A 4:45am alarm.  Well, it would have been if the combination of the storm outside and the turmoil inside hadn’t removed any ability to fall asleep naturally, so I’d had to resort to a little white pill, on the basis that riding around Exmoor for the day on no sleep at all seemed like a really bad idea.  It worked.  It also meant that the alarm took 12 minutes to get through the many layers and drag my consciousness into the light.  Well, not light.  It’s no more light at 4:57 than it would have been at 4:45! 😉

Still, as always, I had pretty much prepped the night before, so all I had to do was dress, eat cereal, and wait for Chris to turn up and load my rather dirty winter bike into the back of his car.  To give me some credit, I had warned him about its state, and what with it being dark, maybe it didn’t look as bad as it really was.  This is however the man that couldn’t bear to let me ride the Quebrantahuesos with my cassette the way it was, and insisted on cleaning it to within an inch of its life for me before I rode again.  He did a very good job of not commenting though as the bike, and various bags, were loaded up.  Probably because no-one is that chatty at that time of the morning.  Robin Williams had it right, OMG it was early!

HQ for the Exmoor Beast used to be at Butlins in Minehead, a town that can be somewhat tricky to get to thanks to the joys of the A39.  It now starts from Tiverton, in Devon, which is beyond easy to get to.  Straight down the M5, and you’re practically there.  In fact Guy was there well before us, stayed ahead of us all day and was never to be seen.  Well it’s hard enough to find an individual cyclist at an event when it isn’t pitch black and everyone is wearing matching or co-ordinating shades of luminous whatever!

Parking up was easy.  We were marshalled on to the sports court along with everyone else, in plenty of time to head for registration, via the facilities.  There was no queue, other than us two making our own of two, both being Ts!  I’d been a bit worried about that as there were time limits in place for getting everyone away and so on, and queuing could have cut into those.  But no problem, here’s your envelope, go over there to check it works, and you’re done.  Alright then.  We were done.  We bumped into Gaz on the way back out to the car, though unlike Guy, we were destined to see him at least again!  We then faffed so efficiently that it probably can’t even be called faffing really.  In no time at all we were heading for the start, and marshalled into what was probably the third pen to be let go.  After a bit of hanging around, presumably to allow time for the previous pens to spread out a bit, we were given our briefing and sent off into the damp Devon countryside, a little after 7:00am.

The Exmoor Beast has a fairly fearsome reputation.  Not only is it pretty lumpy but the weather in October frequently ain’t great, which tends to make the whole thing even more challenging.  I was supposed to do it last year and had to bail due to ill health, so it was my last remaining unfinished business ride, having got the Magnificat out of my system earlier this year.  Predictably the forecast was horrible.  In fact that being the case was so predictable that I wasn’t even troubled by it.  Rain, wind?  Put on the layers and stash the waterproof – just like the last few rides in fact.  It was still due to be fairly mild to go with it, which always helps and, let’s face it, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ridden around Exmoor in miserable weather, and I’ve survived so far!

As we set off it was, as I believe I may mentioned, dark.  It’s a good thing my new pair of Knog strobe lights turned up on Saturday morning.  A stream of flashing red lights illuminated the road ahead and it was, for those of us that don’t commute, a fairly novel experience.  Somehow the miles seem to pass faster, even when going uphill as things started to do fairly quickly, when you can’t see where you’re going and have to concentrate on the road.  It was damp under wheel, and behind wheel, and occasionally from above, but there wasn’t much of it and it was definitely too mild for the waterproof.  There was quite a lot of up to make you warmer too, but I don’t remember any of it being more painful than usual.  Maybe I should ride in the dark more often?

We kept going up, and the sun came up too, or at least it must have done to make it light.  I climbed the hills at my usual sloth like pace, but mostly I kinda liked them, in so far as I ever like hills.  They were long and not that steep and just plod alongish…while Chris practiced his low cadence high resistance work to give him something to do whilst keeping me company.  The weather deteriorated though and being as I was already damp, I started to turn into also being cold, and the rain was getting heavier…  So as we neared the top of wherever, which may have been Wimbleball Lake, we stopped, I put the waterproof on, and we both grabbed a bite to eat.  I seem to recall not wanting to go anywhere near this place again after the last time, but then I swore I wouldn’t do the Tour of Wessex that took me there again, and I’m going to!

There were some nice descents to be had during the day, although I was grateful of my winter tyres and my natural tendency to be somewhat over-cautious when I can’t see what’s coming next.  A couple of times my rear wheel hinted that it might like to be somewhere other than where I would like it to be, but never more than that.  I gather there were some that weren’t so lucky, and on the long descent towards Dunster there was one nasty bend which I bet caught some out.  I was being careful and as I went around slightly wide nonetheless, found the road was blocked by a group of riders going down and a car that had presumably stopped on meeting them, coming up.  It looked like there had been an accident…but there hadn’t, so I’m not sure what was going on there.  A near miss presumably?  There nearly was an accident as we, and others behind us, came around that corner and nearly piled into them all though.  One descent where a few “CAUTION” signs or a flag waving marshal would have come in useful, and it wasn’t the only one.  There were a few “SLOW” signs dotted around en route, and I gather the residents are quite keen on removing signs, but even so, I think a few more would have been good today, especially when the roads, though generally pretty good on the surface front, were wet and covered with whatever crap the recent bad weather had brought down.

one rider Conquering the Beast… 😉

Maybe these hills would have troubled me more if I hadn’t known that the real killer of the day was still ahead of us, so there was no point protesting too much…  Maybe there’s something to be said for having low expectations.  If you expect it to be a crap and miserable day in the saddle and it isn’t actually as bad as it could be, well, I guess that has to be quite good for the PMA?  Whatever the reason, I was actually feeling pretty good about it, which I hadn’t been expecting to be the case at all!

Around halfway through the ride came the first food stop, by which time it had actually brightened up considerably and, having just gone downhill for quite a while, so had I ;).   Talk about well equipped.  As well as a row of portable toilets there were several tents dishing out water, Accelerade, even hot soup!  There were also little lunch bags for everyone which, though it sounds like a good idea, was proving to be quite wasteful.  Each bag had a banana, flapjack, piece of cake, and a sausage roll, and a lot of folk were just taking the elements of choice – a banana in my case – and jettisoning the rest, which seemed a bit sad after all the effort that must have gone into bagging it all up.  I think there was mechanical support there too; there certainly was at HQ and there were outriders and medical support on the route too.  As we milled around, we found Gaz there, as well as lots of other riders variously stripping off as the many layers being worn proved altogether superfluous.  I joined them, stuffing my waterproof and gilet back in the saddle bag.

After chatting for a bit, it was time to head for the roads around Minehead which, thanks to having ridden around here before with Gaz and also for the Exmoor Beast preview ride last year, are quite familiar.  So I wasn’t going to be pushing it, as I knew what was coming all too shortly!  Having done my fair share of climbing already it became clear that life was getting a little more painful and some shiny pills might be a good idea.  I managed to drop my bottle whilst failing to co-ordinate washing them down with being distracted by two riders going past me and suggesting my back brake wasn’t down.  It was!  I’m still bemused by that one…  Having left Gaz a little way behind he was perfectly placed to pick it up for me though – ta! 🙂  Right.  Dunkery Beacon here we come.  *gulp*.  I’ve ridden the first section before which did mean I knew that bit at least could be done, but I was still a bit apprehensive about it.  There was a marshall guiding riders over the matting covering the cattle grid at the bottom and I had my heart in my mouth riding so slowly over it, but I did manage to stay upright.  The road loomed up ahead – steep, wet, and with plenty of other riders around to add to the challenge.  Avoid the walkers, the zig zaggers, the cars having the audacity to use the road at the same time as us, feel the front wheel lifting, adjust balance, and just keep going…

It’s a hill of two halves.  There’s that bit, familiar, now under my belt, going up through the trees to the fork in the road.  Where she chose left, not down.  Not that there was any choice, I do what I’m told and that’s what the arrows said, however much more down might have appealed.  There’s a brief flatter bit here, time to catch your breath a little, and then it starts all over again.  Constantly steep, climbing out of the trees, able to see far too clearly what lies ahead of you, and it just goes on and on and on.  But I wasn’t going to walk.  I knew that Phil (of sportivephoto fame) was going to be immortalising us all at the top, and could in fact see the flashbulbs firing in the distance.  I may have jested with him last week that in that case he could take photos of me walking, but there was no way I was going to let that actually happen.  So I kept going, unlike many which, like it or not, is good for the ego.  I knew where I was aiming for, I had company, and something to laugh at – watching Chris trying to ride as slowly as me is actually quite amusing.  And it’s only a hill right? 😉  I hailed Phil as I went past grinning, and he said if I was still smiling it couldn’t be that hard ;).  That was a smile of achievement that was, but somewhat impressively still a smile, not a grimace.

How nice was it to have that behind me?  Very!  Especially as after a bit more of a climb around Exford, it’s pretty much flat and downhill from there all the way to the end. 20+ miles of fast?  Don’t mind if I do :).  I’d like to pretend it was all going so well that we were tempted to take the longer route when we reached the route split, but I’d be lying through my teeth.  Given a choice between 20 more miles or 60 it was, again, no choice at all.  The 100 mile route never had appealed, and it still didn’t.  Since it was going well, there seemed no point pushing that envelope.  T’aint broke, don’t fix it!  Time to sprint for the finish.  Kinda ;).  I even took my turn at the front from time to time.  Chris reckons that’s because I like to be the one at the front as we go rabbit chasing, and he may have a point… ;).  There wasn’t much left in my legs on the climbing front, so on the odd couple of occasions where we did hit an up, I went backwards as usual, but that did break up the competitive mini-peloton that had formed around us and which was pushing me just that little bit more than I wanted, so it was all good.  Other than that, and getting a little tired towards the end, it was an absolute blast!  Exmoor was looking pretty, the skies were at least partially blue, and considering the day had been supposed to be hideous, we were getting away with it.

I think the locals had been at it again on the way back into Tiverton as just towards the end the signs vanished.  Luckily Chris has done this before and knew where he was going.  I haven’t, but I know how to follow Chris!  And there we were, back at HQ, rolling over the timing mat and into, yes into, the sports hall.  We dismounted as instructed, shook hands, and the tannoy lady announced our arrival, which nearly made me jump out of my skin!  Welcoming everyone in was a nice touch though.  Almost as nice as the free Exmoor Beast tankard to be filled with free Exmoor Beast ale to be drunk as we hung around and kicked back for a bit.  We also printed out our times, to discover we’d scraped in under 5 hours by the skin of our teeth, which was oddly satisfying.  Guy was already on his way home, and after a while Gaz arrived back and joined us.  We were frequently reminded to drink responsibly, which we did.  I was responsible for drinking and Chris was responsible for getting me home in one piece! 😉  Free beer with a chauffeur?  One way to guarantee a post ride nap when you get home!  More sensible folk were eating, or having a massage, or admiring the shiny kit and bikes on offer.

After a while the hall filled up and as a result warmed up, but we were inevitably starting to get a tad chilly, and much more Exmoor Beast would probably have been ill advised.  It was time to load up the car, change into something marginally more presentably but much warmer and drier in the Ladies, and then be driven all the way home.

Cycling time: 4:37 hrs.
Official time: 4:59 hrs
Distance: 66.1 miles.
Avs: 14.3 mph.
ODO: 16672.9 miles.

I know this is going to sound weird, but it just wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be.  That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard work, as it was, but actually it went pretty well, and I think I can even say I enjoyed it.  Mad.  Who’d a thought it?  Unfinished business – finished!  Many thanks to the ever-patient Chris for the ride there and back, and the tow around :D.  Only one more sportive to go this season, and he’s stuck with me for that one too! *grin*.

I have to admit to having my reservations about women only cycling events.  I think sportives should be made more accessible/welcoming to all, rather than there being an alternative just for women.  You’ve never seen a men-only sportive have you?  Even if it feels like it with only 5% of riders being female on average.  Going down that route feels a bit on the exclusive side rather than the inclusive.  But you shouldn’t judge things about which you know nothing, so when I was asked to review a Cycletta, it seemed like a good chance to see what they were all about.  I opted for the Cycletta New Forest because it’s one of only a couple of their events that has an 80km route. Most of them offer three routes – c.20, c.40 and c.60km tops.  In supermodel fashion, I’m not getting my arse out of bed and driving 2+ hrs somewhere just to ride for a couple of hours and then drive home again.  Besides, 60km would barely tick the two hour rule box.  But since the New Forest is pretty, and pretty flat, I figured 50 miles was just about worth it.  Ooh, get me, cycling elitist ‘n all ;).

My 5:15am alarm woke me to a dark, wet, and windy morning.  Not what you’d call motivational, but very typical for a sportive at this time of year!  Still it’s not like I was sleeping well anyway, so rolling over and going back to sleep wasn’t that attractive let alone not being optional.  Having eaten porridge and packed up the car, I was on my way by 6:00am.  I can’t be said to have enjoyed the drive much, especially up a pitch black Cheddar Gorge, and the fog on the top of the Mendips above Shepton Mallet was a challenging touch.  But it was pretty uneventful.  I’d like to say the sun came up at some point, but I’ll stick to just saying that it got lighter, in barely discernable increments.  But at some point night had finally departed, and it was day, and things were a little bit drier…

In pleasing fashion, I beat the satnav’s ETA to HQ. Via a detour into the wrong carpark because I followed everyone else and not the satnav, which will larn me.  But it was a mere bagatelle, and 5 minutes later we were all slowly driving down the main entrance to Beaulieu Palace.  The official car park was off to one side before that for the tourists, by a ruined church sort of bit which was pretty much all I saw of the palace.  Maybe I was just looking the wrong way all day?  Anyway, everyone was parking pretty much in organised but unmarshalled fashion so I cheated and nipped down the first aisle to a little space I could see.  Gotta love having a diddy car :).  That put me right at the front, nearer the toilets than most, but with still a short walk to where I presumed the start was from the general flow of folk.

Being relatively early, the queues were still small, so I nipped to the loo before faffing in the not to be dry much longer.  Definitely layers.  And the waterproof stashed in the saddle bag.  It didn’t take long though, since I drove pretty much dressed and ready, and I headed off, over the cleat clogging grass and gravel, to pootle around the event village a bit.  As I watched the kids doing the Scootathlon the rain started…

But it was a nice idea, and the kids were having fun.  They’d set up a little loop around the paths near the start line, and groups of age-similar kids were doing laps like Ironmen.  Or maybe iron childen ;).   Scooter lap, riding lap, 2 laps of running and then over the line.  Sounds like hard work to me, but they seemed to be enjoying it, along with a fair few proud lycra-clad mums in attendance clapping, and waiting for their chance to get over the start line too.

I still had about half an hour to kill before 9:00am when Challenge route riders were supposed to start. I decided that the rain wasn’t funny anymore, and parked up the bike, put the waterproof on, before nipping to the toilets again. OK, that was the plan, but if you’re going to have hundreds, or even a rumoured two thousand, fully clad female cyclists at an event, four mini toilet blocks (4 in each) and two single toilets, ain’t going to cut the mustard.  Even normal sportives can get that wrong!  Still, we all stood in the queue and put a brave British face on it as the rain continued to get worse.

Marvellous.  Ah well, at least the jacket was toasty.  Ish.  But I was more than ready to get on the bike and get going after that.  The start queue had finally formed and I was a way back as a result of my unplanned delay.  At least I had time to get all the grass and mud out of my cleats so I could actually clip in and out without causing some sort of less than amusing domino effect in my vicinity…  Tip to the lady next to me.  When surrounded by a lot of clearly new, or amateur, or just not very experienced cyclists, standing over your posh expensive bike, all skinny and in shorts, talking loudly about your recent trip to the Pyrenees is a tad de trop.  Just saying.  OK, so the chances were looking good that I might compare favourably with a large percentage of the crowd, but I wasn’t going to be rubbing anyone’s noses in it.

Rain, rain, and more rain, but there was quite an atmosphere of camaraderie going on, and we weren’t downcast.  I’m not used to be surrounded by people who are excited about the challenge ahead, everyone I know, and on the events I do, seem to have gotten rather blasé about what it is that we do.  Slowly we crept forwards to stand at the start line and be briefed and then let away in batches of ten.

Off we went onto wet wiggly country lanes.  In order to maximise and simplify for the organisers, it’s a figure of 8 kind of route. Start with 1 bigger loop. Take a straight section to a shorter loop. Take the straight section back to the Start. And, if you’re on the Challenge route – repeat.  This has its pros and cons.

• Two laps mean you know what you’re in for halfway ’round which, if it was hilly, could be quite a deterrent. But since it wasn’t, and there wasn’t much climbing at all really, it means you know that maybe you could go a bit faster second time around, and that there’s nothing to fear.  
• The figure of eight route means that 2 “treat” stops become four with no effort at all.  Both stops were well equipped with food, friendly folk and mechanical support, putting a very brave cheerful face on standing around in dayglo overalls in the wind and rain all day!

On the downside

• Though being first away for the long route means very little traffic of either sort on the way out, by the time you start the second loop it’s full of all sorts of traffic and you spend your entire time over-taking cars and bikes.  If you’re on a mountain bike slogging along into the wind and rain at no speed at all, being over-taken by me with my head down and going 15mph faster than you, must be a tad annoying/demoralising.  Sorry.  Kinda ;).
• That straight section being used both ways, and for me, twice, meant that there were cyclists of all abilities going both ways down it with plenty of cars trying to get past in both directions.  And sometimes cyclists overtaking too.  Chaos.  I bet the motorists of the New Forest hate “us” even more now, even if they were all generally being more pleasant because we were girls.
• Overlapping the route is confusing because if you didn’t know that was going to happen – if you’re on one of the other routes – it’s quite easy to worry you’re going the wrong way, and there were a lot of temporarily worried faces around.  Luckily there were plenty of marshals to point the right way as and when necessary and reassure the bemused.

There was a mix of terrain. Country lanes, forest, wide open moor land (for which also read exposed!).  Very scenic, in a damp drippy way.  Apart from a couple of stretches of bad surface, and signs warning you of that to go with them, the road surfaces were pretty good too.  Thanks to the marshals at all the main junctions, and the big black arrows on yellow backgrounds it was pretty hard to get lost, though the odd repeater sign would have come in useful.  At least second time around the route you know you’re going the right way!  Down by the coast, around Lymington, the scent of salty mudflats had me thinking of rocks, and crabs, barnacles and anti-foul…Dad will know where I’m coming from even if you don’t :D.

Luckily only the first 10 miles and last 10 miles were really wet.  I stashed the waterproof half way around, on my one and only stop, because life was getting a tad too boil in the bag for my tastes.  By the time the wet stuff started again near the end, I was essentially past caring and more interested on getting to the end as fast as possible.  There was a really nasty headwind on a couple of sections, but the loopy route meant it was also behind you at some points too.  Swings and roundabouts.  A couple of very doable climbs meant that there were even a couple of long downward bits. Nothing excessive, but enough for the odd grin.  Apologies if I went past you very very fast.  I wasn’t showing off, I was having fun.  Honest! *grin*.

OK, I’ll own up.  This was seriously good for my ego.  Don’t worry, the Exmoor Beast next weekend will put me properly back in my place. But to be flying around, overtaking all and sundry, feeling pretty good?  It quickly became clear that I was going to be able to do this and do it fairly well, so I decided to set myself a goal and see if I could do the 50ish miles in under 3 hours ride time.  The mental arithmetic to work out the average speed required took a while too, which handily ate up a few miles 😉 Doing the math has never been my strong point.  Although English was/is so let’s call it maths ;).  It was just bliss to spend three hours being somewhere else in every sense.  Not racing, but at least pushing it to see if I could do it, and just focusing on that.  Plenty of very much appreciated head space and not much thinking at all :).

And I did it.  After some daft shenanigans with cars and overtaking and…*grrrr*…which I made up for by overtaking a group of younger fit looking Rapha-clad women trying to race to the finish.  Tee hee hee…  As eldest would put it – *smug face*.  When I crossed the start line my Garmin said 2:55.  The text I got shortly afterwards informed me that my official time was 3:03.  Strava reckons my average speed was 17.3mph.  Now that ain’t bad.  What’s more I came 7th.  Not just 7th out of the girls, and rubbish overall, as would otherwise be the case.  No.  After all, we were only girls…so I was 7th overall.  7th?!  Did I mention how good this was for the ego?  😉

Having collected my medal and sample filled Liv/Giant goody bag, it was still pouring down, and the outdoor event village was not really somewhere for pleasant hanging around.  The only place properly undercover was the Beauty Event Spa tent.  Yes, there’s a spa tent.  Yes, I’m guessing it is a girl thing *grin*.  There was a choice of (free!) treatments on offer.  Stretching (I’ve been told that’s good for you…but not for me), leg/foot massage (20 minute queue), dry shampoo/hair tidying (as if), and facials.  Why not?  Well by the time we’d been talked through all the stuff to put on our faces, and applied step by step as instructed, at least my face was clean and lovely!  The rest of me was cold, and wet, and only getting colder…  Time to head to the car and do that hiding in the boot contortionist getting changed thing.  At least I could have the engine running to warm the car and me up.  Some form of changing facilities would have gone down a storm after the storm, as it were!

So what do I think of Cycletta now?  Well it’s not really a sportive for women.  It’s a women’s cycling event.  Which is great, don’t get me wrong.  There were all sorts of sizes, shapes, and abilities doing all sorts of rides. Short, long, solitary, with friends, on road bikes, mtbs, even tandems.  The lack of testosterone was refreshing.  Everyone seemed to be having a very good time, a lot of money was raised for charity, and there was an entirely different atmosphere to it, with a lot of family involvement.

But for me to want to do more, it would need a longer route still, and one that didn’t repeat. Which I gather from the post-ride survey is something they’re thinking about.  I quite like the after-ride bonding spa experience – very novel.  So stretch the route, throw in some more toilets and some changing facilities, then yes, I’ll be there.

I’ll add this, in postscript fashion…  Is it ever going to get women cyclists into the mainstream, or will it remain a stand alone thing?  How many graduate from Cycletta to “normal” sportives?  Now there’s something I’d like to know…

Cycling time: 2:55 hrs.
Distance: 50.8 miles.
Avs: 17.3 mph.
ODO: 16580.19 miles.

Today’s sportive was the Southern Sportive.   Whilst not a new event to me, I’ve only done it once, back in 2007 which is many years and a cycling lifetime away.  It starts from Petersfield, which is a non-motorway 2.5 hour drive from here, so I indulged in a night at the Premier Inn before hand so that the morning start wouldn’t be too hideous.  Just for once I let the bike sleep in the car, tucked up in its very own blankets, rather than fuss around getting it out, in and back out again.  After a pretty good night’s sleep myself, I woke up at 6:00am to a variable weather forecast, wet roads, and a distinct chill in the air once I was brave enough to open the window to check it out.  Hm.  Layers then.  Of course the downside to not being at home is that when you unpack your kit and realise you’ve forgotten your sports bra, there’s nothing you can do about it.  At least the one I had with me for the drive home after was fairly simple…and no bra is just not an option. D’oh!

HQ, at Churchers College, turned out to be all of 5 minutes drive away and since I was there a bit before 7:00am, I was one of the first there and so benefitted from parking on site right next to registration and all the facilities.  The early bird gets the worm right?  First things first – off to register.  No queue as they were still really just setting up, and the only real wait was for the lady behind my part of the desk to be briefed on what she had to do!  Find number 673, hand over the bike number and hub mounted timing chip, point me at the zip ties and the disclaimer form to sign, and that was it.  Easy.

Back to the car, and faffing.  The surrounding cyclists and I indulged in the usual what to wear considering the temperature and forecast rain discussion.  Having recently been tempted by an extra 10% off sale prices offer from Rapha, my lovely new rain jacket arrived on Friday.  I was hoping it would be magic and that having spent the money I would never have to use it – a bit like an insurance policy.  But since I had it, leaving it behind would have been both daft and also guaranteed rain!  So, Cyclosport jersey, arm warmers and gilet, Skins tights (can’t tell you how much I love these), toe covers, and new jacket in capacious saddle bag.  While I was faffing, other cars were filing in, and I could have sworn I saw Henry (of past Cyclosport fame) in one of them…and it turns out I did, I did, I did taw a Henry!  He came past on his way to registration, and it was nice to have a brief chat to a friendly face.  Albeit a young, skinny, very fit friendly face who was liable to do the whole thing in half my time and at twice my speed!

I had a bit of time to kill and considered buying myself a cup of coffee.  However the man behind the table was telling the guys in front of me that he didn’t yet have any change and I didn’t think my £10 note would go down well!  Instead I grabbed the bike and headed over to the vicinity of the start line to wait, use the toilets, and wait some more.  Riders were due to start in batches according to route length, though this was more advised than regulated.  Since I was down for the Full route, I wanted to get away as soon as possible, and long route riders were allowed to start first.  There was some discrepancy in the pre-ride paperwork as to when the start time was.  7:30am or 8:00am?  It depended what you’d read.  Well, due to what looked like some difficulties setting up the timing gear, it wasn’t just not 7:30am but a bit past 8:00am when we were finally called to the front line.  Then followed a rather long-winded welcome, and a rider briefing.  We were all standing there, getting colder all the time, just waiting to get going…patience is not my strong point it would appear! Ok, ok, so you all already knew that ;).  Kudos to the guy at the very front who had TT bars and a conehead TT hat too – clearly desperate to do it as fast as possible.  Admirable…or something.

Right.  Finally we were off.  I was with the first group away, heading out on damp roads, and glad of my layers.  There was precious little time for warming up though, well, not the legs anyway.  Warming up otherwise came shortly.  After a brief stretch of flat, past swans floating serenely on a misty pond, the first climbing started all of a couple of miles in.  No fair! But I had a pretty fixed mindset for today.  I’d looked at the route times, I’d looked at the distances and considered my form, or likely lack thereof.  The times I’d seen were for the Gauntlet route – which I’ll explain later – but even so I could see it was likely to be a long day.  It was Sunday, I was riding my bike, I had nowhere else to be and nothing better to be doing, so even if it took me ten hours and I suffered, why not?  So uphill I went.  Exceedingly slowly as usual, but without too much strain.  And with that attitude, and the fact that I was already feeling way better than last weekend, I was actually feeling fairly good.  Up hill, down a bit, up more hill…wet roads that suddenly seemed to be becoming wetter.  Drizzle turned into drippy rain, at which point Henry drew alongside for a bit before dropping back to be with his peloton again.  And then the rain turned into downpour and the donning of the rain jacket became unavoidable so I had to stop half way up one hill or another to do so, at which point I imagine they passed me and disappeared into the distance never to be seen again.  For the record, he was 2 hours and 7 minutes faster than me!

There’s a distinct lack of photos for today, because the by now infamous jacket came and went three times, and taking photos in the rain is neither easy nor advisable.  The wet also meant concentrating more, mostly on the road for obstacles, potholes, puddles…all things that tend to imply that keeping both hands on the handlebars might be a good idea 😉  Thanks to the weather today, there were sadly a great many riders with a great many punctures…I think the record may have been the rider who had six, but who wants to beat that kind of record?

A while later the sun came out again, starting today’s trend.  Rain, sun, clouds, wind, rain, sun…you get it right?  At least the wind warned you what was to come…and it went away again when the rain did.  There was lots of up, but mostly they felt like climbs, not hills, which may seem like splitting hairs, but I know what I mean.  The first food stop came around 24 miles in, at which point the weather was looking lovely, making all the waterproofs look a tad superfluous, and there was a lot of stripping off going on.  No toilets though – as with all the food stops – which you all know annoys me immensely!  Incidentally, note to self, if you wear a normal bra, and unzip your top for ventilation purposes, you should remember you have done so.  Cleavage at food stops seems to be a bit distracting ;).

I remember the hill from Duncton Mill to Duncton Quarry.  The names should have given it away really.  Mills are at the bottom where water flows down valleys, quarries are at the top where there’s plenty of space to dig big holes.  Still my kind of climb though.  After the second food stop, 49.6 miles in, I remember the long climb to Goodwood race course, which was the only memory I had of doing this first time around, and the connection kinda made me smile for some reason.  Hey I can go up hill – just slowly! I can tell from Strava that there was actually a lot of climbing overall, but there was also more flat than I was expecting.  And some of the views from the top, especially earlier on, were awesome.  All the way across the rolling green countryside to the sea beyond.  Or is it the Solent from there?  The views were good, but mostly the rolling scenery was pretty but unremarkable.  Lots of the same.  Seems churlish to complain and hey, in the the sun, it might have been a completely different story.  At least all those ups provided a fair few downs which I could enjoy during those patches when the roads were dry.  In fact at the bottom of one of them, coming into a village, I even managed to set off one of those you’re going too fast flashing signs, which may well be a first :D.

Ok, so there were no toilets.  Field stops then, not ideal but proof at least that I was hydrated.  The full/mid route split came quite early on, and I was surprised to see people taking it, since we were all supposed to be on the longer routes but then either they were wimping out, or so fast they’d started later and passed me already!  The writing on the split route signs was a bit small, and without a reminder that I was on the right route I did spend a while wondering if I’d gone the right way.  At least the orange reminder ribbons and signs reassured me that I was on a right route if not the right route.  I love repeater ribbons 🙂  But the miles ticked by and I didn’t reach the end, so I figured I must have gone the right way!  Various groups went past me, and quite a few of them actually said hello as they went past which was a)unusual and b)much appreciated.  Anything that makes you smile on a long ride goes a long way :).

On to the route options.  The original Southern Sportive was the usual 100 miles long.  T’aint broke, don’t fix it, so the Full route remains.  But to add a little challenge to life, they’ve added a Gauntlet option, which adds an extra 20 miles ish, all of 20km from the end.  I was considering doing it, and when I reached the third foodstop, presumably around 75 miles in, just before the 2pm cutoff, the marshall was walking around asking who was doing it, so that he could take numbers and keep track.  I’m thinking an extra timing mat here and there might have made keeping track of folk easier?  Anyway I said I might be possibly, to which he said if that was a definitely maybe, he’d note it.  I was the only one, and one of the other riders around me was heard to comment as to how that made me truly hardcore.  Funny!

But hey, nothing better to do right?  Good intentions and all that.  And at that point the rain jacket was still back in the bag, and I was feeling ok, so why not?  Time to head off again and see what happened.  Apparently there were two more climbs between me and the end on the 100 mile route, and I have to say that the climb to Butser Hill seemed to pass me by somehow, though it did amuse me to realise I’d been up the other way on the Wiggle Magnificat earlier this year.  At least I think it was that one, I have done a few sportives this year ;).

I spent most of the ride happily on my own, pottering along, and letting the mental cogs go around.  At some point, just before what was the start of the third, longer, rainy patch, I was joined by a very nice chap called Rupert, riding with his brother Humphrey, who had spotted the kit, realised who I was (ooh, the fame!), and had actually read some of my reviews.  Aw shucks, a fan 😉 *grin*.  We chatted for a bit, and then he kept me company for a while too, which was very nice.  He was so clearly faster than me though I started to feel bad about it, and also try to keep up, which is never good for me.  We parted company for a bit when we stopped to put rain jackets on as the rain returned…and then came the final route split and there they were, standing in the rain, trying to decide what to do.  Now quite a lot of me was leaning towards the 100 mile option but…with remarkably little arm twisting I found myself going left and manning up, as it were ;).  And I’m glad.  Sure, it was raining.  But a little bit of me wanted to do the whole thing, just to prove I could.  Although you’d think I’d be past proving anything to anyone by now!  We hung out again for a while, but soon it was just me, happy doing my own thing, going up and down hills in the rain.  The only other riders we had passed were going the other way…and we finally twigged that we were going to loop and then rejoin – they weren’t lost or finished already and heading home!   After a while pootling around on my own, wondering if there would ever actually be a final food stop, or if they’d packed it away already, it suddenly materialised in a wet wood, from where Rupert was just leaving.  Again with the nice to see a friendly face.  I had a chat with the food stop guy, who reckoned there might be all of two guys behind me if they hadn’t bailed thanks to the rain, but the idea of it being me as lanterne rouge oddly didn’t bother me.  Someone has to be right?

Right.  Twenty or so miles to go.  Nearly done, just me to please and nobody else.  So I did.  I climbed my way up a couple more hills before an essentially downhill ten miles back into town.  At some point, eating a bit of bar, something stung/cut the inside of my cheek, which was seriously painful but may well have distracted from the pain of the last few miles!  I felt a bit lost on the way back in, as I went past the same pond again…I was worried I was starting over!  Maybe I should have paid more attention to the map beforehand which would have explained it all…but some nice, slightly bewildered, lady pedestrian reassured me I was heading in the right direction and clearly I was as, around 9 hours after I set off, I rolled into a practically deserted HQ, over the line, and handed my chip in to a team busy packing up to go home.  I grabbed my free cup of coffee, passed on the free muffin, picked up my free orange t-shirt, and headed happily back to the car to sort my life out, where I found Rupert and Humphrey already there, packing up, drinking Costa coffee from the petrol station opposite, and doing sensible things like stretching. B*gger that for a game of monkeys ;).

Today’s sportive was all about Zen and the Art of Momentum Maintenance.  I don’t have a motorcycle, and everyone knows that bicycle and maintenance are not two words that go together if you’re me.  I’m pleased to report I actually wasn’t the last one over the line.  No red lamp for me – believe it or not there were a few even slower than I.  A very few 😉  But hey, you know what, as it turns out, I was the only girl to complete that route.  The Southern Sportive threw down the Gauntlet, I took it, and I won.  I even got a Bronze!  Turns out I am hardcore after all! 😉

Cycling time: 8:26 hrs.
Distance: 117.7 miles.
Avs: 14.0 mph.
ODO: 3709.4 miles.

Note to self – pack sports bra next time!  Whilst apparently comfortable enough on the ride, two days of bruised ribs from the underwire is less comfortable!  Oh, and my new rain jacket kicks ass :D.

So, just one week after standing on the top of a mountain, it was back to the siren 5:00am alarm call that summons the mad to early morning miles.  Before I get started, I’d like to point out that the Malvern Mad Hatter is a lovely event.  It’s really well organised, not very lumpy, very pretty, and the fact that I had a rubbish ride has absolutely nothing to do with the event.  Go do it next year, in fact come and join me doing it next year when I fully intend to do it better!

Right.  Where were we?  Ah yes, waking up at 5:00am.  Following a weekend of not a lot of sleep, not a lot of food, and quite a lot of white wine.  I think it’s safe to say my pre-ride preparation was somewhat lacking.  Add that to my post holiday lack of form, the pill/pain combo and so on…and this was never likely to be a good day at the office.  But that wasn’t going to stop me at least trying to do it since as you know, I hate bailing.  Besides, all I had to do was sit in GB‘s car, ride around in the sunshine, and sit in the car again.  When you put it like that it doesn’t sound too bad does it?

GB was prompt, as opposed to his usual early, and we were off up the M5, with the usual “service stations we have known and loved” stop on the way, in very chilly sunshine.  HQ was at the Three Counties Showground in Malvern, which is conveniently signposted from quite a long way out, making it easy to find, which is just as well as GB’s satnav is no longer working.  And hey, it’s not like anyone actually uses maps anymore.  We joined the inevitable queue of people in metal boxes doing exactly the same as us, and were slowly marshalled into the venue, where we all parked up in organised but self-policed fashion.  GB parked us right next to the toilet block as it turns out – result!

We walked over to the main block to register, and lined up in our respective alphabet organised queues, once again proving that T surnames trump B surnames when it comes to be waiting around.  Or not waiting around if you’re me :P.  There was my name in black and white, just waiting for my signature, and its corresponding timing to be peeled off and stuck on my helmet.  My bike number, tags, and pre-ride goody bag (gatorade pre-ride, recovery and bottle) were handed to me, and I grabbed the car keys from GB to go back and wait for him there.  Well, who knew how long he’d be? 😉  Other than removing my leg warmers there was surprisingly little pre-ride faffing to be done.  I must have gotten the hang of this by now or something.  In no time at all we were off to the start line, where group by group, riders were being briefed and sent on their way.  Since this ride is associated with Cycling Weekly and a certain Mr Chris Boardman, although run by ukcyclingevents, there was a large TV style camera being point at the front row of our group as I chatted to Martin (the one with the big sign) pre-briefing, so there’s no doubt footage of me talking rubbish and looking bad in lycra out there somewhere.  Marvellous.

Time to set off.  Out of the showground, left at the lights, at out into the countryside.  There are three routes on this event, petal like loops out from the central point.  The original plan had been to do the Epic 104 miles.  I already knew that was seriously unlikely, and that we were probably talking the Standard 74 miles instead.  Let’s face it, it’s not actually a massively lumpy course.  Flat, undulating, big lumpy Malvern Hill bit, and then more of the same.  Still, however essentially flat and rolling, it just wasn’t doing it for me.  I tried, but to be honest I was suffering!  Entirely my own fault.  It took me an hour or so to start to even feel semi-human, and also to start to pay attention to really very beautiful scenery, appreciate the sunshine, and come anywhere close to enjoying the ride.  I was kinda cheered up by the Boardman peloton saying good morning as it/he went past.  Followed by a group of riders with so much testosterone it was hilarious ;).  There were quite a few pelotons today.  That one was, though fast, well behaved.  Not to mention polite obviously.  The same can’t be said for some of the others.  I nearly got knocked off by a eejot in one of them, and actually had to swear at another rider which I’m not sure I’ve ever done before. Hold your line, say coming through, whatever it takes.  Just show a little respect for your fellow rider – is that too much to ask?  The last thing I needed to was to be knocked off on top of everything else!  GB got quite grumpy…;)

As we know, I have proper problems with hills these days on – as in they quite literally hurt – but GB wasn’t just having to wait for me at the top of anything with a gradient, but also frequently in between times too.  It wasn’t hard to get separated and spread out on the quiet yet quite narrow sometimes country lanes.  To say we’re at opposite ends of the spectrum right now would be an understatement.  He could ride forever, I could barely ride at all!

It was very pretty out there though.  Green, blue, pretty houses, oast houses, rolling fields, you get the chocolate box picture right?  The first food stop came around 25 miles in, and also came as somewhat of a relief – a proper excuse to stop for a while!  Having been dehydrated before we even started out (yes, yes, I know), I was playing catch up and the bottles needed topping up.  I ate half a banana, and walked past all the queuing Gents to use the Ladies, which always give me slight “smug face” as MaxiMe would put it.  Incidentally there seemed to be quite a few ladies on the ride today, which made a nice change.

We had a good look at the route map and evaluated my options.  It turns out there’s also a Short 46 mile route, which might sound like a cop out, but does include the big climbs that make up the loop of the Malvern Hill.  I figured as long as I’d done the climbing it wouldn’t have been a complete waste of everyone’s time.  And 46 miles is still longer than my usual training rides.  We didn’t make any decisions there and then, but it was good to know what the options were.  Standing around in the shade was getting a little chilly, so it was time to head for the Hill that had never been far from view all morning…

We set off again, but I still hadn’t really perked up, and was starting to feel a tad sorry for the long suffering GB.  Still, he was happy enough, and when it comes to hills, he gets to do them his way, and then wait for me at the top.  Well it took a long time to get to the top of the Malvern Hill.  There are two long climbs, both of which suit me.  The first, after some steeper hair pin bends at the bottom, settles down into my usual plod along style long slog.  On the corner at the left hand turn that marks the top sits a bench which looked ever so tempting…  There was some beautiful flying down to reward us afterwards, though since there was a lot of parked cars around lining the roads, I was a little paranoid about someone opening a car door without looking, and the speeds we were doing?  It would have been very messy…  At some point, I think between the two climbs, we went through the very genteel town of Malvern.  Or is it Great Malvern?  Not sure.  Very nice indeed though.  And no doubt very expensive!  The Rose Bank Gardens have an awesome sculpture too – check it out here.  I’d post the photo direct but copyright worries me.

And then there was the second climb.  I think it was in that order anyway.  It’s all the usual blur, but overall I remember lots of up.  I remember spectators, clapping, a cowbell, and lots of truly awesome views which, according to the blurb, stretch to the Brecon Beacons and the Black Mountains.  I don’t know about that, but they sho’ were pwerty ;).

By the time I’d finished going up, and up, and down, and up, and up, and then not down enough, I finally discovered GB waiting for me, as he had been for the last 7 minutes, on the left side of the road a little ahead of the first route split.  We stood, talked a bit, and I contemplated the very real possibility that I might faint.  We also debated what to do.  I was nearly up for heading for the middle route, especially what with all the climbing having been done and then now presumably behind us.  But that was almost the problem.  It was just going to be much more of the, admittedly quite lovely, same.  But considering how I was still feeling, GB tipped the scale in the right direction for me, by pointing out that I really wasn’t with it!  That and the fact that riding the bike is supposed to be fun, and overdoing it would not be.  We decided to take the left turn for HQ rather than the right turn to carry on, live to fight another day, and go find some lunch afterwards instead.

So, readers, that’s what we did.  We hurtled down the very enjoyable descent.  We had a daft but very enjoyable sprint down the long ensuing straight.  And in no time at all, we were back into the showground, rolling over the finishing line, and being handed our finishers’ medal by that same Mr Chris Boardman.  Well if he only did the short route, I didn’t feel so bad about my pathetic performance! :).  We even had a bit of a chat, before I got a photo of him doing his job.  We grabbed our finishers’ goodie bags – which varied in contents, from free locks, to Cycling Plus socks, to Cavendish DVDs…all a tad random.  We packed up, cleaned up, and then we went to Tewkesbury, where the car park didn’t flood (can you even be prone to occasional?), the Abbey looked gorgeous, and a bowl of chips with a pint of lager at the unusually untouched pub on the high street went down a treat.

All things considered, it’s a miracle I managed to ride.  Even more so that I even enjoyed some of it!  And on top of all that I got a brush with greatness.  I’ll cheerfully go back next year and try and do it properly, if they’ll have me.  Like I said – lovely event, just lousy me!

Cycling time: 3:12 hrs.
Distance: 46.7 miles.
Avs: 14.6 mph.
ODO: 3523.2 miles.

Another sunny Sunday, another sportive…superb!  Welcome to the fourth annual Great Weston Ride.  I know this to be true, as GB and I have done every single one!  It’s one of those tradition things now.  Which also indicates that it must be a good event, why else would we keep doing it? ;).  It’s been a long time since I’ve done a sportive in company, so I was really looking forward to it on many levels.

It’s also traditional for us to ride there.  To ride back home afterwards.  And for GB to never take us in to the start via the same route each year.  Well he’s the commuter, so therefore somewhat of an expert on routes from here to Bristol!  Clayton, Karl, and myself all met him at the end of his road at 6:30am, under disappointingly cloudy skies, for an uneventful and fairly easy ride to HQ at Long Ashton Park and Ride.  He led, we followed meekly along behind.  My retinal image is reinstated ;).  I was half hoping we might have time to tick the Ashton Park Gromit off my list, but there really wasn’t, and besides, it would be a weird thing to have done to the three others, and a tad unfair.

Cycling time: 1:14 hrs.
Distance: 19.8 miles.
Avs: 16.0 mph.
ODO: 3033.7 miles.

HQ is, as I said,  at Long Ashton Park and Ride, where there is unsurprisingly a lot of space for people to park and ride!  No buses today though, just cyclists.  Registration was easy – just join the relevant alphabetised queue, and get your number, cable ties, emergency details card, and free 9 bar (gluten, wheat & dairy free!) from the smiley encouraging lady behind the table.  There were plenty of official GWR jerseys around, as well as charity jerseys – particularly for Prostrate Cancer, one of which was being sported by Clayton – very fetching.  For those that needed it, mechanical support was available too.

The event gets busier every year, unsurprisingly, and I think the demand for the toilets is now outstripping supply.  There are , unusually, a lot of women that do this ride, and so there were queues on both sides, that were getting longer and longer as more people arrived…  I decided that I’d pass on that last minute “gotta go before you leave the house” visit, and we all headed for the start.  It wasn’t so much a queue as a coalescing group.  At some point the group decided, in that weird unspoken herd of sheep way, that it was time to move to the start line.  Probably because the official start time of 8:00am was approaching.  It was actually almost chilly out there, not helped by having ridden in and cooled down in clammy fashion, so I think we were all quite keen to be underway.  Only so much faffing you can do, right?

Ride organiser Darren gave each group a bit of a safety briefing, including a warning about the dangerous descent of the day, and then we were away, second batch of the day.  We retraced our steps back through Long Ashton, down the main road (if you’re me) or the very shiny smooth new adjacent cycle path (if you’re GB or Clayton).  Karl had disappeared already, even before we set out!  Presumably the use of cycle path was to make sure GB wasn’t totally going back on himself ;).  I was more worried about negotiating the change between road/path and messing that up in some ridiculously public and embarassing fashion, so slower nastier road suited me just fine!

Barrow Gurney is often a nightmare however you look at it, whatever you go through it on.  It’s narrow, windy, with speed bumps and traffic calming methods…and today, the additional obstacle of a long traffic light managed section.  Deep joy.  At least being very early in the morning by Bristolian standards, there wasn’t much traffic around to add to the negotiation challenge, and the speed bumps are easier on a bike than in a car!  Once out the other side, traffic lights ushered us on to a brief stretch of riding on the A38 before a left turn took us onto quieter and far more pleasant roads.

Knowing these roads as I do, I knew I was in for a nice fast essentially downhill stretch for a while where I could make up for the fact that I had been being crap at anything with anything even vaguely approaching a positive gradient.  All too soon our momentum was cruelly taken away from us, as we turned right at a spoilsport mini roundabout to head towards the ever scenic Chew Valley Lake.  Again, flat, fast, but straight, so the perfect opportunity to take a couple of photos, marking the only time when both GB and Clayton were behind me for any length of time ;).

The closer we got to the big climb of the day, the brighter the day became, and the sun was finally out when we reached the first food stop at the bottom of Burrington Combe.  It was signposted a bit before, but to say it was a tad low key when you got there would be an understatement.  Blink, or look in the wrong direction at the right time, and you’d have missed it.  An eagle eyed Clayton pointed out the drinks point, and once one rider was there, everyone knew where to go!  One of my bottles definitely needed topping up, so that’s what I did, before taking advantage of the public toilets that I knew were a little further up the road.  In previous years the bike shop there, Bad Ass Bikes, has been known to let riders in to use the facilities, but not so this year.  As various riders all milled around the toilets at the bottom of the Combe, and we were preparing to leave, a tractor thundered past us heading upwards, bravely followed by one drafting rider on a fixie – chapeau m’sieur!  We all clapped in appreciation of his efforts, before heading off ourselves in far less impressive fashion.

Burrington Combe may hold no real fear for me, it being actually quite a nice long climb that I’ve done a lot of times before, but every time is different.  I wasn’t feeling at my best (back to the art of understatement) and I was seriously considering asking GB to keep me company for a change…but luckily for him he managed to put enough (ever growing) distance between the two of us before I could ask him, that I never got the chance.  So I pootled up in my usual unimpressive style, only to be overtaken half way up by Gary who’d started fresh from HQ after us, and had some kind of gravity related incident which had b*ggered the rear derailleur and deprived him of seven gears.  Something like that anyway.  He was still kicking my a*se with the remaining gears, so I may have been a little lacking on the sympathy front ;).  GB was kindly waiting for me at the top, where I stopped briefly to have a drink and catch my breath, allowing Gary to go off Clayton hunting, and leaving just the usual two of us again.  I have to admit this came as somewhat of a relief.  The pressure of trying to keep up with Clayton wasn’t bothering GB, but was slightly doing my PMA in, and it was nice to be back to what I’m used to – me, GB, and that little red sign!

I love it on top of the Mendips.  Lovely views that you’ve earned, that top of the world feeling and, just for once, no killer wind.  Not no wind, do be serious, just no killer wind.  In fact the wind that there was was even behind us from time to time, which is always a good thing :).

We took a little wiggle to go through Priddy, presumably to show off the village to the tourists as the detour is slightly gratuitous otherwise, I’d just have turned right a little earlier on, but that’s what comes of cycling these roads all the time.  The back country road from Priddy to rejoin that one is all very pretty but it does have a 90 degree downhill left hand corner on it, where they’d conveniently positioned a photographer.  Good for images no doubt, but not so good for keeping riders paying attention to where they’re going…especially since there turned out to be gravel on the corner too.  One poor lass had come a cropper just before we got there and was washing the road out of her gravel rash as we passed.  Nasty…:(.

It was time for another quick break, this time for a gel, the next dose of nice shiny pills, and a photo op.  This was the descent we were warned about earlier, of Westbury Hill.  See the Caution sign?  Well it’s there for a reason.  Not only is it steep, bendy, shady and not well surfaced, it’s also well used.  As the large tractor equipped with weapons of mass cultivation on the front that came up as we were going down demonstrated.  Luckily we saw it in time to avoid it.  Luckily the eejot who came hooning past me regardless didn’t do that a little sooner, otherwise he’d have been a human kebab…!  A candidate for the Darwin awards? ;).

Eventually we all got held up by vehicular traffic towards the bottom of the hill which at least stopped anyone failing to stop for the junction with the A38.  This, as with several other dodgy junctions, was marshalled, which made getting across much easier and less stressful.  Probably less so for the cars that continued to be going the same way as us for quite some time.  Sorry!  Impressive driver patience for a change though…unlike some out there today.

Rider traffic got a bit annoying here, especially by refusing to single up and let the cars past.  Lack of rider experience rather than obstinacy…probably.  It’s a charity ride.  I’m being charitable.  Still, when it all cleared away we kicked off and put some space between us and them, on roads we know very well.  All the way to Wedmore, out t’other side to Blackford.  We overtook quite a few single male riders, who didn’t seem to like that much.  So they overtook us back.  And, well, you can guess how it goes…we then had to beat them into the second food stop at Hugh Sexey‘s School.  Sheepish juvenile grins were exchanged.  Such fun *grin*.

This ride is renowned for its superlative cake.  Which sadly, it now being a very hot and sunny day, was being a tad neglected in favour of topped up bottles and free squash.  Poor lovely cake.  Even I opted for a large glass of orange squash rather than my usual black coffee, though the caffeine kick might have come in useful later.  GB went for a bacon roll, and we took a little time to kick back in the sunshine and relax for a bit rather than hurtling instantly off again.  Whilst doing this, mini tri-athlete Ollie popped up unexpectedly, having dropped his fellow riders a while back, and we agreed to ride off together.  We couldn’t leave without a toilet stop though.  Well it’s a middle school, with suitably middle sized toilets, which always makes me giggle *grin*.  You could tell term had just ended; flowers in the sink, and an apple for teacher still on the table ;).

The three of us headed off down the mother-in-law road (it goes on and on ;)) to Mark and then on to Highbridge, at quite some speed.  We played rider elastic for a while, but somewhere along the way we dropped Ollie – sorry Ollie!  But it was getting on for that stage of the ride when all you want to do is get to where you’re going.  However there was no going anywhere fast once we got to Highbridge/Burnham on Sea.  In the middle of a heatwave, by the seaside, the traffic was even busier than ever, pouring in and out of town, with precious little chance therefore for irritable, hot and bothered car drivers to get past us, let alone past leisure cyclists happily minding their own business and getting caught up amongst us lot!  Less fun :(.

One of the mistakes I always make on this ride is not to treat is as a proper event, and also not to take into account the distance ridden in first thing.  To put it simply, I don’t eat enough.  Or at all.  I did try and eat some of my bar early on but it was virtually impossible to swallow, and I pretty much gave up.  I did however drink plenty, a saving grace no doubt.  Once out the other side of Burnham and marshalled across the road to head across the wiggly lanes going northwards, it was time for a second gel…as I realised I was feeling like falling asleep.  Never a good sign – and thank goodness for High5 gels!  I also got GB to slow down for a bit so I could gather my wits, as it were.

From here it was, not to put too fine a point on it, pretty easy going.  Hot though!  From Burnham to the end is around 10 or so miles, all flat barring the small rise to get over Uphill.  No hanging around then, time to put the heads down and push for the end, the gel having now cut in.  It was a bit unclear where the end actually was when it came to it, I’m sure there were some countdown markers in previous years, but we at least knew where we were going.  There was a clapping crowd waiting as we pulled off the main seafront road, through the banners and on to the lawn.  Always nice.  There was also a photographer.  Less nice ;).  I have another shiny medal for the collection too!

Last year they were handing out bottles of water when we crossed the line, when we didn’t really need them.  This time we did, but they weren’t in evidence, and I didn’t feel like asking.  I was really dying for a long cold fizzy drink, and if I’d been like Clayton, sitting on the lawn waiting for the missus to pick him up, I’d have been doing the same as him!  If I had however, I’d probably never have made it off the lawn and as we were due to ride home, I settled for a large diet coke from the bar, which was bloomin’ lovely.  As usual I didn’t opt for my free food, though that being laid on by “field and flower” looked lovely.  I don’t think I could have eaten even if I’d tried, and was able!  GB has a habit of not hanging around much after events but having discovered Clayton waiting there and been waved over to join him, we hung around and chillaxed a bit which was lovely.  Maybe I should have had one of the post ride massages on offer, but then I suppose I wasn’t properly post ride yet ;).  As we headed back to go we came across Gary who’d been there even longer, no surprise there.  That mechanical certainly didn’t hold him back!  There was no sign of Ollie, and as it turns out apparently he’d been all out of luck on the traffic light front, and then had an altercation with the back of the car.  No injuries, just a bike to be repaired before he could be on his way…sorry again Ollie!

This year’s ride turns out to have been a little slower than last year’s, though it felt harder.  Maybe the heat?  Mind you, you know how on Spinal Tap the dial goes up to 11?  Well these days my dial only seems to go up to 8 even if I’m pushing 10 through it.  However considering that I spent all day on Saturday being about as much use as a chocolate fireguard, and being literally incapable of doing anything, I should be less critical and just very pleased to have made it around at all.  Another very enjoyable Great Weston Ride done – in the best weather so far!  Definitely a good tradition – thanks to GB for putting up with me, as ever! 😀

  Cycling time: 3:17 hrs.
Distance: 56.0 miles.
Avs: 17.0 mph.
ODO: 3089.7 miles.

We cycled home in a slightly more leisurely fashion.  Not long into it I needed another gel and, as it turns out, so did GB, so I felt a little less pathetic ;).  It’s so nice to get home from an event at a reasonable and family friendly hour.  Early enough even for there to be time for me to have a shower and crash out for a while and still have enough of the day left to be up, about, and sociable afterwards.  It’s what I call a non-optional nap – I guess it’s the price you pay for the effort you put in from a tank that isn’t as full as it used to be.  One of the reasons driving home from a sportive has become a tad more hazardous!  And, duly revived, I finally got my hands on a pint of that cold wet alcoholic rehydration therapy that Clayton made look so attractive earlier.  Result. *grin*.

Cycling time: 0:38 hrs.
Distance: 9.8 miles.
Avs: 15.3 mph.
ODO: 3099.5 miles.

Last year’s Wiggle Magnificat didn’t go according to plan.  Read the blog, see for yourself, I won’t bore you with the details.  Well, to be fair, I probably will allude to them, but hey, it’s my blog.  So I had unfinished business, as it were.  Which is a ridiculous concept and a daft notion.  Like anyone cares whether or not I complete it.  It’s not like my DNF was my fault, unless you consider that my inability to fix a broken chain puts me at fault.  But it is what it is.  A thing I set out to do that I didn’t finish.  A little niggle lurking away in the recesses…

So I wanted to have a second crack of the whip.  Which is possibly appropriate, what with HQ being at Newbury Racecourse.  Having developed an inability to drive far without falling asleep, at fairly short notice I decided to find myself somewhere to stay the night before, if it wasn’t prohibitively expensive.  Which it wasn’t.  One family room at the Hilton Newbury Centre – £79.  They even rang me beforehand, due to demand, to check I was actually coming and would be using my room.  And since I was, would I mind swopping to a double room?  Which I did, having only booked the family one because it was the cheapest option.

Saturday was therefore a sort of leisurely broken up journey.  I went via The Mall at Cribbs Causeway, where I didn’t buy half of what I meant to but did end up with an outfit for a wedding I’m going to soon.  Result!  As was finding two more Gromits :D.  I then drove down the M4 to Newbury, in the sun, listening to very loud music which probably drowned out my singing, to the great relief of anyone in the near vicinity, but kept me happily awake all the way there.  By there, I mean HQ, as having printed out the pre-ride pdf, I’d registered that you could register the day before and I’m all for anything that makes a sportive morning easier.  I thought I knew where I was going, having been here last year (you got that right?) but as the event is under new management, there have been some changes.  The main one of which is the parking – which is now at the front of the racecourse, not the back, on grass and with plenty of space.  It’s still a bit of a trek to registration though – worth knowing for the real thing the next day.  You have to take your helmet with you – forgetting would be annoying, but there are plenty of signs to make sure you don’t.  I walked over, signed my life away in the usual fashion, got my timing stick stuck on my helmet, and got a High5 bottle full goodies to boot.  Good start – Hi5 gels are fructose free and the only ones I can tolerate.  In fact I even quite like them, especially the caffeine ones :).  And since they were going to be available at every food stop, I didn’t have to worry so much about how many to pack either.

OK, formalities done. I had a brief chat to Martin, one of the organising team, and headed back across the grass to my car.  As it turns out the Hilton was all of five minutes drive away.  Which, as it turns out, was possibly the only thing in its favour.  My room was fine but, like the whole of the hotel, devoid of air conditioning.  The window was ineffectively open, over an outdoor seating entry which was empty, as it’s only for use by those using the conference/event facilities.  So there was nowhere outside to sit anywhere.  Indoors the bar and lounge were all dark wood and mugginess, and although it’s not usual pre-event preparation, the only saving grace was the fact that the Stella was really cold!  I sat in the bar, reading Kindle books on my iPad, trying not to generate any more heat by moving around.  One ham omelette and chips (£12!) provided tolerable fuel.  I’d have like the healthy lemon and oregano marinaded chicken with steamed rice and grilled vegetables, but at £17, I think that was taking the p*ss…  Luckily a very good friend of mine, having discovered I was around via the wonders of Twitter, came over and kept me company for a bit which was very impromptu and very fabulous.  Hi Jo! :D.

I did try to get an early night.  We parted company at a reasonable hour and I headed back to my room, to discover that the function rooms were now hosting some form of celebration.  With a very loud disco full of people spilling out to outside, all right under my window.  Which then had to be closed, and proved as ineffective at keeping the noise out as it had been in cooling the room down.  Oh marvellous.  The festivities stopped around midnight, as they were supposed to, a fact I’d ascertained with a rather irritable phone call to reception, and I finally got to sleep.  I should have stuck to that family room – I bet those are further away from party central!  So, not an ideal start…but at least the alarm was set for 6:15am, not the much earlier hour that it would have been if I was at home.

Getting sorted in the morning was easy.  It was already too hot, I was riding for Cyclosport, voilà, kit choice done.  No need for any other layers of any sort, not even to stash just in case.  I packed up my stuff, and headed out to the car, by way of a Grumpy of Axbridge conversation with reception.  Five minutes later and I was in the slowly moving queue of cyclists in cars funneling into the racecourse and being marshalled into the car park and lined up in the sun.  Easy.  As was getting ready.  Put bike together, attach number, stash required food everywhere, and walk to the start.  Plenty of very respectable facilities, as you might expect, which I used, as you would also expect.  There are four routes – Epic, Standard, Short and Fun – all of which have a different ride start slot, which presumably helps spread out the load somewhat.  There was certainly no hanging around.  I rode across to the start, joined the group forming there, got a ride briefing from a not at all camera shy Martin, and was off at 7:25am.

Due to the hot weather forecast, I wasn’t entirely sure which route I was going to do.  I was down for the Epic, but decided that I’d see how I was feeling at the final route split, err on the side of caution if necessary.  I’d also decided that this was not a sportive.  It was an excuse to spend all day riding my bike in the countryside in the sun.  Nowhere else I needed to be, no-one at home waiting for me to get back (it’s a motor racing thing).  Just me, my bike, and I.  Which is not a bad attitude to be heading off with.

Having re-read last year’s blog, I thought I knew what to expect, but either my brain is faulty (distinctly possible) or they’ve significantly changed the route.  I was expecting a fair few hills early on, but after the first climb out of town, they didn’t materialise.  I guess the new management have changed things quite a lot, but not in a bad way.  The hills were my kind of hills, and all pretty spread out.  I think rolling is the best way to describe it, and I didn’t push it at all going up.  With the temperature rising all the time, I was very conscious of the need to not overdo it and pace myself over what could be going to be a very long day.  The signage was great, which considering I’d forgotten to download the gps file, was a good thing, and meant I could pootle around with worrying about getting lost.  Just as well, since mostly it was just me.  Occasional instances of APS, the same faces over and over again as we all played leapfrog, and the usual groups passing from time to time.  Oh look, I’ve been pelotoned.  It’s my new verb.  Is it a verb actually?  My English Language studies are a little rusty.  Whatever.  It is the verb to peloton, to be pelotoned.  You can do it, or have it done to you.  To pass as a part of, or be passed by, a large group of riders travelling at speed and slightly too close to other riders, resolutely not saying hello or warning anyone of their approaching presence.  Sound familiar? 😉

Having decided to opt for 2 500ml bottles today, so that they could be easily swopped over on the move rather than the usual decanting palaver, I was a bit concerned about keeping hydrated.  There were four official food stops, the first three were at around 25 & 50 & 73 miles in (ish).  There was then a big 40 mile gap until the fourth and final stop, which had me worried, and rationing my bottles…not ideal.  Thankfully the organisers had reacted and at very short notice, got a team and an extra food/fluid stop set up at around the 95 mile mark.  They also set the motorcycle outriders to checking that everyone had enough to drink and and dishing out water if they hadn’t.  All very responsive to conditions, very welcome and very wise!  I gather quite a lot of riders bailed on the Epic route precisely because they were over-heating.  Unsurprising when at some point in the middle here, my Garmin was showing 33C and the rest of the time it was 30+.  Blimey.  However the foodstops were all at proper venues, with toilets etc, where I resorted to my favourite method of cooling down – soaking my hair in cold water.  It works really well!  I also drank as much plain water as I needed too while topping up my bottles, and eating bananas and jelly beans.  There’s a lot to be said for stopping, the sweat pours out, and then evaporates away and cools you down as you get going again! :).

Hurricanes clearly hardly ever happen in Hampshire, as it turned out there are, blessedly, a great many shade creating trees.  Essential on a day like this.  In fact there was lots of green everywhere, interspersed by picture postcard villages, and chocolate box thatched cottages.  Way more than enough thatched cottages.  An elegant sufficiency perhaps.  It could also be called the Tour of Affluent Hampshire, demonstrating amply over and over again why I moved to Somerset and couldn’t afford to stay there.  The kind of houses it takes time to cycle past.  Properties that somehow aren’t NT owned which means there must be people out there rich enough to actually own and maintain them!  Beautiful gardens, full of flowers and floral scents; lavender, chamomile, honeysuckle, English roses.  If I was an English rose, I’d have to be a white one, not a red one, it’s an ancestry thing.  I’m arguably prickly enough to be one ;).  It was all very pretty, very nice, all day.  There were occasionally some very lovely views from the top of whichever rolling hill we’d climbed up, but for the most part, though scenic, it was sort of unremarkable.  More of the same.  Lots of England’s green and pleasant land, inhabited by the kind of people who sing that at the Last Night of the Proms, I imagine.  Put it this way, I saw at least four different Aston Martins.  I even got buzzed by one.  I should probably have been cross, but there’s always the chance that it’s Daniel Craig come to sweep me off my wheels and lay me down in a bed of roses right? Make the earth move, if not the sky fall? 😉  Besides which, I have a soft spot for sports cars, and the sound of a six litre V8 (or whatever) engine kicking arse always makes me *grin*…

Gradually the miles ticked away.  Broken up into eating intervals, food stops, time between food stops, miles to go, estimated time to go, all those mental coping games.  When the route split came, I wasn’t even tempted.   Because I wasn’t doing a sportive, I was riding my bike in the sun ;).  Being as I was making a point of trying to enjoy that, I had time to notice all the fantastic names for towns and places we went past along the way too.  Inkpen, Hell’s End Corner Farm, Craven Lodge, The Shoe, and Faccombe (sorry, very juvenile but it made me giggle)…  Even the hills along the way didn’t really bother me, though there seems to have been more climbing than it felt like to me.  Maybe I’m getting better at it?  Maybe it’s because whatever I was going up, it was neither as steep or as long as the Col de Marie-Blanque, and if I can do that, I knew I could do these.  Which is massively mentally helpful.  I do think they’ve made it the whole route bit easier, but I have no proof of that, I’m just sure I remember it being harder last year.  Towards the end, after that final and still welcome food stop, it flattened out, and I got faster, as usual.  Sprint finish time.  The Epic route had rejoined the Standard route now, and it was quite satisfying overtaking people knowing how much further I’d gone than them and that I was still going to beat them to the finish line.  Daft and petty I know :D.

As we got nearer the end, especially around Greenham Common, there was more traffic of both varieties, which was causing a degree of grief all ’round.  I let various cars past, including a silver Fiesta.  Having let it past, it turned out that she was such a cautious driver that she was holding everyone up trying to inch past cyclists…and eventually I was going faster than she was, having become stuck behind slower cyclists, and I had to overtake or, to be more precise, undertake her, overtake those slowcoaches and get on my way.  However when she eventually overtook me again, someone shouted obscenities at me out the window.  *sigh*.  Yes I’m a cyclist, and you’re a motorist, but to allude to roses again, and to Shakespeare and other very English things, how am I that different to you?  If you prick me do I not bleed?  So it’s ok for you to overtake me when I’m getting in your way, but not ok for me to do the same to you?  Same old, same old…the neverending conflict debate *yawn*.  I could easily have overtaken her several more times, but I held back a bit just to avoid the grief.  And hey, it’s not a race right? 😉

And then, 125 miles suddenly behind me, it was over.  I was dropping back down the hill into Newbury, back to the race course, and over the finish line.  I was given a medal and sample filled goody bag, as well as another gel for bringing my rubbish back with me and not dropping it on the course – which was a nice, and motivational, touch.  I didn’t see much rubbish out there on the road, so maybe it worked too!

My ride time was a little over 8 hours, which was better than I was expecting, and even with stops my official time got me a Silver.  FYI they only have three categories, regardless of age and gender – so it was a real bonafide Silver – not an old lady Silver!  Go me!  My unfinished business is now finished :D.

Cycling time: 8:05 hrs.
Distance: 125.2 miles.
Avs: 15.5 mph.
ODO: 2951.7 miles.