A rare treat this week folks. I’ve been running. And it’s been a long, long, time, since I’ve done any of that. In fact it’s been 8 Months since I last did any competitive running, and there hasn’t been much running of any kind in the interim either. Before we get to the interesting stuff though. Saturday was spent freezing my bits off, putting the gearbox back in “The Boys” car. You’ll no doubt be pleased to know that I’ve replaced the knackered Input shaft bearing which I’m hoping was the source of all the noise, and managed to get all the gears back into the case. Helpfully, “The Emma” didn’t complain when I brought the gearbox into the house on Thursday in the hope that it would warm up enough to allow me to get some sealant onto the mating faces. And she still wasn't complaining when it reappeared Friday night, in the hope that the sealant might actually start to cure before I put it back in the car. It says on the packet to apply it in temperatures above 10 degrees, but nothing about what to do when it’s -10, so into the hall it came to warm up. And “The Boy” needs to be thankful, as do I, that I’ve got such an easy going Wife. (Although if I’m honest I think she just likes the easy life, and it’s easier to either ignore my antics, or just say “Yes Paul” than it is to try to stop some of my silly ideas. It’s back in the car now though, so that's a positive. Although I still don't know if it’s fixed because A) The sealant still hasn’t gone off and I don’t want to fill it with oil until it has. And B) Whoever's been in there before me has managed to strip all of the threads out of one of the mounting bolt holes, so now I’m waiting for a thread repair kit to arrive before I can finish putting it back together. It’s progress though and a step in the right direction, so I’m happy about that. And on an even more positive note the bearing that I’ve replaced was definitely knackered, and it’s always reassuring when you find that the item you suspected to be unserviceable is, and you’ve actually got something to point at and say “that’s the problem”. There’s nothing worse than taking something apart and either finding nothing, or finding that the bit you suspected to be the problem is actually OK. Anyway, that’s enough about that for the time being, let's get back to the main event. The Mapledurham Half Marathon. Yes, it’s only a half and a big step down from where I was this time last year, but I was really looking forward to this one having not run for such a long time and it’s another step in the right direction! I’ve run a lot of this course before, but not for a few years, and the last time I did run it, it was only 10 miles. The Half has been added at some point over the last couple of years and although much of the route is the same as the ten mile, some of it was going to be new to me. After Saturday's freezing temperatures, I’d almost been hoping for more of the same on Sunday. It wasn’t to be though, and by the time I got to the start the temperature was into positive numbers (although still chilly) and by the time I’d collected my number and started getting ready it had started raining. A bit of freezing rain never did anyone any harm though (probably) and it was easy to forget the cold, wet, raindrops, landing on my head, amongst the excitement of being back at the start line for the first time in many months. There’s something special about standing in a wet field waiting for someone to shout “Go”. There’s always an apprehensive excitement in the air, and an all prevailing tension. Final stretches, endless checks of watches. The odd bit of small talk, “have you done this one before?”. But deep down everyone’s thinking the same thing, “How am I feeling”? “How’s this going to go today”? “Are my legs feeling good”? “What about that little niggle”? “Come on let’s go”! The 10K runners set off first on Sunday for an extra lap of the field to ensure the distance was actually 10K, and passed back through the start to much applause, whilst we waited to be released. And as they disappeared into the distance, so we in turn moved up to the start line. “Hang back me, this one always goes out fast and there’s some good runners here”. “There’s no point killing myself in the first mile, it's been a long time, but remember what you learned from all those previous races”. “Start slow to finish fast”! As predicted, once we got going, the front runners were away like scalded cats. The first couple of miles are along a concrete farm track, which makes for some fast running, but I quickly settled into a pace which I felt comfortable with and felt I could sustain for the duration, whilst the front runners disappeared into the distance.
With the pace settled, the end of the concrete quickly arrived and we peeled off into the woods for the first climb of the day up a muddy footpath. Falling in behind the man in front, as we neared the top he offered to let me pass. An offer I kindly declined, knowing that the pace we were doing was fast enough and if I overtook I’d have to pick up my pace further, rather than hold him up in the process. A rousing performance from one of the lovely marshals manning a sharp turn, directed us across a muddy field and into the woods for the first time, where dead leaves lay thick in the wet mud and heavy drops of rain dripped from the trees as we passed. Through the 5 mile mark and I was feeling good, I was working hard but not too hard, and my knee, whilst tender, was holding up Ok. Coming up to the 6 mile mark I gained a couple of places as we slipped and slid along a muddy track. The ground underfoot already churned up by the 10K runners, who had taken a shorter route to this point and arrived ahead of us. Another uphill section, saw another couple of places gained. My start slow, finish strong tactic starting to pay off. And as we approached the 9 mile point, having again rejoined the route of the 10 Km runners, the first of the back markers from that race hove into view. I fully appreciate how demoralising it must be to be passed by someone who set off ten minutes after you and has done 10 miles to your 10Km. But, as the one doing the passing, it’s a massive morale boost, and with almost 10 miles in my legs, any morale boost was more than welcome. Just shy of the ten mile mark the 10Km / 10 mile and half marathon routes split again, and as I followed the route for the extra 3 miles to make up the half marathon, most of those in front peeled off, their day done, leaving just a few visible in front of me. Repeating the slippery muddy trail from earlier I picked off another runner and on the next climb the only other person I could see in front of me fell behind. The pacing strategy was certainly paying off, and as I started the descent back towards the start I was able to pick my pace up slightly. More backmarkers, this time from the ten mile and ½ marathon groups, gave me plenty of people to chase after during the last mile and a half, and I put in my fastest mile of the day racing towards the line. Heart beating, breath ragged, legs pushing long strides, I crossed the line in 1:47, a time which was good enough for 25th place from the 97 starters, and more importantly, a time I’m more than happy with considering this year's lack of miles and injuries. Yes I could undoubtedly have gone faster, but today wasn’t about times, it was about seeing how my legs felt over the distance and having fun. And by god did I have fun. I didn’t realise quite how much I’d missed running until I started getting ready for Sunday. Collecting up the bits that havent been used for all those long months where injuries have stopped me running. Safety pins to attach my number, trail shoes from the van, gloves from the drawers upstairs, water bottle from the cupboard. All little things that were so familiar and then weren't. The drive up to the start, the excitement and apprehension waiting for the off, and the thrill of the run itself. Legs working hard, breath ragged on the climbs, pushing hard to catch the person in front, working even harder as you hear someone catching from behind, and the joy of being outside, propelling yourself through the damp winter countryside. Muddy paths, stiles to climb, puddles to run through, slip sliding from one side of the path to the other. Open countryside, wooded climbs, fast descents and boggy paths. Oh yes, I’ve really missed running!
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Hmmmm, it would appear that last week turned out to be a bit damp, or was it just me?
Last week's weather was certainly a bit changeable. Sunday night was so cold at home that we lit the fire for the first time since last winter and my cycle into work was a bit chilly to say the least with a hard frost on the cars when I set off on my bike Monday morning. Wednesday morning at the same time, the thermometer said 15 degrees when I went to work, and since then I don’t think it’s really stopped raining. Despite the rain, I’ve had to get all my shorts back out again, having said on Sunday 'That's it I won’t need these again. Winters here’! The rain isn’t currently stopping play though (although it did make me think about it Saturday morning) and I’ve been out and about all weekend. Saturday was the Mid Sussex Hillier Audax. You’ll note the ‘Hillier’ there, because I could have just done the ‘Hilly’ version, but where would the fun be in that? To that end, I took the van down to the start Friday night, expecting a leisurely drive down and an early night, but oh how wrong could I be. I normally try to avoid traveling too far, so this weekend's fun was at about the limit of my vehicle based travels, and Friday was a reminder of why I try to avoid it. An accident on the M3 caused a delay, followed by the normal slow traffic at the M3/M25 interchange, and then to top it all off, some idiot had managed to to roll their car at the M25/M23 junction closing the motorway! So what should have been under 2 hours actually took 3 and a half, and reminded me that I hate driving at the best of times. 3 hours on the bike in the pouring rain, with the wind in my face, that's bearable. An hour sat in the van with the heating on, a hot brew in my flask and the radio for company? No thanks, I’d rather be out in the rain! Which I suppose in some ways is lucky, because when I woke up on Saturday morning the rain was lashing against the side of the van, and the forecast said it was in for the day. In fact the forecast, and the sound of the rain was enough to make me seriously consider if I was going out to play, or should I just stay in bed? In the end though, sense prevailed, and by the time I made my way down to the start at 08:30, the early heavy rain had petered out to more of a heavy drizzle. Luckily, I wasn’t the only brave soul that was prepared to face the weather, as there was probably a dozen or so other idiots milling around at the start discussing the great British weather by the time I got there, which was somewhat reassuring, in a kind of British eccentricity type of way.
Unfortunately, due to the wet and soggy conditions there’s a shortage of pictures from Saturday's ride, so you're just going to have to believe me when I say ‘ It was wet, humid, and hilly’.
I’ll admit that it didn’t rain all of the time. But when it wasn’t raining, there was still rain in the air. And the one time I did consider taking my jacket off, because it was far too hot to be wearing it, just the thought was enough to make it throw it down again 2 seconds later, as if to say ‘don’t even think about taking that off’! That’s not to say that it wasn’t a good day though. In fact I’d go as far as saying I had a great time out in the rain. There’s something special about taking on the weather and being outside when everyone else is hiding away indoors complaining that it’s too grim to go out. It’s the same as riding into the night. Everyone else is going to bed, but I’m pushing on so I must be winning. There’s that shared camaraderie with the other riders and more often runners (they seem to be hardier than the cyclists), that you get when the weather's grim. We're all in this together, and we're obviously all bonkers, but we’re still out here getting the miles in and that deserves a nod, or raised finger, of mutual respect as you pass each other like ships in the night.
It was a great route too, and one that I’d imagine would be fantastic if the weather was good. With plenty of far reaching views from the hill tops, and numerous beautiful country lanes to occupy your thoughts, there was more than enough going on to make the time pass in a blur. The fact that it was still a treat in the rain, with wet leaves and loose gravel covering every descent and causing the rear wheel to slip as soon as you got out of the saddle on the climbs, pays testament to how good a route it was.
Good route or not, it couldn’t go on forever, and at only 100 Km by early afternoon I was back at the start. I may have had wet feet (in fact my boots were still wet when I put them on to go to work on Monday) but I’d had a great day out, and looking back I really don’t know why I was even considering not starting due to the rain. At the end of the day it’s only a bit of water, and it’s pretty rare that it rains all day, I guess I must just be getting soft in my old age!
Having been in two minds about going out to play on Saturday morning, I was still in two minds about what to do Saturday afternoon. With the rain continuing to fall and no sign of it abating, I had 2 choices. I could either head for home, or find somewhere on the way back to park up for the night with a view to getting in a bit off gentle running on Sunday morning.
A look at the map with a brew and a biscuit for places on the way home, threw up the North Downs Way at Guildford as a good start point. The North Downs Way is on sandy soil there, so as long as the rain abated at some point during the night it shouldn't be too muddy, and it left me close enough to home to not have a long drive on Sunday afternoon. Now, I’m not holding my breath on the running front, but I think things are finally on the mend and I’ve started slowly putting a few miles in again. I’m not counting my chickens before they hatch, and I’m forcing myself to really limit the miles and time on my feet, but I’m hopeful that I may eventually be able to get back some form of proper running, even if it’s nowhere near where I was at the start of the year. Sunday morning dawned clear and bright and pulling on my running shoes after a light breakfast felt familiar and exciting after such a long lay off. (Apart from a few brief miles in June I haven't run properly since the Cerne Giant Marathon back in March!). But those first few steps on the sandy soil with the cold morning air biting at my exposed arms and legs, the birds singing and the sun shining down from a clear blue sky instantly reminded me how much I’ve missed running and especially off road running over the past few months. Plodding gently along the sandy trail, following the North Downs Way signs, watching my foot placement on the rough ground, dodging the puddles and other obstructions on the narrow path and admiring the beauty of the British countryside, I felt like I’d never been away. The depressing days thinking I might never run again, hobbling up and down the stairs, struggling even to ride my bike some days, instantly forgotten as the first mile unfolded under my feet. From the off, the path wound slowly uphill, leg muscles that haven't been called on for months slowly remembered what we were doing, whilst the familiar, but forgotten, feel of my breathing, regular and in time with my footfall, provided a steadying reassurance and a reminder not to push too hard. I didn’t really have a destination in mind when I set off, but I knew that St Marthas Church wasn’t too far away which seemed like a reasonable aiming point, and then I could see how I felt when I got there. What I didn’t expect was to feel like I did when I did get there! Surprisingly it wasn’t as far as I thought it was and within a couple of miles I was cresting the climb up to the church. I’ve shared pictures from here before, and on a good day you can see all the way to the South Downs, and even on a bad day the view is worth the effort of the climb up. Sunday though, as I turned the final corner and came out from the tree lined path and the view opened out in front of me I was stopped dead in my tracks. The valleys below were filled with low lying mist, whilst the sun shone down from the clear sky. A train rattled along in the distance, the birds sang from the trees surrounding me, a pair of squirrels bound effortlessly across the path and into the trees on the other side, and instantly all was good with the world again This is why I run and cycle, this is why I’ll put up with the cold and the rain, this is why I’ll struggle on with frozen fingers and toes on a winter's day, this is why I’ll put up with inattentive car drivers trying to kill me on a regular basis, and this is why I am going to get back running eventually even if it kills me! It’s the odd day when you round a corner and are met with a view like this that makes it all worthwhile. Well, here we are again. Hopefully, you'll all be pleased to know that I'm still alive, just, (quiet at the back!). Unfortunately though, it's going to be another rather dull update in this episode of "What's Paul been up to". Hopefully, you will be pleased to know that whilst I'm still not running, things do seem to be improving, and my Knee and Achilles tendons which have been giving me loads of problems are starting to feel a bit better. This has been the first week in a long time that I've actually been able to run up and down the stairs, and instead of getting out of bed in the morning and hobbling round the house like some sort of stiff legged donkey, I've been out of bed and on my feet with no problems. To that end, I've ventured back to lunchtime circuits at the gym a couple of times this week, and whilst my knees feel no where near strong enough to run on, they do feel like things are moving in the right direction, which is a positive and has done wonders for my mental health. I still think there's another couple of months ahead of me before I get anywhere near running again, but even that's better than nothing. The problem now is not pushing too fast and ending up back at square one! Whilst I haven't been running, I have still been keeping up the work commute on the bike, so the bike miles are steadily creeping up, and although I've been struggling a bit for motivation on the bike front, I think that things are improving and unlike this time last month, when even the bike felt like a slog, I'm enjoying the morning and afternoon rides into work and back again, and I'm quite enthusiastic about getting out on some longer stuff in the coming weeks. So I suppose the big question on everyone's lips is "What has he been up to then while he's not been adventuring"? Well, the main focus of attention for the last couple of weeks has been car related. I may have mentioned during my last update that "The Emma's" 206 GTI had failed it's MOT, and not just a little fail either. The main problems being the rear axle suspension arm bearings, and the fact that the fog lights switched themselves off at random. The rear axle bearings are a known issue on these cars, but not an easy DIY fix. The quickest and easiest solution being a reconditioned rear axle. But nothings ever that simple and to get the rear axle out, the brakes have to be stripped down, brake pipes removed, wheel hubs and bearings removed, and shock absorbers removed too, and then the fun of getting a heavy old lump of metal out from underneath the car begins. Never one to shy away from a challenge, it wasn't actually too bad a job, and while it was in bit's I took the opportunity to treat a few more rusty bits, clean up all the removed parts and replace all the rear suspension bits and wheel bearings etc, which should hopefully give it a few more years life. The Fog light issue, well that was another matter, mainly because I listened to "The Emma" instead of doing what I should have done and carried out some proper fault diagnosis. "The Emma" was adamant the the indicator stalk was the problem, so I duly found one on E bay and ordered it. Once it arrived a bit of delicate dismantling and reinstalling had the new one fitted and once back together, yes you guessed it, it was exactly the same. Doing what I should have done in the first place I eventually narrowed the problem down to the electronics unit behind the steering wheel and managed to find a reconditioned one for a reasonable price, which did fix the problem. Just creeping in within the 10 day MOT retest window, it's back on the road again for another year and in far better condition than it was before. Now all I need to do is sort the bodywork out, where it's starting to show a few initial signs of the dreaded tin-worm, and well be good to go for another few years. In other news, the allotments going great guns and after a slow start things are finally starting to come together. We've been eating Broad Beans and Peas for the last few weeks and tucked in to the first of the French Beans this week. There's lettuces ready to pick and I've had tucking in to home grown Cucumber, which is far superior to those tasteless shop bought ones, in my sandwiches for the last few weeks.
The soft fruit is starting to ripen up nicely too. Whilst the Strawberry crop was a massive let down, the Loganberries have been very productive, producing more than enough for a breakfast treat with my cereals every day, whilst leaving plenty left over for jam making. I'd hope that the Runner beans and Tomatoes will be in fruit by next weekend and the Redcurrant bush is groaning under the weight of fruit on it too, so hopefully there's plenty more still to come in the next few weeks. You might have noticed from the tone of my recent posts that thing’s haven’t really been going to plan recently. My knees are still a long way from being right, and I really seem to have lost my way a little bit recently. I know that I’m incredibly lucky to be as fit and healthy as I am. But, 3 months ago I was running marathons and cycling hundreds of miles without problems. And suddenly finding myself unable to run any further than the back gate without my knees hurting, and then having problems with my other leg during my recent Audax outings has been a bit of a blow! I managed a couple of short runs (2.5 miles) a couple of weeks ago, with no real problems and thought that things were looking up, but then last week I pushed that up to 5 miles and I’m almost back to square one again, although a couple of days rest over the weekend have seen an improvement. Likewise, I tried moving my saddle position on the bike last weekend in the hope that that would help with my cycling issues. And whilst there was an improvement, things still didn’t seem right and I’m not confident that that has solved any of those problems either. The biggest problem is that the only way to really find out if things are any better is by pushing the distance back up again, but I really don’t want to be stuck miles from home, in pain, with no way to get back again. It’s a catch 22 situation! Add into the mix the fact that my real goal for this year was the Paris- Brest - Paris 1200Km Audax which required a 600Km qualifier ride in the next couple of weeks and everything seemed to be stacking up against me. To that end, I’ve had some hard thinking to do over the past couple of weeks and had some difficult decisions to make. As I mentioned above the main target for this year (once the running went South) was Paris- Brest - Paris, which I had been looking forward too. But as the weeks have gone on and my knees have been playing up, the thought of achieving a 600Km qualifying ride within the correct time window, has gone from being an enjoyable one, to a lead weight hanging over my head. The thought of doing 600Km on legs that could barely get round a 200 the other weekend was filling me with fear, and that time window was just pressure that I don’t need. Plus, when I really started to think about it, I’m not even sure if I wanted to go to Paris in the first place. Paris- Brest - Paris is the big Audax ride, it’s the big one that started all the others and if you look at the Audax UK website you’ll see that qualifying for Paris- Brest - Paris was the whole reason Audax UK was set up in the first place, but does that mean that I really wanted to go and do this ride, or was I just being dragged along in the knowledge that it was the “done” thing? Last year there was no way that I was a going to miss out on London Edinburgh London, I’d have sawed my own head off to ensure that I was on the start line. But Paris- Brest - Paris, I’m not so sure! The whole thing was just becoming unnecessary pressure and a bit of a pain in the backside. Even if I did the qualifying rides, there is still the small matter of getting to Paris and back, and all the messing around that entails, and could I really be bothered with that? As I’ve already said, this weekend was supposed to be a 600km qualifying ride, and I’m guessing that the “supposed too” gives that game away. But. Friday morning, I took my Audax bike in to work to see how my legs felt, and despite feeling Ok over the 22-mile commute, things still didn’t seem quite right. Getting home I hit on the idea of taking my work commute bike instead. My legs have always felt Ok on that and although it wasn’t set up for Audaxing, I could probably manage a 600 on it as a one off, which seemed like a reasonable plan. Friday afternoon, I spent a couple of hours messing around swapping wheels, handlebar extensions, lights and a tyre around and doing a bit of general fettling, with the plan being to try and get the 600 in, even if it killed me. By the time “The Emma” got home it was nearly 16:00 and I was still messing around. I wasn’t really achieving much and was really just wasting time. I should have been getting ready to leave, not just filling in time pottering around and finding excuses not to be getting ready, but my heart just wasn’t in it. When “The Emma” came out with a brew and to see what I was doing we had a bit of a chat, and for maybe the first time I voiced my fears and told her that I didn’t actually think I had this weekend’s 600 in me. 600Km’s a massive distance however you look at it. And the fact that half of it was going to be directly into a head wind, my knees hurt before I’d even started, and my heart really wasn’t in any of this, made it seem like an impossible wall to climb, and not something that I was looking forward too. 90% of any long ride is mental resilience and having the will power to keep pushing on when the going gets tough, and if I was thinking about quitting before I’d even started, then what chance did I have? “The Emma” played the voice of reason, but I knew deep down, as I suspect that I have for a while, that this wasn’t going to happen. I sat in the sun for a while trying to make up my mind what to do. I huffed and puffed, I stomped around for a bit, I had another brew, and then I decided to go out for a couple of miles to shake my legs down and see how the changes I’d made to the bike felt, and hopefully decide what I was doing while I was out. I was only going to go round the block. But once I reached the end of the road, I felt like carrying on. The sun was shining, the wind was on my back (for the minute) and I headed out on a little route that I used to ride when I first got back into cycling properly, 10 or so years ago. It had been a long time since I’d last been this way, and my thoughts turned back to those early days. The hills that I now breezed up, had seemed like mountains all those years ago. Legs, strong from thousands of miles, propelled me easily along, and lost in my thoughts, some clarity started to appear. Paris didn’t interest me enough to put myself through a 600 this weekend, that was just unnecessary pressure. But I realised something else too. I remembered what I was missing and what I probably really wanted to be doing instead of pushing endless distances. The thing that drew me back to the bike was getting out there and exploring, it was stopping to have a sandwich in a field gate, whilst admiring the view, it was stopping for a brew mid ride, it was stopping to get my breath back and just stopping to look at something that caught my interest. All things that had been lost in the endless push for longer and longer brevets in faster times. Those few miles from home on Friday afternoon reminded me what I’d been missing and what I really wanted. I didn’t want the pressure of qualifying rides, I wanted to be riding for fun, and that’s what this was. Mind made up then? Well not really, I was still Umming and Arrring when I got home, but I knew deep down that I didn’t really want to go to Paris, I was just doing it because everyone else was, and it was allegedly the done thing. And I’m afraid that isn’t enough of a reason to push myself around a 600! So, I pulled out of the weekends 600 and I’ve abandoned my plans for Paris- Brest - Paris too. And you know what, it feels like a massive weight off my mind. I suspect that in a few weeks I’ll probably regret that decision. But it wasn’t a rash one, and I think I’ve known deep down, that I didn’t really want to go for quite a while, so I don’t think it’s a spur of the moment decision either. And at the end of the day, if I’m not enjoying the process then what’s the point. Cycling is supposed to be fun, not a chore. What now then? Well, for a start I’ve bought myself some thinking time and the chance to try and get back to some solid miles and pain free training (both running and cycling).
Now that there’s no pressure, I actually feel enthused about other things too. I’ve booked onto a couple of shorter rides in the coming weekends that I can get to from home, which I’m actually excited about, and I’ve got lots of other things that I want to do (not cycling or running) that I’m excited about too. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not abandoning my cycling and running plans, and I fully intend to get back to full fitness as soon as possible. There’s still lots of things that I want to do on both fronts, but now there’s no rush, apart from my rapidly diminishing running fitness levels, and I can hopefully take the time to get back to where I want to be without causing longer term damage. To that end, those of you that are just here for the ridiculous running and cycling adventures might have to bear with me for a while. But in the meantime, as I’m allergic to sitting around doing nothing, I’m sure that there will be plenty of other stuff to occupy the odd blog update. A few sneak previews of which are below, just to possibly pique your interest.
Good news everyone, I’m back and I’ve got my “Mojo” back. You’ll have to accept my apologies for the missed Blog last week, but after the exertions of “Operation Carpet” last weekend was pretty much spent catching up on odd jobs, doing multiple tip runs to get rid of all the old stuff and pottering around on the allotment. So, nothing of any interest that we haven’t seen a thousand times before, and I suspect that you’ve all been to your local recycling place, so I’m sure you can imagine the joys of that.
Before we get into the excitement of this week’s adventure, let’s just have a catch up on my knees. I know, exciting isn’t it! If you cast your mind back a few weeks you’ll remember that I haven’t been running since the Cerne Giant marathon at the end of March due to my Left knee being sore. I suspected that a week spent on my knees fitting carpet would make it much worse, but strangely the opposite seemed to be true. All along it’s been a strange one as it only hurts in certain positions (kneeling down with my weight pushed forward or curled up with my knees under my body) so I’d suspected that it might not be muscular as much as cartilage or bone related, but either way it’s been playing on my mind and the unknowing was starting to get me down. To that end, last week I decided that it has had long enough to start getting better on its own (and it was starting too) and booked an appointment with the Physio to find out what was actually wrong with it. So, to cut a long story short, the Physio took about 2 seconds to work out what the problem was and what I’d done. It transpires that my Left leg is weaker than my Right (something I already knew) and because of that my Left knee isn’t as steady when I’m running, it’s dropping inwards at the end of each step, (more so when I’m getting tired) which has allowed the end of my leg bone to rub on the joint making it really sore (or something like that). The important bit though is that it’s fixable. I’ve got a load of strengthening exercises to do to try and equalise up my legs, which will also give the knee joint a chance to recover and mend. But he thinks 6-8 weeks and I should be back up and running, with no permanent damage, which is a real result. And as an added bonus, playing bikes isn’t going to make it any worse, so I’m Ok to kick the arse out of the cycling, as long as I’m not running for the time being! To say that was a massive weight of my shoulders is an understatement and I came out of the Physio’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. Yes, it’s a few more weeks of not running, but even if it drags on longer than predicted (it feels a million times better already having not run for a few weeks, so I’m hoping that won’t be the case) there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and no matter how long it takes, my running career isn’t finished yet. So, cleared to go cycling, that’s what I’ve been up to this weekend. Although to be honest, if the physio knew the extent of this weekend’s stupidity, he might not have been quite so quick to say, “Cycling’s fine, knock yourself out”. In fact, everyone that I’ve told what I was up too said “Your nuts” or words to that effect and I don’t recall anyone saying, “That sounds like fun” or “That sounds like a good idea” and I’ve no idea why.
What was this weekend’s stupidity then? Well, if I’m honest, even I think this one’s a bit bonkers, but I present to you, The Tour of the Southern Shires 400Km Audax. That’s 400km (250 miles) of Audaxing fun, starting from Rowlands Castle on the south coast, before heading up to Daventry and back with a 22:00 start on Friday night. Yes, that’s right a 22:00 start!
22:00, that’s bedtime. Although if I’m honest I often struggle to stay awake until then, let alone do a full day’s work and then set off on a 400k at that time of night, which may have been something to do with why everyone thought I was nuts. Me I just thought it was a brilliant idea. Squeeze another full day into the weekend, what’s not to like about that?
Cycling home from work on Friday afternoon in the rain, I was starting to think that maybe this wasn’t quite such a good idea, but the forecast was for the rain to have stopped by 22:00 and then remain dry for most of the ride, so Friday afternoon I cracked on with sorting my kit out in the hope that they were right.
By Friday evening I’d cleaned my bike and replaced the freehub and fitted new bearings to the derailleur cogs (It’s always a good idea to be messing around sorting out worn out parts a couple of hours before a 250 mile ride and an even better idea to be fitting new bearings to allegedly unreplaceable parts, but that’s another story) and squeezed my bike into the little Peugeot, I’d normally take the van, but typically the only parking in the vicinity has a height barrier and the van won’t fit! By the time I sat down to tea with “The Emma” the rain had stopped, and the skies cleared, which looked promising. Driving down to the start the temperature gauge on the car said it was 5 degrees, which wasn’t so promising, but “in for a penny in for a pound” at least it wasn’t raining. I spent a few minutes in the car park putting on and taking off different clothing combinations, trying to decide what to wear and what to leave behind, but in the end made the decision to add an extra top. An unusual decision that I was sure was going to be a bad one, as it’s rarely cold enough for 2 tops and a jacket, but something told me that I might regret not taking it, and there was no more room in my saddle bag, so it was either set off wearing it or leave it behind. Arriving at the start I was surprised at the number of other people stupid enough to be out at bedtime, with there being roughly 40 others standing around making small talk and watching the time tick down towards the magic hour of 22:00. Gathered outside, the departure time finally arrived and after the normal stand around and look at each other waiting for someone to make the first move, we were finally off into the dark, a gaggle of red lights and high viz vests filling the road ahead. Heading into the South Downs National Park the climbing soon started as we ascended towards Old Winchester Hill and then made our way towards Hungerford on familiar roads, their familiarity stripped away by the darkness, adding a sense of the unusual to the nights ride. The call of “Hedgehog” from the rider just in front caught my attention amidst the normal pothole warnings, rousing me from my daydreaming and bringing a smile to my face as we moved across the road to pass the little mammal crossing the road, but there was little else to see as we made our way steadily North through the darkness. Making good time the first checkpoint at Hungerford arrived just before 02:00 and I stopped for the first time with 55 miles on the clock to get a proof of passage receipt from a handy ATM, and took the opportunity to add my down jacket to the layers I was already wearing. That wasn’t a good sign as it meant that I was now wearing all the layers I had with me and if I had to stop for any reason, mechanical failure, puncture, etc, I was likely to be in trouble and get very cold very quickly. The night however was really cold, with a frost glinting from the roadside foliage and at least I had an extra layer with me. I spoke with some riders at a latter control who had really suffered through the hours of darkness towards dawn, and boy was I glad to have opted to wear that extra top earlier. Leg 2 saw us routed up some narrow, gravelly and pothole lined county lanes, which required some extra concentration in the darkness. With only your lights to see by it’s easy to miss a pothole in the dark and the first you know about it is the bone jarring shock through your wrists as the front wheel drops into the chasm, at which point there’s unlikely to be a happy outcome. You’re either going over the handle bars as the bike comes to an abrupt stop or it’s probably going to be puncture time as the front tyre takes the full force of the impact. Which was the exact outcome for a couple of riders in front, who as I arrived on the scene were all busy replacing inner tubes, having all been down the same hole. Not the best outcome for your nights ride and one that I was lucky to avoid on this occasion. A few flatter miles through Oxfordshire saw the average speed creep up a bit, and just before 05:00, with the pre-dawn glow just starting to lighten the night sky, the smell of frying bacon wafted into my nostrils. Bacon frying in the middle of nowhere could mean only one thing, and sure enough seconds later, brightly lit up like a UFO conveniently landed at the roadside, the welcome sight of the second control hove into view. Rolling to a stop I dismounted to a warm welcome. “Brew? Bacon butty? Refill of your water bottles? Have a seat in our little oasis”. It’s guys like these that willingly give up a night’s sleep to set up a control in a layby in the middle of nowhere, on a freezing cold April night, that make Audax what it is, and I can tell you for a fact that that bacon butty was the best one I’ve had in a long time, possibly ever, and it did wonders for my morale! Much as I would have liked too, I couldn’t sit in their little oasis of calm forever, so with my hunger sated and fingers feeling slightly warmer, I bade them farewell and pushed on into the coming dawn. The coming of which heralded a change of weather as the temperature increased slightly, replacing the finger stinging cold with a low, damp, dank, mist, which enveloped the surrounding countryside in its damp cloak and held the dawn at bay for longer than it should have. Eventually, the rising cacophony of birdsong announced the day's start and the sun pushed away the darkness, although not the damp mist. Damp mist in the daylight is better than the freezing dark though, and it was with a sense of relief that I could turn off my head torch and actually see where I was going for the first time in nearly a hundred miles. I don’t know why, but I’ve often found that with the breaking of day an overwhelming tiredness envelopes you. I’d been fighting to keep my eyes open for a while and at one point I was definitely asleep whilst pedaling along. I know I was asleep as I awake with a start! Micro sleeping was a sure sign that I needed to stop for a few minutes and spotting a handy bus shelter with a comfy looking bench I pulled over and sat down. I was probably only asleep for a matter of seconds, certainly not long enough for the person following behind to catch me up, but it did the trick and when I stood back up and remounted my bike, I felt like a different man. Shortly after 08:00 I rolled past a bench overlooking some allotments which looked familiar. Racking my brains, it soon came back to me. I’d stopped there for my tea on my way back from our holiday in July 2021, which meant there should be a big hill just around the corner. Sure enough, my memory was correct, and that big hill gave me plenty of time to reminisce about the last time I was in this spot as I edged slowly towards the top. I might have been over a hundred miles from home, but I’d still been there on my bike before, and I vividly recalled that I’d struggled to get up this climb then. A situation which was repeated this time around too, as I dismounted and pushed the last few meters to the top, beaten by the terrain for the first time on this ride, but not the last as we will see later! Cresting the top I knew that I was only minutes away from the next control and the halfway point at Daventry where we were scheduled to stop at a 24 hour garage, and my thoughts turned to breakfast and what delights I was going to treat myself too. Apparently, the garage had a Subway, so thoughts of footlong breakfast rolls and a hot brew drove me on for the final couple of miles. Imagine my surprise and utter dejection then to discover that the Subway was not open yet! The first major blow to my morale struck! A bag of crisps, a squashed sandwich from my saddle bag and a Wispa bar had to suffice. It wasn’t a footlong breakfast roll though! Morale crushed, but hunger temporarily sated. I was back on the road heading South by 09:00, crawling slowly back up the other side of that interminable hill as fellow riders rolled easily down, making their own way towards the disappointment of the closed Subway and their own halfway point. Making my way steadily towards the next major checkpoint at Thame, by mid-morning the mist had been burned off by the weak spring sun which made the odd appearance, and I’d had to stop a couple of times to start shedding some of the layers that I’d put on during the night. Thick gloves replaced by thinner ones, Down jacket back in its place in my saddle bag, wrist warmers and a top follow, getting squashed under the flap of my saddle bag as I start to run out of space, and finally my thin hat joins them. It had better not warm up much more as I’ve run out of storage space, but at the same time a couple of degrees warmer would be lovely. Heading towards lunchtime and I seem to be making slow progress, it looks like I’m still an hour from Thame, meaning it’ll have taken nearly 5 hours to cover 48 miles. Looking back now, that’s not too bad considering that I’d done 170 odd miles by then and not been to sleep for over 30 hours. But at the time it seemed ridiculously slow, and it started to gnaw at me, “If it’s taking this long to cover the miles now, what state am I going to be in this afternoon?”. Eventually though, Thame arrived and rolling through town I spotted a chip shop, “That’ll make up for the disappointment of breakfast”. Sausage and chips with extra salt and vinegar and a can of fizzy pop, just what the doctor ordered, and a handy seat in the war memorial gardens to sit and enjoy it on, does it get any better than that? Half an hour later, refreshed and reinvigorated, I was back on my way, making my way steadily South, heading for familiar roads as I headed towards home. Would familiar roads be a blessing as I once again became aware of where I was, or would it be a hindrance? To be honest I’m not sure. Coming across familiar roads and landmarks reminded me of just how far I still had to go, but at the same time it worked the other way too, oh it’s only so far to XYZ, that’s manageable. What didn’t work in my favour was the knowledge of the terrain that was still in front of me. By early afternoon I was starting to really suffer as tiredness started to creep up on me and the endless battering from the awful road surfaces started to take its toll. Arriving at Bradfield for the next Info control my morale took a real dip as I realised how long it had taken to cover the 27 miles since lunchtime and the enormity of the task still ahead started to sink in. For the first time since setting off I started to wonder if I had this one in me. Could I really get back to the finish, or should I just cut my losses and head for home from here and sort out getting my car back tomorrow? Whatever I was going to do, I needed to head towards Kingsclere, so I might as well head that way. Putting some tunes on to try and distract myself I pushed on, trying my hardest not to look at the time or mileage. There’s only so long you can get away with not looking at the time when it’s staring directly at you from your handlebars though. 10 minutes pass, stop looking, I distract myself with some Lambs in a field and a Red Kite circling overhead, and when, what feels like hours later I look again, 2 minutes have passed. Arrgghhh!!!!! Things can’t actually be that bad though, because whilst it feels like I’m hardly moving, no one’s caught me up from behind, which must either mean there’s a big gap between us, or more likely we’re all moving at roughly the same speed. That theory gets rapidly blown out of the water minutes later, when crawling up another hill that I could normally fly up with no problems, I get passed by another rider. He’s not actually moving that much quicker though and I get into Kingsclere for the final control just behind him. We exchange small talk for a few minutes and he confirms that he feels about as tired as I do, which makes me feel a bit better, at least I’m not the only one struggling! Wandering into the small shop in search of some tea and a receipt, I find myself wandering aimlessly down the narrow aisles in search of something that I actually want to eat. Nothing really appeals except a packet of chocolate Hobnobs, but I can’t have Hobnobs for tea, can I? I wander around the little shop a couple more times, but still can’t find anything that I actually want to eat, so in the end I give into temptation and settle on a bag of salty crisps and that packet of biscuits. Healthy living at its best, but I suppose when you've been cycling nonstop for 19 hours, anything is better than nothing, and I desperately need the calories. Or that’s my excuse. Hobnobs for tea it is then! I’m on the move again by 17:00, trying desperately not to think about the significant amount of climbing that I’m going to have to drag my sorry legs over to get to the finish. It’s only 41 miles, a distance that I wouldn’t even blink at on a normal Saturday morning, in fact I can run that far, but today it’s looking like another 4 hours of slog. And a slog it is, interminable endless slog. Crawl up the hills in the lowest gear, a gear that rarely gets used, but has seen more than its fair share of the action today and roll down the other side. Except the roll down the other side bit never seems to come, in fact I’m certain that I didn’t actually go downhill at all from the moment we set off until I eventually got back! I briefly stop a couple of times as the evening progresses to start putting the layers on that I shed earlier as the temperature drops, treating myself to another biscuit or two every time. Eventually though the miles tick down until, as darkness descends, I find myself pushing my bike back up the steep side of Old Winchester Hill. I know that this is the last real brute of a climb between here and the finish, but as I reach the summit, as if to rub salt in my wounds, the rain starts. Cold, wet, heavy rain, and with-it darkness returns! Why? What have I done to deserve this? I ask the road, but there’s no answer, just more rain! Oh well, it’s not like I’ve never been cold and wet before, and there’s only one way to get out of the rain, and that’s push on. The road starts to descend after the Sustainability centre at East Meon, and for the first time in what feels like forever, my speed increases slightly. I need to keep my wits about me though, I can’t afford an accident on the dark and wet roads. As I finally roll back into civilisation I miss a turn at a roundabout and have to back track, it’s only meters but it’s still another blow to my tired mind. Finally, soaking wet, freezing cold, tired beyond belief, hands and wrists sore from the endless battering from the road and totally demoralised, I reach the finish. The lights of the village hall beckon and I wearily dismount for the final time, almost 23 hours and 250 miles since setting off and wander in to be greeted by the sound of a boiling kettle and the smell of freshly cooked food. And then a strange thing happens. I pull off my soaking wet jacket and gloves. I hand in my Brevet card and collection of receipts. And one of the lovely volunteers who has given up his Saturday night to welcome us back, makes me a brew and offers me a bowl of delicious homemade Chilli. And as I sat there in that warm dry village hall, sharing small talk with a couple of other riders who’d arrived just ahead of me and the lovely reception committee, my memories of all those hours of struggle, the pain in my hands, the tiredness in my legs, the cold, the wet, and the endless climbs fades away. To be replaced by memories of what I’d achieved over those 23 hours. The shared, often unspoken moments with other riders out on the road, the places I’d been and the things I’d seen, the feeling of the wind on my face and the sight of the road rolling beneath my wheels, the birdsong, that bacon sandwich by the roadside in the middle of the night, the underlying excitement as we waited to depart on Friday night, the sense of relief at finishing and a thousand other happy memories. There were plenty of times during the day when I’d rather have been anywhere other than riding my bike, in fact I was having an awful time for large parts of the evening. But, as I sat there listening to the conversations around me, I realised how wrong those thoughts had been. I hadn’t been having an awful time at all, I’d been having a brilliant time, I just didn’t know it!
Postscript
There’s no doubt about it, that was a brutally hard day out. I suspect that tiredness played a major part in how hard it seemed to be, and there’s no doubt that I struggled to maintain focus throughout the afternoon, which again played a major part in how hard the ride appeared to be. Was it actually any harder than any other 400km ride though? Setting off into the dark at 22:00 wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be. In fact, the entire night section was really enjoyable, apart from the cold. Rolling peacefully along quiet country lanes, devoid of the normal traffic made a pleasant change, although the state of our roads is abysmal, requiring extra concentration to avoid disappearing down a gaping chasm. Reading back what I’ve written above, it sounds like a real slog fest, so the big unanswered question must be, did I actually enjoy myself? And the answer to that is as always, a resounding yes. Yes, I’ll grant you there were plenty of moments where I would have given anything to be not sat on my bike for a second longer and yes there were plenty of moments where I considered my sanity. But apart for a small blip approaching the last checkpoint I never doubted that I could complete this ride, and as soon as I stopped and sat down, any negative feelings were instantly replaced with elation at a job well done. Taking yourself out of your comfort zone is all part of the growing and learning process and we have two choices in life. We can either sit comfortably at home having an easy life, but never really growing as people or achieving much. Or we can take ourselves out of our comfort zone, we can push ourselves to the limit of what we can do and learn a bit about ourselves and possibly achieve greater things. It’s when you’ve pushed as hard as you can and you’re doubting your own ability, when your minds taking you to the dark places that you don’t really want to go to, and you’ve reached your limit that you really start to learn about yourself. There’s a post it note stuck on my desk as I sit here typing this, and there’s a couple of things written on it in my scribbly handwriting, two of which say “Where there is no struggle, there is no strength” and “If your not in over your head, then how do you know how tall you are”. Well, I’ve got a pretty good idea of how tall I am, but every time I push myself out of my comfort zone and come out the other side, then I grow a little bit taller, and I create a few more memories that will hopefully serve me well in my dotage. And of course I had a good time, it was bloody brilliant, I just didn’t fully realise it at the time!
Good news everyone, apparently, it’s the start of Spring, both meteorologicaly and calendar wise, which means things will continue getting better on a daily basis from here on in. Obviously, that’s ignoring the almost traditional snow at Easter, April’s torrential showers, the endless gales that tend to blow through April which strip all the fruit blossom off my fruit trees, and a last-minute late frost in May which will kill everything that’s trying to grow on the allotment.
No of course not, it’s all going to be plain sailing from here on in, and to that end this weekend I’ve managed to sun burn the bald bits on my head and enjoy some unseasonably warm moments on the allotment. OK I’ll admit that it was only really warm in the greenhouse, but why let the truth overshadow a good news story. So, what have I been up too this weekend then? Well, for a start as I mentioned above, I had a few hours on the allotment on Saturday afternoon, mainly spent in the greenhouse alternating between hiding from the showers and slowly roasting when the sun came out. It’s all or nothing this time of the year! A couple of hours pottering around saw the greenhouse staging re-erected, although if I’m honest I’m not sure how much longer it’s going to last. I made this set of staging when I got my first greenhouse back in 2002 and considering that it spends all summer outside and the rest of the year in a damp greenhouse it’s lasted pretty well. It’s getting a bit rickety now though and I think it’s time that I made a new set before this lot totally collapses and takes everything else with it, that’s not going to happen any time soon though. Maybe a job for next winter! Anyway, staging aside, those couple of hours were pretty productive and I managed to sow, Sweet Peas, Cabbages, Sprouts, Kale, early Carrots, early Peas, Nicotonia and Broad Beans in trays in the greenhouse and get some Shallot sets into the ground outside too, all of which join the Chillies, Geraniums and Petunias that got started in a propagator on a warm windowsill at home midweek. There’s still a long way to go until the hazy days of summer, but those first signs of new growth are coming thick and fast. The new Rhubarb crowns and Raspberry plants that I bought and planted at the back end of last year are all showing signs of new growth, although the Blackberries that I got at the same time don’t seem to be up to much. All of the established fruit bushes have lots of buds on them, and I noticed that the fruit trees at home look like they’re about to burst back into life too. Likewise, the daffodils are in full bloom and the Polyanthus are adding their splash of colour to the gardens along with the Crocuses, although the wallflowers seem to have succumbed to the really cold spell we had earlier in the year which is unusual. You can’t win them all though and that’s part of the fun of gardening (allegedly).
Odd jobs, bike cleaning and the misery of shopping wrapped up, along with getting things off to a start on the allotment, left the rest of the weekend to the main event. The Cerne Giant 30 Mile Challenge event, another of the LDWA’s showcase challenge events, starting and finishing in the picturesque village of Cerne Abbas, deep in the Dorset countryside.
Before I get into the roots of the event itself, I just need to comment on the dark! Having taken the van down on Saturday night ready for an early start on Sunday, I found a nice quiet little spot in the middle of nowhere for the night. The rain had cleared leaving a clear sky and without the light pollution that I’m used to coming from the metropolis of Basingstoke, I was treated to an almost idyllic night sky. Warm enough to sit outside with a brew, I spent a good few minutes gazing up in awe at the brightness and clarity of the night sky. I’m no star gazer, but without the light pollution we normally live with there were stars aplenty to admire, it’s just such a shame that we can’t normally see them against the background of streetlights! Sunday morning, just as the sun started to brighten the night sky, I was treated to the sound of new born lambs coming from the field opposite my parking spot, and birdsong from the trees behind, as I lay in bed thinking about waking up. Idyllic! Peering outside once I’d had a brew, it looked pretty idyllic too, the sun was shining, the ground was wet from yesterday’s rain, the lambs were frolicking in the fields, Daffodils shone brightly in the morning sun, and everything looked good with the world. With the sun quickly warming the morning it wasn’t hard to make the decision to abandon the running tights and thermal top that have been my faithful companion through the long winter days in favour of shorts and a lighter top, thin gloves, and not much else. Walking down to the start with the fresh air blowing round my ankles which have been hidden for so long was refreshing and reminded me of those summer days still to come, although I carefully packed some long trousers and a jacket into my running pack just in case. Better to lug extra clothes round for 30 miles then get caught out and suffer!
Booking in and collecting my route card was a slickly organised affair and after a few minutes making final adjustments to my kit, then doing it again once I’d realised that I was still wearing my glasses which needed packing too, I was ready for the off at just after 08:30.
I’ve probably mentioned before that LDWA challenge events are a bit like Audax in that you have to prove proof of passing through the relevant checkpoints within a certain time frame. As we all walk at different speeds (it is supposed to be a walking event at the end of the day) checkpoints open and close to suit the pace of fast and slower walkers, and as such, as a runner it’s possible to get in front of the checkpoint opening times, resulting in standing around waiting to get timestamped for your proof of passage. To that end it makes sense to depart towards the end of the start time window, giving the walkers a head start and slowly catching them up as the day progresses. A final few words with the lovely volunteer checking us out, and I was off into the unknown. Unusually, nervous butterflies played with my mind as I set off. Having not run all week due to my knees being sore and painful, there’s always the feeling that today might not be my day and should I actually start? (Not that a week’s rest made any difference, but I set off regardless knowing that I could always pull out or cut the day short if needed). The weeks rain had left the first few miles along well-trodden footpaths, muddy and slippery underfoot, but with the sun shining and the route soon climbing steeply away from the valley floor onto drier ground I was in my element. Within the first few miles any worries about my knees had rescinded to the back of my mind (although running probably wasn’t the best idea as they’re stiff and sore today) and I soon settled into an easy pace, taking the time to ensure my head was up taking in the views.
Those first few miles fairly flew by, and bar a short diversion where I missed a turning and everyone behind followed me, it wasn’t long before the first checkpoint at Lyscombe hove into view. This is the real beauty of these LDWA events, I’d never in a million years have found this idyllic little spot with its 12th century chapel and ruined cottages. But the local knowledge of the organisers had ensured its inclusion for today’s route and all of the LDWA events which I’ve been to have done a fabulous job of showcasing the hidden gems in their locality, which makes travelling just that little bit further than I normally would worthwhile.
I can’t stand around sightseeing all day though, there’s still a lot of miles to cover before the day is done and it’s straight back up hill as the route climbs back out from the shelter of the valley.
Steep sided valleys, with picturesque villages sheltering from the wind and weather at the bottom provide a welcome distraction from the miles ahead. The long steep climbs are rewarded by outstanding views across miles of countryside from the high points. Sheep, some with lambs in tow graze on the grassland as they have since man first tamed this wild countryside, shaping the terrain and vegetation with their endless grazing. Crystal clear streams transport rainwater from the hill tops on its way to the sea. Bird song fills the wooded areas where Catkins adorn the trees and signs of new life are starting to burst from the undergrowth. Yet the winds still got an icy edge to it when it catches you on the hilltops, or as it whistles down the valleys, reminding us that winters not quite done with us yet. Taking no notice of that chilly wind, Skylarks sing from the grassland, competing with the sound of farmers going about their business, ploughing, seeding, and checking on their sheep, making ready for the start of another productive year. And slowly the miles tick down. Proof of passage in the form of a self-administered clip mark on my route card at Binghams Melcombe. The marker hanging neatly from the post-box as the route sheet said it would, accompanied by a polite note informing the inquisitive of its purpose and requesting it remain in place to be collected at days end by the tail marker. And then onwards to the next stop at Buckland Newton. And what a stop it is, the lovely volunteers have outdone themselves. Trestle tables groan under the weight of homemade sandwiches and delicious cakes, whilst a friendly voice asks if they can get you anything, water, tea, squash, cake, biscuits, nothing is too much trouble, and it’s with a heavy heart and full stomach that I have to tear myself away from this little haven of British hospitality and generosity, to push on.
Moving on as the morning turns towards afternoon, the sun continues to shine slowly burning my exposed head, and all remains good in the world. Despite the mounting miles my knees seem to be holding up, and I feel like I’m still moving fairly well. In fact, I must be doing OK as when we re-join the 20-mile route I’m steadily catching and slowly passing those in front that have taken the shorter of the day’s options.
Slowly the miles tick down until I approach the final checkpoint at Sydling St Nicholas where the GPS route that I’ve been following takes me away from the quiet stretch of road that had been leading the way into town and onto a footpath beside a stream, which then becomes a dead end. At which point my GPS indicates that I’m off route? Retracing my steps, whilst looking confusingly at the little screen, I come across the two runners who were just behind, who are also looking confusedly at various GPS implements. Retracing our steps back to the road it looks like the road will take us to the next checkpoint anyway, so we set off that way. A few minutes lost, but that’s not a major problem in the big scheme of things, and a nice lady, busy tending her front garden, soon confirms that the village hall we are aiming for is indeed just down the road, so we push slowly on to the final checkpoint and another warm welcome. Cards scanned and clipped, confirming attendance and proof of passage, I refill my water bottle, grab a slice of cake from the delightful spread and a handful of salty crisps and push on, devouring my tasty treats as I work my way back up the next climb, as the guys I’d arrived at the checkpoint with slowly extended their lead as they pull away up the hill.
It shouldn’t be much further now and that’s confirmed as I slog up another steep incline with rapidly tiring legs and come up behind a smartly dressed gentleman, complete with Tyrolean hat and walking poles out making the most of the spring sunshine. Slowing my ascent to say “good afternoon”, he enquires after my destination and then informs me that it’s almost all downhill from here.
It’s with a lightened heart at that bit of good news that I bid him farewell and push on, ready to enjoy those last few miles of glorious downhill which he’s promised me. 20 minutes and 2 miles later and I’m still slogging uphill. Granted it’s not that steep, but with 28 miles in my legs it’s hard work. Why - oh – why did I believe that nice gentleman with his promise of it being all downhill! There’s even a great big aerial which I can see at the top signifying that the next turning point must be the highest point around! Eventually, I arrive at the top and instantly start the promised descent. This isn’t much better through as my tired leg muscles scream in protest at having to try and slow my descent down the steep slope and my feet struggle for grip on the greasy, muddy, slippery, surface.
One more small climb, and then around the next corner, confirmation that the ends not far away, as the Cerne Giant, looking resplendent in the sunshine, fills the view, with the village of Cerne Abbas and the days final destination nestled in the valley off to the Right hand side.
And that’s it, another mile and the days done. I’m back at the start with 31.8 miles covered in 6 hours and 15 minutes, to a warm welcome, a plate of delicious bean stew and a bowl of rice pudding. As far as I’m concerned you can keep you medals, commemorative T shirts, route marked courses and goody bags. I’ll take a beautiful route, a warm welcome, a slice of home-made cake and a bowl of rice pudding any day thank you. There’s no doubt about it the LDWA certainly know how to put on an event, and I can’t wait to come back and do this one again!
And just before I go, it was "The Emmas" birthday last week. Can you guess how old she is?
Another week gone and another step closer to spring, not that it feels like it this week, but we must be getting closer as there’s lots of Daffodils in full bloom and I notice that the Roses and Clematis in the garden have got fresh growth on them, so it must be getting warmer, even if were having a bit of a relapse this week.
The days are drawing out too. It’s just about light when I set off on my daily commute to work now and it’s still light gone 18:00 which means there’s a bit more time for getting out and about and sorting out all those jobs at home that I’ve been avoiding all winter. Having mentioned it last week, I finally got my seed order for the allotment and gardens in last week too, which arrived at the start of the week. I’m starting to think that I might have overdone it a bit though. It all looks so tempting when you’re flicking through seed catalogues on a dull winters evening and there’s so much promise in all those little packets. I’ll give it another week or so for the current cold snap to end and then it’ll be time to start getting the greenhouse ready and sowing seeds. I really can’t wait!
All that’s to come yet though, so more importantly what have I been up to this weekend? Well, for starters you’ll be pleased to know that the little Bangernomics Peugeot passed its MOT with flying colours, which makes the bit of work I did on the brakes worthwhile. On the downside, the possible head gasket leak that I’ve been monitoring for a while looks like a definite case and will need some attention in the very near future.
When I mentioned it to “The Emma” the other day she said, “That’ll give you a nice little project to think about then” and I suppose she’s right. I don’t like making work for the fun of it, but I do like something to get my teeth into and even more so if it makes me think a bit. Hopefully it’ll limp on until the weather warms up a bit but watch this space for a bit more car tinkering at some point in the future! Sunday saw my now annual outing to the Steyning Stinger, a cheeky little marathon length romp up onto the South Downs, by way of a couple of cheeky little climbs, and to that end I loaded up the van on Friday evening and set off into the unknown, planning on a bit of cycling Saturday morning and a quick visit to “Kathryn Stinks” for tea on Saturday evening before the running fun on Sunday. With Saturday dawning overcast and cold, but dry, I managed to get in a few miles (67 to be precise) to add to the years tally. Nothing special, or overly taxing, but it was a nice little route along quiet county lanes, all of which were well adorned with Catkins dangling magnificently from the roadside Hazels, and the odd spattering of wild daffodils and Snowdrops all standing proud against the chilly wind. Sunday looked even better weather wise and after a quiet night I was up bright and early, ready for an 07:30 Marathon start. As I mentioned earlier, this is a run that I’ve done a couple of times now (2020, 2022) and I’m pretty sure that this is the best weather I’ve had so far. Previous years it’s been windy or misty, or both, but this year was just about ideal running conditions, and a distinct lack of mud, making for some predictably fast times (not from me though!). It’s a lovely route too, despite those couple of ferocious ascents to get up onto the South Downs ridge line, the views from the top more than make up for the effort of getting up there though!
Unfortunately, I haven’t got much to say about the actual run, which is probably a good thing. Taking it slow and steady I didn’t push particularly hard and must admit that I probably enjoyed myself more than those previous times.
The slightly slower pace left time to take in the views and enjoy the running, instead of constantly clock watching and fretting about the odd lost second here and there. And with it being pretty much ideal conditions, I know that I can’t compete with the fast guys (especially not having put 60 miles into my legs yesterday on top of a full week’s training) so why punish myself for a fast time? There’s a time and a place for that lark and this wasn’t it. That’s not to say that I spent the morning dawdling along. Somehow, I still managed to cross the line in 4:03, which considering the terrain, is a time that I’m more than happy with. Yes, it’s not the fastest I’ve ever run, in fact I’ve done the same route 20 minutes faster previously, but as I said before, I certainly enjoyed this year’s more than those fast ones. And to top it all off, the customary cooked breakfast at the end tasted just as good! It seems to have been an awfully long time since I last mentioned bicycling and that's because it is. In fact I suspect that I've done less miles this month than I have for a long time. It's not that I've not wanted to go playing out, it's just that other things have taken a priority, a situation that's not been helped by February being a short month. The first weekend I had my “Bob the Builder” hat on helping “Kathryn Stinks” with her bathroom, then “The Lurgy” got me and playing bikes was the last thing on my mind, and then last weekend, well I still wasn't 100% and the allotment was in need of some attention before we get back into the growing season, so I didn't get any miles in then either. I suppose then that it's about time that I did something about that lack of miles, and that something started mid week when I had to divert from my normal place of work for a meeting. Now I could have just gone by car, but where's the fun in that, and the fact that my meeting didn't start until 10:00 made the idea of going by bike even more attractive. The question that no one's asked yet though is, where was your meeting? Well, now you've asked it was at Benson, which just happens to be 35 miles from home, and not only is it 35 miles away, it's up a bloody great big hill too! 35 miles is however only 2 and a half hours of leisurely cycling, which meant that to be there for 10:00 I wouldn't even need to get up any earlier than I normally do. Result! So, whilst all my colleagues drove and spent the first 20 minutes complaining about the traffic and bemoaning the 60 pence toll to cross the Thames at Pangbourne. I went by bike, and arrived refreshed, happy and invigorated. Granted I got a bit damp on the way there and got a puncture too, courtesy of a bit of sharp flint, but neither of those things are a problem, and more importantly I added another 70 miles to the years total and had a great time in doing so. Not a bad start to the week then, and all in works time too! Whilst I was messing about playing bikes in works time I had another of my brilliant ideas too. As you'll see in a minute, the main aim this weekend was the Wylye and Ebble Valley Audax on Sunday, which would normally mean getting in some running miles on Saturday. But, in one of my moments of stupidity I thought, why not get a long run in Friday afternoon instead, leaving Saturday free to catch up on an bit of bike maintenance and a few other jobs. Now, I've played this game before and it's rather hard going, but by combining a run into work with a few miles along the canal in the afternoon, followed by getting the train back home from wherever I end up, it's pretty easy to rack up some good miles. So that's exactly what I did. I dragged myself out of bed early on Friday morning, donned my running kit and head torch and set off for the second time that week for work. I've bored you about my work commute before, so there's no point going over that again. But, 10 miles on a cold and frosty morning, leaving home in the dark and running towards the rising sun is always a treat, and even more so now the mornings are starting to draw out and I get to work in the daylight. Brilliant. A bit of a stretch off and a second breakfast and I'm still sat at my desk ready for work before my colleagues get in, not a bad way to start the day by any stretch of the imagination. A few hours at work and having wrapped up everything I need to do, I'm free to escape for the second part of the days adventure. Running gear back on, laptop closed down for the weekend, phone on silent and it's only 2 miles back down the road to pick the Basingstoke Canal back up at Colt Hill Wharf (Odiham), from where I set off bound for Fleet and hopefully beyond. The big positive in following the canal, apart from its dead flat, well surfaced and remarkably pretty, is that the railway line follows the same route, so there's a station every few miles, which means I can just run until I've had enough and then jump on the train to get back home again. Perfect! I'll admit that it wasn't the nicest of afternoons, being overcast with a couple of heavy showers, but the canal was it's normal beautiful self. It's not a busy stretch of water being a dead end, but there were a couple of maintenance boats plodding up and down, the odd Kayaker and Stand Up Paddle Boarder on the water and plenty of wildlife to keep me distracted. The miles passed easily on the flat, smooth surface and within a couple of hours I'd reached the 11 mile point where there's a handy shop. A bottle of water and a pastry for sustenance and I pushed on for another few miles until I reached Ash where the train station brushes the canal side and provides a handy stopping point. Not only is it a handy point for getting the train home but it works well on the mileage front too, being bang on 16 miles from work, which took the days total to 26 miles. An hours monkeying around waiting for trains and a short walk back from the station and I was back home just as “The Emma” was getting up following a night shift and putting the kettle on. Hows that for perfect timing!
And that little lot brings us nicely on to the weekends main event, the Wylye and Ebble Valley 200Km Audax and a timely reminder that I do indeed know how to ride my bike further than a couple of miles, although judging by Sundays performance, some more practice is definitely in order.
As per usual I took the van down to Denmead on Saturday evening after dropping “The Emma” off at the train station on-route to a leaving party for one of her work colleagues and had a quiet and uneventful night. Sunday morning dawned with a fairly considerable overnight temperature drop and a light frost, which the van heater soon dissipated whilst I sat in bed and had a pre breakfast brew, and by the time I ventured out ready for the days start the sun was shining down from a cloudless sky on a crisp and chilly morning. The lighter mornings made for a very agreeable 07:30 start to the days proceedings and it was nice to be actually starting a ride (and likely to finish it) in daylight for the first time in what seems like ages. Brevet card collected and after the normal stand and stare at each other until some brave soul sets off and everyone else follows we were on our way at bang on 07:30, heading for Winchester via a few lumpy miles through the South Downs National Park. Pretty lumpy those first few miles were too, which set the theme for the day, nothing too steep or long, just endless ups and downs as we made our way through the rolling countryside with the early morning sun slowly burning the frost from the fields and hedgerows and the early morning traffic giving us a wide berth as the early large group of riders slowly broke up as we each settled into our own rhythm and pace. The long steady climb up through the outskirts of Winchester, coupled with the low winter sun soon ensured I’d warmed up nicely and I paused briefly at the top of the climb to shed a few layers, which obviously meant that I was cold again as soon as I set off, but it’s often better (and more pleasant) to be a touch on the chilly side than sweating your bits off! Anyway, I wasn’t going to be cold for long as the rolling terrain continued as I made my way towards the first stop of the day at Cholderton Rare Breeds Farm via Stockbridge. With just over 40 miles done Cholderton seemed like an ideal place to grab a cup of tea along with the required proof of passage stamp and I joined the short queue of fellow cyclists who had arrived shortly before me. 10 minutes later I’d moved one place further down the queue whilst those in front ordered weird and wonderful coffee’s, at which point I gave up, stamped my own card and moved on. I’m not normally impatient but all I want is some hot water with a tea bag in it, not the moon on a stick!
Pushing on, the rolling terrain continued as I made my way along familiar roads to the North of Salisbury before picking up the flatter and faster stretch of road that runs alongside the River Wylye. At Wylye itself we turned left to head out of the valley and that’s where the climbing really seemed to start for the day. Some nice railway workers, busy replacing a level crossing, took pity on me and allowed me through their worksite instead of following the signed diversion but I soon started to wish that maybe they hadn’t as the road climbed endlessly steeply upwards.
Lowest gear and keep spinning the pedals, it’ll be worth the effort for the view from the top! Slowly and surely the top arrived, to be followed instantly by a steep descent, and another climb, and another steep descent, and, well I’m sure you get the idea. The next few miles were a bit of a slog as I made my way through the pretty sounding and beautiful villages of Dinton, Bowerchalke and Sixpenny Handley, before eventually arriving, tired, hot and sweaty at the next control at Cranborne garden centre where a much needed brew and slice of amazing cake provided the opportunity to rest sore muscles for a few minutes and some much needed sustenance. With mixed emotions I left Cranbourne and headed towards the New Forest. Mixed emotions because I knew what was still to come, a real slog of a climb, with associated headwind on the way out of Fordingbridge across open moorland, but at the same time, open views, wild ponies, well surfaced roads and the beauty of both the open areas and quiet forested roads. If it was easy everyone would be doing it, but the last leg was a real struggle, both mentally and physically as I pushed slowly back towards the start. The headwind across the endless uphill slog from Fordingbridge towards Bramshaw was as tiring as expected, but on the same hand the endless views across the open moor’s were as picturesque as I remembered from my last excursion into this area. The roads through the forest were as undulating as I remembered, but the wild ponies and cattle which inhabit this area provided more than enough of a diversion for my tired mind and legs. Leaving the New Forest behind it became a case of mind over matter as the route endlessly rolled along for the final miles. Never steep enough to cause major problems, but at the same time never flat enough for easy miles. By 16:00 with the afternoon drawing on the temperature had dropped significantly, and I paused my progress to put back on those layers that I had shed earlier in the day and grab a sandwich from my saddle bag. Layers which were still damp and clammy from the morning’s exertions, which initially did little to warm me back up. A situation which was soon remedied once I got moving again. Warm and revived by that sandwich (and maybe a chocolate bar too) it was just a case of pushing out those final few miles back to the finish. Miles which came slowly and required more effort than they should have on tired legs. But miles which none the less were eventually dispatched, and as hoped for I got back to the van before darkness descended. 129 miles to add to the years tally in pretty much exactly 10 hours. I’ll happily admit though that it was a hard day out, significantly harder than I thought it should have been. The endless ups and downs played havoc with my mind, the steep climbs sapped the strength from my legs and the cold wind drained my spirit through the New Forest. But, I’m not complaining as I still had a great day out, and it’s a route that I’ll happily come back and do again, although maybe I’ll wait until it warms up a bit first!
Hopefully you will all be pleased to know that I’ve survived my brush with death courtesy of the "Lurgy" last week and I’m still alive. OK, so I exaggerate a bit, but I’m not ill very often, so I’m not very good at it, plus I’m a man so even a sniffle puts me at deaths door.
I’ll admit that it did take the wind out of my sails though, and I had to have a couple of days off work at the start of last week. When I did go back in on Wednesday I still didn’t feel strong enough to cycle in, so I drove, neatly spoiling my run of cycling or running to work every day for nearly 2 years! By Thursday I was back on the bike though and I even managed a short run Friday lunchtime in addition to cycling into work and back, so I must have been feeling better. Saturday I had planned on getting out for a few bike miles in the morning, but having listened to the wind howling round the house for most of the night and been greeted by some pretty ferocious wind when I got up, I decided that maybe I needed another recovery day to fully get over my weakened state. So I went to the allotment instead, where I spent most of the day pottering around cutting back the hedge that borders my plot and generally tidying up. Whilst it might not have been the most productive of days they were all jobs which needed doing and it puts me one step closer to being ready for the start of the new growing season in a few weeks’ time (which reminds me that I must get my backside in gear and get my seed order in). With the forecast looking significantly better for Sunday, I decided that I was going to have to make better use of my time, and with the small matter of the missed Punchbowl Marathon and my ongoing Marathon a Month attempt to keep on top of I decided that I’d head down that way and see how well recovered I actually was and look at getting in some proper miles. To that end I headed down to Elstead after tea on Saturday night for a cosy night in the van, ready for an early start on Sunday morning, the plan being to make the most of the promised weather and run what I could of the Punchbowl Marathon route, all be it a week late!
Sunday dawned bright and dry with no real wind and I was out picking up the planned route just before 08:00. With our friends at the LDWA keeping things fresh and interesting there had been a few route changes since last years event and after crossing the River Wey for the first time as I left Elstead there was plenty to keep me occupied as I made my way anti clockwise around the route heading towards Tilford.
Although I wasn’t feeling particularly strong, the sun was shining brightly from a near cloudless sky, the day was warm and still and with the birds singing, the snowdrops brightening the banks and hedgerows, and the squirrels searching for their cached supplies in the sandy soil alongside the route I was having a great morning and making steady, if slow, progress.
Plodding steadily on in the early morning sun I soon reached the 10 mile mark, signifying a 1/3rd of the days planned distance, but I wasn’t feeling as strong as I should have at this point and it was becoming clear, even at this early stage, that I wasn’t likely to be able to run the full distance.
A chocolate bar and brief pause just outside of Tilford whilst I investigated a small cave and some Second World War gun emplacements helped and provided a welcome distraction, but my mind was already considering my options, and as we've seen plenty of times before, when the mental game is lost then so is the day! Tilford came and went, along with the 13 mile mark for the day, and whilst slowing I was still running, all be it slowly, but my mind and body just wasn’t in it. I was still tired and lethargic from my recent brush with sickness and maybe I was trying to do too much too soon. But, most importantly, the sun was still shining and I was still enjoying myself. Reconsidering my options, I came to an agreement with myself that if I could carry on running to Frensham Common with it’s pretty ponds and sailing boats at the 16 mile mark, then I’d slow down and just walk the remainder. Granted it would be a long walk, but it was a nice day and as I said above, I was still enjoying myself.
Arriving at Frensham Common I knew the game was up for the day! My mind had fully bought into the idea of plan B and there was no point in trying to convince it otherwise. Slowing to a walk I spent a few minutes watching the boats on the clear blue water and getting some calories on board, before pulling on my jacket and long trousers which I’d sensibly packed for just such an occasion and heading off again at walking pace.
Walking alongside the pond as I made my way steadily onwards it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I pushed on with a newfound spring in my step. With no requirement to watch my footing quite so closely and the navigation easier at walking pace there was more time to look around. With my head up and jacket undone enjoying the warmth of the day, I started noticing the little things that you miss, or certainly pay no attention to, when your running. The old couple with a full loaf of bread feeding the ducks next to the large sign saying “Don’t feed the ducks bread it’s bad for them”, the young couple walking slowly hand in hand in the winter sun, the families out for a Sunday morning stroll, dogs and kids in tow, building up an appetite for Sunday lunch in a local hostilely, the birds signing from the tree tops, last summer’s leaves, now discarded by the trees, crunching underfoot as you progress and the thousand and one other things that your aware of, but pay no notice to when you pushing on. Plodding slowly on I stopped briefly at the 20-mile mark and sat on a fallen tree eating a sandwich from my pack. Not the traditional eat on the move approach of the marathon runner, but the slower, more thoughtful approach of the long-distance walker. Why eat on the move when you can stop, take the weight off your feet for a few minutes and take in the glory that surrounds you. I’m no longer chasing the clock or trying to convince my mind and body to keep going, I’m just enjoying being outside in the sunshine!
As I progressed the miles came slowly at walking pace, and as I stood atop Kettlebury Hilll, looking over the MOD training area where some Army manoeuvres were in full swing, I again considered my options. There was an ideal point coming up to cut a few miles out of the planned route and avoid the stiff climb up to The Devils Punchbowl. It’s a part of the route I’ve covered plenty of times before, and did I really need the extra miles of walking? No, I think not!
Decision made then, I diverted off the planned route and picked up a road section for half a mile or so, effectively cutting 4 miles off the day’s total. Sometimes I feel bad about changing my plans, it doesn't always seem to sit right in my mind, but at the same time, sometimes, adapting allows me to still have a good day out without hurting myself or suffering unnecessarily and at the end of the day, it’s all about having fun, not punishing yourself for a change of plan or a failure! My little diversion worked a treat too. As I covered the final couple of miles back to the van, I watched the distance slowly increase on my watch until it ticked over the 26 mile mark as I came down the final hill. If that wasn’t meant to be then I don’t know what was! 26 Miles in just over 6 hours than. Incredibly slow by my normal standards, but most importantly I’d had a good day, my legs still felt good, and I’d still enjoyed myself, walk or not. I can’t win every run I go out on and sometimes, acknowledging that it’s not a good day and changing your plans is the best thing to do. Give it a few more days and I’ll feel better, I’ll feel stronger and at some point, I’ll come back and run the full distance, but for today, I’m happy with that, and in my book that's all that matters!
Good news everyone, my feet are finally dry. Granted, I can’t feel them, or my fingertips for that matter, but at least they dry for a change and we’ve got to be grateful for small mercies. In fact it’s been so cold this week that my bucket, which was full of rain, is now inside out, but at least it’s empty again!
So, now I’m dry again, what have I been up to this weekend? Well, it would appear that we’re in a bit of a drought on the running and cycling front, as despite hunting round for things to do I couldn't find anything that caught my imagination within a sensible distance, so I’ve just stayed at home, sat on the sofa and eaten HobNobs.
No, of course I haven’t. When I realised that I didn’t have anything planned, I did what I always do and invented my own fun. A quick trawl round the Travelodge’s in the vicinity, yielded a room at Amesbury for Friday night for the very reasonable sum of £31. That’s cheaper than an organised Marathon, and significantly cheaper than putting fuel in the van, so it’s a bit of a no brainer. Plot a route, cycle down to Amesbury after work on Friday, have a luxurious night away (Have you ever stayed in a Travelodge at the services? Luxury it isn’t. Warm, dry and clean, it certainly is, and with their bike friendly policy, they’re still the budget accommodation of choice) and ride back home Saturday morning. Brilliant! The overnight Travelodge game works really well at this time of year when there’s not much else going on and you need somewhere warmer than a bivvy bag for the night. It allows you to spread your wings a bit wider than just cycling from home and gives you a reason to actually get some decent miles in. Accommodation sorted, it’s just a case of putting the destination into Cycle.Travel, or any of the other route planning websites available, and within minutes you're good to go! Bike loaded Thursday night, although you don’t need much if you're happy to live like a tramp, all I had to do was get through a long, slow, Friday morning at work and I'd be good to go. After a cold commute in to work on Friday morning, my enforced delay left plenty of time for the winter sun to work its magic, and by the time I managed to escape from work it was a pleasant winter's afternoon. With the low sun doing its thing and the miles rolling steadily along, it wasn’t long before I was working my way through the afternoon traffic in Winchester and working hard up the long, steep, climb back out of town, on my way to Salisbury. Picking up the Avon valley at Salisbury, evidence of the recent rains were much in evidence, with the cycle path alongside the river underwater and the roads alongside littered with deep, cold, puddles. Following the river between Salisbury and Amesbury the river was still in full spate, spilling steadily over it’s banks to flood the fields and floodplain alongside. With the temperature rapidly dropping as the sun made its final descent from the sky and the afternoon turning to evening, it didn’t take long to knock off the final few miles and before I knew it I was safely ensconced in my temporary abode. Warm, dry and satisfied after a good afternoon's work, having racked up another 73 miles to add to the month's total.
An early night meant I was up and on the road again by 07:15 and heading out into the cold and dark whilst the world slumbered on around me. Dawn was just breaking on the Eastern horizon as I climbed away from my overnight accommodation, bound for Upavon and Marlborough, before turning towards home on more familiar roads.
Whilst clear skies meant cold temperatures (more of which later) they also held the promise of a stunning sunrise and beautiful day to come, and as I reached the top of the first ascent of the day a glance behind confirmed that the first colours of dawn were slowly leaching into the Eastern sky with all the glories of another day. Pulling to the side of the road I took the opportunity to stand and stare, the pale pastels slowly brightening the sky, the lights of Salisbury and beyond still clear in the dark below and a solitary deer, sitting quietly taking in the same view, or more likely contemplating moving to it’s safe hiding place as the day approached, sat in the field opposite, quite unbothered by my presence.
Standing and enjoying the view isn’t going to get me home though, so with the frost nipping at my fingers I pushed on. Rolling through Upavon a short while later the dawn revealed the frozen landscape in all its majesty and provided a timely reminder of the dangers of being on the bike at this time of year.
Turning off the main road, the smaller, quieter roads were heavily iced in places. The result of the recent rain continually running off the surrounding fields before freezing and being polished smooth by the continuing traffic. Luckily, the miles I'd already covered in darkness had been on a busier, ice free road, as the new found daylight highlighted the ice risk. The icy patches stood out against the drier road surface, allowing plenty of time to dismount and walk the worst parts. Keep your wits about you and pay attention and it should be Ok, but it only needs a moment's inattention to allow a front wheel to stray onto an icy patch and that'll be game over.
Continuing North, the hump backed bridge over the Kennet and Avon Canal offered a fine view of the frozen canal below, the brightly coloured barges firmly entombed in the frozen surface, their occupants snug and warm sat in front of the fire or going about their morning chores.
Pushing on the Alton Barnes White Horse provided some distraction as I climbed the steep hills overlooking Pewsey. Photographers, silhouetted against the blue sky were clearly visible on the hilltops, each engrossed in capturing the beauty of the new day slowly revealing itself behind me. And then as I descended slightly from the peaks a change, as the sun was eclipsed by a freezing mist. The wind chill as I slowly descended, still wary of the icy patches which littered the road, tore at my face, the only exposed skin accessible to its ice cold fingers, whilst it's icy grasp probed at my jacket and double layer of leggings, trying unsuccessfully to find a way in. Marlborough came and went, and still the mist hung heavy, clinging in freezing icicles to my bike and clothes, freezing my fingertips through my thick winter cycling gloves, leaving my water bottles frozen and coating my panniers with a thin film of ice. Pausing briefly after Marlborough I wrapped my frozen fingers around my thermos as I sipped at the warm brew I’d prepared earlier, bringing enough feeling back to set them tingling as I stood swinging my arms and stamping my feet in an attempt to bring back some feeling.
Oh, for a return of the sun and its warming rays. It may be low in the sky and weak on these winter days but it’s still better than the freezing mist which obscures the view and chills my bones.
Eventually, as I passed through Hungerford, well on the way towards home, the sun won its battle against the mist and made a triumphant return. Slowly the feeling returned to my fingers, gradually the frost melted from my jacket and helmet, little by little the ice fell from my handlebars as the sun worked its magic, and still I pushed on, heading for home, on familiar territory by now. Another hour and within a couple of miles from home my ears picked up a new noise. Not the familiar hum of tyres on tarmac or the wind whistling across the handlebar extensions and GPS mounted between them. Not the recognisable sound the chain makes as it passes through the jockey wheels and sprockets, and not the occasional swish as my winter boots rub against the cranks. More of a rattle, and that's never good. Running through the normal checklist I tried to narrow down the source of the new noise. Stop peddling to discount the drive-train. No it’s still there but not as pronounced. Stand up and wiggle the bike. No, it’s still there, worse if anything. It’s not a normal noise. If it’s drive-train then it would happen every pedal revolution. If it was tyres it would be every wheel revolution. But it’s neither. It’s every pedal stroke, it’s every bump in the road, it’s an almost constant rattle. It takes a while, but eventually as I approach home, my day almost at an end, I figure it out. The temperature increase has obviously been enough to start thawing my water bottles and the road vibration has broken the ice within into little bits. With every vibration those little bits of ice are now rattling and clattering around within the bottles. It’s like being sat on a cocktail shaker as the ice rattles around!
It might only have been a cheeky overnight trip, but what an adventure it had been. Beautiful sunrises, flooded fields and roads, frozen fingers, ice covered roads, Deer, Barn Owls swooping away in the predawn, birds singing in the winter sun, bare trees, stiff climbs and fast descents.
Yes, I’ll take that as a win. And I’m pretty sure I’ll remember the day my clothes froze far better than I would a weekend sitting on the sofa eating Hob Nobs!
After an easy evening sat in front of the fire most of the feeling had returned to my fingers (I say most, as my big fingertips and the end of my thumbs still feel a bit numb, but we'll worry about that later) I was back out Sunday morning for a few running miles around one of my local running routes.
Nothing too dramatic, just an easy 16 miles out into the countryside surrounding home. It never fails to amaze me how quickly I can be out of home and into open countryside and on a chilly, clear, winters morning, its lovely to be out there. Deserted roads and trails, the cold keeping the sensible people at home. The winter sun warming the fields and slowly melting the heavy overnight frost. Frozen tracks, un-passable last week when it would have been a sea of slippery mud. Frozen puddles, the ice freshly broken by the farmers and gamekeepers who have been out early checking on their livestock. The sound of a chainsaw in the far distance as someone works on replenishing their wood pile. The small hedgerow birds flitting around ahead, a robin watching intently from his perch, and Pheasants puffed up against the cold rise startled from the undergrowth as you approach. If they just stayed still you'd never see them. Squirrels, woken from their slumber, scamper around in search of long buried treasure as you pass, and the Red Kite patrols silently overhead, in search of it's next meal. But best of all, coming home with glowing cheeks, frozen fingers and that feeling of satisfaction that only a foray into the great outdoors can bring, to a hot brew and hot buttered toast with home made marmalade courtesy of "The Emma". Life doesn't get much better than this! |
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
March 2024
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