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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

  

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Up until very recently Cheddar Cyclosportive was my nearest local sportive.  This year it’s been usurped by the Somerset Hills Gran Fondo which is only a mile away.  Still, at just over two miles away, even if it’s twice as far away, it’s not exactly a long way to go.  As a result there’s usually a few of us that do it, though ACG attendance was down a little on previous years – maybe the novelty has worn off ;).

One of the most lovely things about local sportives is that I get a lie in.  You may not consider 6:50am to be a lie in, but compared to last weekend when the alarm had to be set a good two hours earlier, it’s positively lazy.  Having signed in the night before, and done all my faffing then too, there wasn’t a lot to do once awake.  Coffee, muesli, layers, load the bike up with what would be needed, and job done.  Dad arrived, did similar, and we rode to the Square where we met up with GB and Martyn.  OK, maybe for review purposes I should have driven to the start to assess parking, access, and the like, but that really would have been daft!

Off we went, along a stretch of road that is already extremely familiar, and would become more so as the day went on, since by the end of the sportive we’d ridden down it, in the same direction, three times.    It’s a nice long straight bit, which is usually lovely, but is currently less so because there are temporary traffic lights half way down it.  Annoying…  Being one legwarmer short, it having taken a brief vacation in Minehead, I was worried that it would be chillier than I could cope with but, since the wind had yet to make an appearance, it was chilly but tolerable.  I had the usual Cyclosport kit on – with gilet and armwarmers, so I had options for variable conditions too.

HQ was at Sharpham Road playing fields, next to the reservoir, and we followed a small stream of cars into the entrance where the marshals directed them to parking, and us to the start.  It being a sports facility, there were changing rooms and toilets, and a little event village with a mechanic, massage tent, and a vintage bike display.  Not that I paid much attention to any of these at the time however.  I nipped in to the loo, and went back out to join the posse.  Gaz was already there when we arrived, complete with my missing blue leg warmer, which I stashed with its partner since I didn’t feel the need.  It turns out that Steve was there too, so there were 6 of us in all, which made for quite a nice little group at the start line.  I reckoned Dad and Gaz would be fairly well matched, along with possibly Steve, leaving GB, Martyn and I to make up a second group.  We lined up in fairly haphazard fashion near the start line, and did the usual chatting, admiring hardware, saying hi to the other locals who passed by.

According to Paul (of LBS Cheddar Cyclestore, who run the event), to whom I chatted briefly when we arrived, there were 350 riders signed up, and the event was full.  It’s not a very big venue and he reckons you’d be hard pushed to cater for many more there though, so he was happy with that.  It was also Paul who gave us a brief safety briefing before letting us go in batches of 50 or so from 8:30am onwards.  As ever we were pretty near the front, and away with the first batch.

We didn’t stay together for long though.  The first section out to Wedmore is fast, and flat.  I’d add the adjective “familiar” but that holds true for the whole of the route, so you’d get bored of me using it!  It’s not easy to take it easy when it’s like that, and no-one was.  Well – we tried…  The little climb over Mudgeley Hill from Wedmore came as a shock to some, being quite steep for a little while, and split the pack up a bit.  As we headed off towards Glastonbury groups formed, and split.  There was quite a lot of APS (acquired peloton syndrome, aka stealth drafting) going on too!  Various faster groups, clearly intent on record breaking times, passed by, often complete with a cheery hello since I do know quite a few cyclists these days 🙂

 

Now, to backtrack a little…  There were, as usual, two routes available.  100km and 100miles.  The route changes a bit each year but essentially the first 100km, which forms the first route, is mostly flat, with a couple of hills, but nothing too dramatic (though you may disagree with that).  The next 40 miles, after passing tantalisingly close to the start/finish contains the Mendips, and the majority of the climbing.  In previous years I’ve always done the shorter route but since Cyclosport had signed me up for the long route, I hate bailing, and I didn’t want to wimp out again, the intention was to do the longer route for the first time.  Of course the route being designed this way meant that I would have plenty of time to consider my options, see how I was feeling, how we were going and so on, so there was no rush to make a decision.

The route took us through Glastonbury, where it was way too early for the fairy wing wearing locals to be up, and out the other side, through Butleigh and beyond, to Somerton.  In previous years there was a nasty climb in Glastonbury which I didn’t enjoy much, but I’d been looking forward to seeing how it felt this year and was almost disappointed to discover we weren’t using it.  Still, we got to climb High Ham in the same way, which I distinctly remember suffering badly on last time and didn’t hate half so much this time around.  Still missing that very bottom gear though..  And pushing the gear I have got may be why my knee started twingeing.  I’ve not been strapping it up lately since it has seemed a lot improved, and it wasn’t much of a problem for last week’s Etape Cymru, but let’s face it, it’s not like it’s had a lot of rest since.  As I was already on the little white pills, there wasn’t a lot to do about it other than to keep an eye on it.

 

The first food stop was at High Ham village hall.  Facilities inside, drinks and goodies outside.  I made a point of eating half a banana, as it’s quite easy not to remember to eat when you’re riding roads you know so well, you kind of forget you’re on a sportive and need to!  Then it was time to go down High Ham hill, where the road surface was oddly lumpy and made braking at speed feel really out of control – ick!  Not long until the next hill either – Pedwell – which is a nice reasonable slog up and, in case you’re ever going the other way, much fun going down ;).  By now it was just GB and I which suited both of us.  Martyn had hurtled off with one of the fast groups, and our slightly slower group were well behind us somewhere.  On a day when we’re well matched form-wise GB and I ride sportives in a very similar fashion and I think it works out better for both of us than doing it on our own.  We chatted our way through the country lanes and ate up the miles between there and Highbridge without much difficulty.

 

For no doubt sensible reasons, though I’d question them, the route took us along the shared cycle path by the coast to Burnham on Sea.  Regular readers will be experiencing a sense of déjà vu looking at the boats here, and if you’re not one of them, go read Thursday’s ride blog!  The locals were very good at getting their dogs out of the way for us but I think having to do it so many times was causing the novelty to wear off a little…

 

The traffic in Burnham is always a tad trying and the road surface on the way out is atrocious so it was quite a relief to get off the main road and head back across towards Brent Knoll and the second food stop at East Brent.  Again – a town hall venue, with associated benefits and a wide range of cakes.  Time to top up the bottles again.  I’m back on the creatine which does seem to do good things for my legs but does make me a lot thirstier when exercising – as it says on the packet.  Well let’s face it, these days my diet is seriously deficient of many things, so supplements seem like a good idea.  I’m constantly surprised by how much my body does considering how little food and how much white wine it gets! 😉

 

We were making seriously good time, by my standards, and we reckoned that at the pace we were going if we only did the short route we’d have ridden for well under 4 hours – which is virtually not worth getting out of bed for, even if getting out of bed wasn’t early ;).  My knee was only being minorly irritating, I’d taken the next dose of pills, and let’s face it, it was always going to be the long route :).  Well, unless serious wind and rain had been involved which, though it was chilly, they were not.  Still, not quite there yet.  First we got to do the nice wiggly bit around Loxton and Christon to get to Banwell Castle which is a stretch of road I really like, as is the fast main road descent from the castle to Winscombe.  I’m such a child…I just can’t resist hurtling off and being fast when I can.  Which I duly did again all the way down the Axbridge bypass, mentally waving at home, and back down to the traffic lights where GB caught up with me.

 

Right.  Or left.  Because right would have meant bailing, and left meant climbing.  The route this year had changed some of the hills and also the direction up or down them, so it wasn’t quite as scarey as before – well, I didn’t think so anyway.  It being the Cheddar Cyclosportive, there really is only one way to climb up the Mendips isn’t there?  Yep, time for Cheddar Gorge.  Which was somewhat over burdened with late in the season grockles and motorists, both variety of obstacle clearly at the back of the queue when brains were being handed out.  After some interesting and varied interaction with a particular silver Mercedes driver, we were able to get properly on our way and climb the Gorge, which was much as it ever is.  Steep at the bottom until that final very steep left hand bend where it’s best to be in the middle of the road – with a thank you to the tolerant car driver behind me – and then it settles down and gets gradually easier the nearer the top you get.  We weren’t generally proving very popular with the traffic though, which was constantly having to leap frog cyclists only to get stuck behind more marginally further on.  Even I overtook a couple of cyclists – get me! :).

    

So, top of the Mendips for the first time.  It was chilly up there though and the food stop on the green at Priddy was friendly, but had no toilets, so I had to go climb over a gate…easier said than done in cleats!  GB wasn’t feeling great, on his way down with a tummy bug by the sounds of it, but I was feeling pretty good.  Two more climbs to go, both of which I know I can do, which is pretty good for the PMA.  I should have put my gilet back on there and then, as it was only getting colder, and I ended up stopping not much further along before the descent of Old Bristol Hill to do so instead.  It’s a nice descent, but a bit bendy for me, and I don’t know it quite well enough, so I left GB to do the dropping like a stone bit and took it a little easier than I sometimes do.  Besides which, I knew what was coming and was in no rush to be going back up hill again!

There was no avoiding it though, no sooner had we finished going down, we were going back up, up New Bristol Road (or whatever it’s called) to climb all the way out of Wells to the aerial on top of the Mendips.  This is a long steady climb.  It’s marginally steeper at the bottom and I knew we were in for the long haul, so I took it easy and GB drew away for a while.  I caught him, and overtook some others who seemed less than cheerful about that fact, as we neared the top.  My knee was definitely getting less happy though…  It was probably as pleased as I was to reach the top and enjoy one of my favourite bits of downhill to Chewton Mendip.  OK, it’s not all downhill but if you get it right, you’re most of the way up the next bit of up before you realise.  Much fun again, especially as the miles were counting down and there was only the one really big climb left to do.  I really do love downhill :D.

 

After a nice flying stretch through Litton and the like, the route goes along the edge of the valley through Ubley and Blagdon.  It’s long, draggy, and not that nice.  The views of the assorted lakes – Chew Valley and Blagdon – are nice, if you have time to be looking at them, but mostly I was too busy trying to get where I was going carefully.  I could feel my left knee swelling up…  Given constant careful pedalling it was ok, but asked to do anything more dramatic and it gave the weirdest twinge.  Sort of a combination of “ow”, “squish”, and “do you mind not doing that again?” all in one go.  I reckoned if I was careful there was probably enough in it to get me ’round…and crossed my fingers.

Time for the last climb of the day – Burrington Combe.  As you know, I may have ridden up this once or twice before…  Today it came with wind and drizzle, which was much the same as usual ;).  GB set a constant pace somewhat ahead of me and I just followed his wheel all the way up.  His turn to be KOM methinks :).  Well, he knows a thing or two about mountains…

 

As we took a brief break at the top, and GB grabbed yet another stomach churning gel, I was in high spirits.  I was going to make it round!  I know, it sounds daft, considering my sportive history, but having avoided doing the long route for so many years, it had mentally become a bit of an issue, and it was about to become a demon beaten.  Even the stretch across via Charterhouse, which is again draggy, didn’t depress me much, although the annoying top dressing of the last section to Shipham seriously tried my patience.  That bit used to be lovely!  Still, I got my favourite descent of Shipham Hill to make up for it, and, as we flew down the final straight for the third and final time, we got the traffic lights just right, and went flying past the other waiting cyclist and were sprinting for the finish in no time at all.  Childish but fun.  And it is supposed to be fun! 🙂

Cycling time: 6:03:22 hrs
Distance: 100.61 miles
Avs: 16.6 mph.
ODO: 499.54 miles

 

GB was a bit done in, but I was buzzing :D.  I guess the 100km lot were all long finished and had departed, leaving only the hardy or foolish sitting around the café and on the grass, drinking coffee, eating free pasta (as if!), and getting a massage.  It was getting chilly standing there though, so we didn’t hang around long, and instead took the scenic route around the reservoir to get home, having had enough of the long straight road by now 🙂

I’ll write the official review later…here’s Bella’s report...but in the meantime I have 100 and 1 things to do.  Including trying to figure out how best to look after my knee this week.  Looks like it might be the shorter Bristol Belter route for me next Sunday otherwise…and I’ll definitely be strapping it up whatever.  Ow!

UPDATE : my official review is here.  If you want to see me, check out number 338 here.  There were only 2 women on the long route, and I beat her by nearly an hour, and also got me a SILVER .  ‘Rah! :D.

This year’s Etape Cymru didn’t come with a large “UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT” banner but it probably should have done because it was, and if it hadn’t been, after last year’s disastrous event, I wouldn’t have been doing it.  However it’s been taken over by Human Race, who also ran this year’s Dragon Ride, and so I thought I’d give it a second chance, just as I did for the Dragon.  After all, they pretty much got that right this year, right?  However I wasn’t entirely convinced of the wisdom of this idea when my alarm went off at 4:50am and dragged me out of sleep and into the middle of the night.  As I loaded up the car for the short drive to the start the moon and stars were still out, and they’re definitely not part of my definition of morning!  It having been a clear night, and it no longer being summer, supposing we knew what that word meant in this country, it was not only dark out there but also distinctly chilly.  The forecast was for sun and 22C+ but clearly that was going to be a while coming.

I forced down muesli and a cup of tea and, having both gone to bed in and woken up in considerable pain, took some paracetamol.  I definitely wasn’t feeling 100%.  The start was at Bangor on Dee racecourse, a ten minute drive away, and the sun was rising as I, and everyone else, started parking up.  We’d all been advised to arrive an hour before our start time – mine being 7:00am, as was L2P Kevin’s, so we met up in the car park.

Looking at the list of entries displayed in the bar area, the start times  were incredibly precise.  7, 7:02, 7:04…etc.  As Tannoy Man got going it became clear that we were going to be going out in two minute batches, with the aim to get us all underway in a very short time.  Quite a challenge I would have thought, but apparently everyone was away by 7:26am which is pretty impressive stuff, and probably helps with the whole keeping the roads closed thing.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself…  Back to the racecourse.  There was a toilet block on the car park side which you would have thought was adequate, especially as there were toilets nearer the start, but I guess maybe not enough people knew that as the “Ladies” definitely ended up being “Unisex” as the “Gents” got bored of queuing.  Interesting…if not entirely pleasant.  I’m not sure I do sharing 😉  I had more time than I wanted to kill and it was mighty cold out there with quite a breeze from time to time.  Not needing to register, having done that before the day as required, we went off in search of coffee.  The café/bar wasn’t open, and the burger van only had the ready made add hot water to variety which only came in white.  White tea, white coffee.  Coffee is black, everyone knows that!  And as for what might be in the white that was pretending to be milk in the tea?  Not worth the risk.  So, no coffee for me.  *grumpy face*.  You know me and my coffee!  We wandered around a little bit before heading back to the car park for that final get ready push.  I added leg warmers to the gilet/armwarmers layering armoury, and huddled in my car for a bit.

Tannoy man started to get quite keen that we be heading for our pens and since mine was to be the first away and that was what I was there for, off I went.  The Etape Cymru was doubly Cyclosport blessed today, with both myself and Sean doing it.  Except he looks like a cyclist and I don’t.  I think he’s probably got better legs than me too…although they may naturally be that smooth 😉  As we waited we were given a safety briefing by Tannoy Man, who was wearing the most amazing combo of brightly coloured board shorts and multi coloured trainers.  Add his hi-vis vest and you weren’t going to miss him in a hurry!  Maybe that was the point?  We were slowly moved forwards towards the start line in fits and starts, to allow the outriders to get underway and out on the course ahead of us.  Apparently it’s the “UK’s toughest closed road sportive“.  If you didn’t know that before the event you did by the time he’d finished talking to us.  Still, as he reminded us, nobody was forcing us to do it *grin*.

Enough with the talking, enough with the writing, time for the riding.  5, 4, 3, 2, 1…and we were off.  Over the timing mats and out into the chilly Welsh wilds.  Oh man it was cold!  I’d not met Sean before and we rode together for a while and chatted some, but keeping up with him was easier said than done, even though he did a very good job of hanging back as often as he could.  At least the first ten miles or so were pretty flat, meaning we did actually get to warm up a bit before hitting the hills.  Kevin had disappeared early on, and Sean now drew inexorably away, leaving me to pootle along on my own.   This came as a bit of a relief in many ways because I was properly suffering.  The painkillers weren’t working, my mojo was missing, and I felt like I was just slogging along.  Then the hills really started, which was inevitable but not all that welcome, to say the least 🙁

It’s amazing the places your head goes on a ride.  So much of how you’re doing is mental/psychological.  In the frame of mind I was in at that point, with the pain levels not going down, I was seriously wondering if I should be carrying on at all.  The first food stop, 17 miles in, came as a massive relief.  I got off the bike and nearly fell over as it turned out I was a bit woozy.  If anyone had been daft enough to give me a hug at that point I’d have burst into tears and even without actually doing that I was quite glad of the sunglasses to hide behind.  I stashed my gilet & arm warmers, used the facilities because my insides were unhappy on more than one level, but completely forgot to get water or food so it’s just as well I always carry what I need, and that there were 6 food stops on the route anyway.  I’m not sure I was thinking straight, if at all.  However, and most fortunately for me, as I was trying to sort myself out Kevin emerged from somewhere, meaning that I had to pull myself together, and also that I would at least have someone to ride with for a while.  As it turns out he stuck with me for the entire ride which is just as well as I don’t think I’d have made it ’round otherwise – not in that frame of mind – so thank you Kevin! 🙂

Time to head for the hills.  With an advertised 9000 feet of climbing, this was never going to be a flat ride, and although the route had changed since last year, I did know what kind of thing I was in for.  I was mostly worried how my new bike’s bottom gear would be.  Gradient can be an odd thing.  Sometimes you find yourself in bottom gear struggling to go along what doesn’t seem to be that much of a gradient at all, dreading the “real” hills.  Then sometimes you’re on a steep section in the same gear doing just fine.  How does that work?  One of the advantages of long climbs is that my personal crawler gear comes out of hiding – it’s like my body just settles into plodding.  It only happens on properly long climbs, and you don’t get that many of them over here.  Wales and Dartmoor seem to have them in abundance though!

As I mentioned before, the route had changed, which meant the big named challenge of the day, the Horseshoe Pass, came much earlier in the day.  I’ll have you know it’s much nicer in the sun than in the wind and the rain!  There’s a big sign near the bottom telling you that the Pass is 3 miles away, and then there were timing mats shortly after that for those eejots who wanted to play the KOM challenge game.  No point playing if you know you won’t win, so it was a bit wasted on me.  I know I’m not a player ;).  It’s a long slow slog of a climb as you might imagine – there’s a steeper section very early on that you don’t really realise is part of it, before the horseshoe curve has really started, then a long gradual slog to the steeper bend by the white cottage and then after the bend it’s easy.  No, really, it is.  Kevin and I were joined by another girl for company, as our pace suited her, and we chatted our way up most of it, though I think we’d dropped her by the time we flew over the top.  The views were just amazing, and it’s always nice to see how far you’ve climbed, it adds to the sense of achievement :).

Having gotten that particular climb out of the way I was starting to feel a little better.  The next food stop, 27 miles in, came after a very lovely and well earnt descent.  In fact lots of the descents were lovely – all bar one, but we’ll get to that later.  This particular food stop, complete with music and very perky cheerful staff, also doing the tannoy thing, was used twice as the route looped from it petal stylee.  In fact you could have used it twice, as we darn nearly came back to it a third time…  This time I did get water, and bananas, and so on, which was good because I was definitely thirstier than usual.  The lad behind the table handing out water kept calling me “Miss”, which was…unusual.  It was also time for the next dose of painkillers and I finally started to get that under control, which made a massive difference to the rest of the ride.  Every four hours on the dot…and it finally did the trick.

The first loop from here was lumpy.  There was a very long stepped climb in there somewhere which actually suited me quite well.  Slog a bit, rest a bit, slog some more…you get the idea.  It actually climbed as far as the Horseshoe Pass had, whilst being less obvious about it.  At this point it was sunny without being too hot, and the scenery was frequently stunning, especially the higher you got.  There was a food stop at 34 miles, same venue as one of last year’s but approached from the other way, but we didn’t stop, it being only 7 miles after the last one!  Having so many well stocked food stations meant that none of them were too busy and that you were never too far from the next one.  On top of that one of the motorcyclists on the course was checking on everyone and had water and gels if you needed either, which I thought was a nice touch.

Back at the second food stop, or the fourth as I think it was by now, and those who’d already done it were delighting in telling us all what the next loop held in store for us.  I’m not sure that was helpful!…  I usually get second wind around 3 hours in, but today it was only first wind!  Talk about taking a long time to warm up…  I even still had my leg warmers on as although it was getting warmer, descents and Welsh valleys were cold, and they didn’t actually come off until around half way through the ride.  I do like that halfway point though – it’s so good for your head, and as I mentioned, my head had been needing a little help.

There were two big climbs I think, and I certainly remember going up a lot.  The last of the two is World’s End.  Lots of long slow slogging, and some quite steep parts as I recall, but at least by now I was feeling like I could do it and, probably oddly, that it wasn’t overall quite as hard as I’d thought it was going to be.  There was a brutal wind on the moors at the top there though, as if fighting gradient wasn’t enough 😉

The descent from World’s End however was the exception to the lovely descent rule as mentioned earlier.  It was narrow, wiggly, with a lousy road surface and no option but to do the whole thing on the brakes.  No fair!  I’d earnt some fun!  To cap it off, there’s a ford at the bottom.  You can ride through it…allegedly…but we were being advised not to as apparently they’d already had a lot of accidents there.  Considering that I nearly fell over walking through the darn thing I think that was probably a good call, even if you don’t like being photographed doing it! 😉

Now I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was all downhill from here, because it wasn’t…but we did know that the really big climbs of the day were behind us.  The route took a familiar turn as we started to retrace our steps back towards the start.  The scenery; castles on top of hills, rocky cliffs, wide valleys, was all just as stunning second time around.

The first foodstop became the final one, leaving us with 17 miles to go to the end.  There’s a challenge for you, right?  How fast could it be done?  Although there was the odd lump in there, we were off and flying for home.  A long sprint finish you might say.  And, with the roads firmly closed, and all junctions open to us, it was an absolute blast.  Just wish I could have done the whole thing that fast!  In my dreams…*grin*.

One last flying downhill and we were over the mats, under the red arch, and back to applause and the tireless Tannoy man still doing his cheery best to keep everyone going :).  I bet he’s tireder today than we all are!

Cycling time: 6:16:27 hrs
Official time: 6:57:17
Distance: 90.33  miles
Avs: 14.4 mph.
ODO: 337.46 miles

I didn’t enjoy last year’s event as I said, but I did think it had the potential to be a great event, given the scenery and the route.  Scenery as good, if not better, than the Dragon but without the depressing urban bits.  This year the Etape Cymru was everything it should have been last year.  The new management did a great job.  It was extremely well organised, with around 250 people involved on the day.  Considering that there were around 1000 people who actually rode it, that’s a pretty impressive staff-rider ratio, no?  Just in case you were wondering where your money was going…  The signage was great, not that it needed to be with marshals on every junction.  There were CAUTION signs, and mileage markers.  There was more than enough food stops with more than enough food, ranging from the usual to boiled potatoes and welsh rarebit.  But most importantly of all?  The roads were as CLOSED as they were supposed to be – which is really what you’re paying for.  It made for some far more enjoyable riding that you usually get in this country.  I kept realising I was instinctively listening for cars…and not hearing anything!  Bliss 🙂

According to Bella, it was a little under the 92 miles, and was more like 2300 metres of climbing than 3000.  I do think it was easier than last year, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all, and I’m sure the better weather helped with how I feel about it.  However I’d definitely recommend it now.  It’s a proper challenge without being stupidly difficult, the scenery is awesome, the route is great, and it’s all well organised.  What more do you want?  I was in such a good mood about it that I even treated myself to an official jersey afterwards.  Well – it’s blue – it’ll look great on the new bike, and I’ll no doubt show you proof sometime soon 🙂

The official Cyclosport review by both Sean and I can now be found here :).

I do not sleep well before sportives.  Even when sleep is white wine assisted.  After that one event when the alarm failed me, I think I’m so paranoid that I’m not going to wake up that my subconscious sees fit to wake me every hour or so just to make sure that I haven’t over-slept!  In between times there will have been various surreal cycling related dreams.  I think it’s safe to say my night was not restful, and I was up shortly before my 5:45 alarm.  Outside the rain was still falling…but, by the time I’d faffed enough to head over for breakfast, it had pretty much stopped.  Well, it wasn’t really breakfast, more just coffee really, since these days I travel with my own free-from muesli and lactofree milk.  Service was a little relaxed this morning, and I nearly gave up on coffee all together, but a morning isn’t a morning without a decent cup of black coffee, and it was very nice when it did come.

Now, all sorted, layered up, and checked up, I could have left my car at the hotel and cycled to the start as many others were doing.  However the route on the way to the hotel had seemed a bit convoluted, and a little lumpy, and besides, I can’t review an event if I’m not getting the entire rider experience right?  Into the car I went, and back to HQ, early enough to be parked up in exactly the same field as I was in yesterday.

It wouldn’t be empty for long, and once full, riders would be marshalled into all sorts of bitty car parks in the vicinity of HQ, as we were last year.  I prefer my field – though the long recently mowed grass was interesting to negotiate by bike, or when walking in cleats.

Since all the formalities had been done yesterday all we – being I, Gary, and GB – had to do was turn up, use the still posh facilities, and join the queue for the start.  At that point it was still a fairly short queue.  Riders were coralled into three pens, which were let go, and re-filled, in the relevant order.

Ron gave a rider briefing, full of details about the last minute fallen tree induced route deviation, where/when to take care, and what to do with litter and for calls of nature.  First time I’ve ever heard a rider briefing get a round of applause at the finish!

It was a bit tricky getting going over the grass, past the timing things, and over the rug at the gate to leave HQ.  We were at the front of our pen which made things a little easier though.  We set off around 7:20ish, and were on our way.  It was wet, and windy, and to be fair not all that pleasant.  But not all that cold – until you got wet and the wind blew…moan moan.  The climbing started after about 20 minutes which is a shame because these days it takes me way longer than that to warm up!

Dartmoor is stunning.  Even in this kind of weather.  With rocks and everything.  Oh, and cows, horses, ponies, and remarkably small-brained sheep.  Makes life more interesting right?   To be fair, random roaming wildlife was less of an issue this year, probably due to the weather.  Normal critters take shelter on days like this, they don’t go cycling on ’em.  Or, for that matter, spectating!  I’m always amazed at the number of people who do turn out – their support is much appreciated, so I’m glad that, like us not being fair-weather cyclists, they’re not fair-weather spectators :).

I got my kit totally right today.  I started off wearing all my layers, and by the day all the excess baggage (arm warmers, legwarmers, gilet) was in the saddle bag.  Perfect.  These came in really handy, as well as being very natty 🙂  Just call me a mobile advert!

I’d like to tell you all about the hills with specifics and details and everything but, with this much climbing going on, they all kind of blur into one.  Let’s just say there were a lot of them?  Some steeper than others, and often very long and drawn out…

The first (and last) food stop was at Princetown, which however you approach it involved a bl**dy great climb to get there.  First time around this was enhanced by being a slog into the headwind.  Nice.  Even if stopping wasn’t on your schedule, you have to go at least go through it as it included a timing check.  Riders were being instructed to rack their bikes then sort themselves out if they were stopping, but there wasn’t any space!  Luckily GB was there – having left me behind some time ago, and he grabbed me a banana so that I didn’t have to find somewhere to park the bike.  Gary was here too – I’m not sure in which sequence we arrived – but we didn’t hang around long as GB was getting cold and distinctly tetchy about it – even with his posh Rapha waterproof on 😉

The 100km/100mile route split came just after the stop and, tempting though it clearly was to many considering the conditions, we did not take the 100km left.  Not us!  Right for 100 miles, right?!  After the big climb to Princetown, what goes up gets to go down, and there were some lovely downs, and also some rather technical and a bit hairy when it’s wet descents, which were not so nice.  All the important junctions were marshalled so there was minimum stopping all day.  Signs – black/yellow – seemed to be ok, but there were so many riders on the route that you were never going to be lost!  The .gpx file worked too, apart from, obviously, the detour.  There were also lots of warning signs both for us, and motorists using the road we were on, which I always think is a good idea.  Especially when the route involved 2800 cyclists on a lot of narrow country lanes…  There were some traffic issues from time to time – of both car and cyclist varieties – and I think if the event gets much bigger this might become a real issue, as even I got slowed down a few times.  Bigger roads?  Staggered start times?  Hm…

At some point the hills started coming equipped with yellow signs to tell you how bad it was going to be at worst, on average, and for how long.  I have to admit to having tried to ignore them, what with ignorance being bliss, but once I’d seen ’em, that was it.  At least I knew what I was in for, right?  And they’re not Alpes.  Or Dolomites ;).

It was starting to dry up now, as you can see, which made the climbs less slippery and the descents less scarey.

Sadly Gary was suffering, and shortly after this heroic shot, he made his way via short cut back to Princetown and followed the 100km route home.  Shame, cos he makes hills like that look easy!  Next time, right?

It wasn’t all sweeping views and moors, there was a fair share of tree lined roads and forest bits, as well as the more usual mundane run of the mill country lanes.  Last year I found the first half proper hard work, and had to have a word with myself half way ’round.  This time I stopped at the same place, to mark the moment, remove my arm warmers, and also to note that this time around, however slow, wet, cold, whatever, it was, I just wasn’t suffering in quite the same way.  Worthy of a pause for thought no?

Plus, around then, was the mental hurdle that is the halfway point.  Not quite so exciting when you’re aware it’s going to be a very long day with climbing like that, and that half is still a long time…but still, it’s something.  There was a water stop around 58 miles in, with toilets in the village hall behind, and another timing check to ride past.  GB and I took a little time to fill up, eat, and remove layers – leg warmers gone this time.

Time for more, drier, climbing, and more sweeping views.

Apparently the Yogi team had around 140 members entered, which I’m guessing explains this:

The longest climb of the day is the one that takes you back to Princetown again, with 65 odd miles in your legs already, which goes on, and on, and on, up and over the moor, with sightseeing traffic zooming by.  One particular motorhome came past me so close I flinched…and then went past GB ahead of me with barely an inch between his very solid fast moving wing mirror and the infinitely more fragile human GB.  *gulp*.  GB discovered his very own involuntary anglo-saxon reflex…so I hope the motorhome “driver” had his window open!

Princetown food stop second time round was sunny and a little less busy.  Spinach and feta tart anyone?  Or was it ricotta? I forget.  However having a savoury option made a change even if all I could eat was more banana 🙂  I also met Rob, who has been known to comment here from time to time, but you’d never have put us both at the same place at the same place like that if you’d tried!  More of him later…  And my gilet was the final entrant into the ever expanding saddle bag 🙂

GB thought it was time we starting riding and stopped talking, so I had to curtail our chat and be on my way.  Don’t know why since almost instantly, the white ACG blob that was GB disappeared slowly but inexorably into the distance, never to be seen again.  Déja vu!  Ah well, at least that left me free to do the remaining climbing my way, and descend without feeling him breathing on my neck and cussing my inability to descend around sharp corners…

The final climb is a doozy, out of Moretonhampstead, and it just goes on and on and on and up and on and on and up!  I tagged on to these two near the top just because it relieved the monotony a bit…

What made it marginally more doable was the knowledge that the last 15 miles or so are downhill and then essentially, by comparison, flat.  And man were they ever fun! Having eaten and drunk even when I didn’t want to, my legs were up to a sprint for home, and the faster I went, the sooner the pain would be over and done with anyway right?  Flying along the valley, through tree shaded descents…where sadly one poor rider had clearly come a cropper and was being dealt with by the ambulance.  I hope he/she’s ok 🙁  That kind of thing always gives you a bit of a mental check…and makes you ride a little more carefully.  Well, it does me, it doesn’t seem to work on some eejots, hurtling past me as traffic came the other way.  After over taking a couple of Yogi guys, a little while later they went past me again, and I grabbed a wheel.  Well, actually, if there were 140 of them, I guess I’m just presuming they were the same two!  I ended up in a little peloton with them, which grew as we went.  After a while I felt bad for wheel sucking, so took a turn on the front for a bit which I thoroughly enjoyed, though I had to wait a while for them to catch up after I made my move – I really must get better at that.  I met one of the guys at the end after – having noted his name from his number, and thanked him for towing me, but he said I didn’t need to as I’d done my share, they’d had a hard enough time keeping up with me when I did, and that I’d made grown men cry *grin*.  Tee hee… 🙂

I was really pleased to get in, properly chuffed with my time, and very happy with how it all went.  Once over the finish line it was off to the timing tent to get my time – after getting to jump the queue because GB was already in it – cheeky but handy.  Turns out I got me a Bronze, same as last year, but it’s a 35 minutes faster bronze than last year – ‘rah!  It’s nice to know I’ve improved a bit.  It would be seriously depressing if, what with this being my 14th sportive of the season, I wasn’t on reasonable form.  From there it was on to the next queue to get my bronze medal, stone trophy, and goodie bag complete with Specialized brochure, inner tube, and saddle bag – quality stuff.  Breaking the process down into two parts split the waiting up, and you could choose to join the queues whenever you wanted to.  Even once in them they moved at a reasonable speed and no-one seemed to be complaining about it.  Us British are good at queueing right?  Apparently there were quite a lot of other nationalities represented too though – and I spent a while following a useful windbreak of a Russian cyclist *grin*.

Cycling time: 7:07:23 hrs (7:49 last year)
Distance: 102.42 miles
Avs: 14.4 mph.
ODO: 14598 miles

Official time: 7:39:13 – BRONZE (8:14 last year)

Well organised, with a great route, stunning scenery, and lots of properly challenging hills…hard to beat.  Which is what I said last year, and why I did it again this year 🙂  The Gs headed for home pretty sharpish, as Gary had been in for a while, leaving me to kick my heels around the event village in the sun for a bit on my lonesome.  Shame, it would have been nice to hang out with friends, but since I was the only one buzzing, I can’t blame them for buzzing off *grin*.  I chatted to Ron the organiser for a bit, and thanked him for his hospitality, grabbed some more Dartmoor water, and contemplated what to do next.  I’m crap at the whole interviewing bit, but luckily Rob saw me loitering, and agreed to be my next interview volunteer/victim – I shall await his email.  Thanks Rob! 🙂

Fourth time lucky and he has his Silver – very impressive 🙂  There were lots of families, including his, enjoying the village in the sunshine, with the actually rather good live music, the kids activities, etc – which gave the whole event an atmosphere you don’t get at most sportives, and which is one of the things that makes this one stand out from the rest.

I think this picture pretty much sums it up 🙂

UPDATE: provisional results say that of 739 finishers on the 104 mile route, I was 381st, which will do me 🙂  I was 5th woman in my category, but there were s*d all of us – so 5th out of 8 ain’t all that impressive *grin*.  And I was only just behind GB on 7:37:35, so I feel a little consoled by that ;).  My official Cyclosport review can be found here.

I was up with the alarm, and greeted by the unexpected sight of blue skies and sunshine out of the window.  A little bit windy out there, but still so much better than forecasted earlier this week.  I’ve got this leaving for a sportive thing down pat now, and was off on schedule, flying down the motorway.

Hard to make out I know, what with that unexpected sun and all, but this is a large section of aeroplane fuselage making its escorted way down the M4.  Just before they closed the M4 between junctions 18 and 17 and made all the traffic detour in slow convoy fashion down the A420.  *grrrr*.  This was not helping with my joie de vivre, but being me, I had left enough leeway in the schedule that a minor delay, which was all it really was, wasn’t a big problem.

The start venue was at Nationwide HQ, south of Swindon, and therefore blessed with copious quantities of free parking which didn’t really need marshalling as there was so much of it.

In fact the only real use the marshalls were was to tell me where registration was as this wasn’t at all clear, and which involved getting back onto the road and riding back down to the roundabout and taking the opposite exit to get to it.  Luckily I’d figured that distance might be involved, having learnt from previous events and not wanting to to and fro, so I’d opted for getting myself all sorted and ready before heading over there.  A one way trip to the start for me.

Pre-event emails and information had been copious, so all I had to turn was turn up at registration, rider number mentally noted, get my number, cable ties, and tag, and sign in.  Last week I was 3401.  This week I was one digit out.  Literally.  Knock a digit off – and call me 340 :).  This week’s electronic timing is brought to you by the attached to your wheel hub returnable tag variety.  Not my favourite and I cheated and attached it to the front wheel not the rear – no way I was messing with anything to do with the set up back there, we’ve only just gotten it working!

There clearly weren’t that many doing the event – around 450 were signed up I think – and there were no queues for anything.  Including the all important toilets.

Today kinda counted as a cycling tweetup, as I met up with both @awbennett and @stevemoranuk.  In fact Steve, who I “met” while planning last year’s Etape, and who is doing them both this year, plus the Haute Route, slummed it and most surprisingly rode the entire event with me!  I met him at the start, and after a short and not all that audible briefing, we were on our way a little after 8:00am.  The first, and one of the steepest, hills comes very early on, before the route settles down a bit and heads along the Avon Valley.  Thanks to the relative flatness of this section, there was quite a bit of impromptu group riding which was nice.  Especially as we were heading into a nasty westerly wind – there’s shelter in numbers!  Other than the wind the weather was clement.  Dry, mostly sunny, with temperatures increasing as the day went on.  How nice is that?

OK, so it’s a little unfocused, but I’m smiling, and if it was an instagram photo you’d just presume it was meant to be that way… 😉    I’m quite familiar with this part of the world, or some of it at least, as this is where t’other half’s family comes from, and I’ve also done the White Horse Challenge which uses some of the roads.  So when we entered the village of Cherhill I knew where we were, and that some climbs were on the way.  We turned left onto the A4, and formed a line to do the long gradual climb along past the hill that presumably gives Cherhill village its name.  Or vice versa.

It was time to remove the gilet so I stopped and let the peloton go on their way, which also allowed Steve to catch up to me after his own brief stop.  Sadly my gilet is a little pink thanks to my daughter and a washing machine incident, so it was probably best tucked away as soon as possible.  Here’s hoping some Colour Run Remover does the trick tomorrow…

Anyway…  After the climb, and a rather nice descent on the other side, we turned left and headed towards Avebury, though we were through it before you knew it, so there wasn’t a lot of appreciation going on.  Well, this is a sportive, not a sight seeing tour, right? 😉

I knew Hackpen Hill was coming, but it was further away than I remembered.  However it was 2008 when I did it last, so it’s hardly surprising that my memory is a little gruyere like.

You can see the white horse ahead of you, the road climbing and wiggling up the hill, with small brightly clad cyclists cresting the top by the trees.  Which would shortly be us.  T’was a bit of a slog, and there were a few who had resorted to shanks pony, white presumably, but the wheels went round, and before long we were at the first food stop.  Lovely views, but no toilets, tut tut.

I passed on the food, I think I sort of forgot that I should be eating, since nothing at food stops is safe for me to eat!  However being properly warmed up by now, I did stop and stuff my arms in the saddle bag.  The descent over the downs, past the racecourse, along to nearly Marlborough was, partially due to my familiarity with the road, a whole heap of not very technical fun.  Nicely cooling too :).   The next chunk of the ride involved lots of ups and downs – never quite enough of one or the other in some respects.  The next notable climb is Round Hill I believe, which was considerably steeper than most, and I was glad of my triple.  Steve has the most ridiculous (not that I’m jealous, much..) low gearing on his UDi2 equipped steed – something to do with a long cage – and he spins his way up hills like it’s easy!  Sorry – that’s as technical as I can get about it, and you’re lucky you got that :P.

As ever, there was a photographer on the hill to capture the moment…so I captured him instead!

Doesn’t black and pink make a nice change?  I’m not sure the yellow booties go though, or the red rucksack for that matter…but each to their own.  There’s no law that says everything has to match, contrary to popular opinion ;).  On to the second foodstop, small, well catered for if sweet is your thing, but again with no toilets.  It was also next to a water pumping station, with the constant sound of running water, just in case you didn’t already need the loo when you arrived…!

I was oddly impressed by the rider who pulled in, parked up, and had a fag break before getting going again.  Riding like this is hard enough for ex-smokers, let alone current ones!

This time around I remembered to eat – and it turns out that these flapjacks are the best yet.  Moist and not crumbly.  My SiS bars are doing the job on the road in the first half of my rides, and my flapjacks are for stops and the later part, depending on the crumble factor!  Too much crumble and there’s no eating them on the move…  Mind you, I do wish someone would come up with a decent savoury fuel – after 4 or 5 hours of eating that kind of thing it’s very hard to eat anymore, just because it’s all too sweet.  Hm…may have to see what I can come up with for my next flapjack attempt! 😉

Essentially, thanks to SiS, Nuun, and to my multitude of flapjack attempts, I’ve managed to ride mostly digestively pain free recently.  Shame about the knee…which was not having the greatest day today…but at least the paracetamol I took is only having to cut off the pain from one source not many!

Time to ride over the timing mat, complete with satisfying beep, and be on our way again.  A brief field stop was necessary a little further down the road…  Before long we were over halfway through the ride – always good mentally.  As you can see my Garmin was working this week, though I did try not to obsess too much about what it was saying.

More up and down, more sunshine…and one final stop to remove layers.  My capacious saddle bag had enough room left in it for my legwarmers, and there I was in Cyclosport jersey and shorts, all summery and everything :).  There are worse places for a quick break, no?

Having had the wind behind us for a while, we had to head north for a bit and then turn back into it, and I’m fairly sure it was way more of a hindrance than it ever was a help!  We took turns to play windbreak, and sheltered as best we could.  Luckily the route was quite wiggly so it wasn’t too relentlessly into it all the time.  The final foodstop was about 16.5 miles from the end according to Mr Helpful there – making the route total about to be 101 miles, not 105.  Amazing how much that helps mentally.  I managed to persuade him to tell me it was all downhill from there on in too… 😉

After another half a banana, and some more flapjack, we were off again.  No timing mat beep this time, though we did ride over it, honest!  Time for the last hour or so to the end.  At least it stood every chance of being an hour, but this was obviously going to depend on the wind, which was doing nothing for our rapidly dropping average speed, and how much climbing was left to us.  And there was more of both.  There was the long slow drag variety which, to be fair, wasn’t hurting too much…

The sign for Hinton Parva forgot to mention that it was pointing us towards another big hill – Blowing Stone Hill, which was another variety entirely.  Quite a kicker in fact when your legs are already practically at the finish, and not inclined to be inclined!  Talking of signage, as you can see it was pretty clear.  Orange/black for the route, yellow/black for warnings and splits, with plenty of both.  Then there were my favourite signs – orange repeater ribbons – to reassure you that you are indeed going in the right direction.  Even if the gpx file supplied hadn’t been accurate – which it was – I’d be surprised if many riders got lost today.  I didn’t see many with punctures or mechanicals either, which was good.  And I wasn’t one of the afflicted either – something I appreciate more these days than I used to!

This particular sign was a very good idea as we were about to cross a main road, at which we duly waited, and waited, and waited…  The rider who came from behind us, barely looked, and just rode straight across is a very lucky individual indeed…  Down to 8 lives at least.  And if he rides like that on a regular basis, which seems likely, I’m guessing we may be talking considerably less than that!

After that there were a couple more kickers, short but nasty, to come, but my legs were on their way home and weren’t having any of it.  Time to get back to the Finish, after a quick sprint down the main road for fun.  Must stop doing that, it’s neither big nor clever ;).

I was pleased to get to the end, especially 5 miles earlier than I’d been expecting!  It’s been a while since I’ve done a hundred miler, so I was pleased with how it went, though to be fair, it was considerably less hilly (c.1500m) than advertised (c.2000m).  It was not however the best way to get used to a new saddle – we are NOT friends yet!  Oh, and something is still creaking….

Having handed in our tags we were given our voucher for a Tea and a Tee.  See what they did there?  That would be a coffee, a free double choc muffin to take home to the mob and a souvenir t-shirt for me :).  I definitely had a bit of post-event buzz going on, as I sat in the sunshine chatting to other riders, including a couple who actually came over to chat to me because they knew who I was, and wanted to put a face to the name, which was kinda amazing!  Nice to meet you both :).

Cycling time: 6:09:37 hrs
Distance: 100.38 miles
Avs: 16.3 mph.
ODO: 14449 miles

I had a chat with Martin the organiser, who came over for a chat, and also recognised me because we met at the Joker.  I hadn’t really taken note that the same group were organising both events – ‘doh!  I thought he looked oddly familiar back then, and had put 2 and 2 together since, but I needed to know if that made 4…which it did.  I used to work with his brother, many years ago, and there’s a serious family resemblance.  It’s a very small world :).  Sounds like they’d had a good event too, although the weather forecast this week had blighted the turnout somewhat which is a shame as those riders missed out on a good day in the saddle.  Incidentally, I think this would be a great sportive for anyone looking to do their first 100.  Some challenging ups (but not too much so), some lovely downs, with beautiful countryside and great organisation – the perfect way to get you hooked on the sportive drug 😉

Personally I had a great Great Western Sportive.  Good weather makes everything so much nicer doesn’t it?  I wasn’t exactly flying, but it did go pretty well, and my legs did what they were told with minimum complaint.  Or at least less complaint than sometimes.  I met some great people, topped up the vitamin D levels, and enjoyed some lovely scenery.  To put icing on the sportive cake, my official time, which I checked on the way back to the car, was 6:27 and a Silver – woo hoo! *grin*.

UPDATE: official Cyclosport review is up here.  Results are now up here as well.

Having spent 2 1/4 hours by the side of the road today, waiting for rider recovery, with nothing better to do than twitter and facebook, most of you will already be aware that today did NOT go according to plan.  Many thanks to those of you who interacted with me and made the time pass a little faster…

I’ve been looking forward to the Magnificat since I asked to be signed up for it, and even more so having done the Preview Ride.  It was one of the bigger events on my calendar – and figured as part of my training to help me build up to the Maratona.  I was nervous too, as 127 miles is a long way, and I didn’t know how hilly hilly was, and so a challenge awaited me.  The nearer the event got however, the worse the weather forecast got.  I’d already heard horror stories about the wet weather and related punctures at last year’s event, and various cyclists were bailing left right and centre before even getting to the start line – including many of the Sky Velo ride leaders who were due to be there – clearly fair weather riders the lot of ’em ;).

Still, a little drop of rain wasn’t going to put me off.  Skin is waterproof after all.  And I had a job to do.  Generally speaking I don’t bail on things.  So it was just a question of kit, and preparation and faffing.  And Rule #5.  I was up before my 5:00am alarm, as ever, having dreamt about riding half the event already.  Weird, but not unusual.   There having been a deluge last night everything was wet, even my very shiny car – shiny because MiniMe decided to wash it yesterday. Apparently that was a freebie, I only have to pay him to wash my bike! *grin*.

The inevitable trip down the by now very familiar M4 was wet, but only in a drizzle light rain kind of sense, which was positive.  Ish.  However the closer I got the more the drizzle became rain…and it was definitely raining as I parked the car in the coach car park next to Newbury Racecourse.

Time to go and sign in, and I really wish someone had told me it was a good 5 minutes walk from the car park to registration at the racecourse itself…  There were lists on which to find your rider number, if you hadn’t checked it out online beforehand, and then armed with that, you signed by your name at the desk for the distance you were doing, before being given your rider pack.  All very simple, but with not a lot of room, so I bet there were queues from time to time.

My number was 1432.  Last week was 321.   They feel related somehow…  The timer tag was a part of the rider number, to be attached with decent length cable ties, which was all in all very satisfactory.  It came with various blurb bits, and a route map/instructions just in case.  I had downloaded the latest gpx file for the same reason.

Time to walk all the way back to the car, sort the bike, faff, decide on kit, and then ride back to HQ.  For future reference – get yourself and your bike sorted, then ride to the start.  One trip – done. Especially if it’s raining!  I was damp before I even got to the start.  At least it being a proper venue there were nice toilets etc.

Time to get going – and riders were let away in batches every two minutes by the event organiser Ken Robson.  He’s the man in yellow on the left with a white hat on – getting just as wet as the rest of us!  It may have been wet, but it was pretty mild and there wasn’t much wind, if you’d like your glass half full.  I chatted to Andy, who I met at the preview ride, and who was at the start helping out, until it was our turn to line up.  Always nice to see a familiar face :).

Our batch was away at 8:05am, off into the rain.  There’s a hill pretty much straight away, and the first big hill combo comes around 10 miles in.  I had been worrying about that too, but it turns out that the hills around here are my kind of hills – long slow climbs, with only the odd section of steep enough to be annoying gradient.  No photos for this section though – as taking photos in the rain is no fun, and not good for my already semi-knackered camera.  Sportivephoto.com were out in force though so should I wish for a souvenir of damp suffering I’m sure I’ll be able to lay my hands on one.  I’d like to have admired the views on the way up, but they were hidden in the clouds so I can only presume they were there.

For this first hour the back roads were fairly horrible.  Dodgy road surfaces, covered with debris washed down by the overnight rain.  People started getting punctures from the get go.  That which is washed over the roads here is clearly pointy.  Flinty I gather.  The sheer number of punctures would appear to have been astronomical – and I saw at least one rider every mile or two changing an inner tube…  More of which later.

After an hour or so there were hints of lifting from the grey blanket.  Things became noticeably less dismal.  I even saw rays of sunshine hitting a now visible hill in the distance.

After an hour and half or so it was properly clearing and the roads were drying.  This came as a massive relief to me since I don’t (really) mind getting wet, or cold, but I do mind not being able to enjoy those bits of riding that I can kind of do – specifically downhills.  You can’t enjoy a downhill properly if you’re worrying about the potholes/debris/gravel at every turn and corner.  Dry roads are way better!

The surrounding countryside, when not looking green and lush, was looking very Jubilee.  Cutesy villages, bedecked with red, white, and blue bunting, union jacks, fancy dress scarecrows.  Very festive.  At one point I actually had a discussion with another (non UK native) rider about how he reckons the UK can’t be beaten for pomp, circumstance, and pageantry.  We even discussed whether or not the reformation had added to the UK’s cultural heritage.  Man – get us!  ;).

After many tree lined avenues, and foresty sheltered bits, the scenery started to open up a bit, and after the first few climbs life turned into more of a roller coaster.  You were either going up, or going down…and never going down fast enough or far enough to get you up the next up though!

As well as scenery there was wildlife.  A great many pea brained pheasants of both genders.  The odd rabbit.  A very cute stoat/weasel that ran across the road ahead of me and then stood up, meercat fashion, and watched me approach until it lost its nerve and vanished into the hedge.  An amazing lack of squashed badger though, come to think of it.  Which is nice.  Or at least less aromatic.  And hats off to the bravery of the one small green caterpillar that hitched a lift on my sleeve for a while.

There were regular liquid refreshment stops en route, as well as the two foodstops.  This was just after the first liquid stop…
Kinda sums it up really.  Cute country cottages, lots of thatch, patriotic flags, and a rider in a waterproof…;).

It must be time for a sign, right?  Plus I get to show you what the event signs look like – bonus!  The signage was really good actually – just a couple that weren’t quite as clear as they could have been, but they were large, clear, and plentiful enough for you not to feel lost.

Clearly we were going left, but I love the way you don’t have to specify which of the Wallops you’re heading for – they’re all thataway!    Ride conditions were definitely much more pleasant by now, and some of the views were quite expansive.

The first food stop was at 40 miles in, and all riders were made to cycle over a timing mat for control purposes.

Being at a village hall there were toilets inside, which is always good, and outside the catering was plentiful.  There wasn’t a lot of space to park your bike though, and lying them on the floor isn’t ideal.  I was seriously tempted by one of their very lovely looking fruity flapjacks, but being in careful mode, I’d actually made my own and had them with me – here they are all cling filmed up and ready to go the night before.  I did avail myself of the usual half a banana though.

Here’s a couple of riders doing the timing mat thing, and possibly not expecting to be photographed doing it…

Shortly after this foodstop the 81 and 127 mile routes split, in very well marked fashion, and there I was turning right and all set for doing the full 127 mile Magnificat as planned.  Feel free to admire the nice house/hotel that was on the right there as we went too.  They build their properties small and bijou around there ;).

This was followed by plenty more climbing through green tree lined tunnels, and a whole heap more roller coaster…  Some riders may complain that this doesn’t allow you to build up a rhythm, but since they were my kind of hills, followed by nice descents on dry roads, I was fairly happy with it.

A little while later we popped out of wherever it was we were, and turned left onto a main road near some watercress beds.  Now I may not always be able to remember what I had for breakfast, but something about them rang a bell in the recesses of my memory…  I was sure that round the corner would be…but no, we turned left again, and it looked like I was never to find out if I was right or not.

As it turned out, the left turn was just to detour us off the main road, to the next stop, which was another liquid one, though it seemed to have food too – which was no doubt a good thing for some.  As with all the stops the volunteer helpers were very friendly and indeed helpful, though clearly a tad bemused as to why on earth anyone would do this to themselves…

Photo op taken, and it was off to loop back round again, where we rejoined the main road, to cross it, a little further up.   I looked right,and I was right!  “Mother is always right…”  Here’s one for Mum and Dad :).  They’ll get it, even if you lot don’t.

I knew I knew where I was!  Albeit only briefly ;).  Once over the main road we started climbing again.  The weather was intermittently trying to rain on us, and the trees were quite useful from a shelter point of view.  Apparently this was the 3 mile climb of Old Winchester Hill.  As with many of the climbs, it felt like a climb, not a hill, if that makes any sense.  The views from the way up show how variable the weather conditions were though.

By now I was part of a loose group of 4 riders – which meant company from time to time, wheels to suck or to aim for.  After a period of variously leapfrogging each other, we had gradually coalesced into a small peloton, as often happens.  Here’s one of them having taken a slight lead for a while.

It was nice to have people to chat to a bit.  Finally we were over halfway through, with (allegedly) the worst hills behind us.

Even though I probably had another four hours or so to do,  I was feeling like it was doable.  Especially in company and not in terrible weather.  OK, so I had a long way to go, but I was in a positive frame of mind and feeling pretty good all things considered.  However on leaving one of the next, arrived at rather suddenly, junctions I was in the wrong gear and getting going again made a nasty scrunch…  Then as we turned left up the next hill – Ridge Down Hill or some such – I changed down and…  Well it could just have been my chain coming off but it sounded way worse than that…for good reason.

One snapped chain.  B*gger.  For last year’s Etape I carried a spare link and tool with me.  I don’t these days because, let’s be honest, I don’t actually have a clue how to use them!   My temporary friends did their best to help, one of them had a 9 speed link, but mine is a 10 speed (apparently they’re different – who knew?).  One had a tool but no link…  It just wasn’t happening.  They went on their way, and I walked my sad sorry self up the hill to a safer place by a gate to a field, and called the emergency help line, at around 12:55pm.

In case you were wondering – it’s not supposed to look like that!  The emergency helpline was not responding so presumably busy, but I left a message as instructed, and they called back shortly.  The initial plan was to get the Banjo Cycles mechanical assistance, currently 30 miles away from me, to me.  Great – fix the chain, get going again, it could still be done.  45 minutes later, when they might realistically have been expected to be with me, I got another call.  Apparently they’d been flagged down by so many puncture afflicted cyclists that they weren’t going to get to me, so the next (and only) option was to get rider recovery to me.  After 45 minutes sat by the side of the road I was already cold and clammy and the intermittent sunshine was almost worse in that it meant I got briefly warmer, and then got colder again when it went away and the wind blew.

I sat there for the next forever, all huddled up, getting colder and colder, shivering frequently, and being extremely grateful for my Blackberry.  I tweeted, Facebooked, chatted via twitter with various other clearly not very busy folk, listened to my toons, and tried to be patient.  Which, as some of you will know, is not my strong point.  However it wasn’t like I had a choice.  It was either that or walk 56 miles back!  I couldn’t have broken down much further away from the start if I’d tried :(.

The flow of riders going past me slowed to a trickle, many of them checking to see if I needed help, which I appreciated, but sadly I was beyond help by that point.  Finally the bringing up the rear motorcycle rider pulled up next to me.  He was leapfrogging the last few, mostly puncture delayed, riders to make sure they got home ok, so he stood and chatted to me for 15 minutes or so.  Lovely chap.  Not only did he insist I ring in to make sure someone was on their way (which they were), but he gave me the spare t-shirt he was carrying with him to help warm me up a bit.  Top man!  He only left me when I was safely ensconced in (as it turns out) Andy’s camper van with my bike on the back.  Wish I’d asked his name so I could say thank you properly :).

So that’s 12:55 – 15:10 sat by the side of the road, watching ladybirds, swotting flies, looking for a four leaf clover (no luck unsurprisingly)…

We picked up another equally long suffering rider shortly afterwards, who turned out to be the Paul I interviewed for my Joker sportive review after my snapped cable drama – he must think I’m jinxed.  Plus – small world, no?  We picked up a third rider as well, just in passing, who decided that sod it, he was fixing his fifth puncture, his tires were shredded so the sixth was inevitably around the corner, and the novelty had well and truly worn off – even he was pretty good at getting the tyres on and off by now!  Can’t say as I blame him.  The now full rider recovery van helped a couple more puncture stricken riders as we passed – my pump came in very useful again! – before taking a more direct route back to HQ.  I was finally in, thanks to Andy, with a commemorative jubilee medal for just having taken part, at about 16:50 – probably about an hour ish later than I would have been if I’d ridden!

Pushing the bike along somewhat disconsolately towards HQ, the chain tangled itself in a knot around my cassette, and the guy from British Cycling who I met at the preview, happened to be walking past.  He gave me a hand to sort it, and a rather fed up me, out , before I lost it completely – and the chain went where it deserves to be – in the trash!

I couldn’t face walking back to the car, sorting the bike, walking back to the showers, getting sorted, and then walking back to the car.  Instead I used the posh toilets again, stuck my head in the bar area to see if I could get ahold of a free coffee or some such but couldn’t seem to be able to.  Being on my own, and lacking a friendly face to talk to, I gave up and made the one way journey back to the still remarkably full car park.

Time to make the best of what I had, pack the bike away, clean myself up a bit, put on some warmer layers, and head down an extremely wet and horrible M4.  I think it’s safe to say my day did not go accordingly to plan.  The Magnificat and I now have unfinished business, so I think I may well be back next year!

My very first DNF 🙁 .  Here’s what I actually did.  My official cyclosport review is up here, and you can see the photos online now too.

Cycling time: 4:34:33 hrs
Distance: 71.22 miles
Avs: 15.6 mph.
ODO: 14188 miles