Right, a joke’s a joke, and I can take a bit of humour as well as the next man, but I’ve had enough now! Since the middle of September, I’ve been on 7 Audax’s (The End Of The Lines and Wye Gravel, The Ticking Tortoise, The Mid Sussex Hiller, The End Of Summertime and this weekend The Upper Thames and with the exception of The Ticking Tortoise, where it was only drizzling, it’s absolutely thrown it down with rain for all of them! And for the one before that at the start of September (The Morris Major) it was so hot that only a few of us actually started, for fear of heatstroke! I mean, seriously, how can it only rain at the weekend? Looking back through my diary at work, I’ve gotten properly wet commuting to work 13 times so far this year, and on the weekends, it’s 11 times. Now, considering that I commute to and from work every weekday, but don’t cycle every weekend, and there’s 5 days in the week and only 2 at the weekend, that must mean it rains a lot more at the weekends than it does during the week! And how can that possibly be? I’m guessing from my little rant above that you might have gathered that I got a bit wet this weekend again! What you might not have guessed is that for only the second time in my Audaxing career, and the second time in as many weeks, I DNF’d (Did Not Finish) again on Saturday, and I’m bloody annoyed with myself about it! Saturday was the Upper Thames 200KM Audax, which is a cheeky little jaunt around the edge of the Chilterns and the Cotswolds. Now I’ve done this ride a few times over the years, and I can’t think of a single occasion where it didn’t rain at some point in the day, but that’s never stopped me before, and it’s always a good day out. This year though the weather in the last couple of weeks has been pretty dire and the forecast for Saturday during the preceding days had been for more of the same, so rain wasn’t unexpected. Unsurprisingly then, Saturday morning I woke to the sound of rain falling steadily on the van roof, each and every drop of which added to the puddles already on the roads and the rivers cascading off the fields, which is never a good sign when you've got a 200KM day in front of you. By the time I’d had breakfast and made my way to the start it was still raining, and the skies showed no signs of clearing any time soon. The few unhappy looking faces at the start and the table full of uncollected Brevet cards seemed to echo the grey skies outside, and if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such despondent looking faces and general apathy to start a ride as I saw on Saturday morning. As we stood in the rain waiting for the 07:30 start time, it was clear that this was not going to be a pleasant morning. Eventually though 07:30 came and we slowly departed, heads down, shoulders hunched, each probably wondering, as I was, what the hell we were doing. Rivers ran in the gutters, puddles the size of small oceans hid potholes the size of open cast mines, sharp shards of flint mixed with mud and general debris coated the roads, each laying patiently in wait whilst valiantly trying to find a way in to puncture a tyre, and still the rain fell from the sky like a shower in full flow. Within minutes of our departure the rain had penetrated my gloves and filled my boots with cold, dirty, water, and the cold, absent in past weeks, had started to penetrate my defences. Battling up the first of the days climbs against the river which was flowing strongly down the hill restored a bit of warmth, but I was certainly already colder than I had been for many months, which is never a good sign when you're only a few miles into a long day. Pushing on, trying to stay warm, as I approached the first of the days checkpoints the rain eased, and I’m even tempted to say it may have stopped for a few minutes. Any relief was short lived though, as minutes later I was wheel hub deep in a small lake, the filthy water filling my boots again as I fought my way through the flood water, whilst trying valiantly not to fall off in the knee-deep ocean! By the time I reached Henley I was really starting to feel the cold, and spotting a small supermarket I stopped in search of washing up gloves to add under my cycling gloves in a last-ditch attempt to warm up my hands. Pulling on washing up gloves which are at least two sizes too small (that's all they had) onto soaking wet, freezing cold hands, is no mean feat, I can tell you. But having managed to get them on, at least my hands were sort of dry at last, and as I set off again it was with renewed hope that I might make it through the day. Minutes later, those hopes were cruelly dashed as the rain returned with a vengeance as I made my way slowly up the long slow climb past Stonor Park to regain the high ground of the Chilterns. This time however, the extra energy expenditure of the climb failed to work its magic, and the cold continued to seep slowly and inexorably into my core. Approaching the top of the climb a handily placed shelter hove into view and I pulled up in another vain attempt to get warmed up again. Knowing the weather was going to be against me, I’d packed a spare pair of dry socks and an extra top, and I took the time to get out of my wet socks and into some dry ones, adding a couple of plastic bags that I'd acquired at my earlier stop, before putting my sodden boots back on in the hope that they may keep the worst of the water off my new dry socks, and donned my extra (emergency layer). As we all know, what goes up, must come down, and shortly after the climb came the long, fast descent into Wallingford. Coming down the steep road the rain fell in sheets, stinging my face and obscuring my view as I hung onto the brakes, trying desperately to control my speed on the steep descent, whilst at the same time get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible. This just wasn’t fun! Coming back out of Wallingford, as if a sign from God, I noticed a small road sign pointing in the opposite direction, stating that it was only 4 miles back to the start. Initially I rode past, and then I slowed, my mind trying to convince my heart that continuing wasn’t a great idea. A few meters further and I’d rolled to a stop. Standing in a muddy field gate, with the rain pouring down, I spent a few minutes contemplating my fate. I was wet, I was cold, there was no chance of drying out and warming up unless the rain stopped, which didn’t look likely, and even if it did, the wind was picking up. Was this really fun? But at the same time, two DNF’s in as many weeks. I’m supposed to be a big tough endurance cyclist, not a scared of the rain, stay at home weakling! As I stood there with the rain dripping down my collar, the cold biting into my wet fingers and toes, and my bike gently rusting beside me, it wasn’t a hard choice to make. 4 miles back to the warmth of the van, or another 90 in the rain. What would you have done, in that situation? I’m still bloody annoyed with myself though. A couple of hours later, the rain had stopped, and the sun made a brief appearance. There’s no doubt about the fact that if I’d just pushed on for another hour or so, I’d have got round, and probably have had a great day with it. The fact is though I made some silly mistakes early on, mistakes that I shouldn't have made. I knew the weather was going to be bad, so why did I leave the washing up gloves which fit well and keep my hands warm and dry under my cycling gloves at home? If I'd started with those on, as I normally would on a wet winter ride, my fingers would never have got wet, or cold. Likewise, I realized Friday night that I didn’t have any plastic bags with me to put between my boots and socks, a neat little trick which is about the only thing I’ve ever found that comes even close to keeping my feet dry(ish). Why didn’t I just go out and get some instead of thinking ‘It’s not that cold, it’ll be alright’. And why the bloody hell didn’t I start in waterproof trousers! There are 3 little things there, which had I acted on them and dressed accordingly, would undoubtedly have meant I’d have finished Saturday's ride, warm, dry, and comfortable. But because I’m an idiot, I ignored all my previous learning, and thought ‘I’ll be fine, it’s only a bit of rain’. Idiot!!!!! Typically, Sunday was a far nicer day with only a couple of light showers in the afternoon, not that that was a lot of help, because there was no cycling planned. We did have other plans though, so there was no lazing in bed, and I was up bright and early with “The Emma” in tow.
Having “The Emma” in tow is unusual in itself, but I needed her assistance, so she was going to have to get up early too. In fact, we were on the road before 08:00 on a beautiful Autumn morning, heading for the South coast. I can hear you all thinking “Ahhh, a romantic day out at the seaside, how nice” but you’d be wrong. Yes, we were having a day out, but we were actually off to look at another car, not sit on the promenade eating jellied Eels and Whelks or build sandcastles. You’ll note that I said “another” there and not “a” because if I’m honest the car situation is getting a bit out of hand now, and this one brings the total to 7 between us. The ironic thing being that I do far more miles a year cycling than I ever do driving. In fact, I hate driving. But “The Emma's” got to have her hobbies too, and I’ve got plans for this one that don’t actually involve driving it for the foreseeable future. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we had a pleasant drive down, spent a couple of hours looking at my latest purchase, went and had some breakfast, and “The Emma” drove the latest acquisition home (see I told you I needed her help). I did offer to drive it home myself and she could drive the van back, but she muttered something about rather having needles poked in her eyes, grabbed the keys out of my hand and was gone! So, in addition to the rest of the fleet (1 camper van, a 206 GTI, a Fiesta ST, 2 Subaru Impreza’s, and a Subaru Brat) we’ve now got a 25-year-old MX5 that just about scraped through its last MOT and is about as likely to pass the next one as I am to fly to the moon under my own power. But that’s not a problem, because my intentions are to drive it until the current MOT expires (or preferably until I’ve finished a couple of other little projects) and then it’s going to be used as the donor car for a kit car project. See, I told you a few months ago I had plans for THIS LITTLE SPACE.
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There’s no doubt about it, the Summer’s definitely over, and that’s for certain. I know it’s over because this weekend was the Petworth End Of Summer 200Km Audax. Oh, and the clocks went back. But that’s a minor point when there’s bike riding to tell the passing of the seasons by. I’ll get on to the bike riding fun in a minute, but first there’s a couple of other things to catch up on. The first of which is the stupid van, which occupied most of my time on Friday afternoon. It’s been well behaved recently, but coming home along the M3 last weekend the God of nuts and bolts decided that the bolts retaining the Number 1 fuel injector should just undo themselves for no apparent reason! There I was happily pootling along until the normally rattily engine sound was replaced by the chuff chuff chuff of escaping cylinder pressure. I Chuffed along to the services where a nice man from the AA produced the only tool I didn’t seem to have with me (an Allen key) and tightened it back up again to get me home. The only problem with that is there’s a little copper washer which seals the injector to the head, and having been loose once it was never going to seal properly again, so now needed replacing. Luckily there was a break in the weather Friday afternoon, so I spent a couple of hours stripping it down, cleaning everything up and replacing the little washer, so hopefully we're back in the game again. The strangest thing is that it’s been fine for 10,000 miles since I replaced the engine, and the others are all still tight. So why that one decided to come undone I’ve no idea. Hopefully it's not a portent of some catastrophic failure that’s just around the corner, because I really don’t want to be stripping that down again, and with push bikes trying to bankrupt me I can’t afford to either. While we’re talking about things breaking, my commuting bike needs a new front wheel. Well, I say it needs a new front wheel, it’s actually got a dynamo hub fitted (as have all my bikes) which is brilliant. But the wheel bearings aren’t adjustable or replaceable (we’ll see about that) and the bearings are on their way out. Strangely I’m not having much luck with bearings at the moment, this is the 3rd bearing failure in a short time, none of which have been replaceable (Washing machine drum at the start of the month, bottom bracket a couple of weeks ago, and now front wheel hub). I suppose I shouldn’t moan too much as it has done over 4000 miles through 2 winters in all conditions, so it’s probably done well to last this long. But like the washing machine and bottom bracket, a bit more thought in the design process could easily have made these replaceable items, prolonging their life and reducing waste. I suppose when you're in the business of selling new items, that’s not a shrewd business move though is it. Either way, to even get the hub apart requires all the spokes removing, and while I’m more than happy to do that, it’s not a ten minute job, and I haven't got a spare Dynamo wheel that will fit that bike to swap it with to get to work next week. I priced up the cost of the parts to build up a new wheel, which will mean that I can swap them over and look at getting the other one apart, and it’s actually only £10 more to get a handbuilt one from my usual parts supplier, so that’s a no brainer. Although there is a 2 week lead time, so I need to nurse this one though at least another 250 miles of commuting and that's another £150 that I wasn’t planning on spending. All of which adds to my argument that it’s actually more costly commuting to work by bike than it would be by car. We’ll save that argument for another day though, and when the new wheel gets here I’ll get a few photos of stripping the old one down and we’ll have a look at swapping the allegedly unreplaceable bearings! Anyhow, I suspect none of you are here to read about me pottering around fixing things, whilst moaning about the cost. So what else have I been up too? Well, Saturday didn’t look too promising on the weather front, so I came up with a cunning plan to try and make the most of the day without getting too wet, which unusually worked out quite well. Saturday morning I pottered around at home and wandered up the allotment for a couple of hours, before rendezvousing with ‘The Emma’ at home for Bacon Butties for lunch. You can’t say we don’t know how to live the high life, there might not be any posh restaurants, or exotic holidays here, but who needs those when your having Bacon Butties for a lunchtime treat. And a rare treat it was too! Anyway, the actual plan for the day was to head down towards Midhurst, ready for Sunday’s Audax fun, whilst trying to take advantage of a forecast break in the rain by getting in a few running miles along the South Downs Way in the afternoon. By the time I got down to my planned start point at Cocking, the rain had indeed stopped, and although the clouds looked menacing, it was at least dry. I got a real result too. I only did just over 8 miles as part of my slow return to running (that’s 18 for this week, up from 16 the week before and 12 the week before that), so I was only out for just over an hour. But it was raining heavily a few minutes before I set off, and within 5 minutes of getting back to the van, the rain had returned and was in for the night. 8 miles and I didn’t even get wet, it’s not very often that happens, maybe my luck is changing for the better! Joking aside, those 8 miles along the South Downs Way were bloody brilliant. I mentioned last week that I’ve really missed running these past few months. The sense of freedom, the exploration, the feel of the ground beneath your feet, the open spaces, the landscape opening out in front of you, the peace and quiet and the opportunity to be at one with yourself and the world. The little tracks that just cry out to be explored, the birds flitting from the hedgerow as you approach, the muddy puddles that block your way until you give in the inevitable and run straight through, the cold muddy water splashing your calves, and your breathing, ragged and short, as you climb yet another hill to take in the view from the summit. Oh yes, I’ve really missed running and I’m desperately hoping and praying that by taking it slow I can keep going, even if I never get any further than the 8 miles I did Saturday, that’s a million times better than no miles at all! Sometimes I should just keep my big mouth shut, and Sunday turned out to be one of those days. After a cosy night in the van listening to the rain beat down endlessly on the roof, Sunday didn’t actually look that bad (I don’t think it stopped raining from the time I finished my run, until about 07:00, and that includes the extra hour courtesy of the clocks changing). But Sunday morning looked considerably better than it had been overnight. In fact when I checked the forecast as I sat in bed having a brew, the forecast was for a dry morning, with some heavy rain showers later in the day. I can handle heavy showers, and if they could wait until later in the day would be even better. Getting wet towards the end of the day is far better than starting the day wet! So things didn’t look too bad for the Petworth End Of Summer 200Km Audax, which made a change because I’ve done this ride a few times before and it’s been more normal to start in the pouring rain than it has to start in the dry. Pre-ride rituals completed, we were on the road bang on 08:30, heading for the first of the day's checkpoints at Liss. The roads, wet and puddle laden after the night's rain, were quiet as we headed out of Petworth along the A283 before turning off onto quieter country lanes. Rounding a bend in the road approaching Lickfold I had the first indication that the day may not turn out as planned, as the road suddenly disappeared into a lake sized puddle, complete with stranded car and a runner wading his way slowly through! The wading runner confirmed that A) that wasn’t his car, and more importantly B) that the water was only knee high, but the current was quite strong on the corner where the river had burst its banks and overflowed the bridge. By the time I’d debated my next move a couple more riders had arrived to survey the scene, and taking solace in numbers we all plucked up the courage to go for it. The jogger was right too, it was only knee high, but that's deep enough to fill your boots full of icy water and, the current was quite strong on the bend too. Safely across the ocean I pushed on with water squelching between my toes and dripping out of my sodden boots. Not pleasant, but not the end of the world and all part of the adventure.
By the time I got to Liss the weather forecast had been proven incorrect, and a steady rain was falling, a rain that got heavier and colder on route to the next checkpoint at Petersfield. Stopping for a “proof of passage” receipt at Petersfield I took the opportunity to add another waterproof layer under my lightweight jacket whilst debating the weather forecast with a couple of fellow riders. We all seemed to be of the opinion that the worst of the weather was due in the afternoon, and it was already pretty bad! How much worse could it get? As I made my way towards Chichester the rain eased off and things started to dry out. In fact as I started working my way back towards Petworth for the lunch stop I was actually quite enjoying myself. That wasn’t going to last though, and by the time I started working my way back over the South Downs the rain had returned. Not too bad at first, but by the time I started the descent from Duncton hill it was throwing it down. This wasn’t part of the deal. The rain stung my eyes, poured from the rim of my helmet, soaked into my boots and chilled my legs, whilst the cars continued to stream past inches from my handlebars, giving not an inch, despite the deteriorating conditions and reduced visibility! Hmmmmmm this isn't much fun! It’s not very often that I consider quitting. But today, there was an ideal opportunity, as the route passed back through Petworth and the safety of the dry, warm, van. If the forecast was right and this was going to continue all afternoon, another 5 or 6 hours of being soaked to the bone wasn’t going to be much fun, and for what gain? So that’s where my, and most of the others, ended our day. I dropped back into the start to say my thanks to the organising team and let them know that I was calling it a day, and slunk back to the van, where the rain continued to fall relentlessly for the next couple of hours as I had my lunch and a brew. 51 miles in the rain then, a big puddle and a first Audax DNF (Did Not Finish). I can’t win them all though, and that was a sensible decision. There’s no point in getting pneumonia, riding down an invisible pothole in the rain, or getting knocked off by some inattentive driver who’s not prepared to slow down despite the conditions. Sometimes it’s better to say enough is enough and come back to play again another day! But most importantly, a massive thanks to the organiser for putting on Sundays ride, and a huge “Chapeau” to the 7 hardy souls who pushed on and finished the 200km day despite some atrocious conditions!
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. It’s going to be a short and sweet one this week, mainly because as I sit here on Sunday afternoon, I can’t actually think of anything to write about. Sometimes the words seem to flow onto the page like a leaking pipe soaking into your carpet, and other times it’s like getting blood out of “The Emma” (nigh on impossible apparently). I was off work last week (just to fit in with “The Emma’s” leave) so you would think that I would have loads to tell you about, and in fact I was incredibly busy, it’s just that none of it’s really newsworthy or particularly interesting. And for some strange reason, I don’t even seem to have many pictures from my endeavours to share! Most of what I have been up to, has been catching up on odd jobs and finishing off other things that should have been finished ages ago, in an attempt to clear a bit of the backlog before I start anything else. For instance, I’ve finally got round to fitting the carpet into the airing cupboards, and refitted the trims around the front door, both jobs that have been outstanding since “The Carpet Caper” back in April. I’ve also tidied out the storage garage and fitted shelving down one side so that I can actually get in there now, and at the same time thrown away loads of junk that I’d been saving for some unknown reason, neither of which jobs are particularly exciting. Whilst we're talking about unexciting jobs, the workshop window has been letting in moisture for a couple of years, where the frame wasn't sealed to the wall properly. So I spent half a day digging out all the old, perished, sealant, repointing some of the brickwork and resealing it properly, which will hopefully stop the damp which is creeping down the wall. Although only time will tell if that’s been successful. I’ve had a couple of mornings on the Allotment and in the gardens at home too, tidying up ready for the winter. The Tomatoes and Cucumbers have finally come to an end in the greenhouse, so they've been cut down and added to the compost heap, and the Courgettes have also met the same fate. The Squashes (Butternut and Autumn Crown?) have been harvested and are currently in the cold frame hardening off before I bring them home for storage (hopefully before the first frosts) and I’ve had a good general tidy up too. Oh, and the Chilli plants are fully laden with fruit still, some of which has ripened up already. Hopefully, if the weather stays mild it might still be warm enough for some more to ripen up before the frost gets them too. The other job that’s been ongoing all week has involved making some new end panels for the kitchen to replace the ones I showed the other week which have delaminated. Now this is the sort of little project that I normally get loads of photos for as it’s not too involved and easy to document. For some reason though this time there’s none, so you’ll just have to take my word for it on that one, and if they turn out OK then I’ll stick some pictures up when I come to fit them. (They best had, because getting the paint matched to the other units cost a large fortune) And when you look at it like that, it doesn’t sound like I’ve done much with my week off, but I haven’t stopped. I’ve been struggling to keep my eyes open much after 9 O’clock every evening, and I’m almost tempted to say that I’ll be glad to go back to work for a rest, although that’s so far from the truth it’s unbelievable!
The good news from a blog perspective though, is I’ve got cycling fun lined up for the next 4 or 5 weekends, so I should be back to having something to talk about again, and weather permitting a few more pictures to share. But before I go, and while I’m talking about bikes. I’ve come to the conclusion that this cycling lark is blooming expensive, and I’m pretty much convinced that commuting to work by bike (or at least across the distance that I do) isn’t any cheaper than driving to work. In fact, I’d wager that it costs more in the long run, especially as I still need to run a car for other stuff (I can’t do the shopping on my bike because there’s nowhere safe to park it (thanks supermarkets and thieving scumbags) and I can’t go to the rubbish tip on my bike, because a sofa won’t fit and they don’t like my van, and I can’t, well you get the idea). When you take in to account the wear and tear on my bike from riding it in all weathers, and the need for extra clothes, and the wear and tear on them, it soon adds up. For instance this month my body warmer finally gave up the ghost (the back ripped as I took it off) and I had to replace a jacket that wasn’t going to see me through another winter (I knew that was knackered when I stopped using it in the spring, so that wasn't unexpected). However, the cost of those 2 small purchases alone would have filled my car up at least twice at the current cost of petrol, so that's probably 3 months worth of commuting to work if I went by car. And that's before we even start thinking about the cost of winter boots, summer shoes, long and short cycling bottoms, waterproof jackets, gloves, helmets, decent lights and the other multitude of things that are required to cycle any sort of distance all year round, none of which would be required if I made the trip by car! What actually got me thinking about the cost of my daily cycle commute wasn't my torn body warmer though, it was the bottom bracket on my commuting bike. When I was giving it a quick clean the other day I noticed that the top derailleur pulley was seized. Now that’s not an unusual occurrence, they’re cheap bearings and they’re exposed to all the grit, grime and rain that gets thrown around by the wheels and chain. Sometimes, I can free them off by prizing the bearing grease seals off, cleaning the bearings out and re-greasing them, which usually gets a few more miles out of them. And if that doesn't work, it’s just about possible to replace the bearings if you're careful, but that only works once as the originals are moulded in as part of the manufacturing process, so it does a bit of damage swapping them (they're clearly not designed to be replaced). Anyway, I digress, because whilst I was fixing the derailleur pulley I noticed that the Bottom Bracket bearings were knackered too. Luckily I had a spare one, so swapping it over wasn’t a big job, but what is annoying was the fact that I was sure that I only replaced that a few months ago. In fact I even remembered doing it one evening in the winter! Which was what set me off on the rant about cycling to work being expensive in the first place. Now, a while ago, because I seemed to be forever replacing bike parts, I started keeping track of what got replaced on which bike and when, and its made for some quite interesting discoveries. So once I’d got cleaned up I had a look, and guess what I discovered? It wasn’t this spring that I replaced that bottom bracket, it was actually February 2022 on that bike, and since then it’s done 5856 miles. That’s 5856 miles in all weathers, which is probably more than most bikes do in their lifetime, and whilst I throw a bit of oil on it on a regular basis, it’s a workhorse not a racehorse, and gets treated as such. So Mr Shimano, I guess I owe you an apology for ranting about your rubbish bearings, it would appear that they’re actually quite good (although if you fitted grease shields to both sides of the bottom bracket bearing then they’d probably last even longer)! But my original point still stands. It's blinking expensive this cycling lark, I mean, how can it possibly be £100 for a jacket with no arms, it's less than that for one with arms!
Is there time for one last hurrah in the form of a bit of camping before the nights really draw in and it gets all wet and muddy? Of course there is! With the right kit it’s never the wrong season for a bit of camping and if I can tie that in with a bit of bike fun then so much the better.
Which is a really rubbish way of saying “I’ve been camping this weekend”. Before I start blathering on, I will just say that camping on campsites isn’t really my bag. Why pay to pitch a tent in the corner of a muddy field full of people, some of whom always insist on talking at the top of their voices for half the night and making as much noise as possible, when I can find a little out of the way spot for my hammock and get a few hours of sleep for free? Sometimes though, needs must, and there’s not much choice but to pay someone to sleep in their muddy field. In this case, I needed somewhere to leave the camping kit while I pootled off for a cheeky little Audax in the form of the Ticking Tortoise (and who wouldn't want to do an Audax with a name like that). Whilst I’m game for most silly ideas, the idea of lugging a fully loaded touring bike, complete with camping kit, around a 160 km audax, whilst everyone else shoot’s off on their lightweight road bikes didn’t really appeal, so in this case, having somewhere to leave the camping kit was a bit of a necessity. With my bike loaded up Thursday night, I had a cunning plan. Ride into work Friday morning complete with all the camping kit and spend Friday morning clock watching, from where I could get away as early as possible and cover the 89 miles down to Bristol Friday afternoon. Hopefully, if I could escape from work early enough, I’d be able to get to the campsite and get set up before dark, which would be a result, but if not, I had a headtorch. Saturday, I’d ride the Ticking Tortoise and then on Sunday it was just a case of riding the 80 miles back home. Which even if I do say so myself, seemed to be a brilliant plan!
The first part of my brilliant plan was flawlessly executed and I covered to 11 miles into work (complete with everything I’d need for a weekend away) with no dramas, although it’s always a bit strange starting your day by heading 11 miles in the wrong direction, meaning my 89 miles from work to Bristol would actually be a 100 mile day, but thats all part of the fun isn’t it?
I managed to escape work just before lunchtime and was swiftly on the road, next stop Bristol, but first the little matter of familiar roads back to Basingstoke and then onwards through Newbury, Hungerford, Marlborough and a multitude of small, beautiful villages, each with their own charm and beauty. With the sun shining weakly from the early Autumn sky, all appeared to be well with the world. Well, that is until I actually got moving and discovered that it was actually quite windy, and that wind was blowing directly in my face. A situation that wouldn’t normally be that much of an issue, except today was all one way, and that way was the way that the wind was coming from. 89 miles with the wind in my face wasn’t going to be much fun!
By the time I got to Hungerford and stopped for a late lunch, that wind was starting to take its toll. I was only 35 miles in and it was tough going, the extra weight of the camping gear, coupled with the invisible force which was trying to push me backwards was making for some hard miles.
An hour later as I slogged up the long climb from Marlborough to cross the Ridgeway, I’d decided that I wasn’t actually having much fun, every meter was a battle and I knew that things were going to get worse as the afternoon wore on and I got more tired. It’s that old mental battle again. The second you let the desire to stop win, it’s game over, so there’s only one option. Head down, set yourself little targets and push on. “Another 30 minutes and I’ll have a biscuit”, “get to the M4 crossing and I’ll stop for a minute”, “get to the top of this hill and I’ll have a sandwich”. And so with little milestones the afternoon wore on and the miles steadily ticked down. A handily positioned bench next to small memorial to a pair of WW2 Spitfire pilots killed in a training accident, provided an opportunity to sit and rest for a few minutes and provided a welcome distraction from the wind, as did a brief conversation with a fellow cyclist on their commute home after their days work, who enquired after my destination.
Eventually though, after the long slow drag up towards Hinton, the views opened up to reveal Bristol and the Seven Valley beyond. The end was in sight and not before time!
It’s amazing how quickly the hard work is forgotten, and rolling down the final few hills, it seemed almost impossible to think that just minutes earlier I had been cursing the wind and desperately wishing the day to be over. Now, mere seconds later, with the evening sun casting long shadows and the day drawing to a close, I didn’t want it to end. End it did though as I rolled into the campsite and found a flattish spot amongst the caravans and tents to pitch my little home in the last of the daylight, before settling down for tea by torchlight and an early night.
Occasionally I wish my predictions weren’t quite so accurate and I’d like to say that I awoke early, refreshed and ready for another beautiful day. What I’ll say instead is, I awoke after a fitful night's sleep where I was kept awake until 02:30 by a group over the far side of the camping field who insisted on chatting loudly about every subject under the sun! As I said, mixing with the great British public isn’t my strong forte.
Anyway, there’s no point crying over a bad night's sleep, and there was a whole day of bicycling fun to look forward to. So a quick breakfast and then a few easy miles to get the legs warmed up to get me to the start where a brew and a cinnamon roll nicely replaced some of the calories that I’d used getting there as I waited for the start.
I think I commented the other week on Bristols excellent cycling infrastructure (take note other councils, painting a bicycle sign on the pavement does not make it a cycle lane) and today we made full use of it, seamlessly traversing from one side of the city to the other without setting a tyre on the road.
Early morning joggers and dog walkers mixed happily on the wide, traffic free, purposely designed paths, and the first of the day’s many miles were a traffic free delight. In fact, even as we left the confines of the city it wasn't long before we picked up yet more traffic free paths in the form of the festival-way and the strawberry-line which took us almost all of the way to the only significant climb of the day at Bleadon Hill.
As if the stunning views from the top of Bleadon Hill weren’t enough reward for the effort of getting up there, the top of the climb also marked the next control point, where the days organiser, with the assistance of most of his family, had set up a pop up tea stop with a hot brew and selection of cake, to reward the effort.
Suitably refreshed and refueled, it was straight back down the hill, to pick up some flatter miles across Somerset as we headed for Glastonbury. Now, I’ll confess that this isn’t an area that I’m overly familiar with and as I traversed the quiet country lanes the unusual geological features stood out. Glastonbury Tor is the best known, but there are a number of other small hills which appear to rise, like pimples, from the surface of the land, standing proud against the skyline. With plenty of time to think and allow my imagination to do its best as I cycled along, it was easy to think of prehistoric man using those vantage points to survey the land below and provide protection from marauding monsters.
With my imagination running wild, the miles to Glastonbury, which marked the furthest outbound point passed in a blur, and making the turn to start heading towards home brought the wind onto my back as we ventured into the Somerset Levels.
On the flat ground with a helpful breeze pushing on my back, the miles came easily. Cows grazed contentedly in the small fields lining the roadside, green drainage ditches keeping the small fields dry lined the roadside ready to catch out the inattentive with a soaking should you take your eye from the road. Farmers noisily harvested maize for winter fodder and large tractors traversed the small lanes carrying the vital Autumn harvest back for winter storage. A row of modern electricity pylons which I had noticed from our earlier visit to the vantage point at Bleadon Hill stood out against the flat countryside, marking our return route, and Bleadon Hill itself, the location of the day's next checkpoint hove into view in the far distance.
Toiling back up Bleadon Hill in the afternoon sunshine for the second time I started to consider my sanity. One big climb a day just for the fun of it is fine, but two ascents just for the sake of it, well that’s just stupid! But it wouldn’t be an Audax without some stupidity would it, and anyway, no one was making me slog breathlessly up this big hill were they? And so I slogged on, spinning my legs in the smallest gear, surmounting the climb as it wound endlessly upwards, driven on by the promise of more cake at the top!
More cake? Well there’s no point putting in all that effort without the reward is there, and if someone's nice enough to go to all the effort of setting up a cake stop in the middle of nowhere then it would be rude not to partake wouldn’t it! And anyway, I was going to need the energy to push out the final miles back home.
And just about manage to push out the final miles back home I did. Although I’ll admit that by the time I reached the outskirts of Bristol, my legs were starting to feel the effort and I may have had to stop for some emergency chocolate HobNobs to convince them to push out the last couple of miles. Another fine day out then, another 110 miles to add to the year's tally, another Audax tick in the box, more new roads, places, faces and sights, and certainly worth the trip down the Bristol for.
A quieter night Saturday resulted in a far better night's sleep (I’m guessing my chatty neighbours had either burned themselves out on Friday night, or gone home) and I was up early and packed up not long after it got light.
Sunday was a bit of a strange one weather wise as it was really warm and very humid, in fact I was down to just a thin top and shorts with the sweat dripping from my brow before I’d even set off, which is pretty unusual, especially for this time of year.
With the wind on my back I made good progress on the way home, steadily progressing along the quiet country roads, whilst most sensible people enjoyed a Sunday morning lie in and it wasn’t until Marlborough that I started picking up a bit more traffic as the shops opened and everyone rushed out to do whatever normal people do on a Sunday morning.
A brief stop for a sandwich between Marlborough and Hungerford and a slightly longer stop, sat in the sun on the way into Kingsclere, kept the fires burning, and with nothing else of interest to report I was back home by early afternoon, sorting out dirty washing, having a brew with “The Emma” and hanging the damp tent up to dry in the garage. That’s a pretty good weekend by my measure, 2 nights under canvas, 290 miles under my wheels, and plenty of new roads, places, and sights, to occupy my desire for adventure. Yes, I’m happy with that for a bit of early Autumn adventuring! It's going to be a real quick one this week blog fans, because in an unusual turn up for the books, I haven't actually got anything to talk about, or tell you about. I've been busy pottering around all weekend, but none of it's of any interest and I don't even seem to have any photos to show for my endeavours. I've even had a few days off the bike, which is even more unusual. Although if I'm brutally honest, I think it's done me some good, because for the first time in many months, nothing actually hurt when I got out of bed this morning! With it starting to feel rather Autumnal, I've spent a fair chunk of the weekend tidying up, cutting back summer growth and generally starting to make the gardens and allotment ready for the winter. (Now there's a depressing thought!) On the allotment, I've taken down the Beans and Sweet Peas and their supporting canes which are now safely tucked away under the cold frame. The Sweetcorn are coming to an end, so they've been getting taken down as I've harvested them, and I've had a good tidy up in the greenhouse too, cutting back as much as possible to let the light in, and hopefully help to stop the damp and mildew getting to the remaining plants. There's still plenty to come from the allotment yet though, with more Beetroot and Chilli's than I know what to do with, Tomatoes still to ripen, and enough Cabbages, Sprouts, Leeks, Parsnips, Squash, Kale and Carrots to see us well into the winter and hopefully beyond. The fruit trees in the front garden at home have done spectacularly well this year too. We had more Plums than we knew what to do with (the plum jam is delicious by the way) and now the Apples are in full swing and I don't think that I've ever seen so much fruit on 3 small trees. I guess it's going to be Apples in my lunchbox for the foreseeable future, and if I manage to find the time then you really can't beat an Apple pie, although an Apple crumble comes a close second. Now there's a thought! Other than that it's been a weekend of odd jobs, none of which are of any interest. Although, having said that, I think I mentioned last week about the chain on my bike breaking. Well, I gave the bike a clean on Sunday and replaced said chain, and unbelievably there was another 3 links cracked right through, all of which are on the same side and in the same few Cm's of chain. My suspicions are that they've been weakened by corrosion. If I remember rightly I did a couple of rides in the depths of winter when the roads had been heavily salted and the bike got put away wet and salty, and I think it then sat for a while gently corroding before I found time to clean it properly. Either way, I'm absolutely amazed that the chain held together in the state that it's in and caused no further issues (I'm guessing that the snapped bits are on the trailing side of the chain as it works round the sprockets etc, and not the leading edge, or I suspect they would have been picked up by the sprockets and bent outwards leading to total failure). The broken link that caused the problems last week was on the same side and within a few links of these too! A lucky escape there I think and despite the failure, a positive review for the strength and damage resistance of KMC chains. And that's about it for this week folks, but don't worry, I've put my easy weekend to good use, and put some plans in place for a bit of adventuring for next weekend, so hopefully, I'll see you back here next week to find out what I've got planned!
I’ve said it before and no doubt I’ll say it again, but what a difference a week makes. Last week was so hot that it was almost unbearable, and this weekend I’ve got absolutely soaked twice. Although the rain is still pleasantly warm, so getting wet isn’t the disaster it is in the middle of winter, when it’s icy cold and chills you to the bone in a matter of seconds.
How come I’ve got wet twice in one weekend then? Well, in an unusual turn of events for this year, I’ve done 2 Audax’s in as many days. Saturday was the End Of The Lines 130Km starting from Bristol to take in a loop into the Cotswolds, and whilst I was there, why not take advantage of the travel and do the Wye Gravel 120 Km on the Sunday too! Although it wasn’t a particularly early start on Saturday, in fact by Audax standards it was a positive lay in, I took the van down and found myself a nice out of the way spot for a relaxing evening on Friday night, leaving myself plenty of time for an extra brew on Saturday morning, before riding the mile or so to the start.
The normal pleasantries completed, it wasn’t long before we were off, heading for the day's first destination at Calne, via the Bristol and Bath Railway path. But not before having to stop within the first half mile to don my waterproof jacket, as first a few spots of rain brushed against my bare legs, and then the heavens opened into a torrential downpour. Oh well, it saves having a shower later I suppose.
Luckily the rain only lasted for an hour or so, although whilst it was coming down it was pretty heavy, but by the time we’d reached Chippenham and pushed on towards Calne it had stopped and the sun was making a valiant, if unsuccessful, attempt to make an appearance. A brief stop as we crossed the Wilts and Berks Canal to get the required information for proof of passage, provided the ideal opportunity for a quick sandwich and a quick look around at the canal. I’d never heard of the Wilts and Berks Canal before, so this was a nice diversion and to me is the beauty of these rides. No matter how well you think you know an area there’s always something new to see or learn about, and it’s always interesting when I come to write my little adventures up, to sit and have a read about the new places that I've been too. Canals and railways fascinate me at the best of times. I think it’s the sheer endeavour and labour that went into digging these impressive structures that triggers my imagination, so finding a new one is always a delight.
I can’t spend all day investigating canals though, so eventually I tear myself away and push on towards the next stop at Tetbury where I stop for a brew and a delicious slice of bread pudding at the Whistle Stop Cafe, which is housed in the old goods shed which served the Tetbury branch line before it fell victim to Mr Beechings cuts in the 1930's.
Refreshed and revitalised I pushed on through some glorious Cotswold countryside, making steady progress along secluded county lanes, puffing and panting up long steady climbs and for possibly the first time ever, dismounting to walk down what was one of the steepest paved roads I’ve ever come across at Waterley Bottom. Although I’ll admit that the potholed, uneven road surface and the hairpin bends on the way down did little to inspire my confidence to ride down it.
Back in the saddle all that remained was to push out the final few miles to take me back to Bristol, via some of the flatter parts of the Severn valley and Thornbury. In fact, I was back at the van having a brew and a late lunch by 15:00, just as the rain returned, not the torrential rain of the morning, but the make you wet and miserable type, that really gets you down, so I suppose I should count my lucky stars that the majority of the day’s fun had been dry.
And what fun it had been. New roads, new places, new hills, climbs and descents, and a generally lovely route with a nice mix of well surfaced tracks and trails and quiet country roads with plenty to see and investigate on the way round and certainly one to come back and do again if the opportunity arises.
But wait, there’s still more cycling fun to follow, because I got to do it all again on Sunday.
After a comfortable night in the van, Sunday dawned overcast, dull and damp, with the distinct feel of Autumn in the air and the forecast of heavy rain for later in the day. A forecast for a bit of rain wasn’t going to put me off though, you never know it might not happen! So I pulled on my shoes, which were still wet from yesterday's fun, packed my still damp rain jacket, and set out for the start with a smile on my face at the joy of riding through the deserted early morning streets of Bristol for the second time in as many days.
To be honest I wasn’t too sure about Sunday’s ride, and the other bikes at the start did little to dispel those uncertainties. The ride name of Wye Gravel should give the game away, and the majority of steeds on view were indeed fully equipped for a day off road. Big chunky tyres, no mudguards, 1x12 chain sets and all the other trendy “Gravel” accessories that accompany the latest trend. In fact, my 32mm tyres and mudguards looked positively out of place, but at the same time, people were riding on paths and tracks long before “gravel bikes” were invented and I’m sure they managed perfectly well, so let’s see how we get on, and at the end of the day, if off road isn’t working, then the roads just there! There was no problem or need for Gravel bikes as we set off in the opposite direction to Saturdays ride for some easy road miles to take us to the Severn Bridge, where we crossed over to Chepstow to dip our toes into Wales, and almost immediately left the safety of the local roads to pick up the Wye Valley Greenway.
Those first few miles along the Wye Valley Greenway were a real treat. Smooth gravel surfaces made for comfortable miles and the journey through the Tidenham tunnel was brilliant. At a 1000m long and deep underground the tunnel is the perfect roosting spot for a number of bat species and as such it’s only opened at certain times of the year and even when it is open is barely lit with a strict no lights policy to protect the bats.
In the dark and gloom, it’s easy to imagine the toil of the Navvies that hacked the rock apart to build the tunnel, and the hard graft that went into building it, and it was almost a shame as the small pin prick of light that marked the end of the tunnel grew gradually larger, until we were spat back out into the daylight and a return to normality.
A few more easy miles along the Greenway eventually led to the first of the day's numerous crossings of the River Wye, which, still tidal at this point, was flowing strongly upstream. A change of terrain here saw the smooth Greenway and tarmacked roads replaced by a rough bridleway along the riverbank.
Beautiful scenery following the river upstream, but hell on the wrists, as we plodded slowly along the rough grass track. Eventually though the bridleway petered out to be replaced by more gravel paths with sections of road in between, and the painfully slow progress picked up slightly.
With the morning progressing, and the forecast rain holding off for the time being, it was approaching 10:30 when the first checkpoint at Biblins campsite and tea room hove into view.
This is another hidden gem of a place, accessible from the opposite riverbank via a suspension bridge which sways and bounces worryingly as you cross, it’s nestled deep in the shadow of the Wye valley with steep wooded hillsides to other side, and it is a sheltered, tranquil, jewel of a place, and does an excellent line in cake, including some lovely Bara Brith.
With the day advertised as having 2000m of ascent over the 120 Km, at some point the easy miles were going to have to be replaced by some pretty big ascents, the first of which came immediately after the first control where the track went steeply uphill, to climb the valley side, and remained resolutely uphill for what seemed like forever.
Just before I reached the cloud base, the climb eased off and we re-joined the road for a few easy downhill miles of tarmac. Shortly after starting the descent, I noticed my chain jumping between gears, occasionally at first, and then with a growing frequency. Adjusting the rear derailleur cable made no difference, and it took a while of trying to catch glimpses of what was happening between my legs, whilst still paying attention to the road ahead, to work out that one of the chain link side plates had snapped, resulting in the chain being unshipped from the cog every time it went through the derailleur. Pulling in at the first convenient stop, a proper visual inspection confirmed that indeed the side plate had totally separated on one side, and the chain was only held together by half the link. That’s not a problem though. I’ve been lugging the tool for this exact eventuality around for the last 10 years and 50k miles, and in fact I’ve often looked at it and though “Why am I lugging that around with me”? Well todays why! 10 minutes later and I’d unpacked the tool kit, removed the damaged link, replaced it with a quick link that I’d been lugging around for the same length of time, repacked everything, eaten a sandwich from my saddlebag with dirty greasy fingers, and was back on my way. There’s no doubt that when you're miles from home, it pays to be prepared, and the slight weight penalty from carrying a decent set of tools and a few spare parts to get you out of a pickle, certainly pays dividends on the odd occasion that you actually need it.
Another long steep climb followed my unscheduled stop, taking us away from the river again to re-ascend the steep valley side, from where we picked up yet more narrow off-road sections and fire tracks, which clung precariously to the valley side.
Somehow, in the hour or so that followed, I managed to get off track a couple of times, resulting in having to retrace my steps, and by this time the novelty of off-road riding was definitely starting to wear off. The constant having to pick my way around obstacles, watch for stray rocks and tree routes, mind the muddy sections and bits of loose gravel, and the constant feeling of only moving through a narrow tree lined path, with no views to either side and nothing to look at, but more of the same, was wearing thin. So, when it started to rain, I really wasn’t having much fun off road. A few minutes later, as the rain started to fall in earnest, I realised that yet again I was off route, and by this time I’d really lost interest. Looking at the map there was a road intersection ahead, and if I took that, I could roll down to the valley floor and pick up the road which runs alongside the river Wye, which would take me directly back to Chepstow.
The second my wheels hit that tarmac, my mood lifted. Yes, it was still raining, in fact it was even heavier now I’d left the tree cover behind. Yes, I was back to mixing it with the traffic and impatient car drivers. Yes, it was still just as hilly. But it was back on familiar territory for me, and it would appear from recent off-road excursions, back where I seem to be happiest.
My speed lifted as soon as the road smoothed out, I had time to look around again without worrying about falling off the edge of the path, and on the road, I know what I’m doing, it was like coming home after a long trip away. Heading back towards Chepstow along the valley floor in the pouring rain, I had some decisions to make. If I headed straight back to Bristol my day would be a DNF (Did Not Finish) or with it being an advisory route, I could just find a road route to take me to the next checkpoint, get the required information and then head back to Bristol with a validated Brevet card. Being back on the tarmac I had plenty of time to study the map as I made my way towards Chepstow, and it didn’t take long to identify a route that would take me back to the next checkpoint after my little road diversion. The only question now was “Did I actually want to extend my day in the lashing rain with an uphill slog to the next checkpoint, or should I just call it quits and head for home”?
As is often the case, that conundrum answered itself. As when the time came to make the decision I just turned off the main road and headed uphill towards Shirenewton without even thinking twice about it. That was obviously meant to be or I would have had to think about it!
The ride up to Shirenewton from Chepstow in the rain was nowhere near as steep, or long, as I’d thought it would be, and in fact I suspect that my diversion may actually have been faster than staying on the supplied, more direct route. Either way, within a few minutes I’d got the required answer to the “Info control” and was back on route, heading back to Bristol and ultimately home. The wind, as I crossed the Severn Bridge for the second time that day, had picked up since the mornings crossing and was now throwing the rain straight into my face, where it dripped from my helmet, ran down my legs and filled my shoes, and tried to find its way through any gap in my jacket, no matter how small. However, once back over the bridge, the wind was more behind than in my face, and the rain gradually eased off, leaving just a few short miles to push out before the “Arrivée” hove into sight, signifying the end of another day out. Despite the rain and my apparent dislike for off road cycling, it had been a great day out too. As with Saturdays ride, I’d been to some places that I’d never been to before, I’d seen some stunning scenery, crossed a suspension bridge, crossed the Severn Bridge twice, been through the Tidenham tunnel that I’d never even have known existed if it wasn’t for this ride. I’d fixed my bike en-route, further reinforcing my ability to cope with any situation, and remain self sufficient whilst I’m at it, and chatted to some jolly nice people on my way round. And what’s not to like about that?
Unusually, I’m going to start with a bit of a moan this week, or maybe more accurately a bit of a word of warning. Back in the summer of 2018, we replaced our kitchen, the units were a bit tired, there was a lack of power sockets and all the normal gripes that relate to a kitchen that had been fitted on the cheap before we bought the house.
The actual kitchen came from the company that advertises itself as the leading supplier of kitchens in the UK, and if I’m honest it was a disaster from start to finish. Having refused to accept my measurements, the specialist surveyor clearly couldn’t measure either, as when the units turned up, they didn’t fit in the space because the measurements had been annotated onto their drawing by their surveyor incorrectly. I’d even questioned this during one of the design meetings and said to the designer that the proposed plan wouldn’t fit, but had been reassured that their measurements were spot on and it would fit. I can’t remember now why I didn’t double check, or pursue it at the time, but I clearly didn’t as I expected the expert to be correct. How wrong could I be! Before we’d even got that far though I’d totally lost faith in them, as they couldn’t supply what they had promised during the design phase, a number of units had arrived damaged, and there were a number of manufacturing defects in the units that did arrive undamaged. Anyway, to cut a long story short, after loads of messing around, they did replace all the damaged and incorrect parts, and did give us a considerable discount on the cost, due to all the messing around and failings on their part. Cutting forward to the start of this year, I noticed that a number of the cupboard doors were starting to delaminate in the centre of the panels. Now, I’d already been regluing the very edges of a number of doors where the laminate had started to lift on the edges, but this was another level of rubbish. So I complained to the manufacturer, and fair play to them, they came back and said that they would either replace all the doors and panels with new items (to be fitted at our cost) or refund a significant amount of what we had paid in the first place. After a bit of discussion, we came to the conclusion that we couldn’t be doing with ripping it all to bits again, and if one set of doors had already failed, the chances of another set being any good was slim to none, so we took the money, and thought that we’d just live with it for the time being, with the long-term plan being to replace the doors etc with a handmade set that I’d make once I had a bit more time (Like that’s ever going to happen). Anyway, if that’s not enough of a warning to be careful when companies are telling you how brilliant their products are. Last week I noticed that another entire end panel had fully delaminated, with the laminate now flapping in the breeze. Now if this panel was against the cooker and getting hot etc, I might be able to accept this. But the panel in question is sandwiched in against the washing machine so never sees the light of day, and the laminate has just fallen off! Brilliant! I seem to think that the list price on these panels was over £100 each, and the laminate has just fallen off in 5 years! Granted, I’ve already had all the money refunded for the substandard product, but I’m pretty sure that it’s not supposed to happen like that. And at the end of the day, I’d rather have the product that I paid good money for last the expected life of the kitchen, than be looking at ripping the entire lot out again 5 years after fitting it. Buyer beware is all I can say about that! Oh, and while I’m on a rant, the washing machines only 6 years old and the bearings on the drum are on their way out. You can’t change the bearings though, because it’s a moulded one-piece drum, and a new drum is £200. So, for the sake of a £5 bearing, the washing machine is going to be getting scrapped in the very near future too. How in the name of all that’s holy is that acceptable!
Apart from trying to reattach the laminate to parts of my kitchen, the main highlight of this weekend was the Morris Major 200Km, or more accurately 215Km, or 220Km if you add in my bit of backtracking, Audax.
I’ve done this one a couple of times before and the things that stick in my mind from the previous attempts are that it’s blinking hard, and rather hilly at times. But just in case I’d forgotten how hard it is, I thought that I’d better have another go this year. Which is how I found myself gathered with a somewhat reduced number of like minded lunatics at early O’clock, on what showed the early promise of being a real scorcher of a day. Chatting with the organiser at the start he reported that the low numbers milling around waiting for the off were as a result of a number of nonstarters, mainly due the forecast temperatures for the day. And judging from the previous days temperature, and indeed the temperature at 07:00, I was starting to suspect that they may have made a wise decision.
Heading North in the cool of the early morning, the sun, still low in the sky, glints through the trees and casts long shadows on the road, whilst a Kite or buzzard circles overhead calling to its mates. Fields of freshly harvested stubble line the roadsides, and the trees, still green and verdant for the time of year after the summers endless rain stand proud against the clear blue sky, and all appears to be good with the world.
Considering the workload which I know awaits, and the heat, which was slowly building even at this early hour, I make a conscious decision to keep my pace and effort levels low, and it wasn’t long before I was being passed by a number of riders. It’s surprisingly difficult to hold back when riders which you could easily keep pace with are coming past, but I had a feeling that this was going to be a long day, and there was going to be plenty of time to make up any time lost at the start, if the expected temperatures materialised. Plodding along at my reduced pace left plenty of time for taking in the sights and views as I slowly progressed through The Cotswolds, as in turn the morning slowly progressed with me. Steep descents, followed by long, energy sapping climbs, whilst pretty villages of Cotswold stone, with church spires standing proud amongst the trees and rolling hills dot the landscape. Through Bibury where the road follows the river, an “info control” at Withington. Large groups of club cyclists coming the other way as I climb slowly up towards the A436, and the seemingly endless climb to overlook Winchcombe, where we cross the afternoons Tour of Britain route and I pass under the “king of the mountain banner” before the reward of the long, mainly downhill, descent towards the first stop of the day at Snowshill.
A slice of delicious homemade carrot cake, lovingly served by the organisers wife and daughter provide a just reward, and the ideal energy boost after the efforts thus far at the first control, and the next few miles prove easier going as we descend from The Cotswolds at Broadway to pick up flatter, faster, roads as we traverse into Worcester.
Rolling hills give way to fruit orchards, and my pace picks up slightly, although I was still trying to keep the effort level as low as possible as the morning progressed and the sun moved ever higher in the sky. Sweat glistens on my arms and drips from my nose on the gentle inclines and dust and pollen cling to the sun cream on my legs, turning it into a sticky, gooey, mess. The most Northerly point on the days route arrives at lunchtime and I make the turn to start heading back towards home. The long climb up to Astwood Bank sees the sweat once again dripping from my nose, but the views from the top more than made up for the effort, and the long descent down the other side gives me chance to catch my breath
Sweeping down the country lanes in the dappled shade from the roadside trees I pass a small green on a junction with an inviting bench and think to myself “I think I stopped there last year”. A couple of miles further on I come to a junction where there should be an “Info Control” but it's nowhere to be seen.
And slowly it dawns on me, I know why I stopped at that little green with its inviting bench last year, that’s where the “Info Control” is. Bugger! What now? Push on without the control information or back track back up the hill? I contemplate the options for a minute or two and then swing the bike around to make my way back up the hill again. It makes no difference, there’s no prize on offer, nothing to be gained from going back, but it’s the principle that matters. Missing control information gathered, it’s only a few short miles to Wellesbourne where I treat myself to an ice cream and refill my water bottles. There are some hard miles ahead and I’m going to need every bit of energy I can muster, to get back through The Cotswolds.
As I make my way back into The Cotswolds the climbing starts in earnest. Long, seemingly endless drags, ever upwards, and I find myself having to stop regularly as my body struggles to cope in the heat of the afternoon, my heart rate high, breath ragged, sweat soaking my top and dripping from the brim of my helmet.
I’m not the only one struggling though, and I pass another rider taking a few minutes, sat in the shade on a roadside verge, cooling off before pushing on. The climbs came thick and fast with barely enough time on the descents to get my breath back before it starts again. I’m making progress though and as the time starts to head towards 5 O’Clock I know that the worst of the days heat is behind me.
Bourton-on-the-Water is thronged with day trippers making the most of the late summer sun and I pick my way carefully through the pretty little village before stopping on the way out for another ice cream. You know it’s been a hard, hot, day when you’ve had two ice creams!
Heading back out of Bourton-on-the-Water I nearly manage to convince myself that it’s all downhill from here, conveniently forgetting about the climb up towards Little Rissington. One last effort and even that’s behind me and it really is all downhill for the final 10 or so miles back to the start. And a great 10 miles it is too. The heat of the day is starting to dissipate as the sun starts to sink from the sky, slowly turning the glare of the day into softer pastel colours, as the shadows start to lengthen again. Another 30 minutes and I’m rolling to a stop, back where the day started, just under 11 hours and 141 miles previously. There’s a couple of riders just got back as I arrive and more filter in as I sit in the evening sun chatting about the day we’ve just had with a brew and another slice of cake. Everyone agrees it’s been a hard one today. The temperature was over 30 degrees in the afternoon and with no shelter or respite from the sun it was hard going, but oh so worth it. The grime, dust and dirt from a long day on the road clings to the sun cream on my arms and legs, my lips feel dry, and my nose has caught the sun despite a generous application of factor 30. My skin feels tight as the salt from a day’s sweat dries and salt marks stain my top. But, as always, I’ve been to new places, seen things that I’ve never noticed before, ridden through pretty villages, admired the views from the top of hills, felt the wind in my face on long descents, enjoyed the dappled shade from roadside trees, and suffered up those endless climbs, but the satisfaction of a hard day’s effort and the memories of another day out, is all the reward that’s ever required. Although that carrot cake comes a close second in the reward stakes!
And just to wrap things up, let’s have a couple of photos of the allotment and gardens, including a new bit of fruit trellis that I put up last week to support the new Raspberries that I planted last year. I think I might carry this on for all the fruit supports.
Over the last 10 years I’ve spent a fortune on wooden stakes which just rot and fall over after a couple of years, and although the metal tubing is a bit more of an outlay, it’s not actually that much more and if it lasts a bit longer, as well as looking better, it’s probably a wise investment. That’s another little project to add to the list then (I keep on saying the list never gets any shorter!)
Well, this is a turn up for the books isn’t it, after weeks of rain during what should have been the Summer, as we start to move towards Autumn it’s 30 degrees and wall to wall sunshine. What’s that all about then?
Whatever the weathers up to, hopefully it’ll keep doing it for a few more days and I can reap the benefit next weekend, but until then I suppose that we had better get up to date with last week’s exciting adventures. And I’m afraid that you might be disappointed on that front, because the weekend was neither exciting nor adventurous. I have however been out and about, instead of just sitting at home complaining about being bored, and in fact I spent most of the weekend in the New Forest. Saturday saw a return of the International Autojumble at Beaulieu after a hiatus due to the Covid kerfuffle, so I took the van down on Friday night and Saturday morning joined the thousands of others heading towards Beaulieu. Now, before we go any further, I know what your all thinking. An Autojumble, isn’t that just a massive car boot sale for car parts and other assorted junk? What’s our intrepid adventurer doing there? Well, bear with me on this one, because it’s a bit of a trip down memory lane. Back in the dark ages when I was in my early teens, my stepdad (Ernie) was heavily into the Vintage and Veteran motorbike scene, which with my inquisitive nature and mechanical bent, fitted in well with my formative years. Tinkering with old engines, visiting motorbike rallies and riding round the countryside on the pillion, or in the sidecar, of whatever old motorbike he had at the time, was all great fun as far as I was concerned. Finding spare parts for motorbikes etc, which have long been out of manufacture, is a problem though, and that’s where the Autojumble thing comes in. Everyone that’s got surplus spare bits gets together, and you go on a big treasure hunt searching for the bits you need, that hopefully someone else might have. Now, having not only an interest in old motorbikes, but a predilection to collecting anything that didn’t move, meant that we always had a house full of stuff that Ernie had collected, and my mother wanted shot off, and that’s where my initial involvement with the Beaulieu Autojumble came in. Because what better way to get first dibs on everyone else’s junk, than by trying to shift some of your own by having a stall at Beaulieu! I’ve got fond memories of the years that we went with the caravan and trailer full of stuff to set up stall and spend the weekend trying to flog most of it. So, when someone told me that the Autojumble was back on this year and it transpired that I didn’t have anything else arranged for the weekend, I thought a trip down memory lane might be in order. And you know what, It was, and I had a really good day out. Unsurprisingly, because I don’t need a rusty cylinder head for a model T Ford, or a fuel tank with a hole in it for a 1912 Triumph, I didn’t buy anything. But from the moment I got there all those memories came flooding back. The joy of hunting through boxes of rusty spanners looking for the ones with bike manufacturers names on whilst Ernie directed proceedings. The delight of wandering around the stalls of old engines, car and bike parts, and other paraphernalia, which probably helped to cement my love of all things mechanical, and the willingness with which those stall holders would impart their knowledge on an impressionable teenage lad when I showed an interest. The haggling over price which always seems to be a part of any non-shop transaction, whether that be buying or selling. The dirty fingers from a day handling old bits of metal, the smell of old oil and grease, and maybe on a less positive note, my mother’s desperation as yet again we went home with more treasure than we had arrived with! Oh yes, happy memories indeed, and whilst I probably won’t rush back again next year, I had a really good day out wandering around the various stalls and poking through piles of rusty old metal, it was just like being a kid again. Although, I suspect that if you ask “The Emma” she’ll tell you that I’ve already got enough rusty old metal and projects to last a lifetime and bringing home more is strictly forbidden. Which sounds very similar to my Mother, and just like Ernie did with my mother, I’m turning a deaf ear to her too. Although, come to think of it, that approach didn't work out too well for Ernie, so maybe that's not the best idea!
Whilst I was down in the New Forest it seemed like a good idea to take advantage of the journey and get a bit of cycling in. So, after my fun at Beaulieu and a lazy evening watching a game of village green cricket whilst having my tea in the van, and a quiet night, I was up early for a few miles of bike fun.
Nothing to strenuous, just a gentle 100K around the periphery of the New Forest on quiet country roads amongst the ponies, trees and open moorland. On the road before 07:00 there was a distinctly Autumnal feel to the morning with a low-lying mist obscuring the sun and adding a heavy dampness to the air.
It didn’t take long for the late Summer sun to work its magic, and by the time I’d reached the coast from my start point, the mist was long gone and the sun was burning down brightly from a cloudless sky. Sail boats, their white sails standing out against the blue water dotted The Solent as I made my way towards Lymington, before turning inland to leave the coast behind, as I made my way around in a large loop.
I’ve ridden these roads plenty of times before and spoken at lengths about the joys (or not) of the New Forest, so I’ll let the few pictures that I did take do the talking for today and just say that the entire morning was a joyous experience. The sun shone, the roads were quiet and smooth, the hills gentle and the wind on my back for most of the day. Brilliant!
Bad news everyone, not only is it nearly the end of August, but that’s also the last Bank Holiday until Christmas, so I hope you all made the most of it.
I’ve had a bit of a mixed bag this weekend, with a bit of pottering around wrapping up odd jobs, a little bit of walking, and a bit of cycling, so there should be plenty to talk about. So where should we start? Well how about in the order things happened for a change. I spent most of the day on Saturday, catching up with odd jobs, and trying to wrap up a few loose ends before I start anything else. There seems to be quite a list that never seems to get any shorter. But, amongst other things I have finally cut back and polished the paintwork on the Bangernomics Peugeot where I treated a few (or more than a few) rust patches that were starting to appear around the rear wheel arches and lower sills a few weeks ago. One thing that is for certain, is that I’ll never make a bodywork repair guru. Whilst the rust’s gone and hopefully it won’t come back, it’s hardly a seamless paint match, a situation that’s not helped by it being rattle can paint and done outside during the great British summer. But, it’ll do, and however it looks, it’s better than the dreaded tin worm eating it away! More within my skill set, I’ve also taken the opportunity to change the oil and all the filters on the van before it goes for its MOT on Tuesday. I’m cutting it a bit fine on the MOT this year as I normally get it booked in and out of the way well in advance, but I’ve needed the van for the last few weekends, and whilst I don’t expect it to fail, you never know. If next weekend's blog is van repair related, you’ll know that it wasn’t good news, so watch this space. The Plums that I mentioned last week have continued to ripen through the week too, so Saturday morning I picked 2KG of the ripest fruit to make into jam. That’s only a fraction of the fruit that’s on the tree, and it made 7 Jars of beautiful jam, so I’m either going to have to start thinking of other things to make with Plums or eat nothing but Plums for the next couple of weeks if they’re not going to go to waste. They are delicious, and so juicy, so I’m already eating as many as I can manage, the biggest problem though is that they don’t travel very well (or at all) so whilst I tend to get through a load of fruit through the day at work, there’s no way that I’m going to load my panniers full of plums for the ride into work, I can just imagine the mess when I get there!
Sunday afternoon I headed up to Wantage ready for Monday's Audax fun, and stopped off for a couple of hours walking along the Ridgeway on the way.
Since I’ve not been running and my Knees and Achillies have been playing up I’ve not really been getting many miles in of any sort, and despite the wind whistling over the hills it was great to be out. More positively, whilst I only did about 6 or 7 miles, my knees felt fine, and whilst my Achilles felt a bit tender by the end, I definitely see that as a step in the right direction and feel that things are continuing to improve. Fingers crossed we’ll keep moving in the same direction and hopefully I’ll be able to get back running, before too long.
Which, I suppose, brings us to the main event of the weekend, the Old Roads and Drove Roads 200km Audax. This event hasn’t run for a few years due to Covid and access issues, but it had a good reputation as a popular ride, so when it appeared back on the calendar I’d jumped at the chance to get signed up.
You’ll note that I said one of the reasons that this event hasn't run for a few years was access issues and that’s because the main raison-d'etre is the chance to visit the lost village of Imber, which sits slap bang in the middle of the Salisbury plain firing range. Imber was requisitioned by the Army as part of the build up to the D-Day landings, with the residents being told that they could move back in once the war was over. 80 years later and it’s still under the control of the MOD who delight in allowing the Army to fire their big guns right over the top of what remains of the village on a regular basis, meaning that it’s a bit dangerous to allow anyone to live there, and anyway, there’s only the church left, so there’s not much to go back too. Anyhow, all this Army activity means that the roads in and out of Imber are only open for access a couple of times a year, so tying in an Audax with the few open days can be a bit of a problem. Not this year though, all the stars had aligned and I’d been looking forward to this one for a while. It appeared that plenty of other people had been looking forward to it too, as there was a good turn out at the start, including someone from Cambridge who had bivvied out on the Ridgeway Sunday night and another who’d made the journey from Macclesfield specially for the event (at least I think that’s where he said, either way it was somewhere “up North”.. Luckily the weather appeared to be on our side too and we set off bright and early into the early morning sunshine, with barely a cloud in the sky, although the forecast, which turned out to be correct, was for it to cloud over as the day progressed.
The first few miles set the scene for the rest of the day, with a stiff climb to take us across the Ridgeway for the first time of the day, coming almost immediately. If there’s two things that a good climb straight away does it’s wake up your legs, warm you up, and split the field up, spreading everyone out across the countryside, and today was no exception. A couple of fast riders disappeared up the road, whilst I slotted happily into a nice little niche at an effort I could happily maintain, without undue exertion.
By the time we reached the first checkpoint at Great Bedwyn, we’d made that first crossing of the Ridgeway, slogged up the long steady climb out of Lambourn and tackled the steep sharp leg burner at Ramsbury, all of which are a bit cheeky in their own right, but one after the other, well that’s just mean! From Great Bedwyn, it was familiar roads to take us down to the next control at Pewsey, where a chocolate croissant provided sustenance and a proof of passage receipt, before the next leg which would take us onto Salisbury Plain and eventually lead to the day’s prize at Imber. The first of the day's crossings of Salisbury Plain was a bone shaking affair, as we left the safety of the tarmac and took to the Military gravel tracks that criss-cross the military manoeuvring areas. I’ll happily admit that off road cycling does nothing for me, if I wanted to ride off road I’d buy a mountain bike, and that first crossing of the plain, firmly reinforced my dislike for having my eyeballs shaken from their sockets, backside battered, and wrists jarred to almost destruction. Sometimes though, you’ve just got to suck it up and get on with it. And despite the eyeball loosening surface, the views, quiet and solitude, of this normally inaccessible area, more than made up for it.
A return to a proper road surface as we exited the South side of the plain eventually allowed my vision to return to normal as my eyeballs settled back into their sockets and my pace return from the glacial picking my way around boulders and potholes experienced for the last few miles, to it’s normal not quite glacial pace.
The petrol station attendant at Tilshead, where I stopped for another proof of passage receipt, took delight in telling me most of his life story, whilst I quietly prayed that someone else would come in needing his attention so I could make my escape and get back on the road (thank you leather clad motor biker for replacing me as he started his life story again). Back on the road again, the next leg was the one that I’d come all this way for, but first some more gravel, although compared to the earlier bit this was like riding on a sea of clouds by comparison. I’m not really sure what I was expecting, but I think that Imber lived up to my expectations when I got there, although it was probably good that I wasn’t expecting much. The church which is about all that remains of the original village stood proud against the surrounding countryside, and a number of old buildings remain, minus their windows and doors and re-roofed in modern sheet metal. There were plenty of people milling around, taking in the unusual opportunity to visit and enjoying the late summer sun and whilst I didn’t stop for long on this occasion, I’d definitely like to return at some point in the future to have a look around the church etc. But for today, sweaty cycling kit seemed a bit out of place, and the need to plod on won over the urge to stop.
Pushing on, it didn’t take long to make it to the halfway point at Warminster, where a nice man, safely ensconced in the pub, stamped my Brevet card and provided the question for the next “Info control”. That’s an unusual approach as the questions are normally printed on the cards, but in this instance as we were heading back through Imber on the return leg, there would have been the opportunity to get the answer on the way out and cut few miles off the days total and we can’t be having that can we!
A long climb out of Warminster took us back through Imber and beyond, before we turned North West along more Gravel track and directly into the face of the wind which had picked up as the day progressed. More climbing opened up the view of the surrounding countryside and offered expansive views over the flatter ground towards Melksham, which was to be our next destination.
The last time I went through Melksham it was freezing cold and dawn was just breaking over the snow covered countryside. Today though was a bit more cyclist friendly, although I’d forgotten quite how long a drag it is to climb out of town along the A3102.
The turn after Melksham had bought the wind back onto my back, and the flatter roads allowed for a few faster miles as I headed back along familiar roads towards the next big challenge of the day and the climbs up Hackpen hill with it’s famous white horse (one of many in the local area), and a real leg tester! I’ll happily admit that I’ve walked the steep and winding road up to Hackpen Beacon on plenty of occasions, when tired legs have won over the desire to battle to the top. Today though, I’d just caught up with another rider, and we can’t be losing face in front of others can we, so it was an all out effort to to get to the top!
All that effort paid off though as from the top of the climb we turned off onto the Ridgeway, for one last bit of slippery gravel fun (or not as the case may be) and the gradual descent to take us back towards the start.
I’ll admit that I didn’t really enjoy those last few miles of potholed gravel, tired legs and tired bones didn’t take well to picking my way around puddles, and road tyres, whilst plenty grippy enough for the normal road surface aren’t ideal on gravel or slippery mud. That’s all part of the fun though and it wasn’t long before I was back on terra-firma, watching the miles slowly tick down as the afternoon turned to early evening and the days end slowly approached.
Arriving back at the start, tired, hungry and happy, I took the opportunity to take the weight off my feet for a few minutes and gracefully accepted the hot brew that was on offer, whilst I sorted through the days proof of passage receipts and filled in all the carefully remembered answers to the days “Info Control” questions (not really, I’ve got a rubbish memory so it’s easier to just get a photo of the thing in question and then update the Brevet card when your sat down).
Whilst off-roading and gravel aren’t really my thing, it was more than worth the few uncomfortable miles for the chance to visit Imber, and to be totally honest the entire day's route had been a delight. A good mix of testing climbs, fast descents and plenty of easier miles to make the distance up. What a great day out that was, and whilst I’m in no rush to have my eyeballs shaken from their sockets again, there’s no doubt that I’ll have forgotten that by next year and I’ll be on the start line again for more of the same! |
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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