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!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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