I’ve come to the conclusion that I must either have a very short memory, or be a glutton for punishment.
If I’m honest, I suspect that it’s a bit of both. But you’d think that having put yourself through hell once, that you wouldn’t think to yourself “Oh, that was a good idea, lets go and do it again” would you? Well, it would appear that I do! What am I on about? Well, Friday night saw me in the van heading up to Oxford ready for an early start on Saturday morning for the Poor Student 200Km Audax. The weather had been atrocious all week, and whilst the forecast was for it to be dry on Saturday, it looked like it was going to be colder than it had been, and there were certainly some pretty big puddles (lakes) still filling the roads in numerous places. The thing that concerned me most though, was my memories of this ride from last year. Memories which came flooding back as I made the short journey up to my overnight stop. I had a quick look at last year's mileage tracking spreadsheet earlier, and for the day in question it just says “Brutal - See blog”. So I had a look at the corresponding blog entry, and my memories of last year's event appear to be correct. It was Brutal! Surely It can’t have been that hard can it? I mean, at the end of the day it’s only a 200Km ride through the hills and valleys of the Cotswolds at the start of January, when it’s traditionally, cold, dark, wet, and muddy! Maybe my mind had been playing tricks on me and I’d imagined the whole thing. There was only going to be one way to find out though, and that was to do it again! Arriving at the start on Saturday morning I was surprised at the number of fellow lunatics who had decided to brave the cold January morning to loiter around a dark, damp, car park, waiting for someone to unceremoniously say “well, off you go then”. I’ve seen far less people on the start line of rides on beautiful days in the middle of summer, so the number prepared to get out there at the start of January was certainly impressive.
Bang on 07:30 we were off, a string of red tail lights shining brightly in the dark as we rolled out of Oxford, slowly spreading out into a long line of cyclists as everyone settled into their own pace.
The first leg up to Shipton-Under-Wychwood was flat and fast and I made good time, arriving amongst the front runners and missing the worst of the mad rush as the poor man in the small village garage was inundated with riders looking for a receipt as roof of passage (I’ve no idea why this is a control point which needs a receipt, it’s a crazy situation and would be far better as an Information (question) type of control. Receipt in hand I didn’t hang around, and was soon back on the road, heading for the next stop at Chipping Campden. The Climb out of Shipton-Under-Wychwood set the scene for the next few hours, long dragging climbs with the views across the Cotswolds from the hill tops obscured by low lying cloud, with only the occasional church spire poking bravely through the moist, rain heavy sky, to betray the location of the villages hidden in the valleys below. By mid morning Chipping Campden, had been and gone and I was onto the long (41 mile) leg taking us towards lunch at Malmesbury. This is the section that my memory recalled as hard from last year, and that memory was certainly correct. A long, steady drag of a climb from Chipping Campden soon became a series of ever steeper, ever longer, climbs, as we progressed against the lay of the land, across the Cotswolds. Slowly winch yourself up one side of the valley, lowest gear, lungs bursting, legs screaming, heart beating hard. Until the top is reached at which point it’s straight down the other side. Destination valley floor. The roads are damp and covered in gravel which has been washed from the surrounding fields in the previous days, the potholes deep and water filled, hiding their extent and location from the unwary. So it’s not a fun filled fast descent, more a hang on for grim death whilst trying to slow a bike that gravity insists should be accelerating on the slippery surface. And when you safely reach the valley floor and slowly uncurl stiff, cold, aching fingers, from around the brake levers, it’s straight back uphill to do it all again. And so it goes on for mile after mile. This is better than last year though. Last year the wind was howling in my face and the rain lashed down, so I’m grateful for small mercies and make the most of the limited views from the hill tops. Enjoy the odd occasion when I can release my grip on the brakes and let the bike have its head for a few meters, and try to enjoy the sound of my heart trying to make its escape from my rib cage on the next climb! Eventually, as I start to wonder how many more of these killer climbs I can manage, the terrain levels out, as we leave the steep sided valleys and progress onto flatter ground to take us towards Malmesbury where a sandwich and short stop awaits. As I sat in the village centre squashing crisps into a sandwich, I thought back to last year when I sat in the same place and poured rain water from my boots before wringing out my socks and putting them back on again. Now there’s a memory for you, and that’s what it’s all about. Making memories that will last a lifetime. It’s never easy, sometimes it’s really hard, but every time I venture outside my front door, there’s a memory to be made, an adventure to be had, and a new experience just waiting to be enjoyed (or not as the case may be). Even those awful days, when the rain falls from the sky like stair rods, your shoes are full of water, your wet, cold and miserable, often turn out to be brilliant in hindsight. If I’d said, “I’m not playing today” and just sat on my sofa eating biscuits, it’s unlikely that I’d have been able to tell you where I was or what I did on the 7th January 2023. But, because I got out there I can tell you that I sat in the middle of Malmesbury and wrung my socks out! Sofa, or wet socks? I know which one wins in my book! Anyway, enough about last year, let’s get back to this year. If the leg through the Cotswolds is hilly, from Malmesbury back to Oxford, is pretty much the exact opposite. Ok, I’ll grant you it’s not Norfolk flat, but it’s not exactly hilly. If I’m honest, I don’t know which is worse. Yes, the hills are hard going sometimes, but at least you get the downhills and the views as a reward. The flat though. Well, there's less to occupy your mind, there’s less to look at, and whilst there isn’t the uphill effort there isn’t the downhill reward either. In fact on the flat, you never get to stop pedalling. The miles came quick and fast as the afternoon progressed. A brief stop in Shrivenham where some mini pancakes provided a tasty treat and yet another proof of passage receipt and then as darkness approached the last few miles into Oxford. The approach to Oxford saw the first real puddles of the day. Nothing too serious, only just enough to get your feet wet, but still a daunting prospect when it’s dark and you can't see how deep it is. Should I go for it? Should I wait for a car to come along and go through to see how deep it is? Should I scoot over the fence and go around via the muddy field to the road side? Should I wait for another rider to catch up and go as a pair? Sod it, just go, the worse that’ll happen is I’ll get really wet when I fall off in the middle! Flood waters safely negotiated the final miles into Oxford were incident free, although another lake required a pavement diversion to get through and some roadworks necessitated the only walking of the day for a few meters. Another great day out then. Maybe not as memorable as last year, but a great day out nonetheless and another 200km (127 miles) in my legs. And that’s a pretty good way to get the cycling year off to a start in my book!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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