I have to confess to being a couple of rides behind on the blogging front.  Too busy actually riding to write about it I guess! *grin*.  Hubby and the mob were also away this weekend, so I was having some me-time, which seemed to involve a lot of pottering around, and a whole heap girly stuff – epilating, face packs, painting of fingernails and so on.  All very lovely 🙂

So, with no further ado, I shall get to it.

On Saturday GB and I did our usual run to Glastonbury and back.  He’s hopefully doing some scarily hilly ride this week, though his life is not going entirely according to plan.  Lots of positive vibes and *fingers crossed* in his direction.  Anyway, the idea was to do a ride that was as flat and as easy as possible, which I was more than willing to do.  I’m made for that kind of riding *grin*.  That means no racing, no sprinting up hills, and no yelling at eejot motorists which, for GB, was probably the most challenging part 😉

Glastonbury was even kookier than ever, probably because we were there in the afternoon by which time even the most lazy denizens have found the energy to drag themselves out of bed to come and sit by the market cross with their guitars and sing to each other.  The cafe was full of people celebrating.  It was some waist-coated man’s birthday, and day two of someone else’s extended wedding celebrations, if my eavesdropping skills serve me well.  Elsewhere the promenading freak quota was way up there.  It must take quite some effort to be quite so deliberately dressed and coiffed and madeup all the time.  Which begs the question, is it possible to be alternative in Glastonbury?  We did attempt to have a conversation but it was hard to keep a straight face and not collapse into giggles…*grin*.  Truly entertaining.

Still, the carrot cake and coffee were good.  I don’t usually do cake when we’re out, but as part of my me-time I was treating myself.  The same goes for the fabulous (and fabulously cheap) flowers I bought myself at the farmers’ market that morning.  A riot of mixed dahlias that I’ve been smiling every time I see them ever since 🙂

We cycled home and GB attempted to help me figure out what I’m looking for, if I’m looking for it, in a job.  This mostly consisted of asking me lots of questions and trying to get me to work it out for myself.  Darn, and there was I hoping for a quick solution.  Apparently I probably need to start with me.  Which is probably true, but I’m a tad busy right now…*grin*.  Besides which, nobody is supposed to know that much about me so I’m going to go back to being shallow and vacuous now if that’s ok 😉

We were also very good little bunnies and did NOT race home.  Practically unheard of, and very restrained of us.  I expect it’s just because we didn’t have an audience *grin*.

Cycling time: 2:01:38
Distance: 34.03 miles
Avs: 16.8 mph
ODO: 5713

So, that was one ride down and one to go.  As I mentioned earlier, hubby and the mob were away for the weekend.  They were camping down at Wiscombe (nr. Seaton in Devon) whilst most of the Trotman clan tried to drive various cars uphill as fast as possible.  Now camping isn’t my thing.  Something to do mainly with having to leave the tent to find the loo in the middle of the night.  And it always rains.  So I was going to have the whole weekend at home to myself and leave them to it.  However when it was suggested that I could ride down and join them…well, call me a bull and wave a red rag at me!  It’s “only” 55 miles or so, and doing a nice long one-way ride practically counts as me-time, right?

However when I woke up at 8.00am on Sunday morning it was flinging it down, and a text from hubby informed me it was doing the same there…  When I checked all the weather forecasts, there seemed to be a glimmer of hope though, so I decided to give myself until 10.00am, proceed as if I was going to be going, and hope it cleared up.  I don’t mind getting wet on a ride, I just don’t like setting off in it, which I realise makes little sense but that’s just the way it is.

It took a while to get my computer to pull itself together and let me print out enough maps for me to feel I might make it to my destination and, as I cussed away in my little cubby hole, outside the weather slowly improved.  OK, so it wasn’t precisely summery, but when I set off around 10.00ish, the roads were wet, but the skies were dry, and it certainly wasn’t cold.  There was, as forecast, a nasty headwind all day which I feel, after last weekend, is only karmically just, so I’m not complaining.

It’s a fairly direct route south, and not a flat one.  First off was out to Wedmore and up and over Mudgeley Hill.  This would have been easier if the car in front of me just at the start hadn’t panicked about the traffic coming down the hills and stopped.  Getting started again just there is NOT easy, and I had to go up the steep bit not clipped in because I couldn’t take time to fiddle and clip in as the rest of the cars that had had to stop then tried to get past me.  Nice.  Ah well, one obstacle negotiated.  I stuffed my arms in my pack and carried on.  Next was across the levels and up to Shapwick, and then across to High Ham.  I could have avoided High Ham…but that felt like cheating, and someone keeps telling me that the way to get better at going up hills is to go up hills.  Mind you, as the rain started, I did wish I’d cheated…  I steam-trained my way up the hill – you know, when your breathing is so loud that it’s just as well that your mp3 player has just run out of batteries because you wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway *grin*.

I paused at the top to refresh the batteries and me, and reflect on the fact that I will be there again in two weeks, before heading down into a soggy Langford.  The rain was heavier and colder, and somehow sharp…but there wasn’t much to be done about it so I did my best to ignore it, and pushed on to Ilminster.   There was an interesting, and busy, dog leg sort of a wiggle to avoid the A303 (which seemed a good idea) and get pointing towards Chard.  I’d forgotten I’d been to Chard before, but as the unfamiliar became familar, I recognised the Church from one of my very last civic engagements.  So that was nice.

Life had become a little drier by now though, as I passed the “you are now in Devon” sign, it started up again for a bit, which amused me.  The A358 proved to be rather busier than I’d have liked though which made for some interesting riding, and lots of paying care and attention.  On my part clearly, not that of the other motorists.

I’ve been wondering about other motorist’s behaviour around cyclists – as you do when left to your own devices for hours – and have observed the following:

• those owning little red cars, possibly sensing a kindred spirit, are the most likely to go round me with plenty of room to spare.
• sports cars also tend to leave lots of space, but this is because they get to be on the wrong side of the road and pretend they’re taking the racing line.
• tractors are generally very well behaved and liable, when approaching you on narrow lanes, to pull over and let you past.
• people driving 4*4s and mpvs have no clue how wide their vehicles are and have usually forgotten about anything they might be towing.
• big “prestige” mark cars are nearly the worst, being intent at getting where they want to be on the roads that they quite clearly own and are the mostly likely to overtake at an inappropriate time and speed.
• everything they say about white van drivers is true.

At some point some p*ll*ck passenger did the usual leaning out of the car window and yelling at me bit.  I have no idea what he said as, even without the mp3, at that speed with all the road noise and so on, it would have been incomprehensible.  Really, what is that supposed to achieve?  I could have got cross, but instead I imagined GB’s reaction, smiled internally, stayed on the bike, and undertook him as he had to stop and wait to turn right and I didn’t…which wasn’t at all satisfying.  No.  Not much… 😉

I kept my head down and concentrated on getting where I was going in one piece.  Through Axminster, which is where everyone mistakes Axbridge for, and out towards Musbury and the right turn onto the A3052 at Colyford.  Oh man.  There is a hill there.  A very big hill.  It’s much much worse than High Ham, though maybe marginally less steep.  It just goes up and up and round and up some more…  The worse bit is 300ft in half a mile, which might not sound like a lot to you, but it sure felt it to me!  There was a bit 3/4 of the way up where stopping looked attractive…but the AA were dealing with someone who’d broken down there, so there was no way I was going to be seen to break down too – it’s all a matter of honour and principles!

Finally I reached the top, which flattened out and left me on the road I was hoping to turn right off at some point.  Which is roundabout when I realised I should have zoomed in further on the last map I printed out.  It took a while to find the right right turn – although when I finally got to it the event was signposted.  However I then got lost as I wasn’t sure where they were signposting was where I wanted to be, so in looking for that, I added another 6 miles to the route.  3 heading off into the wilderness, 3 coming back, following the signs like I should have done to start with and arriving at my destination.

“Have you cycled far?” asked the car park marshal?  I took a breath to reply, and then I remembered that he was a normal person, and that to him, yes I had *grin*.  No harm in a bit of showing off, right? 😉

Cycling time: 4:00:43
Distance: 61.11 miles
Avs: 15.2 mph
ODO: 5774

I wasn’t dry, and I wasn’t clean, but considering the headwind and the hills, I wasn’t too slow either.  I think you could say I was quite pleased with myself.  And I’d definitely earnt a pint of lager and a share of a portion of chips.  OK, so it was only Fosters (ick, bleurgh) but based on my degree of need, it tasted a lot better than usual!  Well, I hadn’t had any lunch! *grin*.  Odd though, thanks to the hills and the wind, I was tireder after this Sunday’s 60 miles than last Sunday’s 116.  Mind you, I prepared properly for that ride, not this one.

All in all – a total result of a riding weekend.  And I didn’t have to sleep in a tent once.  ‘Rah! 🙂

Minus my detour – my route is here.