I don’t always look forward to sportives.  In fact I can’t remember the last time I really did.  But I was, oddly, looking forward to this one.  After the last few positive rides I wanted to see how my form really was.  Whether or not I could still do it.  If I could do 70 miles yet.  Mind you, however I thought I was feeling about it, someone had forgotten to tell my body, which did the whole dry mouth nervous thing for the entire way there…

…which luckily wasn’t far.  Unsurprisingly the Evans Ride It Bristol starts in Bristol, which is only half an hour’s drive away.  Again with the don’ts, but I don’t often do local sportives.  I know these roads too well, there’s no novelty value, no real challenge to be had.  But I signed up for this one as a hook to hang a longer ride on.  To force me to get out of my 30 odd mile route rut and do something longer, with hills.  And there’s a lot to be said for a 7:00am alarm call as opposed to a 5:00am one.  So local isn’t all bad 😉

Of course, with predictably bad timing, my pain chose Saturday night to flare up, making for an even worse than usual pre-sportive night’s sleep, and sadly it hadn’t gone away by Sunday morning.  Tramadol was out of the question as, when not habituated, it tends to zombie me, and that’s hardly conducive to bike riding.  So mainstream analgesia it was, with my fingers firmly crossed that would be enough to get by.

So, all that said and done, welcome to Hengrove Park Leisure Centre where, at around 8:30am I was marshalled onto the small free car park on site, being early enough for it not to be full.  Which was good, because the other options were further away.  I could have walked to and from registration before faffing, but being as it was freezing cold (there was still ice in the puddles), I decided I might as well get all kitted up and wrapped up and go with the one step approach.  The forecast was for fairly bright, fairly cold, and fairly breezy, all of which it was currently being.  So on went every winter layer and, bearing my still dodgy ears in mind, the winter hat was joined by a Buff underneath to make sure everything was covered up.  Fairly efficient as faffing goes.  Me and my practically clean bike headed for registration – eldest has his uses 😉

It took a little while for them to find me since, thanks to my elevated VIP status, I got to be on a small special and exclusive list of free riders which was lurking at the end of the table.  Oddly enough there was another female Trotman registered though…a DNS as it happens.  The friendly bobble-hatted man behind the table stuck a timing sticker on my helmet, offered me a map and that was that.  Which I refused.  And then went back for on the basis that if I didn’t have it I might need it and just because I knew 95% of the route that wouldn’t stop me getting lost in and out of Bristol if I missed a sign.  Plus it had all the emergency contact details on it which I thought I should have so as not to need them, like insurance.

Time for the requisite toilet break, and the facilities were inside the leisure centre along with a café etc.  Cleats were banned, and getting the shoes on and off was a bit of a pain, what with all the overshoes etc, but hey ho, rules are rules.  All necessities having been taken care of, there was nowt for it but to join the queue for the start in the cold.  It didn’t take long though, and I was shortly penned in with the next batch of riders, being briefed.  I wasn’t once told it wasn’t a race, but there was a sign saying so, which was nice.  Well, tradition is important 😉

Right then.  Briefing done.  Here I go again, on my own.  Going down roads I definitely know.  Well, I would be once I got out of Bristol anyway 😉  After a couple of miles of leisurely (i.e. not going off too fast too soon) bimbling through housing estates, getting out of Bristol meant going straight up Dundry Hill.  Oh cruel world!  I definitely hadn’t warmed up, even supposing that was ever going to happen, and t’aint an easy hill for sure.  But…it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be?  Sure, it was hard work, and it went on for ages, bend after bend, but I didn’t feel like I was dying.  Well, ok, I was, we all are, it’s part of life, but I didn’t feel like it was at risk of happening imminently 😉

Unsurprisingly I was overtaken on the way up, but I also overtook a few, and those who overtook me?  Well I left ’em for dust on the downhill afterwards *grin*.  The roads were pretty dry and, cold though it was, there didn’t seem to be ice around, so I could enjoy the downhills today my way, though I was maybe a little more cautious than usual.

Right then, bye bye Bristol, hello familiar roads.  Not flat though, not yet.  We were off plane spotting, gradually climbing through Winford and Felton up to the airport.  Which cheered me up no end because this meant we were going to go down Brockley Combe.  Fun fun 😉  Although actually it’s not steep enough to be real fun, you can’t get fast enough and there’s always a headwind.  But I did my best 😉

I was on to Dad’s turf now, though sadly he wasn’t with me having left it late too late to sign up before it sold out.  In the absence of his company, which would have been nice, I was actually happier with none, as I didn’t feel under any pressure to perform and could just take it as it came.  And what came next was a nice patch of 10-15 fairly flat miles, enjoying the scenery, playing with the traffic in Yatton which is way easier on a bike than in a car, all the while getting closer and closer to the next big climb of the day, Burrington Combe.  The first food stop was in the car park at the bottom, but I only stopped long enough to take the odd photo, it being sort of my job ‘n all.  Tempting though the hot coffee looked, I was still cold, and didn’t want to get colder hanging around before doing that going up thing.  That cold is also why there aren’t a lot of photos.  It’s hard to use the camera in winter gloves which means either removing them (bye bye hands) or stopping to use it (bye bye body).  So, more words, less pictures today.

Burrington Combe went pretty well, as it happens.  As slowly as ever, but I felt ok about it.  I knew the route split was coming up after and spent some happy mental time while pootling uphill, deliberating as to whether I was going to do the long route or the medium route.  Sure, I was feeling fairly good, but I’d not done any long rides for quite a while, I’ve been ill, I couldn’t feel my toes, other than in that painfully cold sense, and my pain was making life…interesting, especially uphills.  But I wanted to do the 70 mile route.  That’s what I had set out to do.  For once familiarity was a good thing.  I knew where the route was going to take me, I knew which hills remained, I knew that what was ahead was theoretically doable, it having been done before.  Who am I kidding?  I was only mentally messing with myself really, I was always going to do the long route *grin*.

Besides, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to go down Cheddar Gorge, now would I?  Which I did, and did well, and enjoyed just as much as ever.  I’d have had flies in my teeth, but I was breathing through my winter collar – downhill was even colder!   My buoyant mood carried me all the way out to and through Wedmore and on to the next foodstop at the infamous Sweets.  I barely even noticed Mudgeley Hill, other than to fly down it of course 😉

Sadly there was no coffee on offer this time, just when I fancied one.  Yes, I could have gone inside and ordered one, but that would have taken time I didn’t have.  I did nip to the loo, and nab a couple of gels though, as there was one big hill to go and I was going to need ’em!  Time to get back on my steed, to ride further East.  Sadly this also involved some North and since today’s wind was a considerable North Westerly, it was suddenly quite a hindrance.  OK, so I’d been aware it had been helping before, but the thought of the remaining 27 miles being all into that was a bit depressing, and I did briefly wonder if I’d made the right route decision.

I’m pleased to say it turned out to be less of a problem that feared.  The road out to Wells was in a more favourable direction and there were bigger fish to fry.  Old Bristol Hill.  Which I’ve never cycled up in the snow before.  Yes, as I came into Wells it started snowing.  I’d like to say the novelty value made the climb easier.  It didn’t.  But it’s just another hill right?  A very long hill mind, so I engaged crawler gear, laughed at the snow, and reminded myself that I’d climbed up far longer hills than this and they didn’t take all day and neither would this.  Which it didn’t.  Although it may have felt like it 😉

It was pretty breezy and awful chilly on the top of the Mendips but I knew it wouldn’t be for long, the snow had stopped without having settled, it was as scenic as ever, and I was going to get to go down Harptree Hill, another favourite.  I’m very reward driven 😉  We’d been warned about the descent, which is probably quite fair if you don’t know it.  But I do, so I got to fly all the way down happily, in my (joint) best time ever 😀

I was expecting to hate the slog out across the exposed valley and past Chew Valley Lake but somehow that didn’t happen.  I knew the miles were counting down, and that I didn’t really have that far to go and so I just got on with it.  Once we got to Chew Magna I was in unfamiliar territory though, and those few miles left s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d somehow, as I ceased to know where I was in relation to where I needed to be, whilst also not knowing what kind of hill was going to be necessary to get me back into Bristol.  And yes, there was one, but it was no Dundry.  Apparently it was Maesknoll, if you’re interested.  And then that was that, just a few more miles through suburbia and I was back at HQ to walk over the Finish line, or more accurately under the Finish arch, and be counted back in, still feeling pretty good.  Evans Ride It Bristol – done 🙂

Cycling time: 5:19
Distance: 70.5 miles
Avg: 13.2 mph
ODO: 7741.8 miles
Fuel: 2 gels, one flapjack, 1 litre Nuun.

Before I set out I was guessing at around 5 hours ride time.  Then en route I realised how slow I was and that there were hills involved, and I decided 6 hours was more realistic.  And then as things went on, I thought maybe I might make it in at around the 5 1/2 hours mark.  So I was very pleased with 5:19, and happier still with my official 5:30 when the results went up on the website the following day.  A pretty good start to the season methinks 🙂

PS: I’m also pretty chuffed that the organisers gave me both the High5 sample pack that everyone was getting, and also the free High5 Pack that riders who sign up more than 8 weeks in advance get – High5 gels are my fuel of choice!

You’d think by now I’d have stopped being nervous about sportives wouldn’t you?  And if you’d asked me why I was nervous, I’d have been hard pushed to tell you really.  I think maybe, after Thursday’s somewhat disastrous ride, I was just worried that there wasn’t going to be enough in the tank to make it around, let alone up the hills I knew were ahead of me.  Presumably worrying about such things, and the usual “will the alarm clock go off, will I miss it” subconscious stuff, would be why I also failed to get a decent night’s sleep beforehand – even after two days of eating properly and getting an early night…

Still, this is nothing new, right?  I finally gave up trying to sleep, after the nth time of waking up and having to check the time to see if it was even worth trying to go back to sleep, and was up at 5:00am.  OK, so it was pitch black, but unlike earlier in the night, at least it wasn’t raining!  In fact the forecast for the day was pretty good, however many times I refreshed the screen, which is far for the norm when it comes to the Exmoor Beast.

Yes, time for the Exmoor Beast again.  It wasn’t my idea, honest!  But having done it last year and enjoyed it more than I thought I would, it wasn’t a bad idea.  In theory.  Months ago!  This morning however, it felt hideously early, and rather intimidating, and all in all, who’s idea was this?!  I must be mad…but then we all knew that 😉

Having sorted all my kit out the night before, including faffing options for eventualities, there wasn’t much to do other than kit up, eat cereal, and then load the bike and bags into the car when Chris duly arrived at 6:00am.  Being nervous, I probably wasn’t the most chatty of passengers on the way down, which those who have had to put up with me being irritatingly perky in similar circumstances, might well envy 😉  But it didn’t take long to get there…certainly not long enough for me to fall asleep again, and we arrived at HQ in Tiverton without a hitch, to be marshalled by men waving glowsticks to one of the pockets of parking around the place – in our case the tennis courts.  The official start time wasn’t until 8:00am, an hour later this year, so we had plenty of time to go and register, find and queue for the toilets, get ready, and drink coffee.  The sun kept going up, the skies brightened, and even I might have cheered up a bit 😉

But there was no putting it off any longer, it was time to go and do that queueing in pens thing.  A later start is/was a good thing.  No worrying about lights, no groping around in the dark, and more importantly when, after the rider briefing, our pen was set off a little after 8:00am, we could see where we were going!  However…on the downside…it meant I could see where I was going! 😉 I don’t remember much of the early part of last year’s ride as I was too busy trying to cope with the unfamiliarity of riding in the dark, following flashing lights, avoiding other barely-seen riders, and so on…  This time I saw, and felt, every hill!  I knew I would feel rubbish to start with, I always do, and as predicted I did.  My breathing was off on one and I just couldn’t seem to catch my breath, which is not ideal when slogging your way uphill.  It took me 45 minutes, as usual, to warm up, and in the meantime on a couple of those early big hills, my lungs and core muscles and the effort being made all combined to make me feel like I was turning myself inside out!  Not pleasant…but once we got to the top of one of them around an hour in and I stashed my gilet and head scarf I felt much cooler and much better.  I really don’t like over-heating!

All that said, it was nice out there.  Not (yet) too windy, dry overhead, fairly mild.  The roads were damp and covered in crap though, so I was little more careful on some of the downhills than usual, especially since I was still on the summer bike, wheels, and tyres!  Although there were allegedly around 1500 riders out there, it didn’t feel too busy in the country lanes, and there were slightly better manners than at some events, so I rarely got railroaded without notice, which was nice.  So we bimbled along in my usual style, and the miles and hills passed, as did today’s guest of honour Jonathan Tiernan-Locke from time to time, making it all look easy of course.  There was plenty of up, but I’m much better with long hills than short, providing they’re not too steep of course, and they were feeling ok.  Being currently a drug-free zone it’s clear that some of those were affecting things and that now they aren’t.  Not that I’m any faster up the darn things, they just feel different.  And if that doesn’t make sense, tough 😉

After much general climbing up and hurtling down the moors, there was a fantastic descent into Dunster, which it’s fair to say I nailed.  Oh, and enjoyed immensely.  Me and my bike are very good at that 🙂  In fact, having swooshed past a great many, and then all the way up one up bit in the middle, when three of the guys I’d passed caught me up, which no doubt their egos insisted upon, I was congratulated on my “good effort” *grin*.  After playing with very tolerant traffic in Dunster, we arrived at the very-well stocked food stop.  Everything from soup to rolls and flapjacks and of course energy drink, water and bananas!  I topped up my bottles, queued briefly for one of the portable toilets, and passed on the food – no need to mess up my insides since they were feeling ok.  It felt nice to take a bit of a break in the sunshine, chat, and enjoy the fact that half the ride was behind us…

…which of course, means half of it was ahead, and that half included the biggest challenge of the day – Dunkery Beacon! *gulp*  We set off again, heading for the inevitable, along the main road through and past Minehead that is a bit busy and full of nasty draggy upwards bits – I never enjoy that stretch of road, and today was no exception.  In fact, even with flapjack and a gel on board, that dragging made me realise I was feeling pretty tired.  And pretty worried.  I know Dunkery Beacon, and it’s no walk in the National Park!  Well, unless you have to walk up it of course, and that’s probably pretty hard work too 😉

After the relief of a bit of down, we turned left and started the trundle through the country lanes that gradually lead up to where the climb proper starts.  Riders kept going past me but hey, if they were in that much of a rush to get there, more power to them.  I was conserving energy and trying to think positively and gird my loins for the struggle ahead!  A bit of me was thinking I’d also rather have ’em all ahead of me, out of the way, and not weaving backwards and forwards around me…

So, here we go.  Another left turn, slowly going up already, and over the dreaded, but matted, cattle grid, heart in mouth…  As the slog through the damp woods began, and I slowly ground my way up, I have to admit to having wondered about walking, whether today would be the day I would again, whether I’d have to, whether that would be such a bad thing…but not yet, right?

Make the wheels go around.  One pedal stroke after the next.  Avoid the horse-chestnut cases and leaves and twigs, pass the walkers, zig-zag a bit, keep the front wheel down, push, push, push…  At least my lungs were working now, and so were my legs, for however long that might be the case.  Steeper bits, even steeper bits, flatter bits, steeper bits…and then that bit in the middle which could be the top but isn’t, because it’s only half way; your chance to have a drink, regroup slightly and then, yes, start all over again.  The forest drops behind you, the road climbs up into moorland, the views open up, but they’re behind you, and you’re too busy concentrating on the road ahead anyway, which stretches into the distance, with every diminishing spots of colourful lycra leading the way.  On and on and on…but just that little bit less steep that it was down there, and so yes, it’s hard, but you keep going, you don’t get off, you just hit that mental zone where all you do is keep the wheels turning.  Up this bit.  Round the bend.  Up the next bit.  One stretch of tarmac at a time.  And as long as the wheels are turning you’re going up, however slowly, while the race snakes hurtle pass you, you pass the “pedestrians” and take heart from that, the inevitable photographers lurk and you do your best to smile, before returning to that gurning place inside where you are mentally and you push some more and then…you know what…?  The world has opened up around you, you’ve reached the sky, and it’s all behind you.  I did it.  Again.  I have absolutely no idea how I made it up really.  I just did 🙂

Now there’s an awesome feeling for you 🙂  Which probably explains why I was grinning when we passed a familiar friendly face shortly afterwards – Gaz and his camera were there to capture the moment – which was all the more reason to smile.

No time to hang around though – having done all that up, there was some down to be enjoying.  I always look forward to downs, but it was so windy up on the top there that I was looking forward to getting down to some shelter more!  Such fun though… 😀  It wasn’t the last up, there were a few more to drag myself up, but I now knew that the back of the Beast was broken and, on past experience, that the last 20 or so miles are just a long run down the valley back to Tiverton.  Which was, with the exception of a couple of kickers, fairly flat and fast and fair flying , especially as I spent most of it sat on on Chris’ wheel – not having quite enough energy left in me to spend as much time on the front as I would have liked.  This was probably not helped by the fact that we had to fight that headwind all the way back!  I struggled a bit from time to time, but there were some down bits to enjoy as well as the flat, and we hopped from group to group, and generally had a reasonable approximation of a blast most of the way back to Tiverton.  And then there we were, back at HQ, rolling past the timing machines, and into the hall.

As a small child presented us with our souvenir Exmoor Beast tankards, the tannoy, in the capable hands of Ron (of Dartmoor Classic fame), announced our arrival, complete with a whole spiel about me being the Cycling Mayor and Cyclosport writer…busted!  You can ride, but you can’t hide 😉  We went around outside as instructed, stashed the bikes, and went back in to fill those tankards with the eponymous ale, before having a chat with Ron and others while getting our times.  It was great to have the opportunity to catch up – it’s nice to do events and bump into people you know – one advantage of doing so many of the darn things!  Oh, and that beer was pretty good too, especially enjoyed sat outside in the sunshine and the after-glow 🙂

Exmoor Beast – done.  Again. Annoyingly, it turns out to have been a bit slower than last year, but I think I actually enjoyed it more?  Which is more important.  I had a pretty good ride, in good company, I didn’t feel like an invalid, and I don’t feel like I was outstandingly slow.  I’m pretty pleased with how it went.  Make that really pleased.  You know what?  I had a really good day out 😀

Cycling time: 4:56
Distance: 66.3 miles
Avg: 13.2 mph
ODO: 6966.4 miles

Update: Of the 520 100km riders, I was 285th. Of the 58 women amongst them, I was 19th. I’m pretty pleased with that 🙂

And I was only half an hour slower than Mr Tiernan-Locke…who must have stopped off for a cream tea at some point… 😉

Yesterday was the annual Cyclosport industry bash.  It was, as ever, quite a laugh, though my liver may well be less than amused 😉  I got to catch up with friends I’ve not seen in ages, got some very constructive networking done, and of course indulge my new celebrity cyclist stalking hobby…

…so, roll up, roll up, here’s the latest selfie selection: Mike Cotty, Matt Stephens, Yanto Barker, Dean Downing, Russ Downing, and my mate Peter, of Tour of Pembrokeshire fame.  Hey, it gave me something to do!  Thanks for being so tolerant guys 🙂

OK, so they’re all more or less famous, but to me, Mike Cotty is a legend.  He’s been inspiring me since I got his Etape-preview DVD back in 2011, to help me get my head around what I was going to do.  We’ve talked on Twitter (not that he remembers, as he talks to so many people!) – he gave me advice on other events to try, advice for the Maratona – and I’ve used his DVDs for that and Quebrantahuesos too.  He crossed the French Alps non-stop last year, and this year he cycled over 1,000km and 21 mountains from Conegliano, Italy, to Chamonix-Mont-Blanc, France, in something like 50 hours.  Non-stop.  Mental!  We had quite a long chat, about cycling and various related stuff, and he’s just as nice in person.  Meeting him totally made my day 😀

And in the meantime my plans for next year may now include a proper training plan, and a training camp in Andalusia, amongst other things.  How cool would that be?  Fingers crossed…I have a few dreams I’d like to make reality 🙂

And so the sportive calendar rolls on…

…with another 5:15 alarm call dragging me from sleep and back out onto the road again.  Today’s target?  The Saddleback Sodbury Sportive starting from, as you may have guessed, Chipping Sodbury.  Not a first for me, I did their first one in 2012, which makes this their third, and my second.  But I had fond memories of it, felt bad when I was unable to do the second one when they asked me to, and so, here, or there, I was again this year.

HQ was an hour’s drive away, at Chipping Sodbury RFC.  Easy to find, and easily marshalled onto the playing field where the ranks of cars were slowly filling up and discharging lycra clad cyclists and their steeds.  With a positive weather forecast but a distinct chill in the air thanks to the wind, conversations all around were mostly concerned with what to wear.  Well, we do love to talk about the weather, right?  Before I made such momentous decisions, I headed off towards the clubhouse and found the registration marquee outside, as yet fairly queue-less, and for the clue-less, it was made easy – queue up by at surname ordered desks.  I duly signed my name, and collected my bike number (complete with integral timing chip) and two cable ties, before making my way inside to pick up a free cup of coffee, also known as warmth in a cup.

Right.  My turn for faffing.  Ooh, the dilemmas.  What layers to wear?  Would it rain?  Would the forecast be accurate…in which case it wouldn’t?  I shook off the ghost of Ride London past and decided that limb warmers and gilet were the way to go, and trusted that leaving the rain jacket in the car would not prove to be an unwise decision.  There wasn’t much else to do, so me and my trusty, and also cleaned, polished & oiled, steed headed for HQ together.  I trimmed the cable ties with the cable cutters provided – a nice touch that – and parked up so that I could use the facilities while waiting.  Even that only takes so long, so that done, I was amongst the first to be ushered into the start pen when it opened, having first had my number taken down, presumably to be used against me should the official system fail.  It was sort of considering being sunny as we all stood there waiting, and pretending to ignore the official photographer, which was nice.  Finally the time came for the rider briefing, complete with a top dressing warning, and the usual “play nice, be good, it’s not a race” warning from one of the many yellow tabarded Rotary Club volunteers.

Time to go then.  No fanfare, but nonetheless we were off, first to be sent on our way into the Cotswold countryside.  In boy, or make that girl, scout fashion, I was prepared.  Well, prepared in that I’d read my blog from 2012, and looked at the route profile, and knew that however nice the first few miles were, it was going to be less pleasant very shortly.  About five miles from the start there are three big hills.  Well I think they’re big, and they’re big when you haven’t warmed up and there’s no respite between them.  The Hawkesbury Howler, the Alderley Grunt, and the Tresham Tester, one after the other…and if I hadn’t known that things were going to get easier after that, the latter of them could have had me throwing my toys out of my cot and walking…it was hard work!  It takes me a good 45 minutes or so to warm up these days, and so I really wasn’t ready for them.  Still, I recovered fairly quickly, in time to not enjoy the aforementioned and recently top-dressed section afterwards.  I swear some councils wait for a sportive to be imminent and go out that week to sabotage it accordingly!

Onwards and luckily not upwards, through a constant stream of cutesy villages, and quiet country lanes.  The route split comes all of 11 miles in, and I didn’t even consider opting for the 60 miles instead of the 100, or more accurately 102.2, according to the Garmin file I’d downloaded the night before.  Nope, it was a right turn for me.  It was really windy out there, mostly in our favour initially, though once again having prepared for a change, I knew that that wasn’t going to last either.

Still, the first 30 miles or so passed by fairly fast, and I was the first woman to the first foodstop, a novelty value that lasted for about 2 minutes before I was no longer the solitary female there, but which I enjoyed nonetheless.  Located outside a convenient pub where normal mortals were completely ignoring the steady stream of cyclists in and out of the toilets inside, there was food of all sorts from savoury to sweet, including printed lists of ingredients for all the cakes on offer, something the less tolerant of us appreciated.  I settled for a banana and a bottle top-up before heading off again, determined to be first woman out there for a little longer.  She and her much larger wind-break of a male partner (jealous, moi?) didn’t leave me out there alone for long though, and I was shortly left in their dust.  Ah well, nice while it lasted!  Mind you, she did hold me up going downhill at one point, which just goes to prove I’m more of a nutter than she is, not that I’m any better at it I hasten to add 😉

It wasn’t long before we were heading the wrong way as far as the wind was concerned, and just to rub salt in the wound, it even started to rain.  I’m pleased to say it stopped fairly soon though, and the lack of rain jacket did not prove to be an issue, otherwise my sense of humour failure would have been complete.  As it was, life turned into a constant and fairly solitary slog.  I hate wind!  It felt like an uphill slog which, as it turns out, it gradually was, all the way up to the very pretty village of Minchinhampton and the Common beyond where a helpful sign informed me that I’d now done 50 miles…whilst considerately failing to mention that that left another 52 to do of course 😉  I took a moment to immortalise it and try and get a grip of my fed up of struggling self, before heading off once more unto the breach.

Somehow I had completely forgotten the hill that came instantly after the lovely hairpin descent into Nailsworth where, just briefly, I felt in control of my bike and all pro and stuff.  Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, how very European 😉  Then through the town itself, with the way ahead indicated by a camera-toting marshal at whom I actually smiled, and his smiley encouraging mate.  Ah, a yellow sign.  B*gger.  This would be the Nailsworth Nailer then.  Up and up and up, past pedestrians enjoying a sunny Sunday and cats crossing the roads, through and out of town to where you think it’s finished…and it hasn’t.  As I reached the roundabout where straight on was straight up, the road to the left was amusingly called “Another road” which was pretty much what I wished I was on 😉  Still there was a wind turbine to admire, and finally another helpful sign informed me that the hill was over.

I do like that – a sign at the bottom of each hill and at the end – proof that I am officially going up a hill rather than just feeling like I am 😉  And of course ups mean downs, and we all know I like them.  Sadly the next one was interrupted by traffic lights and then, once they had changed and a couple of us that had gathered there waiting were on our way through, a “lady” in a black 4*4 decided that even though her light was red, she might as well head up and plough through us anyway.  Well, we all know they own the road, right?  Shaking our heads disapproving, and maybe even tutting sotto voce, we carried on down the hill, and through the woods, around a gratuitous little extra loop thrown in, as it turns out, just to get us to the next hill…

Now, just because some smart Alec (or smart Simon!) realised that if you write a book about Britain’s 100 Greatest Cycling Climbs, a whole heap of lycra-clad sheep will buy it and then slavishly tick every one off, whilst swelling his coffers in the meantime, does not mean that your sportive has to include one of them.  D’ya hear?!  Nope, thought not…and this is not the first time a route has deviated just to include one such which, I’m fairly sure, it didn’t in 2012.  I’d remember going uphill for the best part of two miles right?!  Having read the description of Frocester Hill beforehand (see, said I was prepared), apparently “the gradient is all but uniform, steep, but it’s never a grind”.  Hah, bl**dy hah.  Just for once I was happy to take heart from the guys passing me with cheery words of encouragement and what I would normally consider to be patronising remarks as to how well I was doing.  Today I needed them.  To be fair, I’d probably have been much better off if I hadn’t gotten my head all bent out of shape today by worrying about the ACG trip to the Pyrenees…ie if I wasn’t enjoying this much, how the h*ll am I going to cope with them and that?  Cycling is so mental…and after hours of slogging into the wind, and now slogging uphill, my mood was going down in the same way as the road was going up – constantly!  Hey, at least it was sunny and the views behind me were nice, right? 🙂

Moan, winge, gripe…I know, I should button it…but it’s my blog, so it’s my way or the highway 😛  Inevitably, and finally, I made it to the top.  I was very pleased to find the next food stop shortly afterwards, even if it did interrupt my downhill progress, as my bottles needed topping up again and I needed a break.  Jelly babies for me this time, thought I was sore tempted by the marmite sandwiches.  I didn’t stop long, as I didn’t want to get cold or take root, and headed out again to fight the wind a while longer.

No more hills for a while, just endless country lanes on my own as other riders seemed few and far between, grateful for the good signage and the occasional marshals to remind me I was in fact on the right route.  I was definitely in the mental doldrums.  But not becalmed, that bl**dy wind made sure of that!  I just wasn’t enjoying it, was still fretting away, and when my right knee started to hurt in chorus with the already strapped up left knee, it all got a bit much and a few not very manly tears at all were shed along the way (just as well I’m a girl then).  Honestly girl, get a grip!  In retrospect it occurs to me that this was my second longest ride of the year, only my second over 100 at that, and the other one was back in June, so it’s probably not a big surprise that I was struggling a bit.  I’d also been hoping to do it faster than the last time but in the face of the wind and the altered route, I was disappointed to see that goal blown away early on, possibly setting the tone for what was to come mentally.  That’ll teach me to have ambitions above my station 😉

After a very pretty patch heading southwards along the hills above the Severn valley, finally I turned a corner, physically if not mentally, and that wind started to be behind me, with about 15 miles to go.  This didn’t stop me popping into the last food stop at the 91 mile mark – again I was keeping hydrated enough to need more fluid on board, and besides, how can I review the foodstops without stopping?  They were all well-stocked and staffed by friendly helpful volunteers – job done on both counts ;).

Inevitably there were a few more draggy climbing bits on the way back which probably only felt that way because I was tired and my legs had had enough.  Still, having had a quick peek at the map, up on display and helpfully marked out at the final stop, I was ready for them, and they were just part of counting the miles down.  By the time I rolled over the finish line, to a cheery chorus of cowbells and applause, I was more than finished.

I collected my goody box, checked my time on the spot – with 7:12 officially making me a Silver (must have low standards!) –  dumped the bike in the car, and headed back to HQ for free food.  Not my usual fare, but I didn’t care.  One Cornish pasty and potato salad (though you could have had baked beans instead) were mine.  Oh and a large glass of orange squash enhanced lemonade – my latest post-sportive craving is fizzy orange for some reason, and that they didn’t have at the bar.  And if I’d bought lager instead there’s a distinct possibility I’d never have made it back to the car, let alone home.  The food may not have been good for me, but man it tasted good!  I sat and ate it at a table outside, zoned out and on a slightly different planet, as the lady who tried to talk to me when collecting rubbish will attest, as I didn’t notice her existence for a good couple of minutes…oops!

Cycling time: 6:52
Distance: 102.9 miles
Avg: 15.0 mph
ODO: 6297.0 miles

There were showers, which I was half tempted to use, but with only a relatively short drive home, I opted for heading back and doing such in the comfort of my own home…where I also knew there was a bottle of restorative lager in the fridge with my name on it.  Well, not really, because that would probably make it Coca Cola and that wouldn’t have hit the spot half so well 😉  Somewhat later, having narrowly avoided falling asleep on the motorway, and having drunk my well-earned pint, my goody box turned out to be a souvenir travel mug.  Now that’s a goody.  Lovely though medals are, I’m thinking this is way more useful! 🙂

The Sodbury Sportive is a lovely well-organised friendly event.  I haven’t got a bad thing to say about it really, other than that the route could possibly be a bit more interesting, and it would be nice if they could turn the wind off.  But if wishes were fishes…  I’d do it again.  But I’d do it better.  Honest 😉

PS: And yes, I’m still fretting. Now that I AM good at 😉

PPS: provisional results are now out.  817 riders took part in all.  Only 10 women did the 100 mile route.  Out of them, I was third overall (missed second by just a minute).  And I came first in my category.  I feel a bit better about it all now 😉

Thanks to the generous and enjoyable hospitality laid on by event organisers MDCC, it’s safe to say that I slept like a log on Saturday night.  It’s also safe to say that such things probably don’t count as the most sensible way to prepare for a long hot sunny sportive…but hey, it’s not the first time my pre-event preparation has been less than ideal and it’s unlikely be the last.  It was however a very pleasant evening, and anything that means I sleep the night before is a good thing 😉

So, I was ripped untimely from the womb of sleep by my 5:30am alarm call, into a world where the light was alarmingly bright, and like it or not, it was time to ride a bike again.  I stuck my head out of the already open window and ascertained that not only was that bright light the sun actually shining, but it was already pretty warm.  Right then, time to pack away most, if not all, of the layer options I had brought with me.  The forecast was for hot and sunny with little wind, and although I might usually be dubious about that, since it followed on from several of the same, with more to come, it seemed more likely than usual that it might be accurate.  So, just one Cyclosport layer of kit on, my gilet in the saddle bag just in case, and nowt else, not a warmer of any sort in sight, which doesn’t happen often!  It was time to put coffee & breakfast bar & a banana in me, and put all the bags into the car for later.  Much much later…

Having been put up at the Passage House Hotel in Kingsteignton, it was only a short distance to the start at Newton Abbot racecourse, and since we’d all been warned about possible problems getting in and out of the venue, riding to the start seemed the way to go.  Just a couple of minutes was all it took, but time enough to establish that I wasn’t feeling too bad (there’s no justice *grin*), neither were my legs, and that I wasn’t going to need to get my gilet out.  Nice 🙂

Today was almost an ACG outing, and a small group of us gathered in the adjacent Premier Inn carpark.  Myself, Chris, Guy, Martyn, and Steve D were for the long route, and a couple of others, Gary and Steve A, were due later for the shorter route, as the ride has staggered start times, and colour-coded dossards and numbers so you can’t cheat!  We were all a bit early, and other than the odd trip to the loo, having registered the day before there wasn’t much to do, other than head to the start pens.  The first pen was pretty full so we opted to start the second one; we’re getting a taste for being at the front it would appear 😉  Mein host, Ron, was looking very dapper in shades of pink, and gave us all a long briefing to pass the time before the official 7:00am start.  You guessed it – it’s not a race, don’t drop litter, don’t take risks; be careful, watch out for the re-surfaced section (of which more later), don’t “water” the roadside offensively, and so on.  Ron also gave a shoutout to the various riders/press covering it, including me, which was amusing, especially as that meant everyone in the vicinity knowing who I was and that last night’s preparation had included rather more white wine than theirs! 😉  Still, other than the health & safety messages, the essence was that we should enjoy ourselves.  Well, although I’ve done this event before, and know it’s long and hard, that was my plan.  To spend the day enjoying cycling around Dartmoor in the sunshine.  Others had other ideas however…

The first pen was waved off, patriotically, at 7:00am, and a few minutes later so were we.  The first couple of miles were neutralised, with each group led about by an NEG outrider, presumably to spread us out and keep us well-behaved in town.  We were kept to a reasonable average speed – i.e. one that even I could do – but after a couple of miles we passed the timing point and were let go on our way.  Well, that pretty much sums it up for riding with the ACG for me today.  Within 5 minutes, probably less, they were off, without a second glance.  I know I should be used to it by now, but a quick “we’re off, have a good ride, cheerio” wouldn’t go amiss guys… *sulk*.

Right, just me then.  Ho hum, at least I wouldn’t have to try and keep up or hold anyone back, so it has its upsides too.  Talking of upsides…it wasn’t long before it was time to be going up the side of something.  One of the things the Dartmoor Classic specialises in is very long slow climbs that you can see from miles away, wiggling away into the distance, making you well aware of what is ahead of you!  I call them long slow climbs because that’s the only way I can do them, others can sprint up them and regularly left me for dust, as usual.  However it was still early in the day, and not too hot, so I climbed my way out of Bovey Tracey and up onto Dartmoor, enjoying the views of Haytor and the like, and amusing other riders by pointing the camera at them from time to time.  It was really stunning, and just reminded me why I was there and what the day was about.  However halfway through this climb, we hit the re-surfaced section, which was pretty unpleasant.  Trying to go up a hill, with fairly steep sections, on narrow roads, surrounded by other unpredictable riders is hard enough without doing it on what is effectively gravel!  It was a real relief when that came to a end…

I’m afraid I’ve lost track of the hills on today’s ride, except to recall there were lots of them, and quite a few I either hadn’t done before (I think the route has changed a bit) or had just forgotten.  Holne, Grimstone, Kilworthy…definitely not in that order.  It got hotter and hotter.  Eating was hard to do, though I tried, and I did make sure to drink.  My flapjacks were lovely but I just couldn’t eat them; today gels were the way to go.

At some point on today’s ride I met Mr Right.  Well, I didn’t actually meet him, and he was actually Mr Wright, to be fair, but these are the games that your mind plays when left to its own devices mid-sportive.  You see one of this year’s innovations is to have personalised jersey numbers, which meant you knew who’d overtaken you, who’d said hi as they did so (and thanks to those who did, much appreciated), and left you free to play mental games with their names in the meantime.  Hey, anything that passed the (considerable) time, right?

Another thing I quite liked was having the big climbs marked as such by yellow signs – with length, max gradient, average gradient, and name – so that you knew what was ahead.  And also that it really was a hill, not just your legs feeling tired and having had enough ;).

Still, by the time I arrived at the food stop at Princetown, I’d only done 35 odd miles in about 3 hours and it was already feeling like this was going to be a long hard day at the office.  Having said that, this is not to say I was suffering particularly, or not anymore than usual.  I was just aware I needed to sort my head out for the day ahead, and break it down into mentally manageable chunks to count down, etc.  For example, this was one third done.  By the time I was back here again, as this is also the second food stop, it would be two thirds done.  The last 15/20 miles of the route are fairly flat, so by that point there would only be 15 miles more or so of hills to be dealt with, which sounded doable.  Etc.

I topped up my bottles, used one of the “Ladies” portable toilets (proof I was reasonably hydrated), and enjoyed a couple of bits of both homity pie and spinach/feta quiche – figuring it was important to eat while I could, even if I didn’t really want to, and loving the savoury options.  One more thing to look forward to over the next 35 miles – another reason having the same foodstop used twice is good.  So, time to get going again.  The route split comes just after the foodstop, and I could have bailed, but I didn’t think being a bit lonely really counted as a good excuse, and although I could no doubt have dug a more plausible excuse out of my considerable arsenal, being a stubborn and contrary cow, I knew I’d kick myself if I did.  So I didn’t.  I just go on with it.

There were some lovely flying flat bits up on the Moor from time to time, and having done all that up, there were inevitably some amazing downhills.  I kept overtaking riders going down them, who would then catch me later.  One such commented that I wasn’t half doing some speed down the hills, I must know the roads.  Nope, quoth I, I’m just making up for the fact that I can’t go up them, which I was proving as they went past me again.  I do love downhills though.  Today my Garmin registered 49.8mph…though Strava says 50.8mph…ooh, so close *grin*.  Sometimes on the swoopy bits you could get enough momentum to get right up the next climb, which was a blast, and there was even a photographer on two of those occasions, I wonder if I look like I’m having as much fun as I was? 😀

The middle section played elastic time games.  Sometimes the time passed slowly, sometimes fast.  The lovely fast bit after Princetown faded into the past…  In addition to the lovely moor we had briefly left behind, here there were gorges and rivers and babbling brooks and all manner of pretty villages and lovely scenery which as I got tireder, I had to kick myself to remember to admire, as I zoned out a little.  After Tavistock, where the priest was actually baptising the penitent in the river, in front of a rubbernecking audience, came Kilworthy Hill which went on for a while…more than long enough for my amusement at the name to well and truly wear off! However once it was done, so was half the ride – another marker ticked off.  There was an easier section afterwards too, which was nice.  I’d forgotten about the foodstop at Lydford which turned out to be perfectly timed as I was starting to run a little low on fluid and it was starting to worry about it.  Having full bottles on a day like today is important!  I made up one to drink, and left one plain to make up later if necessary – the advantage of carrying your drink tablets with you.

After Lydford, there was lots Moor climbing, which is a bad joke I feel I can make since there are signs all over the place telling you to take Moor care! 😉 Having spent some time off the Moor, where things were a little easier, the respite, such as it was since it just meant the hills were a bit shorter and shadier not that there weren’t any, came to an end as we climbed back on to it.  Luckily the weather had clouded over for a bit which, as I looked at yet another climb disappearing into the distance, was a good thing, since there was nowhere to hide up there, and it was plenty hot without direct sunlight as well.

Time to get back to Princetown.  Only 5 miles to go, said the sign after the left turn that put me back pointing that way.  Good effort, keep it going, said the smiley man with his red flags, one of the many such cheery folk out today, marshalling every junction.  Hm…5 miles might not sound like a long way, but b*gger me, it took forever…  I poured water over myself, plodded along, up and up and up and somewhere around the 6 hour mark, even with the foodstop not far away, I realised that I was falling asleep, getting kinda wobbly, and that if I didn’t eat something and take a break pdq I would also be falling off the bike.  So I did.  Take a break that is, not fall off 😉  A couple of minutes off the bike, enjoying the view, half a bar and a caffeine gel and I was on my way again.  Eventually, as is ever the way, the hill was done, and I was on my way down the lovely little descent down into Princetown again, enjoying the way the breeze I was generating cooled me down and very relieved to now have two thirds of the ride done.

Right.  The homity pie was all gone sadly, and I wasn’t sure how well the spinach/feta quiche would sit, but I didn’t let that stop me eating it, as I was clearly under-fuelled.  More water for the bottles, more water in me, and more water that could be on me later if necessary.  Believe it or not, as I left Princetown this time, I was actually a little chilly for a bit as the breeze which had appeared cooled down a very damp me.  It didn’t last long though as there was more up to do, and the sun came back out again!  Still, the back of the ride was now broken.  35 miles to go, ish.  A few more little ups, some fantastic downs, the bl**dy big, how dare you do this to me with 85+ miles in my legs climb out of Moretonhampstead which I knew about but still didn’t exactly enjoy and…there, finally, time to fly for home.  Maybe with not as much vigour as the last time, but I did my best, for miles of following the valley and the river and hoping I hadn’t missed any signs as I had my head down!  Finally, with 5 miles to go, I ended up working with someone called Christopher,  which was lucky as there was now a minor headwind, I was fairly tired, and having someone to share the load with made a massive difference.  Even though he could have dropped me a couple of times he didn’t, he waited for me to catch up; I took my turn as and when, and we made our way past as many people as possible, which was particularly enjoyable when you saw they were on the shorter route.  Time for the one short steep wish you weren’t there lump that I remembered, and then back through the housing estates of Newton Abbot, and on to the racecourse.  He sprinted for the line, as you do, I took photos, as I do.

Chris was waiting for me as I crossed the Finish line; the rest of the ACG having not long taken their silver medals home.  His gold one meant that he’d been waiting around for well over two hours for me!  If it wasn’t for the fact that he was my ride home, he could have been home hours ago, figuratively and literally…but I’m glad he wasn’t, as a friendly face was definitely welcome.  Once I’d stopped feeling totally spaced, I went in and collected my time, t-shirt goodie bag, and bronze medal, and we went and sat in the shade to drink fizzy pop and eat hog roast.  I wasn’t that hungry, but food seemed like a good idea.  I think I’d kinda overdone it, I’d run well into my red, and my brain wasn’t really functioning so I wasn’t exactly with it.  But I was happy enough.  Well, look at it this way, I figure I had two choices: either be depressed by how crap my performance was, or be pleased that I’d made it.  I figured the latter was better, easier, and nicer for all those around me!  And actually I was just really pleased to have survived.  I did good :).

Cycling time: 8:30
Distance: 107.4 miles
Avg: 12.6 mph
ODO: 5372.3 miles

It’s a very lovely event, and I’m very glad I did it again.  It’s one of my top five events, and possibly even the best UK one I do.  It’s really really really well run.  The marshals, outriders, organisers, are all friendly and efficient.  The foodstop is great, the route is amazing, and it’s a serious challenge whatever the weather!  And today the weather was a serious challenge!   However the scenery is beautiful, especially so with blue skies, and I’d rather have it this way than in the rain for sure.  Besides which, how else am I supposed to get a suntan? 😉  Dartmoor Classic 2014 done 🙂

PS: official review is here, and look what the paper dragged in!