My “job” may not pay much, or in fact at all when it comes down to it, but it does come with some perks.  One of which is getting to attend the annual Cyclosport Industry Party.  On Saturday around 200 people from the cycling industry gathered at the Alexander Pope pub in Twickenham (why Twickenham nobody knows…).  After coffee and milling around, around half of those split into groups for a ride to Box Hill and back.

The theory was that there would be four groups, ordered by average speed.  Group 1, 2, 3, 4.  1 and 2 were to do 5o miles, 3 and 4 38.  Now last year I went with the fast group and, even with killer hangover, held my own and enjoyed doing so.  I’d have given it a go again today, especially as the hangover was absent, but I just didn’t feel like doing 50 miles at that pace.  Not and get back in time to stash the bike at the hotel, make myself feel presentable, and get back in time for lunch.  Besides in a group that was going to include Stephen Roche, Yanto Barker, Jonathan Tiernan-Locke etc, there was going to be some seriously competitive testosterone going on.  Not from them, but from the other riders around them trying to look good!  It got worse when so few riders were in Group 2, they ended up being amalgamated into one group – man was I ever pleased to have opted for Group 3!

I had a blast of a ride.  It felt way easier than last year, though it still took me quite a long time to warm up.  Last year we were in shorts and short sleeve jerseys – this year it was winter layers and I didn’t regret them either.  What a difference a year makes?  I’m still glad I don’t live in London.  20/30 minutes to get to what passes for countryside?  No thanks.  But in a group, able to hold our ground amongst the urban traffic, visible due to our sheer numbers, it wasn’t too bad.  Sean, one of my fellow ride/writers rode with me which gave us chance to catch up, and unlike the Etape Cymru when he went off ahead, today I managed to keep up.  Well, apart from Box Hill of course.  Let’s be serious, that was never going to happen…*grin*.

I know Box Hill is iconic and I’m sure going around and up it nine times would be no fun at all.  But on it’s own it’s really not that difficult.  Not even for me.  Especially not with the immaculate road surface it now has, thanks to the Olympics.  In fact, being steeper at the bottom and then settling down, it’s the kind of hill I actually get faster up.  At least I got to see all the road graffiti I’d heard about, and there was quite a lot of sociable chatting on the way up.  Last year I was probably last to the top.  Not this year :).

Mr Sportive Photo was lurking half way up the hill, as might have been predicted and just for once I actually waved at him.  Always nice to see a friendly face :).  See, look, here I am, waving…not drowning ;).

And here we all are at the top.  Sean was already there, in “was that it?” mode.  Yep, that was it.  Sorry :P.  Nothing compared to the Mendips, or the hills around Shropshire, that we are respectively used to.  Still, the views from the top were nice, though you don’t get to see them until you’re on your way down again.

From here it was a race for home.  Fun :).  I’d warmed up by now, my legs were in, and I was ready to do my bit to keep up.  There was some very silly descending from time to time, and I even had to tell Sean to get himself out of the way so that I could overtake him at one point *grin*.  Man I love downhills :).  What can I say – now that there’s less of me, I guess there’s less air resistance too!  We also had some very daft sprinting bits when circumstances demanded, especially through Bushy Park, though the arrival of a deer in the middle of the road in front of us nearly stopped play in a very horrible way…  I braked a little too hard and felt my back wheel come up…and then luckily go back down again!  *phew*.  Slightly more sensible sprinting after that ;).  I did my best, and I think I acquitted myself fairly well.  In fact I think the ride was my favourite bit of the day :).

As planned we were back in time for me to have time enough to get me and the bike back to the hotel, frock up so that I felt like a girl, and be back again in time for lunch, which was running late anyway.  I had roast chicken and chips, dear reader.  Not bad, not good, but fairly safe, which was the important thing.  In order to mitigate the amount of drinking likely to be done over what could be a long period of time, I opted for the white wine & soda option.  Damage limitation!

There was a Q&A session after lunch..and I’ll leave it up to you to play identify the famous cyclists and others.  Well I could tell you who they all are, but where would the fun be in that?  I love the way they look like a line-up…talk about similar outfits!

In there somewhere, in case you haven’t named them all, are Daniel Lloyd, Matt Stephens, Roger Hammond, and Yanto Barker.  Oh, and some Jonathan Tiernan-Locke person.  I will point out that Matt Stephens had very nice shoes.  Yanto Barker was clearly very animated.  And that Magnus Backstedt is wearing a Bike Pure wristband, which is very cool, because clearly that means we have a great deal in common.  Not ;).

Cycling time: 2:10:53 hrs
Distance: 35.58 miles
Avs: 16.3 mph.
ODO: 843.53 miles

Here are my two fellow Cyclosport writers.  Sean – at the top of Box Hill, and James – concentrating very hard on whatever Adam is trying to get out of his interviewees.

It may have been a Cyclosport Party but there were so many other people there from different areas and companies that I, and in fact we, didn’t know, that I felt a bit out of place and I’m very glad Sean and James were there!  It felt a little less sociable in some ways than last year.  The celebs didn’t hang around much, places to be, rugby to watch, etc.  There wasn’t any central seating to keep you all sitting together, as the space had been cleared for the Q&A and the Wattbike challenge that I wasn’t brave enough for, so everyone got a bit sort of spread out – like sitting around the dance floor at a school disco.  I did meet a few folk I’d been hoping to catch up with, though I won’t list them all because I’d miss someone and cause offence!  I met some new folk too, and also made a few useful contacts., so it was still good, just in a different way.  There was a hardy group growing and settling in for the night after a while, but my time had come, and besides I needed some food.  Time for Cinderella to make an exit, with both shoes, and via the chippy ;).  Girly lightweight I know *grin*.

Thanks to Adam, Cyclosport and Hot Chillee for inviting me – and for a great ride.  Well, it’s always all about the riding, right? :).

I have been somewhat spoilt lately, in that my last two sportives have been local.  I’d forgotten the horror of the 4:10am alarm call, the chill of getting dressed before the heating has woken up, the joys of loading up the car in the dark and the wet… *shudder*.  I was so out of practice that rather than taking breakfast with me to eat nearer my start time, I forgot and had my muesli at 4:30am!  Just as well as it happens as it didn’t go down that well, and at least my insides had time to settle before I got to where I was going.

HQ was at Brockenhurst College, Lyndhurst.  After a night of torrential rain the drive was a little more interesting than necessary, as the car and I negotiated the river pouring down the Gorge, and headed South East dodging the floods.  Bizarrely enough once I reached the top of the Mendips, there was a steady stream of cars heading West and blinding me with the headlights…I wonder where they were all going?  It didn’t start to get light until around 6:30am, by which time I was half starting to think it never would!

I arrived shortly after 7:00am, which made me one of the first as usual, and got me into the best car park.  ‘Rah!  I’ve been there three times now so I do kind of know my way around :).  I grabbed my helmet and headed for registration.  Being early, a lot of the stands were still setting up, and there were no queues for registration, but there were plenty of people to deal with everyone anyway, so it’s quite likely that there never were.  I was given my bike number, two ties, and a ticket for a free tea/coffee, and my timing tag was stuck on the LHS of my helmet.  Job done.

The forecast was for dry and sunny and fairly mild for October, which was all good, but actually it was pretty nippy out there to start with.  A perfect faffing forecast then.  I decide to stick with what I’d chosen, and leave the gilet and overgloves in the bag in case I needed them.  Well – if you set off chilly you warm up, and then don’t have to stop.  If you set off warm, you warm up to hot, and then have to stop, and I thought I’d try and avoid having to stop if I could.  Should you care, that left me in long socks, bib winter tights, Cyclosport jersey, Rapha Team winter jacket, mitts, and toe covers.  Don’t you feel better for knowing that? ;).

Having sorted myself and the bike out, and used the more than adequate facilities, I headed for the start line rather early.  Registration was supposed to be at 7:30, with starts from 8:00am onwards.  Well I registered at 7:15ish, and was at the line at 7:35am.  Still UK Cycling Events have been doing this a while now and I guess they’re pretty efficient!  I fully expected to have to hang around at the start as riders gathered, but was still kinda surprised to be amongst the first there…

…but there was a reason for that.  As I was standing there, with a handful of riders, Martin turned up, gave us a quick briefing, and sent us on our way.  7:38am and I was off.  Clearly we weren’t the first group let go either, as there were riders ahead of us – which was probably a good way of spreading us out on the road without too much fuss.  It was very early, it was definitely chilly and, <engage understatement mode>, there was some standing water around <end mode>.  Ok, let’s be honest, there was lots of water.  Lots and lots.  Lots of water, flowing and in puddles and in floods, and with debris washed all over the roads by the overnight weather.  Not so good.  There was no hurtling around to be done in conditions like that, it was far better to be constant and careful, as you never knew when you were going to hit gravel, or leaves, or a hidden pot hole.  It was hard to know whether some of the dodgier road surfaces are always like that, or were just like that as a result of the weather!

The sun was rising as we came onto the moors for the first time, and it was quite attractive really, if sunrise is your thing.  Especially as the sun may have woken up but the wind was having a lie in, unlike me.  Shame it didn’t stay away all day!  Anyway, the first couple of hours were shrouded in cloud, and the temperature failed to raise much, though my layers were mostly doing the job.  It was also essentially flat or at most, sort of rolling.  Just as well since there were plenty of other things to negotiate.  Like I said, water, floods, and debris.  Lets not forget fords, intentional and otherwise, and countless cattle grids, some of which were vicious enough to nearly shake your hands off the handlebars!  I walked around one ford, but that was almost more grief than riding through, so I rode through the rest…and got a soaking as a result.  Clearly they’re not usually that deep but still…  I also hate cattle grids, though they were inevitable today.  I gather there were some grid related accidents, particularly at the one which was instantly followed by a left turn.  Wheels need to be at 90 degrees to the grid, not thinking about going anywhere else…!  I hope everyone is ok :(.

Back to obstacles – and the “wild”life.  Since I was riding on my own today, and talking to the animals is a good a way of alerting to them to your presence as any, just call me Dr Doolittle.  I have talked to cows, horses, donkeys and even a ginger cat.  To horse riders and local dog walkers and other residents.  And even the occasional other rider, albeit only in (literally) passing.

At this point I was quite enjoying myself really.  The scenery was stunning, with wide open skies, views as far as the horizon all ’round, and precious little traffic to interrupt the idyll.  However being rolling, at best, it was quite tiring.  No downs to relieve you from the ups, just constant pedalling which is, on your own, quite hard work.  No-one to hide behind, no motivation to go faster.  The first food stop came at around 30 miles in, about 5 miles after I’d started hoping it would turn up.  With three stops on the route I’d sort of been hoping they were equally spaced…so it was a relief when I turned left, saw the “fuel station ahead” sign, and knew that I was going to get a bit of a breather.  Fuel as in Maxifuel – the sponsors – you see? :).  It was quite nice to have a quick stop, and I was even engaged in conversation by some fairly local riders who were able to tell me whereabouts Blissford Hill was in the route (about 30 miles from the end apparently), so that I could put off worrying about it until later!

All the foodstops were at village/town halls which meant proper toilets.  This one only had the one however, so there was a bit of a queue.  However several riders decided to make do later, being male and that being somewhat easier for them, and the rider in front of me proved that chivalry is not dead and insisted I go before him.  A proper gentleman – thanks!  That done, zip on my bibshorts proving its worth, I ate half a banana, chatted, and enjoyed the time out, before heading back out on my own again.

It was still overcast and chilly, and I was asking myself why, since the forecast had said it was going to clear up later in the day.  Then I realised it was only around 9:30ish so it was actually far from later in the day even if I had been riding for nigh on two hours!  Doh!  It actually got a bit chillier, and I was debating whether or not to put the gilet on when finally, around 10:00am, the cloud started to clear, the sun started breaking through and the temperature improved, along with my mood, a little.

After about 5 miles the “Standard” route went left, and my “Epic” route went right.  It didn’t even occur to me to go the other way as this wasn’t billed as being a particularly hard ride, the weather was ok, and I wasn’t doing too badly.  However the next 30 miles or so weren’t half as attractive.  This is not to say that they were unattractive, just not particularly remarkable.  We left the moor behind, and also the official New Forest area, and headed northwards through country lanes and towns.  The second food stop came as somewhat of a surprise, as it was only 15 miles after the last one and I barely felt like I’d gotten going again.  However I’m very glad I stopped as the ladies there were absolutely lovely and probably provided me with my longest conversation of the entire day – thank you Ms Orbea and Ms Specialized!  Apparently I was the first lady through, which is always nice to hear, even if it is because I was away early and hadn’t been overtaken by any other girls ;).  See how smiley they are?

Actually I overtook lots of riders as I went along.  There weren’t many that went past me, just a couple of groups.  I’d have loved a group…*sigh*.  The rest was the usual leapfrogging riders, as various kit became familiar, and wry smiles were exchanged when we passed each other again, either me passing them or vice versa.  Riding on my own was proving a tad lonesome, and I realised I was dawdling as I was finding it hard to motivate myself.  No real climbs to challenge myself with, no descents to make me grin, just lots of riding, with some slogging thrown in for good measure on slow grinds up, or into the now present headwind.  I wasn’t getting anywhere near the average speed I’d been hoping for, which was also annoying me.  I would have taken more photos but the best views tend to be of things you’re flying past, and I knew that stopping would make me even slower.  Here’s a pretty church for you though, in case you were feeling neglected ;).

I started giving myself small goals to aim for, to break it down and try to make it more manageable.  50 miles to be half way.  Then 60 miles.  Then 66 miles to be two thirds of the way through.  Then 70 to start looking for Blissford Hill…  20 minutes until the next bite of bar/flapjack.  That kind of thing, you get the picture.  Mostly today was about the scenery, which I tried to make a point of enjoying, and let’s face it, even though it wasn’t as nice as the early stages had been, it was fairly pretty.

At around the 70 mile mark, we rejoined the “Standard” route which did wonders for my mental state.  Not only were there now far more riders on the road so I didn’t feel quite so alone, but there were an awful lot of leisure, charity, mtb riders etc…also known as plenty of rabbits for me to hunt down and overtake, which helped me start feeling that maybe I could actually ride a bike ok again.  As we got the moor back, I got my mojo back.  Too little too late, and I was never going to be breaking the speed limit…but hey 😉

I was expecting the next food stop and then Blissford Hill, according to my insider acquired knowledge.  However as I turned right at a motorcycle marshal marked junction, there it was and the food stop wasn’t.  B*gger – I wasn’t expecting that, and I’d been planning to do some mental preparing myself for it first!  Ah well.  I was either going to make it up it or I wasn’t, right?   It’s the first hill that steep I’ve been up on the Cinelli.  It’s the first time I’ve been up it without the very bottom gear on my Cube.  It’s the first time I’ve climbed a hill out of the saddle in the Cinelli too.  So it was all a bit of an unknown…  I was in bottom gear as soon as I hit the climb, and though the legs spun wildly for a while, that didn’t last long as the 25% gradient bit.  Up, out of the saddle, climbing, in sight of the top…   That wonderful moment halfway up when, in sight of the photographer and the gathered audience of locals, you know you’re going to make it.  And I did.  As I announced to the waiting crowd, I now officially rock! *grin*.  I only went up it marginally faster than the last time but whereas back then I felt the aftereffects, shaky and wobbly, for quite some time – not so today.  Today I was all recovered in relatively short time and happily back on my way, safe in the knowledge that the big challenge of the day was behind me :).  Cheered me up considerably – I think I’d been worrying about it quite a lot in hindsight!

With 30 miles or to to go, I was mentally getting into the final straight.  Not that this was going to stop me stopping at the final food stop of course, where I could have had sweets, sandwiches, cake, the works.  The foodstops were a bit like Alice in Wonderland – divided into “drink me”, “eat me” (now), “take me” (eat me later).  Guess what I ate?  Yep.  Same as ever :).

I could have had my bike fixed or tweaked too, and several people were having their tyres brought up to proper pressure.  I saw quite a few riders dealing with punctures, probably due to all that debris, and I crossed my fingers to avert the puncture fairy every time I passed one, which seems to have worked.  Tyres like those on this bike might have been a good idea…isn’t it shiny and nice?  For a mtb/hybrid that is ;).  N+1?

Time to head for the end.  I played tag team with some Wyndy Milla riders for a bit, before finally finding a Trek to follow.  I’m used to following a Trek, it makes me feel at home *grin*.  This guy was in MTB kit on a road bike – weird, but it seemed to be working just fine for him.  We took it in turns, though I should have taken a few more at the front – and I might have done if it wasn’t for him dropping me on every slogging climb, and there were some grinds lurking towards the end.  It definitely helped having him to follow even if only in the distance sometimes.  Actually if he’d made it a little more clearer that it was my turn, I would have, but it took me a while to interpret is over the shoulder glance for what it was – an indication that I should stop lurking and start leading!  Once I’d worked that out, it worked a little better.  We did some together, took it turns to drop each other, but generally spent the last stretch more or less in the same vicinity.

There’s always less forest on this ride than I expect, especially considering that it’s called the New Forest.  Robin Hood would have had nowhere to hide here, it’s not surprising that he stuck to Sherwood!  (anyone singing this now? ;)).  However there was a nice stretch through some sections of Forestry Commission land, with arboretum, and parkland and the like before we ended up back on the moor and heading for the finish.  You’ll be pleased to hear that the guy on the right here stopped messing around and got back on the right – ie left – side of the road before the oncoming traffic got too close!

Not much further before we were back and riding through the contrastingly busy Brockenhurst, and finally riding over the Finish line, which came as somewhat of a relief.  MTB man and I shook hands, so there were clearly no hard feelings about my lack of weigh pulling ;).  One goody bag, one medal, and one very tired me heading for the car.

I found Henry and had a brief chat with him.  There’s no way I would ever have survived riding with him and Todd – they were about an hour faster than me!  But then I’m probably nearly, or possibly actually, twice his age, so that’s my excuse!  He was over by the food tent where there were burgers, and some fantastic smelling paella – generous portions for £4.  Not worth the risk if you’re me though.

Having been here before I knew there were changing facilities.  I hadn’t realised there were also showers lurking at the end of those changing rooms.  I travel with all the wherewithalls as a matter of course so just for once I actually had a shower.  Oh man, the luxury!  It was SO nice to be all clean and changed and kinda feeling like a girl again, even if only in jeans and a t-shirt.  Feeling almost human again, I went off and had my free coffee, and had a nice chat to Steve Hancock, one of the riders I’d met on the route and left behind me 😉  It almost felt like talking to a friendly face, which was a lovely way to round off the day.  We both agreed that the massage looked nice…but that we were too lazy to have one! *grin*.

Cycling time: 5:59:35 hrs
Distance: 98.27 miles
Avs: 16.4 mph.
ODO: 736.37 miles

My official time is 6:20:02 which puts me just 5 minutes outside gold, and much slower than my last two Wiggle New Forest rides, which was a bit disappointing, dagnamit!  See what I did here, should you want to.  I’ll blame the layers, the knee, the insides, the colder air, the lack of company…whatever works 😉  And hey, nowt wrong with Silver, right? :P.

For the first time ever, I have two bikes. So when the forecast for the next day’s sportive looks like this, not only can I faff about what kit I’m going to wear, but I can now vacillate between which bike to ride!  Last time I got a new bike, the old bike was so old and (being a hybrid) so different, it became a non-bike for all intents and purposes, but is in fact now the bike the MaxiMe rides too and from school.  It’s still putting in stirling work and doing the miles years and years later, with very little maintenance and even less TLC.  I look at it now and am amazed that I used to do sportives on it!  So go Claud Butler – glowing endorsements all ’round 🙂  But I digress.  This time around the plan was for the old bike to become the winter bike, and the new bike to be the summer bike, the “best” bike, but since the Cinelli arrived, the poor Cube has been languishing unloved and unused on the wall, and it was all just theory…

Until, as I said, the forecast for the Bristol Belter looks like this, and refuses to improve no matter how many times you force the screen to refresh.  The Cinelli is white.  There is this much clearance between the rear forks and the rear wheel.  It doesn’t like stopping when it’s wet.  I like stopping when it’s wet.  I like stopping when it’s dry too.  I’m picky about such things.  So when it was sensibly suggested to me that I use the old bike if the forecast held true, it didn’t take a lot for me to realise that this was actually quite a good idea.  I’m all set up so that all my kit, saddle bags, Garmin and the like, are easily transferrable from one to the other, so it’s not like swopping between the two is difficult.  We made sure the tyres were sorted on both, I rode the old one around briefly to  make sure it was still working, and I was left ready to make the final choice the following morning…

…when the weather looked like the forecast.  OK, so the rain had yet to arrive, but it was cold and windy.  Dark too, but to be fair that’s because the sun wasn’t quite up when I woke up ten minutes before my 6:00am alarm call.  Definitely the winter bike for me then.  As I strapped up the knee, and started to get sorted, my phone buzzed and GB informed me that he’d woken up with tonsils the size of golfballs, and inquired as to would I’d do if he bailed.  Be sad but still do it, being me, clearly.  He said he’d be here at 7…but, with an amazing degree of hypocrisy on my behalf, considering my dodgy knee and horrible cold, I suggested that he shouldn’t do it unless he was sure because there was no point making himself more ill.  Being far wiser than I, he stayed home, and I got on with loading up my car instead of his.  I packed several layer options and dressed in more, before heading off on schedule.

The Bristol Belter starts from Redwood Country Club, near Clifton and Ashton Court.  About 35 minutes drive from here and I know the way, which made the change to self-drive as opposed to chauffeur driven easier to cope with.  The Mario Cipollini Gran Fondo also started from here as it happens, which I covered with Howie and which was also a very wet ride…  Only when you’re Mario, your event gets to be based in the main hotel.  As I and a steady stream of cars arrived it wasn’t entirely clear where those doing events organised for lesser mortals were supposed to go.  I played sheep and went and parked where other people were be parking, and then followed (in reverse) those people returning to their cars with red plastic Specialized bags.  As it turns out registration was in the cavernous Sports Hall, and toilets were in the health club behind, quite some trek away…  There were actually people signing up on the day which all things considered was pretty amazing, as I bet the forecast caused a fairly high DNA rate.  I was down to do the 155km route but I already knew I had no intention of doing that, and I planned on doing the 115km route instead.  Not a problem, just tell them when you’ve finished, said the nice smiley registration lady.

Number 147 nipped off, well ok trekked off, to the slightly hard to find facilities before helping herself to half a cup of black coffee.  Yes, that would be me.  Coffee was instant but necessary, and it was a neat way of doing it actually.  It didn’t cost any extra either – something some other events could learn from methinks.

I took my coffee back to the car and started to get sorted.  I had a long chat with the gentlemen next to me, and then I was joined by ACG Nick, which was a pleasant surprise.  Deciding on layers was not easy.  It was cold, but not that cold.  Dry, because the weather had yet to arrive.  All in all, very hard to picture what you were going to need, even though the answer to that question is always layers.  So, short sleeve bamboo base layer, Cyclosport s/s jersey, Cyclosport arm warmers, Cycling Mayor jacket with zip off sleeves, winter collar scarf, shorts, leg warmers, new socks, toe covers.  I think that covers it, and it seemed to be covering me ok.  I put some over-gloves in the saddle bag just in case, deliberated about putting more wintery layers on, but stuck with what I had…something I was to regret later.  Nick was very patient!  He even stood in the queue and held my bike while I made another trek to the toilets and back.  Well, you should always go before you leave right? 😉

There was a lot of layering up going on as you can see, and a high percentage of riders were in waterproofs, presumably because I’m not the only one who can read a weather forecast ;).  We were given a short safety briefing, advised of some route changes, and shown the signs.  Having already followed them into HQ I was already fairly sure that it was going to be pretty well signed, which was good as I hadn’t bothered to download the route this time around.  Well, I rarely actually follow it on the Garmin, and it’s only really there in case I get lost which, around here, isn’t really likely to be a problem.  Signage was black or white arrows on a red background.  The white stood out, the black not so much so, and I’m not sure why there needed to be both sorts.  There were also, as it turns out, big yellow Caution signs on the route both for us as necessary, and also around and about to warn motorists that the event was on.

Did I mention this was a local sportive again?  Ah, well it was.  Different start venue, ie further away, but remarkably similar to various other local sportives I’ve done this year.  Mario Cipollini, Somerset Hills Gran Fondo, Black Rat, Cheddar Cyclosportive…blah blah blah.  They do have a tendency to all blur into one…  Familiarity can indeed breed contempt, but today it was a good thing.  I was, as previously mentioned, not very well.  Not having to engage brain too much when you’re feeling like that is a good thing, as is knowing that the hills ahead of you are doable, which descents are sketchy…all very handy.

We crossed the line a little after 8:00am, made our way somewhat cautiously through the car park and the cars still arriving and headed out.  A clearer way in and out would have made life easier, as it was a bit weird have the start line stuck over there, and it made both the start and finish seem oddly low key.  The route headed out towards Portishead, land of my Father, just as Mario’s ride had done.  Although considering how much Mario I saw then, it’s not like I missed him today.  Nick stuck with me for a bit, but I was just taking it easy and it was his first time on the bike for three weeks so that didn’t last long.  My layer choice seemed to be working initially as I slowly warmed up, and I started considering what would come off and when.  As we neared Portishead, and half an hour earlier than forecast, the first drops of rain started to fall into my life and onto my head.  Marvellous…

As we headed up Valley Road, the first little climb of the day, I was starting to get into my stride.  If you can stride on a bike.  But halfway up I suddenly found myself sitting further down and backwards than I wanted to be.  Clearly some sort of saddle problem.  B*gger.  A mechanical on top of everything else?!  I stopped, dugout the fabulous multi tool, and had a look.  Luckily it had just come loose, which was weird but something I could tighten and sort out myself.  Which I did, as well as stuffing armwarmers and collar away, before setting off again.  OK, so it was now tight but it was still definitely in the wrong place, and riding like that for 70 miles with a dodgy knee seemed like a bad idea.  And then a little light bulb went off above my head…! I was literally this far from Mum and Dad’s house so…  I pushed on, got up the hill, and turned right at the Ship Inn.  Which, incidentally was where Howie pulled up and had a chat with me on that other ride.  Unsurprisingly he popped up in my thoughts several times today… 🙁  Off to Dad’s house, where the man of the hour (minute?) duly played pit crew.  It was much easier to get the position right with a wall and/or a person to lean on while you check it out, rather than in a muddy layby in the rain.  A pitstop in several ways, and I was shortly on my way again, leaving my winter collar behind, another thing I shouldn’t have done…

The coast road along here has been known to afford great views of Wales and out to sea…and you can still just see Wales.  Just.  The weather was definitely arriving now.  Grey, wet, windy…delightful no?

I pushed on, as I needed to warm up again, and I wanted to get as many miles under my belt as fast as I could while I could.  The route went through the outskirts of Clevedon, around the increasingly wet lanes of Kingston Seymour, before looping around to take us to the first big climb of the day.  Which, for some reason I thought was Brockley Combe, and which was actually Goblin Combe.  In the rain with, as it turns out, no bottom gear.  My my, things were going well… :/  Ah well, Goblin Combe is a devil I know, and that gear would either be sufficient to get me up there, or not.  No choice but to plod on…  Which, luckily, did the trick.  *phew*.  At least my legs were working!

The first food stop was under the trees at the top, where it was dank, dark, damp…very Mirkwood without the knife.   I stopped just long enough to take a photo and then headed off, so I have no idea what the catering was like.  It was a little short on toilets too…unless I missed something.

The descent into Wrington was as dangerous as warned, but then I knew that, as it’s not much fun even in the dry, being steep and ending at a T-junction.  Today, as I believe I may have mentioned once or twice, it was raining.  It kept raining for the whole ride.  Unremitting, continuous, consistent, relentless…  And not conducive to event photography.    Thanks to the heavy rain and the lack of it recently, the water quickly washed all sorts of crap all over the country roads.  We got this close to the bottom of Burrington Combe before the route turned away for a frankly gratuitous loop that took us around both sides of the Chew Valley and showed us the lakes.  It’s just possible I’d seen enough water by then… 😉  These little lumpy back roads are not my favourite, although DM loves them, but to be fair there were some nice views to be had.  Ish.  The mini route split off left in the middle of the loop, though the marshall there wasn’t entirely clear as to which loop was which, so it’s just as well that I knew which way my route was going.  Maybe turning left would have been the sensible thing to do?

By now I was soaked through, and getting cold.  I was also on my own for the entire ride, though there was usually a cyclist to be seen far in the distance either ahead or behind.  When I was paying attention that is.  Sometimes I guess it’s easier to get on with it if it’s just you, but then maybe company would have ameliorated the misery?  We’ll never know 😉  I stopped at the bottom of Burrington Combe since I knew there were public toilets there, and there was no way I was stopping by the side of the road in those conditions.  Look how wet it is?!

From here on in the camera stayed firmly in the back pocket.  It was the weirdest ride, and my head went some very strange places.  My body however went up Burrington Combe. again.  Across the top and down towards Shipham, before which I realised I was getting properly and stupidly cold, so I stopped, took the by now amazingly heavy jacket off, put the damp but better than nothing arm warmers back on, put the jacket back on, and also put the overgloves on.   Down Shipham Hill, actually shivering, where not turning right at the bottom and going home took the most amazing amount of willpower.  Let’s be honest, I probably should have done.  But, as I’ve said before, I’m a stubborn cow, and I kept going, although I may have felt a bit weepy.  Not that anyone would have been able to tell with my face that wet!  Up Cheddar Gorge which was more like canoeing, and which was actually a welcome slog because it raised my temperature a bit.  It didn’t even really feel like hard work, as I’d forced the bike into bottom gear in time, because today wasn’t about fighting the hills, or the miles, it was about fighting the elements!

I know, because I have the route I did to prove it, where I went and what I did, but mostly I was just zoned out completely.  Head down, legs going round, I couldn’t have told you where I was half the time, I was just getting to where I had to go the best I could.  Up on the Mendips the wind noise was amazing, and even when it was flat it didn’t feel like it was!  On past the marshall who pointed out the right turn to the long route to me.  Funny man…as if!  Down a Harptree, across the valley again, up Pagan’s Hill, where I once again pondered the nature of the name, and to which gods I should be sacrificing something other than myself to get me home in one piece.  The second food stop was on the right here, but there was no way I was stopping and getting even colder, though there were quite a few huddled together under the canopy thing.  No, every woman for herself, and therefore up Upper Pagan’s Hill, which presumably is not called that because all pagans are equal but some are more equal than others, right? ;).

Off towards the airport and Winford and the hills and lumps and mud therein.  There was a lovely flood before climbing up to Winford Manor which turned cycling into swimming and me into some sort of duathlete, but what was a little more water at that point?  I was so hunkered down that my shoulders hurt and my jaw ached from clenching my teeth together.  I was so cold, so wet.  I couldn’t feel my feet, and quite probably quite a lot of the rest of me.  I think two of my toes got cramp near the end but I couldn’t quite feel it, which was the weirdest sensation…and not in a good way!  But I was getting there, getting closer…the miles were ticking by.  Carefully down past the reservoirs to the dodgy junction with the A38.  Round the little back lanes towards Long Ashton.  Along the horrifically surfaced main road to the bottom of Belmont Hill.  Bike into bottom gear, me into plod mode.  Who knew hills could be such a good thing?  Really – it was – because it meant I was a bit warmer again, and I was nearly at the end now, tantalisingly close in fact, held up only by the main road traffic lights. Note to the eejots on MTBs trackstanding their way around the junction and generally getting in the way.  Trackstanding is very rarely cool, and since your tyres were so wide they’d probably hold the bike up by themselves even if you got off the bike, this was not one of those cool occasions.  Prats.

One final very wet almost sprint down the main road and I was back at HQ, negotiating the exiting traffic, once again through the car park and over the finish line.  I duly told the timing man I’d dropped down a distance, and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the first to do so.  There was a little posse of folk waiting for us, all making the most of a bad day, and still smiling.  Had I enjoyed it?, asked one of them, after shaking my hand and welcoming me in.  Ah, well…

Stupid question really, and the answer I’d like to have given him would have been unfair, and not his fault.  I believe I settled for a wry grin.  The event itself was fine.  A little more dangerous than necessary because of the weather conditions.  Well sign posted.  Marshalled at split points.  Fairly scenic.  Quite challenging if you did the long route, or possibly even my route and weren’t as familiar with those climbs as me.  You can’t blame the organisers for the weather, now can you?  However it was five of the most miserable hours I have ever spent on the bike.  If I hadn’t had a cold, if I’d had more layers on…if, if, if.  Annoying in some respects because actually, underneath it all, the body was feeling pretty good.  The knee wasn’t unbearable, and I got the feeling that if I hadn’t been fighting on so many fronts, I could have been having a blinding ride.  But with weather like that it just became something else…

I took my goodie bag and me back to the car, took as much wet kit off as possible, and put what little dry stuff on that I had.  Soaked to the skin, standing in the rain, and with no spare shorts or trousers, I was only ever going to get partially warm and dry.  At least I had dry shoes.  Having said that, since I couldn’t feel my feet, getting them into those shoes was incredibly difficult!  As for worrying about anyone seeing me stripping off, well, I was a bit beyond caring at that point.  Having done the best I could I went back inside, and grabbed a cup of that by now fabulous coffee.  I sat there in the hall, eating the flapjack I should probably have eaten on the ride, and just couldn’t stop shivering.  As I sat there I spotted another familiar face – Strada Rob – as I often do at local events, which was lovely and just what I needed.  After persuading him that doing the Exmoor Beast with us later in the year, and probably in similar weather, was a good idea, I headed for home.

Well, that was the plan anyway.  As it turns out I was shivering so violently that it seemed driving might be a bad idea so I sat in the car with the heating up to max for quite a long time until the shakes subsided and I felt safe to go home.  Maybe a silver space blanket would have been a good idea?  The heating stayed on the entire way home, and it wasn’t until I’d been sat in a nice warm bath for a while that I got back to what passes for my normal temperature!

Cycling time: 5:11:26 hrs
Distance: 71.79 miles
Avs: 13.8 mph.
ODO: 15430.22 miles

It’s quite possible I’m certifiably insane.  Or more possibly just stupid.  At the very least I was under-dressed.  I just hadn’t realised how bad it was going to be and, as the brain blocks out unpleasant memories, I’d forgotten what a difference being soaked through makes to how cold you can get.  Live and learn, as they say.  I’ve knocked myself back a couple of steps on the recuperation front, that’s for sure.  GB is a wise old bird 😉  Speaking of old – and it being today – Happy Birthday GB! *grin*

Anyone who completed that ride, any version of it, deserves a medal.  But on balance a pint glass is way more useful! *grin*.

UPDATE: official time is 5:29 and a SILVER.  If no-one is lying about their route (which I suspect they are) I was 83 of 167 on the middle/standard Belter, and 6 out of 17 women.  Not bad really :).