I’m going to have to start this week with a bit of an apology regarding the recent lack of pictures, which unfortunately doesn’t get any better this week, so if your just here for the pictures and the stunning scenery, then you’re going to be sorely disappointed again.
It’s not that I haven't seen anything worth taking pictures of, in fact exactly the opposite is true. This weekend alone (more of which later) there’s been snow capped hillsides, new born lambs, stunning sunrises and icy lanes, it’s just that my activities haven’t really been conducive to stopping for photos. Last weekend I was allegedly running a race (in the loosest possible terms) and whilst I do often stop mid run, we’ve had all the views from the The Steyning Stinger before, so there didn't seem to be much point. This weekend and the one before Steyning, I’ve been Audaxing, and whilst in the summer stopping for 2 seconds to whip the camera out isn’t an issue, it’s a different matter in the winter. In the winter it’s a case of trying to find a safe spot to stop that’s not going to get me run over, or end up knee deep in a muddy puddle, then wriggle out of 2 pairs of gloves, then undo the multiple layers of clothing and ferret around trying to find my phone. Then repeating the entire process in reverse before I can get moving again. And that’s a lot of messing around for a picture I probably won’t even use! So, I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept my apologies and bear with me on the pictures front until the weather warms up a bit and I can start shedding layers of clothing, or my cycling and running becomes a bit less organised and more freestyle, when it’s easier to time my stops for the views.
Anyway, enough of the apologies, let’s get onto the important stuff and the highlight of this weekend, The Dean 300Km Audax. Yes, that’s right, 300Km of bicycling fun in what was probably the most rubbish weekend weather so far this year, and there's been some pretty stiff competition for that award already, check out some of January's cycling tales if you don’t believe me!
So, The Dean. An early season, bare bones, no frills, Audax stalwart. Starting and finishing in the dark from a non-descript car park in Oxford. From where the route heads out through the Cotswolds to Stow-on-the-Wold, and Newent, before turning South through the Forest of Dean to Chepstow, where we cross the Severn Bridge, before heading back home for tea and medals via Malmesbury, Marlborough and Membury. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that the weather last week wasn’t brilliant with snow and plenty of rain, and the forecast for Saturday didn’t look too clever either with freezing overnight temperatures, to be followed by a strengthening wind and rain or sleet in the afternoon. Proper cycling weather as I referred to it as midweek, or ‘the type of weather that only an idiot would go out in’ as ‘The Emma’ more succinctly put it! As I’ve said before though, if I only ‘played out’ when it was sunny and nice, then I’d never get to ‘play out’. So, to that end I packed up the van Friday night and headed up to Oxford ready for an early alarm call on Saturday morning. And it was an early alarm call too, being an 05:30 start! Roused from my fitful slumbers at 04:15, it looked like at least the first part of the weather forecast was true as it was blinking freezing. Van heater on, kettle on, breakfast, drag myself out of bed and don as many layers as possible, and then venture out into the frozen, frosty world for the short ride down to the start. (Despite starting from a car park, as is often the case, it’s got height barriers, so the van doesn’t fit, which requires some pre planning for a lot of events). Despite the freezing temperatures and the early start there was still a fair few, hardy, like minded lunatics milling around and making ready as I got to the start location and collected my Brevet card. Just time to have one final kit check and load the first part of the route onto my GPS, and then we were off, or more accurately, me and a couple of others were off, whilst everyone else finished faffing around and getting organised, before setting off to join us as we headed out into the dark.
From the off I had a choice to make, either follow the planned route through picturesque, yet possibly icy, country lanes, or take the less appealing, yet gritted and maintained A44 to Stow-on-the-Wold. With the temperature being well below freezing and there being a high likelihood of ice due to the recent snow and rain leaving the roads wet, taking my chances with the traffic on the A44 won the day. An option that proved safe, quiet and ice free at that time in the morning, and one that I’m surprised few others seemed to follow.
I had expected some of those behind me as we left the start to follow on, or at least call me back to tell me I was going the wrong way, but no, it appeared not, and I was on my own. Chatting to some of the other riders at the first checkpoint it appears that they had encountered a fair few slippery points on the approved route, so it seems that unusually I made a good decision there, and one that added very little to the day's mileage tally. The rapidly lengthening days meant that I didn’t have to suffer the darkness for long, and within minutes of the start I was cheered to see a beautiful sunrise behind me slowly turning the sky from black through a multitude of pastel colors as the first flush of day announced its welcome. Unfortunately, the sun never really had a chance to work its magic on the cold temperature, as It clouded over soon after dawn, leaving a cold and overcast morning, but even that was better than what was to come later in the day. A quick stop in Stow provided the required ‘proof of passage’ receipt, and then onwards through the stiff Cotswolds climbs and descents, to the flatter ground in Gloucestershire and the next destination at Newent. Making good time I didn’t hang around in Newent, planning to push on through the Forest of Dean and have a lunch stop in Chepstow. A few flat miles soon gave way to some long, hard climbing, including a real leg tester as we made our way through Bream and up towards St Briavels. The stunning views, the woodland alive with the sound of birdsong, and the lovely, almost traffic free route more than made up for the efforts though, and by 13:00 I was in Chepstow, tucking into a supermarket sandwich with 90 miles completed. Coming out of Chepstow to head back into England proper required a slight diversion to use the South side of the Severn Bridge, the North being closed for maintenance. A routing which exposed us to the full force of the ice-cold wind which was now screaming up the Bristol channel, making the bridge crossing an unusually unpleasant and hard experience. Heading Eastwards the wind continued to play havoc with my average pace and morale as the afternoon continued, and when, shortly after the long hard climb up to the Somerset Monument, the rain joined in the fun, the suffering really started, making every mile gained a hard slog. Stopping in Malmesbury for the required receipt, I treated myself to a couple of Hot Cross Buns as a bit of a morale booster and some much needed calories, before pushing on into the icy rain heading for Marlborough. The steep climbs between Wootton Bassett and Marlborough in the wet conditions did little for my waning morale, with even the long fast descent into Marlborough being a miserable experience as the wind drove the ice cold rain into my face, each raindrop stinging my exposed skin and soaking into any exposed clothing. On more than one occasion I tried to deal with the Devil, imploring him to take the miserable rain away in exchange for my soul, but it appears that he has little interest in my soul and the suffering continued! I’ll happily admit that by the time I arrived in Marlborough I wasn’t having much fun and with the returning darkness so the temperature started to drop (it wasn’t exactly high to start with mind you). Stopping to sort my head torch out, I donned my waterproof trousers for some much-needed warmth and turned my hat around, moving the wet bit to the back in an attempt to cure the ‘ice cream headache’ the wind chill was giving me. Warmer, yet just as wet, I pushed on into the darkness. If I could have quit in Marlborough I probably would have, but I’d still have had to get back to Oxford, and bikes probably the quickest way, so push on it had to be. Slogging up a climb on a narrow road, in the dark and rain, between Marlborough and Hungerford my worst fears became reality. H’mmm the back of the bike seems a bit more bouncy than normal, H’mm that bump seemed a bit harder than normal. Nooooooooo! Puncture! With no other option I dismounted and pushed up the narrow road, searching for a space to get off the road before a car came tearing up behind me in the dark and really ruined my day. Within a few meters a muddy track into the woodland which edged the road provided just enough space to take refuge in, and I was able to spread my worldly possessions in the mud and whip the wet, oily, dirty, wheel out to change the inner tube. Working by the beam of my head torch I couldn’t find any reason for the puncture and with wet (and now muddy) hands I set about removing the tyre. With the tyre off I removed my gloves and had a good feel round the inside but was still unable to find any culprit for the puncture. Assuming that whatever had caused my misfortune was no longer present I fitted a new tube and started pumping it back up again, only to be met by the sound of escaping air yet again. Luckily, this time I could see bubbles forming on the wet tyre where the leak was and identify a tiny, razor-sharp, sliver of black flint firmly embedded in the black tyre! Flint removed, inner tube replaced again and this time it held pressure. (I only carry two spare tubes, so if this didn’t work it could be game over. And whilst I always carry a puncture repair kit, getting the patches to stick to a wet inner tube is never guaranteed to work). Strangely, getting back on the road after my little setback things didn’t seem quite as bad as they had before. I think that groveling around in the mud had stretched some of my tired muscles and the short break off the bike seemed to work wonders for my morale. While I’d been faffing around in the dark a number of other riders had passed too, each checking that I was Ok as they passed, for which I’m extremely grateful. Some of whom I could now occasionally see in the distance, their red lights blinking cheerfully in the darkness, reminding me that I wasn’t the only one out on such a miserable night. Pulling into the motorway services at Membury for the day's final control there were quite a few other riders, each equally as wet and cold as I was, but each making ready to head back out for the final 30 miles to take us back to the warmth and safety of home, further reinforcing the point that there were plenty of others out in the darkness too. Those last few miles were actually quite pleasant. The rain had eased off to a light drizzle and with the evening drawing to an end the flatter roads after Lambourn were quiet, making it easy to avoid the potholes and puddles without fear of being knocked down and helping to bring the average speed up a bit too. Plodding on through the darkness the overwhelming fatigue of a long day continued to build, and I again started to wonder how much longer I could keep going for. Eventually though, as 23:00 approached the lights of Oxford, and my final destination hove into view. One final Proof of Passage receipt from the 24-hour services and 17 hours and 20 minutes and 197 miles (317 Km) after setting off my day was done! And done in more ways than one too. I’ll happily admit that this one took me to places, both mentally and physically, that I didn’t want to go too. The cold wind and rain wore relentlessly at my morale, whilst the never-ending hills sapped my strength and left me crawling along at what felt like a snail’s pace (a situation probably not helped by having run 62 miles and ridden another 120 in the previous 6 days). But I got through it, and I got back to the van, had a sit down and warm up, a brew and something to eat and wondered what all the fuss had been about. It wasn’t any harder than normal, it was just that the conditions weren’t ideal. But you know what, I persevered and I won, and next time it’s all getting a bit difficult I’ll be able to look back on this one and say, ‘well it can't be worse than that day and I got through that’. There’s no doubt about it ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ and every time I go out there, I learn a little bit more about myself and I get a little bit stronger.
PostScript.
Proof reading this before posting it a couple of days after I wrote it, it seems a bit me centric. But that couldn't be further from the point. I wasn’t the only one out there in the rain and I’m certain that I wasn’t the only one that found it tough going. In fact, I can almost guarantee that if I was struggling then everyone else was too. Reading it back it sounds like a bit of a slog fest, but that’s not the case either. Even in Saturday's rubbish conditions the route stood out. Great roads, great scenery, The Cotswolds, The Forest of Dean, Two white horse carvings, the snow capped Black Mountains in the distance, snow through the Cotswolds, The Severn Bridge, and so the list goes on. In fact, it’s a brilliant route through a lovely bit of the country and one that's firmly at the top of my list for a revisit come the warmer, drier, months! And Chapeau to all those that battled and overcame Saturday’s testing conditions too.
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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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