T’was the night before a sportive, and all ’round the (5 star luxury) house, the wind was howling like a bleedin’ banshee and I was not sleeping. They say it’s important to get your excuses in early, so here are a few of mine. I didn’t sleep well the night before. I didn’t eat well the week before. I didn’t eat well the night before – the downside of being away from home for a sportive – so my pre-sportive routine was all off. And I was on the tramadol which cannot be said to be performance enhancing because if it was it would be on the UCI/WADA banned list and I’ve checked and it isn’t. How am I doing for excuses so far? When thinking about doing this event again last week, I did joke, looking back at last year’s blog, that as a goal, I should take that time, and add an hour on to it. Ah, many a true word is spoken in jest…

So, there you go, foundations for the Tour of Pembrokeshire 2013 could possibly be said to be a little bit shakey. Think King Vortigern and his constantly falling down castle. That involved a red Welsh dragon too didn’t it? And Pembrokeshire is in Wales. Sort of.

Right. Ok…here we go.

When the alarm went off at 6:00am on Sunday morning, I’d finally managed to be asleep for a while, so it wasn’t exactly welcome, though it didn’t exactly come as a shock either. I got my act together, and dressed for the wet and windy gale that was still blowing up a storm outside.  I somewhat perturbed the nice hotel people by not letting them cook anything for me, and just using their microwave to make my porridge, which I duly ate and washed down with essential black coffee – determined that at least one part of my routine would continue as normal. My ride partner for the day, and chauffeur for the weekend, was the indomitable Chris, aka Figgy, who turned up complete with car and bike at 7:00am as planned. We drove the short few miles to the start, passing the first few riders already heading off into the wind and, at the time, rain. None of them looked happy. Well who would? It wasn’t exactly inspiring PMA…

There was plenty of free parking at Oriel y Parc, where we faffed and assembled the bikes. The rain got properly nasty for a bit so Chris insisted we take refuge in the car for a while rather than getting gratuitously soaked before we’d even started. He had a point and, since that was the last we saw of the rain for the day, it was a very good call. It’s just as well we didn’t set off any earlier isn’t it?

As we hadn’t been able to get down to St David’s until late Friday night, Peter Walker, the organiser, had very kindly registered the pair of us and handed over our numbers and lanyard chips from Sportident the night before, so we didn’t have to register on the day – removing one step from the usual pre-ride prep. Instead we headed straight for the start line, a short walk away, but long enough for Chris to discover his back mudguard was rubbing – something to do with new tyres, bigger profile I think, I wasn’t really paying attention ;). After a period of fiddling, he managed to get the darn thing off and stash it in a bush to collect it on our return. This of course gave me time to go to the loo – and this year they’d opened up extra toilets at the venue so there was none of last year’s queuing – result!

Heading off was a low key affair. Various marshalls were at the start line to scan our chips, and then off we went. Ready for what was always going to be a long day in the saddle, even on a good day. I didn’t regret a single one of my garment choices, as we headed off into the 25mph freezing cold NE wind, sometime around 7:30am ish. Due to the state of some of the roads, the route had been altered a bit from last year, and the first hour or so definitely seemed easier as a result. Not easy, just easier. None of this ride is easy. There’s precious little flat, and an awful lot of climbing – around 9,500 feet apparently. That may not sound like a lot to you, but it does to me!

The first food stop came around 20 miles in, at Fishguard, at the Pendre Inn. After a couple of hours cycling in the sunshine fighting the wind, stopping seemed like a good idea. Well, how do I review the food stations if I don’t stop at them? (Can you spot another excuse for my sloth – there were five food stations and we stopped at every one!). I grabbed the usual half of banana, Chris started his marathon eating session, and I used the toilets because hey, I review them too ;). At this point I was still feeling pretty good. Positive. A bit disappointed with the average speed that was happening, but at that point that was pretty much down to the headwind I think. One fifth of the way through (ish) and time to be on our way again.

With the wind blowing like billy-o the weather changed all the time. When there was sun, the temperature struggled up into the nearly pleasant, when it clouded over it dropped into the distinctly nippy. Going up the long hills warmed you up, sometimes too far, and then the descents chilled you right through. Nice. Not. But beautiful. The scenery over there is just stunning. As usual, my photos are going to fail to do justice to it.

Some of the long slow hills I actually found easier than before. Not that my stats show that, but that’s not the point. I actually quite like long slow sloggy hills (sshh, don’t tell anyone I said that). I even made it up the steep nasty ones, like the wicked bendy one that came just after the 75 & 100 mile routes split off from the 50 mile route. I’m glad I knew it was coming, or I’d have been in the wrong gear for sure. Last year the route split wasn’t well signed, this year the signs were great, and there were several very vocal marshalls making sure you went the way you thought you wanted to go.  In fact signage throughout was pretty good. There was the odd junction where it would have been nice to see the arrow a little earlier, but other than that it was really good. There were plenty of Caution signs, and for the traffic, Slow Cyclists signs. Which I took to taking offense at, after I’d seen enough of them! Actually it did sometimes confuse me – am I supposed to be going Slow for some reason, or is that aimed at the cars?  A lot of the junctions were marshalled too, as well as the splits, with friendly faces cheering you on – which always helps :).

Between the first two food stations came my favourite part of this ride. I think it’s the main reason I did it again. Somewhere amidst the endless climbing into the sky, comes a down to the coast, where the view is simply awesome, you can hear the waves crashing on the rocks, and if it doesn’t make you smile, maybe you shouldn’t be there. We smiled. And stopped. And took photos :). There were quite a lot of photo stops today (yep, more excuses).

The next food stop was at Poppit Sands, which, as the name implies, was down at the beach. A nice down too. The first of the timing splits came just before, lurking marshalls jumping out to swipe our chips, before we headed for the lifeboat station and more supplies. I wasn’t yet feeling in need of rescue, though I’d possibly have liked to call them out later in the day! Yes, time for more banana, and a quick chat to Rob who happened to be there and who spotted me as I passed by him on my way back from the toilets.

After a brief period of respite, cycling along the riverside and admiring the boats, the route climbed again. Surprise, surprise. Up and up and up, following a rather attractive stream, with waterfalls, hints of babbling brook, dappled shade, all very picturesque. At the top I stashed my gilet in the saddle bag, where the over gloves were already hiding, before we headed off into the hills again. I must have been concentrating for the next section, as the camera seems to have remained resolutely in my bar bag until the third foodstop at a pub at Boncath. We spent a bit longer here, enjoying the sun, eating bananas, and, if you’re him, welsh cakes and more. They even had cold potatoes, so I had one. I think there were pasties and other goodies too, but being gluten free, such things tend to pass me by. I did stash my head Buff in the bag too, as I was getting a bit overheated on climbs at this point, and it was about the only thing left to easily take off!  The stop had a blackboard which very handily had the route map on it, amongst other things, showing the obstacles to be overcome between you and the next food stop, which in this case included the biggest climb of the day, to the highest point. I’m sure it has a name, but it temporarily escapes me.  Besides, it was one of three such lumps ahead of us, and that was all that really concerned me.

Chris commented that it would appear that Pembrokeshire is where they hid the leftover hills when they were designing our isle. On that basis, if Slartibartfast made fjords, then I reckon there’s a mouse somewhere called Slartibartslow who’s rather proud of his landscape folding ability. Somewhat bizarrely this discussion came at around the 42 mile mark…which amused me when I looked down at Bella and saw that.

I was getting a bit tireder now. I definitely had lactic legs, or tramadol legs, or both. And the pills weren’t entirely working but I couldn’t take anymore for a while, so it was just a case of hanging in there until I could. I’m still amazed that Chris hung with me the entire way round which, considering he could have done it in half the time, is very generous of him, and seriously appreciated. I don’t know if I’d have made it around otherwise, and there could well have been some sobbing by the roadside moments! However hard I was finding it, I was still enjoying myself in an odd way. I love the route, the scenery lifts you, there’s plenty to admire as you’re climbing those massive hills at glacial speed, and the other riders, such as we saw, were mostly chatty and friendly. Well by this point all the race snakes have finished, so it’s just other people all in the same slowly sinking boat as you. It’s odd, for hours you ride along practically having the roads to yourself – there was precious little traffic – and then you get to the next food stop and suddenly there are cyclists everywhere!

And oh, was I glad to see the fourth foodstop. Mostly because, as well as fodder and faggots and portable loos, they had tea and coffee!  I’d been dreaming of a coffee for ages…anything that wasn’t sweet to be fair…and a cup of coffee was just what I wanted. Those three lumps had taken a long time, and taken quite a toll too. There was quite a festival atmosphere to the place, a little sun trap of a refuge tucked down on the side of a valley, away from the headwind that should have turned into a tailwind half way round and somehow never did, with music playing and brightly coloured cyclists flocked around. It was not the easiest place to leave, that’s for sure.  But the only way is up, she said, and after a stretch along the valley (aka wind tunnel), it was time for yet another vicious climb. Again, one I knew was coming, and that I knew I could do, which always helps massively mentally. Slow but steady, as ever.

My new plan is to take gels as I near the end of a ride, and the time had come. I took one, which helped, in a kind of paper over the cracks sense. I ended up taking another one later, another reason it was good Chris was around as I didn’t have many with me and one of those turned out to have fructose in it, which I can’t do. Luckily he had plenty. He pootled along next to me as I moaned my way ’round (he says I moan, I swear I’m just making conversation), getting nearer to the end. I knew the last stretch is a lot flatter, so I was just counting the miles (and hills!) down until we got to the last food stop from whence it would all be downhill, metaphorically speaking.  By now my chain was squeaking away, and apparently the application of oil would have been a good idea, but I didn’t have any and neither did the foodstop. The fifth and final stop was once again at a pub, full of normal people drinking away a sunny Saturday afternoon, and probably laughing themselves silly at the stream of lycra clad eejots traipsing through their midst to the toilet and back! Father Christmas, as you can see, was in mufti this year…

So, 13/14 miles to go, according to the foodstation guys. 18 according to me. And I’m always right. It beats me how we managed to spend so many miles heading into a headwind and still get around and back to the start again though!

The last stretch is, as these things go, a lot flatter, with just a couple of draggy hills in it to take the last out of you. I was starting to feel a bit weird, wobbly and like falling asleep on the bike, and though I tried to ignore it, I realised that would be foolish in the long run, and had to stop, take another gel, and get it together for a bit. Poor Chris!  After a little while of spinning along and letting the gel cut in, my legs woke up again, aided and abetted by the fact that they could sense the end was nigh, and see St David’s in the distance, and the final few miles into the slowly setting sun weren’t too bad. As the well hidden cathedral finally hove into view, we were marshalled through its grounds and up one final hill to get us across the Finish Line, many many hours after we started.

Talk about slow! Just under 9 hours riding – pretty much exactly an hour more than last year. And with stops, our time was 10:11. That may have been the final straw…it was certainly a tad depressing. We stashed the bikes back in the car, threw on some civvie layers, and headed a little glumly back to the cafe for our free meal. There was soup or stew on offer I think, but I went for cake. Gluten & dairy free cake, which they let me have in lieu of stew. Which rhymes. It seemed like a good idea, and very nice it was too. I think I’d gone one step beyond though – I was a bit zoned out and also freezing cold, which Chris didn’t believe until I placed a hand on his arm, which apparently felt a lot like the hand of death! 🙂  I was then made to wear his very fetching hat which I’m fairly sure did absolutely nothing for me but may have helped warm me up a bit. After checking in with Peter to say hi and see how it had gone, it was time to call it a day and head back to the hotel for a shower, food, and sleep, which I actually managed to do in that order.

Over the course of what little remained of the day, we did the usual post ride dissection. Chris had eaten more on a sportive than ever before – a litany that included fig rolls (of course!), ham wraps, welsh cakes, and much much more. I on the other hand did 108 miles on one flapjack, 1.5 bananas, and three gels, though I did drink more than usual. Hm, I’m thinking that’s possibly not very clever.  I used to be able to get away with that, but now that I don’t really eat properly the rest of the time and there’s less of me than there once was, I just don’t seem to have the reserves for that anymore. Which would probably explain why I spent the following day with a killer dehydration headache, feeling like a piece of limp spaghetti, incapable of much by way of coherent thought!  The big issue really was the wind…I think I can still hear it now!  For all that I suffered, I’d go back and do it again, just for the scenery and the challenge…but I think maybe the 75 mile route next time! 🙂

Cycling time: 8:55 hrs.
Distance: 107.6 miles.
Avs: 12.1 mph.
ODO: 1498.15 miles.

Official Cyclosport review.

Another Sunday, another sportive. I like my life predictable :). Today’s was the White Horse Challenge, an event I’ve done once before, in 2008. Blimey, was it that long ago? Apparently so….doesn’t time fly? Etc. etc. This one is one of GB‘s favourites and there had initially been a plan for an ACG posse to draft him around and help him beat his previous time. However not all plans come together, and this one was abandoned a little while ago. Which is good since there was no way I was ever going to be able to keep up and I would have been left behind, all demoralised like. This way I stood a chance of some company to ride with :).

The ACG team car, aka Martyn’s Picnic (still a very stoopid name for a car), arrived here at 5:45am, and collected both I and Gary, as the skies brightened and the pink clouds cleared. An uneventful and cautious drive down the motorway (well, there were three expensive bikes on the back!) got us to HQ at Shrivenham around 7:30am as planned, and we were marshalled on to the field to park. Not really a field, more of a wooded glade off to one side of the venue. GB, having arrived exceedingly early, was parked in the small car park actually next to the building, and a little down our row from us Figgy was already parked up. And then there were five. Before getting ready, we walked across the pitch, past people queuing for the four portable toilets outside, and into the hall to register. After a brief wait at the table designated for my number range, a lady appeared from somewhere, checked I’d signed by my name and number, gave me my number, and an electronic ankle tag. She instructed me topick up cable ties and map on the way out, and to enjoy the ride. Oh, and by the way, the toilets are inside on the right. Which they were.  Way better than outdoor loos, and you gotta love being a girl – no queuing at all!

Now the forecast was for dry until late afternoon, fairly mild but not hot, a little breezy…ooh, the layering options were bewildering! And with three of us faffing around one car, it was like faffing squared. Or cubed!  Poor GB was left kicking his cleated heels in the sunshine, waiting for us, for some considerable time. Taking advice from a hardy northerner as to what to wear is probably a bit daft, and Martyn doesn’t like to be cold. Rock/hard place. So, should you be interested, here’s what I went with, and which worked. Winter socks, shoes, bib longs, long sleeve base layer, winter jacket/jersey thing, mitts and overgloves, birthday Buff on head. Voila. Done. At some point the overgloves came off, but the rest of the ride was catered for by the frequent use of zips, and pulling my sleeves up and down occasionally.

Eventually we all assembled at HQ, after a few trips to and fro the car for forgotten things. We were joined by Martyn’s tri-athlete friends Mark and Jeannie. The plan was to be two groups. A fast, race ’round group (Martyn, Gary, Figgy, Jeannie), and the keep me company slow group (Me, Guy, Mark).  Departure was an informal affair, just a case of heading off over the timing mat when you were ready to go, so off we went. We set off in the sunshine as a larger group, which didn’t last long as there was a draggy hill about two miles in which came as a nasty shock! My legs felt like achey lead (can lead ache?), and it was ‘orrible! The sort of horrible that makes you wonder if turning around and going home might’nt be a good idea. As the group spread out, with riders finding their own level like water, I was pleased to discover that the next 15/20 miles or so were fairly flat, which allowed me to warm up and get into my ride properly, and shake off that I feel like death slightly warmed up feeling. The fast lot rapidly disappeared off into the distance, never to be seen again, leaving us three behind to get on with it our way.

It was a lovely day to be out riding. If it had been a bit warmer and a bit less windy it would have been a lot perfect. Even so, there are definitely worse ways to be spending a Sunday morning than riding along quiet country lanes in chilly Spring sunshine, with gorgeous views, stunning scenery, and wide open skies.

And it’s a lovely route. There’s plenty of flat and fast, and some lovely long climbs, with equally lovely downs. There was in fact a deceptive amount of climbing, which is not to say that it’s a very hilly route, more that you climb more than you realise, almost without noticing. There were enough hills to be challenging with enough space between them to recover in time for the next one. Apparently one of those hills was 17%, as indicated by a road sign which I missed, which is probably just as well from a motivational point of view. I did make it up all of the climbs, however slowly, and I have to admit to taking a certain pleasure in riding past walking riders…  Hey, I’ve walked up enough hills in my time, I’ve paid my dues, I feel I’ve earned it ;).

It’s not called the White Horse Challenge for nothing. Yes, there’s Challenge, but there are also White Horses. Four of them, though I didn’t seen the last and oldest one at Uffington. Apparently it’s not actually visible from the final killer climb that takes you over the hill on which it resides.  It’s a big hill, and they were playing King of the Mountain timing games up there, so I was too busy concentrating on getting up the hill to be looking around for it too much anyway. As the last big climb of the day, it was quite enough for tiring legs to deal with, but it was at least followed by a fair few miles of flying home, which were great!

Today’s ride gets points for food stations with a range of goodies, and toilets. In fact the second stop proved that, contrary to what some believe, it is possible to have a portable loo stationed on public land somewhere…and it was clean, and still stocked, which was pretty impressive!

It’s a lovely friendly event – at least when it comes to the organisers, helpers, and marshalls. Most of the riders out there were friendly enough as we said hello in passing too. GB and I form what I call the “Relentlessly Cheerful Brigade” on sportives. This means saying hello to every rider you pass, and politely greeting every pedestrian or horse rider we encounter. This amuses us, and possibly takes the edge off the behaviour of the odd stupid peloton, such as the large one that decided that they had right of way at the roundabout in Wootton Bassett and would just hold up the traffic while they did what they wanted. We made a point of stopping, stopping others, and allowing the quite rightly irritated lady driver go where she was perfectly entitled to have been going in the first place. Honestly, sometimes us cyclists don’t do ourselves any favours – and I bet those same cyclists complain the next time a motorist goes off on one about the behaviour of cyclists too!

There was a bit of a shortage, ok a lot, of people saying “Clear” at junctions, pointing out obstacles, warning of approaching cars etc., something I’m noticing more and more on sportives, which is a bit of a shame. Luckily the roads were for the most part, unlike the A4 stretch past Cherhill, pretty quiet. The road quality varied a bit, from the lovely to the quite a lot of potholes but since there wasn’t much traffic, it wasn’t too hard to avoid those. The signage was pretty clear, as you can see, though the GPS route must have been a bit join up the dots with straight lines because Bella peeped off and on course all the time, which was minorly irritating.

We rolled over the timing mat a bit over 6 hours after we left, to join lots of happy looking riders chilling out in the sunshine. The fast group had been there a while, unsurprisingly, and were full of tales of how fast they’d pushed it, and couldn’t have done any more, and if it hadn’t been for those darn traffic lights maybe…etc.  We all printed our times out, an ability I always like, which included standards and KOM times. They may have gotten around fast – and they did – but I still beat Martyn up the hill.  And Figgy – though we reckon he stopped for a picnic half way up ;).  I’m planning on not letting Martyn live it down for a while…as he’s well aware ;).

We sat around in the sun for a bit, drinking our free coffee, and wearing our well earned medals. There was a range of drinks, rolls, and cakes to buy, and the cakes in particular looked awesome. I’d probably earnt one of those too, if cake was my thing, which it isn’t :).

Overall, we all agreed it was a really good event. The company was good, it was well organised, the route was nice, and the scenery was lovely, aided and abetted by the sunshine no doubt. It’s a lovely part of the world to ride around. I felt pretty good the entire way around too, and even afterwards. It was my longest ride so far – 90 miles – but it only took the same amount of time as the previous rides – 70 odd – which is amusing, but that’s because it was considerably less lumpy. My kind of sportive I think :).

Official time: 6:09 hrs.
Distance: 89.8 miles.
Avs: 15.6 mph.
ODO: 1363.95 miles.

It’s Sunday. We all have our own belief systems. As I cycled through Stoke Fleming sometime around 9:00am this morning, melodious church bells were calling the faithful to prayer. At 5:00am my alarm bell called me from the depths so that I could go ride my bike somewhere new again. You take care of your soul your way, and I’ll look after mine in mine.

Incidentally the sign for Stoke Fleming was partially obscured by foliage, and my brain desperately wanted it to say “Stroke Lemming”…  Your brain goes some very odd places on a sportive, especially when you’re doing it on your own.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, which has to be a first for today. Today was the Hammer Sportive, starting from Kingsbridge in Devon, a very boring 1 1/2 drive away down a virtually empty motorway – not conducive to continued wakefulness.  I’d plugged the postcode of HQ, at Kingsbridge Community College, into the GPS, aka Tim, who got me 99% of the way there, but fell foul at the last moment by bringing me to somewhere where I could see it but not actually get to it.  Go Tim!  I made a rough guess, used my brain such as it is first thing in the morning, and managed to end up in the right place without too much difficulty. Sadly HQ had but limited parking which was now full, and I had to go back down a hill and park on a nearby industrial estate.  I was not best pleased, because it meant getting everything sorted before going up to registration, and also cycling up a hill that, both pre-sportive and as the final gasp at the end, was steeper and longer than I wanted!

This particular sportive came at fairly short notice. “Work” wanted someone to cover it, and it turned out I could, with a little juggling. However last night was the Mayor’s Banquet (which was a little boring sober let me tell you), and I’ve got a lot going on, so when sticking my hand up in the air and volunteering, I did it with the proviso that I did the Claw Hammer route (100 km) rather than the Sledge Hammer route (100 miles).  They still signed me up for the 100 mile route, but I explained myself at registration, and it wasn’t a problem.  Let’s face it, even without all that, with the route and the totally dismal weather forecast; barely mild, rain, 20+mph winds with 40mph gusts, I don’t think 100 miles would ever have been on the cards!

I duly signed in, they gave me my ties (long enough), number (355), timing chip (for the ankle), route map, and an Operation Smile goodie bag with a t-shirt in, which I asked them to put somewhere for me, otherwise I was going to have to ride back down to the car, put it in the boot and ride back up again – and gratuitous hills are really not my thing! 😉 I’m not sure stashing such things was originally in their plan, but the Cyclosport gilet may have swung things in my favour, as they knew who I was and that I would be writing about it ;). More of the bag malarkey later…

On riding up to HQ I had discovered my back brake was sticking on. I was kinda hoping “they” would have some WD40 or similar that I could judiciously apply, but it was not to be. I’m not sure if there was any mechanical support at HQ as I couldn’t find it, and though I asked Andrew at registration, the cupboard was bare.  There was a motorcycle outrider and support car on the course though, so maybe support was more of an en route thing?  I decided, like I had a choice, to see how I got on, and hope damp roads and use would loosen it up, which luckily turned out to be the case. It’s not like I need anything extra slowing me down after all!  It was time to go to the loo, faff a little more, and get ready to go.  The first few batches of riders were being sent away with a lead out car for the first few miles and I was advised to get going if I didn’t want to miss that so I headed for the start line, caught the tail end of the briefing (though I couldn’t hear it) and was off, just like that.  I was right at the back of my group, so didn’t really get the benefit of the car, but it was kinda nice to be escorted through town in semi-pro fashion.

And then we were off, left to our own devices to get on with it.  I say we, which implies plurality and company, but today it was just me.  This was not entirely a bad thing. I knew today was going to be a challenge.  Grey, dismal, very windy, and very hilly.  Sometime it’s better not to have anyone to keep up with, to feel left behind by.  Better for the PMA.  I had loaded the mp3 in preparation, with songs I’ve not heard in a while and actually fancied listening to.  I had everything I needed. I was, in fact, self sufficient.  Although company might have been nice, and would certainly have been useful when the killer wind became a killer head wind, I think it worked out quite well.  Apart from at the end when it would have been nice to sit, drink coffee or free beer, and debrief a bit.  That’s kinda awkward on your own.

Right.  Back to the ride again.  The first section was very scenic and the wind was kinda favourable. Lots of river, cute little nestling villages, inlets, coves, coast.  The sound of waves crashing on beaches, which automatically adds points to a sportive if you ask me.  However once that was done, it was on to rolling Devon countryside.  Ha!  Rolling my ar*e.  Devon is definitely not heaven, because although my heaven would quite probably involve a bike, it would most certainly have a lot less hills!  Big steep grinding hills.  Going up takes forever, going down takes no time at all, with precious little relief from flat to be found anywhere, just the odd section over the top and near the end.  A ride that was always either going up hill or into that lethal headwind or, if you were really lucky, both!  The kind of wind that was strong and gusty and constantly in your face…at least you thought it was until you went past a gap in the hedge and discovered yourself suddenly riding on a completely different piece of road.  It’s just as well I took the winter bike, the Cinelli is proper skittish with side winds, and even the Cube, that bit heavier, had some interesting handling issues from time to time.

There was every kind of weather but warm.  Drizzle, shower, heavy shower that verged on hail.  The only advantage of that wind is that whatever weather you were currently experiencing wasn’t going to hang around for long, and my particular time window through it came out a lot better than I’d expected – ie I wasn’t soaked to the skin and freezing!  Mostly it was just chilly, grey and overcast.  A few of the roads were a bit dodgy but the majority of them were dry, and most of the road surfaces were pretty good too – always nice when you’re slogging your guts out going up yet another hill.  Two of today’s hills made my front wheel consider losing contact with the ground, but I kept it planted, and plodded my way up.  I even overtook the odd walking person, which is always good for the ego ;).  There was also a timed “Hammer Hill” challenge before the last food stop which was frankly laughable if you’re me. I’d love to be able to race up hills…but I can’t on a good day, let alone 10 miles from the end of a tiring sportive.  I’m just happy to have made it up – it was a bit of a killer!

There were three food stops today, two of which had toilets (‘rah!), and all of which provided the distraction of a brief break.  The last food stop was the best supplied and the most friendly – staffed by a little team of ladies, all smiley and chatty and helpful, with the radio on.  As I availed myself of the facilities, and fought through the layers, it played Shania Twain’s “Man! I feel like a woman“, which was amusingly appropriate.  I had half a banana at the first stop, and could also have had crisps since they were gluten free, but somehow they didn’t appeal.  They didn’t appeal at the second one either though I did grab some water, and at the third I’d decided it was time for a gel.  I think a lot of my performance issues could well stem from my lack of fuelling, so I’m going to try more such things towards the end of a ride. I think my gel may have been a little out of date as it tasted weird so I could only bring myself to take half of it.  Mind you, they frequently taste horrible, so maybe it was just that. I think it helped for the last section. As did the fact that there were only 10 miles to go, even if they continued to be hilly miles!

Today’s route was supposed to be about 64 miles.  However thanks to a confused marshal at one crossroads, who wasn’t sure what the Claw and Sledge were, and if you weren’t doing the long route you must be tired so must be sent that way (some sort of “short” cut)…I ended up taking a 3 mile trip detour to Harbertonford before deciding that the Garmin was right, he was wrong, there were no signs, I hadn’t seen another cyclist and I should retrace my steps.  Well the signage had been pretty good up until then – black directional arrows on green background, warning signs etc, and green arrows sprayed on the road – so their lack spoke volumes.  6 miles added to the trip took the total to 70, and, predictably, added some climbing too. I could, prior to that Hammer Hill challenge, have opted to do the longer route but, at the speed and suffering I was doing, I’d probably still be out there!  If you’re interested, you can see what I did do here.

So there I was, 10 miles to go.  For a change there was some flat, and some lovely downs…but also one of the worse hills.  Not only was it long, but it was on a more main road, it was steep, and it had three lanes – two for those going up past you – so that the traffic passing you was frequently two abreast, one overtaking the other, neither paying attention to you, and doing up to 60 mph.  Scarey, and actually dangerous to my mind, and even more so for those who’d resorted to walking, thus taking up more road space. Having been indulging in my kind of soul therapy all day, on a couple of occasions it looked like I was going to get to meet my maker and explain myself rather earlier than planned!  Other than that the roads were pretty quiet today, although there was one particular climb that seemed very popular with cars desperate to be somewhere.  You can sit behind me revving your engine and crawling along all you like, it’s not going to make me go up any faster ;).  To be fair, there was a lot of fairly cheerful give and take going on from both them and us generally, and I don’t think we p*ssed off the locals too much.

The final miles ticked down. Back into Kingsbridge, round the urban roads, and back up that hill again, to cross the timing mat and be relieved it was over and done with. My tag was collected, I parked up, and headed inside to get my time printed out, which is also a nice touch.  Of course I then had to go find the timing people and point out that hey, a gold time for the Sledge Hammer would be great, but to be honest, no-one would ever believe me, so it was probably best to be honest and own up to only having done the Claw Hammer.  I’m a stickler for accuracy ;).  Besides which it’s really annoying when you look at the times post an event, having done the 100 mile route, and know for nearly certain that several of the fastest times recorded for your route are from riders who have cheated in exactly that way!  I then went in search of my goodie bag which had sadly vanished, even with boxes of numbered bags for all of us who’d clearly had the same idea at the start.  Andrew found replacement t-shirts for me and another lady who was likewise afflicted, so that was nice.  All done.  As I said, there didn’t seem much point hanging around for long by myself, so me and my t-shirt went back down the hill to the car.  Rather than wear sweaty kit home, I actually donned the t-shirt for the return journey – it seemed appropriate :).

Overall it went better than I thought it would, and I feel ok now too.  Yes, it was hard work, but pushing the watts at the gym is getting me up those big hills that I would otherwise have walked up, which is gratifying.  Riding up hills should make me better at riding up hills right?  I managed to avoid the mental doldrums, even when I got lost, by opening myself up to enjoying the ride, looking at the view, and trying to do that be in the moment thing.  So I’m not hammered.  Though I may be shortly 😉 *grin*.

Official time: 6:09 hrs.
Distance: 70.2 miles.
Avs: 12.2 mph.
ODO: 16386.99 miles.

UPDATE: results are up here. Madly, out of the 171 riders, I was 87th/171 doing the Hammer Hill challenge, but I was only 139/171 overall for the whole route.  And I’m crap up hill!  There were 10 women on the route, I was 3rd in my category and 5th woman overall, but 3rd woman overall up the hill.  But then there’s my whole 6 mile detour.  Hm.  Too complicated for me… and mental!

This year has not gotten off to a stormingly good start, what with the crappy weather, illness, and one thing and another. So I have to admit to not having given this weekend’s Joker much thought, just in case it didn’t happen.  Due to the squashed nature of my immune system I managed to develop an infected nasal abscess at the end of last week (too much information?), so I really wasn’t sure I was going to make it, and it was a question of hoping the antibiotics would cut it in time for me to be able to ride.  Well I made it. Just. And I’m paying for it now – doing a sportive with that, glands so sore that doing your helmet up hurts, and medicated, apparently takes it out of you!  Although thanks to some clever acupuncture kinesiology tape stuff I was able to ride without being on the painkillers, so hey, it wasn’t all bad.  BTW, first person to see me and call me Rudolph will be ex-communicated…

So, here we go…with a 6:00am start. Which was, unusually, shared by the rest of the clan who were off to do something involving fast four wheels not two slow ones. At least I didn’t have to worry about waking anyone up, and the company made a pleasant change.  I headed off into the rising sun, over the Mendips, trying not to fall asleep and made it to Salisbury Racecourse about 1 1/2 hours later, pretty much as planned.

This is not my first Joker. It’s my second. And it’s only the second Joker full stop. Last time around I had a mechanical, so I felt like I had unfinished business with it. Which makes no sense at all but hey, that’s the way it works sometimes. And who said getting up at o’crack sparrow to go cycling somewhere was sensible anyway?  However it does mean that I knew vaguely where I was going, and that sense of familiarity made the whole getting there, parking, etc thing that bit easier. Not that it was tricky. Marshals guided me into the car park, and the next car to park up was that of the Pixie, aka Mark.  As we faffed the line of cars behind us got started, and who should park directly behind me than GB?  Well I never! Serendipitous or what?

You see this time last week I was doing the Joker on my own. Whilst I’m perfectly capable of, and used to, riding events on my own, it is much nicer if I don’t have to, so I put a call for company out on Twitter and ended up with these two jokers for company – result! 😉

It having been mighty cold of late, forecasts of slightly warmer temperatures and sunshine had us all in full on layer debate mode. I’m happy to report that I pretty much got it right. Winter socks, toe covers, overshoes (I hate to have cold feet). Bib longs, base layer, l/s jersey, l/s winter jacket., Cyclosport gilet. Neck scarf, head buff as given to me for my birthday and now part of my cycling superstition/tradition. Topped off with winter gloves. By the end of the ride the neck scarf and the gilet had been stowed away, the gloves swopped for mitts (which make photographing way easier), and the zips of all my layers had gone up and down a lot…but it pretty much worked. Had the sun come out in force, it might have been a different story, but it didn’t and it wasn’t, and now the washing machine is full again.

Right, time to register, grab a cup of coffee, and use the outside toilet block. There are also toilets inside, a fact which we didn’t discover until after the ride, which are even more salubrious. I was given my number, axle timing chip, two cable ties, and a waterproofed map. As usual the cable ties were too short, but as a sportive veteran I tend to carry my own these days, complete with spares (wasted by the Pixie who got it all wrong) and scissors to trim them with (or cut them off when you’ve got it all wrong). I signed the disclaimer list, and headed back to faff some more. Eventually we were ready, and joined the queue for the start, where I bumped into Nick, of Pendragon, Tour of Wessex fame, and had a chat on the basis that at the speed he goes at that was the only time I was likely to see him all day. I wasn’t wrong.

The rider briefing told us all to behave ourselves, explained the signs etc, and then sent us on our way over the timing mat. I love the sound of beeping mixed with people trying to clip in – makes me giggle for some reason. There were only around 350 riders out there, which meant there weren’t a lot of groups and any we did see were going pretty fast, and usually going past us pretty fast too.  As we set off, the first stretch proved how chilly it was out there, as the tips of my fingers disappeared for a while until I’d warmed up properly.

The Joker differs from other sportives in that it has optional extras. Or minuses. There are 4 extra “Jokers” you can choose to do – which invariably add miles and hills – and two shortcuts or “Fools” – which cut corners and miss hills/miles, but at a cost…being dodgy roads, cyclocross antics, and the like. Being well ‘ard, and having only been able to do one of them last year, we did all four, and have the souvenir Joker cards to prove it. Well, not much point getting out of bed otherwise, was there?  So that’s Straight Up, Gold Hill, Zig Zag Hill, and the Last Laugh. One by one we did them all.  Straight up was, unsurprisingly, a big hill. It went straight up, I just went up, slowly…;), and picked up my first Joker cards shortly afterwards.  The addition of a little plastic bag to stash the cards in was a distinct improvement on last year, as the one I did get was looking proper tatty and damp by the time I got back – this year they were all pristine.

On to Gold Hill which was all Hovis advert and cobbles. I was having a massive mental block about this one beforehand. At some point before it started the boys were waiting for me (something that happened a lot) and I caught up, caught my breath, and headed off to the big hill before them. They were kind enough to not catch me and to let me get on with doing it by myself, which often works better for me mentally. And I made it up. No idea how!  The front wheel lifted a couple of times, there was the odd wobbly moment, but somehow I made it, hunched over the bars, to the top without falling over or failing to uncleat in front of the photographer or the waiting audience sat in the suntrap at the café at the top. ‘Rah! Never again…I know better than to push my luck that far! ;).

The Zig Zag Hill Joker added an extra loop to go back up Zig Zag Hill, which we’d descended earlier in the ride, so I knew what to expect. It’s quite a nice wiggly climb really, but the last long drag back to the food station across the top, into the wind, did me in though, and GB dropped back and towed me along until I made it – which I was seriously grateful for. Ah the wind. I don’t think I’ve mentioned that yet. Well there was wind. More than enough of it, and it was cold!

After the food stop, there were many many miles, including a long tedious mainish road section, heading straight into that wind and even with three of us taking turns, it was pretty sapping. It might have been better if the Jokers were spaced out a little more, as it sort of felt like all the “fun” was pretty much done with, and these miles were just to get you back home. I also knew there were a couple more hills ahead which I wasn’t looking forward to – it was all feeling a bit like hard work by now – but then I always have a flat mental spot, and this one came at around the 53 miles mark and hung around for a while. Still, it passed, as it always does. Which doesn’t mean it got any easier, it just means the the end got nearer and I perked up a little. Unlike GB, who thanks to man flu, was proper suffering by now. Unlike the Pixie who was still doing a grand job, as ever :).

The Last Laugh means going up a long hill, along a bit and then back again…ie, going up a hill just for the hell of it, at the very end of the ride. Hilarious. We could have missed it out, but we were in for the long haul, so we didn’t. What, and lose face in front of each other? I think not!  From there it was just a couple more miles back to the start, though my Garmin having thrown a wobbly and stopped for no reason, I had to rely on others to tell me that.

What can I tell you about the rest of the ride? Well it was definitely lumpy. According to the Pixie, with a better behaved gadget, there was around 6800ft of climbing, and it felt like it! The worst hill, Fontmell I think, was not an optional extra and it went on and on and on at speeds that would have meant walking was faster. The sign for the car park near the top urged those stopping there to “Enjoy your walk” which gave rise to an ironic smile. But I didn’t walk. I’m stubborn like that. The scenery was pretty enough, though by the end I had a slight case of “if I never see another thatched cottage it’ll be too soon”, and there were some gorgeous views from the top of what GB says is an escarpment that basically we went up and down all day. However a lot of the road surfaces were pretty atrocious, and ok, so unlike many we saw, I didn’t get a puncture, but that’s not the point. Gingerly picking your way along narrow barely surfaced roads, dodging potholes, avoiding gravel on bends, etc etc, does not make you pick up any of the time you’ve lost climbing. Pixie reckons it’s a good thing I haven’t treated myself to shiny new fast wheels yet, as apparently they’d not have enjoyed it all. Not that that stopped some people – there was some seriously expensive kit being shown the sun out there!

The signage was mostly pretty good apart from a couple of places where they weren’t clear until you got right to where the decision was to be made, and there was also a lethal right turn at the bottom of a long descent somewhere which luckily GB knew about. More warning would have been nice. It would also have helped it the Joker options were sign-posted in a different colour – red maybe – to distinguish them from the main route option. And finally, I’m a girl. Yes, I am. Why is this important? Because there was one food stop, used twice, and with no toilet facilities. It was very cold, windy, and exposed, and I was wearing bib shorts. You do the math. Not going to happen. Luckily the café at the top of Gold Hill, which co-incidentally does Mokarabia coffee (they’re one of my clients) let me use their facilities.

In conclusion, it was a hard day’s work!  And slow. The car park was 3/4 empty by the time we finally rocked up back at the start, and they’d run out of Medium sized t-shirts. Just as well I’m a small then – sorry GB! We stashed the bikes, grabbed our free cup of coffees and stretched out a bit before folding back into cars and heading off to wherever it was we were going. I’m not complaining about the time though. It is what it is, I am what I am, and both of those are slow! 😉 I’m very glad of the company I had, it would have been a very different, and far more miserable, story without them. They didn’t exactly nurse me round, but they did hang around – thanks guys! :).

Basically there is no point in comparing me this year with me last year. I haven’t done the miles, my health has “issues”, and I don’t/can’t eat properly. Plus I was still recovering from my birthday week, and then there’s the Rudolph thing. So essentially I’m happy to have gone out, to have ridden, and to have gotten round. My unfinished business is now well and truly finished! :D.

Official time: 6:24 (including a great many stops)
Distance: 70.4 miles
Avs: 12.2 mph.
ODO: 1274.19 miles

Official Cyclosport review is up here. I’ve looked at the results and I was as rubbish as I thought.  On the other hand, there were only 2 women who did the full distance and all the Jokers, and I beat the other one by five minutes, so on that basis I’m a winner! ;).

Me, suffering up Gold Hill, courtesy of official photographer Bruce Chappell.