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!)
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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
March 2024
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