Author Archives: Jay Trotman

All I know, that in time I’ll be fine

Well looky what we have here…*grin*.

Today I was supposed to ride my bike. The weather was nice. But I wasn’t feeling much like riding for a couple of hours on my own, physically or mentally. I’ve just had a mad lovely weekend away at my mate’s fabulous wedding in Ireland, Mayor Making was last night, and I have slept little and drunk lots. I think it’s fair to say I should be in recovery mode. I just wasn’t quite in the mood for dragging my ar*e around in a solitary suffering circle.

And then I remembered that I can do what I want. I don’t have to do anything. And it was sunny and warm. So I just took the bike for a ride. Just an hour, nothing special, just riding the bike where I wanted to go. It made up in headspace for what it lacked for in training purposes, and I felt a million times better when I got in 🙂

Cycling time: 0:57
Distance: 19.3 miles
Avg: 14.1 mph
ODO: 4609.4 miles

Today my not-so-little-anymore girl is fourteen. There have been presents galore. There will be fizz and sparkler candles and caterpillar cake. As I drove to Paul’s (aka Cheddar Cycle Store) to pick up new brake pads, with the sun shining, eldest in the front seat, youngest waiting to eat cake at home, and my new favourite song playing way too loud for my age on the stereo, I was reminded that sometimes I do know what happiness means to me 🙂

The way you walk on the planet

I could have written about last week’s ride with George. But really? Another fairly miserable ride in the rain? What could there possibly be left to say?! If it hadn’t been for the fact that George had to ride because her car had to be serviced, and I’d agreed to join her, and that good company is always good, then I’d have bailed for sure. I am well and truly fed up of riding in the rain…and I wasn’t any greater a fan of it by the time I got home and burdened the washing machine with yet another load of kit that would be lighter by the time it came out rather than the other way around! *grrrr…*

Cycling time: 1:20
Distance: 19.3 miles
Avg: 14.4 mph
ODO: 4515.0 miles

So when the chance came to go for a long but “leisurely” Bank Holiday Monday ride in good ACG company, with actual sunshine forecast after an already sunny weekend, on a newly cleaned and polished and lubricated bike, I was definitely up for it.

Ah me, oh my, here’s a ride brought to you by the letter S I think. From the Sardonic (he who trains by himself), the Stoic (he who eats mountains for breakfast) and the Slow (well yes, that would be me). A ride starting from Rodney Stoke that meant, with accidental detours, the total distance was around seventy seven miles, not the sixty odd my head was more mentally prepared for. The sun did shine, as my sunburnt forearms will attest. There were ups and downs. Literally and not so much. The pinnacle of the ride, in both senses I suppose, was yet another ascent of King Alfred’s Tower, which both my knee and I got up without incident, a PMA booster before the looming Tour of Wessex.

I did lots of concentrating on smooth pedalling all day. Not metronomic, but even and careful and steady by my standards. Having said that, after about 4 hours the knee woke up. Not badly, just there enough…so I popped a pink pill and didn’t push it any harder than I had to, which got me the rest of the way home. Oh, and did I mention there were bluebells? Lots of them. Which I usually had a great deal of time to appreciate as we climbed up yet another shady wooded hill through the ever-present scent of wild garlic ;).

Coffee was at Stourhead where the grockles were milling around and there was something unavoidably smug about rocking up there on speed machines, in lycra and eating well-earned cake, whilst they waddled from their cars to the café and the cake and…I know, I know, insufferable of us. We were probably just as irritating nonchalantly riding past the tin boxes queuing through the Longleat estate shortly afterwards. Such fun ;).

OK, it wasn’t one of my great rides. I got dropped on every hill, I’m still not on form and starting to wonder what that even is, and it all just felt a bit sluggish. If this was a sportive, which length/climbing wise it could easily have been, I would have eaten and drunk properly. So why would I not do that on this kind of ride? Eejot! I got my layering strategy a little wrong and ended up a bit over-heated too, which is never good. Silly strategic schoolgirl errors. So somewhere in the middle I was lost and a long way from home, with no idea how far there was to go and suffering somewhat, and it all sort of mentally closed in…

…lots of roads I didn’t know, wiggling around Frome way, surprisingly pretty national cycle path whichever number it was, more ups and downs, and somehow more ups than downs. But then there were the odd stops; to change, eat, buy more water, whatever, and though I don’t think t’were done surreptitiously on my behalf, they all helped, and slowly I was more me again. After parting company with Steve above the Horringtons, and once more on familiar tarmac, Dave courteously towed me home, for which I was and am very grateful. We fair flew for a while too – it be nice up on the top of them thar Mendips. It’s also nice dropping off them ;). There was something very satisfying about that final descent down the Gorge – our territory – weaving through those who were just visiting and will never appreciate it quite the way we do. Ours. Mine :D.

You know what? For all that I may winge/whine/moan (I’m trying not to, honest, I know how boring it must be), I was out there, putting in the miles, climbing up the hills. There was, mostly, a smile on my face 🙂 And there are many many worse ways to spend a few hours. So there :P.

Cycling time: 5:38
Distance: 75.1 miles
Avg: 13.5 mph
ODO: 4590.1 miles

Here’s a song I love, that often weaves its way through my mental meandering out there…

Tour of Pembrokeshire 2014

As this year’s Tour of Pembrokeshire approached, day by day the forecast worsened. No matter how many times I hit refresh, or how many different weather websites I looked at, things were not looking good…

After the long drive west to St David’s, with the B&B duly checked into, and a quick glass of sedative medicinal white wine, as I left the pub for bed the rain was already falling. As were my spirits, if I’m honest. When I dragged my perfectly comfortable where it was behind out of bed with the 5:30am alarm, the forecast had, quite impressively, managed to deteriorate yet further. Out-standing. *sigh*.

So, time to faff over kit, whilst drinking coffee and eating cereal. I know me, and I know that I am no hardy northerner, and that I get cold, and a cold me is not a happy me, and this should thus be avoided for the sake of all concerned. For all that I thought I was being a girly wuss, I decided to believe, and dress for, the forecast. Full winter layers on me. Waterproof in the saddlebag. Toe covers and lightweight over-shoes. Mitts and over-gloves. See – layers, layers, everywhere, to cope with the water, water, everywhere that I feared was in my future. I know, 10C is not that cold. It is that cold however when you’re soaking wet and being blown around by 30+mph winds. This wasn’t my first rodeo, and I’m fairly sure my mama didn’t raise no fools.

Unlike last year I was actually staying in St David’s (a lovely city), which meant only a short ride to the start at Oriel y Parc. Rider registration and start times had been staggered by route distance. We, being myself and the ever-tolerant Chris, hadn’t made it down in time to register the night before, so we were aiming for a 6:30am registration and the earliest possible 7:00am start. I hadn’t realised that registration was actually at The Grove Hotel opposite, unlike previous years, which will no doubt teach me to read the copious emails that came out beforehand better. Having said that, a few signs pointing the way wouldn’t have gone amiss, but being a girl not a boy, I resorted to asking someone for directions.

Right, over the road it was then. Registration was pretty quiet, and I was given my number and ties easily enough. Sadly the lady who did so didn’t also tell me what to do next… So I tied the number on my bike, wondering whether the flimsy blue garden twines were going to be long enough or strong enough, and wishing I’d brought my cable ties from my room which I nearly had done. I then realised there was no timing chip in the envelope, so wandered back in again to figure out that I needed to find the timing team, tell them my number, and get my SPORTIdent chip hung around my neck. I also searched in vain for a rubbish bin to stash my leftover envelope etc in, but couldn’t find one, which was a tad irritating, and I have to own up to leaving my rubbish under a mug somewhere! In the corner the outriders and support team were getting briefed, and there was time to look at the route and the profile and wonder if it was too late to bail and go back to bed. Hey, no-one would notice right? Well, actually, since you have to get your chip checked at several locations on the course, sadly they would. B*gger.

Due to the staggering of the riders, and also possibly the staggering nature of the forecast, there was no great queue to get underway. People were already leaving as we crossed back over the road, so we looped round, joined them and then, just like that, we were on our way. Time to do my third Tour of Pembrokeshire. Third time lucky? Ha, ha, ha…

started out ok

Well for a while it all went well. Yes, it was bl**dy windy. But it was dry, the scenery was nice, the climbing had yet to get going, and my PMA was still just about intact. The first couple of dips down to the coast took several by surprise, the advantage of experience being that I knew they were coming so was in the right gear to climb out of them again, although I was nearly taken out by someone not quite so lucky. He’d stopped, tried to get going again, failed, failed to uncleat, and failed to stay upright. We picked him up, the boys exchanged derailleur comments, and the rest of the climb nearly killed me since I managed to get going again but didn’t manage to get clipped in again, which did not make it any easier. Sure as h*ll woke the lungs up though!

The weather was, predictably, slowly deteriorating. The first food station at Fishguard was full of riders wearing shorts and making me feel cold just looking at them. All the volunteers helping were well wrapped up though – no fools there either. I nipped into the toilet, needs must ‘n all that, grabbed half a banana and the odd cold potato, and we headed off again.

windswept pill stop

Things weren’t going great. Occasional showers. Lots of wind. And for some unknown reason, my insides kicked off. Half way up one of my favourite climbs through the moors before Newport, I had to give in and take the tramadol, which wasn’t great, but hey, if it meant I could ride, then so be it. As we stood there and I caught my breath, and tried to get it together, a nice clearly bored marshal offered to take our photo. The scarf behind me, stuck out at 90 degrees, illustrates the wind nicely! Such a shame…but even so, there was an odd bleak beauty to it all up there, and although I could see where the weather was and where it was coming from, it was as yet mostly behind me. On we went. Sadly the descent to Newport was a nightmare – something all of the good descents today shared – because 30+mph crosswinds are never, never, ever fun when you’re already doing 30+mph downhill! There were several times then, and later in the day, when my frozen heart leapt into my sodden chest, as I suddenly found myself considerably further over the road than I’d planned on being!

There are two route splits, but there’s not much distance between them really. Although doing the 50 mile route didn’t really appeal, I had half been considering the 75 mile, and that second split came at around the 33 mile mark. Hm. We pulled up and deliberated. The cheery marshal told us we were both young enough to go the distance. Nice try…flattery will get you everywhere, and maybe it would even get me around? For all that I might have been feeling like bailing, it’s a long way to come to only ride 75 miles. I have many more events ahead this season, and I needed to get some serious mileage and time on the saddle under my belt. Besides which, Chris hadn’t dragged his arse all the way across to the end of the Welsh world just to nurse me around the short route. I decided we were going left. S*d it, 100 miles, here we come.

And for about 17 miles or so, all was well. There was even some sunshine amongst the showers. We got to to my favourite bit of the whole ride, along the stunning coastline, which makes me smile every time, and this time was no exception. But then the showers got heavier, and the gaps between them shorter. The second foodstop at Poppit Sands was a bit of a melee, with the food station squeezed into a corner and riders queuing for bananas and bottle filling; until a couple of bright sparks set up two hoses and started filling riders’ bottles with those instead. The wind was enough to blow you sideways just walking around here, and riders could be found sheltering behind all manner of buildings, trying to eat food in temporary peace.

Time to go again, and tackle the long slow climb along and out of the valley that I also quite like. The spectating residents in the house near the bottom informed us that we’d done 48 miles already, and wasn’t I doing well, being a girl ‘n all. I’d feel patronised, but to be fair I’m impressed she could tell what with all the layers I had on!

Here comes the rain again…and this time it really didn’t stop. I put it off for as long as I could, but had to stop in a petrol station and put my waterproof on. And take a gel since it became instantly obviously that I couldn’t stand up without nearly falling over and fuel would be good. As some of you know, I love my waterproof, and man, today it was a godsend. I’m not entirely sure how dry it kept me, what with the tendency for water to get everywhere anyway, and the whole boil in the bag thing, but I think it did the job actually. And it definitely made me warmer.

The third foodstop at Boncath was seriously well provisioned. Potatoes, ham wraps, bread & jam, faggots, malt loaf, bananas, the list goes on…. The poor girls staffing it, from the Guides or some such, looked frozen solid, and I did feel a bit sorry for them. And us! The weather threatened to get worse, so we resorted to hiding out in the corridor to the rear of the pub just to let the worst of the latest instalment blow over. Well, that blowing was something that was reliably going to happen today! However if you stand still, you just get colder, and I had to get going again, like it or not, because I was freezing. We discussed, and debated, and decided that though we were perfectly capable of being erudite and eloquent, what we really needed was for it just to stop being so f*cking ‘orrible! There’s a lot to be said for a good bit of Anglo Saxon!

You see, that stop came somewhere in the middle of what turned out to be something like 5 hours of rain. At some point my twingeing left knee blew up completely, and I had to take more pills at around 13:30, because every left pedal stroke was literally making me cry, but I couldn’t take more any sooner. Yes, literally. Sad but true. On the upside, I guess that means that my insides are clearly well enough now that the knee feels that it can have a resurgence. Ooh, the novelty. ;).

It was just hours of relentless horribleness. I don’t mind climbing, but I mind climbing it one-legged, and the pills had only reduced the sharp stabbing to a duller one. I think there were hours when I didn’t actually have a single coherent thought, just followed the signs, and the flashing red light, or beacon, that was Chris’ rear light! Head down, grind away, grimaces and silence. Well, apart from the deafening sound of the wind that is! The downhills, as I’ve said, were lethal, the road surfaces weren’t good, and it was rare to get anywhere near fun as a result. Such a shame, because I do love some of this route, especially the climb over the Presellis. Not today… There were some fairly long unremarkable sections in-between too which would normally, on a good day, have been forgiven, but today, which so wasn’t, just seemed to drag and bore simultaneously. Still kudos to the organisers, it was impressive that as far as I could tell the large luminous route signs were staying where they were put!

I have to admit we cut out the 10 mile loop that takes in the fourth food stop and the Gwaun Valley. It was definitely a case of enough already. I have, as they say, nothing to prove anymore, if indeed I ever did have. Plus I know that there’s a really nasty steep climb out of there and there was no way my knee was up to that. It was still whimpering “ow”, “ow”. “ow”, with every down stroke. Or maybe it was just me whimpering? 😉 You could ask Chris, but he had his own problems. Apparently even hardy folk eventually get cold, and he’d lost the feeling in his left hand, and therefore the gears that went with it! Riding a bike is supposed to be enjoyable, and this just wasn’t. Remind me why I do this? Because today, I couldn’t have told you.

When we stopped at the junction for that loop and debated on “cheat or complete?”, the answer was a resounding “CHEAT”! The marshal in the car opposite thought we were lost and got out and asked us if we were looking to do the whole 100 mile route. She was deeply amused when we said no not yes as she was expecting! Having said that, that didn’t mean we were near the end. We hadn’t reached the 5th foodstop yet, and I know it’s another 18 miles in after that! It’s not really 100 miles, it’s 110! Another couple of hours of slogging were ahead of us, with a very brief stop at that final food stop, where a very loud disco trailer was playing, and the resilient staff were busy being cheerful and helpful, no idea how they’d kept it up!

Every year I hate the last section. I know “they” do it to bring you around St David’s and back into the city the pretty way past the Cathedral, but it just goes on and on, on wiggly country roads, detouring off the road where the sign says St Davids is only 5 miles that way, but no, it’s more like 8 the way the route actually goes, over more lousy road surfaces, floods, potholes. I have no idea what the time was, I was about to fall asleep on the bike, a fairly sure sign that fuel was needed, even if the end was nigh! Just as well we stopped for a gel though, else maybe I’d not have made it in at all, who knows? Then finally we were cycling up the final steep bit past the Cathedral, more than a little beyond caring, mostly just relieved it was finally over. We rolled up the high street and over the Finish Line outside the Grove Hotel, handed over our chips, and were presented with our souvenir coasters – a nice touch. Tour of Pembrokeshire 2014 – done. Thank f*ck for that, and many thanks to Chris for (yet again) putting up with me!

Cycling time: 8:20
Distance: 99.2 miles
Avg: 11.9 mph
ODO: 4495.7 miles

I’ve no idea what the après ride food was like, or if there were more goody bag things to be had, all I wanted to do was go back to my room and get warm, so that’s exactly what I did! I hadn’t realised quite how wet I was until I took my kit off (ooh-err missus) and discovered that it weighed several times more than it ought to! Having said that, I didn’t regret having taken one item of it with me – I wore and used them all. I spent a while wrapped up in the duvet trying, and failing, to warm up, but it wasn’t until I sat in a hot bath for a while that I was restored to myself. Still you can’t blame the organisers for this ride. It was just one of those days at the office. The only good part about the ride really was having it over and done with! Well, ok, and some of the scenery early on too :).

These may be two of the most well-earned (and mis-labelled) pints ever. And they weren’t the last… And of course the following day the weather was much nicer – see? Typical *grin*.

To keep my troubles distant

I am three rides behind. Nothing new there then. What can I say? I’ve been busy! However, many things come in threes, as has been said before, and it is time I caught up a little. So…

I have ridden with friends from far, from near, and with no-one at all.

With few, with many (16 of the ACG!), with none at all.

I have ridden a ride with three stops, and one with three inner tubes.

I have ridden happily within myself, pushed myself, and gone beyond myself.

There have been flats and ups and downs.

And there has been coffee and lager and cider…a girl has to rehydrate after all… 😉

And you know what? It’s all good. I bl**dy love riding my bike :D.

Cycling time: 3:15
Distance: 51.4 miles
Avg: 15.8 mph
ODO: 4331.2 miles

Cycling time: 1:39
Distance: 27.4 miles
Avg: 16.4 mph
ODO: 4358.7 miles

Cycling time: 2:35
Distance: 37.8 miles
Avg: 14.6 mph
ODO: 4396.5 miles

White Horse Challenge 2014

I woke up on Sunday morning, actually excited about doing a sportive. And it’s been a while since that was the case. I don’t know why, I think it’s because I’ve had hints of form lately, my weekday rides had gone fairly well, and had kicked my PMA off a bit. With a lovely weather forecast, no kids at home, it really didn’t matter how long it took, I was going to get to spend a day around lovely scenery, riding my bike in the sun. That’s never a bad thing 🙂

So, the alarm went off, and ok, I won’t pretend I bounced out of bed, but I was up and at ’em fairly easily, with the sun rising, blue skies overhead, and that general feeling of optimism about the day. The White Horse Challenge starts from Shrivenham, which is only an hour or so away, and this year was to be my third. 2008, 2013, and 2014. Numbers to conjure with, like 501 (very Levi’s), being my rider number, noted from the website beforehand, as instructed, so as to make registration easier. We would see…

As I arrived at HQ, I saw some of the ACG there already, walking towards the hall. Later than them, I was still early enough to be marshalled into a parking space just around the corner in the little tarmac car park there. Hard standing is always nice, easy walking distance from HQ is even better. I decided to go and register before faffing for a change, what with it being so close. Registration numbers were organised in batches, and since I was in the 501+ group, finding me couldn’t have been easier, and with the usual spiel, “map and cable ties over there, help yourself to coffee”, my timing chip was stuck on the left hand side of my helmet, and I was done.

I spotted the ACG peloton lounging around the stage and joined them briefly, but I wasn’t up to their level conversationally today, let alone on the road, so I excused myself after a bit, and headed back to the car, via a slightly smug walk past the queueing gents to the Ladies – sometimes being a minority is great 🙂 There were portable toilets outside, but if you don’t have to, why would you?

Back at the car I faffed. A little, not a lot. Sunny it may have been, but it was still pretty nippy. However since I was riding for Cyclosport, and I have Cyclosport kit, deciding what to wear had become a whole heap easier than it might otherwise have been. So, lightweight longs, short sleeve Cyclosport jersey, long sleeve heavier Cyclosport jersey, Cyclosport gilet, mitts, windproof overshoes, and a couple of buffs – neck and head. Which reminds me I still haven’t relocated one of them, I must have a better look at some point!

No sign of anyone ACG ish in the carpark, or at HQ where I loitered near the start with intent. At some point Guy walked past me and then back, at which point we did have a brief chat. The lads were up for trying for a sub 5 hour time, which was/is totally beyond me. Nice though it was of him to ask if I wanted to join them, what would be the point? I’d just get dropped, or let them down, so I excused myself once more. OK, yes, sure, I was a little sad about it, but hey, let’s be realistic. A little while later I spotted them all standing all ready and joined them for a bit to wait instead – that I could do.

At some point the relevant time came, and riders were allowed over the start line with very little fanfare. Well, none actually. I set off ahead of the others somehow, but it didn’t take long for them to pass me and head off into the sunrise. Probably somewhere around the first draggy hill which isn’t really a hill I guess but feels like it, as it’s only a mile or so in, and I was a long way from warmed up, unless feeling like death warmed up as I crawled up it counts!

After that things got a little easier. Things got warmer, including me, though the wind and air were still pretty nippy rushing past me. The first 25 miles or so are pretty flat, allowing you to get into your stride, so to speak, admire the scenery, and just enjoy being out there.

This is all familiar territory for me. My in-laws live just up the road. Well, soon to be ex-laws I supposed. Out-laws? To be honest, if I’d remembered that, this sportive might not have been on my list, but somehow I’d sort of forgotten, possibly because I’ve done so many sportives now that they do tend to blur into one a bit, and also because I did remember how beautiful this route is. Still, as I pootled my way through Purton and Wootton Bassett, sorry Royal Wooton Bassett, and the like, I did have to do a bit of mindfulness, and focus on the now not the then and the what was. However there was plenty to look at. Cricklade had its Town Crier yelling as we went past. The lady Mayor was out in Wooton Bassett, waving us by. Pretty villages, flowers, thatched cottages, and beautiful countryside, what’s not to love?

The first big climb of the day was upon us – at Broad Town. I know there’s a white horse on it, but with the sun rising behind the hill and casting it all into shadow, today I couldn’t see it. I’ve done this climb several times, and it’s one I like. I like it even more when it isn’t covered in snow, as it was last March! It wiggles up through trees, isn’t massively steep, and goes on long enough for my crawler gear to engage – all the boxes ticked for me really. Some others weren’t enjoying it so much, so some of the other hills later on were going to prove a real challenge for them, something I didn’t tell them, obviously!

Once up the hill we turned right, to ride across the top, with views, and fields of stunning yellow oil seed rape, and it was just a joy. The descent the other side wasn’t so much fun – it’s technical, shaded, with a lousy road surface, but came complete with warning signs and marshals. Once it settles down a bit though, I got a bit of what I do best, all the way from there to the first food stop, flying along, fast, flat, fun… Note to others sitting on my wheel – your shadows betrayed you…and it’s kinda unfair to take a ride for a few miles and then overtake me and head off! Oi – no fair!

Ah well, not the first time, won’t be the last. I didn’t really feel the need to stop but figured that it’s hard to review a ride properly without experiencing all of it, and I’m glad I did. Having grabbed a few photos and half a banana, someone called my name. It took a while to register since, if I’m doing a sportive on my own, I tend to presume I’m going to stay that way and tend to be off in my own little world. It turned out to be Alex, one of my twitter friends, who I’ve met before, albeit only briefly at last year’s aborted Endura Lionheart. It was nice to see a familiar face, and even nicer to be invited to join him and his mates to ride for a while.

Well, good plans and all that… We hung out for a while. Alex very chivalrously leant me his wheel to sit behind for a while. His mates mostly disappeared, and I predictably dropped like a stone as we crawled up the A4 past the next white horse at Cherhill, once again a place that holds a lot of no-longer pleasant memories for me. We weren’t massively popular with the traffic. All of us heading east, with a time trial going on going west, meant the cars were sort of picking their way through us, and I was glad it was still early in the day and not too busy. Once again it was a beautiful place to be on a day like this, there were some great jerseys to admire, and once the climbing is done, the flying stretch along the A4 towards Avebury is a blast, which is when I passed Alex and rather than picking him up as I’d meant, kind of accidentally dropped him. But I was having so much fun, and that’s the way the cookie crumbles, etc.

Avebury always seems to go too fast for somewhere that is so big. A couple of minutes, quick glimpses of standing stones, and you’re through and heading along the next lovely rolling section. It would be easy to overdo it here, but I knew the next white horse would be along shortly, so I kept it sensible and spent some time sitting behind an Ireland jersey and conserving my energy. Oddly for ages I couldn’t quite keep up with him, and then suddenly I’d gone past him and he fell away too. Well, maybe he’d been pushing it, maybe he didn’t want to sit on a girl’s wheel, unlike some 😉

You can see the whole of the climb ahead of you from a long way off. Alex was back with me now, and thanks to his reminder I remembered that one of my favourite downhills comes afterwards, which made the climb far more enjoyable. It’s steeper than Broad Town though, at least initially, and bendier, but it’s more open so there’s plenty to enjoy visually on the way up, to distract you from how you’re feeling. There were a few walkers by now, to be negotiated carefully, as there were some cars going both ways, and a fair few other leisure riders hurtling down and grinning at us as we went up.

There were a few spectators at the top, complete with cowbells, and a red Ferrari. I commented on how nice a car it was, he said it was a nice hill, which seemed a little, well, random. Never mind, time to head for Marlborough. Man, that’s some fun riding. Fast, straight, clear…grins from ear to ear :D. By the time we reached Marlborough I’d somehow managed to lose Alex again, and nearly lost myself. There were no signs and the marshal who was supposed to be pointing us all to turn left on the high street was deep in conversation with a local, and nearly missed me as I nearly missed him! Luckily I saw him, just as he got with it enough to wave in the right direction, besides, I was pretty sure I knew roughly where I was going.

Out of Marlborough, left past the marshals with wine gums and cheery chat, to negotiate the country lanes along the valley that we did on my 40th birthday ride last year. Last year I was in agony, this year I wasn’t, and it was definitely better this way! There were some lumpy bits and one really steep one that somehow I’d managed to completely forget, no idea how, and it was quite a challenge – proper steep too, or at least it seemed that way to me. But I’m ok with hills now, I know I can get up them, and this one was no exception. Hard work, but doable.

Time for the second food stop. I took photos, stashed my gilet, and grabbed corn chips, a savoury snack that went down really well. There was one portable toilet, and one growing queue. Alex arrived behind me, didn’t really stop, just exchanged a few words before heading straight off. It took me longer to catch him than I thought. Not queueing was not a wise move, as my bladder decided I should have stopped, and got fairly insistent about it. The roads just seemed to be dragging now, with wind, and nowhere to stop, and a body totally distracted and not riding well. Finally, and a little ironically maybe, I came across an industrial warehouse place, called WHS Logistics or some such, and a quiet corner down the side where I disturbed some very cute bunny rabbits before sorting out my logistics. I took the opportunity to eat and take a gel before setting off again. And found Alex.

This was the hardest stretch. Which we did together for a while. Slow grind, more of the same old countryside, average speed dropping, head drooping, brain zoning out in the patterns on the road…that gel hadn’t come soon enough, but at least I had taken it. At some point we parted company – again – I think I’d zoned out too far. I just had to do the pace my legs were doing, not faster or slower, and it just kinda worked out that way. After a while I started to feel better, helped by the fact that nonetheless the miles were being eaten up, and the end was getting nearer. I may have felt better but I knew that the last big hill of the day was still ahead of me, the timed KOTH, gratuitous detour, that is Uffington. Another one where you know the white horse is there but never see it!

And, surreally enough, I enjoyed it. Done it before, know I can do it, and this time I seemed to be suffering or struggling less. I just sat back and got on with it. Took photos for the first time, chatted to the odd bystander and the inevitable photographer, grinned to myself, and yes, enjoyed it. Mad :).

I must have been worrying about it more than I thought I was though, because even though there was a bit more up and down afterwards, I was feeling infinitely better, and was on the finishing straight, mentally and physically. I chatted to another rider, who was local, for a bit, and at the 5km to go sign, we pushed off and headed for home. I sat on his wheel, apologetically but he didn’t mind, the entire way in, at proper speed, and loved every minute of the sprint for home.

And just to round things off perfectly, I arrived back at HQ to roll over the timing mat, the much faster, beat me by about an hour, ACG posse were waiting there and cheered me over the line, absolutely and totally making my day 🙂 Having set off, knowing my recent history and form, and last year’s time, I’d been thinking maybe 7 hrs. However my official time was seconds over 6 hours. My ride time was 5:49:09, one second different, and slower, than last year. I did the hills a little faster, faffed at stops less, and was on my own this year so must have been a little slower where group riding would have helped, and I was just over the moon with it. Big grin. And so nice to have friendly faces around me for the après ride, even if I probably did come across as a bit mental *grin*. I was just so pleased; my longest ride of the year so far and it was so much better than I’d expected. Yep, I was feeling good :).

There wasn’t much to hang around for now, the ACG having been there forever already were off, and I didn’t fancy sitting on the grass and chilling out by myself – not when I could be heading for home and a pint of lager somewhere. We all headed our separate ways, and me and my happy face and silly sunburn marked hands headed back to the car park. White Horse Challenge – done. Again! 🙂

Cycling time: 5:45 – SILVER
Distance: 89.6 miles
Avg: 15.6 mph
ODO: 4279.9 miles

PS – sorry Alex!

What’s new pussycat?

When the weather is this nice, it’s hard to find the time to write about it, I’d rather be doing it! And then when there is time, the ride was a while ago, and the next ride looms, and…well, let’s just say that last Saturday’s ACG ride is going to be a pictorial record! 😉 For that record, three of us went to Glastonbury for coffee, 5 of us did a longer Somerton loop. I was not one of those, with the White Horse Challenge due the next day, I was supposed to be taking it easy 🙂

And no, I have no idea what it’s doing there… 🙂

Cycling time: 1:51
Distance: 28.5 miles
Avg: 15.3 mph
ODO: 4190.3 miles

I’m away with the fairies now

As I sat waiting to turn left onto the A38, an older gentleman was sat opposite me waiting to turn right. I was on my Cinelli, he was in his yellow convertible Ferrari. And I thought to myself that as Italian stallions go, at that precise moment, mad though it may seem, I would rather be on mine, than in his. This may seem strange. It may in fact be strange. But the truth is stranger than fiction, and this is no word of a lie.

There were two very happy jackdaws in Mark. Have I ever mentioned that I quite like jackdaws? All dapper and silvery in the sunshine, they were busy being exceedingly pleased that enough remains in the county coffers to cut the verges. What looks like mere grass cuttings to you and me clearly looked a lot like eiderdown to them, and was being carted away in chunks to line their nests. Had their brave hearts already won fair maidens? Or was this part of creating a boudoir to attract the lucky birds upon whom they had grand designs? I’d ask, but quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”

Near Shapwick I overtook a bumblebee. We were both flying along in the same direction, possibly equally inelegantly, and I went past with it at precisely eye level. For some reason this made me giggle. I wonder at what level it could see me? Compound eye level presumably. And if it would have made it giggle if bumblebees could giggle? Can they giggle? Or are bumblebees as a whole so fed up of being told how aerodynamically impossible their flight is that as a species they have had a sense of humour failure and that buzzing you hear is just them trying to drown it all out, while mentally repeating “urban myth” over and over in self-soothing mantra stylee. By the way, I’ve written the word giggle too often; apparently I am semantically satiated.

The times they are a-changing. Oh, and how! And the bugs they are a-hatching. I’d really like to know how to avoid inhaling/eating/carrying home in my bra* them. One presumes the answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind. But if there had been much of that then there would have been less of them, so that’s not helping solve the problem. I brought some home with me. A few of them even survived the journey, to go forth and multiply somewhere they were most definitely neither expecting nor supposed to be. Thus the gene pool of small black flying irritating things locally is enhanced, and I have probably served to make the problem worse rather than better, though I feel that their extinction was unlikely anytime soon and therefore find my conscience remarkably untroubled on that matter. Maybe it makes up for the ones I ate. (*delete as appropriate).

A weed is just a plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered, or but an unloved flower. A plant that grows somewhere it was neither intended nor wanted to be. But weeds can be beautiful too. As with so many things, it’s all just a matter of perspective. Take the dandelion. It doesn’t sound like much. But its name derives from the French ‘dent de lion‘, meaning ‘lion’s tooth’, which refers to its deeply toothed, deep green leaves, and which is positively poetic. In your lawn, in the cracks on your patio, it’s a weed. But someone has left it here, it’s not doing anyone any harm, and looked at with the right eye, it’s practically a chrysanthemum. A word that once won me a prize when I spelt it out loud correctly.

The sands of time in the dandelion clock have run dry, I think it’s time to take my leaf… It’s a lady’s excuse me, not a gentleman’s though. Maybe you don’t think I’m a lady but, as I think we’ve now established, it’s all a matter of perspective. Nonetheless I’m tired of dancing, and beggars can’t be choosers. Shall I show myself out?

Cycling time: 1:51
Distance: 31.4 miles
Avg: 16.9 mph
ODO: 4161.8 miles

*grin*

Can’t hold the clouds at bay

I spent most of yesterday being cross that I hadn’t managed to ride. Cross with life, cross with myself. As I sat on my exercise bike squeezing a workout into the remaining time available to me, my only real consolation was the thought that at least today was due to be a clearer day, from both a timetable and weather perspective, so the odds of a ride were more in my favour.

And ride I did. Me and my filthy summer bike went out and enjoyed some sunshine. I even ran an errand whilst doing so, which I’m always oddly pleased about. I may love riding my bike, but I’m rubbish at using it as a form of sustainable transport. I don’t use it to get from A to B, I just use it as a gym replacement, and I sometimes feel a little bit like a traitor to some unspecified green cause. So when I do actually manage to do something constructive using the bike, usually in a two birds one stone way, rather than deliberately it has to be said, I’m still just a little bit proud of myself. This time my my errand involved a quick stop in Winscombe which set me off in that direction, and left me to make the rest of the route up as I went along.

The mental process involved sort of went like this…

…I am riding. Riding is good. Man, riding is good. But I need to get better at it, what with the whole being left in the dust by everyone thing. So I need to go up a hill. Which hills do I like? And yes, there are hills I like. Cue mental shuffling through a short list… Where would climbing those hills leave me? Is that somewhere I would like to be? Where would I go from there? Does that work with a two hour window? Which finds me wriggling my way through to Wrington, and brought me to the lovely climb that is Burrington Combe, and then to the top of the Mendips, which is a very beautiful place to be on a sunny Spring day.

Right, so I’m at the top. On top of my world. The Rock of Ages has once more failed to break me, and actually, it’s gone surprisingly well. Where shall I go now? At some point I have to go home right? But not yet. Time to kill, time to enjoy the Mendips having made the effort to get up there. Why not check out some of the bits I don’t do so often? Like that odd almost North York Moors-like bit in the middle on the top that’s sort of neither here nor there, just before going down the Old Bristol road to Wells. I like it there. It also has ladybirds 🙂

Right. Time to go home. But how? Wells, Burcott, Fenney Castle, Wedmore…? Yes, but that’s way too boring, do it all the time, snooze and you lose… Tell you what, let’s go through Wookey. I don’t go that way very often. And then I can cut across and join the Nyland loop and get home that way. Ooh, but then again, you know what…? Well, one hill isn’t really enough, I should probably do two, right? And if I did that, then I could just go straight along the top, down the Gorge, and be home in no time. Right then, oh go on then, how hard can it be, why not? Deer Leap it is 🙂

Yes, apparently I can still get up there. There were a couple of twitchy front wheel moments; the Cinelli is a tad prone to them. There were also a couple of stupid motorist moments. Now is apparently the season for taking groups of yoof and cramming as many of them as possible into a small low insurance group car, to be driven by the one inexperienced eejot with a Mummy and Daddy who thought it was a good idea to buy him that car, with mates who can’t decide whether to egg him on to drive past you at all costs or to yell insults out of the window when they finally do pass you, or presumably both. Somewhere there is an analogy to be made between them and sardines in a tin, but I can’t be bothered to work it up and it would be wasted on them anyway. Besides which, there’s something delightfully old skool about “slag” as an insult, and I’ve heard way worse! 😉

Somewhere along the way to the top of the Gorge, my mind was finally a million miles away, wherever it is that it goes when the body is working well, the eyes distracted by the road vanishing past in a chiaroscuro of tree shadows and broken sunlight; lost in that nowhere in particular place where all the mental clouds have been chased away. Pretty much as zen as I get. Very…something. And flying back down the Gorge sure didn’t make me feel any worse 😀

Cycling time: 2:17
Distance: 33.6 miles
Avg: 14.6 mph
ODO: 4130.4 miles

It was a good ride, far better than I was expecting it to be, and so maybe, just maybe, I can make it round the White Horse Challenge on Sunday ok? *fingers crossed* :).

Won’t get fooled again

“or there and back again“.

I was away from home this weekend. A trip away so as not to be home alone for my birthday weekend and Mothers’ Day really. A weekend which included sunshine, seaside, and of course, riding the bike. Which in this case turned out to be from Corfe Castle to Lulworth Cove and back again. Thanks to various events, it’s a chunk of road I’m pretty familiar with, but only in one direction – west to east. It’s also oddly one of my favourite bits of road anywhere, for lots of reasons. It was part of my first ever sportive, Day Two of the Tour of Wessex, done in a day of torrential relentless rain and misery, and is thus forever etched in my memory. I like it because it’s a challenge, because the views are stunning, and because I’ve slowly (slowly being the operative word for me and hills of course) gotten better at it. From the first time when I had to walk a bit, to the next time where I just took a breather, and to now when I know I can do it and that I just have to steadily plod up at my own pace, and I get up in one go every time. That’s getting a bit ahead of myself though…

We started off from the National Trust car park at Corfe Castle, in fairly mild but breezy sunshine. Mild enough for shorts and short sleeves for hardy northerners like Chris, but not for me! I didn’t know the route this way, so the outward leg felt much longer than it was. Wiggly country roads, climbing a bit every now and then, ending in a big climb up to the ridge along and above the Bovington Camp tank ranges, where the wind was stronger and the views of where we were going were stunning. You never see Lulworth Cove from above going the other way, there isn’t time to nip into the car park and have a proper look, like we did! You also never see Lulworth Castle, which when you see the size of it you wonder how you have ever missed it, but once again, it’s behind you and hidden by trees going the other way, whereas this way, on the big descent off the ridge, it’s right in front of you and pretty much unmissable, if you’re not too busy flying down the hill as fast as possible of course. Which would be why I saw it and Chris didn’t 😉

Once down at tank level again, there’s a bit more gradual climbing, and then you’re flying down the lovely descent to Lulworth Cove, and picking your way through the grockles, and families with toddlers in wellies, and groups of henrys hooraying around their obligatory ice-creams, down to the beach to see the sea. To see what you can see see see. Not a place to hang around too long, what with the cove seeming to be funnelling the chilly wind right at me, but beautiful nonetheless. I even bought a souvenir, it seemed the right thing to do 🙂

We re-traced our steps back up a bit, takeaway coffees stashed in bottle holders, which was a first for me, to where all the cafés and shops are. Thanks to my usual degree of forethought I’d not really eaten since lunchtime the day before, which meant that finding something safe to consume was probably wise, not to mention essential, since I’d already felt the odd wobbly warning on the way there. Luckily one of the cafés had a gluten free bar thing which, for a change, wasn’t a chocolate brownie and which also tasted nice – bonus! Thus refreshed with food and caffeine, it was time to head back the way we came. However the weather was getting windier and chillier and even though I knew big hills were coming, I am starting to be more aware of how I am with cold, so I decided to put on my lovely Rapha waterproof on first. Rather get too hot and remove it than t’other way round, I decided. Besides, I rarely wear it, and I like it 🙂

Sadly climbing up the hill back out of Lulworth, it became clear that although I might have been thinking that I was better these days, and that the pain had gone away, I was wrong. In a fairly big way. That’ll teach me. When will I learn? Whilst this may have provided me with the perfect excuse, sorry reason, for how slowly I was about to go up my favourite climb, I was actually pretty disappointed, not to mention upset. B*gger. *sigh*. These days I do actually quite like hills you know (not that anyone believes me after years of hating them) and I’d actually been looking forward to seeing how I’d do this time around. Proper annoying. I know, I’m wingeing again, maybe I should be shot and put out of everyone else’s misery? 😉

Left to my own devices, my only option was to take it easy and do the best I could do, so I did. At least with the waterproof on, I wasn’t cold, and I also wasn’t doing that boil-in-the-bag thing, so the extra layer turned out to have been a good call. I concentrated on trying to retrieve some PMA from the depths, on not wallowing too much, took some photos, counted the targets, looked for trashed tanks, and admired the views; anything to distract myself from the pain, and while it may have not been the most pleasant or enjoyable ascent ever, I still made it all the way up again. Which made for a pretty happy and proud me at the top 🙂

The rest of the ride back went faster, being far more familiar, and also finite, since now I knew where we were going which on the way out I did not. Fun and flat long the ridge with the wind more tail than head now, and with more of it. The lovely descent back down the other side, far more enjoyable in the dry, though wiggly enough to necessitate quite a degree of caution in case of traffic coming the other way. Country lane ups and downs. I pushed along on the flats, which I enjoyed almost as much as normal. Which I would then pay for for a bit as my insides kicked off, and then when they settled a bit I could get back to it. I even managed a lovely swoop down and then get out of the saddle to kick up to the top of the next climb bit. Not done that for a while, and it was nice to feel that my legs can still be pretty powerful. They really are you know. Though, man, that was some ouch afterwards…so I didn’t bother doing that again! But no pain, no gain, right? 😉

In no time at all, I was trying to take photos going downhill back to the castle, in enough time to still be able to brake enough before the left hand bend, which could have gone horribly wrong but didn’t *grin*. As you can see, the weather was not half as nice by now, but whatever the weather, it’s a pretty awesome castle. And if you’re lucky, like we were, you get to see steam trains going forwards and backwards as you get changed in the car park too, which was pretty much the icing on the birthday cake 🙂

Cycling time: 1:37
Distance: 20.6 miles
Avg: 12.7 mph
ODO: 4096.8 miles

In 8 weeks time I’ll be back here again, as I face the Tour of Wessex challenge again, now knowing that however I’m feeling, I can still get up this. Now that makes for some useful PMA 😀

Where’s the girl I knew a year ago?

Oh look, another year has passed. Talk about a roller coaster ride…! So, in order to demonstrate my greater wisdom and maturity I went out got my hair dyed multi-coloured stylee… I look tired, wrinkly, yet weirdly about 15…maybe I should dress my age too?!

How else should a girl mark her big day? By riding the bike of course. George and I went over to the by now infamous Heaphy’s, where the coffee was as good as ever, and the staff seem to have gotten the hang of customer service as a concept again, after the recent changes. I took photos, as I do, and scared some poor gentleman who seemed to think I was immortalising him and was presumably therefore concerned that I was attempting to steal his soul. Well, it is Fairyland ;). Besides, as weird goes, considering that, he wasn’t anywhere near far enough along the spectrum to make such theft worth while!

The pair of us talked so much, all the way there, and all the way back, it’s a miracle there was enough oxygen intake for us to be able to ride simultaneously. Sorry George! It’s also impressive that I got back home in time to shower, frock up, and get to work, but I did :).

We parted company on the way back, having different homes to get to, and I played with the traffic. I stopped, being nice, to let them past from time to time too, karma, right? And if you look behind me, what do you see…? Parfait :).

Karma won out too. The universe gave me one of the best, most unexpected, cycling related birthday presents ever. I turned off the Wedmore road onto Upper New Road in front of an approaching tractor + trailer, who I was fully expecting to grump at me as a result. But no… Yes, he went past me. A little close maybe. But then he pulled in front of me, took up position, and quite deliberately maintained the perfect speed so as to draft me all the way up the road. It was SO much fun 🙂 I slipped back a bit as we got to the petrol station, where the gradient increases a bit, and he pulled away around the corner…only to wait for me around the bend and then tow me all along the bypass too. I don’t think I’ve grinned so much in ages – I think it’s what the word exuberance was meant for? I had the biggest smile ever as I turned off and headed for home, and waved madly in his direction as I went. I hope he saw me and realises how much I enjoyed that. As birthday rides go, this one rocked, and it rounded off with fireworks! :D.

Cycling time: 1:50
Distance: 28.6 miles
Avg: 15.5 mph
ODO: 4076.2 miles

Right, time to get on with birthdays which, as you all probably know by now, I love :). I got to put on a party frock, eat gluten free clementine cake made very successfully by me, and buy myself presents – what’s not to love?

Time for a birthday weekend now. With more friends, more cake and more riding. Sounds damn near perfect to me. As for the next year…well, who knows? I’m hoping for great things…but just better would be good ;).

PS: if the title is bothering you, so will the outfits in the video of the song it came from 😉