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.

like the personalised jersey numbers?

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.

timing tent

mechanical assistance

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.

the growing queue to be coralled…

No creme egg this time Gary?

ACGB

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!

riders on their way

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!

see how nice it was?

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…

wet riders climbing behind me

wet riders climbing in front of me

and wet views!

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.

Gary at the top of a climb

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 🙂

very welcome Dartmoor Water

chapeau!

Yes, there were toilets at the food stops 🙂

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.

Cherhill White Horse and Monument

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.

riders climbing Round Hill behind me

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 ;).

that would be me 🙂

Steve and I at the finish

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 😉

Andrew

a rather tired looking rider

riders shooting the post-event breeze

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dad, Gary, Nick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walking back from the toilets...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oriel y Parc

queue for the start

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

that's a lighthouse in the distance...

Two riders by the coast

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

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

first food stop in Fishguard

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

route card before...

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

Talking of pictures…

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

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

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

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

about to descend to Newport

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

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

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

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

second foodstop

the sands at Poppit

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

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

third foodstop at Boncath

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fourth food stop at Pontfaen

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

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

moor views..see what I did there? 😉

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

fifth foodstop at Letterston

Bridgend rider

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

an Altura wheel to follow

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

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

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

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

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

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