It’s 102 miles to Stratford upon Avon, I got a tankful of gas, it’s actually not dark and I’m wearing shades…at 5:47 in the morning!  Does that make me a Blues sister? ;).  Another Sunday, another early start – this is definitely sportive season.  And unlike the last couple, the Wheel Heroes was not next door.

However, having not slept well, I woke up before the alarm, to rising sunshine, and less wind than that which woke me up in the middle of the night.  Not a bad start.  I took myself off up North, up a very quiet and peaceful M5, and got to HQ at Stratford upon Avon racecourse half an hour ahead of schedule.  Really must stop racing my satnav ;).

Parking was in rows in the middle of the racecourse, on recently mowed long grass which got everywhere!  I parked up and headed over to the racecourse building, complete with all the facilities you could need, to sign on.

There wasn’t much of a queue to sign on, possibly because I was early, and they had me down for the 100km not the 100miles but were happy to annotate my entry accordingly.  Minor niggles – the cable ties for the rider numbers were way too short, and I had to attach my number to the brake cables not the handlebars.  And – sorry stuweb – for the second event in a row, I still don’t like the timing chip sticker/seat post combo.  It’s hard to attach, so I may well have bent it more than a little trying to get it on properly, and it’s just not user friendly!  Mind you, my ride number was kinda cool…

I’ve recently been having issues getting bits in my eyes, and I tweeted an “help me” bulletin.  My mate AJ took pity on me and sent me one his spare pair of Oakleys (people have spare pairs of Oakleys?!) to see if they’d help.  I tested them out fairly successfully yesterday, which he was pleased to hear, and I did joke that I’d painted my fingernails to match.  I wasn’t joking – I really did! *grin*

As I was faffing, my ride buddy for the day, L2P Kevin turned up, so we both faffed, got our bikes sorted, and headed off for pre-ride coffee.

Claud the Butler was in residence again – making very good coffee as ever, though it’s not free.  I guess you get what you pay for, right?  However gassing over coffee is all very well, but at some point you have to go ride the bike, so we went and joined the queue for the start.

We shuffled our way to the front, until it was our time for our rider briefing.

The top signs are for the 100mile route, the bottom for the 100km route.  They were a bit too similar for me.  Put it this way, if you’re going to differentiate between two routes then two different colours of arrow – eg red and green – is easier.  Trying to remember if yours were the orange on blue or the blue on orange is a bit confusing…

Right.  3…2…1… and off we go.  Even at 8:00am it was already warm and sunny as you can see.

The first 25 miles or so are pretty flat – plenty of time for groups to form.  Lots of flying along in the sun faster than is wise that early in a sportive!  We kept discovering ourselves leading packs of riders – which is all very well – but hey, come take your turn at the front too please?!  Here’s a group dropping back behind us on a hill…

While I’m here, I’m about to have a rider etiquette moan.  I know this was a charity ride, so this may well not apply to a lot of the riders, being less experienced etc.  However I can eavesdrop with the best of them, and if you and your group are talking about the sportives you’ve done, up to and including the Fred Whitton, then this most definitely applies to you, and also to others of you out there so…<begin rant>

• if you’re going to hurtle past me without warning – don’t! – an ‘on your inside/outside/coming through/excuse me’ wouldn’t go amiss.
• car coming?  even just yelling “car” would be a start.  Car back, car front, car up – added bonus.
• hole/obstacle in the road?  point, shout, whatever…and save the rest of us from hitting it too.
• been sitting on my arse letting me/us pull you along for miles?  Well when you finally go past, having dismally failed to take any sort of a turn at the front, may I suggest a thank you would be a nice touch?
• coming past me in the middle of nowhere on a long ride?  how about an ‘hello’?  or some other form of ‘nice weather we’re having’ small talk.

I’m sure there’s more, but that’ll do for the moment.  <rant over>

25 miles in, and time for the first food stop.  At a village hall as promised, thus had toilets, which always pleases me.  There was a range of sweet and savoury goods on offer – which meant jelly babies and half a banana for me.

Back on the road, in the knowledge that the hills, such as they were, would be starting soon.  One of the advantages of having done it last year – no fear of the unknown for me.  Kevin led the way for a bit, as you can see.

There’s only one way of avoiding being photographed by me, and that’s being behind me.  In fact, as you’ll see here, that doesn’t work either!  Which would be why this, particularly guilty of many of the sins above, peloton is here.  Well you can see some of them anyway.  They sucked our wheels, at a good 20mph+, happily chatting away behind us for miles…and then when we finally decided enough was enough, with food to eat and hills to climb, went past us without so much as acknowledging our existence!  Very poor form chaps.

One of the nice things about the Cotswolds is the number of trees that have been allowed to remain standing.  There are the (blurry) country estate variety – as seen here, near posh houses.  There were a LOT of posh houses.  And large numbers of prestige cars…over compensating much? 😉   However the roads were actually very quiet all day, remarkably so for a sunny Sunday.

There’s clearly money in them thar hills…  There were also various foresty bits, but the best trees were all over the hills and therefore most importantly all over the climbs.  On a day like this shade is greatly appreciated when going uphill!  The hills were my kind of hills – slow gradual gradient slogs – and I actually spent a lot of time over-taking people.  How cool is that?! 🙂

Clearly I’m still using the camera to distract myself going up hill…

At least if you go up, you get views right?  This would be a green and pleasant land presumably…

The routes – 100km/100miles – split around 40 miles in.  There was a CFC clad gentleman on the RHS of the fairly main road holding up a hand drawn sign to demonstrate this which, I’m afraid to say, being on a white board and not the backgrounds described, was not the easiest thing in the world to spot.  Good thing we did!  The 100km went left – which was easy – leaving the 100 mile mob to start heading downhill, and then discover a right turn half way down…which was not easy what with main road traffic both behind you and coming the other way to cross through.  Luckily the classic car behind me paid attention to my indications and let me pull over…but it was a tad hairy there for a moment as we gesticulated at each other…

Things got a little quieter after that, as a lot of the faster groups were clearly faster because they weren’t going so far.  Riding became a little more relaxed and less pressurised – no more pet pelotons for us.  The second food stop was at 50 miles in – again at a village hall – and very importantly had plenty of cold water available, as well as two portable loos.  Not ideal but a darn sight better than none.

Both the shade and the water were very welcome, as the day was just getting hotter as it went along.  I was mighty glad I’d applied my sun cream first thing!  We were underway again shortly, but Kevin was not feeling his best, man flu or some such,  and we had to stop a few times.  Around 60 miles in he decided to take a “short” cut and head direct back – 20 miles – to HQ.  Feeling more than a little guilty for leaving my wingman, I carried on following the arrows, but to be fair I think he was probably happier left to get on with it…

Which left me 40 miles as me, myself, and…my music.  Those few other riders that I saw were mostly ahead of me…for a while…until I went past.  There was a distinct lack of wheels to suck, and a whole heap of headwind to fight against.  Why is the headwind always at the wrong end of the ride?  Even so my average speed was going up all the time.

Being on your own is when you start realising how few signs there were.  No repeaters, not enough signs at junctions, no reminders after junctions, and not enough warning other road users of cyclists on the road, which made the odd sharp narrow corner rather more interesting than usual.  I love being in the middle of the road and meeting a white van coming the other way likewise located…  The gpx course was great – with all the waypoints marked and popping up with turn right/left/straight on messages – but not everyone has such gadgets, and neither should they have to to feel sure that they’re on the right route.

There weren’t a lot more hills to come, but there were some.  Besides, the more miles you have in your legs, the more an incline feels like a hill!  In the meantime, following in the great tradition of sportive blogs with castles in them, here’s another one for you.

This is the Castle Inn, with a pub garden with views from the ridge to the left that were just stupendous, and plenty of people were sat in the sun enjoying them…  Stopping there, and not getting going again, was seriously tempting!  Still eventually there was a well earned descent…totally ruined, almost dangerously so, by having an unexpected sharp left turn off it halfway down just as you’d truly built up momentum.  Another hairy moment that coulda shoulda been avoided.

Wide open views stretched all around me as I pressed on my way…and shortly afterwards was the third and final food stop, just as well equipped and catered for as the other two.

I diluted what was left in the bottles I had, and took advantage of the toilets to wash the salt off my face and cool myself down a bit.  Man it was hot out there!  The only advantage of the headwind was that it cooled you down a bit, and actually the same went for descents.  I should mention that some of the downhills today were truly epic – and only a couple of them were ruined by premature T-junction syndrome!

As I was going down a lonely hill, around 80 miles in, 3 riders went past me at just the right speed.  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I latched on to the rear and pedalled for all I was worth.  At some point I had to yell “car” due to the presence of such behind us, and thus alerted them to my presence behind them, which they took with very good grace.  I hung on for ten miles or so, until the fastest of the three got on the front, and upped the ante a little at the same time as the headwind hit again.  Having to push that bit harder, and already feeling a little guilty for being unable to take my turn at the front – it being hard enough doing what I was doing, let along doing that – I decided the time had come to give in gracefully, so I dropped back.

If one of these three is you – and I did chat to them at the end and say thank you – thank you again.  Most appreciated 🙂

That only left me ten miles or so to do, and since I was flying solo but flying pretty fast, I pushed as fast as I could to get back.  See – I even look fairly happy :).  OK, so I was bored, and I’d run out of things to take photos of.  The scenery was lovely, and wide, and rolling, and so on but it was, to use the word literally, unremarkable.  I can only take some many pictures of rural landscapes!

Right then.  A bit more wind, a bit more wiggle, some rather more major A roads to get back to Stratford, and there, finally, was the Finish line.

Kevin was waiting for me at the end, which came as somewhat of a relief as I’d been a tad worried about him getting lost on the way back…and to get his revenge he photographed me for a change!  Look at my magical floating feet *grin*.  Good to see him back in one, still not feeling great, piece though.

Cycling time: 5:55:50 hrs
Distance: 101.63 miles
Avs: 17.1 mph.
ODO: 14038 miles

I stashed the bike in the car, and went back to HQ to get changed and showered.  It turned out that I needed 50p for the shower, which my £5 note was not going to help me with, so I’m afraid it was the usual sink/babywipe combo for me.  At least I ended up more presentable than I had been, right?  Then on handing in my rider number I got my free bacon roll.  Well bacon, no roll, due to my dietary foibles.  Which probably meant I got more bacon than everyone else too – so mock my finickyness as much as you like :P.  Very tasty it was too.  It could have been a beefburger, or veggie burger, but bacon is safer.

So – another sportive done, and apparently done at speed!  Well, in my defence, it really wasn’t very hilly – only c 1300 m of climbing all in according to Bella.  I seem destined to do this ride with another rider who’s not on form, and with a nasty headwind at the wrong time! (see last year’s blog).  However there are far worse ways to spend a Sunday than riding my bike in the sun.  I may have new suntan lines – but I appear to have avoided sunburn – result!  Quite pleased tomorrow is a rest day though… :).

UPDATE: official times are up already – and I’m 92nd of 222 – which I’m quite proud of.  If I’d stopped a little less, I’d have been even faster…and I might be third girl in! :).  My slightly toned down, less personal, more PC review is now up at Cyclosport too.

Let me just get this straight.  I drove 102 miles to cycle 102 miles?!  I could just have ridden home! *grin*

This was supposed to be a weekend off.  Something to do with resting.  However it turned out that the rest of the clan were going to be off motor racing at Wiscombe, and if I was going to be home alone (camping and cars are not my thing) I might as well be riding the bike, right?  I did make one concession though, I decided to opt for the shorter of the two available routes.  Yes, I’m a proper cyclist, my idea of resting is to do the 60 miles route, not the 100 miler *grin*.  Various people were laying bets as to whether I’d stick to that plan, so it’s just possible that one of the reasons I did so was to prove them wrong.  Surely not.  That would be juvenile right?  However I did have better reasons – I have a lot of big events coming up, I’ve done a fair few events already, I haven’t eaten properly this week, I did East Harptree on Friday and didn’t need to do it again, and Ebbor Gorge with lots of other riders didn’t appeal.  Etc.  Still, the split point was at the top of Burrington Combe, so I had plenty of time to make up my mind, and it was still up in the air yesterday…

Right then.  Another local sportive, another practically civilised alarm call.  Once awake I ate my muesli and “granola” and pondered which layers to wear this time.  Just the usual degree of faffing then, which resulted in new shoes, socks, legwarmers, shorts, Galibier short sleeved jersey, long sleeved winter jersey, and Cyclosport gilet.  Turns out I got it spot on – my saddle bag remained resolutely closed all day, and the only things that moved clothes-wise were zips!

My chauffeur collected me a little earlier than usual, but was dramatically in need of coffee, which I most definitely had, so we left around 7:30am as planned.  HQ was at Gordano School in Portishead, half an hour’s easy drive away, and I bibbled away witlessly as usual, while a very hoarse GB got on with driving and blowing happy Premier League bubbles ;).  Marshals directed us into one of the school car parks when we arrived, and we headed off in search of registration.  This was easier said than done, there being no signs of any sort, leading to the amusing sight of a small group of cyclists following each other around like sheep, presuming that the one in front knew the way, as we looped back around to precisely where we started, and some bright spark finally asked the marshall at the gate which way we were actually supposed to be going…  Having trekked around to the start area, it was a further hike to the shower/toilet block, which was completely lacking in toilet roll, but was blessed with another female rider carrying tissues.  I did tell a member of the team of my way out, but his only suggested solution to that was that I go and tell someone else at reception, which I have to admit I didn’t do…and since I popped back there before we left, it was clear that no-one else got around to doing anything about it either.

The queue for registration was growing rapidly, probably because it was just one line being funnelled to the desks, which then actually had 3 different people working, depending on rider number as issued before the event.  Three queues would have worked better, and moved faster methinks.  The rider numbers had changed during the week before the start due to technical issues and not everyone had paid attention to this either, which probably wasn’t helping.

Once signed in, we were given a large brown envelope of stuff – two gels, fliers, etc and more importantly our numbers, which included timing chips, and had to be attached to the seat post, which is a new one on me, and wasn’t going down that well around me – the amount of clearance there is very variable and it could easily interfere with the brakes and wheels etc.  There were also 3 helmet numbers which seemed a tad overkill, especially as they didn’t do anything other than identify you.  I think my favourite systems are the ones with the chip in the rider number on the handlebars, or on one helmet sticker.  Far more user friendly.

Apparently the best pre-ride food is not bars, or gels, or special drinks, it’s Creme Eggs!  Maybe it’s a northern thing…

Once again you see, what with it being local ‘n all, there were plenty of people doing the ride that I knew.  Gary (as you can see), GB, Steve, Nick of Somerset Hills Gran Fondo fame, and my Dad, amongst others.  Mike and his son Matt were seen arriving too, if never again.  Practically an ACG outing, even if we weren’t all wearing the uniform.

Dad, Gary, Nick

Several groups had already been sent on their way, but there was an inexplicably long wait before we were being briefed and then underway, certainly not the every 5 minutes advertised.  Still, 8:50am and off we went.  Our little group got split up as they called a break in departing riders not far behind me, leaving my Dad behind us – oops!  Having been sent off as quite a large group, down the lanes of the Gordano valley, there wasn’t a lot of hurtling off, more a slightly leisurely warming up and slowly spreading out.  The first climb of the day was Failand Hill, which was more gradual than I recall it, followed by the fairly technical descent of Belmont Hill.  It’s wiggly, steep, with patches of distinctly dubious road surface, and cycling scuttlebutt after the event suggests that at least one rider came off going down…

We headed across the flat section towards the next climb, past Motivation Corner – a personal favourite of mine – which clearly called for a group photo.

Motivation is right, we were going left, as is ably illustrated by GB.  The original route had us going up the gradual climb that is Brockley Combe, around the airport and then down again.  Apparently however the road surfaces up there, combined with the nature of that particular descent, were considered to be unsafe at the moment so the organisers changed the route earlier this week and replaced it with Goblin Combe.  Which is a bit like taking a kitten and swopping it for a hyena.  Kittens are cute and fluffy and friendly, and a hyena would come as a nasty not at all cute surprise if you were expecting a kitten.  I could have gone with tiger, or lion, but even they are considered cute by some.  I prefer to think of them as majestic and Goblin Combe, whilst a nasty hill, is not an Alpe.  Which is why you got a hyena.  I hope we’ve cleared that up.  Besides, come to think of it, hyenas do have kind of lumpy hilly spines in profile, right?

In an attempt to explain away my relative sloth ascending the hyena, I did my usual multi-tasking thing, and took photos – always a good excuse.  The rider next to me reckoned having to watch me multitask was an equally valid excuse.  I liked his thinking :).

The bottom of the climb is steeper than you’d like, but constant, and then it ramps up for a bit, through some rather attractive trees, should you have time to be considering them on their aesthetic merits.

This was, as is often the case, followed by quite a nice descent.  Nice as long as you’re aware that it ends with a T-junction…many great descents are ruined thus!  There was a warning sign somewhere near the bottom, though I think a couple more earlier on might have been useful.  Another descent safely done, and Wrington, with bus to make it more interesting, negotiated.  As everyone knows, one Combe in a day is not enough, so it’s just as well Burrington Combe was next on the list.

Thankfully before having to go and climb that, it was time for the first food stop.

Contrary to the instructions issued beforehand, we were not allowed to use the toilets at the Burrington Café next to Bad Ass Bikes, where the stop was, which meant trekking all the way across to the public toilets at the bottom of the Combe, and back…not good in my shiny new cleats, that mean I walk like a duck just like everyone else now.  I was also a little surprised that Bad Ass Bikes was closed, you’d have thought this would be the perfect time to show off to potential customers.  Mind you I have heard a rumour that it’s for sale so maybe that explains it?

Walking back from the toilets...

Time to get back and eat, predictably as ever, a banana.  Yes, a whole banana, not half.  Get me.  Following some discussion, GB and I decided, shock horror, that we would both opt for the shorter route, leaving a far more hardy Nick and Gary to the longer route.  There – told you so.  I swear that actually made the climb easier, probably because I now knew that I definitely wasn’t going to be doing East Harptree and Ebbor Gorge so I didn’t have to spare my legs too much.

The route split after the top, with several repeater signs to remind you which route you were on, in case it wasn’t the route you were intending to be on.

We were on the right route which, knowing these roads as we do, didn’t come as a massive surprise.  It was proper windy up there, and a bit of a slog as we headed east, before taking the right turn that put the wind behind us for a little while, and pushed us onwards to the descent of Cheddar Gorge, where the wind was every which way but useful!

I’m possibly (probably?) a little strange, but I actually prefer climbing Cheddar Gorge to descending it.  Less scarey, less hazardous, and far easier to photograph as generally speaking I prefer to descend with both hands on the handlebars and ready to brake cautiously as necessary.  Still, that would hardly give you an idea of what it looks like, would it?, so I stopped briefly and took this…

…which turned out to be a mistake as I was then over taken by two 4x4s who were even slower than I was when it came to the bendy bits and who I had to sit behind, on the brakes, for most of the rest of the way down.  Boring!  Luckily GB had waited for me at Tweentown, otherwise I’d have been stuck doing the rest of the ride on my own.

There is something odd about doing a sportive that actually goes past your front door.  Not quite literally in my case, as we bypassed Axbridge due to some event or other preventing us going through it (news to me and I only live there!) but quite literally if you’re GB.  In fact his pit crew were even out waving flags in support as we went past his house and then down Winscombe Hill.  How cute is that?

The next section of the ride was pretty unremarkable, possibly because I know it so well.  Around the chilly, and wiggly back roads to Congresbury, through the ever traffic ridden Yatton, and then out round the lake lanes of Kingston Seymour to get to the seafront at Clevedon, complete with it’s very elegant and historic pier.  I should probably mention the annoying headwind that wouldn’t go away around all of this too.  I was very glad not to have an extra 40 miles in my legs and be facing that, and we spared a thought for those that would be facing it later.  In fact although we were going pretty well, I’m fairly sure there wasn’t an Harptree or an Ebbor Gorge in my legs today, so doing the shorter route was the right call all ’round.  That’s what instincts are for – listening to!

Anyway Clevedon was very pretty and very Victorian seaside, but it came garnished with rather too many people trying to either park along the seafront or cross between it and the various cafés and shops opposite it.  How dare they try and enjoy it at the same time as us, right? 😉  We climbed out the other side of the bay, and then were rewarded with a very lovely down to the road to Walton in Gordano.  That left us with just one last climb to do – up along the coast road to Portishead which, being on the way to my folks’ place, I’m more than a little familiar with.

This is GB going past the golf course at the bottom of the climb.  Apparently cycling is the new golf, and since there were precious few, if any, golfers to be seen, maybe that’s true?  Something to ponder during the nice long slow plod up along the coast which could have been a lot worse.  It has become traditional to take a photo showing the view from the Ship at the other end of the climb too.  If twice in two sportives that pass by it can be called traditional…

As you can see, it was a bit murky out there, and as we say in our family, someone had stolen Wales again *grin*.  I don’t think I’ve even descended Valley Road before and I enjoyed it so much I was almost tempted to go back up and do it again.  With the emphasis on the “almost” obviously.  From there there was no distance at all to be done to get us back to the start, or as I suppose it should now better be known, the Finish.  It wasn’t precisely clear where this was, as the signage seemed to vanish, but luckily having ridden in that way to the school from our car park to start the ride, we worked it out for ourselves.  We’re clever like that.

Cycling time: 3:41:08 hrs.  Official time: 3:59:33.
Distance: 59.15 miles
Avs: 16.1 mph.
ODO: 13817 miles

There was somewhat of an anti-climatic feel to the end of the ride.  As GB and I stood there at a bit of a loss, the timing guy came over and explained to us how to type in our numbers to get our timing slips, which I’m still liking, though it was a different company this time.  Turns out we made it in just under 4 hours including stops, which ain’t bad.  There were a few other riders loitering around, but there was no-one there to welcome you in, explain where to go and what to do next.  Being far from novices at this we guessed, and guessed correctly.

Bikes parked, we headed back towards registration where we checked in, and were given our free Black Rat glasses, all the better for putting our free Black Rat cider in.

Even though apples are on my banned list, I’m thinking it would be rude not to, right?  Well it’s eponymous and everything…  And besides, surely fermentation will have killed off anything bad, right? 😉

On that basis, I think I shall consider my glass half full…

I knew there was a reason I hitched a lift with GB and wasn’t driving…  It went down a treat too, although I may have had to top it up as it inexplicably evaporated ;).  The picnic tables and, let’s be honest, quite possibly the cider, made for a fairly sociable atmosphere in the long run, as more riders arrived.  There was chilli available, at £3.50 a portion though, and the rider sat with us for a while eating his reckoned it ought to have been free, considering the £25 entry fee.

As we sat there under inevitably brightening skies we were joined by various other riders, from one of our ACG own Steve, to Rapha man Duncan, and last but not least, Dad.  This meant I got to interview people slightly more properly for a change – which is going to make writing my official Cyclosport review far easier.  It also meant I knew Dad was back in one fairly happy piece too, which was reassuring, I didn’t really want to go home and leave him on his own out there :).  OK, so we left Nick and Gary, who were still out there, but we did pass Gary on his way in as we drove past Cadbury Garden Centre on the way home, so we knew he didn’t have far to go, and I’m sure Nick wasn’t far behind him.

If you’d like to see our route, you can check it out here.  However I kinda liked seeing the route laid out like this, it was a nice touch, and made a change from the many and varied route mapping sites I usually use.  Very old skool ;).

Time to go home, with enough Sunday time left to get some things done, not the least of which involved roasting chicken, jacketing potatoes, boiling beans of the green variety, making gravy, and drinking white wine.  A safe Sunday lunch, or make that dinner :).

UPDATE:  The official results were up online by first thing the following morning, and show me as 99^th of 219 100km finishers, and that’ll do me nicely.   It also turns out that Nick was actually marginally ahead of Gary and came in 13th.  Gary was 15^th.  Impressive!  You can see a couple of photos of me here, and my official cyclosport review is now up here, and I’m happy to say the organisers consider it to be a fair review :).

Being all signed in the day before, all I had to do on Saturday morning was get up, faff briefly about layers, and ride to the start line.  Due to the sun that was already shining, and the uncharacteristically optimistic forecast, I opted for a little less layerage than last week – socks, legwarmers, shorts, short sleeve Cyclosport jersey, winter jersey, mitts, and Cyclosport gilet.   Did I mention the sun?  Yes, sun!  Sun, on the morning of a sportive!  OK, so as I set off it was still pretty nippy, but when you’re on your bike, the sun is shining, and the sea is glowing blue in the distance…well, I think it’s safe to say there are far worse ways to start a Saturday morning :).  Oriel y Parc was no distance away and I was early.  There were only 3 (unisex) toilets, so there were some queuing issues, which is another reason being early was good.  As a result I was also right near the front of the queue for the start.  Sooner started, sooner finished, remember?

Oriel y Parc

queue for the start

After a brief welcome from Valero, the main event sponsors, and also the organisers, we were underway at 8:00am on the dot, with our timing lanyards scanned as we passed under the start banner.  Interesting that I’d never done the lanyard thing until last week and now I’ve done two events in a row using that timing method.  Same timing company actually.  And in case you were wondering, dangling timing chips still irritate me :).  Right then.  Off we go again, through the quiet streets of St Davids and out into the even quieter countryside.  The first half an hour was pretty flat which, if I hadn’t done the prologue ride last year, could easily lull you into a false sense of security.   It does mean you get chance to warm up your legs a bit, which is both nice and ,as it turns out, essential, because the route then drops down to the coast at Trefin, kicks up out of it again in a steep wiggle, and voilà, your climbing has begun.  Or, to be more precise, your climbing has only just begun.  The route was advertised as being 104 miles and c.2400 metres of climbing – so this was never going to be a flat ride.   Take that, and my previous experience, and forewarned is most definitely forearmed.  West Wales is lumpy!  Apparently I shouldn’t understate it like that either ;).  Having wiped out last weekend, and being as I was doing this ride on my own, I had already decided to approach it as a long day out in the saddle in the sun and not to push it, so I settled down to enjoy the scenery.

that's a lighthouse in the distance...

Two riders by the coast

Look at that sky!  The sea was the kind of blue that, if my youngest painted it that way, I’d probably tell her off for being unrealistic 😉  Just gorgeous…  About 15 miles in there was a timed hillclimb but since that involved a) stopping to be scanned at the bottom before going up and b) considering yourself to be competitive at any level, I gave that a miss.  The lady scanning at the top was warning everyone about the dangerous descent to follow, and she wasn’t wrong.  It was steep, wiggly, gravelly, and involved farms.  Just as well it was dry, and that I’d done it before.  I gather a couple of riders came a cropper going down there – less cautious souls than me I imagine.  Very shortly I’m going to lose track of which climb was which, because for most of this ride if you weren’t going down you were going up, and if you were going down, you almost didn’t want to be doing so for too long because you knew that payback would be just around the corner!  So bear with me if I get them a little muddled.

The first of five – yes five – foodstops was in a pub carpark in Fishguard, about 24 miles in.  Refreshments on the outside, facilities within – perfect.  I don’t ask for much really.  Half a banana ingested, one gilet stuffed in the saddle bag, time to go again, with many miles left to ride.

first food stop in Fishguard

One of the many nice things about this ride was the route card given to all riders:

route card before...

Every hill, every food stop, all marked out so you knew what was coming.  I checked it at each food stop, and thus knew that there were three big lumps between me and the next food stop.  It’s all part of making the ride mentally doable.  Counting the miles until the next food stop, the minutes until I next have to eat, calculating how far through I am – quarter, third, half, over half and on the way home.  Breaking it down into manageable chunks and avoiding looking at the bigger picture at all costs *grin*.

Talking of pictures…

That’s scenery that is.  And there was a lot of it.  Not easy to capture on my little camera, but I’ve tried.  Wales is not just lumpy, it’s big!  Time to go up in the world again…

That would be the view behind me – I’m practising taking those.  The less post production straightening I have to do the better!  It’s a bit of a challenge though…

And that would be the climb stretching off into the distance.  Time for some serious plodding.  Zips undone.  On and on and on…in pretty relentless fashion, but the views at the top were awesome.  And look at those cute fluffy clouds?  Not pink, but lovely nonetheless :).

I’d been here before on the preview ride, but very shortly that route and mine parted company, and I was off piste…off into unfamiliar territory.  Fear of the unknown?Still, you know what I’ve earnt now?  A bl**dy good descent – and I got one – wiggly windy and all the way to Newport, which we only really grazed.  No, not THAT Newport – this one.  Far more attractive.  Can you see the down coming…?

about to descend to Newport

So, as you can see, the sun is shining,  There wasn’t supposed to be much wind, but there certainly seemed to be enough cold air moving around.   And by around I mean usually being in my face.  Maybe it wasn’t wind, maybe it was coastal breezes, but whatever it was, they clearly get a lot of it up there!

It stayed on the nippy side all day really – just the right side to cool you down after the massive hills though.  Hills and headwinds – insult and injury ;).  I chatted to a fellow rider, also on his own, for a while at some point.  He was from Bridgend and this was his first sportive.  I had to point out that he’d picked a pretty impressive ride for his first one, but it was early days yet, and I’m not sure he believed me…  Slogging up yet another hill, into yet more wind, could be enough to get you a little depressed, but then you go down a bit, around a corner, and this is waiting for you:

Does it get much better than that?  Just gorgeous.  I know I’ve been known to joke about metaphorically stopping to enjoy the scenery, as an excuse to take a break, but really in this case it was the view I stopped for.  Outstanding.  And very smile generating :).  Did I mention I love the seaside?  Time to move on, somewhat reluctantly, and head for the next feed stop.

As you’ll have gathered, that would involve a left turn, to the very cutely named Poppit Sands, where the food station was down on the beach at the RNLI base there.  Generally speaking the signs were pretty good – there was a mixture of these small ones and some very large ones – black arrows on luminous yellow.  There were a few places where a CAUTION sign would have come in useful, and a couple of places where more signs would have been good.  The main shortcoming was the route split signs which were mostly handwritten black on white, which is fine for “loose road surface” warnings when you’re going slowly and have time to pay attention, but they’re not what you’re looking for when you’re flying along and your eye is tuned to look for yellow/black signs.  Quite a few people ended up doing routes that they hadn’t intended to…but luckily I wasn’t one of them.  Plus the gamin file was accurate so if it had happened I’d have been able to rectify things.  Unlike last weekend.  Anyway, back to the course 😉  46 miles and another half a banana under my belt.

second foodstop

the sands at Poppit

There was, unusually, a small amount of flat riding alongside the river here (ooh, the novelty) as we headed inland to find some more hills to climb.  Can’t follow the coast forever…

If I recall correctly, as it all blurs into one,  the next section involved some fairly long steady climbing through dappled woodland roads.  I picked up a hanger on for a while, I even passed the odd person.  You know how it is, you climb at your own pace and that is what it is.  By the time we reached the third foodstop at a very tempting country pub in Boncath, it was definitely time for some sartorial adjustment.  Time for the leg warmers to come off – job more than done – and for my legs to come out.  Woo hoo!  So that’s leg warmers stashed in the ever-expanding saddle bag, another half a banana eaten, and a seriously wistful backward glance at the pub garden…  At least this was 58 miles in, so the halfway mark had come and gone, seeing another mental hurdle overcome.

third foodstop at Boncath

Having checked my route card once again i knew that the really big climb of the day was coming up next (like all the others were little!) – over the Prescellis, which I probably can’t spell.  When the hills you’re climbing up have burial mounds and cairns on them, it’s a safe bet that you’re a long way up…and since it’s probably a climb of around 6 miles or so, you’ve still got a long way to go.  I was worried it would be too steep for me – I definitely have a gradient threshold – but it wasn’t.  It was most certainly hard work though!

It just kept going up.  Every time you turned, there was more up to go.  They have more than enough up to go around over there!

I distracted myself by taking photos, and doing my best to remember I was supposed to be enjoying the day out, so I admired the ever expanding scenery, the wheels went around, and the hill got climbed.  Or owned as my eldest would put it.

I had a brief internal Titanic moment – an “I’m the king of the world” kind of thing – as I briefly stopped at the top, along with others, to appreciate how far I’d come.

I had.  And I have.  Once upon a time, not so long ago, a hill like that would have killed me…and today it didn’t :).  This was the highest point on the Tour, and although there was a still a chunk of miles to do, and a fair bit more climbing, it definitely felt like I’d broken the back of the ride.  And then you get to go down…*grin*.  There were some cracking descents on this ride – some of which were a little too technical for me to enjoy, but others were just awesome.  My max speed was 40.5mph which, for me, is pretty exceptional, and it felt even faster than that!  Maybe this sign applies to me?

Considering that the Welsh highways authority must spend twice as much on road paint as anywhere else, what with having to mark everything in two languages, this sign is probably illegal and should say “Cyclists Slow Araf”…  There’s something about seeing ARAF in big letters on the road – I think it reminds me of previous Welsh rides – always hilly and always hard work!  In a good way.  Honest ;).

More views, more climbing, before discovering the fourth foodstop lurking in a sheltered valley at Pontfaen, where a rather fat chocolate labrador was roaming around in the hope of grabbing leftovers from cyclists who were far more interested in feeding themselves than a dog *grin*.  78 miles in, if you’re counting…

fourth food stop at Pontfaen

The radio was playing in the background, playing “Beautiful Day” by U2 as it happens, in remarkably appropriate and oddly coincidental fashion.  A few of the riders here had missed the route split, and had ended up doing the long route instead of the medium one.  Given the weather they didn’t seem too cross about it, but wow, if you hadn’t trained for it, that was going to hurt!

As I carried on my way, we joined back up with the shorter routes, which also put me back on familiar turf.  It’s amazing how much you remember.  The flat fast stretch through the valley was still fun, and the long steep climb out of it was still exactly that, except that this time I didn’t fall off and have to walk – bonus!

moor views..see what I did there? 😉

OK, so holding the camera straight was getting harder.  The advertised 2400 metres of climbing had come and gone, and there was still up going on.  Maybe not massive ups, but still…  There were three of us now.  I’d somehow ended up with Bridgend man again, who ruefully agreed that I hadn’t been joking when I said it was a hilly ride, and just by the way his arse was in tatters.  And apparently I’m allowed to quote him on that *grin*.  Our third musketeer was another lady rider – there only were 19 of us – also bizarrely doing her first sportive.  Well that’s one way to make me feel like an old hand I suppose.  We reached the last food stop, at 89 miles in, to be greeted by Father Christmas.  No, I have no idea why either.

fifth foodstop at Letterston

Bridgend rider

That left us with 15 miles to do, hopefully around an hour or so’s riding, which I knew was essentially rolling.  To be fair, that doesn’t mean flat though, and at that point, any sort of incline most definitely feels like a climb!  We rolled together, more or less, for quite a while, though we did split up from time to time.  The lady behind me apologised for using my wheel to get home but hey, such things are karma, and what goes around comes around.  After a while she perked up a bit and we chatted some.  Apparently I made the hills look easy and just glided up them.  If I’d had the energy I’d have fallen off my bike laughing *grin*.  That has to be the funniest thing ever…but as compliments go, I’m keeping that one.  I may even frame it.  With about 8 miles to go I started to get hints of feeling like I was losing it again.  I had two choices – MTFU, stick with the guys, pretend to be in control and get back or…be sensible.  I was sensible.  I dropped back, and ate a packet of my lucozade jelly beans.  Judging by how good they tasted I must have really needed them – they were bloomin’ lovely.  I span my legs for a while and gave them time to cut in, which luckily they did.  At least having had it happen once, I can now recognise the feeling and deal with it early, right?   As I got my act back together, I found myself leapfrogging another rider – let’s call him Altura guy – and once this had happened a couple of times, we started doing it properly, taking turns at the front, and generally making those last few miles that bit more pleasant.  Oh, and easier too! :).

an Altura wheel to follow

The last little loop takes you teasingly around and away from your goal, which you can see but not touch, so as to bring you back into St Davids from the bottom with a last little kick of a hill past the Cathedral and through the very gatehouse that I walked through yesterday.  A very scenic and attractive way to do it.  Just as well I knew it was coming though – last minute hills are not good! 😉

There wasn’t time to take a better photo – otherwise I’d have ended up riding into the Gatehouse not under it, which would have been a tad embarrassing.  Good thing I got decent photos yesterday :).

Right.  Job done.  Getting to the finish line was but a formality now, but it was nonetheless a welcome sight.  I was the 74th rider in apparently.  Timer chip scanned, number clipped off for me (nice touch that), and once both were handed in, I got my time slip again, a voucher for a free bowl of cawl, and a lovely Welsh slate commemorative coaster.  Both attractive and useful – definitely one up on another medal or water bottle!

Cycling time: 8:01:56 hrs
Distance: 105.38 miles
Avs: 13.1 mph.
ODO: 13694 miles

Official time: 8:35:15 – 98th of 167 finishers. 9th of 19 women. Bronze.

As you can see, my route card looks a little less pristine now…I think I may have perspired on it whilst it was stuck in my back pocket *grin*.

You know what’s even better than a sportive that’s just on your doorstep and an easy drive away?  One that’s quite literally up the road, that you get to ride to and back, without adding more than a couple of miles each way to your trip.  Welcome to the Somerset Hills Gran Fondo.  Being as it’s a VERY local sportive, I wasn’t the only one doing it so, and, it’s getting better all the time, I even had company.  A very pleasant change to recent routine.  Of course before meeting them I had to eat carbs, and fret about layers.  2 out of 3 forecasts that expressed a preference said it was going to be cold, grey, but dry and not windy.  One of them said warmer and sunnier.  Being as that was what I wanted, but know better than to expect, I went with the other two.  I’m fed up of being cold!  So socks, shoes, overshoes, leg warmers, shorts, l/s jersey, winter jersey, and for good measure, my Cyclosport gilet.  It may sound a lot but…

Me, an unexpectedly present GB, and Gary met in the Square at 7:10 and headed off to Broadway Caravan Park to sign in.  Blimey it was nippy out there!  So far my sartorial choices were good ones!  We were amongst the first there, so the queue was negligible, and actually there weren’t yet that many other riders around full stop.

Sign on

We signed in, and were given our timing devices – which this time around were timing chips on lanyards to be worn around the neck and scanned in at each feed station.  For those leaving straight away they were scanned there and then and off you went.  I needed to do the usual pre-ride faff and use the facilities (as ever the ladies was free and there was a queue for the gents – is that positive discrimination ;)).  We headed for the start, ready to get scanned and on the road, only to find that the lady required was still back at sign in, so I had to back track, get scanned, and then head off.  Not a big problem when there’s only a few riders around, just minorly irritating, but I think when there were more, she’d have been better off standing by the exit…  While I’m at it – not loving the lanyard things.  Unzipped layers mean the darn thing kept dangling around and having to be tucked away.  I like the being scanned at every stop though – means you can’t switch from the Gran route to the Medio without anyone knowing, which must make sorting out the times easier.

Right, off we go.  I got half way into Cheddar before remembering to start Bella off though – ‘doh!  Time for GB to take us up the Gorge.  I swear he only manned up and came out so to do *grin*.  And he still made it look easy!  He’s the one furthest away from me…unsurprisingly.

Me, going up the Gorge

Cheddar Gorge gets included on every Somerset sportive.  Which is great, I appreciate that it’s iconic and all that, but it’s not actually the most challenging climb in the world.  Some of those that were to come later in the ride are/were far worse!  So we pootled our way up the Gorge.  Clearly I’d usually sprint my way all the way to the top, but considering the length of the ride, I thought it best to pace myself…;) *grin*.  We picked up another rider along the way – Nick from East Harptree – who was allowed to join us as he was wearing the male ride uniform of the day (see above) and thus blended in perfectly – what’s black, white, and red all over? ;).  He also won a place in our elite ranks by taking a turn at the front with me as we headed across the Mendips towards the descent to Rodney Stoke.  A little more climbing…

…a quick stop to take in the stunning views of the Levels to the south…

…and time for the first decent descent of the day, watching out for gravel and traffic, all the way to the main road at Rodney Stoke.  Nice 🙂  The guys had waited for me, and we posse’d up and headed off over extremely familiar roads to Wedmore and out through to Blackford.  This is when GB decided he’d made his point, he had done the MTFU thing, however advisable that may have been, he’d seen if he could, and he could, so it was time to make the right decision and head for home.  I’m glad he came out to play, it’s been a while, but I’m also glad he went home and didn’t do any more damage 🙂  So then there were three.

We headed out through Mark, which is reputedly the longest village in the country.  This may well be true.  I’m not going to argue.  Cycling through it certainly seems to take a while.  One of the publicans who initially introduced me to cycling called it a “mother-in-law road”.  Because it goes on, and on, and on… 😉  Which it does!  From there we headed across the flats to the Woolavington climb, and then the descent into Hell.  Aka Bridgwater.  Suburban roads and obstacles and plenty of traffic even at that time of the morning, though less than sometimes.  I think it was a bit early for most of the residents.  We were even heckled by a white haired lady pedestrian, which is not unusual for Bridgwater, but this time she was saying “Up the Cyclists” which has to be a first!  Go that woman – bucking the Bridgwater trend!

Time to head for the next big climb of the day – Enmore Hill.  Crawler mode engaged…  I’ve been up here a couple of times but I’m far from familiar with it, other than knowing that I can get up it without walking.

It’s not a constant climb, more of a three steps up, one step down, affair, and as a whole apparently goes on for 10k.  I guess that depends on where you consider the start and finish to be though.  I knew we were heading for the first food stop at The Pines Café, which came sooner than I expected since I vaguely remembered it being right at the top of the climb, and it wasn’t quite.  35 miles in, and it was definitely time for a quick break.

Sadly the café was closed, which meant so were most of the facilities, and I had to use the gents, which even though I’d waited until it was apparently clear, probably gave the non-cyclist who’d sneaked in there when we weren’t looking a bit of a shock!  Hey, needs must…*grin*.  Half a banana later, a quick photo of Nick, and it was time to be on our way again.

Nick Howard

It wasn’t the top of the climb, we had some more up to do.  The sun had been coming out for a while and at the stop, after the heat generated by that long climb, I’d contemplated removing layers.  I’m glad I didn’t because it was just as chilly as ever setting off again!

Rays of yellow...

There was a lovely descent to follow down Constitution Hill, which could have used a couple of “CAUTION” signs due to the bends, gravel, and the fact that cars go up it when you’re trying to go down it!  Luckily I’m a cautious soul…but that didn’t stop the white van and blue car coming the other way as I went around the sharp right hand bend half way down giving me a bit of a shock!

Shortly after this we came to the route split.  Left for us, as Gary had decided to switch from the Medio to the Gran to keep me company (thanks Gary!), and right for Nick, doing his first ever sportive.  And then there were two.  We had some nice pottering through pretty villages and across expanding countryside, before the next big climb.  I had been blissfully unaware of this one, having completely failed to do my usual level of research, but Gary was far better prepared so at least I had a little warning.  And the long climb up to Exmoor is a doozy!  8k at 15% ish, and then 8k at 10/12%.  Lovely…well, doable.  Long enough to get into my climbing rhythm and just get on with it.

me and my shoulder...

The views behind were stunning and luckily, as we headed towards Wheddon Cross, we got some that we could actually look at as we went along, although as you can see, it was a little hazy out there.

view over the Bristol Channel

There seemed to be an unfeasible amount of going down to the bottom of the valley that took us to Dunster.  A valley that was, rather unfortunately, also acting as a remarkably efficient wind tunnel!  What with that wind coming from the North East, and having properly cooled down coming down, I was freezing again by the time we got into Dunster.

Dunster Church. And traffic.

Dunster was as popular as ever, full of people not looking for cyclists, so it was a case of handle with care and get out the other side, from where you get a good view of the castle.  Dunster Castle, unsurprisingly.  A real, National Trust owned, honest to goodness castle.  Not like ours 😉

I wasn’t quite ready to take the bus though…;)

This put us on the A39 for a bit, which wasn’t ideal, as it can get pretty busy down there.  The next food stop was looming, in Blue Anchor, the left turn sign for which was partially obscured, but luckily we spotted it.  And then suddenly there was a big climb looming ahead.  No fair – I wasn’t expecting that!  Ah well…  Gary decided such things would be best tackled after answering nature’s call, so I waited for him at the top and took his photo, amongst others, to pass the time.

Gary Humphries

The second food stop was on the sea front at Blue Anchor, in the sun, with the seaside, and everything.  They’d also negotiated the use of the toilets at the nearby café, which was handy.

It was 65 miles in by now, and we took a slightly longer than usual breather, as I was feeling the need for one, but it wasn’t long before we were back following those signs.  I had the route on Bella, but Bella, along with various other people’s gadgets, had been yelling “off route” on and off all day so when she started doing it again, I pretty much ignored her, and we headed off up the long climb out of Watchet and rejoined the A39.

Me on the climb out of Watchet

Shortly after this things went pear shaped.  Turns out we, and many others, missed the right turn that would have taken us up Crowcombe Hill.  Looks like the locals had been “helping” again…  By the time we’d worked out that yes, we knew where we were, but that no, we were not where we were supposed to be, it was easier to carry on and rejoin the route that way than retrace our steps.  The mileage looked to be much the same, and hey, I’d been dreading that particular climb all day, so I guess fortune had decided not to favour the brave for a change, but to shine on me instead ;).

views inland from the coast road

I’ve been known to wonder what it would be like to cycle along that particular stretch of road, having driven it many times, and now I know.  Swoopy, and quite enjoyable, as it turns out.  The same cannot be said for about the following hour or so of riding.  From Cannington, where our route and the official one merged and all our Garmins beeped their satisfaction simultaneously, into Bridgwater again, through the chaos again and then out the other side on the rather scary and not busy enough to slow the traffic down dual carriageway back to the M5 junction.  Not fun.  A tad scary from time to time to be honest.

the highway from hell...

At least we had our signs back again, right?  Nice big signs that were, mostly, pretty unmissable.  A few more repeater signs wouldn’t have gone amiss on long stretches, and also few more signs at the worst or most important junctions.  A lot of the signs were put up high to avoid those pesky kids meddling, but then if your head is down, or you’re temporarily distracted, you can easily miss those, especially if there’s only one of them.

Right, 95 miles in, and the next, and final food stop, came after the relief of a left turn before the motorway junction, as an artic and trailer thundered past me…*shudder*.  Having three food stops definitely helps break the ride up into more manageable chunks, and it would have been even better if the third one had had obvious toilet facilities too, but two out of three ain’t bad 🙂   From here on in, being back on home turf, I knew that the terrain was essentially flat, and there was only 20 miles to go.  How hard could it be, right?

Well even though the website written description had said Burnham on Sea, Bleadon, Axbridge and back…the .gpx and the signs said we had to go through some fairly unpleasant and major roads through Highbridge and then briefly along the A38 just to make us go over Brent Knoll.  Which struck me as a tad gratuitous.  At least there were some perfectly presentable public toilets on Brent Street before I had to tackle it.  I prefer the hill the other way around, but actually it was ok.  Ok considering that I had a great many miles already in my legs.  Not ok by any other standards you might use.  Hey, I got up it right?

Several other riders went past asking respectively for new legs, their mother, and a new hobby… 😉  Good to see we all still had a sense of humour *grin*.

Brent Knoll up close and personal

Not far now…a bit more flat, and then the all too familiar climb past the Webbington where, to make it more interesting, I got the camera out again.  Poor Gary… 😉

And here’s Brent Knoll from afar.  We went over that.  Well, actually, over some of it, it’s more like up and over one side, before i go over-egging the cake.

Right.  Home straight.  We are nearly there yet 😉  Down t’other side, no horses this time, and through to Cross and the junction with the A38 – another place a “CAUTION” sign would have come in useful.  I dismounted, as is essential there, and realised I was absolutely totally geknackert.  Not a problem, as we were nearly there.  Right?  Wrong.

We crossed over and started the climb up towards the bypass, and I dropped off the back like a stone.  Lost it completely.  Gary headed off into the distance, and I tried to remember how to make pedals go around.  And how to stay on the bike.  And why, even when I’d finally reached the going down the bypass bit, albeit with headwind, getting anywhere was so hard.  It was the most bizarre feeling.  I guess I bonked.  Not something that’s ever really happened before.  And it’s just as well it didn’t happen any earlier as I’m not sure what I would have, or would have been able to have, done.

I limped, metaphorically, up to the Finish, got my time swiped, and went and sat on a bench before I actually fell over.  And I’m not even joking.  I dread to think what colour I was – I do a good ghost impression at the best of times!  It took me a few minutes to get it together enough to go see Gary and hand in my timing chip.  Luckily, rather than head straight for home, which I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to do, Gary fancied chips and was kind enough to buy me some too.  Best.  Chips.  Ever.  Just because I could feel them helping me climb up the stairway back to normality.  Shame the same cannot be said about the quality of the coffee…but it probably helped regardless.

waiting to scan riders at the Finish

Cycling time: 7:10:11 hrs
Distance: 109.8 miles
Avs: 15.3 mph.
ODO: 13536 miles

This is what Bella has to say for herself, and this is my official time card, which was a nice touch.  No waiting for some website to post them for a change :).  Since we weren’t wearing numbers, identifying who’s who on the photos when they go up could be interesting though.

Once I’d pulled myself together, which took a while,  I introduced myself and had a nice long chat with t’other half of the organiser, David, who was busy being told by everyone what a great event they’d had, which must have been nice.  390 riders had done the ride, a long way up on last year’s 89 for sure!  She was very friendly and chatty, and actually seemed genuinely interested in what I’d thought, which is nice.  Positive criticism taken that way can only help make the event bigger and better :).

Sue Moore

Oh, and by way of a post script, my layers choice was right.  I may have been a little hot occasionally, but the cold always came back and, other than stashing my gilet after Watchet, I was sorted :).  Furthermore I have completely forgotten to mention that today was the first time Gary has done over 100 miles!  And he didn’t even look tired, or like any of it was hard work – the man is a machine! *grin*.  Well done Gary – and many thanks for keeping me company, I really appreciate it :).

UPDATE: there were 190 riders on the Gran Fondo, of which 7 DNF, and I came 98th overall and 5th of the 13 women who did it.  Not bad!  And better than I thought actually :).  Photos are going up, and my blue legwarmers have made me easy to find, so I’ve added in a couple of me above at the relevant places, just to prove I was there.   There’s a lot to be said for free downloadable photos :).  Official review is now up at Cyclosport.

Gotta love a local sportive.  Whilst I didn’t go quite as far as riding to the start, which I suppose I could have done, I did get to stay in bed until the positively leisurely time of 6:45am.  How laid back is that?  I even got to load the car in daylight.  Such novelty :).

In fact, as I set off, there were even blue skies.  I took a photo to prove it, just in case that was the last time I saw such a thing all day!

The event start was at the Redwood Country Club, all of half an hour’s drive from here.  Mind you, around here, all it takes is a tractor in the wrong place and you could be talking considerably longer *grin*.

tractor in Barrow Gurney

So before you know it, there I was.  I parked up, and went to register, picking up a rather nice goody bag at the same time.  I was, as ever, early so I had a good hour or so to kill.  So I admired the Cipollini bikes on display, and chatted to my fellow Cyclosport writer Howie who was very firmly had his writer’s hat on rather than his rider’s helmet.  Mojo missing :(.

Man I can’t wait to get my new bike…*sigh*.  I faffed, and sorted my bike, and got myself together as the hordes gathered…  I say hordes, I think in the aim of keeping things small, selective, dare I say exclusive, the numbers were kept down to around 120.  So a rather small horde.  Which presumably makes Mario some sort of a cycling centurion, leading his lycra clad warriors into battle…?

There was some serious kit around strutting its stuff.  This was not a broad spectrum of riders.  This was carbon and race snakes, and all the gear and possibly no idea? 😉  Oh, and me.  In my battered longs, on my reliable and much loved mile muncher.  At least I was wearing Rapha, right? 😉  I didn’t half feel out of place.  Plus there was only a handful of girls in lycra, if that.  Mostly those women around were hangers on, or there to support their partners, so I did get the odd funny look.

I bet this guy got more funny looks than me though.  I may be supposed to know who he is.  His bike says he’s Steve Clarke.  Presumably he’s Steve Clarke then? *grin*.  That’s some stand out in a crowd kit though!  To say nothing of the long flowing locks…

At some point the famous (infamous?) Mario Cipollini emerged from the depths.  We all did that very English ignore the famous person thing…and he chatted to a couple of people he knew and sort of managed to be around without actually engaging at all.  Well, not over on our side of the car park anyway.  I was just grateful he wasn’t wearing white kit, which he does seem to do in an awful lot of the photos I’ve seen, because we all know white kit is wrong ;).

If we’re not talking to the man, there’s nothing wrong with paying attention to his bike though, right?  Very swish…  I’d go fast on one of those, right?

Finally it was time to go.  Well, not without the obligatory rider briefing of course.  Everyone seemed a little loathe to get going – was the big man supposed to lead the way or…?  But nothing happened, so we headed off anyway, which put me about third rider away.

Rider briefing

This was not going to be a ride that held any mystery for me – I think it’s safe to say I know these roads.  Some of them are at least a little less travelled than others, including the stretch across to Portishead, and then up the first real hill of the ride to the coast road.  I quite enjoyed it, purely due to its slight novelty value.  Shortly before this hill the Cipollini train passed me by…never to be seen again.  So much for working his way through the pack and sharing the love…

As we cycled along the coast road in the sun I mentally waved at Mum and Dad, and admired the views – just for once you could actually see Wales.  Bet Dad knows exactly where I was standing too.

As you can see the weather was initially pretty good.  I say initially…because the first rain came at 49 minutes in.  It was only a light shower, but it was a sign of things to come, a harbinger of doom, if you will.

At some point someone behind me hailed “the cycling mayor” which made me laugh, but I never did figure out who it was, mostly because I was leaving them behind at the time.  Especially interesting when you consider that I wasn’t wearing any of my customised kit.  Someone out there knows who I am ;).  Infamy, infamy…

The first food stop was at the White Hart near Congresbury, about 40km in, and very lovely it was too in their sunny car park, with facilities (ie toilets) in the pub itself.  That’s a tick on the toilet front then.  I know, I should stop going on about toilets on sportives, but it’s important! :).

The 1950’s bus cum café was serving up a storm.  The coffee was awesome, and came in mugs and everything.  No paper cups today, oh no.  The food available ranged from spanish tortilla, pizza and welsh rarebit, to lemon drizzle cake and flapjacks.  Let’s face it, this is the first sportive I’ve ever done that had a menu for its foodstops!  I risked a bit of tortilla – potatoes are usually pretty safe – and hung around in the sun with my coffee for a bit.  I was just walking across the car park, having checked out the facilities as it were, when a voice called out my name…and there was Dad!  I can’t tell you how nice it was to see a friendly face :).

It was all very pleasant there in the sunshine, as you can see.  If I’d known what was coming, I think I’d have hung around and enjoyed it longer!

my bike is sunbathing...

Clearly this photographer was rather more official than I, and taking it way more seriously.  Or over compensating.  Or something… 😉

Paparazzi papped

After chatting away for a bit on the serendipity of him actually having managed to find me at the right place and time, it was time to be on my way again.  We, being Dad and I, set off in the sunshine.  I tried to persuade Dad that he’d love to cycle up Burrington Combe with me but he was having none of it, dagnamit.  Can’t say as I blame him though!  Along the way we bumped into a familiar face also out enjoying the sunshine, who joined us for a bit before heading for home – hello again Rob!  Actually I think he was less enjoying the sunshine, more indulging in a bit of hero worship, as he’d actually managed to ride with the great man for a bit whilst on his meanderings.  Which is more than I did!  All too soon Dad was turning left, and I was heading for the hills.  Can you see the clouds gathering?

Time to engage crawler gear and go up.  Here’s Burrington Combe in photos.  I had to do something to pass the time, right?  It’s a climb I quite like, and it is what it is – a long steady climb that goes on for quite a while.

Before the first cattle grid

This is not the end, my friend...

By the time I reached the top, which is a considerable slog after the second cattle grid, it was raining again.  In less of a shower sense, and more like proper rain.  Delightful.  There is nowhere I’d rather be in the rain and blustery wind than the exposed top of the Mendips.  Not.  But at least it was all familiar territory.  It may have been miserable, but that’s a lot easier to deal with when you know that the misery is finite, and you know what’s coming up.

As I turned right towards Charterhouse, I caught, or was allowed to catch, another couple of riders.  They weren’t doing the ride but thought that they’d like to help someone who was, and would I like to suck a wheel for a few miles?  How cool is that?  And would it be ok if I bite your hand off now and accept?  😉  Nice guys! 🙂  We had a bit of a chat, although even though they were helping me out, it was still pretty hard keeping up…and they were making it look easy, so not that much chatting was actually possible, what with the whole need to breathe thing!  That lumpy gravelly muddy section over to Tynings Farm can be surprisingly sapping, especially in lousy weather.  And this was lousy weather.  Too wet for photographs for sure.  We parted company when we reached the t-junction at the now defunct Lillypool café, and I turned left to go up.  But at least I knew what was coming….the descent of Shipham Hill :).  Oh yes.  Now that I earned *grin*.  And I loved it – all the way to the bottom of a by now properly wet Cheddar Gorge.

My chain came off near the bottom of the Gorge, which was irritating, and messy, but my longs were wet enough that wiping my hands on them took care of most of the oil!  The rain also meant that the tourists and their cars were staying away, which made the climb a little more pleasant.  Silver linings?

After the wiggly steep section at the bottom the Gorge levels out, and though it may be heresy to say it, it gets a bit boring after that.  A long gradual climb to the top, with wet road, wet trees, wet rocks, without even the usual sheep/goats to distract me.  I know it’s an iconic climb ‘n all, but…  I wonder what it’s like for those on a sportive doing it for the first time?

Seeing this lot at the top did make me smile though :).

a Mini adventure?

This was followed by some gratuitous zig zagging across the top of the Mendips again, which presumably was supposed to keep us off the more major roads, or add miles, or something.  Not how I’d have designed it, but then no-one asked me.  Shame, my consultancy rates are very reasonable ;).  Some of it was quite a slog, either due to wind, or gradual incline, or both!  Finally I got my reward, the lovely back road down to Chewton Mendip where the second food stop was.   Or to name it more properly, the lunch stop, at Lynda’s Loaf.  No, seriously.  This was a Gran Fondo not a Sportive, which apparently means that it “offers the riders an exclusive and relaxed ambience as well as a prolonged experience”.  The rider briefing joked that the idea was to consume more calories during the ride than riding it burnt off!

There were various pizza, quiches, filo pastry things…with salads, coleslaw, cake, hot and cold drinks…all being eagerly received by damp cyclists.  You can check out that menu again if the details interest you that much.  Lots of variety, in seriously sizeable portions.

I decided to risk a slice of bacon and spelt quiche, and just not eat the pastry (not, as it turns out, a wise move).  The lady in charge, maybe Lynda herself?, was terribly apologetic, and if she’d known, she’d have made something gluten free…and she was ever so keen that I have some of her range of gluten free cakes afterwards.  I didn’t, but it was sweet of her nonetheless.  I’m afraid I just can’t eat that quantity of food and ride my bike.  In case you were wondering the quiche was very nice, even if it and I turned out to be less than compatible.  Sadly I couldn’t figure out where the coffee was, so I had to give that a miss.  Still, I probably didn’t really need any more caffeine :).

Inside the place was heaving, so I headed for the outdoors where people had previously been kicking back and enjoying their lunch, only to realise that it was now properly flinging it down, so I took shelter in the doorway.  Lunch inside looked like a very convivial affair, but it’s not so much fun when you’re on your own, and intruding into groups isn’t something I’m very good at…

Two local cyclists had taken it upon themselves to warn all the arriving riders of the kerb, to stop people falling off.  Very public spirited of them 🙂  Apparently Mario himself had come a cropper there…oops!  Bet that went down well.

mind the kerb!

sheltering riders

see that rain?!

So as food stops go, it was pretty well timed.  Both to break things up, and to dodge the weather!  I ate, and headed off again as the rain cleared a bit.  For a little while the skies hinted at better things to come, as I cycled through the familiar lanes around Litton and onwards.

After that the roads got grittier, and muddier, and lumpier, and just generally less pleasant.  I was getting very bored of fighting the wind and the wet on my own….I seem to have done rather too much of that of late!  The name of this road seemed particularly appropriate, and well timed…

Yep, I was having a bit of a sense of humour failure.  However the sight of aeroplanes approaching the airport cheered me up.  I like aeroplanes :).

spot the plane?

I stopped and watched one go right overhead before the climb up to Winford, and as I watched another rider passed me.  A rider with a stinking cold, sneezing and coughing his way along, and I couldn’t help thinking that this was probably not the best ride for that kind of thing!  Still, I passed him again and left him behind on the hill, always good for the PMA.

Just in case you were wondering, this may not be the New Forest, but we have some pretty impressive property over here too ;).

I knew I was getting closer and closer to the finish, as I watched the miles rack up on Bella, but those last few miles can take ever such a long time.  Even seeing Bristol in the distance didn’t really help.  Probably because it was precisely that – in the distance.  And covered in clouds…

The ride was mostly really well signed – white arrows on red backgrounds, with CAUTION (black on fluorescent yellow) signs as necessary.

However the one place that really needed a CAUTION sign was the one place that didn’t have one – at the bottom of the descent past the reservoirs at the T-junction with the fast moving and busy A38!  Just as well I knew it was there…  Everything seemed wet by now, but mostly just in a damp sense, by now I’d lost track of whether it was raining or not.  Barrow Gurney, for the second time of the day, was marginally more fun on a bike.  The GPX route I’d downloaded and the signs disagreed for a bit coming out of the village, but luckily I came across another sign before I had to decide whether or not to retrace my steps.  I hate having to do that.  Mr Sneezy caught me along here as I had slowed down whilst wondering what to do, and we chatted for a bit as we took the right turn and headed towards Long Ashton.  And then the heavens opened.  Not just a little bit.  Not just a crack.  Not ajar.  Wide open.  Deluge time.  O.  M.  G.   Like we weren’t wet and miserable enough.  Going through Long Ashton was as close as I want to get to swimming on the bike.  Throw in a running stage and I could have claimed to be a tri-athlete.  A yellow Ferrari passed by going the other way, and I think we were both thinking that our mean machines deserved better!  And when the hail started?  Words fail me…  I just put my head down, and pushed it.  Well, it’s not like I had a choice really :).

The final section through the Ashton Court estate was, courtesy of the weather, remarkably clear of the usual procession of grannies and pushchairs, though still, bizarrely, in possession of an ice-cream van.  Now that’s some serious wishful thinking for you.  Getting from the bottom of the estate to the top has more of a climb to it than I was expecting, not to mention some vicious little speed bumps in places.  We pottered ourselves all the way up and back out on to the main road near Clifton.  I could have used a tow, but apparently today was my day for towing.  My turn will come.  That last couple of miles was, not to put too fine a point on it, a bitch.  Traffic, traffic lights, rain, standing water, lousy road surface, and slow gradual barely discernable in a car climb nearly all the way to the finish which was just around the corner…no the next corner…no that one…and finally we were back, over the timing mat, and it was over.  Soaked to the skin, and very relieved to not be doing it anymore.

Cycling time: 4:28:46 hrs
Distance: 72.10 miles
Avs: 16.1 mph.
ODO: 13322 miles

Howie was waiting, doing his thing, interviewing folk and taking photos – a serious lesson in how it should be done.  I must learn to do that better.  Mario was trying to leave, but I think someone must have had a word, as he ended up sitting in the bar for a bit.  Howie took a couple of photos of him and I, though that was as good as it got on the interaction front.  And that wouldn’t have happened without Howie’s insistence – so I hope the photos turn out ok!

I left Mario to it, and collected my free jersey which is no doubt very expensive, but is also very see through – and they didn’t have any girl’s kit available.  I shall have to buy a summer sleeveless base layer to wear under it then.  I know just the one I want too…*grin*.  One quick cup of coffee, a bit more gassing and it was time to go home.

The official results went up today.  My official time is 4:53, and it looks like of the 109 finishers I was 36th.  Which is pretty darn acceptable even if the rest of the riders did all stop for long leisurely lunches ;).

So.  Was it a good sportive?  Well it’s quite a nice route.  Scenic with some nice climbs.  It was well signed, well supported, and very well catered.  But it’s not very long or massively hilly as these things go, so it’s not a sportive you’d do just for the challenge.  You do it to ride with a cycling hero, a man you’ve heard of, a character, arguable one of the greats…and on that front, as well as on the weather front, it was a complete washout.  Entry for the ride was £100 and I was lucky enough to be doing it for Cyclosport.  Sure, you get a very expensive jersey, a goody bag with many lovely things in – bar tape, snazzy bottle holder, bottle, etc, better than usual food, free massage, photos but…£100?  I’m thinking if I’d paid that entry fee myself I’d be quite cross right now.  Mario who?

photo of me at the finish by www.rightplacerighttime.co.uk

Mario Cipollini and a soaked to the skin me.

UPDATE: the official Cyclosport review, which includes Howie’s input, as well as mine and Holly’s (she got the gala dinner part!), is now up 🙂

It never rains but it pours.  And today it poured, and then some.  It was pouring when I left the house at 7:00am.  The M4 was a standing water spray filled nightmare, with as much rain coming up off the road and the cars on it as down from the sky above.  Yep – looked like sportive weather to me *sigh*.

Today was the Wiggle Magnificat Ladies Preview Ride, which was supposed to be a group of riders of the female persuasion doing the 51 mile CommuniCat route.  Due to the amount of water around, water water everywhere in fact, it turned into a handful of riders doing the 26 mile route.

Why just Ladies I hear you ask?  Oh, and I’d better not be hearing anyone suggesting I’m not a lady… 😉 *grin*.  Well essentially it’s because the Wiggle Magnificat has teamed up with the Breeze bike rides initiative, which is aimed at getting more women riding bikes.  The Magnificat is the first sportive to incorporate a Breeze ride – the 26 mile Breeze LadyCat which, as it turns out, we rode.  So in order to help publicise this, and spread the word, there we were.  A lady from Breeze, who explained it all to us, the local Breeze Champion, ladies from the local council, from Wiggle, and also three assorted racing ladies.  Oh, and me, with my Cyclosport hat on.  There was also male representation from British Cycling, and Phil O’Connor from Sportive Photo.  (Small world – I’ve bought photos from there in the past, and actually chatted briefly to him on Blissford Hill on Saturday!.  And last but not least, two of the event organisers – Ken and Andy.

Ken Robson

It took a while to get us all together at the start venue, what with weather, Newbury traffic and so forth.  The event starts from Newbury Racecourse which luckily I found easily and quickly, unlike some others.  As we sat in the dry and warm drinking coffee and getting to know each other, outside waves of heavy rain were interspersed with waves of…lighter rain and very occasional sunshine was but fleeting…  Ken decided, based on his knowledge of the route and the roads involved, that the amount of standing water around was going to make the planned 51 miles route treacherous, and that doing the shorter route would be more sensible.  Once we were all together, and had learnt a bit about why we were all there, it was finally time to ride.  Well, having gone all that way and being already kitted out, it would have been a shame not to do at least some riding.

Press call - www.sportivephoto.com

Only 5 of us actually rode – Wiggle lady, the three racers, and me.  At least when we set out it was dry…  We were led by Ken’s car, and followed up by Andy’s – which was a bit unnerving.  I’m used to listening out for cars behind me, so having one permanently there was weird.  Following a car was also interesting as it was a lot easier for him to keep a constant speed than it is for me – especially on the hills!  Mind you being chaperoned around the route like that did feel a tad professional – and if their cars had been yellow and black with wheels on top… 😉

follow the leader...

It was a relatively easy loop – though the first hill straight out of the race course would have been easier if we’d warmed up!  There were a couple of other hills en route but nothing I couldn’t plod up without too much grief.  As you’d expect it wasn’t massively hilly, as it’s supposed to be a route that’s encouraging riders not scaring them off!  The full length Magnificat is 127 miles and has 2800 meters of climbing, which is a whole different kettle of fish!  As we went round the rain came and went, the sun shone teasingly in between times, and there was even hail briefly.  The roads were wet and had had a lot of gravel washed over them in places, but at least they weren’t muddy – that had all washed away.  By the time we got in we were all soaked through and splattered, and probably quite grateful not to have done the 51 mile route, even if it did break my two hour rule ;). Here’s what Bella says we did.

It was wet out there... www.sportivephoto.com

Cycling time: 1:49:29 hrs
Distance: 29.82 miles
Avs: 16.3 mph.
ODO: 13215 miles

Now I have been known to get home before getting changed but when you’re soaked to the skin that isn’t really an option.  Time for a shower and clean dry clothes before lunch, more chatting, and heading back down the still dismal motorway to home.

My new bike is delayed, and I’m starting to wonder if it’ll ever turn up at all.  Which probably explains my minor case of bike envy…

race snake...

I’m going to write a proper Cyclosport review when I get the press release and photos, but in the meantime, this is what you get :).

UPDATE: the official Cyclosport is up here, and also on the Wiggle Magnificat website 🙂

…rinse…and repeat…

The alarm went off at 4:40am.  Mad as a box of frogs…  Since breakfast no longer involves assembly – bananas come ready made – and I’ve got this packing for a sportive lark down pat (well, mostly), it doesn’t take me long to get ready these days so I was out of the house and on the road by 5:15am or thereabouts.  I’m getting quite good at driving east these days…the roads most travelled of late (for the Lionheart, the Joker, and now the Wiggle New Forest…).  They’re quite fun first thing in the morning, as they’re fast roads, essentially empty, and when someone holds you up, overtaking opportunities are rife.  Draft and then slingshot past.  Not that I’m starting to drive like I ride or anything… 😉  *grin*.

I got to ride HQ – Brockenhurst College – around two hours later, which meant that although I was by no means first there, I did get to park in the car park nearest the start.  Always good.  Having done the New Forest 100 last year I was familiar with where everything was, and there are plenty of facilities – toilets, changing rooms, etc.  Registration took no time at all, the obligatory timing sticker went on my helmet, and that was that.  Sadly since I was doing this for Cyclosport – ie on a press/guest pass – I apparently wasn’t entitled to the free Maxifuel pack that riders who sign up to Wiggle Events early enough qualify for, nor a free tea/coffee ticket, which I thought was a bit poor.  The latter especially – you know how I feel about coffee!

Sports Centre HQ

Outside toilets too

Time to faff.  Gaze at the sky in search of inspiration.  Slaughter a goat and check out the entrails for weather forecasting information*.  Um and ah.  Change my mind, change it back again…  Compare what I was contemplating wearing with what everyone else was wearing.  Etc.  Not that there was much deliberation to be done since the only actual decisions to be made were overshoes or not, overgloves or not, Buff on head or not.  The rest was what I was wearing and that was that.  I was tempted to skip the overshoes…but then I remembered how much I hate cold feet (see the Joker) and stuck ’em on anyway.  The overgloves went in the saddle bag just in case, and the Buff went on my head, on the basis that I could always take it off later.  I got it so right.  And to those of you wearing shorts, I can only presume you’re all from up North.  Or just well ‘ard.

As you can see it was grey and gloomy.  What you can’t see is that it was also a tad chilly, and that there was more than enough wind.  Isn’t there always?  Actually what is enough wind?  None?  Anyway, having run out of layers to consider, gadgets to set up, and delaying tactics to use, it was time to head to the start.  I took my place in the pen indicated, and waited my turn.

Penned up and ready to go

Following a short riders’ briefing, our pen was on our way at 7:45am, one of the first away.  Today was my first solitary sportive of the season, though sadly it won’t be my last.  I stuck with a loose group for a while as we got underway, and it was, as ever this week, bleedin’ nippy out there once you started rushing that air past your skin!  Not as cold as the last event though, so I never completely lost touch with my fingers and about 10 minutes later they were back.  The group split up and spread out, mostly because they weren’t going fast enough for me and I needed to warm up, not wheel suck – that could wait for later – so I put my foot down and hurtled for a bit just to get going.  The first hour or so is nearly always the fastest, and it’s nice to get miles under your belt.  After a section in the so-called forest there was a climb up to the moor.  Well even the forest bits aren’t very foresty, supposing that foresty was an adjective.  I reckon it should be called the New Moor not the New Forest as there seems to be far of the former than the latter.  And man can it be bleak up there!  Flat, open, exposed, with the headwind to fight against over slab-laid road surface – bump bump bump over every tarmac filled join.  Nice…

I put my head down and slogged along.  Being away so early meant I couldn’t find a group to hook on to, so it was just me.  I was caught by a couple of the riders who I’d overtaken when trying to warm up, and after sitting behind me for a while they admonished me for being a lousy windbreak – apparently too small with too efficient a riding position – and promptly left me behind.  Charmin’.  Well, it’s a backhanded compliment I suppose ;).  Initially the roads were lovely and quiet, until about 9:15am when clearly the local residents all woke up, realised they’d run out of milk or needed a newspaper, and hit the roads in their 4x4s and the like – so the traffic level increased noticeably.

The weather slowly deteriorated, adding rain in varying strengths to the mix, and the temperature dropped another couple of degrees, so it was a relief to be off the moors for a bit.  I was glad of those overshoes now, and any thoughts of taking that Buff off my head were long gone.  The upside to the crap weather? Less people out there trying to enjoy the New Forest!  I think that helped a lot with the traffic levels, and with those drivers that were around not getting cross with cyclists being on their roads.   It was time to try and distract myself from the weather by enjoying the scenery.  Like this squirrel for example.  Though my youngest thinks there’s a distinct possibility that it’s a fox…

You should see some of the property lurking in amongst the trees.  Anyone want to buy a house, a very big house in the country?

Presumably the owners are amongst those who are able to shop here?  Clearly, being hoi polloi, I couldn’t get close enough to see what they drove, but I’m perfectly happy to make narrow minded assumptions *grin*.

The first food stop came at around 35 miles in which for some reason, it being an 83 mile ride, seemed a little late.  It was also sat in the middle of an exposed grassy area, with no toilet.  Darn…  At least it had everything else you could possibly need – drinks, water, bananas, fig rolls, flapjacks, jelly beans, etc.

None of which are any use to me in my current intolerant condition, so I just grabbed some water and topped up my Nuun.  There were two very smiley staff, which is impressive considering where they were standing and the conditions in which they were going to be doing so for hours!  I chatted to them briefly, and bemused them by taking their photo, before being on my way again.  There was another food stop at 48 miles, which was really (I think) for those doing the MTB event, though I’m sure they wouldn’t have refused to serve you if you had drop handlebars ;).  I didn’t stop there though, nor at the third stop at 54 miles in, since I was travelling well equipped and didn’t want to stop.

Third food stop

Anyone who’s heard of the New Forest knows about the ponies, but it’s not just horses and ponies that roam free you know.

if Gloucester Old Spot did cows...

There are horses, ponies, cows, donkeys, pigs, and grockles!  Which as it turns out is a word that originates from the New Forest.  Who knew?  And how serendipitous is that?! *grin*.  But I digress…  Due to the weather conditions and being on my own, a lot of the ride felt like a slog.  There’s not a lot of climbing involved, only around 8/900 metres all told, but there’s quite a lot of gradual undulation.  Without big climbs, you don’t get much by way of decent downs either, so you really have to make the most of those that you do get.

There was a memorable section somewhere on the return leg, back up on the moors, where the road was long and straight, and the wind was behind me, and I was flying for miles.  I could have done that all day :).  There is a kicker of a 25% hill in the middle as well, which I’d completely forgotten about.  The mind blocks out painful things apparently *grin*.  Which would be why I have two children not one presumably.  I think it’s called Blissford Hill.  Anyway luckily it’s short, and although I did have to get out of the saddle, I really didn’t have any problems getting up it this year – whereas I remember it being much harder work last time.  Result!  Mind you one poor guy in front of me had clearly decided it was too much, and was about to stop, but failed to un-cleat.  Now this would be bad enough usually, involving toppling onto your left side on the verge as it does, but sadly in this instance the verge turned into a deep concrete lined drainage gully…I can’t really describe quite what happened but it was fairly dramatic, involved him ending up upside down, with his bike on top of him, swallowed by the gully.  Judging by the cussing, it was also fairly painful.  The rider next to me was already stopping, so I just kept going, otherwise I could easily have joined him – stopping on that kind of hill with momentum is not easy.  If that was you – I hope you’re ok!

At around the 55 mile mark, after they overtook me, I ended up as part of a loose group of four, which I stuck with for a while.  However one of them at least (a younger lass from Evolution Tri), if not two, were tri-athletes, and I have this theory that they just don’t spend enough time road cycling.  No road warnings, no singling up to let cars by etc.  And no consistency to their speed either.  If I sat behind them they seemed to slow down, leaving me free-wheeling, and losing momentum by braking.  If I tried to sit on the front I’d end up pulling away from them, and then at some point, or junction, they’d end up with me again, and sit on the front again, slowing down…  Now I could have sat in this little group ’til the end, effectively being sucked home, and getting a free ride.  But I don’t go riding to take it easy, and besides, that was going to take longer than I wanted it .  We were getting down to 20 miles to go now, my legs could sense the end, and at a decent speed I thought that could be done in a reasonable time.

OK, I’ll admit it, I was trying to get a gold time.  Only because I managed one on the longer event last year, and it looked like it might be doable.  And it certainly wasn’t going to happen if I stayed where I was so…I put my foot down again, and pushed it for the next twenty odd miles.  It may have been harder work than it needed to be, but they never did catch me.  Knowing they were behind me somewhere probably helped motivate me to go faster too!  I doubt it worked though.

I crossed the finish line, fairly knackered but justifiably so, and collected my medal and goody bag (Cycling Plus, mini Muc-Off spray, bar, gel, water bottle etc).  After stashing my bike safely back in the car I went in search of refreshment.  There was quite a queue so I went and used the changing room and got, as that would imply, changed.  Well you can’t stay in damp lycra for long, not when driving home is going to take another couple of hours, so civvies seemed like a good idea, and the queue was a little better when I got back and joined it.

If such things are your thing, you could have had a sports massage too…

The fodder on offer looked all very nice, and if I could have I would have.  However they get extra points for having soup available – more events should have.  Well I was cold, and vegetable soup is a fairly safe dietary option for me, and very nice it was too.  Shame they over-charged me, but I wasn’t feeling up to saying anything about it.  I should also have been interviewing people to see how they’d found the event but, when on your own, it’s very hard to go approaching complete strangers in such a way, and I was feeling tired and quiet and shy, so I’m ashamed to say I wimped out.  If you rode it and have opinions about it, please get in touch! 🙂

Cycling time: 4:56:02 hrs
Distance: 84.52 miles
Avs: 17.1 mph.
ODO: 13156 miles

Ride number: 3848

Since the official times aren’t out yet I don’t know how I got on, but I think it’ll be a Silver because of stoppage time.  It needed to be <5hr 5mins for Gold, which is never going to have been the case.  B*gger.  I’m a little annoyed that I was slower than last year’s 17.8mph, but then I suppose I did spend a chunk of that ride in a group, and it was sunny and dry and towards the end of the season, all of which probably helped.  As opposed to early season, on my own, with miserable weather and a headwind.  I know, excuses excuses *grin*.

UPDATE:  Get in!  Official time is 5:03:28.  GOLD!  I am now a very happy girl :).

The official Cyclosport review is now up here :).

*(no animals were harmed in the creation of this blog 😉 ).

Early night.  Very early morning.  Guess it must be sportive time then :).

time to go...

In this case, the Joker, what with it being April 1st ‘n all that.  I tweeted about it in advance, along the “more Fool me” lines…  So maybe that would explain why my ride, and I emphasis the MY ride bit, I do not mean THE ride, was a comedy of errors.

Let’s get the usual moaning out of the way first, in stuck record fashion.  Whilst there is unlikely to be anything seriously wrong with me, in the meantime until we figure out what the wrong is, there are issues, and of late I’ve been having pain control issues, which I courteously texted GB about yesterday, as forewarned is forearmed.  As a result of whatever is going on, I also did not get a good night’s sleep, which is far from ideal pre-event.

Last night I discovered a slow puncture in the front tyre.  Then we (being I and my pit-crew) realised that those tyres, lovely though they are, were fraying on the side wall.  Cue a last minute changing of tyres and inner tubes.  I hate doing such things at short notice though – it totally wrong foots me.  Though I should be grateful I happened to have a spare set of fairly decent summer tyres…better safe than sorry.

It was also really hard to figure out what to wear.  The recent gorgeous weather has reset my layer gauge, and having the forecast return to seasonal resulted in much faffing and debate, and inevitably meant that I didn’t get it right.  I think the entire car park was having the same conversation though!

Toilet block - all events should have one!

It was sunny, with the tentative promise of later warmth, so I opted for various layers on top (tick), mitts (fine after the first 15 minutes during which my fingers froze off), longs (tick), and normal socks with no overshoes (uh-huh, our audience said…).  Winter socks maybe.  Overshoes maybe.  One or the other.  Neither?  Bad call.

queuing for the off

rider briefing

However, standing in the sunshine, listening to possibly the longest pre-ride briefing ever, ignorance was bliss.  All was ahead and yet to come…  We set off at around 8:30am into the Wiltshire countryside.  Lots of low morning sunshine, quiet country roads…but not for too long, the first hills started 20 minutes in which, considering how cold we were, wasn’t a bad thing.  For whatever reason I just wasn’t feeling it though. I couldn’t get warmed up, my back tyre seemed to be a bit flat and I could feel it dragging without getting any worse.  Slow puncture?  Under-inflation?  I don’t know, but it wasn’t adding to my joie de vivre.  It just felt like one of those days.  I sat on GB’s wheel, and hung in there in the hope that things would get better.  After all, it was far from horrible – riding the bike in the sun right?  I was happy enough, ish, but let’s face it, some days are just better than others.  This was turning out to be happy, but not happy plus.

view over my shoulder

trees, shadows, sunshine...

Now, you may be wondering why this ride is called the Joker?  Well it’s not just because it’s April Fool’s day, though I particularly loved the rider in complete jester costume, with hat & bells sticking through the ventilation bits on his helmet – there’s dedication for you.  It’s because there were 4 optional Jokers’ Challenges, that generally added climbing & distance, and some Fools’ Choices which cut distance but that came with a catch.  For each Joker achieved you got a Joker card for both souvenir purposes and to let the organisers figure out what you’d done in what time.  I’m thinking that might be quite a logistical nightmare…wouldn’t surprise me if it takes them a while to publish the official times!

The first Joker was entitled “Straight Up”.  At which point GB’s chain came Straight Off.  Mine followed shortly after.  Did I mention things weren’t going that well?  I took advantage of the impromptu rest to immortalise Easter Sunday lunch ;)…

..before uneventfully climbing the hill.  Might have been easier if I could feel my feet.  I’d forgotten how distracting their absence can be.  GB was doing a very good job of not abandoning me, which I appreciated whilst feeling guilty about it at the same – apparently it’s what I do and if he’d wanted to leave me he would have done.  Fairy Nuff.

Joker 1

Shall I immortalise him to show my gratitude?  Oh go on then…  You can appreciate the views at the same time, if that’s more your thing.

GB in ever appreciating HTC kit 😉

Conveniently he stopped at around 10:10am for some reason which was only ten minutes after the next dose of analgesics had been due.  I’d temporarily forgotten, and maybe it was just co-incidence, or maybe he remembered…either way it was a good thing.  Best not to let the pain relief run out I find, plus the views were lovely from there too :).

We headed off again, and at some point in the miles there, some eejot went past the two of us with a rather snarky “on your right please”, as clearly our brief two-up chat was annoying him.  Some people have no patience…  And before you think I’m being judgemental, at the next T-junction he blithely slipped left and joined the main road with nary a glance over his shoulder, leaving one very justifiably p*ssed off GTi driver having to brake so hard to avoid him that he stalled, before re-starting, and revving off with an angry toot of his horn.  Oh look, well done, yet another motorist with his opinion of road hogging, rule ignoring cyclists reinforced.  We actually happened across the car and driver at the next village and we did some damage limitation and some work on motorist-cyclist relations by apologising for the rotten apple in the barrel.  It doesn’t matter what you’re using to use to the road, we all use it, and we all have to use it properly and follow the rules!  Prat *sigh*.

I was starting to get hints of mojo back, and also the odd tingle that implied that my feet might still exist as we got to the food stop, somewhere around 25 miles in.  There was a support van (more of which later) with a track pump so I was able to put some more air in the back tyre and hope that that did the trick.  My valve cap was mysteriously missing, so maybe it got bashed in the car?  Who knows…  I also grabbed half a banana, as you do.  I can eat those :).

Food stop - used twice

Shortly after this, approaching the Joker 2 turning, one of my gear changes felt weird…and when we took the turning and stopped, it became clear that the rear gear cable had actually snapped, reducing me from 24 gears…to 3.  Top top, top middle, and top bottom.  My day was REALLY not going well, and there was nothing to be done about it, other than the use of of some choice anglo-saxon and a girly urge to resort to frustrated tears.  Hey, I am a girl, right?!  Time for a parting of the ways.  Well I’d been worried enough about getting up Gold Hill as it was, let alone with no granny ring!  I wished GB a good ride and headed back to the unadulterated long route.  No more Jokers for me.  No Gold Hill.  No Zig-Zag hill.  *sulk*.  Mind you, having been considering earlier that GB might be better off riding without me, maybe I should be more careful what I wish for? ;).

So I followed the route as best I could, reduced to Shanks Pony up the big hill near Fontmell, feeling properly sorry for myself, missing being able to test myself against the long climb properly, and deeply resenting those cycling past me.  Ho hum.  I think I was kind of hoping that when I got back to the food stop again that the support van would fix me, that someone would rescue me, broom wagon me home…anything!  Nope.  I couldn’t even get my phone to work to ring home for sympathy…although considering the litany of such things today I shouldn’t have been surprised.  Having limped my way there it turned out there was no get out of jail free card, and no real alternative option other than to possibly take a more direct but main road route back to the start.  Apparently the biggest hills were behind us however, and the rest of the return route (47km) was mostly undulating.  The thought of having to walk in more major traffic whilst also running the risk of getting lost didn’t appeal, so I had no choice but to MTFU and decide to follow the route.  I figured I would do the best I could when I could, and walk if it came to it.  Stiff upper lip…

In some respects this was good for me.  I stopped wallowing quite so much and got on with it.  I’m pleased to say “they” hadn’t lied to me either, which is great, because if there had been a lot of hills like that big one for me to walk up I’d still be walking up them now…   A lot of it was doable, though I have to say the headwind added serious insult to injury.  Like only three gears wasn’t enough of a challenge?  And, on a triple, who uses top top gear anyway?  Practically two gears then.  Ah well.  Luckily I can be fairly fast on the flat/gradual incline, to make up for the rest, and I did, bizarrely, overtake some people and keep up with some others who clearly knew what they were doing.  Which helped on the PMA front.

I like sportives to have enough riders that I can usually see one from time to time, but am generally happier once everyone has spread out so that I can stop comparing myself to how everyone else is doing and get on with doing what I have to do.  A few riders chatted to me, including one who nicknamed me “no-gears girl” having learnt of my plight, and whom I saw several more times.  His cheery “go no-gears girl!” did wonders to boost my morale, which seriously needed it.  However I spent a lot of time riding on my own, and was very pleased therefore that this was an event with regular repeater ribbons.  If you’re on your own, having a bad day at the office, and starting to think that you might be lost as well, the sight of a fluorescent orange ribbon can proper warm the cockles of your heart :).

Some of the hills were, unsurprisingly, a proper slog.  I’m usually a sit in the saddle and plod kind of girl, and having to get out of the saddle and climb until my legs ran out was hard work, and I’m going to feel it tomorrow for sure!  When my legs ran out, I walked…a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.  I’m sure it’s all good training, right?

another hill behind me...

Even with everything, there are worse ways to spend a couple of hours than riding a bike in the (still rather chilly) sun, albeit slowly.  It’s not the Tour de France, I wasn’t going to be winning any fancy jerseys, and there were no sunflowers but…

...close but no cigar... 😉

The main downside to all this sunshine and scenery and shadows?  It hides the potholes and bumps a treat, and the road surfaces were NOT good today.  Even without the dry weather and the farm traffic induced gravel etc some of those roads would be hard pushed to be described as having a surface at all :/.  Pretty though, right?

I was getting closer and closer to the end, counting down the miles, and getting back into familiar territory as the final section retraced the start of the route. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when Salisbury Racecourse hove into view, as a couple of hours before that I’d been in serious doubt that I’d get there at all.  I’ve never had a DNF and I didn’t want one today!

Rarely have I been so pleased to see a finish line, which I happily crossed, before handing in my tag, picking up a tea/coffee voucher and free-shirt, and taking a pew for a bit to recover.

Riders were spread out in the sun everywhere, no doubt recounting tales of derring do, or maybe just adding to the tan lines 😉

So what was the final damage?  Well according to Bella, it goes like this:

Cycling time: 4:29:14 hrs
Distance: 66.31 miles
AVS: 14.8 mph.
ODO: 12880 miles

And you know what?  All things considered, taking the walking into account, I think I did pretty well.  GB arrived a while after me, having successfully taken on the other Jokers, and possibly surprised to find me not all that cheesed off.  I was just happy to have made it round and triumphed over adversity.  Although I’m not sure I’m talking to my bike… 😉 *grin*.

UPDATE: official Cyclosport Joker review is now up.  My official time is here, 4:57, and after all that, still makes me a Bronze, which is cool :).