Halfway through today’s Tour of Cotswolds I honestly forgot I was doing a sportive.  I was just having such a nice time – riding my bike in the sun, in lovely scenery, in good company.  Busy doing nothing, working the whole day through.  A totally zen moment.  It’s not been a great week – a lot of pain, back on the pills, etc etc.  But to still have, and to be able to do, this?  Awesome :).

Right.  Stories are supposed to start at the beginning, and I have jumped in halfway through and ruined my narrative.  Slap my wrist why don’t you? ;).  So…

Sportives start, more often than not, early in the morning.  Even though it was daylight 5:50am, when GB collected me, definitely qualifies as early.  Ride HQ was at Shipston on Stour Rugby Club, only a couple of nice easy hours drive way up blissfully quiet motorways.  When we arrived the official car park was already full and the marshal was advising everyone to find a spot on the local housing estate roads as best you could.  Not ideal, but actually we did so easily, no distance away, though the same may not have been true for those who came after us.  Since at that point we weren’t entirely sure how far away we were, we did our faffing at the car, got ourselves ready, and rode the bikes to the start.

The rugby club was easily large enough to cater for a 300 rider sportive, with outside space, inside toilets, and catering facilities.  I signed on inside and went back outside to put the number on the bike, stick the timing label on the LHS of the helmet as instructed, and get even readier.  GB was complaining of gear issues so had the free mechanic service have a look at it before we joined the queue for the start.

We were hanging around for longer than I expected.  Long enough, in fact, for Gary to turn up and join us.  Wearing bright orange again, which is apparently the in thing now.  At least you can see him!  Actually there was someone else wearing the same kit – who knew bright orange was so popular? ;).  We were given our safety briefing in batches and then let go forward to have our numbers taken down before riding past the timing scanners and out into the Cotswolds, at 8:23am.

It was already sunny though being early it was still a bit chilly.  For a while anyway.  GB had told me I wouldn’t need arm warmers.  He had also told me I should make my own decisions.  Which counteracted the first statement.  And left me none the wiser.  So I decided to wear them, and my gilet, all of which I was grateful for, for about ten minutes before the sun got higher and brighter and I started wishing I wasn’t wearing them at all.  Somebody may have said “I told you so…”.  The first climbing started about 6 miles in, so even if I hadn’t been feeling warm, that would have done it!   It also set the scene for the day ahead – being a gradual climb in the sun, through wheat fields with poppies and expanding views.  Very pretty :).

I left it a while but there comes a time when various needs become pressing, the need to be cooler being but one of them, so I took a break, sorted myself out, planning to catch up with GB and Gary as soon as I could.  Catching up with GB actually took me 20 minutes or so, what with hills and headwinds, and he hadn’t seen Gary for dust.  Given a choice between chasing Garu and trying to catch him or waiting and letting me catch up he’d chosen the latter for which I was very grateful.

It was gorgeous out there in the Cotswolds.   Sunny.  Scenic.  Typical yellow stone houses.  Or maybe mansions would be a better word for some of them.  Expensive rural idyll time.  I definitely can’t afford to live around there!

As there were only 300 riders doing the entire event and, as it transpires, only 163 on the long route, there was a much more laid back feel to the event than some.  No pelotons, no groups racing, no rider traffic to negotiate.  In short, it was quite relaxing, although possibly slower than it is when there are more wheels to lead/suck.  We were in a mini-group here though, albeit only briefly.

While I’m here, let me introduce you to David, who introduced himself to me, because he reads my articles!  I’m always beyond chuffed when that happens, it’s very flattering that people read this, and enjoy it.  And it’s nice to have people say hello to me too – so if you ever spot me out there, please say hi like David did :).  He was the second person of the day to tell me off for taking photos when on the move though *grin*.  Which, clearly, didn’t stop me!

After chatting for a while he joined the rest of our little group, which had drawn away from us by now, and headed off into the distance, never to be seen again :).  By now GB and I were having a Sunday ride in the country.  It just felt like that.  OK, so we often say we’re going to do that, and then ignore ourselves completely, but not this time.  It was a bit like a holiday on the bike.  Aided and abetted by the actual tourists visiting Cotswolds sights that we rode through, which made me feel a bit like one of them, especially with my ever present camera capturing the same sights they were.

All that honeyed yellow stone had them swarming around like bees :).  But, mysteriously enough, not on the roads, so I have no idea how they were getting from A to B!  Lovely quiet country roads, with fairly good surfaces, apart from the inevitable weather induced gravel piles and one ford which was a bit slippery – as the injured rider to one side, awaiting rescue, bore testament to.

Having engaged pootle around the Cotswolds mode, we chatted our way around, and it was thoroughly enjoyable.  There are some great place names around and about, not least of all “The Slaughters”.

Apparently there’s money to be made in slaughtering.  Have you seen the size of Upper Slaughter Manor?  And this is but a fraction of it…  Probably not a recommendation for a career path though ;).

We did think about killing it up the next hill, in honour, but it just wasn’t happening *grin*.

Look how colourful and summery it was out there.  A great day for colours like this.  Actually most of the kit out there was colourful – and there was a distinct lack of black white and red all over – novel indeed.

As it would turn out, today was the perfect day for such patriotism, but if I was to explain that here, then I’d be tangling up the narrative thread again, and we can’t have that, now can we? 😉

There were climbs, as the route map will attest, but by this point, nothing that seemed too challenging.  Just ups and downs.  And there were some lovely downs :).  As it happens I’ve done quite a bit of this route – on the various Mad March Hare rides and the Wheel Heroes, though mostly in reverse.  I think it was prettier this way around, you got more of the views somehow.  Although on a day like this everything was prettier :).  Hey, it wasn’t snowing this time!

The food stop was at Temple Guiting village hall which, though a lovely venue – meant a mile or so detour to get there and a mile or so retracing to get back on track.  It also came 45 miles into the 80 mile route which was, for me, a bit later than I’d have liked.  As you know I do like to break things up.  However it was a great venue, very laid back, lots of food, hot and cold drinks, and tables to sit at outside in the sunshine.  Our stop was definitely more leisurely than is sometimes the case.  And why not?  It’s not a race, and we weren’t even racing each other :).

Can’t hang around in the sunshine all day though, right?  Having said that there was something very nice about the fact that, other than in vague terms, no-one knew where I was.  No emails or phone to answer.  Nothing but me, my bike, the countryside and the sun.  No rush to be anyway.  It was just lovely :).

Time to get going again.  Through fields of gold..

…past chateaux glowing in the sun…

…under shaded trees…

…etc…

I think it’s safe to say we may have been lulled into a slightly false sense of security as the “worst” hills were all in the last section of the ride!  No fair!  ;).

Most of the time I didn’t know the name of what I was riding up.  I think there was Campden Lane, Stanway, Dovers Hill…amongst others.  Long slow and frequently quite steep slogs.  Two of them were so close together as to be a tad annoying as no sooner had we descended from one we were going straight up the next!  Gratuitous, according to GB.  I’m not going to pretend they weren’t hard work, and they were enough to reduce some to walking but not me, not quite.  I listened to my breathing, paced myself from one spot on the road to the next, and tried to ignore how far there still was to go…until I got to the top of whichever climb it was.  Which worked.  Up to awesome views, and then down well earned descents…to start all over again.

The last 5 miles or so were pretty flat, but it still wasn’t really sprint finish territory, and it didn’t feel like the time or the place either :).  It was nice just to get back in, over the finish line, to the beeping of chips passing the sensors, in a ride time of around 5:14.

That wasn’t the end of our cycling day though.  Oh no.  Today was a good day to be a cyclist.  After our lovely ride in the sun it was time get changed, to kick back in the bar, drink lager because I wasn’t driving, and watch other British cyclists make us proud.

I could have, should have, been interviewing other riders to see what they thought of the event, and to be fair, I did have a chat with Simon Proctor who was one of the organisers for a bit, but with the last day of the Tour de France up there on the big screen, the rest just wasn’t going to happen!

However exciting the suspense was, it had clearly all been too much for some… *grin*.

Even the rest of the management team found their way into the bar to join the growing throng, unsurprisingly.  I don’t usually do spectating, I’m more of a doer, but the Tour de France is one of my rare exceptions.  Boy has it ever been worth it this year…

It was so close.  Fingernail biting stuff.  A lead away group seemed almost uncatchable…but with mere laps to go the peloton reeled them back in, Wiggo led ’em all out, and Cav sprinted from way further back than usual to take his fourth Champs Elysée stage win.  He seemed quite pleased about it…  As were all of us.  There was cheering and clapping and everything.  Just awesome :D.

Which means the eventual winner of the Tour de France, mr Bradley Wiggins himself, led out the stage winner Mark Cavendish – a far from usual thing.  He looks quite pleased too *grin*.  Just amazing all ’round. Historic.  <insert your impressive adjective of choice>.

Cycling time: 5:14:04 hrs
Distance: 78.68 miles
Avs: 15.0 mph.
ODO: 15037 miles

They’re not the only ones who won today.  We may have had a fairly laid back ride in the sun but get this…  There were 163 riders on the long route.  There were 8 women – the usual 5% or so.  And who was the first woman in?  Yep – that would be me *grin*.  ‘Rah! :D.

However…  When we arrived it turned out that Gary, having left us behind, had had a major pothole accident ten miles from the end, and when we got in was in hospital having various bits stitched up – and the bike is probably a write off :(. Ah well, you can buy a new bike.  At least he’s in (essentially) one piece though.  Who knew he was so desperate for a new bike and kit? 😉  Happy Healing…!

Third time lucky?  So it would appear, as the Great Weston Ride was finally blessed with some pretty decent weather.  Yep, I know I don’t usually do repeats, but the GWR is on my doorstep, it’s quite a laugh, and it’s not too long…so this was the third year in a row for me, and also for GB come to think of it.  Others may come and go – George in 2010, Gary in 2011 & 2012, and the BW this year…but we’re stalwarts :).

Not only are we consistent, we’re also mad, in that we meet in the Square, ride in, do the main event, and ride home again.  Because we’re well ‘ard…or something.  Mostly it’s because it would take nearly as long to load up a car and drive there, park and unload.  Partially it’s because there’s something quite smugly satisfying about rocking up on the bike all nonchalant like, riding 56 miles, and then still having the energy to ride home again.  Showing off, us? 😉  Gary opted out of our early start, having stayed up late to watch people hit each other…  I gather the wrong person won too, so maybe he should have given it a miss *grin*.

So 6:30am, or thereabouts as you can see, saw me arrive in the Square, where the BW was in the process of being deposited by his clearly very tolerant Dad, and where GB rocked up shortly.  It was a tad chilly – and I was glad to be dressed in my most flexible options – leg/arm warmers, gilet, toe covers – all greatly appreciated at that time in the morning.  GB hates the cold, so what he was doing with his legs out is beyond me! 😉  I reckon he was expecting Gary and was playing the one-upmanship game with the hardy northerner…

Apparently, to add to this obvious insanity, it was necessary to travel to our destination not by the most direct means possible, but via hills and superfluous miles – as you can see.   Something to do with GB having been on holiday and some trip to the Pyrenees that he’s doing requiring the ascending of more hills in preparation.  *sigh*.  So how did we start the day?  By going up Shipham Hill of course!  No records broken today, I didn’t even try, I just let the boys head for the summit and plodded my way up after them.  Not that far behind them, to be fair…and I suppose it’s one way to warm up, right?  On to Langford where the mushroom farm was being particularly smelly, before climbing up out of Wrington past the Walled Garden.  GB took pity on us and decided that we didn’t need to add Belmont Hill to the mix, so we got to have fun going down Brockley Combe before taking the more direct, and slower thanks to the cycle path, route to the Long Ashton park and ride just outside Bristol from where the ride starts.

Cycling time: 1:21:25 hrs
Distance: 22.17 miles
Avs: 16.3 mph.

Right.  Registration time.  It’s a good start venue as it’s a park and ride.  You park and you ride! 😉  It also has toilets, and plenty of room for 650 riders to gather and faff and queue…  More women than usual as for a change there was a queue for the ladies.  So I nipped into the disabled loo since I figured the chances are that there would likely be considerably less demand for that!

I made my way to the desk, found my name on the list to tick off and was handed my bike number (580), two short but just long enough cable ties, and a free bar which, miraculously, was one of the ones I can actually eat.  It’s also one of the ones that would leave GB in anaphylactic shock, so I got two – ‘rah!  I saw Darren, one of the organisers, to chat to briefly, before heading back to the bike.  I also finally met @gazwagon (who blogs here) – also only briefly, but about time too!  We didn’t see Gary, but then he was planning to be there a bit after us anyway, so that wasn’t a big surprise.  GB and I joined the informal rider queue, having inexplicably misplaced the BW, and admired bikes, kit, and the fact that the sky was actually hinting at being something other than grey.

Around 8:00am we all moved forward to the start, from where we were let free in batches, after a quick briefing on the signs and so on.  A bit like homing pigeons.  If Weston-super-Mare is your home.  Which it isn’t, so ok, not like pigeons at all ;).  I’m running short on analogies – sorry!

Considering that last year by this stage we were already soaked to the skin, I think it’s safe to say that we were ahead of the game.  Look – see that blue stuff?  Unprecedented! 🙂  We headed off, once we got past the first two unfortunately timed sets off traffic lights, and the route went along Long Ashton, through an unusually quiet Barrow Gurney, along the A38 briefly, and then through Winford.  It may have been getting warmer, but it still wasn’t warm enough.  We formed a little impromptu group and teamed up against the wind that was bound to be against us.

Chew Valley Lake was looking lovely, all reflective water and wide open skies, though we were going fast enough that there wasn’t that much time for aesthetic appreciation.  It wasn’t as much of a slog as it sometimes is, but the road surfaces around there are like two day old porridge, and equally unpleasant.  You can feel yourself ploughing through it, the momentum sucked from you…ick.  Then there’s the stretch of the A368 – through Compton Martin, Ubley, and Blagdon – which is surprisingly lumpy, with a couple of drags up that are longer and steeper than you’re expecting somehow.  How do I always forget that?  It’s not like these roads are new to me after all!  They do say the brain blocks out painful memories…  I did what I usually do – which is to do the best for the bits I can do (downs and flats) and as best as I can for the rest.  The driver of an unnecessarily large Mitsubishi in Blagdon decided leaving the corner shop and getting home regardless of our presence was the way to go and nearly took out several of us.  We may have shouted at him.  Purely to warn each other of his presence you understand.  I’m sure he was very repentant…  I was particularly impressed when, a good 200m down the road, he then turned right…  Patience is a virtue he was clearly lacking! *sigh*.

Before long it was time to take the left turn for Burrington Combe, with its water stop at the bottom at Bad Ass Bikes.  There was only one water butt there – I think there had been some delay with setting things up, judging by the two loitering slightly concerned looking civilians – but the shop was open and letting riders use their toilets for which several of us were very grateful.

GB was displaying his green credentials on many levels…   I guess we were near the front of the pack of riders, as there weren’t that many folk around as yet, and not everyone was stopping either.  I stuffed my gilet and arm warmers in the saddle bag, ate some of my fabulous flapjack, and enjoyed the breather.  Time to go and climb the Combe again.  It had been a while, but I did decide to pretty much pootle up it.  Well it’s pretty, the sun was kinda shining, everything was green…and it’s not a race, right? 😉

The rider behind me wasn’t, as it turns out, even one of “us”…and that’s not the standard place to wear a helmet either.  It’s not like it was that hot…!  I like my helmet on my head, but then I like my brains in my head too.  Each to their own…

I told you it was green out there.  Well it would be, what with all the bl**dy rain we’ve been having!  GB and I were chatting away, passing the time, and also passing riders.  “Could you stop making it look so easy?!” said one of them….  Wow – result!  Only that’s what I usually say when people pass me – I’m usually the passee not the passer 🙂 Quite an ego boost, and another first *grin*.   One for the logbook.

Once up on the top of the Mendips it was time to head across them, along the fairly, blissfully, flat.  It was, as ever, chillier up there than it had been down below so, since GB expressed in interest in re-clothing his arms, we were on the look out for a stopping opportunity.  As regular readers know, they don’t get much better than this:

Look!  It’s a sign!  And an event sign.  It’s a multi-purpose, many box ticking, sign!

Up on the top there, with the scenery rising around you, it’s like being in a bowl of Mendips.  It’s also quite sheltered as a result, which is nice.  Well, up there is where the wind usually hides so if I can hide from it, I’m on to a winner!  However having gone up, and the Mendips being of limited size, there was bound to be a down shortly, and the one we were after was to be found in Priddy.  The village green was a quagmire – another great word – lots of churned up mud from whichever event they hadn’t cancelled recently.  There are the most amazing views from the top before you go down, which you get.  Well, although there are better views on the way down, I’d be holding on to the brakes, not the camera!  I’m not that stupid ;).

It’s potentially quite a dangerous descent.  It’s bendy, frequently wet, usually gravelly, and has traffic that, unlike the Gorge, is not expecting you to be there.  The warning sign at the top was therefore a very good thing for those less familiar with these hills than us.  Short and to the point.

I’m not the greatest descender, and was fully expecting to meet GB at the bottom, with him having had to wait for a while.  However he got caught in rider traffic so I actually caught up with him.  I’m too scared to overtake people descending on roads like those, but just as I was thinking I might be tempted and what a bad idea that might be, some eejot went past me with no warning whatsover and made me jump!  Yep – that would be why I don’t, and didn’t, do that.  The descent ends at a nasty junction which, like several of the main troublesome junctions, was marshalled.  This made crossing the main road and getting on our way again a whole heap easier, and was also done with a smile.  A smile goes a long way, as does a thank you I imagine, and we all made a point of thanking him, and the others, on our route.  Can’t be much fun to stand around at a road junction all day, right?

We were proper onto my home turf now, flying across the flats towards Wedmore.  The “traffic” was becoming a little irritating so we took a quick break to lose them, mostly because my painkillers were 12 minutes overdue and playing catchup is never a good thing.  We were in the process of chasing them down again, as you do, when this came the other way.  How cute is that?  All together now – aw…. 🙂  They even waved as they went past.

We did catch up with our rabbits, and GB and I ended up taking in turns to lead our acquired peloton for most of the rest of the ride, but more immediately to the food stop at Hugh Sexey’s School in Blackford.

Water etc was outside, inside was the cake and bacon butties.  Coffee was free – yay! – but the rest wasn’t, though it was very reasonably priced and by all accounts, yummy.  I reckon I must be in need of coffee at the moment because yesterday’s Costa tasted better than usual, and even today’s instant coffee was more than usually drinkable.

We were sat, in the sun, next to a tyre damage stricken rider and his mate, who were patching things up with a gel wrapper between the tyre and damaged tube.  Ingenious.  They’d run out of tubes, so I donated one to the cause which they then, most unexpectedly, paid me for.  Which was lovely, don’t get me wrong.  However I do kinda view inner tubes as karma.  What goes around comes around.  Help others, donate to the cause, and maybe the puncture fairy will pass you by when your turn comes.  Yes, I know, I’m daft.  And I still salute magpies.  Well, it’s not like it does any harm right? *grin*.

Coffee drunk, mini toilets utilised, and it was time to be on our way again with 20 miles or so to go, allegedly.  From here on in the route is a little less attractive.  There’s the long, goes on forever in unremarkable fashion, road through Mark out to Highbridge.  Then the urban wiggle to and through Burnham on Sea which had its fair share of both motorised and pedestrian eejots.

It took a while to get through and out onto quieter country roads again.  We passed the BW who had clearly lost the get up and go that had taken him past us when we weren’t looking earlier, but to be fair by then my legs were, if not up to Friday’s standard, feeling up to having a go, and could sense ‘home’, so we weren’t hanging around.  Mr Radioshack, who had been part of our wheelsucking acquired peloton for a long time, had apparently mostly been there to keep his Altura mate company.  They clearly had some sort of “I’ll meet you at the end” conversation, and he came past, pulled in front and took the lead.  Now I, foolishly, half presumed he was finally taking his turn at the front…well, you would, right?  That was clearly naive of me.  He just pulled away.  Now I can, and did, keep up for a while, but when you start averaging 24mph plus and I’m not right on your wheel?  Not happening.  Woman – know your limits!  I had to admit defeat and settle back to my own speed.  I’d dropped the others, who weren’t behind me when I finally checked, but they caught me at the next junction, which was a good thing.

At the next T-junction, past the photographer there to catch me over-cooking the corner, there was a 5 miles to go sign.  That would be a red rag to an already raging bull.  Sprint finish time!  I knew the roads and terrain, and I know my legs.  That I could do.  And I did.  I put my foot down, floored it, and motored in.  OK, so those are automobile analogies but, in the traffic, I probably couldn’t have gotten there much faster even if I’d had a car.  At some point near the end, GB was heard to exclaim that I was awesome.  I never did get around to asking him why, the moment had passed, but you know me, any compliment in a storm ;).   Another one to add to the list of things to remember when I’m in the doldrums around 2/3 of the way through the next sportive.

As it turns out, in a masterpiece of traffic light timing, we managed to pass Gary within sight of the finish line.  He started after us, and I have no idea where he passed us, but I guess we got our own back! 😉

Cycling time: 3:16:10 hrs
Distance: 56.09 miles
Avs: 17.2 mph.

Didn’t we do well?  Much faster than the last two times too!  Bella is very proud of me 🙂  We were given our medals by the welcoming committee and a token for the food that wasn’t ready yet.  I doubt that they’d have had anything I could have eaten anyway though so I wasn’t bothered.  We chilled for a bit, and chatted to Gary, and then Andy when he came in.

It’s just as well Gary started late as I’m not sure I could have cycled with that all day anyway – look how bright it is?!  The BW, aka Andy, was less bright, and more camera shy…  Luckily his Dad was picking him up, so he was spared having to ride back with us.

Here’s Darren again – very pleased with how it had gone.  Having ordered lots of foil blankets just in case, the good weather was presumably down to him, for which we are truly grateful :).

Now if he could do the same next year and also remove the headwind, that would be perfick 😉  In the distance the clouds were gathering, and heading our way, so GB and I decided to head home before they reached us.  With a wistful glance at the beer tent it was time to retrace our steps a little.  Well, if I’d ended up there I’d never have ended up at home.  There’d have been a taxi call to home and I’m thinking that might have been less than diplomatic 😉 *grin*.

We took it a little, though only a little, easier on the way home.  It was surprisingly early for getting home from a sportive, what with the whole getting there and back element being removed from the equation.  Practically family friendly.  And let’s face it, there are far worse ways to be spending a Sunday lunchtime than riding through the Somerset countryside in the sunshine.  It’s important to remember that it doesn’t actually rain non-stop even if it sometimes feel like it!

Cycling time: 0:35:03 hrs
Distance: 9.85 miles
Avs: 16.9 mph.
ODO: 14924 miles

I was home, 88.11 miles later, in time to end up at the pub for a Sunday linner (that would be lunch + dinner in case you were wondering) with my family and my folks, for a very well deserved and totally safe ham egg and chips.  Oh, and white wine.  Just to wash it down you understand 😉 *grin*.

Just in case he doesn’t make it to the official Cyclosport review though since I’ve only just sent my rider reviews in he should, here’s Gaz modelling his medal for your delectation :).

Great Weston Ride 2012, done! 🙂

So this year’s biggest event was over and done with.  It was time to leave the event village and head back to the car, a five mile downhill ride which proved there was actually quite a lot left in my legs, bizarrely enough.  It was also quite a lot of fun :).  Back to the Ostaria, and all that was left to do was to abandon the bikes in the hotel basement, wash the ride away, and head downstairs for celebratory drinks and canapés with the group.  Lots of tales of how well or otherwise people had done, standing around in the sunshine, basking in our achievements.  Very nice.  Apart from being interviewed by Ian as part of his coverage – I bet I looked and sounded terrible!

The evening meal completely unexpectedly included gluten free pasta just for me, as well as recommendations as to not eat various things on the menu because they included flour – the hotel had really gone the extra mile which was just lovely.  I hate being the fussy customer, and to be not made to feel that way was wonderful.  For whatever reason the sauce on the pasta didn’t affect me the same way as the night before, so maybe it wasn’t the same sauce!  I think the best part was getting to eat al fresco, something I haven’t done for forever.  Oh, and that white wine wasn’t at all horrible either…  It wasn’t the latest night in the world, as it had been a long long day, but it was a lot of fun chatting to everyone, including the odd rider who reads here – hi guys, and thanks for the company :).

So, time to go home.  Not directly though.  We were coming back via an overnight stop in Munich mostly because I’d never been and also because I believe German beer to be a good thing.  Well, maybe not the wheat beers…  Hey, I’d earned a break right? ;).  The drive back there took a little while to get going, as several thousand cyclists tried to exit the valley at the same time, but it wasn’t like we were in a rush, and it was a fairly pleasant journey for all that.  The further we went, the worse the weather got, and the temperature dropped.  Sunny Italy turned into grey wet Germany, which seemed oddly appropriate, as if indicative that we were leaving the Maratona properly behind us.  We got into Munich in time for lunch, and the hotel turned out to be very central – ideally so in fact.  I’d like to say I did touristy things in Munich but barring a bit of walking around to get my bearings, it was more about the apres-ride – nice food, nice beer, nice wine…oh, and some shopping of course.  No-one who knows me will be surprised to know that that involved new shoes…*grin*.

Munich was a surprisingly bike friendly city.  Well, full of bikes anyway.  Bikes being used for transport, for fun, for city tours…and parked up everywhere.

Another night out on the tiles, well the wet cobbles actually, and it was time for the final part of the journey home.

Sadly my insides were properly miserable, and I was on the painkillers again, which made the whole journey less enjoyable.  Or maybe that was just because I wasn’t in Club class this time ;).  I got some sleep on the plane, and even gave the wine a miss because I didn’t think it would sit well and was due to drive a few hours later anyway.

Back to the UK where, unsurprisingly, it was raining.  Truly back in Blighty then.  And the rest of the journey is of no interest to you whatsoever so I’ll spare you the details :).

So here I am, back home, blogging for all I’m worth, and trying to catch up with everything.  The bike is back together, and I plan on riding it today or tomorrow depending on how I get on.  I haven’t suffered at all from the ride – and I mean not at all.  How amazing is that?  It’ll be interesting to see how I feel later when I’m back at the gym, or on the bike, maybe I’m wrong…

Here’s my haul from the event.  There was a mini bottle of fizz in there too, but I appear to have mislaid that somewhere ;).  A lot of souvenirs to go with the memories.  I also have these that my daughter made for me in honour of the event, worn on the day, and due to remain in situe until they fall off.  And some interesting additional tan lines – I managed to tan through my cycling jersey!

So, this should be the summation, conclusion, paragraph.  The Maratona dles Dolomites – verdict?  Well…  I had a great ride.  Don’t get me wrong – it was hard work.  Not, I think, quite as hard as last year’s Etape, though the stats suggest it should have been.  Is that because the climbing was different?  Or because just possibly I’m a better rider now than I was then?  The heat for both was the same so it can’t have been that.  If it had been cooler I’d definitely have found it easier, and the climbs were totally my kind so I might even have enjoyed the pain a little more ;).  The scenery IS absolutely stunning, as everyone had told me.  The road surfaces were, for the most part, and taking into account the odd cracks as the roads slide down the mountains, incredibly good.  The organisation is great, the goodies likewise.  The timing and photos and videos were all massively efficient – all up and available either instantly or before I got home.  Hard to fault the event in any kind of serious way.  Niggles?  Rider behaviour.  The re-opening of the roads towards the end.  The repeat of the Campolongo.  But that’s all they are really, niggles.  Speaking personally I’d like to have done it with a bike that was working properly, and got a slightly better time, but hey, it’s not a race right? 😉

Would I do it again?  Hm.  Not as my big event of the year, no.  I don’t really do repeats.  Maybe as part of a cycling break, or with a group of friends, as more of a leisure laid back ride though – it really is beautiful riding country.  And I would definitely recommend it to anyone else.  In the meantime I’m already trying to figure out next year’s challenge.  Etape again (Ventoux)?  Haute Route (I may well not be up to that)?  And my current front runner – the Quebrantahuesos, which several people have recommended already.  Any other suggestions?

So it’s back to the grindstone and back on the bike soon…  I am cyclist, hear me roar… *grin*.

In case you were wondering, the italian word “Maratona” means Marathon.  Right now blogging about it all is feeling like one…let alone riding the darn thing! 😉  Deep breath…and here we go again…

Man that 4:00am alarm clock felt early.  Which presumably would be because it was?  Half an hour later, all day sun cream applied, lightweight layered kit on, and it was down to breakfast.  It was already 16C so it was clear that heavy layers won’t going to be needed – and skinny ones were probably just going to be for keeping warm at the start and possibly for descents.  I wasn’t taken any risks with nutrition this time around – free from muesli and uht lactofree milk sachets got me a bowl of my regular sportive fuel sorted, and the coffee got my head slightly more into the swing of things.  The bikes went into the car, everything I might possibly need came downstairs with me and, slightly nervous about how long it would take to get to the start and where we’d park, we were off before 5:00am.

As it turns out, it was easy.  We parked at the ski lift car in Pederaces, a short ride from the start, in an empty car park.  Quite a relief.  We rode towards the start, past cars being marshalled into more formal car parking, so we needn’t have worried anyway, and joined a steadily growing stream of riders doing the same.  It wasn’t cold, but there was a bit of a nip that made me glad of my minxy arms and gilet.  For whatever reason, positive discrimination?, female riders get to be in pen two – Selle – behind all the pros and celebs in the first pen, along with the second ranks of men, so I left Kevin to join his Pinarello pen, one behind me – and went and joined my queue.  The ACG were further represented back there by Steve and Chris – does that make it an official ACG ride? 😉

The sun was still hiding behind the mountains, but the skies were already a brightening blue, and it was clearly going to be a good day on the weather front at least.

My pen filled up with professional looking riders.  A range of keeping warm tactics, from overalls to foil blankets, were in play.  As the start time neared, the tannoy kicked off, welcoming us to the event, wishing us many smiles, playing music and interviewing Big Mig.  Not that you could really make out what was being said but it all added to the growing atmosphere.  The live TV helicopter started flying past overhead, filming the scene for broadcast, and slowly the time passed.  I decided that my gilet wasn’t going to be necessary any longer, and stashed it away with minutes to spare.

At 6:30am the gates opened, metaphorically speaking, and we were all off.  I was off over the line at 6:32am and on my way to climb mountains.  Wow…  The first climb of the day, to be revisited later, was the Passo Campolongo.  5.8km at 6.1%.  Not a bad way to warm up I guess, though I can probably think of better.

Still I was quite pleased with how it went, and also grateful that this was being done before the day had really woken up.  One kind of warming up at a time please.  However 9000+ riders on the road can make for some interesting riding conditions, especially when they haven’t had time to spread out.  It has to be said that mass UK events have rather more etiquette to them than those abroad, in my very limited experience.  A lot of people very keen to be ahead of other people makes for a lot of barging, and squeezing through.  I didn’t fall victim to being shouted at, unlike some, possibly due to my gender, but things did get a bit heated around others from time to time, and a bit hairy around me on those occasions when people went past you in non existent space on both sides!  And that’s on the uphills – don’t get me started on the downhills…. 😉

Talking of which, it was time to see what descending a Dolomite was like.  Quite technical as it happens, with a lot of hairpin bends, and a lot of speed to get rid of before you get to them if you have a healthy respect for your own well being…  Not quite my sort of descending, but once I’d stopped worrying about what was going on behind me, other than to make sure I was riding a reasonable line and not blocking the racing line, I kinda got the hang of it.  There were a couple of riders along the way who weren’t so lucky…not nice :(.

The second climb is the Passo Pordoi, 9.2km at 6.9%.  And it seems to go on a very very long time.  Ribbons of cyclists weaving away ahead of you, into the distance where you know you have to go.  The sun was rising behind us over the still shaded valley that was getting ever further below us.  The helicopter passed by low overhead, which has to be the first time I’ve ever been made to wobble by a down draft, though the breeze was not unwelcome.  However you look at it, 9.2km going up is a long long climb…and that 6.9% is just an average – there was definitely some variation in gradient going on, making settling into any sort of rhythm a little harder.    At some point early on in the climb, a hand landed on my back, and an English voice greeted the Cycling Mayor from the UK!  Hello Mr Dave Lee, 6109 – good time!  Thanks for saying hello – every smile helped 🙂

 2239 metres up, and we were definitely on top of a mountain.  With the views to match.

Now there’s a distinct possibility I may not get my hills quite correct, but I’m trying…  After such a long climb there was, as you might expect, a long descent down to a shaded valley and a food stop.  At one of the stops early on, a rider got his front wheel entangled with my rear wheel which didn’t seem a big issue at the time – just one of those things.  However it turns out it was.  In fact on one of the following climbs some Italian rider gesticulated at my rear wheel with some diatribe as to what was wrong with it.  Constructive if you speak Italian, not so much if you don’t.  I announced to the general public that if anyone fancied translating that I’d be more than grateful…and the rider next to me got as far as knowing it was something to do with the cable, but not what.  I discovered part of the problem after this big climb, when something started making a noise on descending.  Turns out that that wheel had pushed my rear gear cable 180C from pointing up to down.  It had now moved to be catching in the spokes.  Not so good I’m thinking.  I put it back where it was, made it to the bottom, and didn’t think much more of it.

Until I left the food station, started the climb of Passo Sella, and realised I couldn’t get into bottom bottom gear and my indexing was screwed *sigh*.  Well moving that cable takes that twiddly adjusting bit with it right?  Marvellous.  There was a slight element of deja vu lurking…

It wasn’t instantly a problem, and as we passed the noise makers in their lederhosen cheering us on, the climb started for real.  5.5km at 7.9%.  I was clearly going to need that gear.  I stopped, fiddled, twiddled, and fixed it.  For a while.  This was to be the pattern of the day from hereonin.  Hit big hill.  Stop.  Turn bike upside down.  Twiddle.  Get bike into bottom gear.  Cycle up hill.  Carry on as normal afterwards, as the rest of the gears were pretty much working.  Until next big hill.  At least the climbs were pretty constant so although not ideal, it worked.  And hey, I now kinda know what that twiddly thing does ;).  Somewhere out there, courtesy of a rather rueful looking photographer who I caught at it when I looked up, is a photo of me bent over my bike messing with my rear mech.  I may not buy that one *grin*.

The higher we got, the better the views became.  The scenery was stunning throughout to be fair, it’s one of the reasons people rave about this event.

The Sella and the Gardena blurred into one a little.  More climbing in ever growing heat will do that to you.  And hey, it was a long day…

The long descent from Passo Gardena took us back down to Corvara, where the “short” route got to go and cross the finish line, while we all got to go and do Campolongo again.  I’m not keen on repetition, but at least I knew it wasn’t terrible.  Some consolation.  It felt a little bit like starting all over again, which is a little hard mentally, and it definitely felt easier first time around in the cool of the morning, rather than the heat of three hours later.  By now it was 30C…!

The food stop at the top of the Campolongo was much much busier this time around, as people grabbed as much fluid as possible, happy to have made it through the first cut off point with well over an hour to spare, with that little bit less pressure on.  Or maybe that was just me ;).

There were still two BIG climbs ahead of us, and even the little ones in between us and them weren’t going to feel easy.  I know I don’t work well when very hot, and I know from last year’s Etape that what works for me is pouring lots of cold water over my head, and then the rest of me, so that’s what I did here, and continued to do for the rest of the ride.  And yes, it helped.  I’d rather get round that bit more slowly, than get heat stroke and not get around at all.  I wasn’t totally feeling it for a little while mid-ride here.  Hot, hard work, long way to go…often a low point.  But we got to another food stop which actually had decent indoor toilets.  An element of civilisation, more cold water, some food, one bottle filled to drink, one to pour over me.

Thus revived, when it came to the 108km/138km route split I was back on for finding out what the Passo Giau was really like.  Well, not until I’d stopped at the bottom and put the bike back in bottom gear of course 😉

Getting back on the bike on, as it turns out, a slightly steeper section, was not easy but luckily I got both feet back in the cleats and got the momentum going.  Passo Giau was used in this year’s Giro.  It’s 9.9km at 9.3%, and it’s really pretty constant.  It starts by following a river up stream, through trees and forest, and gradually takes you up to open mountain.  Very scenic.  Very constant.  Doable.  Very doable if it was cooler I reckon.  “Go Cav” yelled the road at some point, and I channelled as best I could ;).

As you can see, I’m not the only one who pours water…

I was in a rhythm and plodding my way up.  I fell in with another UK rider – Tim Dearden – nearing the top, and we cycled along together chatting for a while, until threatening cramp (his not mine) separated us.  Yes – we could still chat!  He’s doing the Marmotte this weekend too – mad ;).

Inexorably and inevitably, I made it to the top.  With a massive grin on my face 🙂

I mean, just look at those views!  Look at where we’ve come up from?  And we’re higher than the helicopter!  How cool is that?  Interestingly enough the summit is 2236 – not as high as we’d already been, but it felt higher…probably because we’d climbed from lower and for longer.  Definitely a high point :).

I sat next to the foodstop, ate flapjack, and told myself what a good girl I was. I’m modest like that ;). But man, it’s a mountain! I climbed a mountain!

Time to top up those bottles again, and descend…for ages :).  So much nicer now, as we were down to only the longer route riders, and they were well spread out.  I could relax and enjoy myself a bit more, and actually overtook quite a few people, clearly people even more cautious than me do exist.  That left one last big climb between me and the end.  The combo of Passo Falzarego, and Valporola.  11.5km at 5.8%.  Less steep, but long.  Not to be underestimated with that many miles both ridden and climbed already taken out of your leg account.  The first section was almost irritating.  A bit of a climb and a bit of a flat, through forests with looming cliffs above.  But you know what’s coming so you can’t relax…  Once again I had company – hi Denzil – for a while, and the conversation definitely made it pass a little faster.

We chatted, had a water pouring stop, and then got separated as the climb got going for real.  Being once again in bottom gear, for the last time, I had my rhythm and that was the way it was.  The roads were re-opening now, adding traffic to the obstacles to be negotiated.  I was really feeling the heat again by now, it was well in the mid 30s, and I started to get that slightly odd feeling again, the one that I now know means that I’m running on empty.  I found a shady patch and pulled over.  A few minutes of cool, more water, and one of the safe SiS gels that I was given a while back.  I don’t usually do gels, and I was a bit worried, but actually it was fairly pleasant as these things go.  Isotonic, or whatever it is, too, so that drinking with it is less important.  Needs must, etc.  I got back on the bike, and found a wheel to sit on.  Not to suck but to follow.

His speed was just right.  Slightly slower than I would be making myself go if left to my own devices.  I needed to let the gel work, and get myself up the hill safely, and as a strategy goes it worked really well.  The food stop was at Falzarego, a little before the summit at Valparalo, which I knew so I knew there was a little more to do.  On the top of the ride number, so that it folded over towards you, was the profile of the ride so you could see where you were, where you were going, what was where – truly an ingenious way of doing it and I’m glad I didn’t cut it off like some.

Onwards and upwards to that summit, knowing that I was nearly on the way home.  I even had time to find the smell of the burning clutches on the cars trying to get past us amusing *grin*.

The other side, past the war museum, with awesome panoramic views, saw the beginning of the end.  A lovely long not overly technical descent all the way back down to La Villa, that luckily the cars were not allowed back on, before a little sting in the tail of a climb back up to Corvara.  I could have descended faster but how awful would it be to get that close and then not finish for some reason?  Exactly.  So I smiled my way all the way down instead.

Nearly there, and the marker signs started appearing, while riders who had already finished were on their way home, draped in medals, all quite motivational.  Time to get back asap, safe in the knowledge that pacing myself was no longer necessary.  I crossed the finish line, grinning like an eejot, as the official photos show, as does this one a little later.

The finish village was fairly chaotic, full of riders kicking back in the sun after the ride, meeting their friends, debriefing…  I’d barely been in when the official timing from Datasport texted me my time.  In fact they’d texted me at every climb.  And my t’other half, who’s number was registered as my emergency contact, so he kinda knew how I was going all day, which was nice.  Efficient no?  Turns out I lost the best part of an hour not riding, and I reckon without my mechanicals I’d have been at least 20 minutes faster…but hey, I finished and I had a good ride – way more important than my time :).

We collected our free gilets – queue jumping is an art, and variously ate our free pasta, drank the free beer or whatever, each to their own. Beer for me this time for sure!  Regardless of where we’d all started, and how they’d managed to pass me, we’d all ridden our own rides, and we were all in at pretty much the same time, all bar Chris who had kicked ar*e as usual.  Look at us all, don’t we look happy?

Kevin, Steve, Chris and Me

Cycling time: 7:57:26 hrs
Official time: 8:50:51 hrs
Distance: 86.04 miles
Climbing: 4823 metres
Avs: 10.9 mph.
ODO: 14719 miles

Maratona dles Dolomites 2012 – done!

My official Cyclosport review can be found here 🙂

The plan for today was as follows: Assemble bikes.  Put bikes in car.  Drive to registration.  Sign in.  Drive to Corvara and meet up with the Cycling Weekly group for photos and a group ride and coffee.  Best laid plans…

Breakfast first though, right?  Gotta love continental breakfasts – lots of cooked meats that I can eat, even if I can’t eat most of the rest of goodies – and they did look good – on offer.  You could even boil your own eggs.  I’d taken rice cakes with me, and the discovery of little packets of nutella that I could put on those was a definite highlight 🙂  Oh, and the coffee was good too – let’s get our priorities straight right?

Right, time to put the bikes together and check that that my baby had survived the journey intact.  And it had.  Just as well really!

Judging by some of the other steeds stabled there, even if the basement hadn’t been secure, my bike would have been!  Some very swish carbon out there…  As Kevin is ably demonstrating here, assembling bikes is clearly a very serious job, that involves a great deal of fiddling and concentration…

Time to put on kit, load the car, and get to La Villa, where the event village and sign on was.  Getting there was a nightmare.  There is one road through the valley, and it was full of cars doing the same as us, as well as hundreds of cyclists riding there instead.  It got busier and busier and slower and slower.  Unless you’re an Italian driver in which case you just hurtle past regardless and scare the rest of us witless.  We missed the turning for the village, there being only three signs, easily missed amongst the chaos and the paying attention to what everyone else was doing, and we ended up in Corvara where the finish line and later meet up was due to be.  Time for a U-turn, a quick flurry of texts exchanged with Steve who has done it before, was there, knows what he’s doing, and sorted me out, and we made our way back to La Villa where parking was not so much at a premium as completely lacking.  We ended up dumping a car in a little residential street, like many others, but which luckily turned out to only be a short distance from where we were supposed to be.  The queue to sign on was long, but moving fairly swiftly, and we joined it.  Well, it’s why we were there after all.

There was a wide range of outfits and lycra to internally critique to pass the time.  The sun continued to climb, and the temperature to rise, as we all stood around sweating under clear blue skies…and that was before even trying to ride a bike!  Did this bode well?

Once into the building, our paperwork was checked – photo id, entry paper, and medical certificate – and then it was onto the rider number queues to collect your very goody bag, along with rider and bike numbers.  The free jerseys were lovely, but the sizing was, well, Italian.  Trying them on was essential, and the stage was full of people doing so and exchanging them for a size that actually fitted.  It’s a good thing cyclists are generally a relatively fit bunch otherwise the sheer amount of flesh on display could have been distincly unpleasant.  As it was…well… 😉  Even the skinny men I knew ended up in XL or worse.  I’d put myself down for an L back when I signed up for this, and I got to be an S instead.  Which tickled me :).  I was tempted to buy the matching shorts…but by the time I decided to actually do so later in the day, they’d sold out in my size.  Boo hiss :(.

Formalities done and we were back out into the sunshine.  There was a large sign to show you just what you’d let yourself in for.  Be afraid, be very afraid…?

Next to sign on was an outdoor seating area where 5E bought you pasta, 3E apfel strudel, and inexpensive beer or water were on offer, depending on your preference.  Considering the heat, and the whole abstention the day before thing, it was sparkling water and one of my fabulous flapjacks for me, with awesome views to look at while sitting in the sunshine, and a ski lift going up and down past us.  Nice :).

The event village was just a little down the hill, with various stands and stalls.  Not a lot of any interest to me though – maybe I’m not bike geek enough.  Although the Pinarellos were nice.  Having said that, Pinarellos were ten a penny this weekend, which is not something you can usually say.

One of the nice things was the children’s entertainment around, with face painting, stilt creatures, activities etc.  Although I’m not sure what kind of creature the stilt walker was supposed to be.  See the Maratona jersey in the foreground?

I found the sheer number of people around otherwise a bit intimidating and stressful.  Considering all the chaos of the morning, there was no way we were going to make it back to Corvara in time to meet up with everyone and be in the photos, which was a bit of a shame.   It would have been lovely to ride up the Campolongo with the group, but I had been worried it might take too much out of my legs and dent my confidence, so I guess circumstances had conspired in my favour in a way.  We decided to head back to the hotel, and go for a trial ride from there instead.

We headed for the little village of San Martin de Tor just down the valley, which was only a short ride but went straight up straight away!  Which, in afternoon heat, not being warmed up, with the unfamiliar altitude, was hard work.  We had planned on going all the way up to the Castle at the top but quickly decided that was unnecessary which, since I was later informed it ramped up to 20%, may well have been a good call.  Instead we dropped back down into town and sat outside a café for more sparkling water instead.

The large building in the centre of the shot is our hotel.  Scenic out there isn’t it?  The village had a very pretty pointy church too – I wonder if they build ’em pointy around there because of the snow and the weight of it on roofs and the like?

I’m not sure I’ve ever drunk so much sparkling water as over this break, and it’s just as well I’ve acquired a taste for it.  Kevin’s capuccino looked lovely but I was worried that caffeine might keep me awake later and I definitely wanted to do my best to get a good night’s sleep, though nerves usually get the better of me on such occasions.  Still, no point aggravating the situation, and it’s important to keep hydrated in heat like that anyway.

It was a very nice place to kill some time.  Shaded, scenic, colourful, quiet, peaceful…the complete opposite to the morning, and much better for my head.

The gadgets informed us that actually it had been 12/13% to get up there, so the fact that it had felt bad felt less bad.  Especially as the maximum gradient due the following day was alleged to be 16% and the averages far lower than that, albeit for much longer than the diddy climb we’d just done.  It may have only been a short ride, but it served its main purpose which was to make sure the bikes were working properly and that my gears were working, which they were.  Time to go back down the hill and back to the hotel, as plenty of faffing remained to be done to make sure that first thing in the morning was going to be as easy as possible.  Kit to sort, debate, lay out.  Numbers to attach.  Same old same old…

Now I know it’s a very weird, coals to Newcastle, thing to do, but I took a bag of gluten free pasta away with me and the hotel were happy to cook it for my dinner.  It’s a great shame they then decided to put it in a very lovely but very far from safe tomato pasta sauce.  Man, did I ever regret eating that…. 🙁  Still, it stayed where it was supposed to be, so the chances were it would do its fuelling job.  Definitely no white wine this time, just time for an early night before the big day ahead.  Alarm set for 4:00am – as ready as I’d ever be.