Here I go again.  But not on my own 🙂 Whatever today’s lineup was due to be, and whatever their plans, Sean, Guy and I were for the short route.  Which didn’t make the alarm clock’s siren call any more appealing, or the usual porridge any more appetising, but did mean my spirits were a little higher than they might have been otherwise.  Other than that, the morning was pretty much an action replay of Day 2, up to and including parking outside Edgar Hall and its admirable toilet facilities.  This time we actually met Guy in the car park, so it was a trio of riders, nay musketeers, that headed for the final countdown.

Day 3 of the Tour of Wessex is always slightly quieter.  There are less riders all together.  Those with the long day, and it is a long day, ahead of them are well aware of the fact, those of us doing the short route know that it’s only 57 miles, and by comparison a walk in the park.  Or a cycle in the National Park 😉  I keep having to remind myself that, for all I’m not on form, for “normal” people 57 miles is not only 57 miles, it’s actually quite long way!  I’m trying to learn to compare myself to my own standards not other people’s, so just for my record, I’m better than many, if not as good as those I’m lucky enough to cycle with 🙂

So, another day, another wait at the start line, and another weather forecast not quite living up to expectations.  Rather than being the best of the three days as it originally suggested, it was looking like rain…albeit warmer less windy rain.  Good thing I was going with the same strategy as Day 2 and that the waterproof was already on then.  The commentator was still being impressively cheerful, not entirely sure how, but then again, he’s paid to be cheerful, we’re not.  And a morning on the start line wouldn’t be the same without the usual grumpy old man interjections from Guy.  He still isn’t a morning person ;). Martyn, who had joined us, was looking remarkably spritely for someone two days into the long route though – most impressive!

However knowing I was doing the short route was pretty good for the PMA.  Even I should be able to manage that, right?  And having looked at the route, there was only one really big hill to be dealt with.  Let’s ignore the fact that any sort of incline is a problem for me, and focus on that, right?  Either way, I was feeling pretty cheerful.  Even when we set off and the rain started…we just headed West, hoping it would be peaceful there.  Yes, there were the odd drags up, but that did mean I got to go down too, and that’s about the only time I can ever drop Guy and Sean, so when I could I did.  Only to be caught as it went up again.  Fair enough 🙂

I know these roads quite well and after the first few miles of that, it’s fast and flat, and ok “fun” might be pushing it, but I knew I could do it.  We worked mostly as a group, got occasionally peloton-ed, as groups of the more ambitious went by, one of which swept Martyn away with it.  We got a little damp but not too much, the miles passed, and we were headed for the delights of Bridgwater.  Not my favourite place, and the wiggling route through it, including an interesting dual carriageway crossing, wasn’t much fun either, but at least the residents weren’t up and at us yet!  There really isn’t any other way to get to Exmoor, so let’s call Bridgwater a necessary evil, rather than some of the more impolite things I might sometimes call it 😉

We’d spread out a little as we left town and headed for the hill(s), so it was just me for a while.  An ambulance hurtled past me which is rarely a good sign, but since the motorcycle outrider who kept me company for a chat for a while knew nothing about it, hopefully it was a non-cycling related emergency.  I appreciated the chat too, very sociable.  I wonder if he talks to everyone or just the girls? 😉  Besides, I knew what was coming, and I wasn’t in any hurry to get there even if the weather was a little drier.  I was pacing myself, that sounds better than just being slow, right?  

And the climb up Crowcombe Hill, albeit from the lesser side, was, as I remembered, a doozy.  The first section is the worst, but even after it stops being quite that steep it’s steep enough and it goes on for a very long time!  But it was pretty, not too busy, I’ve done it before so I knew it was doable, the odd rider chatted to me, and the recumbent overtaking us all provided novelty value!  Finally I reached the flat moorland section across the top, which gave me time to catch my breath and enjoy yet more scenery, before nailing it on the descent the other side *grin*.  I remember it being worse, wigglier, more difficult, scarier?  Last year there were nutters hurtling past me on the outside.  This year I guess I was the nutter *grin*.  Oh but man, it was fun.  SO much fun 😀 Still didn’t make it over 50mph though, sadly I was being a little cautious and it’s not that long.  One day…

I was a very happy bunny when I reached the food stop shortly afterwards and met up with Sean and Guy.  Not only was I halfway round, I’d made it up the hill without walking, and I was halfway closer to the pub!  Plus the sun was practically shining.  What’s not to love?  Well, the very cheap pasties and mini scotch eggs since you ask. The latter were tolerable, but the pasties?  No idea what the little they were filled with was, but it wasn’t pleasant!  At least the hall was open this year and I nipped to the loo while Sean and another Cyclosport rider James caught up – I’d seen him on Day 1 and it was nice to see him again.  Practically a reunion 😉

My buoyant mood carried me for quite a few miles after that and we had some fun doing the fast (ish) thing.  Well I did anyway.  The weather was brighter and so was I!  Not that this would last, I settled back down to average fairly shortly, a girl can only keep such things up for so long.  Sean got further and further ahead and eventually the elastic snapped and he was off completely, leaving just Guy and I to negotiate the country lanes home.  There wasn’t much to trouble us really, the odd up that he probably didn’t even notice and I probably did.  Nonetheless he stuck with me, waiting as necessary, which is just as well, since when the right turn in East Lyng was missing and we found ourselves nearly at Athelney, it was nice to be lost in company, and to have his gadget to tell us when we took the right that seemed right and rode for a bit that we were back on the right route.  No Somerset is not flooded anymore, contrary to public belief, though the three folk opportunistically collecting for “the flood charity” at the traffic lights there weren’t deterred.  I’m not sure they were entirely legitimate either!

Not far to go now, on still quiet roads, since even the very fast would be hard pushed to have done the long route and made it back to us already.  And knowing we were nearly done was good.  There are three nasty drags on the road back from Langport to Somerton that just can’t be avoided.  They didn’t hurt quite as much as last year, but then there weren’t so many miles in my legs this year.  3..2…1…  They still weren’t fast though!  But that’s ok, we were nearly there, and the Finish Line was mentally in sight, and then literally in sight, and then I was over it, to meet Guy who’d unsurprisingly got there a little before me on the other side, and the Tour of Wessex was done for another year.  Or the final year, as Guy, the Stephen Redgrave of the Tour of Wessex, would have you believe ;).

Cycling time: 3:47
Official time: 4:03
Distance: 58.7 miles
Avg: 15.5 mph
ODO: 4933.2 miles

Guy and I found Sean loitering in the food tent, and I had another very good “short” americano, as Claud the Butler had now christened such less diluted espressos.  Well short route, short coffee, right?  😉  We collected our medals from the table at the end, though we could have been anyone (no-one checked), and generally wasted some time.  However just like last year, the event was packing away around us.  Already.   And we were on the short route!  There was no sense of…fanfare, ceremony, achievement…oh, I don’t know, the word escapes me.  Maybe I’ll come back and edit this when it occurs to me*.  Or not – so you choose your own word in the meantime.  I just feel that if you’ve done three days riding, you should have a welcoming reception committee, a special medal, anything to gild the lily.  Everything should all be there and still happening.  You’ve paid enough and worked hard enough after all, and I’m sure many felt a distinct sense of anti-climax when they finished, especially on the 3 day long route, which is such a shame.  It all seems to be cut off too soon, a bit like the timing mat each day!

Anyway, enough of that.  Tour of Wessex Day 3 done.  Even if was the Tour of Wessex “Lite” by some standards.  I’ll have you know that’s still 220 miles in three days, which is not to be sneezed at I reckon.  Not when you consider the year I’ve had.  And it’s all good training for whatever is to come next too…miles in the legs etc…so it’s all good. I got to ride my bike for three days with friends, and that doesn’t suck.  I was expecting to feel bad about letting myself, and others, down, but you know what?  I didn’t, and I don’t.  I did ok, and ok is good enough 🙂  And no, I’m not doing it again.  Please remind me I said that 😀

*sense of occasion…that was it!

Welcome to Day 2 of the Tour of Wessex.  Just for once I’d managed a decent pre-sportive night’s sleep, and I wasn’t all that thrilled by the 5:45 alarm call…but hey, who would be?  Still, time to get up it was, so I did.  Sean and I consumed various incarnations of oats, in traditional cyclist stylee, before loading up the car.  I had warned Sean what state my bike was in, but it wasn’t until he transferred him from my car to his that he realised I wasn’t dissembling, and that he would now have to wash his hands!  Well, everything else got washed last night, I just couldn’t face washing the bike too!

We set off on time, with me playing navigator as Sean was driving and doesn’t know his way around here.  After not squashing lots of early morning bunny rabbits, and a bumpy but uneventful drive we arrived at Somerton, and were marshalled not onto the playing field, which was apparently no longer up to playing parking lot (more of a quagmire I bet!), but into a nearby industrial estate, passing Guy leaving on his bike already, where we were parked up outside a Somerton Town Council owned building.  Hard standing has it’s upsides though – no grass in your cleats!  It also meant access to indoor toilets without any queues – result!

The weather was much nicer this morning, as was the forecast, but after Day 1’s antics, I really wasn’t sure whether to believe it or not, or what to wear.  Nothing new there then!  I decided to wear somewhat less, partially because half my kit was still at Chris’, but really because it was supposed to get something approaching warm later.  So tights, toe covers, s/s jersey, arm warmers, fairly heavy Maratona gilet, and my waterproof over the top to keep the chill/wind off until I’d warmed up.

It was, according to Guy, 0.9 miles flat ride to the start, but far too flat to really see how the legs were feeling.  Actually getting to the start involved going around HQ and through all the parking/camping etc, which had an element of cyclocross to it, but somehow I managed not to have to ride on the grass.  There was nothing to do this morning but get to the start line, via toilets that had no queues but seriously needed cleaning!  Today’s line-up had changed considerably.  No Jon of course, but Guy, Martyn, Sean and myself were joined by Gary, Robin and Peter, all of us with different plans for the day.  Having removed any self-applied pressure do to the whole 335 mile three days yesterday, I still hadn’t really decided what I was doing.  After all, today’s long route was to head South to the coast and back and included one of my favourite stretches of ride, along the coast above Bovington Camp to Corfe Castle, and I was thinking I’d still like to do that.  It’s a lovely climb and it is beautiful 🙂

We joined the start line somewhat further back this time, although still rather too close to a speaker for comfort.  The Start/Finish arch was missing, having blown down the day before, which just goes to show what a lovely day that was.  The commentator did his best to jolly us all along, and since it wasn’t raining, things were already looking up!  One more countdown, and we managed to be away in the first group, off to find out exactly how those legs were feeling.

The first section of the route was lovely country roads, and fairly flat, always good for warming up.  A rolling start, if you like.  I did my best to stay with the group, but it really wasn’t good enough.  Hit an incline, and I dropped like a stone…  And the first proper one of those and they were gone.  Ah well, I’m used to it these days.  Although I’d kinda like it if folk said au revoir before they did so, but such is life.  However on one such up, possibly in Ilchester, I was very pleased to discover Gary waiting for me.  ‘Rah, a friendly face!  Maybe I wouldn’t be on my own all day after all!  I took advantage of the stop to stash that by now boil-in-the-bag waterproof away, and although I was a bit chilly for a bit as I got used to the change, it definitely helped.  I don’t perform well, or rather make that I perform even worse, if I’m over-heating that way!

Gary and I carried on our merry way, with him waiting for me at the top of ups, but still essentially sticking with me.  I checked like a million times that he really didn’t mind, being well aware of the fact that I was holding him back.  However apparently that’s what mates are for however, so I stopped checking and just got on with it 🙂  Gary is, incidentally, at least half the man he used to be and more than twice the cyclist.  Must learn how to emulate that!  Having ridden this route three times before, I knew was a particularly big lump ahead of us, but had conveniently forgotten it wasn’t the only one and that others came first!  At least that meant I’d gone up, and could enjoy the flying section down to the Cerne Abbas Giant.  It helped to know it was there of course, and over-taking people who’ve dropped you on hills is always amusing.  Hey, they’d catch me again soon enough.

In previous years the food stop has been at the lay-by by the Giant, and we stopped there anyway, to immortalise his tumescence once more.  Which is a fancy way of saying big cock but that’s usually Guy’s joke.  However since he spent the whole ride without saying it, it seems I should *grin*.  It turns out that a lot of people were so busy concentrating where they were going that they missed him, which is a shame, since landmarks is part of what makes this particular route so nice.

Right then.  Time for that hill.  A quick wiggle through the pretty village of Cerne Abbas itself, where the residents were looking a bit bemused for us, and several signs showed that they were more concerned that we might upset the horses than vice versa.  Not that I saw a single horse that is.  And I had plenty of time to look around going up the hill.  It’s a long fairly consistently steep climb and I knew it was going to be hard work.  Somewhere near the bottom we passed Sean, puncture stricken but far enough ahead of us to have had time to have practically finished changing it, so he waved us on our way.  Up and up and up and past the drummer and up some more.  Still, as is always the way, later rather than sooner, it was done and behind me.  And man, the views from the top were amazing.  A reminder of why riding up hills is worth it.  That and the lovely down that came afterwards of course.  At some point on one of the downs today my Garmin showed 48+mph…but I’ve still not made it over 50 mph though!  Well, a girl has to have a goal, right? 🙂

The first food stop was shortly after this, predictably full of riders queuing for food and the two portable toilets.  As I arrived, I met Derek again, he of Black Rat Three Bridges fame, celebrating his birthday in typical cyclist style – on the bike.  He informed me he was relieved I hadn’t taken his “you don’t descent like a girl” comment on that day as an insult.  Far from it 🙂  It was nice to see him, and to be in the sunshine once again.  He went on his way, and I joined Guy, Martyn and Gaz in eating food and taking a break – Guy had kindly grabbed me a banana on one of his trips thataway.  Martyn was keen to be on his way.  Peter and Robin also.  Guy asked me which route I was doing…  Well I hadn’t decided.  But it felt like a leading question…and as it turns out, he was considering doing the shorter route.  Perfect.  Because that little “you’re crap” voice in my head had been thinking…  Well, I reviewed the “Long” Tour of Wessex route last year.  For journalistic integrity it would make sense to now review the “Short” Tour of Wessex, right?  I truly admire my brain’s ability to come up with excuses on demand, it’s impressive 😉  And given the chance to do the short route in company?  Sold!  Gary decided to join us, the others headed off, and we set off at my more leisurely place.  We never did see Sean though…and just presumed he’d gone hurtling off past us at some point.

The route split came somewhere around Puddletown.  Just as well as the group of pretend-pros behind us, complete with shouted rider instructions etc, were getting a little annoying.  We went left, they didn’t.  *Phew*!  And don’t towns around here have the best names?  Especially when there were no puddles to make assorted jokes about 😉

The route took us through to Tolpuddle.  Ah, well, yes, it would have done if they hadn’t closed the road for some town street event.  Diversion it said, you can’t come through they said, so we headed off to follow the diversion.  Which diverted us as far as somewhere and then just dropped us there, having lost the route and missed the turning the route would have taken.  We tried to guess where we should go…but since it turns out that that would have been left and we went right, that clearly didn’t go very well…  A little further down the road the guys were once more waiting for me, there having been an inevitable up.  This was good since I needed a comfort stop, and we needed to decide what to do.  As it turns out there was a marshal for another cycling event on the corner, complete with something very old skool – a map!  I reckoned we should head what looked like North ish for Bere Regis.  So did the map.  My geography may suck, but my sense of direction ain’t bad.  We also knew that at some point we had to go through Milton Abbas, somewhere so pretty it was bound to be on road signs eventually.  There was nowt for it but to head off and see what happened.  There has to be a joke about being martyrs to cycling in there somewhere though, right? 😉

It turned out to be very pleasant nonetheless.  We’d picked up a hanger-on, who’d decided there was safety in numbers, which felt a bit weird.  Us three chatting away familiarly and him not. There were long straight green roads, quiet, no riders or traffic, scenery, Forestry Commision land section, fair weather, and fair wind (such as it was it was now behind us).  After another stop by Bere Regis, some consultation with the high tech (Guy’s Garmin) and the low tech (a very chatty dog-walking lady), we found ourselves back on the route and heading for Milton Abbas.  Always nice to see those familiar black on yellow signs, even if there were more cars on the real route than on ours!

Last year Milton Abbas was full of fête and festivity and friendliness.  This year it was really quiet, with little to distract from the considerable climb up through it.  There was one group sat outside the pub who were busy frowning at us upsetting their personal idyll, even after my usual cheerful hello – grumpy s*ds!  You can tell it’s up there on the affluence scale though – the road has been properly resurfaced, none of this silly short term cost saving top dressing stuff, all the way through the village, and the continued climb afterwards – it goes up a long way after the village, and well after you think it should have stopped!  They don’t mind having posh smooth roads, but they’re really not keen on Giant Wind Turbines it would appear.  Which led to much discussion as to what size would actually be acceptable, and to which dimensions qualify as giant.  After all, they’re much smaller when they’re further away right? 😉  I bet they’re quite keen on having electricity around there though, for all the Nimbyism.  To be fair, I gather wind turbines are noisy, and I probably don’t one in my (postage-stamp sized) backyard either.  But then I didn’t really want a reservoir there either (as nearly happened) but am aware that water is a good thing, so was doing my best not to object to that on that basis.

Anyway, where were we?  Round about the second, or third for the long route, food stop.  This one was much quieter – I guess the long route riders probably hadn’t made it this far yet – and we had time to laugh at people swooshing in and out, all style and no substance – very funny. The chocolate flapjacks and jelly babies on offer were lovely.  Well, I thought they were then.  However for the rest of the ride it became clear that my flapjacks, liquid, gels, and theirs and whatever else I’d grabbed at food stations really wasn’t sitting well.  I needed to keep eating and drinking but I really didn’t want to, as I certainly didn’t want to see any of it again!   However I’m pleased it stayed where it was supposed to for all that it threatened otherwise.

We were told at the food stop that it was 26 miles to go, and actually it pretty much was.  It was also fairly rolling with quite a bit of fast flat too and we worked pretty well as a little group, eating up the miles, picking up the odd peloton as well as growing our own from time to time.  Precious few bothered taking their turn at the front though, happy just to be towed home.  Even I was doing my bit – I like to make up for what I can’t do by doing what I can when I can!  By now even my arms were out – not quite a first this year but not far off.  Cycling in nice weather is SO much nicer!  I ride better happier I guess?  Even the last little climb back into Somerton didn’t trouble me too much, and very soon we were back under the now re-inflated Finish Line, with (thanks to the detour) 88 miles or so on the clock.

Guy headed off straight away.  Gary and I headed off to see Claud the Butler who still makes seriously good Americanos, to enjoy a little après ride.  See, he even kept me company for coffee!  Ohana 🙂  And many thanks to both of them – it made the day far more enjoyable.  If you’ve got my back, I’ll go on…  Still, after a while, there was just me.  I’d completely failed to sort out how to rendezvous with Sean, and had run out of money, so I spent around an hour an a half talking to the world on my Crackberry and hoping he’d just turn up.  Robin and Peter did, and popped by and said hi.  Martyn finished but didn’t.  And then finally Sean did – which was a relief, especially considering my house key was in his car!  It turns out that the puncture we saw was shortly followed by another, and of course he then did the long route.  Still, other than the fact that I should have been eating and stretching, there are worse ways to spend such time than sat in a sheltered warm tent in the sun, watching MAMILs posture.  Intermittently highly amusing 😉

Cycling time: 5:51
Official time: 6:21
Distance: 88.7 miles
Avg: 15.2 mph
ODO: 4874.5 miles

Time to ride back to the car park, with bits of me protesting at being back on a saddle again, and to get home for the food I should have been having.  Oddly I appeared to have a ham egg and chips craving.  And what the body wants…  So it was that, once all clean and sorted for the following day again, Sean and I headed up to The Lamb for food.  Way quicker and easier than me cooking, and possibly more palatable!  And hey, a cold pint of lager never did anyone any harm, right?  Think of it as rehydration therapy…or sleep aid…or whatever excuse you need to make up for me 😉

Tour of Wessex Day 2 done.  A much better day for sure, even if my form was still as rubbish as ever! 🙂  Just one more early night and one more day to go.

Right.  Here we go.  Bear with me, this could take some time.

This Bank Holiday weekend was the Tour of Wessex 2014.  Something which I had, unfathomably, agreed to do again, shortly after finishing the last one.  It can only be presumed that such things work in the same way as labour does, in that the mind must block the pain away somewhere, thus allowing the human race to continue, and cyclists to race (sorry ride) again.  What was I thinking?  I have no idea.  I quite clearly remember saying I’d never doing it again after having done it, since I’d done it, and didn’t need to do it again.  Nonetheless…

Someone asked me last week if I was excited, looking forward to it.  Hm.  I’d actually been giving that quite some thought without coming up with a satisfactory answer.  I think ambivalent probably summed it up.  Looking back I think I was worried I wouldn’t make it at all; that some failure, be it mechanical or biomechanical, would stop me in my tracks.  None of the novelty, trepidation, or excitement of last year, just a sort of background worry…and the weather forecast wasn’t helping any.  As someone on Facebook commented, the weather is never great for the Tour of Wessex, you can practically set your clock by it.  Well, it’s an English Bank Holiday weekend, what else do you expect?  It looked like a reverse of last year’s weather, with nasty weather on the Saturday and better for the Sunday and Monday.  Which for Saturday meant not very windy, but not warm and most definitely wet.  It’s fair to say that the prospect of spending another day getting soaking wet on the bike far from appealed, and that waterproofs were not going to be optional.

Three days of cycling is like faffing cubed.  The front room floor was covered with kit as I tried to cover every eventuality whilst avoiding having to wash everything every day.  But eventually I was as ready as I was ever going to be.  Andrew had checked over the bike on Thursday, Chris changed the brake pads last week, and Karen, my physio, had strapped up my knee that morning.  Nothing left to do but eat and try and relax and get some sleep.  Some chance…

After a restless night, I gave up trying to sleep 20 minutes before my 5:45am alarm clock was due.  Time to go and put on the layers I’d decided on, and put others in a bag full of options in case I changed my mind once there.  It didn’t look too bad out there, but I wasn’t counting any chickens.  Good coffee drunk, bike and bags loaded up, and I was on my way, feeling more than a little stressed.  Still, the drive was ok, down roads I would later be riding on, the weather hadn’t yet arrived, and my music was doing a good job of cheering me up a little.  I arrived in Somerton with time to spare, and parked up on the playing field as instructed, fortuitously right next to Jon who was chatting to Guy who had arrived earlier yet was somehow parked further away.  Our little group had agreed to meet by the children’s playground at 7:30am, and there we were right next to it, early.  Handy.

First things first, to go and collect my registration pack as because I was doing it for work, I hadn’t registered on-line like everyone else.  For those, registration packs were sent the week before, so thus avoiding the need for people to register on the day.  Not that everyone had twigged this, there was a queue of people at the Pendragon tent being told they didn’t need to be there!  I however did, so I filled in the form, collected the pack, and headed back to the car.

I have to say I found this year’s handlebar mounted timing chip much better than last year’s saddle mounted sticky flappy one, and it was the only thing to be attached to the bike, or me, which was nice.  That done I faffed.  Well, what else was there to do?  It didn’t feel that cold, but I knew rain was due, and I was more than usually indecisive.  So – the final score line was long tights, light overshoes, s/s base layer, s/s jersey, and soft shell jacket (it has detachable sleeves so could double up as just a gilet later if necessary).  And of course the waterproof – tucked securely into my saddle bag.  Decisions made and layers donned, we all headed over towards the start, with the inevitable queue for the far too few toilets taking up some of the time to be killed.

No-one else seemed to want to advance into the pen and the start line, so our little ACG posse, by now joined by Martyn and Mark, decided we might as well.  If you see any official photos of the start line – the front row of riders is us!  This amused us more than it probably should have done, but did mean we got to spend lots of time watching the antics of photographers and journalists, all keen to get photos of Michael Eavis and the Aerial Atom that were to start off the event.

By now of course it was already raining intermittently, a sign of things to come.  The nearby speaker played an odd mix of frequently less than cheerful rock, although Chasing Cars was fairly apt, we got damp, and the time ticked down…

Finally after the usual rider briefing, which we all probably know by heart by now, the commentator counted us down from five and we were off, and following Mr Glastonbury Festival in the Aerial Atom out of the gate.  For 10 seconds I led the Tour of Wessex! 😉  Disappointingly the Atom instantly went left where we went right – not much of a lead out train! Ah well, time to stop fannying around and ride the bike then.

Today’s route was never going to hold much by way of novelty for me – it’s my patch, my turf, my backyard.  Even so, and having done it before, we nearly missed the right turn near Butleigh where a sign seemed to have gone amiss.  It’s a good thing someone always seems to have downloaded the route!  I’d like to have taken photos of Glastonbury Tor as we passed by, but it was in the clouds, and I was in the rain, and really, it didn’t seem worth it.  Besides, every time the road went up, I got dropped, and dropping back to take photos would have made things even worse, I’d never have caught up!  This, by the way, was to be the trend for the entire three days.  Keep up on the flat, get dropped on the hills, fail to catch up, and then get dropped completely unless some poor soul took pity and waited for me.

Which, for the first part of this day, the group did, or had to do, on a regular basis.  I did my best though, and enjoyed the downs and the flats when I could, and I was very grateful to them for waiting for me – it was not a nice day to be out there on your own, even on familiar roads.  On the upside, as we went through Glastonbury itself, the Atom reappeared, and I had to undertake it, as traffic stopped it hurtling off as it would like to have done.  Yes, not only did I lead the Tour of Wessex today, I was also briefly faster from A to B than an Aerial Atom.  Faster than a speeding bullet, that’s me 😉

The route sadly included the same horrible road from Godney to the bottom of Mudgeley Hill as last year, with potholes and gravel on either side, which had me holding on for dear life as riders insisted on squeezing past us to gain those extra precious seconds.  One group of them, unlike most, did at least warn me they were coming through.  I warned them that that was all very well but I still wasn’t moving out of the middle of the road – that being the only part of that road that was still road!  It was still raining, quite a lot, I was getting wet and cold, and I informed the group that if it was going to keep on doing that, that I was probably going to do the “short” route.  I just didn’t see the point of putting myself through another day of misery…and to be honest, they were probably quite pleased to hear that I wouldn’t be holding them back all day!

Unsurprisingly the group dropped me going up Mudgeley Hill.  I was doing my best to catch them up by making up time on the drop back into Wedmore when, where the road takes a sharp right turn to drop into the town, I came across Jon and Guy.  It wasn’t clear what had happened at first, other than that something had, but as it transpires, while following Guy down the hill Jon’s wheel had probably hit a drain cover, or something, and whatever had caused it, he’d come down hard on his right hand hip and shoulder.  The bike was ok, bar a little mudguard and brake straightening, but Jon was a little worse for wear.  How much worse remained to be seen…

Martyn and Mark had retraced their steps to join us, and we headed off as a group towards Cheddar Gorge.  Jon was definitely feeling it by now, not his usual speedy self at all, as well as being troubled by a niggling worry that he’d lost his keys when he came down.  Between us spreading out and him dropping back to check his pockets, it was every man for himself by the time we started what is to many an iconic climb.   Today it was an iconic river.  Which is of course why it’s a Gorge in the first place.  I swum up it in my usual fashion, too busy watching the road for rocks and water and other riders to have much time for photos or scenery appreciation.  In case you’re wondering – it’s frequently very pretty!

Somewhere along the top towards Priddy the weather brightened up a bit.  I may have been riding on my own, but it wasn’t too terrible.  I like the Mendips and there were bluebells and I wasn’t feeling too bad since I wasn’t having to keep up with anyone else.  Besides, the first food stop was due, at the Hunters Lodge, and I knew the chances were I would find the others waiting for me there, which I did.  It was a bit of a free-for-all – or maybe even a scrum – when it came to the food.  And the queue for the toilets didn’t appeal at all, though I gave in and joined it, needs must ‘n all that.  In the meantime I gave Jon some of my ibuprofen – I travel equipped – and chatted the future through with the guys.  Guy and Martyn were on the Long route.  Jon was not looking good, and I was for the short route, so Mark decided he’d join me and Jon would join us, and so two headed off and then we were three.

Off and down Old Bristol Road which was a little too congested to be much fun, as a support car had stopped halfway down to help someone needing wheel help.  Luckily I was being cautious at that point, so it wasn’t a problem, and the riders backed up for a bit as traffic going up squeezed past traffic going down.  At the bottom Jon bailed – very understandably – deciding to take the most direct route for home possible, and have his t’other half take him back to collect the car from Somerton.  A very wise move, especially as by now it was raining again.  On that basis Mark decided he’d go back to his original plan and do the long route, and I decided to stick to mine, and to pop in and see Chris for coffee which he’d offered as an option if I needed it.

I hadn’t realised, until I got inside and got coffee inside me, how thoroughly wet and cold I was.  I should probably have put that waterproof on, right?  D’oh!  I was soaked to the skin and freezing cold and shortly shivering.  Luckily Chris has nearly as much kit as I do, so I swopped several of my damp layers for his dry ones.  Some considerable time later, having drunk more coffee, wrapped up warm, with waterproof & overgloves on, and I was as close to human as I was going to get, facing another 40 odd miles in the rain on my own.  Still, warm and wet and better than cold and wet!  Oh, and they were possibly the best cups of coffee I’ve ever had!

Being behind everyone was quite nice in a way, I spent many semi-happy miles reeling in slower riders, as we headed through Shepton Mallet, Bruton and Evercreech, not necessarily in that order.  There was the usual traffic around the Royal Bath & West Showground, and from there on in, lots of diesel on the road – usually on the racing line, making me wonder if the Atom had been through this way too.  It was considerably lumpier than I was expecting, and neither my head, heart, nor body were really in it.  But I slogged along again, options being somewhat limited really.  One day soon I expect I shall mention a hill climb without also mentioning the smell of wild garlic, as the seasons change (they do do that, right?), but not today, as there it was again, damp and ever-present.  England’s green and pleasant land being unpleasantly watered.

Somewhere on one of those long climbs, momentum was interrupted as police marshalled us around an ambulance dealing with a poor soul about to be taken away, rumour has it having required CPR.  Well accidents usually happen downhill not up slow hills, but whatever happened, I hope he’s ok.  It was sobering nonetheless.  Somewhere not long after came the route split.  Go left and do an extra 40 miles in the rain, with the added joy of the King Alfred’s Tower climb?  Not on your nelly.  Nope, I turned right and headed for home.

My world shrank to being me, and my bike, and my music, and getting to where I had to go.  I never really got warm.  I drifted a bit from time to time and had to remember to eat or take gels.  I didn’t stop at the last foodstop, as I had what I needed with me, and didn’t want to risk getting colder standing around.  Believe it or not, I wasn’t actually miserable, but I was pretty focussed on getting it over and done with.  As the time passed, groups of the fastest riders from the long route started over-taking me, which didn’t do a lot for the ego, but at least proved I was still going in the right direction.  At least the odd one had the courtesy to say hi, and the occasional rarity even chatted briefly before leaving me behind.  This is not a good event for such things – far too many pretend-pros, some seriously bad manners, and occasionally some actively dangerous riding!

The country lanes carried me back past the orchards and vineyards around Wraxall, where thoughts of cider and wine were very motivational.  Yet another reason to get home…  It wasn’t hot enough for mirages by a long shot, but visions of a cold pint of lager were quite sustaining!  There were also posters everywhere for a forthcoming production of a “Comedy of Errors” which seemed oddly pertinent…

And then it was the last flying downhill down the hill up which we’d first climbed that morning, and then the slow slog back up to Somerton that by now definitely felt steeper than it is, and then there I was, over the Finish line, and done.  Not much to celebrate maybe, other than survival!  There was definitely to be no hanging around for me though, even if I probably wouldn’t have had long to wait for Guy and Martyn, considering the speed they’d been doing.  I went straight to the car, stripped off as much wet stuff as possible, put on my Skins, loaded up the car, drove gingerly over the now very muddy field to get out, and headed for home.

Cycling time: 5:06
Official time: 6:07
Distance: 73.0 miles
Avg: 14.0 mph
ODO: 4785.8 miles

So Tour of Wessex Day 1 done.  I’d been so wet that all my finger nails had split!  Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman ;).  Many, many thanks to Chris, without whom I don’t think I’d have survived!  It was a relief to get home to an email from a post A&E Jon, battered not broken, though words like “mis-aligned collar bone” were used, and apparently the bruise on his hip was properly spectacular!  Still – it could have been worse, and I’m very glad it wasn’t.  As for me, I had a long hot bath, re-strapped my knee, since all the wet had not been conducive to continued adhesion, put my Skins back on and enjoyed finally being warm again.  Well, apart from the chill that comes from applying Madform muscle cream of course but hey, it helped last year, so I wasn’t going to pass up on that.  Instead I just applied less and more judiciously.  I also washed all my kit and put it on radiators to dry; shoes, helmet and all, and ate jacket potatoes and porridge and the like, while waiting for my fellow Cyclosport writer Sean, due to ride with us for the next two days, to arrive so that I could go to bed.  He did, I did.  I’m probably a pretty lousy B&B hostess, but hey, I’m thinking crashing here is probably one step up from camping down there in the rain and mud would have been ;).

I woke up on Sunday morning, actually excited about doing a sportive.  And it’s been a while since that was the case.  I don’t know why, I think it’s because I’ve had hints of form lately, my weekday rides had gone fairly well, and had kicked my PMA off a bit.  With a lovely weather forecast, no kids at home, it really didn’t matter how long it took, I was going to get to spend a day around lovely scenery, riding my bike in the sun.  That’s never a bad thing 🙂

So, the alarm went off, and ok, I won’t pretend I bounced out of bed, but I was up and at ’em fairly easily, with the sun rising, blue skies overhead, and that general feeling of optimism about the day.  The White Horse Challenge starts from Shrivenham, which is only an hour or so away, and this year was to be my third.  2008, 2013, and 2014.  Numbers to conjure with, like 501 (very Levi’s), being my rider number, noted from the website beforehand, as instructed, so as to make registration easier.  We would see…

As I arrived at HQ, I saw some of the ACG there already, walking towards the hall.  Later than them, I was still early enough to be marshalled into a parking space just around the corner in the little tarmac car park there.  Hard standing is always nice, easy walking distance from HQ is even better.   I decided to go and register before faffing for a change, what with it being so close.  Registration numbers were organised in batches, and since I was in the 501+ group, finding me couldn’t have been easier, and with the usual spiel, “map and cable ties over there, help yourself to coffee”, my timing chip was stuck on the left hand side of my helmet, and I was done.

I spotted the ACG peloton lounging around the stage and joined them briefly, but I wasn’t up to their level conversationally today, let alone on the road, so I excused myself after a bit, and headed back to the car, via a slightly smug walk past the queueing gents to the Ladies – sometimes being a minority is great 🙂  There were portable toilets outside, but if you don’t have to, why would you?

Back at the car I faffed.  A little, not a lot.  Sunny it may have been, but it was still pretty nippy.  However since I was riding for Cyclosport, and I have Cyclosport kit, deciding what to wear had become a whole heap easier than it might otherwise have been.  So, lightweight longs, short sleeve Cyclosport jersey, long sleeve heavier Cyclosport jersey, Cyclosport gilet, mitts, windproof overshoes, and a couple of buffs – neck and head.  Which reminds me I still haven’t relocated one of them, I must have a better look at some point!

No sign of anyone ACG ish in the carpark, or at HQ where I loitered near the start with intent.  At  some point Guy walked past me and then back, at which point we did have a brief chat.  The lads were up for trying for a sub 5 hour time, which was/is totally beyond me.  Nice though it was of him to ask if I wanted to join them, what would be the point?  I’d just get dropped, or let them down, so I excused myself once more.  OK, yes, sure, I was a little sad about it, but hey, let’s be realistic.  A little while later I spotted them all standing all ready and joined them for a bit to wait instead – that I could do.

At some point the relevant time came, and riders were allowed over the start line with very little fanfare.  Well, none actually.  I set off ahead of the others somehow, but it didn’t take long for them to pass me and head off into the sunrise.  Probably somewhere around the first draggy hill which isn’t really a hill I guess but feels like it, as it’s only a mile or so in, and I was a long way from warmed up, unless feeling like death warmed up as I crawled up it counts!

After that things got a little easier.  Things got warmer, including me, though the wind and air were still pretty nippy rushing past me.  The first 25 miles or so are pretty flat, allowing you to get into your stride, so to speak, admire the scenery, and just enjoy being out there.

This is all familiar territory for me.  My in-laws live just up the road.  Well, soon to be ex-laws I supposed.  Out-laws?  To be honest, if I’d remembered that, this sportive might not have been on my list, but somehow I’d sort of forgotten, possibly because I’ve done so many sportives now that they do tend to blur into one a bit, and also because I did remember how beautiful this route is.  Still, as I pootled my way through Purton and Wootton Bassett, sorry Royal Wooton Bassett, and the like, I did have to do a bit of mindfulness, and focus on the now not the then and the what was.  However there was plenty to look at.  Cricklade had its Town Crier yelling as we went past.  The lady Mayor was out in Wooton Bassett, waving us by.  Pretty villages, flowers, thatched cottages, and beautiful countryside, what’s not to love?

The first big climb of the day was upon us – at Broad Town.  I know there’s a white horse on it, but with the sun rising behind the hill and casting it all into shadow, today I couldn’t see it.  I’ve done this climb several times, and it’s one I like.  I like it even more when it isn’t covered in snow, as it was last March!  It wiggles up through trees, isn’t massively steep, and goes on long enough for my crawler gear to engage – all the boxes ticked for me really.  Some others weren’t enjoying it so much, so some of the other hills later on were going to prove a real challenge for them, something I didn’t tell them, obviously!

Once up the hill we turned right, to ride across the top, with views, and fields of stunning yellow oil seed rape, and it was just a joy.  The descent the other side wasn’t so much fun – it’s technical, shaded, with a lousy road surface, but came complete with warning signs and marshals.  Once it settles down a bit though, I got a bit of what I do best, all the way from there to the first food stop, flying along, fast, flat, fun…  Note to others sitting on my wheel – your shadows betrayed you…and it’s kinda unfair to take a ride for a few miles and then overtake me and head off!  Oi – no fair!

Ah well, not the first time, won’t be the last.  I didn’t really feel the need to stop but figured that it’s hard to review a ride properly without experiencing all of it, and I’m glad I did.  Having grabbed a few photos and half a banana, someone called my name.  It took a while to register since, if I’m doing a sportive on my own, I tend to presume I’m going to stay that way and tend to be off in my own little world.  It turned out to be Alex, one of my twitter friends, who I’ve met before, albeit only briefly at last year’s aborted Endura Lionheart.  It was nice to see a familiar face, and even nicer to be invited to join him and his mates to ride for a while.

Well, good plans and all that…  We hung out for a while.  Alex very chivalrously leant me his wheel to sit behind for a while.  His mates mostly disappeared, and I predictably dropped like a stone as we crawled up the A4 past the next white horse at Cherhill, once again a place that holds a lot of no-longer pleasant memories for me.  We weren’t massively popular with the traffic.   All of us heading east, with a time trial going on going west, meant the cars were sort of picking their way through us, and I was glad it was still early in the day and not too busy.  Once again it was a beautiful place to be on a day like this, there were some great jerseys to admire, and once the climbing is done, the flying stretch along the A4 towards Avebury is a blast, which is when I passed Alex and rather than picking him up as I’d meant, kind of accidentally dropped him.  But I was having so much fun, and that’s the way the cookie crumbles, etc.

Avebury always seems to go too fast for somewhere that is so big.  A couple of minutes, quick glimpses of standing stones, and you’re through and heading along the next lovely rolling section.  It would be easy to overdo it here, but I knew the next white horse would be along shortly, so I kept it sensible and spent some time sitting behind an Ireland jersey and conserving my energy.  Oddly for ages I couldn’t quite keep up with him, and then suddenly I’d gone past him and he fell away too.  Well, maybe he’d been pushing it, maybe he didn’t want to sit on a girl’s wheel, unlike some 😉

You can see the whole of the climb ahead of you from a long way off.  Alex was back with me now, and thanks to his reminder I remembered that one of my favourite downhills comes afterwards, which made the climb far more enjoyable.  It’s steeper than Broad Town though, at least initially, and bendier, but it’s more open so there’s plenty to enjoy visually on the way up, to distract you from how you’re feeling.  There were a few walkers by now, to be negotiated carefully, as there were some cars going both ways, and a fair few other leisure riders hurtling down and grinning at us as we went up.

There were a few spectators at the top, complete with cowbells, and a red Ferrari.  I commented on how nice a car it was, he said it was a nice hill, which seemed a little, well, random.  Never mind, time to head for Marlborough.  Man, that’s some fun riding.  Fast, straight, clear…grins from ear to ear :D.  By the time we reached Marlborough I’d somehow managed to lose Alex again, and nearly lost myself.  There were no signs and the marshal who was supposed to be pointing us all to turn left on the high street was deep in conversation with a local, and nearly missed me as I nearly missed him!  Luckily I saw him, just as he got with it enough to wave in the right direction, besides, I was pretty sure I knew roughly where I was going.

Out of Marlborough, left past the marshals with wine gums and cheery chat, to negotiate the country lanes along the valley that we did on my 40th birthday ride last year.  Last year I was in agony, this year I wasn’t, and it was definitely better this way!  There were some lumpy bits and one really steep one that somehow I’d managed to completely forget, no idea how, and it was quite a challenge – proper steep too, or at least it seemed that way to me.  But I’m ok with hills now, I know I can get up them, and this one was no exception.  Hard work, but doable.

Time for the second food stop.  I took photos, stashed my gilet, and grabbed corn chips, a savoury snack that went down really well.  There was one portable toilet, and one growing queue.  Alex arrived behind me, didn’t really stop, just exchanged a few words before heading straight off.  It took me longer to catch him than I thought.  Not queueing was not a wise move, as my bladder decided I should have stopped, and got fairly insistent about it.  The roads just seemed to be dragging now, with wind, and nowhere to stop, and a body totally distracted and not riding well.  Finally, and a little ironically maybe, I came across an industrial warehouse place, called WHS Logistics or some such, and a quiet corner down the side where I disturbed some very cute bunny rabbits before sorting out my logistics.  I took the opportunity to eat and take a gel before setting off again.  And found Alex.

This was the hardest stretch.  Which we did together for a while.  Slow grind, more of the same old countryside, average speed dropping, head drooping, brain zoning out in the patterns on the road…that gel hadn’t come soon enough, but at least I had taken it.  At some point we parted company – again – I think I’d zoned out too far.  I just had to do the pace my legs were doing, not faster or slower, and it just kinda worked out that way.  After a while I started to feel better, helped by the fact that nonetheless the miles were being eaten up, and the end was getting nearer.  I may have felt better but I knew that the last big hill of the day was still ahead of me, the timed KOTH, gratuitous detour, that is Uffington.  Another one where you know the white horse is there but never see it!

And, surreally enough, I enjoyed it.  Done it before, know I can do it, and this time I seemed to be suffering or struggling less.  I just sat back and got on with it.  Took photos for the first time, chatted to the odd bystander and the inevitable photographer, grinned to myself, and yes, enjoyed it.  Mad :).

I must have been worrying about it more than I thought I was though, because even though there was a bit more up and down afterwards, I was feeling infinitely better, and was on the finishing straight, mentally and physically.  I chatted to another rider, who was local, for a bit, and at the 5km to go sign, we pushed off and headed for home.  I sat on his wheel, apologetically but he didn’t mind, the entire way in, at proper speed, and loved every minute of the sprint for home.

And just to round things off perfectly, I arrived back at HQ to roll over the timing mat, the much faster, beat me by about an hour, ACG posse were waiting there and cheered me over the line, absolutely and totally making my day 🙂  Having set off, knowing my recent history and form, and last year’s time, I’d been thinking maybe 7 hrs.  However my official time was seconds over 6 hours.  My ride time was 5:49:09, one second different, and slower, than last year.  I did the hills a little faster, faffed at stops less, and was on my own this year so must have been a little slower where group riding would have helped, and I was just over the moon with it.  Big grin.  And so nice to have friendly faces around me for the après ride, even if I probably did come across as a bit mental *grin*.  I was just so pleased; my longest ride of the year so far and it was so much better than I’d expected.  Yep, I was feeling good :).

There wasn’t much to hang around for now, the ACG having been there forever already were off, and I didn’t fancy sitting on the grass and chilling out by myself – not when I could be heading for home and a pint of lager somewhere.  We all headed our separate ways, and me and my happy face and silly sunburn marked hands headed back to the car park.  White Horse Challenge – done.  Again! 🙂

Cycling time: 5:45 – SILVER
Distance: 89.6 miles
Avg: 15.6 mph
ODO: 4279.9 miles

PS – sorry Alex!