I rolled back to a stop for the final time in the non-descript car park that I had left so many hours, and so many miles before. Tired, stiff, sore, but happy, with the relief and satisfaction, that, that, was the day done! And what a day it had been. I’m not afraid to admit, that this was another tough one. It would appear that my recollections from last year were spot on. It’s a long, hard, hilly day out. But with great effort comes great reward and sitting here a couple of days later I can only reflect on what a great day out it had been. I said to “The Emma” when I got home Sunday morning with stiff legs, aching muscles and a sore backside from my time in the saddle, that “I’m not doing that again, it’s brutal”. But, I said that last year too, and if I’m honest, they’re hollow words. Because sat here today typing this, I’m already thinking about next years “Dean”. Because, yes, it’s a tough day out, but it’s a brilliant ride through some lovely countryside, and at the end of the day, it’s never going to be as tough as it was in 2023 when it started at minus 6 and rained for most of the evening, and if I can survive that and come out the other side smiling, then I can survive anything! And anyway, what else would I be doing on a Saturday in early March? In other news, and you’ll no doubt be pleased to know that there isn’t much, I got some more seeds sown at the start of the week. So that’s 3 types of Tomatoes, 3 types of Chilli, normal Peppers, and a selection of flower seeds, all sat on the windowsills at home ready join the bits that I sowed in the greenhouse last weekend, once they’ve germinated, which moves us a bit further towards Spring in my eyes. I also note that the Pear tree in the front garden looks like it will have it’s first leaves in the very near future (which is about all that it ever has, as it’s never borne fruit) and the Apple, Plum and Cherry trees have some lovely looking buds on them too. That, and the fact that the hedgerows are just starting to turn green, the big willow tree that I pass on my run in to work is just coming into leaf, the farmers are busy preparing the soil ready for this year’s crops, and the little hedgerow birds all seem very busy, all continue to give me hope that the worst days of winter are almost behind us and things are soon going to start improving. And finally, I’ve never bothered to get a picture of this before, but it’s amazing how much bike chains stretch. Both of the chains in this picture start at the same point and are stretched out along the garden wall.
The one on the left has done a couple of thousand miles, whilst the one on the right is new. There’s probably a bit of life left in the worn one yet, but the last thing you want when your 100 miles from home is a chain failure, or for it to keep slipping out of gear, so it’s time for a new one!
I’ve tried this year I really have, but I’m finally, and somewhat disappointingly, going to have to admit defeat. I’m not giving up and I’m going to keep chipping away at it, because at some point in the future I will get back on track. But for the time being, I’m going to have to surrender to the inevitable, and admit that I just can’t keep on top of the weekly blog updates at the minute.
There’s about 3 years’ worth of weekly waffle within these pages, and I’ve had a great time relating all my tales on a weekly basis, but for some reason, this year, I just can’t seem to keep on top of it. I think the main problem over the past few months has been work related. Being the idiot that I am, I can’t just sit back and do as little as possible, as many people seem quite content to do. If I see a problem, and I’ve got a solution, I feel compelled to try and sort it out, no matter how much extra work that creates for myself. That often comes back to bite me on the backside through, and recently I’ve bitten off a big old challenge at work, which has massively bitten me back. I’m winning now though, and starting to make a real difference, but over the last few months my work life has been one long fight to get things put in place to try and help the people that I’m supposed to be helping, whilst half of the people I have to deal with have tried to stop me, or make my task as difficult as possible, in order to make their own lives easier. Like everything in life, that has a knock-on effect, and I suppose the biggest knock on from that, is that having spent all day up to my neck in e mails and spreadsheets, the last thing I’ve really wanted to do is sit down in front of another keyboard and start tapping away at my bolg. Which is a massive shame, because, sitting here putting my thoughts into words is massively therapeutic, and without doubt, helps to clear my mind, and work through the trials and tribulations that daily life throws my way. There’s no point in struggling to keep on top of something which at the end of the day is only a vanity project though, and at the end of the day, I never set out to create a blog with multiple pages and weekly updates. I set out on this journey to update ‘The Old Cheese’ and a few other friends and relatives on what was going on in my life. To share a few pictures without having to resort to Facebook or such like, and generally make note of what I had been up to over time. to that end the self-imposed weekly update has really become a bit of a millstone around my neck at the moment. So, for the time being, I’m not even going to try and keep on top of the weekly thing, I’m just going to dip in and out, as, and when I’ve got time. And instead of weekly updates, it’ll just be a bit more irregular. I still love writing, and there’s nothing more satisfying than looking back at the older posts and remembering what I was up to at that point in time. So, I’m not going to give up, far from it, this little Blog project has become an important part of my life over the past few years. I’m just going to take the pressure off, be a bit more realistic in what I can achieve and do with my limited time and add updates as and when I can. So, to that end, let’s have a quick catch up on what I’ve been up to over the past 3 weeks.
Well, for a start there was the Punchbowl Marathon. That’s always a good little day out and despite the heavy rain shower, this year didn’t disappoint. 30 miles through the glorious Surrey countryside is always a treat, and rain or shine the long slow climb up to the Devils Punchbowl at Hindhead is always worth the effort. Even this year when the top was shrouded in mist and drizzle!
Despite the rain shower the distance felt good, and as with the Winter Tanners I managed to pace my efforts well, maintaining a steady pace throughout and covering the 30 miles in 5:22 which is a time that I’m more than happy with. I can’t just leave that there without saying a big thanks to all the marshals, who as usual went out of their way to make the day brilliant. It may not have been wall to wall sunshine, but a smiling face at the checkpoints as they check your number through, a big slice of cake and a refill of your water bottles and a cheery ‘Good Luck’ as you depart for the next one, more than makes up for a bit of drizzle.
I’ve had a couple of weekends of Audaxing too, to break up the running a bit, one of which went exactly to plan, and the other, well, maybe the less said about that the better.
First, we had the Chiltern Grit 200Km Audax from Aylesbury. I’ve ridden this one a couple of times before and it’s normally a good day out. From Aylesbury it’s a fast run down to Reading and back on major B roads to allow for the winter weather, followed by an afternoon loop to the North of Aylesbury, and I’d been looking forward to this one for some time. At the start I was still well up for the day’s adventures, but as soon as I set off, I knew that it wasn’t to be. I don’t know why but I just couldn’t get my head in the game. Within the first 30 minutes the time was dragging, and the lumpy, potholed, road surface was getting on my nerves. When you’re feeling good and the legs are working like they should, you can block out the relentless battering from the broken chip seal tarmac, the cars screaming past inches from your elbow, and the endless thumps and jarring on your wrists as the front wheel descends into yet another pothole that you can’t avoid because there’s a car sat right beside or behind you. When you’re not feeling it, those same things that you can normally ignore, by immersing yourself in the beautiful views, the birdsong and the joy of being outside, quickly become all consuming, and there’s no escape from the endless monotony of peddling ever onwards towards your fate.
The first few hours of Chiltern Grit , as I made my way towards Reading were just like that. All-consuming self-pity and the endless desire to stop.
I pushed on towards Reading, through the morning mist and drizzle, but by the time I got there with 33 miles in my legs I wasn’t having much fun. That fun was further eroded by a route change from previous editions which took us right into the center of Reading, along a mixed-use footpath for no real reason, and required an proof of passage receipt. On my arrival at the advertised checkpoint there was no shops (apart from a coffee wagon and a supermarket with no bike parking) to get a receipt, and that as far as I was concerned was day over. I really couldn’t be bothered hunting round for somewhere to provide a stupid receipt, just to prove that I’d cycled into the middle of Reading for no real reason. The 33 miles back to Aylesbury would give me a 100Km day, and that would do, my heart wasn’t in it, I wasn’t having fun, and I couldn’t be bothered hunting around to try and find somewhere to get a receipt from as ‘proof of passage’. By the time I got back to Aylesbury again a couple of hours later, I felt a bit happier, and was actually enjoying myself a bit more, but my mind had been made up at Reading, so I called it a day at the halfway point. That’s an unusual decision for me. It’s unusual that I don’t finish something I started, but cycling is supposed to be fun, not a chore and I wasn’t having fun, so why put myself through the pain of continuing? And that’s always the risk of routes that pass back through the start / finish on the way to somewhere else too. It’s just to easy to give up!
You’ll all be please to know that I’ve made amends for my miserable Chiltern Grit failure by getting out and actually finishing what I started this weekend though.
Saturday saw me on the start line for a new ride in the form of The Winter Warmer. A slightly easier endeavor, in that it was only 100Km. But, being along new roads I was looking forward to this one, and getting up Saturday morning after a cozy night in the van, I felt good and more than up for the challenge. I’ve said it before, but it’s surprising the difference a week makes in your mind set, and with the sun shining, frost on the roadside verges and the promise of a good day out, I rode up to the start from my overnight hideaway with a spring in my step.
A later than normal start and a shorter route seems to attract a bigger crowd (I’ve no idea why) and the village hall at the start was thronged with people getting ready for the days adventures when I arrived. Still slightly early, there was just time to grab a brew and a bit of toast, before the obligatory pre ride “mind the potholes” brief and the off.
There’s not much to say about this one, apart from the fact it was a brilliant day out. The early morning sunshine didn’t last long, with the skies soon clouding over and by lunchtime some heavy drizzle falling, which put a bit of a dampener on things, but did little to hamper progress. Without doubt the best bit about Saturdays ride, and why it will remain firmly lodged in my memory wasn’t the scenery, the weather or the route, good as they all were, but the catering and welcome at the controls. The first stop atop Winterfold hill had what can only be described as the best spread of goodies ever to grace a remote woodland car park. It may have been a wet car park in the middle of nowhere (not quite nowhere, at the top of a bloody great hill is where it was), but no expense had been spared. Hot brews, cake, bananas, more cake, and yet more cake, was being used to weigh down the gazebo that it was all sheltered under, and I can tell you for a fact, that with that weight of cake holding it down, a hurricane wouldn’t have moved it! The finish control was outstanding too. A warm welcome, hot brew’s, bacon butties and yet more cake. Exactly what’s needed after a long morning in the saddle, and an outstanding effort all round from all involved in organising Saturdays ride. I may have got wet, it may have been a cold, dreary and drab winters day, but a ride like that and the effort made by everyone involved in putting on a superb day can’t help but put a smile on your face, lighten your mood and leave you hungry for more. Roll on the summer is all I can say, if I’m having this much fun in the middle of winter, just imagine what’s to come as the weather gets better, the evenings get lighter, and the days get longer!
And finally, before I go, lets have a quick look at project MX5 and the allotment. There’s not actually much to report on the allotment, although I did spend a full day up there last weekend removing all of the glass from the greenhouse and scrubbing it clean. It’s amazing how dirty it gets, and it’s not had a really good clean for a few years, so it was well overdue.
It’s not the best of jobs to be doing on a cold winter’s day. But it’s the only time to do it when it’s not full of plants, and it’s a good job out of the way ready for a start to the sowing and growing season, which is fast approaching. It’s surprising how much difference a good clean makes to the amount of light coming in too. While were talking about things growing, I notice that the daffodils are in full bloom when I’m out and about (and in the garden), as are the first of the polyanthus, and the roses have got plenty of new growth showing too. There’s no doubt about it, springs just around the corner and hopefully I’ll get the time to sow the first seeds in the shiny and clean greenhouse on the allotment next weekend.
There’s been some progress on the MX5 over the past few weeks too.
Originally, I’d bought this knowing that it needed a load of work doing to it, the plan being to scrap most of it and use the running gear as the basis for a Kit car. Once I started driving it, I got a sort of soft spot for it though, and whilst the suspension and underside is in a sorry state, I kind of think that it’s worth saving as opposed to stripping for parts. The bodywork is in surprisingly good condition for its age, and it’s clearly had some love and money spent on it over the years. So maybe it deserves a reprieve and a bit of a restoration, and the chance to bring a few more smiles to someone’s face. To that end it’s now in the garage on axle stands with most of the front end removed and the R/H suspension stripped out whilst I have a good look at the work that’s going to be involved in saving it and make a final decision on what to do with it. My head says Kit car, but my heart says restore it, and heart normally wins! Whatever the final outcomes going to be, it’s going to be here for the long term in one way or another. But disappearing out to the garage for an hour after work to chip rust of a rusty car is a great way to unwind and quite therapeutic. Plus, it gives me a challenge to get my head into and something to think about on all those long, wet, runs and cycle rides, whilst I try to figure out my next step or problem. And as we all know, if there’s one thing, I love it’s a challenge.
It’s a BOGOF this week folks. That’s a Buy One Get One Free for the uninitiated, and it’s a BOGOF if more ways than one. Firstly we’ve got two weekends of excitement (or not as the case may be) to catch up on, but I’ve also been playing the same game both weekends, so we've got two remarkably similar tales to talk about.
As is often the case at this time of year, we’re in a bit of a lull on the running and Audaxing front. For some reason no one wants to go out to play in January, so it’s a case of making your own fun, and that’s just what I’ve been doing. The big advantage of no one else wanting to go out to play, is that you can get some really cheap Travelodge rooms in January. Fridays are normally cheaper than the other days too (I guess all the workers have gone home and the weekend trippers only want Saturdays) and Fridays in January are often the cheapest of the lot. With not much else going on, that's exactly what I’ve been up to the last 2 weekends. For the grand sum of £65 I’ve had 2 overnight adventures, and whilst a night in the Hammock is always great fun. In the middle of winter, when you don’t know what the weathers going to be doing, a warm and dry Travelodge room is a bit of a winner. Where have I been then? Well, last weekend the services on the A303 above Salisbury, provided the destination, whilst this weekend, the Services at Fontwell on the A27 beckoned.
Neither are particularly attractive destinations, but it’s not about the destination, it’s the ride there and back that matters. It’s dark by the time I get there, and it’s dark when I leave again in the morning at this time of year, so as long as it’s warm and dry, then that’s all I’m bothered about.
Handily, both locations are about 60 miles from work and home too (although Fontwell needs a bit of a diversion to bring the miles up), which makes it a good afternoon’s riding after work on Friday (Friday being POETS day (P**s Off Early Tomorrow's Saturday)), and a pleasant morning ride back on Saturday morning. Meaning I can still be back home in time for a late lunch on Saturday and a bit of pottering around in the afternoon with 100+ miles in the bag. What’s not to like about that then? Well, the only bit not to like as far as I’m concerned was the mean little head wind that blew in my face all the way to Salisbury last weekend, making for a tiring journey. That extra effort was more than made up for by the beautiful sunrise on Saturday morning, and the glorious, spring-like weather, for my journey down to Fontwell this weekend though. That’s enough waffle about that though, suffice to say, the winter Travelodge game is a great way to get away for an overnight in the middle of winter and a great way to see a bit more of our glorious countryside. It’s not the best accommodation, but it’s better than sleeping in a muddy puddle, and if you can find a cheap room, it’s almost rude not to take advantage!
What else have I been up to in the last couple of weekends then?
Well, I know what I haven't done, and that's sit down and go through the seeds that are left over from last year and get my seed order in for this year. It’s only a couple more weeks until the first things will need to get sown so I’d best get on with that little job. "The Emma's" on evenings this week so that'll be a good little job for one evening when I'm "home alone". While we’re talking about the allotment and things that I still haven't done, I really want to take the glass out of the greenhouse roof and clean all the moss and general murk off before the growing season starts and the greenhouse fills up. Typically, on the days I’ve been free and could crack on with it, it’s either been raining or blowing a gale, neither of which are particularly conducive to messing around with big sheets of fragile glass. There's still a few weeks yet before the sowing starts so hopefully the weather will play ball and I'll be able to get that little job ticked off. I really must get on with making some new staging for the greenhouse in the next few weeks too. After 20 odd years of faithful service, the legs on the staging I made when I got my first greenhouse all those years ago finally gave up the ghost when I moved it out of the greenhouse to make way for the Tomatoes at the start of summer last year. I’ve been meaning to get on with it ever since, but like everything in life, other jobs take precedent. I’m almost backed into a corner now though, so I suppose I’m going to have no choice but get on with it in the next few weeks if we’re going to have any veg for the plot come the spring! The reason I haven’t got around to all the things that I should be doing is that I’ve made a start on chipping away at the next big project. If you remember back a few months I picked up a cheap and not very good looking MX5. The original plan being to strip it for parts and use the bits as the basis for a kit car. Having driven it around for a few weeks, I’ve developed a bit of a soft spot for it though and I’m starting to feel sorry for it. As such I’m in two minds whether to strip it for bits, or restore it back to its original 1998 glory. Whatever I decide, there’s plenty of things that I can be getting on with that will be of benefit whichever way the coin falls, and to that end I’ve been hiding in the garage pottering around doing bits on that. And I must say it’s quite therapeutic. Taking something that’s been unloved, putting a bit of elbow grease and effort into it, and starting to turn it around, is quite satisfying. Whatever I end up doing with it, this little project is going to be with us for a while. I’m guessing that there’s at least 2 years of tinkering away between other jobs to keep me occupied, so it’s certainly going to be around as a project for a while!
Oh, and while I was busy running and pottering around in the garage on Sunday "The Emma" was busy too! Bread and Butter Pudding, Pain Au Chocolate and Ginger Biscuits - My favourites!
It looks like winters finally arrived, or at least it certainly has here, it’s blinking freezing! In fact it’s been a “double gloves” week all this week for my ride into work, and I’ve been sitting at home in the evenings with 2 jumpers and a wooly hat on!
On a more positive note, it’s surprising how quickly the evenings are drawing out. The week before Christmas it was dark by 16:30 as I got home from work, this week it’s 17:00, and I’ve noticed that the first of the spring bulbs have broken the surface in the back garden. So, better days are certainly on their way.
While we’re talking about better days, I managed to get in a good solid week of running last week for the first time in many month’s, clocking up 41 miles for the week, which included 16 on Saturday morning. Considering that a few months ago I was wondering if I was ever going to run again, I’m really happy with that. Obviously, it’s too soon to make any predictions for the coming year, but if things keep moving forward, maybe I’ll be able to get some decent running come the summer.
Running wasn’t the main focus of the weekend though, that was the Watership Down Audax. It’s only a 100Km, but this is one that I’d been looking forward to for a while, and had been trying to tie into my calendar for a few years, but had never managed before, as it always clashed with something else.
Starting from Winchester it’s not a million miles from home, so it made sense to extend the day a bit by riding to the start and back, which took the 100km up to a nice round 100 miles, making it an ideal winter's day out. Starting from home also had the added bonus of a full weekend sleeping in my own bed. Not that that’s necessarily a good thing, and I will confess that I love my nights out in the van. If I have too many nights at home I start to get itchy feet for a bit of adventure! On a cold, dark, winter’s night, sitting in front of the fire seems like a pretty good option sometimes though.
An 09:30 start from Winchester meant a sensible start from home too and it was nearly 07:30 by the time I got on the road, which is a nice relaxing Sunday morning by my normal standards.
Quiet Sunday morning roads made for a pleasant ride down to the start, and with the added bonus of the sun coming up as I made my way through the quiet countryside, it was an ideal start to the day. Arriving at the start with plenty of time to spare, I was greeted by a village hall full of people, and the offer of a hot brew and slice of homemade cake. Homemade cake, for my second breakfast? Well I suppose I’ve already put 20 miles in my legs, and I’m sure I’ll burn those extra calories off without too many problems today, so why not?
By the time we set off from Winchester, the weak winter sun had made an unusual appearance, and the temperature had climbed to just above freezing. Cold, but not too cold, dry, and wind free, you can’t ask for much better cycling weather in the middle of January!
Not being that far from home, many of Sunday's roads were familiar, although joining them up in a different order always makes for a different ride. As does traveling the same road in a different direction. In fact there were quite a few times on Sunday when I thought, “I’ve no idea where I am” only to come to the next junction, or turn in the road, to realise that I actually knew this road well but had only travelled it in the opposite direction previously.
For a 100Km it was a pretty hard day out too!
From the start the route was “Lumpy”, but at the same time there was nothing too hard for the first few miles, and we made good progress through the Hampshire countryside. By the time the first checkpoint arrived at Upper Chute, “lumpy” had become “hilly” and I was starting to feel somewhat overdressed as I toiled up yet another long, steep, leg burning climb. I suspect those 16 miles of running that I put into my legs on Saturday weren’t helping matters, but I was certainly starting to feel those climbs. Revitalised by a couple of mince pies at Upper Chute the climbing continued as we made our way through the North Wessex AONB. (Why aren’t mince pies available all year round? Crumbly pastry, mince meat, hundreds of calories, they’re the ideal pick me up for a tired adventurer, although a hot cross bun comes a close second) A long series of relentless climbs through beautiful countryside, made for some slow progress as we toiled slowly towards the next checkpoint, which would signify the turn for home. But eventually, as we crested the top of the long, steep, climb to Combe Gibbet, the endless uphill gave way to flatter terrain and screaming legs got the respite they so desperately needed. With a respite from the steep, endless, inclines, the miles came quickly, along familiar roads. Roads which I must have traversed a thousand times over the years as I’ve made my way by bike on various adventures. No matter how often I travel these quiet countryside back roads, they still enthrall me, and invoke the same spirit of adventure and investigation as they did the first time I made my way this way all those years ago. The roads may be familiar, but the excitement at what lays around the next bend or over the next hill remains a constant. One last steep climb took us over the days namesake at Watership Down. Steep, twisting, loose gravel loosening the back wheels grip, lungs bursting, heart beating, the efforts always worth it for the view from the top, and today in the early afternoon sun it didn’t disappoint. No chance of photos today though, there’s no way I’m taking off two pairs of gloves and disturbing all those layers that are keeping me warm for the sake of a view we’ve seen before!
The final big climb of the day over, all that remained was the small matter of 20 lumpy miles back to the start. Miles which seemed easy on the way out appeared much harder on the way back, and hills which had hardly registered on my radar a few hours earlier appeared to have grown in steepness and length in the intervening hours.
As is often the case, the feeling of wishing for the road to flatten and the day to end is often replaced with a feeling of regret and disappointment when you do cover the final miles and the day does come to an end. Why did I wish those miles away, when all I really needed was ten minutes off the bike and a cup of tea and I would have enjoyed them? Today though was going to be my lucky day, because despite being back at the start there was still the small matter of the 20 miles back home to cover. A slice of delicious home made cake, a hot brew (and a refill), a few minutes of small talk with the other riders who were steadily coming into the finish, their days done. Another slice of cake? Oh go on then! And then back out into the late afternoon sun for the short ride home. A ride which was far pleasanter than those final few miles back to the start a few short minutes before. Considering I was traveling the exact same roads through identical terrain, it’s amazing the difference a short stop, and a few sugary calories can make to the way you feel! Arriving home as dusk descended, spots of rain fell on the garage roof, neatly bringing to a close a great day out. Not a drop of rain all day, and then a heavy shower as I got in, it was almost as if the weather gods had been looking down favourably on me. Or was it just a case of “Fortune favours the bold”?
I’ve come to the conclusion that I must either have a very short memory, or be a glutton for punishment.
If I’m honest, I suspect that it’s a bit of both. But you’d think that having put yourself through hell once, that you wouldn’t think to yourself “Oh, that was a good idea, lets go and do it again” would you? Well, it would appear that I do! What am I on about? Well, Friday night saw me in the van heading up to Oxford ready for an early start on Saturday morning for the Poor Student 200Km Audax. The weather had been atrocious all week, and whilst the forecast was for it to be dry on Saturday, it looked like it was going to be colder than it had been, and there were certainly some pretty big puddles (lakes) still filling the roads in numerous places. The thing that concerned me most though, was my memories of this ride from last year. Memories which came flooding back as I made the short journey up to my overnight stop. I had a quick look at last year's mileage tracking spreadsheet earlier, and for the day in question it just says “Brutal - See blog”. So I had a look at the corresponding blog entry, and my memories of last year's event appear to be correct. It was Brutal! Surely It can’t have been that hard can it? I mean, at the end of the day it’s only a 200Km ride through the hills and valleys of the Cotswolds at the start of January, when it’s traditionally, cold, dark, wet, and muddy! Maybe my mind had been playing tricks on me and I’d imagined the whole thing. There was only going to be one way to find out though, and that was to do it again! Arriving at the start on Saturday morning I was surprised at the number of fellow lunatics who had decided to brave the cold January morning to loiter around a dark, damp, car park, waiting for someone to unceremoniously say “well, off you go then”. I’ve seen far less people on the start line of rides on beautiful days in the middle of summer, so the number prepared to get out there at the start of January was certainly impressive.
Bang on 07:30 we were off, a string of red tail lights shining brightly in the dark as we rolled out of Oxford, slowly spreading out into a long line of cyclists as everyone settled into their own pace.
The first leg up to Shipton-Under-Wychwood was flat and fast and I made good time, arriving amongst the front runners and missing the worst of the mad rush as the poor man in the small village garage was inundated with riders looking for a receipt as roof of passage (I’ve no idea why this is a control point which needs a receipt, it’s a crazy situation and would be far better as an Information (question) type of control. Receipt in hand I didn’t hang around, and was soon back on the road, heading for the next stop at Chipping Campden. The Climb out of Shipton-Under-Wychwood set the scene for the next few hours, long dragging climbs with the views across the Cotswolds from the hill tops obscured by low lying cloud, with only the occasional church spire poking bravely through the moist, rain heavy sky, to betray the location of the villages hidden in the valleys below. By mid morning Chipping Campden, had been and gone and I was onto the long (41 mile) leg taking us towards lunch at Malmesbury. This is the section that my memory recalled as hard from last year, and that memory was certainly correct. A long, steady drag of a climb from Chipping Campden soon became a series of ever steeper, ever longer, climbs, as we progressed against the lay of the land, across the Cotswolds. Slowly winch yourself up one side of the valley, lowest gear, lungs bursting, legs screaming, heart beating hard. Until the top is reached at which point it’s straight down the other side. Destination valley floor. The roads are damp and covered in gravel which has been washed from the surrounding fields in the previous days, the potholes deep and water filled, hiding their extent and location from the unwary. So it’s not a fun filled fast descent, more a hang on for grim death whilst trying to slow a bike that gravity insists should be accelerating on the slippery surface. And when you safely reach the valley floor and slowly uncurl stiff, cold, aching fingers, from around the brake levers, it’s straight back uphill to do it all again. And so it goes on for mile after mile. This is better than last year though. Last year the wind was howling in my face and the rain lashed down, so I’m grateful for small mercies and make the most of the limited views from the hill tops. Enjoy the odd occasion when I can release my grip on the brakes and let the bike have its head for a few meters, and try to enjoy the sound of my heart trying to make its escape from my rib cage on the next climb! Eventually, as I start to wonder how many more of these killer climbs I can manage, the terrain levels out, as we leave the steep sided valleys and progress onto flatter ground to take us towards Malmesbury where a sandwich and short stop awaits. As I sat in the village centre squashing crisps into a sandwich, I thought back to last year when I sat in the same place and poured rain water from my boots before wringing out my socks and putting them back on again. Now there’s a memory for you, and that’s what it’s all about. Making memories that will last a lifetime. It’s never easy, sometimes it’s really hard, but every time I venture outside my front door, there’s a memory to be made, an adventure to be had, and a new experience just waiting to be enjoyed (or not as the case may be). Even those awful days, when the rain falls from the sky like stair rods, your shoes are full of water, your wet, cold and miserable, often turn out to be brilliant in hindsight. If I’d said, “I’m not playing today” and just sat on my sofa eating biscuits, it’s unlikely that I’d have been able to tell you where I was or what I did on the 7th January 2023. But, because I got out there I can tell you that I sat in the middle of Malmesbury and wrung my socks out! Sofa, or wet socks? I know which one wins in my book! Anyway, enough about last year, let’s get back to this year. If the leg through the Cotswolds is hilly, from Malmesbury back to Oxford, is pretty much the exact opposite. Ok, I’ll grant you it’s not Norfolk flat, but it’s not exactly hilly. If I’m honest, I don’t know which is worse. Yes, the hills are hard going sometimes, but at least you get the downhills and the views as a reward. The flat though. Well, there's less to occupy your mind, there’s less to look at, and whilst there isn’t the uphill effort there isn’t the downhill reward either. In fact on the flat, you never get to stop pedalling. The miles came quick and fast as the afternoon progressed. A brief stop in Shrivenham where some mini pancakes provided a tasty treat and yet another proof of passage receipt and then as darkness approached the last few miles into Oxford. The approach to Oxford saw the first real puddles of the day. Nothing too serious, only just enough to get your feet wet, but still a daunting prospect when it’s dark and you can't see how deep it is. Should I go for it? Should I wait for a car to come along and go through to see how deep it is? Should I scoot over the fence and go around via the muddy field to the road side? Should I wait for another rider to catch up and go as a pair? Sod it, just go, the worse that’ll happen is I’ll get really wet when I fall off in the middle! Flood waters safely negotiated the final miles into Oxford were incident free, although another lake required a pavement diversion to get through and some roadworks necessitated the only walking of the day for a few meters. Another great day out then. Maybe not as memorable as last year, but a great day out nonetheless and another 200km (127 miles) in my legs. And that’s a pretty good way to get the cycling year off to a start in my book!
Here we are again, fast approaching the end of another year and the start of another chapter in the wonderful world of me. But before we get too maudlin, there’s still another week left of 2023 and there’s a week’s worth of adventuring to catch up on before we get that far.
So what’s been going on in the last week then? Well, not a great deal if I’m totally honest. The weeks leading up to Christmas are normally quiet, but this year seems to be even quieter than normal. I know it’s an easy scapegoat, but the weather’s not helping matters. In the weeks leading up to Christmas last year we had snow on the ground, but this year’s just been dull, damp and dreary. That's not stopped me getting out and about though, and I’ve been managing to get a fair bit of running in. In fact I was only at work Monday and Tuesday this week, and had planned on running in my lunch break on Tuesday. But, looking out as lunchtime approached, it was throwing it down so I did what I do best and reconsidered my options. The forecast predicted it would stop by 15:00, so Ok I’ll just run home instead. Which left the little issue of my bike and a pile of dirty washing being left at work over Christmas. There’s always a solution though. And in this case, whilst I wasn’t supposed to be at work on Wednesday, my solution to the little conundrum was to just run back in again on Wednesday morning whilst “The Emma” was was sleeping off her night shift, and pick my bike and stuff up that way. Personally, I thought that this was a brilliant idea. 20 miles of pleasant running, and an extra 11 on the bike for good measure, and all for free. It would appear though that everyone else just thought I was nuts. As I left work on Tuesday evening to run home I said to the lads at work “Happy Christmas, I’m not in tomorrow but I’ll probably see you when I run back in to pick my bike up”. 30 minutes later and I was still there explaining why I was going to run home and then run back again the next day when I didn’t need to, and trying to justify to the disbelievers that, yes, this is fun and that, yes, this is a good idea. Those 30 minutes were nothing compared to the look I got when I stuck my head round the office door on Wednesday morning to say hello before cycling back home again though. It was like I’d grown an extra head! “I told you last night that I’d pop in today to pick my bike up” “Yes, but we didn’t really think you would” And that my friends is the difference between me and them. I could have just laid in bed, or sat on the sofa, but there's better things to do with my time than that. It’s all about getting the miles in and taking advantage of every opportunity, no matter how small or how ridiculous the idea might seem, you’ve got to get out there and make the most of it. And anyway, I was still back home by 10:00 just as “The Emma” was getting up and I’d put an extra 10 running and 11 cycling miles into my legs without even thinking about it. Result!
In another attempt to squeeze as much into every day as possible I had another bright idea this week, involving going down to see “The Old Man”. I really needed to go down and see them before Christmas, but you know how it is, I hate driving, and, well it’s a long way, and, stop making excuses!
I could have just driven there and back in a day like any normal person, but where’s the fun in that. A far better idea in my opinion, was to drive half way, and then cycle the rest. Double brilliant, not only do I have to do less driving, but I get a bit of cycling in and see a few new roads and places too. To that end, I took the van down to Horsham after tea on Wednesday evening and had a quiet night in the van (I don’t know why but I always find that I sleep really well in the van) and was up ready and raring to go early on Thursday morning, for the short journey down to “The Old Man’s” and back.
It was a bit of a strange day Thursday. For a start there was a strong wind blowing, but more unusually it was really warm. I wasn’t exactly dressed for the Arctic when I set off, but even so, within the first ten minutes I was stopped, discarding my buff and thin hat, and undoing my jacket, and within 20 minutes I was cursing my winter gloves and wishing I had shorts on.
According to my phone, it reached 15 degrees by mid morning. I’ve already said that this time last year we had snow on the ground. But 15 degrees, we’d be glad of that in the summer, let alone December! Unusually high temperatures and strong wind, (which did its best to push me into the gutter most of the way), aside, I had a great ride down to Dad’s, and it was lovely to spend a couple of hours catching up on the gossip and enjoying their company. Heading back towards home in the afternoon was a bit harder going. The Wind that had been on my side in the morning was now a full on head wind, which made for some hard, slow, miles. I’d planned on being back at the van before dark, and very nearly got caught out, having forgotten quite how early it does get dark at the moment. With darkness fast descending and a dozen miles still to go, It suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t have a head torch with me. It’s not a major issue, I only need it to read the map and in case of emergencies anyway, so I wasn’t that bothered, but it’s always nice to have that safety blanket. (try fixing a puncture in the dark without a light). By 16:00 the light was really fading fast and I still had a couple of miles to go, when coming up a short, sharp climb I heard the unmistakable sound of escaping air. Bugger, puncture! Coming to a stop, there was still just enough light to see by, and it didn’t take long to identify the source of the problem in the shape of a bit of flint protruding through the edge of the tyre. If you can find the source of the puncture before taking the inner tube out it’s normally possible to fix it without taking off the entire tyre, which luckily proved to be the case today, and within ten minutes I was back underway. Those ten minutes made a big difference though and by the time I got going again, it was totally dark. Sometimes I think luck’s on my side. If I’d set off ten minutes later, or been that bit slower pushing into the headwind, or even just stopped for a few minutes on my way up. The chances are that I’d have got that puncture in the dark, then I’d have been walking the last few miles, because there was no way I’d have been able to fix it in the dark without a head torch. Or maybe I wouldn't have gotten the puncture in the first place? Either way, I’m looking at it as luck being on my side and I’ll take that as a win!
While we’re talking about luck. The fan on the oven at home has been making a bit of a racket recently. I’d been meaning to take the oven apart and have a look at it, suspecting that it was just unbalanced due to accumulated grime or rubbing on the back of the housing, but like everything, I only ever thought about it when the oven was on, and then it was a bit hot to do anything about!
Anyway, Friday I was busy making sausage rolls and Christmas ham, which reminded me about the noisy oven fan. I say it reminded me, the fact that I was standing in the kitchen with ear defenders on and you could hear the oven from the end of the garden gave me the kick up the backside I needed to finally have a look at it. Once it had cooled down enough to get it apart my guess that it was just greased up turned out to be incorrect and the bearings on the motor are shot. Not an ideal situation a couple of days before Christmas. A bit of googling found a replacement, but by the time I’d ordered it it was half past 5 on the Friday before Christmas, so there was no chance of that getting here before the big day. Not to worry though, I’d just have to cook Christmas dinner with my ear defenders on. Imagine my surprise then when at 15:00 on Saturday there was a knock on the door and the postman presented us with a parcel (that's unusual in itself because they normally only appear on special occasions). And what was in the parcel? The replacement fan motor for the cooker. That’s pretty impressive service. Less than 24 hours from ordering to delivery, and it wasn’t even ordered until after closing time on the Friday before Christmas! So now the oven’s fixed too, and we’ll be able to cook Christmas dinner without the fear of going deaf. Result! Worn out bearings seem to have been a bit of a theme this year, in addition to the various bike ones which I seem to spend half my life replacing, there’s been the washing machine, the oven fan, “The Boy’s” car gearbox, and the Peugeot rear axle, and that’s just the ones that come immediately to mind. Bearing that in mind we’ll see what 2024 brings.
Something different this week blog fans. I’ve been on an adventure!
A few weeks ago, work decided that it would be a really great idea if we all slogged up to RAF Cosford for a seminar. Ohhh I hear you all saying, a seminar, won’t that be nice! Well, for a starters don’t be fooled, from what I know of seminars, it’s just another name for a collective bollocking, or the chance for the management to foist their latest stupid ideas on us, whilst trying to sell it as good for the environment/planet/whales/insert trendy topic of your choice. What’s this got to do with anything though I hear you thinking? Well, bear with me, because, whilst everyone else in the office was moaning like the devil about having to slog all that way for no real reason, my little brain was thinking ‘H’mmm Cosford, that must be about 150 miles away, I wonder if I could go by bike’. A quick look at the map confirmed that my initial mileage estimates were about right. But, whilst 150 miles is achievable in a day, someone somewhere decreed that cycling kit isn’t suitable attire for a seminar, so I was going to have to take a load of clothes with me, and 150 miles in a day with Panniers and a load of extra weight isn’t much fun. But what about splitting it over 2 days? A bit more Googling found 2 cheap Travelodge rooms, one in Worcester for on the way there, and another, just outside Stratford on Avon, for on the way back, making it a much more appealing proposition, and a far better idea than having to drive and suffer the delights of the M40, M5, M6 shenanigans!
Looking at the weather forecast during the week, I wasn’t so sure that my brilliant idea was actually as brilliant as I first thought, but having already got wet so many times this year, another couple of times was unlikely to kill me. And unlike the last couple of weekends, there wasn’t going to be an escape option this time. In for a penny, in for a pound, what's the worst that can happen?
Saturday, it looked like the forecasters may have got it wrong, because it was a beautiful day, which I took full advantage of by getting out early for 10 miles of running along the frosty, then foggy, then sunny local trails, with the conditions covering all 3 extremes in the space of 90 minutes, but enough about that, I Know that all you want to know is how wet did I get on Sunday? Well, you’ll be pleased to know that the answer is very, but not as wet as the weekend before, which whilst I think about it was so wet that when I cleaned my bike on Friday afternoon I could still hear water sloshing around in the rear wheel. On removing the tyre there was a good cup full of water trapped between the inner tube and tyre and in the wheel rim, which when you consider that the inner tube expands to fill the entire space within the tyre is pretty impressive, and something that I can only think of happening once before, when I’d had an equally wet day out!
But enough about that, let's get back to the tale in hand. Sunday morning, it appeared as if Saturday's sunny day had never existed, with the dawn bringing an unwelcome return to rain laden skies which could barely hold back the weight of water contained within the low scudding clouds.
There was no chance to wimp out this week though, it was all or nothing. Having learned my lesson last week I was fully prepared with all the waterproof kit when I set off from home just after 7. There’s not much to say about the first few hours. The rain held off for a while and moving steadily along familiar roads as I headed towards Hungerford before skirting the edge of Swindon to head into the Cotswolds, it was an enjoyable morning. As forecast though, by mid morning the rain had made its presence felt. Not the torrential downpours of the past couple of weeks, but a steady drizzle that persisted throughout the remainder of the day.
With the rain a constant companion, the views through the Cotswolds were somewhat restricted, but with the miles ticking steadily along it was easy to gauge progress by the changing terrain and the changing stone. Hampshire flint gave way to Cotswold limestone, before that in itself was replaced with Worcster sandstone.
It’s the little things like that which you notice as you cross the country by bike that make it such a special way to travel. You see things that you would never see from the motorway at 70MPH. But from the saddle, every hill, valley, village, town, country road and track has something to offer and something to occupy your thoughts. By mid afternoon the Cotswolds were behind me and I was making steady progress through the flatter lands of Worcestershire, heading for the day's destination at Worcester. Apple orchards replaced rolling arable land as I made my way through villages familiar from last year's Easter adventure when I followed the same route, heading for Oswestry. The weather had been better on that occasion, but despite the rain I was still almost disappointed as Worcester rolled into sight and the warmth and comfort of a bargain Travelodge room beckoned for the night.
Sunday night, as I lay warm and safe in my hotel room the wind roared around the building and the rain continued to fall. Monday morning dawned no better with repeated blustery showers darkening the skies as I had breakfast and made ready to leave.
Blustery winds, sunshine and showers set the scene for the day's ride, but with only 50 miles to go I was in no rush. A few easy miles along the Worcester and Birmingham canal allowed a pleasant and easy escape from the city, setting the scene for most of the day. Quiet traffic free lanes, pretty little towns and villages, and a strong cross tail wind to push me towards my destination. What's not to like about that? In fact there was nothing to not like about Mondays miles. Apart from one brief shower the rain stayed away, the strong wind was dragging warm air from somewhere to the south and the temperature was positively tropical for the time of year, and whilst the roads were muddy and wet, I was warm and dry. Result!
Wednesday's work day dragged intolerably on, as I watched the clock, patiently waiting to get on the road. 16:30 finally arrived though and I set off into the dusk heading for Alcester and my planned overnight stop.
There’s not much to say about those 50 miles in the dark, except to say that riding into the night was as magical as ever. Progressing steadily along dark roads and lanes, the odd house, windows curtained, doors firmly closed against the night, throwing shadows onto the road as I silently pass. Owls call in the distance, unseen creatures disturb the roadside undergrowth, as they go about their business. The pace is always slower in the dark, you can only see so far ahead no matter how bright your lights are, but the slower pace feels faster nonetheless. No visual clues to suggest mileage, no distant hills to work towards, just the hum of tyres on the wet road, the gentle brush of your clothing, the odd rattle from the panniers as you rattle over some unseen hole in the road and the pool of light that guides the way, never to be caught. The increased resistance and the road climbs and you start changing down gears the only indication of the terrain you're crossing. Work down the gears, still climbing, heart rate climbing, but there’s no more gears left to go down. A few pedal strokes out of the saddle to stretch tired muscles, and the climb continues in the dark. The tops unseen in the darkness, manage the effort, keep the breathing under control, strong, steady pedal strokes, how much further, no idea. And then the effort reduces, the unseen incline must be lessening, but is it the top, or just an interlude. In the daylight it would be easy to see, but in the dark, it’s just another guess and piece of the mysterious world you're passing through. In this instance it is the top, and the speed quickly picks up as I descend the other side. No time to relax though. Back up the gears to maintain control, start braking to scrub off some speed, there’s too many unseen obstacles in the dark to let the bike have its head. And so it continues. The 50 miles to my night stop take exactly 4 hours and that includes a stop to pick up some tea and bits for breakfast. Not fast by any stretch of the imagination, but as I get into bed, it’s with a sense of satisfaction at a job well done and some more magical memories to look back on when I’m too old and frail to “play out” any more
An early start Thursday morning saw me on the road just after 07:00, destination home, mainly via the same route as I took on the way up. It was a pleasant morning too. No wind to speak of, the sun made the odd appearance, and it was warm enough for just a body warmer, instead of a full jacket.
Once the early morning traffic had cleared, and I’d had words with the dozy idiot that pulled out of their drive right onto me, “Sorry mate I didn’t see you”. I’m glad I’m wearing a dayglo jacket and got all my lights on then, and it’s a good job I saw you! The roads were quiet and dry, allowing for good progress. The Cotswolds looked magnificent in the autumn sun. Beech trees, their leaves still bravely clinging on against the recent storms, golden yellow, adding majesty and colour to the browns and dark greens of the roadside fields. Church spires, the only sign of villages nestled in the valley bottoms hinted of hidden villages to investigate, whilst Kites circled and wheeled overhead, calling to each other in the still Autumn air. This or a few hours sitting in traffic on the M5, that’s an easy choice to make! A portion of chips sat on a park bench at Highworth provided sustenance for an afternoon in the saddle and I made it back as far as Hungerford before the rain made a reappearance. Not heavy but gentle drizzle, adding to the puddles lining the roads and necessitating a return of the rain jacket. The rain didn’t manage to spoil the day though and I was back home again just before 16:00, tired, dirty, damp, but happy. One thing’s for certain, if you’ve got to go to a boring old seminar, it’s far better going by bike than car, even if it does rain most of the way! Oh, and that's another 300 miles added to the years total! Right, a joke’s a joke, and I can take a bit of humour as well as the next man, but I’ve had enough now! Since the middle of September, I’ve been on 7 Audax’s (The End Of The Lines and Wye Gravel, The Ticking Tortoise, The Mid Sussex Hiller, The End Of Summertime and this weekend The Upper Thames and with the exception of The Ticking Tortoise, where it was only drizzling, it’s absolutely thrown it down with rain for all of them! And for the one before that at the start of September (The Morris Major) it was so hot that only a few of us actually started, for fear of heatstroke! I mean, seriously, how can it only rain at the weekend? Looking back through my diary at work, I’ve gotten properly wet commuting to work 13 times so far this year, and on the weekends, it’s 11 times. Now, considering that I commute to and from work every weekday, but don’t cycle every weekend, and there’s 5 days in the week and only 2 at the weekend, that must mean it rains a lot more at the weekends than it does during the week! And how can that possibly be? I’m guessing from my little rant above that you might have gathered that I got a bit wet this weekend again! What you might not have guessed is that for only the second time in my Audaxing career, and the second time in as many weeks, I DNF’d (Did Not Finish) again on Saturday, and I’m bloody annoyed with myself about it! Saturday was the Upper Thames 200KM Audax, which is a cheeky little jaunt around the edge of the Chilterns and the Cotswolds. Now I’ve done this ride a few times over the years, and I can’t think of a single occasion where it didn’t rain at some point in the day, but that’s never stopped me before, and it’s always a good day out. This year though the weather in the last couple of weeks has been pretty dire and the forecast for Saturday during the preceding days had been for more of the same, so rain wasn’t unexpected. Unsurprisingly then, Saturday morning I woke to the sound of rain falling steadily on the van roof, each and every drop of which added to the puddles already on the roads and the rivers cascading off the fields, which is never a good sign when you've got a 200KM day in front of you. By the time I’d had breakfast and made my way to the start it was still raining, and the skies showed no signs of clearing any time soon. The few unhappy looking faces at the start and the table full of uncollected Brevet cards seemed to echo the grey skies outside, and if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such despondent looking faces and general apathy to start a ride as I saw on Saturday morning. As we stood in the rain waiting for the 07:30 start time, it was clear that this was not going to be a pleasant morning. Eventually though 07:30 came and we slowly departed, heads down, shoulders hunched, each probably wondering, as I was, what the hell we were doing. Rivers ran in the gutters, puddles the size of small oceans hid potholes the size of open cast mines, sharp shards of flint mixed with mud and general debris coated the roads, each laying patiently in wait whilst valiantly trying to find a way in to puncture a tyre, and still the rain fell from the sky like a shower in full flow. Within minutes of our departure the rain had penetrated my gloves and filled my boots with cold, dirty, water, and the cold, absent in past weeks, had started to penetrate my defences. Battling up the first of the days climbs against the river which was flowing strongly down the hill restored a bit of warmth, but I was certainly already colder than I had been for many months, which is never a good sign when you're only a few miles into a long day. Pushing on, trying to stay warm, as I approached the first of the days checkpoints the rain eased, and I’m even tempted to say it may have stopped for a few minutes. Any relief was short lived though, as minutes later I was wheel hub deep in a small lake, the filthy water filling my boots again as I fought my way through the flood water, whilst trying valiantly not to fall off in the knee-deep ocean! By the time I reached Henley I was really starting to feel the cold, and spotting a small supermarket I stopped in search of washing up gloves to add under my cycling gloves in a last-ditch attempt to warm up my hands. Pulling on washing up gloves which are at least two sizes too small (that's all they had) onto soaking wet, freezing cold hands, is no mean feat, I can tell you. But having managed to get them on, at least my hands were sort of dry at last, and as I set off again it was with renewed hope that I might make it through the day. Minutes later, those hopes were cruelly dashed as the rain returned with a vengeance as I made my way slowly up the long slow climb past Stonor Park to regain the high ground of the Chilterns. This time however, the extra energy expenditure of the climb failed to work its magic, and the cold continued to seep slowly and inexorably into my core. Approaching the top of the climb a handily placed shelter hove into view and I pulled up in another vain attempt to get warmed up again. Knowing the weather was going to be against me, I’d packed a spare pair of dry socks and an extra top, and I took the time to get out of my wet socks and into some dry ones, adding a couple of plastic bags that I'd acquired at my earlier stop, before putting my sodden boots back on in the hope that they may keep the worst of the water off my new dry socks, and donned my extra (emergency layer). As we all know, what goes up, must come down, and shortly after the climb came the long, fast descent into Wallingford. Coming down the steep road the rain fell in sheets, stinging my face and obscuring my view as I hung onto the brakes, trying desperately to control my speed on the steep descent, whilst at the same time get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible. This just wasn’t fun! Coming back out of Wallingford, as if a sign from God, I noticed a small road sign pointing in the opposite direction, stating that it was only 4 miles back to the start. Initially I rode past, and then I slowed, my mind trying to convince my heart that continuing wasn’t a great idea. A few meters further and I’d rolled to a stop. Standing in a muddy field gate, with the rain pouring down, I spent a few minutes contemplating my fate. I was wet, I was cold, there was no chance of drying out and warming up unless the rain stopped, which didn’t look likely, and even if it did, the wind was picking up. Was this really fun? But at the same time, two DNF’s in as many weeks. I’m supposed to be a big tough endurance cyclist, not a scared of the rain, stay at home weakling! As I stood there with the rain dripping down my collar, the cold biting into my wet fingers and toes, and my bike gently rusting beside me, it wasn’t a hard choice to make. 4 miles back to the warmth of the van, or another 90 in the rain. What would you have done, in that situation? I’m still bloody annoyed with myself though. A couple of hours later, the rain had stopped, and the sun made a brief appearance. There’s no doubt about the fact that if I’d just pushed on for another hour or so, I’d have got round, and probably have had a great day with it. The fact is though I made some silly mistakes early on, mistakes that I shouldn't have made. I knew the weather was going to be bad, so why did I leave the washing up gloves which fit well and keep my hands warm and dry under my cycling gloves at home? If I'd started with those on, as I normally would on a wet winter ride, my fingers would never have got wet, or cold. Likewise, I realized Friday night that I didn’t have any plastic bags with me to put between my boots and socks, a neat little trick which is about the only thing I’ve ever found that comes even close to keeping my feet dry(ish). Why didn’t I just go out and get some instead of thinking ‘It’s not that cold, it’ll be alright’. And why the bloody hell didn’t I start in waterproof trousers! There are 3 little things there, which had I acted on them and dressed accordingly, would undoubtedly have meant I’d have finished Saturday's ride, warm, dry, and comfortable. But because I’m an idiot, I ignored all my previous learning, and thought ‘I’ll be fine, it’s only a bit of rain’. Idiot!!!!! Typically, Sunday was a far nicer day with only a couple of light showers in the afternoon, not that that was a lot of help, because there was no cycling planned. We did have other plans though, so there was no lazing in bed, and I was up bright and early with “The Emma” in tow.
Having “The Emma” in tow is unusual in itself, but I needed her assistance, so she was going to have to get up early too. In fact, we were on the road before 08:00 on a beautiful Autumn morning, heading for the South coast. I can hear you all thinking “Ahhh, a romantic day out at the seaside, how nice” but you’d be wrong. Yes, we were having a day out, but we were actually off to look at another car, not sit on the promenade eating jellied Eels and Whelks or build sandcastles. You’ll note that I said “another” there and not “a” because if I’m honest the car situation is getting a bit out of hand now, and this one brings the total to 7 between us. The ironic thing being that I do far more miles a year cycling than I ever do driving. In fact, I hate driving. But “The Emma's” got to have her hobbies too, and I’ve got plans for this one that don’t actually involve driving it for the foreseeable future. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we had a pleasant drive down, spent a couple of hours looking at my latest purchase, went and had some breakfast, and “The Emma” drove the latest acquisition home (see I told you I needed her help). I did offer to drive it home myself and she could drive the van back, but she muttered something about rather having needles poked in her eyes, grabbed the keys out of my hand and was gone! So, in addition to the rest of the fleet (1 camper van, a 206 GTI, a Fiesta ST, 2 Subaru Impreza’s, and a Subaru Brat) we’ve now got a 25-year-old MX5 that just about scraped through its last MOT and is about as likely to pass the next one as I am to fly to the moon under my own power. But that’s not a problem, because my intentions are to drive it until the current MOT expires (or preferably until I’ve finished a couple of other little projects) and then it’s going to be used as the donor car for a kit car project. See, I told you a few months ago I had plans for THIS LITTLE SPACE. |
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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