Tag Archives: sportive

Tour of Pembrokeshire 2019

It’s safe to say that the Tour of Pembrokeshire and I have history. Years of it. I’ve done the Prologue ride a few times. I’ve done the actual Tour quite a few times, and done every route from the short to the long. Not the very long route they had one year, even I’m not that daft – I’d still be out there!

But that’s when I was riding a bike. These days well…thanks to my health (mostly) and life…it’s coming up for a year since I actually rode out on the road, and it’s been a fair few months since I even sat on the spin bike at home. Such is life, etc.

So I had no intention of being anywhere near this year’s Tour of Pembrokeshire. Why would I? I’m not much of a one for being a spectator in life, if I’m not taking part, then what’s the point? I’d rather spend a few hours doing something than watching others doing it. A little bit of me was a bit sad about it. I know all the guys who run the Tour. We may not quite be what one would call friends, but we’ve all hung out quite a bit, in friendly and amicable style. And it’s a shame when traditions fall by the wayside.

Now whether or not they felt the same way, or whether they were just short of volunteers to help on the day, we may never know…but a couple of months prior the event, and a couple of phone calls from Peter, the organiser, and somehow we’d agreed that we (being Matt and I) would be there, and that we’d spend the day interviewing riders at one of the food stops to help with the post-ride promotional video that they were planning on making. Now I know a lot of you think I’m a extrovert, and that that kind of thing is probably very me. Believe me, I’m not, and it’s not. But given the chance to spend another weekend in Pembrokeshire, and to catch up with some folk, with the addition of a little curiosity as to whether or not I could push myself out of my comfort zone thrown in and…there you go.

And so, once more, late on a Friday evening, we spent another few hours retracing our now very familiar steps back to Crug Glas, HQ for the Tour for the last few years. By the time we’d made it down there, the pre-ride evening do was drawing to a close. We were just in time to grab some of the fish & chips laid on for dinner though, which went down a treat. Peter was as busy as ever, unsurprisingly, though we did manage to grab the odd five minutes with him so as to pick up the camera & kit, before getting our briefing from Griff as to what kind of thing he was after on the day. Slowly all was cleared down, the remaining riders retired to wherever they were planning on getting a good night’s sleep before doing the Tour, rather than just talking about doing it.

We all followed suit, with Peter playing support vehicle to make sure we got to Preseli Venture (who are one of the Tour’s Adventure partners), where we were staying without getting lost, which was good as we could easily have missed it on the dark narrow country lanes! So then, time for couple of beers in the bar, and a couple of games of pool, methinks. The bar closed pretty early, around 9ish, but she was happy to leave us to our own devices in the club room, so we chilled out for a bit, and then had a relatively comfortable night’s sleep on a couple of mattresses pushed together on the floor, as neither the two single beds nor the bunk beds in our room appealed…

The sun rose, seemingly actually shining, and at some point so did we. Not at the usual hideous o’clock that is associated with actually riding the event however, which I can’t be said to have missed. These days the only sport I could compete at is sleeping, and I’m very good at it once there! We were due to spend the day at the Bluestone Brewery food stop, where even the first racing snakes through wouldn’t be there until a fairly reasonable time, and being such, the chances were they’d not be wanting to stop and talk to us either! Post breakfast, well for him anyway, we headed off in the sunshine, both suitably attired in a range of Tour kit, past and present. And jeans in my case. No-one wears cycling shorts unless they have to, right? 😉 I wanted to make sure that we looked at least vaguely official – rather than just a pair of numpties walking around pointing a camera/mic at random people!

Which worked, albeit in a slightly counter-productive sense. As we parked up outside the brewery, and emerged blinking into the slightly breezy sunshine, (yes, it was sunny, yes this is not entirely unprecedented for the Tour, but it is rare, and I am going to keep mentioning it), we were accosted by a couple of riders, one of whom had recently had an unfortunate incident with a support vehicle, on his brand new, very swish, and no doubt expensive bike. Although the back deep carbon rim wheel was probably worth a little less than it had been, what with it being slightly buckled… 🙁 We did out best to help, until Griff appeared from nowhere, and we passed them on to him, in true pass the buck style!

Time to get to work. It’s harder than it looks videoing people. For starters, it was getting busier. There was loud music being played. Lots of chatter. And a fair few rookie errors. Like, did you know it helps to turn the microphone on before talking to people? And that the mic is fairly directional even when it is working? And that I get fairly flustered doing such things, although I did get better as I got the hang of it. It’s just hard approaching people, interrupting what they’re up to, be it eating, chatting, or just trying to avoid you! We did our best…and both thanks and apologies go to our victims! Basically everyone was having a good time, the weather was great, they loved the route, the organisers were friendly and helpful, and the food stops were amazing. Imagine many variations of that theme over, and over, and over… The atmosphere was lovely, the sun was still shining, though it could get a tad chilly on the few occasions where it hid its face or the breeze blew a little stronger. I had thought I might feel nostalgic, or a bit sad, left out, whatever. But no. I know the Tour. I know that whichever route you do, it’s bl**dy hard work, and I didn’t find myself missing it at all! The best part of the ride for me has always been the stunning scenery, and I was still getting to experience that, without slogging my guts out or ending up sat on the roadside in tears again. I’ve done it. Nothing to prove here, it’s on my palmares. Job done 🙂

Back to doing this “job” then. Which we did. Then the battery ran out. We had a spare. What I wanted to do was put the spare in, and put the old one on charge. However as it turns out, the only way to charge the battery is to plug the camera (complete with said battery) into the wall. I really didn’t want to risk ending up with no battery at all, especially considering that the first charge didn’t seem to have lasted all that long.

So, what to do? Take refuge inside the brewery of course! Where they were conveniently selling their very nice, and cold, beer. Weight off feet, time to cool down, and recharge the batteries. (Do you see what I did there? 😉 ) The barman was a cheerful chatty chappie, quite amused by the fact he didn’t think he’d ever had so many people around the place while selling quite so little beer…! Not surprising really, but we weren’t the only ones indulging – chapeaux to those who thought that they could cycle the rest of whichever route they were on after a beer or two – I know I couldn’t! On the other hand, as well earnt pints go…

Break over, and we got back to work, as the flow of riders lessened to a trickle, and we decided to head back to the Start/Finish and see if we could chat to people there instead. One last chat to a lovely lady from China (possibly) who was doing the long route, who was possibly the last en route, and even though it was her first event, and neither her bike, helmet or kit marked her out as a “cyclist”, was totally unphased when we had to tell her (she asked!) that she had a good three hours or so ahead of her. On our way out, we followed the road through the still beautiful Gwyn Valley, and passed her walking up an incline. We checked she was ok, and left her behind us, still with a massive smile on her face, determination writ large.

Back at HQ the place was full of lycra clad bodies sprawled all over the place, debriefing with friends, cold beverages, and the free food on offer for riders. Live music, massages, hustle, bustle, on one of the best days weather-wise that the Tour of Pembrokeshire has ever had, if not THE best. We collared a few more, slightly more willing, victims for post ride comments, to be told again what a great event it was (it is!), how much they’d enjoyed it, and that they would both recommend it and ride it again. Well, apart from the poor lady who had snapped her gear hanger (or something equally technical and hard to fix at the roadside) and had had to be rescued by the broom wagon. Better luck next year!

Having finally had enough of getting up enough nerve to talk to complete strangers, we decided that, in the spirit of being supportive and sportive, we would take our food, and a glass of something appropriate, and wait by the finish line for our cheery girl. I’ve been on my own and amongst the last in at sportives a fair few times, and it can be an rather lonely experience, which is sad when it comes on top of such an achievement. So wait we did. And quite some time later, about 3 1/2 hours after we’d last seen her, there she was, with a couple of other stragglers, all of whom summoned the energy for a brief sprint finish together, to be cheered over the line by us, a few marshals, and a family with many offspring still waiting for Daddy to get in. Our girl was still as smiley as ever, and I gave a big hug and congratulations, without hopefully being too patronising. She was inspirational! And last seen buying every piece of memorabilia and kit to remember the day by – who can blame her?

Right then. Time to make our way “home” again. Sadly the bar had closed by the time we got back, and neither of us had any change for the pool table any more. A slightly anticlimatic and unsociable end to the day, but luckily we had some provisions with us, so we hung out in the club room, and used the wifi to watch TV on the laptop for a while before bed beckoned again.

Good day sunshine! One of the best things, to my mind, about the Tour of Pembrokeshire, is that it takes place on the Saturday. Which leaves you the Sunday to go out and enjoy the area in a more leisurely fashion, should you so wish. Thanks to having helped out on the day, we (and a few similar) were in for a treat. Peter had organised a schedule of boat trips with Falcon Boats, the Tour’s other Adventure partner, around Ramsay Island to see the wildlife. It was fab. We were the first group, of around 12 or so, to head out. The sea was as flat as we’ve ever seen it, the sun was shining, the boat was fun, and came with a very lovely skipper who spent the ride doing her best to tell us all about everything we were seeing. Unless a seal popped its head up of course, in which case she got completely upstaged! The sea was beautiful, the range of birds on the island was amazing, the rocks and cliffs and caves were stunning, and the seals were just fabulous. Sadly the little resident pod of Riley’s Porpoises was nowhere to be seen, but hey, no complaints here. Well unless you’re Matt. He would have liked the sea to be much more bumpy and the boat to have hurtled and bumped around a lot more. The lady sat behind me would not have done however – it was quite bumpy enough for her as it was! *grin*. Sadly all good things come to an end, and it was back to shore where, after a brief wait for the bus, we were deposited back in St Davids to go our separate ways. Which in our case involved a pub lunch sat outside the pub, with views of the Cathedral, watching jackdaws thieve leftover packets of biscuits from the table next to us. They’d take them up to the roof next door, open the packet, drop the plastic bit, and fly off with their bounty. Someone is going to be mystified next time they clear out their gutters….! A very pleasant end to a very lovely weekend 🙂

Tour of Pembrokeshire 2019 done! Well, sort of 😉

Tour of Pembrokeshire Prologue 2018

You would be forgiven for thinking that I don’t ride a bike anymore. Let’s face it, I practically don’t. As my health has gotten worse, I have been less and less able to ride a bike… I’ve barely even been even to use the spin bike. That wasn’t going to stop Matt and I doing this year’s Tour of Pembrokeshire Prologue ride however. What, miss a good excuse for a weekend in Pembrokeshire, with bikes, and beaches, and all? Not likely!

Which is sort of the point I’d like to make in this blog, and part of the reason the Tour of Pembrokeshire – i.e. the actual event in May – is such a great event. Unlike most sportives it takes place on a Saturday which means you have the change to spend a whole weekend in one of the most beautiful parts of the country I know, without that mad rush for home to be ready for work on Monday.. Even if you don’t want to ride the sportive, and your other half/friends/family do. it’s not like there’s not plenty of other things to do in that neck of the woods – more of which later.

But let’s re-wind a little, to the morning of Friday 26th January, when we were due to be at Crug Glas, the official event HQ, first thing. When you’re aiming for bacon butties at 8:30am, and it’s a 3+ hr journey, sleeping through your alarm clock and not realising how many times you’re hit snooze until around 5:15 is NOT a good start! You’d be amazed how quickly you can get your act together, kit/clothes on, and bikes into an already mostly packed car when you have to!

OK, so getting there in time for the bacon was never going to happen…and as we got closer, and I dozed while Matt drove, and rain intermittently kept us company, it was looking like getting there in time to ride at 9:00 was also not only unlikely, but unattractive! I pinged Peter (organiser extraordinaire) to warn him, in a fingers crossed tone, that I might not make it but I was on my way. A quick check of the schedule for the day informed me that we were actually due to head out at 9:30am, and for all that the weather was looking unappealing, I did actually kinda want to ride the bike, just to prove I still could. Back to crossing those fingers…

By the time we arrived, the weather had brightened up considerably. I left Matt parking the car outside the hotel proper and sorting bikes, since we were staying the night and the Cowshed car park was full, and nipped in to let Peter know we’d made it and would be riding, and to please not leave without us. Just as I walked in to the back of the briefing, where he was reading out who would be riding in which group, he read out my name – spotted me, and pointed me out to everyone. Comedy timing..thanks Peter!. 😉 Having had issues in previous years with losing riders en route, and with the Prologue getting more and more popular every year, we were all organised into groups of roughly 5 riders to 1 official Tour rider, roughly by ability, and by route (25 or 40 miles) with the emphasis being very much on keeping those groups together. Not that those groups couldn’t end up riding together – but G is for group, and you should never leave your wing man, right?

Our group was to consist of Tour stalwart Griff, Matt and I, and three others (names escape me right now, I’m rubbish with names!), all very happy with 25 miles being the wise choice to make around here – what with it being early and the year, and it being more than a tad lumpy here! Having checked in, and had a quick chat with Peter, there was just enough time in hand for me to rejoin Matt, for us to put every layer of kit on we owned, and to take the bikes over to rejoin our group. Did I mention that it may well have been brighter, and it was, but it sure as hell wasn’t warm?! And it was a tad breezy on top of that…isn’t it always? S/s base layer, l/s winter jersey, bib winter tights, winter jacket, gilet, long finger gloves and, Matt’s leg warmers over the top of my tights. More kind of as a precaution than anything – I tend to get cold and then stay cold – and they’d be easy to take off if necessary. Matt, clearly being of questionable sanity, wore baggy shorts as usual…! You can take the boy off the MTB but you can’t take the MTB out of the boy… 😉

So there we were, all ready to go and, after Matt played Good Samaritan and helped some lad who was borrowing a bike put pedals on it, we headed off into the wilderness. Last year, on leaving Crug Glas and heading towards the coast, you’d never have even know there was a coast to head towards… Today, in chilly winter sunshine, under brightening skies, there was the deep blue sea stretching away towards the horizon…which was enough to put a smile on even my slightly nervous face. It felt a bit weird being on my bike after so long…but it also felt good. I have been missing it, and I’m looking forward to the days when one day I’m able to get back into, and onto, it properly.

I hadn’t had chance to look at the route really, but we’d established that there were two or three big climbs to be done – one out of Solva, and two at Newgale – one on the way out and one of the way back. Which was bound to mean more than three – Pembrokeshire tends to either up or down, there’s precious little flat stuff around here! We headed out towards St David’s, where we skirted the main town centre to head out along the coast road east. It was a shame not to see the Cathedral…but I also know going to see the Cathedral involves a country lane detour and one of two possible killer and not short enough climbs to climb up past it, so I really wasn’t complaining!

Being on the bike very quickly got painful. Which was bad, unsurprisingly. But good, in that it reminded me why I’ve not been able to ride a bike for months, and helped me feel a little less guilty/cross with myself about that. Silver linings I guess. Which are hard to cling on to as, as the ride progressed, it got worse and worse….

Anyway, enough of my pity party, back to the road and the ride. The coast road is rolling, with some steeper drags, and as it happens, not a lot of traffic and what there was was very courteous and respectful. Being able to look right and right out to sea helped distract from some of the drag, and also from the fact that the first climb of the day, out of the very pretty village of Solva was coming up. Our group stretched a little from time to time, as the climbs spread us out, with me not quite last, and the descents did the same, with me not quite, but sometimes, first 😉

The descent into Solva is a bit wiggly, and I wasn’t best positioned to get the most of it. Neither was I really in any rush to get to the unavoidable climb ahead. Back in the day the route didn’t come this way, but my drive down did, and every time I drove up or down it I used to muse that I was really glad I didn’t have to ride up it. Well these days it does, and having done it before on last year’s Tour I did at least know it was doable. I also knew how hard it is if you’re me. And as we left the very picturesque and colourful village and started the climb upwards, the gradient cut in pretty much straight away, the group spread out, and it was time to sit back, engage crawler gear, and just concentrate on plodding my way up. Matt decided out of the saddle was the way to go and disappeared into the distance. Some considerable time, and pain, later, I finally met up with him and the rest of the group, bar one, at the next suitable regrouping point. I was ever so glad for the bar one, as it meant we didn’t head off straight away, and I got to get my breath and composure back again!

With the group back together again, in more ways than one, we set off again. A few more miles of draggy saw us to Newgale, for yet another lovely descent to be followed by a climb! As you arrive and start descending the whole coastline opens up in front of you and the beach stretches out ahead of you, beckoning. Don’t get too distracted by it though, there’s a really really nasty hairpin wiggle on the way down, which would be bad even if the road surface was good, and it isn’t, so it’s even worse! Think of slowing down as an excuse to look at the view? 😉 Once at the bottom the road heads along the beach, divided from the sea by piles of grey stone, which block out the view until you start to leave the beach towards the other end. Rather than carrying on up the main road climb, which was on last year’s Tour, we turned right to continue further along the beach, and climb away from the coast that way instead. No rush though, we slowed down somewhat to enjoy the view, listen to the waves, and have my camera tell me it was full and refuse to take photos of those stunning views! (not amused…turns out later that the memory card had popped out a little – it wasn’t full at all *grrr*).

It turned out to be a nicer climb than t’other one in some ways. Longer, but more gradual, sort of stepped, with occasional steeper bits. Matt kept me company this time, which made things feel a little easier. Had he been with me up Solva I’d have been tempted to ask him for a helping hand, something I virtually never do or permit…now that he was with me, I found it easier not to need one. Perverse I know… And..then…climb done…or so I thought. Turns out there as another similar one shortly afterwards, after the left turn inland, which no-one seemed to have thought to mention…told you there were bound to be more than three climbs! Ouch!

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Somewhere around here, where the 25 mile route was to split from the 40, the other female member of our party was struck down by the puncture fairy. We all pulled over in a convenient gateway, where a Tour marshal and his extremely cute small child happened to waiting, and various manly MAMILs helped get the job done, using a surprising number of different bike pumps. Meanwhile I enjoyed the chance for a break, out of the wind, to enjoy the sunshine and be glad we only had 10 miles or so left to go. Having said that, Peter’s routes have often proven to be somewhat longer than expected, so I was mentally aiming at it being more like 27 miles than 25, so as to not be annoyed if that happened! Praemonitus, praemunitus…or something like that anyway.

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Time to head back then. Which involved looping us back round, down the much more enjoyable decent to Newgale from the other side, and more beach loveliness. It took a while to warm up again after the break, but retracing our steps back up that wiggly hill out of Newgale was bl**dy hard work, relentless, and seemed to go on for ever. It warmed me up though! Every time you thought you’d reached the top, you hadn’t, and the photographer, who’d been popping up en route all morning, was predictably sat half way up after one of the worst stretches to capture the moment for posterity. I may have smiled. Or gurned… Once again Matt kept me company, once again it hurt like f*ck, once again we both made it to the top eventually.

We regrouped, headed back along the main coast road for a bit, where we stretched, and regrouped as usual, and then checked the map and route ahead to make sure we weren’t going to get lost. One right turn later and we were on to virgin territory. Which did involve us getting a tad lost, or at least not entirely convinced we were in the right place and/or going in the right direction a couple of times. Maps and gadgets were consulted but, with only a few miles to go, it wasn’t too stressful an affair. I was pretty sure I could see Crug Glas in the distance anyway, which helped. Somewhere in amongst those wiggly lanes was a fair killer of a hill, which took the last of what little was left in my legs and then some. Except it can’t have been a hill because there were only three hills today right? Sure felt like a hill to me… By now I was definitely in “I need to go home” mode. Stick a fork in me and call me done. Too much ouchy on many fronts, but hey at least we were all still together, and I was warm enough, right? It was definitely a relief to find ourselves on the road back to Crug Glas, and a welcome surprise to discover, upon turning into the drive back up to the hotel, that the route had indeed been 25 miles or thereabouts! Result! The work part of the Prologue was over and we’d suffered but survived. That’ll do me 🙂

Right then. Time to park the bikes up outside the hotel and, with a little time to spare, head inside, have a shower, and freshen up. The faster/longer groups probably weren’t far behind us to be honest, race snakes one and all, but luckily lunch was set for a fixed time, not for when everyone was back! Here’s the photo that a nice lady took of us, to prove that we survived.

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Being off the bike, my body and soul stopped having to hold it together, and lost it fairly monumentally. I thought it hurt on the bike but holy crap, did it ever hurt now! Unbelievable sort of mind-numbing amounts of pain… Luckily I carry a fair arsenal of analgesia, but it took me quite a while to get on top of it, get it together, have a shower, and put on civvies. Which, as I said before, made me feel rather better about not having been on the bike for quite a while – because this is how it feels when I do, so I’ve not been being lazy, I’ve been being sensible, so there! Still… Ho hum, hopefully I’ll get back to it eventually. Put me back on my bike!

Wrapped up in comfortable warm clothes, we headed back over to the Cowshed for the eat, drink, meet & greet part of the event. Catering for both this and the Tour is always good, and today was no exception. It’s a two part buffet. Jacket potatoes and/or wraps, filled with whatever you want – pulled pork in my case, or various other options. To which you can then go and add salad, pasta, cheese, whatever floats your boat. It was very tasty and very necessary. Even I ate most of my wrap! I could have eaten it all I suppose, but then where would I have put the sticky treacle pudding & custard? Yes yes, I know I shouldn’t, but I did. I figured I’d earnt it, and bl**dy lovely it was too! 🙂

We chatted to our group, who’d we’d ended up sitting with, and also to a few others, over food and the odd pint of rehydration therapy. Andrew Mathias then gave us a motivational talk about his circumnavigation of the UK coast, which was really interesting, and mad, if you consider he’d not been riding a bike for all that long. I’d call it the folly of youth (cos I’m a grumpy old woman), but since he was doing it for a very good cause – the Paul Sartori Foundation – I won’t. Especially as he raised £5,403.04 for them! Quite surprisingly, given the ride, good food, and a warm darkened room, Matt even managed to pretty much stay awake!

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So that covers the Prologue. But as I mentioned before, the Tour of Pembrokeshire is about far more than one long very challenging sportive 😉 It’s a weekend in Pembrokeshire for both riders and their families, to stay and enjoy the whole area. After all it can be a long way to travel for just one day, so why not make the journey even more worth while? When it comes to staying around St Davids, there are plenty of places to stay locally, up to and including Crug Glas itself (which is amazing!), and you can also book a space for a tent, caravan or motorhome on site if that’s more your thing. And when it comes to activities, the Tour of Pembrokeshire has teamed up with Preseli Venture for coasteering and sea-kayaking or surfing and Falcon Boats for wildlife boat trips. It’s not all about the bike you know 😉

You and yours could join the guys at Preseli Venture for a full or half day of family friendly coastal adventure. Try coasteering, sea kayaking, and surfing – it’s your chance to see this beautiful coastline from a whole new perspective! You can enjoy a hot local lunch while you’re there, and even stay in their 5 star eco lodge which sleeps up to 40 people. It includes a private lodge bar with music, pool table, outside seating, cosy lounge and lovely bedrooms, with a range of different sized rooms. Hardly slumming it! 🙂

If that sounds a little bit too active for you, how about taking a trip with Falcon Boats for the wildlife trip of a lifetime around the Pembrokeshire islands? Discover the RSPB reserve of Ramsay Island, head out to Grassholm to see gannets, and maybe porpoises, whales & dolphins, or North Bishop to see the shearwaters and puffin colony. Seeing a whale in the wild is on my bucket list, so I may have to give it a try – how cool would that be??

Back to the Tour, which is where I’ll be on May. This year’s Tour has four routes – opening up the stunning scenery and roads of Pembrokeshire to everyone, whether you want to do 25, 50, 75 or 100 miles. The Tour of Pembrokeshire really is one of THE best sportives you can do. Quiet country roads, with challenging climbs, swooping descents, amazing scenery and the sea all around. It’s why I keep coming back for more, year after year. Sadly it’s looking like I may only be up to the 25 mile route this year but…with free parking, amazing feed stations, delicious free post-ride food, free hot tubs and showers on site, free beer (if you do the right routes!) and live music around the course and at the finish, what more could you or I ask for? I’ll be there, wearing my very fetching Tour of Pembrokeshire Castelli Women’s Team Jersey in the hope it makes me look like I know what I’m doing. See you there?

*official photos – i.e. the good ones with ToP marks ‘n all are used by permission from the Tour of Pembrokeshire and are ©huwfairclough.

Great Weston Ride 2017

A little while ago I did the Maratona dles Dolomites again. It did not go according to plan. And maybe I’ll write about that at some point, and put some photos up, or something. Or maybe I won’t. Suffice to say I couldn’t do what I wanted to because I was in far too much pain, and even my natural stubbornness can only get me so far…

…but let’s move on, shall we? On to this year’s Great Weston Ride which was, as this year continues on trend, a repeat. In fact this year’s edition would be its 8th. And my 8th too. It’s traditional. Apparently I’m part of the furniture now 😉

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So the event is a given, but the cast varies year on year. Originally this was due to be Matt and I, with Alan, and it was billed as an easy have a nice day out, remember you’re riding with me and I’m crap, kind of a ride. However some time not so long before the ride it turned out that James would be riding with us. Young whipper snapper, whippet, race snake James… Alan reassured me that this would make no difference, and things would proceed according to plan…

…which did not get off to a great start. After the usual early start, Matt and I headed off to rendezvous with the lads in order to ride to the start as usual. I’d assumed that we were meeting at the normal place, and hadn’t twigged that we weren’t. (Never assume, it makes an ASS out of U and ME…right?) So unsurprisingly they weren’t where we were when we were supposed to be, a little later than we’d intended on being there. Too much faffing as ever… And having presumed that, being all of 5 minutes late, we weren’t actually coming at all, Alan and James had headed off already. Marvellous… However a quick phone call ascertained the wheres and wherefores and whereabouts, and eventually we managed to join up on the road from Winscombe to Sandford. Let’s get this show on the road then shall we?

Alan had mapped out a route, and plugged it into his gadget, so unlike in previous years, we managed to make it to HQ at Long Ashton Park and Ride without getting lost. Well, if you don’t count the bit where Matt went flying on ahead on a downhill and missed the right turning onto the cycle path that we were supposed to take, and had to be hunted down 😉 Other than that it was a fairly uneventful and pretty sociable ride. As we rode through into Long Ashton, along with a fair few others, a great many other riders were going the other way, already on their way out. It’s a good thing there wasn’t much traffic around to annoy at that time of the morning 🙂

The weather was passable, albeit rather more breezy than I’d have liked. We parked up outside the car park block building, and did the usual. Which in my case involved rather a lot of queuing to get to use the Ladies. This ride, being one for charity and of a length and format that makes it more open and welcome to all than your average sportive, attracts a mixed bunch of riders and has a better gender balance than usual too. So 3 toilets (if you include the disabled one) and a lot of women in layers of kit and bib shorts? Queuing ensued…

That done, and it was time to go and register. Organiser Darren was already on the front line, briefing batches of riders before letting them loose. I found my queue, to sign the usual bit of paper, be presented with my bike number and cable ties, and told to help myself to 9Bars. There was a bit of confusion with regards to Matt’s registration but we got that sorted, and picked up extra cable ties as we were at it. Well they were skinny little ones, and I know from experience that those won’t go around my handlebars, but Matt informed me that if you string them together, it’s doable. Not something I’ve tried before, but hey, it worked, even it did look a bit haphazard.

Alan and James were raring to go, and chomping at the bit which, I’m sorry to say, did not make me move any faster. There was my bike to be loaded up and checked, another quick trip to the facilities and then finally, much to their relief, we were all joining the next batch to be briefed. Darren can probably give that briefing in his sleep by now! It didn’t take too long before we were set on our way, and everyone was hurtling off. Which always makes me laugh, because all of 100 metres up the road, the traffic lights always grind everyone to a halt *grin*. The second set do the same… We managed to get split up a bit. Alan must have got away and through the lights before they changed, and James wasn’t initially with us either.

We turned left to go through Long Ashton, rather than go straight on. The standard and original route has been maintained through the years but there are several additional loops on the way that you can take should you wish, to add miles or metres climbed, or both. Or neither if you’re me, because I’m all about tradition, remember? Besides, what with my form and health being as it is these days, pushing it in any way is pretty much out of the question. I know the basic route, I mostly like it, and knowing what I have to deal with helps me cope with it. It’s a ride that breaks into nice chunks, and that makes it mentally and physically more manageable somehow?

So, out through Long Ashton, and then under the A370 to take the rat run that is Barrow Gurney. Except it isn’t so much these days, now that the South Bristol link road has been completed. And, presumably in honour of the reduced through traffic flow, the route through has been resurfaced, and smoothed, and landscaped, and ok, there are still the obligatory speed bumps and traffic calming bits, but it was much nicer to cycle through than before. Unlike the unavoidable drag up the A38 afterwards which was as unpleasant as always but is at least blessedly fairly short! As the miles passes, what with traffic, of the two and four wheel variety, different riding styles, the need to change layers, faff or whatever, four regularly became two x two, and James and Alan got plenty of restorative rest waiting for us to catch them up and for us all to head off together again.

The next bit of the ride is my favourite bit of the whole thing. Turn left, and head towards Chew Magna. The road rolls a little bit, in a generally climbing way, before you get to hurtle along, downhill ish, flying past lots of other people and having whole heaps of fun. And this year was no exception. I still loved it 🙂 All good things come to an end, and turning right at the roundabout here marked the end of the fly past, and set us heading South towards the Mendips. What with the weather being currently fairly nice, quite a lot of people were taking the advantage of the lay-by where the route crossed the Chew Valley Lake to stop and/or regroup, and quite a few supporting families were cheering on their athletes as they arrived. As we were currently pretty much together, we carried on past them.

The big challenge on today’s route is Burrington Combe, and to get there involves one of my least favourite patches of road from West Harptree, through Ubley and Blagdon. It’s draggy, includes a fair few ups, and has one of those momentum sucking road surfaces. Having said that, although I was having to do hills my way, i.e. at no speed at all as pushing hurts, it all went better than usual, and better than expected. Provided I take it easy at such points, I seem to manage to plod my way up hills fairly successfully, and it went surprisingly well. Matt stuck with me, while the boys did their thing, and before long we were all gathered together at the first stop at the bottom of the Combe. This is a liquid & mechanical support stop only, but if you wanted anything else, including facilities that are rather more salubrious than the public toilets outside, then the Burrington Inn had it all. Quite a few people were clearly planning on a longer stop than us, with friends and family joining them for refreshments inside and out. James held on to my bike while I topped up my bottles and nipped inside to “freshen up”. I’d have loved to purchase some fizzy orange, or some such, but there was quite a queue and I didn’t fancy joining it. Such indulgence would have to wait until later…

I rejoined the boys, and the conversation headed off in a techy direction, with much discussion of gears and ratios and the like, so rather than fall asleep standing there, I took my leave and got myself a small head start. We’d agreed to meet up at the Two Trees junction at the top, and they were bound to get there before me however much of a lead I got, so it seemed to make sense. And I enjoyed it. Yes, Alan and James went past like I was treading water, and yes Matt caught me. But I did good by my standards if not Strava’s. I like Burrington Combe. It’s my kind of long slow climb, and I didn’t even spend the entire time in bottom gear. My oval chain rings come into their own on climbs like this and somehow make the whole thing feel smoother and more constant. Even the last kicker of an up after the cattle grid at the top, which isn’t the end even if you really wish it was, wasn’t too bad. Well, ok, it hurt, and made things hurt, but that’s nothing new and the legs thought it was ok 🙂 Having accepted how things are these days means I can just take a little of the pressure off myself and just get on with doing it?

As planned, after life had flattened out into a longer drag, James and Alan were waiting for us. Time to eat, drink, discuss how the ‘race’ had gone (James won, quelle surprise), and then time to go and do a little of what I do best. Yep, plenty of down and flat and flying across the top, almost chain gang stylee, doing what I can to make for what I can’t, and I definitely held my own and did my fair share. The wind was fairly challenging up on the top here, which is often the case, and it did make some of it rather more of slog than we would have liked. It was also rather damp up here, and with the damp and the wind and the elevation, it was distinctly chilly. I’m not sure whether it was actually raining or whether we were just riding through a cloud though!

Having been on top of the world for a while, it was time to head for the Levels. We reached the junction with the main road, where the loop that takes in Cheddar Gorge had riders joining us from the right, and turned left to head for Priddy. There’s a nasty narrow little steep kick out the village here, and just for once, and possibly the only time today, I was proper feeling it, and from behind Alan and James I got myself out of the saddle and kicked my way up and past them both…which came as a bit of surprise to everyone, including me. Go me! Sometimes #thisgirlcan *grin*.

Time to roll a little down some little country lanes to get us to the big descent, down Westbury Hill, or the Quarry Hill as it’s sometimes known around here. Today was a day for being careful, what with it being damp under rubber, frequently gravelly and bendy, with plenty of riders around, and the possibility of vehicular traffic in either direction. This didn’t mean a degree of controlled fun couldn’t be had, and having passed a more sensible Alan, I followed Matt down the hill. At some point a car came the other way, and I can’t remember whether I was ahead of Matt at the time, or just didn’t notice from behind, but his life got a bit squirrely on a bend as we passed it, which was a bit hairy apparently! Almost too close for comfort… Luckily that was all it was, and we all had our own version of fun getting to the bottom, to the junction with the main road to Wells. As ever, there were marshals making sure we all stopped there, and advising us of approaching traffic if necessary, which was much appreciated. We regrouped briefly, before crossing over safely and finishing the last bit of the descent down into Rodney Stoke. I managed not to drop & total my camera here this time around too!

Time for a bit of Level pegging. Which came with an unexpected amusement factor. The car not so far in front of us had realised she wasn’t going to be going anywhere fast, what with all the cyclists around, and overtaking being a tad tricky hereabouts, so she’d let her dog out the back to run along behind her slow progress. Which is, I suppose, one way of walking the dog! We overtook her, having a chat as we passed, obviously, because if we hadn’t I wouldn’t know what was going on, now would I? It was fairly fast progress, and fairly sociable too, as we stuck together in a chatty group all the way along to the little kick up to Cocklake, from where we turned left to Wedmore.

Wedmore was, as ever, a little tricky to negotiate. Traffic, parked cars, cyclists, motorists with very important places to be, and the ever-present risk of being doored by someone not paying attention en route to the local gallery/boutique/pub… SMIDSY… I’m always careful here, and we were careful here today. Having turned right, and with that main flashpoint behind us, it was time to head out into the countryside again, and head for the next stop, the proper food stop, at Hugh Sexey school in Blackford.

Which was, as usual, a smörgåsbord. Free drinks, of the hot and cold variety. A wide range of cakes on sale inside, with bacon buttes on sale outside too. Time to take a well-earned break then… I topped up my bottles, and debated the merits of cake before deciding not to risk it – my insides were feeling delicate enough as it was on the pain front, and eating something that upset my IBS would definitely not help. I grabbed some free squash though, I’m getting far better at hydrating these days. While Matt joined the rather long queue for bacon butties, I nipped inside to use the dinky facilities, which always makes me smile. Well, it is a First School, so everything is a little bit smaller scale…or seems that way anyway. I took Matt’s place in the queue for a little while so that he could do the same, and once he was back I headed back out into the throng…where I found Alan and James chomping at the bit again, ready to head off. Apparently they’d decided to do the next bit on their own and have a bit of a race to the finish. And we were too slow for them, and wouldn’t mind being left to our own devices, would we? Hm. I may have been a bit under-amused. Well, after all the promises that this was not what would happen? I could have told you it would, but I’d chosen to believe the hype. (More fool me, n’est-ce-pas?) Rather than express my opinion on the subject vocally, I chose to wave them on their way, whilst taking a pew on the lawn near our stationed steeds, and waiting for Matt to rejoin me instead. Well it’s not like I blamed them, but I did think we’d been doing ok, and I’d seemed to have been on the front for a fair bit of the group riding…*sulk*.

So off they went, and back he came. Given that it was indeed now just us two, we decided to chill out a bit…but not too much, because that would mean chilling out literally not figuratively, and although it was definitely brightening up now, it still wasn’t precisely warm. So time to head off again then, with about 20 miles or so to go, and not much by way of lumps to deal with in those, which is always good! The next stretch is a little bit rolling before hitting the flat straight bits around Mark. Once more a little detour took us off the main, and very boring Mark to Highbridge road, which remains an improvement on the original route. It avoids traffic and is far prettier. Well it’s proper Levels and if you’re going to come and ride around here, that should be done 🙂 Although this bit is flat and fast and I was feeling pretty good, Matt wasn’t doing so well. I’d turn round to check he was behind me, and he wouldn’t be…so I’d wait for him to catch up and we’d be together again and then…we wouldn’t. We arrived in Highbridge, and discovered that he’d had a slow puncture for a while, and riding on that lack of tyre pressure had a lot to answer for! We pulled off just before the traffic lights on the little railway bridge into town, and I took it easy while he very efficiently changed the inner tube and got everything back up to pressure and back up to speed!

Not that speed is something you can really do in Highbridge, or on the roads out though Burnham-on-Sea and out to Berrow. Too much traffic and too many obstacles, though the views of the beach and the Severn river at Burnham somewhat make up for this. It was still a relief when we finally got to stop playing with the traffic and turn right, off the main road, and hit the quieter lanes that head towards Lympsham, with about 10 miles to go, as a very lovely sign confirmed. It is nice to count down 🙂 Well, ok, it was sort of quieter. After a nice quiet straight patch, we joined the road that takes tourists to and from their caravan sites around Brean. It’s narrow and wiggly and the surface is atrocious, so sticking to the LHS to let cars past often isn’t an option…not if you want to stay on your bike, and/or avoid pinch punctures. We were as courteous as possible however, and waved cars past when we could, and went as fast as we could in between times so as not to be too much of a hindrance. Traffic can’t go that fast around here thanks to those roads either, so it worked out just about ok.

The miles were ticking by now, and I was still feeling perky. Even having been re-inflated Matt was flagging a bit, but we really didn’t have far to go now. Down the lovely straight bit alongside the railway line, with the sun pretty much shining now. Then the usual wait to turn left onto the fairly busy A370 before the detour through Uphill to get us to the final finishing straight along Weston Super Mare’s sea front. It wasn’t so much of a sprint this year, though we did try. It’s not easy with the number of traffic lights along here that have a tendency to stop play! And then there we were, pulling off the road, onto the lawns, going over the Finish Line pretty much together, and another Great Weston Ride was done 🙂

We were presented with our medals which, if they fitted my frame, could have been nicely fitted to the front of my bike, such was their design this year. I grabbed a bottle of water too, and had a quick chat with Darren who was lurking around keeping everything under control. I also got to meet rider No 1 – which is a privilege he has due to the sheer amount of money he has raised over the years for the Great Weston Ride’s charity – Prostate Cancer UK. Chatting done, we headed off in search of Alan and James, who were to be found taking it easy on the grass not far from the bar, clearly having been there for ever. Well they’d already had their free food and the odd pint…and having gotten in that bit earlier (a considerable bit clearly…), they hadn’t had to queue much for either. The queue for the bar was, luckily, not insurmountable. The same cannot be said for the food queue…which we ended up leaving until considerably later. Better to be sat chilling with your mates and drinking the odd cold one that standing up on your own for hours doing neither right? Sadly all they had left by way of lager was Fosters…ick!…but needs must. Don’t worry, it won’t be becoming a habit! Matt had to resort to drinking cider…which really isn’t his thing either.

So there we sat, and chatted, and debriefed. At some point later on food was finally acquired and consumed and very nice it was too. More lager (if you can call it that) was consumed. And after a while Alan and James headed off back to his place a couple of miles down the road where James was parked. And a while after that I prevailed upon eldest to come and pick us up, since riding home had never really been on the cards, and staying on the lawns in the sun for an extra pint really was 🙂

Great Weston ride 2018 done. How was it? As lovely as ever really. Sure we were slow. And things were sometimes fairly painful. But that’s normal these days, and Matt’s support and my drugs get me through that. All that not withstanding, it went well, and we had a good day out. It might have been a different case had it not brightened up in time for the après ride to be so nice. And the queues at the food stop and at the end weren’t great, with the latter being way beyond not great. But that’s the kind of feedback they take on board every year and every year it gets a little bit better. Since I really enjoy it, and I’m part of the furniture, barring unforeseen circumstances, it’s safe to assume I’ll be back there in 2019. Maybe even 2020. I reckon 10 times in a row would be pretty cool 🙂

Tour of Pembrokeshire Prologue 2017

Somehow, without noticing, some things just become a habit. Well, not so much a habit as a tradition actually, a word which has less negative connotations. And somehow, the Tour of Pembrokeshire has become just that. Traditional. I don’t always ride the whole event. I don’t always ride the whole event when I’ve signed up to do so, I’ve frequently been forced to bail to shorter routes! But I do seem to always do the Prologue ride. It’s the first thing of the season. OK, so this year my season is massively unplanned, and disorganised, and up in the air. That didn’t stop the Prologue being the first thing on my calendar however.

So a while ago Matt and I made our way as far as West as you can go without falling into the sea, to St David’s and beyond, to the fabulous Crug Glas (which I love), the hotel where both the Prologue and the event itself run from – albeit from the Cowshed venue on site. It’s a bit of a trek – 3 hours plus driving – and it wasn’t the most comfortable of journeys. Having been doing ok, in annoyingly alliterative, tediously typical and practically predictable fashion, I was heading for a seriously bad patch. Which is just one of the reasons Matt was accompanying me; to play chauffeur, since driving long distances is unwise normally, and not doable at all if I’ve had to resort to the heavy guns. Having had to get up at 4:30am in order to get to our destination by 9:00am, it’s not like I’d have been awake enough to drive anyway – I’m not really a morning person 😉 Sadly driving is actually more comfortable than being a passenger…it’s a bit of a Catch 22 thing…so though it was safer that I not be driving, it did make things somewhat worse…

Anyway Matt got us to the seriously freezing carpark outside the Cowshed, in time and without incident. And man was it ever cold. Oh, and wet, and so windy the little windmill on the farm was spinning so fast it looked like taking off was actually an option. Marvellous…*sigh*. Ah well. First things first. Time to head inside, nip to the salubrious toilets, sign the register, and say hello to a few familiar faces – organiser Peter, and Jim, and the rest of the team, back in charge after a brief hiatus last year, and after all this time, also friends of mine. Fellow Cyclosport writer Sean was also there, with a different hat on, and a nasty chest infection thingy which meant he was going to be playing support car, and not riding. Half his luck… 😉

We didn’t have a lot of time to spare before the various groups of riders were due to be let go, so we skipped coffee and headed back to the car to unload and reassemble the bikes, and put on every layer we had brought with us. By the time we were ready I couldn’t feel my fingers well enough to zip up my overshoes, which hardly boded well for the day ahead! As we finished up, various groups were starting to gather in the courtyard, only just leaving Matt enough time to get our bottles filled up. There were two route options available today – 45 miles or 28 miles – with groups of varying abilities being set up for each route. What with everything – my health, the weather, it being early in the season, etc…we’d decided that 28 miles sounded like more than enough. Well, considering the average speed that the terrain around here usually results in, even that was likely to take over two hours so…discretion, valour, etc. Besides Peter was to be leading the slow, short, group, and I thought that it might be a good time to catch up with him a bit. By the way if you don’t like these excuses for our route choice, I’m sure I have others… 😉 He also announced to the group, as we set off, that I’d be helping them learn a bit about group riding etc.! News to me…and as if! I may, just about, know what I’m doing for myself, but I’m by no means qualified to educate anyone else! Ah well, I figured I’d try, but that no-one was likely to need my kind of help anyway, especially not with Peter around. (And I was right…they didn’t!). Off we headed out for what turned out to be a fairly typical Prologue ride. Unlike the event proper, it’s not the world’s most organised affair. Our group had about 19 people in it, and keeping that kind of group together is virtually impossible even on a good day. Today, on narrow roads, with varying abilities, lousy weather, and a fair few drags, it was literally impossible…

…so the group stretched, broke, reunited, got rained on, the rain got worse, the wind got stronger and was mostly (as ever) not at my back. But the scenery was still stunning, and beautiful and lovely – when you could see it. The route has been changed so that we didn’t come up past the cathedral the usual way, which is a shame, but St David’s was still lovely. The company was good. It was sociable. And I felt pretty good – in that my legs at least were ok. I was wearing lots and lots of layers, and keeping mostly warm and dry, though as the ride went on, I did start to cool down. But I just can’t go up hills when the pain is there, as up makes it worse, and because my body is fighting on another front, there’s not as much in the tank as there ought to be. But I’m kinda used to it these days. Resigned to it. Sure, you’ll drop me on every single hill, and I will zone out and plod and just watch the road ahead of my front wheel, and get there eventually. But I’ll catch up on the flat and, on any downs that there are, drop you like a stone 😉 Sadly there weren’t many of those today though, and the road conditions were such that care and attention and caution was called for. So I was slow out there. Matt kept me company the whole way around though, so even when the groups split up, and when we got totally separated from them towards the end, I wasn’t on my own. OK, so I had to yell to get his attention a couple of times when he hadn’t realised how far behind him I’d dropped, but essentially he was always there, joining the roll call of those who have had to drag me around Pembrokeshire. Hey, at least this time around I didn’t end up in tears! 😉

En route I did get to chat to a few of the other riders, notably Tori James, the youngest British and first Welsh woman to climb Mount Everest, and part of the first all female team to race to the magnetic North Pole, amongst many other things; she’s the official Tour of Pembrokeshire patron, and would be giving us a talk later. But mostly it was a bit too horrible for chatting much. Typical Welsh weather some would say 😉 And I was, and am, SO glad we didn’t go for the 45 mile ride! Maybe it’s one of those things too – bad weather for the Prologue, good weather for the Tour? I certainly hope so, since I’ve agreed to do that again this year, and Matt’s coming along for the ride too. He has no idea what he’s letting himself in for… 😉

To be honest, I wasn’t planning on doing it again. Been there, done that, would have the t-shirt if there was one. But it turns out that a fair few changes have been made to this year’s event. On the Saturday, for the main event, there’s now a new 133 mile route, dedicated to local rider Paul Ties and Tour of Pembrokeshire stalwart, who is sadly no longer with us. There’s also the Fred Rees Skoda 60 mile route and the 84 mile Mavic route, and they’re all new and different. And that works for me. The option to do whatever route is appropriate on the day – and to not be repeating what I’ve done so many times before, whichever route I do. And no, I will not be attempting the Paul Ties route – that would be insane! On the Sunday there’s also a 40 mile family/recovery ride route for those who feel less ambitious, or who want to spend a weekend riding with friends and family. Whichever route you or I do, it’s a great event, in a beautiful place, that’s really well run & organised, where I can catch up with friends, and stay at Crug Glas again. So yes, I’ll be doing the Tour of Pembrokeshire in May.

Anyway, back to the ride, albeit briefly. It all sort of passed in an increasingly damp blur… Somewhere near the end, as mentioned before, we got both separated from the others in our group, and also slightly lost. So when we reached the entrance road to Crug Glas again, albeit a few miles sooner than expected, and it was still raining, and blowing a storm, and my fingers weren’t entirely there…there was no way we were doing anything other than turning left for a very unpleasant final couple of miles riding fully into that blasted, blasting wind to get us back to HQ. Prologue ride done! We weren’t the first back, as there were a couple of other rather shell-shocked looking riders loitering around, one of whom was heard to comment that if he’d known it was going to be like that he wouldn’t have turned out for it. I don’t suppose he was the only one thinking that today!

Since lunch etc wasn’t due for a while, and the other groups weren’t back yet, the best thing to do seemed to be to go and check in to our very lovely room. I should mention that I’ve been lucky enough to stay here a few times now, and I totally love it. I never get to stay places this lovely, being usually a budget hotel gal, and this is just so far from that! Once again Room 1 was mine, and it was just as fabulous as ever, complete with large windows, four poster bed, fireplace, and general classic luxury. The large copper bath beckoned…but running that would have taken too long. What was needed right now was a very long hot shower, and clean, warm, dry clothes, with some time sat by the fire to pull myself together again! Once re-heated, re-dosed, refreshed, and reassembled, lunchtime was fast approaching, so we headed back over to the Cowshed to refuel. Everyone else was also back now, and equally ready to carry on with the second act.

The social part of the Prologue was far more enjoyable than the ride for sure. A two course meal of beef/veg bourguignon followed by various choices of sticky pudding, with a bar, and good company? What more do you want? There were a few formalities to be done; thanks given by and to the organisers, and also some feedback gathering for them, to see what we’d all thought of the routes and so forth. Then Tori took to the stage to tell us about her adventures, and her exploits properly qualify as legendary. And probably motivational too, if you’re not me – I know that kind of thing is way out of my league, especially these days. Beside which, polar expeditions? Everest? That all sounds awfully cold to me…and I think we’ve already established that I don’t do cold very well 😉 A few of the others in the room had possibly also struggled earlier – thanks to the combination of exertion, warm food, and a dark warm room, a couple of heads were definitely seen nodding…including Matt’s! Well dragging me around is very tiring… 😉

But all good things come to an end, and finally the 2017 Prologue reached the end of the road. As people slowly dispersed, it was time to say our farewells, arrange to rendezvous with Peter et al at the Sloop later, and head back to that lovely room to chillax for a while. Another Tour of Pembrokeshire Prologue under my belt. As rides go I’ve definitely had better, but the après ride more than made up for the ride! See you all in May!

PS: Typically the next day was amazing. Blue skies, sunshine, blue seas…we even went to the beach and Matt went swimming!! Ah well 🙂

Evans Ride It Wiltshire Downs 2016

Welcome to my last sportive of the season…

I’m very tempted to just write “Had shit day, went home”. But such paucity of words does not a blog make. Even if it is a fairly accurate and concise of how my day panned out… So here goes.

I was having a bad patch. For whatever reason*. Still, as usual, I wasn’t going to use that as an excuse not to go and do what I’d said I was going to do. Besides the main reason I was doing this weekend’s sportive – the Evans Ride It Wiltshire Downs – was because I did it last year, enjoyed it, and really wanted to do the long route this time around. So I wasn’t going to bail, now was I?

Things were not in my favour however. Maybe an eagle had dropped a tortoise somewhere. Or the goat’s entrails had revealed gastro-enteritis. Not only was I suffering in a big way, but the weather was not great. In fact it was feckin’ freezing out there…just as it had been all week. I knew I was going to need a lot of layers. I wasn’t sure that was going to be enough. I wasn’t sure my painkillers were going to be enough. I wasn’t sure I was going to be enough. Having had some truly hideous times on the bike of late, I’d reached a stage where I was almost scared to go and ride the bike. Why go there again?

But going I was. And I wasn’t going on my own. For what, due to the apparent cancellation of the Wiggle Bitter Beast, would turn out to be my last sportive of the season, I had company. Yep, I dragged Matt along again. Mostly in the hope that he would drag me around! 😉 Plus misery loves company, right? It also loves not having to drive too far…and HQ this time around was at Wiltshire College, nr Lacock, which turned out to be not much more than an hours drive from home. Driving was a good excuse for not having to talk too much; I wasn’t really holding it together, and talking when you’re that close to tears is tricky. Still, it was an easy journey, as was finding the college, at the end of a very long drive. Having been here before helped, and we were marshalled to park up on the gravelly, somewhat muddy, car park much the same as last time around.

I didn’t want to get out of the car. What and leave my warm cosy safe little box? But I did. Kinda. Only to discover it was just as cold as I thought it was, and that standing up didn’t feel good. Matt gave me a hug, partially to warm me up, partially because I clearly wasn’t feeling great, at which point I promptly burst into tears. Go me…or something.

After a little while I got it together, and managed to MTFU for a bit. Time to go and try and do what we were actually here for. Which meant starting by registering. We decided to walk over there and then come back to faff, and the walk around to the hall demonstrated what I already pretty much knew. It was COLD! And not nice. The toilets however were both warm and nice, and inside, and alongside what looked like a common room. I was half tempted to stay in there and play pool all day instead…! However… The queue for registration was pretty non-existent, probably because we were running pretty late for our nominal start slot. We both signed up, and were presented with our High5 bottle packed with goodies, for having booked our places early, and also a High5 race pack for the day. Another good reason for not riding to registration – we’d only have had to go back to the car to stash stuff anyway! So, duly equipped with timing chips and numbers and the like we made our way back to the car to faff.

Matt took pity on me and made me sit in the car while he reassembled the bikes. I decided that I wasn’t wearing enough and swopped the odd lighter layer for more heavy duty ones in the meantime. At some point he disappeared off to answer a call of nature…only to be confronted by kangaroos! Ok, so they could have been wallabies but that’s none the less bizarre…the best you usually bump into on such trips is the odd curious cow! How mad is that? And it made us both smile, which was definitely an improvement and perked me up a bit.

So, with even Matt wrapped up in what passes for his idea of warm clothing, and everything all sorted, there was no putting it off any longer. Time to revisit the common room, rue leaving it once again, and join the queue for the start. Such as it was, since most were out and under way already. However I reckon this was better than having to stand around in the cold and queue anyway. A small group of us gathered at the starting gate to be briefed about the signage, warned it wasn’t a race, and the like. And then we were off…out into the cold, bright, and breezy. *gulp*.

A lot of the ride is a bit of a blur. It’s safe to say that I was a bit distracted. And the first 45 minutes of any ride is never good, since it takes me that long to warm up and warming up of any sort seemed unlikely today. But it was pretty out there, and the first few miles were fairly flat and I was riding the bike in good company, and hey… So when the first route split came at 7.5 miles in, for the Fun route, and Matt presumed we weren’t taking it, he wasn’t wrong. Although a little bit of me did wonder if I’d come to regret that… The idea of doing this event again had been to come back and do the Long route having been unable to do so last year, and that was still currently the plan. It’s only 80 miles after all, with the Medium route being 62 and the Short being 36, and t’s a beautiful part of the world to cycle around. I wanted to see more of it.

Things started to be somewhat less flat. Not what you’d call massively hilly, it’s not that kind of route, but enough for me to feel it. And not to be feeling it. Poor Matt was having to nurse me along as my pain levels were increasing, my temperature level wasn’t, and conversation and scenery were not proving sufficiently distracting. And when we reached the next route split, not much further down the road, where we really should have turned right, to head for being Long or at least Medium, there was no presuming. I really wanted to. I really did. But… So we pulled over to talk and think about it. And cry, if you’re me. Yes, again. Partially because it hurt, and partially because I hated having to admit defeat, but it was feeling like I really didn’t have much choice. Man it was frustrating! We chatted it through, and map gazed. Decided we couldn’t just go and lurk in the Cross Keys pub opposite, which probably wasn’t open anyway. And figured out there actually were other options open to us, as there were bits where we could rejoin other routes if we took the Short route and things turned out to feel better than expected, which helped me feel a bit better about bailing, and ruining Matt’s ride plans. So, having once again pulled myself together, we headed off to be Short.

Even doing the Short route, I’ve ridden around here enough for a lot of it to be fairly familiar, and even though there were hills, and they hurt, I got up them, and with the sun now shining, blue skies above, and the Wiltshire Downs spreading out around us, it really was pretty. Oh to be a bit warmer though…the wind really wasn’t helping, and I don’t know what more I could have been wearing but what I was wearing just wasn’t enough. Mind you, a lot of that seems to have been just me, Matt wasn’t suffering half as much, which is one of the wonderful side effects of being in pain – my body is too busy coping with other things to get warm, or something.

I can’t remember where the food stop was, mileage wise, but it was very welcome whenever and whereever it was. It was at some convenient village hall, with the usual variety of food/drink outside and one toilet inside. One toilet and a very long queue… However also inside, off the hall, was a small kitchen, where tea/coffee making facilities were available. Manna from heaven! I may be a bit of a coffee snob, but today the idea of a cup of hot instant coffee was positively appealing 😉 So Matt made coffee whilst I found a place to sit on the floor against a wall, and then there we sat. Hot “coffee”, the next dose of pills, a gel…all things that were likely to be restorative. Although I decided to give the toilet a miss,; I just couldn’t face standing in that queue, or to be fair undressing and exposing any more of me to more cold.

Matt was feeling a lot more chipper than me. And warmer. In fact, after some debate, this lady ceased to protest too much and gave in to his generous offer that I wear his cycling top over all my kit. God knows how he was warm enough for that to even be possible, and I seriously doubt it was a good look for me, but it turned out to be a really good idea. We set off again, and slowly things started to feel better. I stopped being freezing. The pills started to do their thing. The sun shone, and having decided to stick to the Short route, I started to cheer up. Knowing you’re heading for home does a lot of the PMA too, and I started to feel like I might actually complete this route at least! The routes had joined up at some point, and we could have opted to do some of the Medium/Long route but…some days it’s just better to quit while you’re behind 😉

So there were more long open roads under open skies, with stunning views, which were just as lovely as I remember them. More climbing, which like labour, I have blotted out. Pretty churches. Autumnal colours in the fields and the woods and the leaves on and under trees. We stopped from time to time, just to give me the odd break to breathe a bit. And it was lovely really. Sadly. If only… What was also lovely was the final descent of Bowden Hill towards the end. After a long gradual climb up through country estate feeling territory, it’s a lovely fast drop, with bends and, if you’ve done it before which I have, it can be SO much fun. You do have to be a bit careful – there was the odd car around, and quite a few sunny Sunday walkers around too. But we hurtled off nonetheless, and I finally found a tiny bit of mojo and remembered why riding a bike can be so much fun. And it was fun for quite a while, as it goes on for a bit!

And then that was it. Back on to the college estate, back over the plentiful speed bumps, and back over the Finish line, feeling a lot better than I had done going the other way, all of a few hours earlier. Job done…albeit badly.

Cycling time: 2:40
Distance: 36.6 miles
Avs: 13.7 mph

Ah well. Ho hum. Etc. Another one best consigned to the history books and best forgotten. It probably doesn’t feel like I’ve written much about the actual ride but let’s face it – it was only 36 miles, and took but a couple of hours – so there wasn’t much actual ride to write about, right? If you want more ride stuff, then it’s a nice area, the route is nice but with rather too many fairly main road sections, and the signs were small, hard to spot sometimes, and there weren’t enough of them either. Is that better?

So that was my (our) day, and that was the ride, and clearly it wasn’t a good day at the office. But it could have been worse. I could have been doing it on my own. It could have rained. Very few events involve kangaroos. And I did get round which, all things considered, is a minor achievement of sorts. One day I’ll do that blasted LONG route!! *grin*.

*In case you were wondering, we’ve worked out why things had gone quite so pear shaped… The latest brand of my patches and I weren’t getting on…some form of skin reaction to them seems to have meant that I wasn’t absorbing their yummy goodness. So for about two weeks I wasn’t getting the pain relief that clearly I do actually require…which clearly wasn’t great. On the upside at least I know I do really need them, right? 😉

Cotswold Edge 2016

Right then. Time for my second sportive of the season organised by the Southern Sportive team. Last time it was the actual Southern Sportive. This time it was the Cotswold Edge Sportive – a new one to me. Well, variety is the spice of life right? Although I seem to have spent quite a lot of time cycling around bits of the Cotswolds this year, so it’s definitely variety, not novelty…

I spent the weekend prior to the event having a life. Which was a great deal of fun, but not conducive to proper preparation. You know that thing about proper planning preventing piss poor performance…? I really should bear that in mind. Getting enough sleep and eating properly would have been a good idea. But hey, old dog, new tricks, some people never learn 😉

Still, the morning got off to a good start. Ish. The alarm went off at 6:30, and I left at 7:30 as planned. Pain levels and sleep deprivation meant that the motorway drive was a little…interesting…but I managed to stay awake. Just. It’s a good thing it was only a 50 minute (very cautious) drive on fairly empty motorways to HQ at the Renishaw site at Wotton-under-Edge. Which turned out to be a very nice location. Picturesque. With lots of landscaping and the like…all of which was enhanced by the early morning sunshine. I was marshalled to park up in the car park and since I could see registration from where I was sat, I decided to go and register before faffing. The short walk over there revealed that although it was sunny, it was far from warm, and that there was quite a lot of definitely not warm wind to add a little ‘je ne sais quoi’ to that. Marvellous… I gave the team my signature, and in return received my skewer timing chip, a couple of rather short cable ties, my bike number and a waterproofed map. I really don’t like skewer timing chips…as I mentioned when I wrote about the Southern Sportive…but as this is run by the same guys, at least this time I was expecting it.

Time for a trip to the facilities, which were around the other side of the building. I walked past the start line, and bumped into organiser Martin, who was busy getting ready to start things going. We chatted briefly, and he promised to try and turn the wind off 😉 It may have been a little walk to the toilets, but it sho’ was perty – past a very lovely lake and views over to what might have been the Hawkesbury Tower. And the facilities were very lovely too, so no complaints all ’round really.

Back to the car then. Time for faffing in the sunshine. Clearly this was going to be a cold day, and if it wasn’t going to be a cold day in hell, I was going to need layers. Which in this case ended up being winter longs, s/s base layer, s/s jersey, rapha winter jacket, head scarf, neck scarf, ear protectors. This was quite a lot more than quite a lot of people seemed to be wearing, but I know what I’m like with cold, and I’m starting to learn that getting cold or being cold seems to go with the territory when I’m in pain so…lots of layers it was!

While I was faffing the tannoy system had been sharing the stream of rider briefings with us all. I arrived at the start line just as the latest group was leaving so although I didn’t actually officially get a briefing, I didn’t need one either. I tagged on the back as we all carefully went over the timing mat to make sure we all beeped properly. Apparently the position of that timing chip thing is important – vertical positioning is better than lateral. Mine was fine, natch, but a couple of others had to stop and readjust before heading off…

The first thirty miles, minus the odd early drag, seemed fairly flat to me. I could have been imagining it though, as I really couldn’t get into it somehow. I couldn’t get properly warm, even if the neck tube did need to come off about 10 miles in. Things hurt. Being all wrapped up, and dosed up, with the low sunshine and long shadows, with eyes constantly having to adapt from light to shade, seemed to make it all a bit surreal. It also made the signs harder to spot. I didn’t get lost though and even if I had I’d probably have been ok – I’m starting to know my way around here. Bits of the route were from the Severn Sportive but in reverse, so familiar but not familiar. I’d have figured it out somehow.

Since I was on my own and mostly the only rider in sight, and there wasn’t too much challenge going on, I got a bit bored, and what with the bored, tired, cold, ouchy and medicated, I kept zoning out, and doing that nearly falling asleep thing. Not good, as I’m sure you’ll agree. And man I hate being cold!!! Still, at least my iPod shuffle was working this time, so I had music for company, which was a big improvement on the last sportive. And it was mad pretty out there. It is the Cotswolds after all. It’s not often than you nearly get knocked off your bike by a Bentley, right? 😉 Pretty and posh then… Pretty, posh & prosperous doesn’t translate into money being spent on the roads though – there were some really nasty road surfaces along the way, with a lot of gravel and mud around. There were also less signs warning about this than I was expecting, after such roads being marked so well on the Southern Sportive. There may have been less of those signs, but at least there were still plenty of repeater ribbons, which I still love. There’s nothing like the sight of a little orange ribbon blowing in the wind, just when you’re starting to wonder if….and then there it is, reassuring you that you’re going in the right direction. And that wind was still there, blowing them around, and it was cold, and making cold even colder. Sulk, whinge, moan.

I didn’t know which route I was going to do. I knew it wasn’t going to be the Short (37 miles) route though, as the split for that had come 4 miles in. I still had time to decide. Which brings us to the first stop, around 29 miles in, at around 11:00am. It was next to a playing field and tennis court and fairly exposed. There was certainly nowhere to hide from the wind, and any bits of me that had managed to get hot and sweaty quickly got cold, clammy and unpleasant. Still at least there were toilets this weekend, in a little changing room block. Not that the lights worked, so you couldn’t close the door unless being plunged into pitch blackness is your thing…luckily no-one came along at the wrong time! Back to the food table and supplies were really sparse. The mechanic was doubling up as staff, and helping anyone who needed it, wrapped up and looking warmer than seemed fair. I put my neck scarf back on, topped up my water bottle, and grabbed a couple of orange quarters. Considering how I’d been feeling I decided that a Powerbar smoothie might be what was called for, in case lack of food was any part of the problem. Whilst sat on a curb, mulling things over, I also took the next dose of pills and rang a rather distracted Matt for moral support. And managed not to burst into tears this time around, which probably counts as progress 😉

Right then, time to head off again. Straight into the biggest climb of the day – which was a real killer compared to everything and anything else today. It was hard painful work. It came with a silver lining thought; it got me a little bit warmer for a while! And up there, on top of the world, there were some amazing views, when you could see them. It was a bit bowl like up there, and a lot of the time those views were frustratingly just out of view beyond the current horizon. Tantalising… But it’s a bit churlish to complain about that really isn’t it? When those you could and did see were so fabulous?

The next route split came along shortly – and it definitely wasn’t going to be an Epic day. Which was annoying. But I still wasn’t warm, and things were still painful, and I had an open Sunday lunch invitation if I happened to make it back home in time. The Epic route might only have been 18 miles longer than the Standard 62 miles but things were painful enough as it was, so pushing it seemed unwise, even if the pills were starting (finally!) to cut in.

Standard route then. And after a rather lovely down, came the second food stop, only 16 km after the first, but with 35km to go. Or 10 miles and 22 miles if you prefer. It was staffed by two very friendly and very chatty ladies who seemed to be really enjoying their day out in the sun and talking to everyone. Mid chatting I ate orange quarters and jelly beans. According to them the rest of the route could be summarised as one big hill ahead, then flattish along the Severn, then back up the escarpment to the finish. Allegedly. I decided another gel wouldn’t do any harm. Which it didn’t. Especially when there was indeed another big hill. Up to the Tyndale Monument I believe. Which the food stop lady, in tour guide mode, had informed us was dedicated to the Tyndale that translated the Bible into English. Hm… Regardless of what you might think about that, it wasn’t as bad as the killer hill before, and was in fact a nice climb. Yes, yes, I know, I do like hills really. By the top of that I was nearly warmed up. In fact the day had nearly warmed up. So of course not long afterwards it started to cloud over and cool down again… Honestly…*sigh*.

Climbing done for the time being, it was time to go and see the River Severn. Although I’m not sure why. The loop out there and back seemed a bit gratuitous, especially since it involved going out there and back again along some of the same roads, and it was really confusing having riders going in both directions on the same stretch of road. It tends to make you think you’re lost…which as I was on my own, I could have been. Did I mention I was on my own for most of the time? And hey, the Severn is pretty, but it wasn’t that pretty! So when it was done, it was a relief to have looped that loop and be heading back to HQ. Back into the trees ,where a suicidal squirrel played chicken with my front wheel… Luckily I didn’t end up on the tarmac and it lived to spend the rest of the day looking for more nuts, not that it needed any…, which presumably is why it had had to cross the road in the first place. But it was a close run thing!

No running up the final climb up the Costwold escarpment though. It was steeper than I’d expected, and longer, and it being later in the day, there just didn’t seem to be anything in the tank. Bit like all the hills today. They were fine, I kinda liked them – the legs worked, the lungs worked but…there was no zone, no push, no get up and go. Still, at least I got up them, and I got up this one too. Being near the end probably helped!

Climbing over and done with, essentially, flat was better. But busier. The stretch to get back took in quite a few more major roads, which had their fair share of traffic on. One example of which made my brush with the squirrel look like a mere bagatelle…and another of my nominal nine lives was shaved off by a motorist with absolutely no patience and even less driving skill! After all that I got back to HQ in one piece for a rather anti-climatic finish. Even though I’d bailed to the shorter route, there weren’t many people around. It felt more like when I do the long route on an event and I’m nearly the last in…

Cycling time: 4:25
Official time: 5:00
Distance: 62.5 miles
Avs: 14.1 mph

There were two people at the Finish line to take my timing chip, and then I took a short walk back to registration and refreshments, where those riders that were still around were. The car park wasn’t empty though, and riders were still trickling in, it was just in a sort of dribs and drabs way, so I decided I didn’t feel too bad about things. I also decided to start by getting the bike in the car and getting warm clothes on me – I never really had got warm all day! That done, I headed back over and paid £1 for a cup of tea to defrost me internally, tell Martin that once more I’d failed to do the long route I was signed up for, and to get my token finisher’s medal. Which made it time for me to get back into the car, turn the heating on, and negotiate the busier and better drive home. Back to having a life, and to having Sunday lunch 😉 Cotswold Edge done. Not great…but better than it could have been. I’ll take that 🙂

Black Legend 2016

On to the next sportive. Which was a little while ago, so some of the details may be a little hazy now, not helped by the fact that I failed to make copious notes afterwards.This time around I’m talking about The Black Legend Sportive, run by Purple Patch Running. Which seemed a bit odd to me. A running club organising a cycling event? Weird. Still, that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be a good event, right? It was off to a good start by being based in Hungerford, which is not a long way away from me. HQ was at the John O’Gaunt School in Hungerford, which is just a 10 minute drive from Jct 14 on the M4, and thus easy for me to get to.

I rocked up sometime after registration opened to discover a small car park that was half empty, and didn’t seem to be filling up fast. I started to get the feeling that this was going to be a small event… But hey, good things come in small packages or something. Registration was in the school hall, once cleated shoes had been removed, where the tumbleweed was metaphorically blowing around… Still, not having to queue is a good thing, right? My entry envelope included a bike number, helmet number, and 2 cable ties. But no timing chip…as timing today would turn out to be a manual affair. Not that there’s anything wrong with that but still, it was a bit unexpected.

I didn’t have to queue for long at the start either. I think there were only six or so of us who arrived at roughly the same time to be briefed and sent on our way, as riders had been being let go in dribs and drabs for quite some time before I’d done enough faffing to consider myself ready to go. During which I discovered that my iPod shuffle had somehow managed to completely run out of charge, even though I’d charged it the day before, so I was going to have to do the whole ride with just my thoughts for company. Marvellous. I had three route choices today, the Epic 80, the Standard 65, or a Short 45 miles. Given that it was only a week since my last sportive, which hadn’t gone well, I was already thinking that taking it easy might be wise. Lack of musical accompaniment wasn’t going to make the long route any more likely…!

Not that I had to make that call straight away. All of the routes covered the same first 25 miles to start with so there was no rush to decide. We headed off and I was very shortly out there on my own, which was how things pretty much stayed all day. Off out through the affluent area of Hungerford, past a great many lovely properties I’ll never be able to afford. I went through the village of Inkpen, which made me think of Inkheart, and Inkwings. After a nasty hill five miles in, I turned left in the village of Faccombe to go up another hill, which made me giggle (think about it…). Did I mention it was just me and my thoughts? They do go weird places when unaccompanied and undistracted… 😉 And yes, that was two killer hills in the first 10 miles. No fair! It was chilly and grey which may sound unattractive but actually made it easier to follow the route and (very large) signs than the recent early morning dappled sunshine on events has done. Besides I had my layers pretty much spot on today, having been very keen that I not be cold, so I was a fairly happy bunny with things the way they were.

Having gone up there were some lovely views, and I actually passed another couple of riders who’d stopped at the top to take selfies and photos of the landscape, which was novel. Not the photos – the riders! I took my photos en route, as ever, but stopped playing David Bailey in time for the steep and rather technical descent. Things flattened out after this, and also started brightening up nicely. Things were looking up, but not up 😉

The first food stop came at 25 miles in, the car park of the Swan Inn in Great Shefford where the landlord was very kindly letting his (very swish) facilities be used. I kinda wished I could have stayed there, it looked like a lovely place, and the thought of sitting in its beer garden in the sun with a cold beer…? Ah well, maybe another time. The lady manning the food stop was friendly and chatty and probably bored witless after standing there for hours more or less on her own. Initially it was just me there, and even when joined by the top of the hill two and a whippet who could probably do the long route twice over in the time it was going to take us three to do the Standard route, it was never what you’d call busy! And yes, I’d pretty much decided to do the Standard route. I had places to be later, and no desire to push any boundaries today. Anyway, the food stop was pretty well stocked (and labelled!) and I discovered that today mini scotch eggs were what I wanted, which wouldn’t be what I’d normally opt for but hey, they tasted good, and I’d been told to make sure I ate properly for a change. So I sat down, chatted a bit, ate those, and kicked back a bit. Sometimes it’s just nice to sit still in the sunshine.

I headed back out again on my own. And headed into more familiar territory. I’ve done a fair few sportives around here, and have a couple ahead too. It’s a beautiful area, even more so under blue skies. But that wasn’t enough to make me change my mind. I still turned left 5 miles later at the route split. Right then. 15 miles to get to the next food stop. And those miles weren’t flat! There were another couple of big hills between me and that, but the descents were better this time, and I was loving being out in the sunshine not feeling too terrible and just being me and my bike. More cute cottages, more well behaved countryside. All good. There may even have been some stashing of layers and rolling up of sleeves 😉

The next food stop was as quiet as the first, set in a little car park in front of a pretty church, complete with a little toilet block – always good. Once more, me and some mini scotch eggs took a breather sat on a curb in the sun. I certainly wasn’t feeling as bad as the last sportive but I was still aware that pacing myself and taking it just that little bit easier than I might want to was the way to go.

By my reckoning I only had around 20 miles to go, which seemed doable. Which it was, being more of the same. Scenic. Rivers to cross, and canals. A couple of fairly big climbs. Including the kicker that is on the White Horse Challenge and that somehow I always forget, I think maybe my memory blocks it out! And as I turned a corner there it was in front of me again…dagnamit! It’s long, gets steeper, and wiggles… Still, I got up it, Again 🙂 To be let out to play on top of the world for a while, amongst fields of gold, playing tag with the range of awesome cars doing the Classic Harvest Tour, who I crossed paths with several times.

They were having fun, I was having fun, although I probably admired their cars more than they admired my bike 😉 Before long we were back in Wiltshire, where the rich people were still living, and I was still being somewhat envious. Can’t afford their cars, can’t afford their houses neither! *grin*.

Did you know there’s even a village called Prosperous? It didn’t surprise me…but it did make me giggle *grin*. Well I presume it’s a village, not just a adjective used to describe Hungerford, which is kinda what the signpost made it look like 😉 The miles counted down, as I passed from Wiltshire and back into West Berkshire, and very shortly I was back at HQ, and rolling under the Finish Arch with a complete lack of fanfare, bells, or whistles. Ah well, at least it was purple 😉 Two ladies were sat watching over the finish line, probably a fairly thankless task, and one of them gave me my medal, while the other noted my admission to having bailed to the short route (though that doesn’t seem to have made it as far as the official times list). There you go. Black Legend done.

Cycling time: 4:36
Official time: 5:11
Distance: 65.9 miles
Avs: 14.3 mph

Usually when I write about a sportive I use “we” rather more often than today. But it was definitely an “I” day. 99.9% of all the cyclists I saw today were not on this sportive, just out on Sunday rides with their teams/groups/whatever. It turns out that only around 60 riders took part. Which would explain a lot. The lack of atmosphere for starters. I pushed my bike over to the main school entrance and parked up, so as to go to the toilets and try and purchase something cold and fizzy. Which I did – well kinda. It was the only can of such on offer – coke I think – and it wasn’t cold either. But hey, at this point beggars couldn’t be choosers, it was better than nothing. As I sat outside on the steps drinking it, and checking in with the world, there was just one other rider loitering around, who came over for a chat. He’d done the whole route and still had a reasonable ride home ahead of him – so chapeau to you Andy! We both agreed that today, though pleasant enough, had been somewhat lacking. However scenic, I don’t think I’d do it again. I can ride around pretty places completely on my own, and time myself, any time…and there are other events around here that are better. Harsh maybe, but true.

Southern Sportive 2016

Since my last sportive, I’d been lucky enough to have a couple of weeks pretty much pain free. Which, in my world, means just being on the fentanyl patches, and not having to layer up with tramadol. I also took myself off the pregabalin which I’m not sure was helping with the pain but was most definitely making me much more drowsy. So, a good couple of weeks, as these things go. Right up, predictably, until the day before my next sportive. So I spent a damp Saturday wandering around Didcot Railway Centre, feeling sorry for myself and trying to get the pain back under control, which took most of the day. Marvellous…

So what would Sunday bring? Well PMA right? It could just have been one of those days. It didn’t have to be one of those weekends. So when I woke up on Sunday morning, in Didcot at Matt’s, not feeling too bad, I was feeling fairly positive. I even decided not to take the pills since, when I’m not habituated to them, they have been known to make me drowsy, and I didn’t fancy falling asleep on the bike again. And yes, I was in Didcot, not Somerset. Usually I do sportives from home, but since Matt’s place is only around 1:15 away from HQ, and my place is 2:30 away, it seemed to make sense. So where was HQ and for what?

Churcher’s College, Petersfield, for the Southern Sportive, since you asked. I had a lovely drive down the A34, with the sun rising through pastel skies, surround by fields wreathed in low lying mist, and even occasional fog for novelty value. I wasn’t heading for early doors, as I’ve ceased doing that, but even so when I arrived the college was quieter than I expected. I’ve done this one before, and I’m sure there were more people around last time. Still, at least that meant it was easy to park. The pre-ride instructions had indicated various other options, should the college have been full, and I’d been a bit worried that I would end up having to use one of those. I needn’t have been though, I just drove carefully through past other cars discharging riders and bikes to park up on the tarmac as marshalled. Easy peasy.

It might have been nice and sunny out there, but it was still really chilly. I was wearing just a little more than usual, basically summer kit with base layer, arm warmers, decent gilet, and my summer longs…but the trip to the toilets and registration convinced me that shorts plus leg warmers was going to be the way to go, as that combo is actually thicker and warmer than my lightweight tights are. Registration itself was easy. A short queue until my turn came, whereupon I signed my name and was given my bike number, and a timing chip to attach to my rear skewer. I also picked up a waterproof map for the route and the emergency contact details on it. Well you never know, right? I headed back to the car, clutching my bits and pieces, with helmet and camera (both of which I’d taken with me) only to discovery when I opened the boot and put them all down that I’d already misplaced the chip! I was just about to retrace my steps when a very lovely lady jogged over in my direction, asked me if I was me, which I was, and so reunited me with it. Honestly, I swear I’d forget my own head sometimes…

Time to get on with faffing. I reassembled the bike. Swopped leg layers as I’d resolved to. Attached the timing chip. I’m not a fan of that system – I prefer skewers to be working on holding the wheels on, without anything else getting in the way. Which might be irrational but hey…*shrug*. I then joined a small group gathering at the start line at around 8:30 – the very end of my recommended start time slot, if I was doing the 100 mile Full route I was signed up for. Not that I was concerned, 8:30 still felt like plenty early enough to me. Once there was enough of us waiting, Martin Harrison, the event organiser, gave us a thorough briefing before letting us go on our way and out on to the road.

We were out of Petersfield almost straight away and it was nippy out there. Especially in the shade which, with the bright morning sunshine casting long shadows everywhere, there was a lot of. The constant transfer from dark into light and back again made it really hard to spot obstacles, especially potholes, and also signs. As there weren’t many other riders around me mostly, if any, vigilance was essential and even then I nearly missed the odd one. Luckily this ride is big on repeater ribbons, one of my favourite things, and if ever I worried I was off course I would shortly be reminded I wasn’t. Very reassuring. By the way, did I mention that chiaroscuro is one of my favourite words?

The hills started pretty much straight away. One at 2 miles in, one at 5, both quite big, and both a bit of an ask that early on and so not warmed up. The second one, Halls Hill I think, came complete with NT car park and walks at the top, and it sho’ was perty up there. Ups bring downs though, which is generally good. Unless they come with warning signs. As unlike some events, who are to my mind rather over cautious and over use their Caution signs, today such signs meant what they said. So if it said be careful down hill I was (yes, I can do that!). And when one such sign warned of a sharp dangerous bend ahead, about 8 miles in, I’d slowed right down by the time I got there, which is why losing my back wheel on the gravel there was merely heart-stopping, not disastrous.

Ups had proved that life wasn’t pain free. But I was riding my bike at my own pace, under no pressure, and so when the route split – for the 45 mile Short Route – came at 10 miles in, I didn’t even consider taking it. I still fancied doing 100. It was pretty out there on the South Downs. And sunny. There were lots of very clean very shiny sports and classic cars around making the most of it, quite probably related to the Goodwood Revival which was just down the road and on this weekend. But it wasn’t warm. I kept waiting for it, and me, to warm up, and it kept not happening. And slowly I started to feel a bit less than great. Not warm, the ouchy patch getting battered by pedalling, and even though not on the pills, I was starting to get woozy and to zone out from time to time. There were gradual deceptive ‘am I really going up?’ drags, and then bigger more definite hills like Harting Hill. All of which went fine, but which hurt somewhat. Literally. Not great.

So I was quite looking forward to the first food stop, around 24 miles in. Sadly, lurking in a lay-by off a more major stretch of road, it was rather underwhelming. There wasn’t a lot on offer, the staff were busy chatting to each other, and there weren’t any toilets. I topped up my bottles and sat on the grass for a bit, feeling a bit grumpy and not great, before heading off. Clearly I was going to need to make alternative arrangements…

The next route split came a couple of miles later and I decided that the way things were going, 100 miles was not going to be an option. Ah well 🙁 Time to bail, and look towards 70 miles instead. I turned left, off down lots of country roads, through recently harvested fields, on my own. I was looking for somewhere to answer the call of nature and failing dismally as the scenery was more open and wide than hedged in. It wasn’t until around 32 miles in that I finally found somewhere to pull over. Which I did. And did what had to be done. And realised that I was just feeling wretched. The woozy patches hadn’t gone away, I couldn’t get warm, the pain was proper back and kicking off, and I was all wobbly and off balance. I’d just pushed it too far I guess, without realising, as usual. I sat down on the grass, and kinda lost it. I haven’t wiped out like that since the Tour of Pembrokeshire… 🙁 After a bit I rang Matt and literally cried all over his virtual shoulder, which definitely helped. And Facebook did its bit too. I posted a photo of the lovely view that was being wasted on me, and various of my fab mates piped up to support me and wish me luck. So I sat in the sun, with my virtual mates, drank, ate, thought about what to do next and later, and took those blasted pills.

I did get it together eventually. Well I didn’t have much choice did I? I had 38 miles to do to get back and that was that. Which wasn’t going to happen if I sat around feeling sorry for myself. So back on the bike then. I tried to remember where the next food stop was, distance wise, and focussed on getting to that. At least the route was nice. Still pretty. Cute thatched cottages, pretty pubs, etc. I wasn’t paying massive attention. My world had sort of shrunk down to just me and making the wheels go round, but I did try and make an effort to look around once in a while and enjoy the ride a bit.

Finally, as the middle of the day drew near, that sunshine started to have actual warmth in it. Quite quickly as it happens. I started thinking what had seemed the unthinkable…that I might actually get to take layers off! Not yet though. First off I got lost. As I approached Rowlands Castle, an arrow on the bridge ahead pointed sharp right. So I went right. As a few riders were ahead of me, I figured I was probably on the right track. But no. As the nearest two slowed up and I caught them, and we chatted, it turned out we were all getting more and more convinced that we’d gone wrong. There were no signs. None of those lovely orange ribbons. And all the other cyclists we saw were either going the other way, or not on our ride. A couple of miles down the road we made the decision to turn tail, and me and the boys in blue, as they were literally but not figuratively, headed back, chatting all the way. As it turns out if we’d just turned left where we turned around we’d have rejoined the main route anyway! Ah well, it was all extra miles, right? Like I needed them today…

It also turned out that the right turn we wanted had come just after the bridge not before. Where there was an attractive looking cafe/shop just along from the corner, surrounded by colourful riders taking a break in the sunshine – whether ours or not who knew. I was so tempted to stop and find some fizzy orange, but since I temporarily had company I didn’t. However it turned out that two of us three had drawn ahead and left one behind and so I ended up heading off on my own anyway, while those two reunited behind me somewhere. Time enough for fizzy orange later hopefully… They caught me a while later and passed by, when I finally got to stop and stash my remaining limb warmers though. We bumped into each a few more times on the ride – the first of which being at the next food stop, around 48 miles in. Provisions were still sparse, though those manning it were a lot friendlier. Still no toilets however. It did have quarters of orange though which for some reason seemed just the thing, and I had an orange worth’s of them, sat on the curb, not being sociable. I was feeling better. But not great. I rang Matt again, to reassure both him and myself that I was going ok and getting there. Which I was.

I hung out for longer than usual, and those few that had arrived before me were long gone by the time I set off again. Which didn’t stop me catching those blue two again and passing them later on. Clearly I was feeling quite a bit better then. Lots of the talk at the food stop had been about the main big climb that still awaited us – Butser Hill. Which was actually lovely, being my kind of long gradual slog. There were two climbs there I think, but it all sort of blurred into one. And the views up on the top along the ridge in between times, were just amazing. Proper good for putting things back into perspective. On both sides – over to the coast and even the Isle of Wight beyond I think, and then also inland. Just beautiful.

As was the descent the other side. Which I’ve definitely done in reverse. I wonder if it was on a different event or on this event with the route done in reverse? Not that it matters, as I still had a smile on my face when I popped out on to the A32 at The George & Falcon. Time for a brief moment of nostalgia…family sailing trip memories and the like…Dad will know what I mean 🙂 And then a brief stretch up the A32 and a right turn in the very pretty West Meon had me headed back for home with about 10 fairly flat miles to go. East Meon was even prettier!

In fact that whole last section, finally warm, pain under control and, after those climbs, less hilly, went pretty well. Even if it was a little much too little too late. I pushed as much as I could, whether wise or not, just so as to get back as soon as I could. Sooner done, soonest mended. There were a few main road stretches which weren’t much fun – the traffic being a little busy in the sunshine, and with no marshals to help with crossing and the like. Which were followed by a gratuitous suburban loop around Petersfield, which I imagine was there to add mileage, to get me back to HQ and rolling over the mats at the Finish Line, seriously relieved to be back. A young marshal was standing by to reclaim my timing chip from me, presumably to stop me losing it again, and I was given a voucher for a hot drink.

Cycling time: 4:49
Official time: 5:45
Distance: 70.6 miles
Avs: 14.7 mph

It may not have seemed like the day for a cup of tea. But I knew there was fizzy orange in the car, and a cup of tea just appealed for some reason. First things first though, time to own up to Martin that I’d done the shorter route, and to be given my bronze medal which, all things considered, was a miracle. Oddly Strava thinks I did pretty well but it certainly didn’t feel like it. It’s so annoying to be on form and to be sabotaged by myself! I then went and got my cup of tea and sat on the curb in the sunshine, in a little social media world of my own for a while. Southern Sportive done.

One of the things that had been worrying me earlier was finishing the ride feeling the way I did and then still having to drive all the way back to my place. I wasn’t sure I’d make it. So from one food stop to another, after texts home, and talking to Matt, we decided that going home could be done the next day, and that today going back to Didcot was the wisest thing to do. Which, after loading up the car, taking more pills, and getting sorted, is what I did. It was definitely a good call. Driving was not a lot of fun in lots of ways and I was getting sleepy by the time I got back there. Where I spent the rest of the afternoon just curled up on bed taking it easy. It’s hard to explain, but having gone beyond, and had everything sort of overflow, it sort of takes a while to put it all back together again? Next time maybe I should take the pills beforehand? 😉

Ah well, it wasn’t the end of the world. Just one of those things. In a great many respects it was a lovely ride. The route is nice – scenic, and challenging but not too much so. It’s well organised, though the food stops need work, and there were some main road crossings and sections that were a bit unpleasant. And a few more riders around would have been nice too – but I don’t know what you do about that, as I imagine they would have liked more entrants too! How about we all do it again next year and make it an even better day out?

Severn Bridge Sportive 2016

I have a thing about cycling over the Severn Bridge. As some of you probably know. I love it. Dunno why. Just do. So I have a tendency to do sportives that cross it just because they do. And when last year’s Severn Bridge Sportive turned out to not just cross it but to actually cross it using the main carriageway, I was made up. It was AWESOME. So doing the event again this year was pretty much a given. Sign me up now.

Well it was a given back then anyway, back when I did all my signing up to stuff. However just a few days beforehand, as part of the final pre-event meal, we were informed that due to Highways, Health & Safety, and various things, crossing the road on the main carriageway was no longer an option. We would instead be using the cycle path. Considering I wasn’t having a great week, being mid mad pain patch, this was almost enough to make me not do it. But I didn’t. For starters I’d still be crossing the bridge, and a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. But more importantly I wasn’t the only one signed up to do it. Letting myself down is one thing, letting others down is most definitely an other.

Yep, Matt had decided that he was up for trying another sportive. His second. The next step up from last time’s 47 miles – to more like 62. The plan was that we would do the first leg together. Then if I was up for it I’d do the extra loop. And then we’d head back in together. Or variations on that theme anyway. So however the bridge was to be crossed, I was going to be doing it whatever.

Which brings us to another Sunday morning with, due to HQ’s proximity, a slightly later start than usual. HQ was at the Castle Combe Race Circuit, which was about an hour’s drive away in my little car, crammed to the gills with two bikes and two loads worth of kit and stuff. Less Hyundai, more Tardis 😉 I was feeling fairly rubbish, even when equally loaded to my gills with analgesia. Anyway…the sat nav, and official venue signs, got us there and into the car park easily enough. We were marshalled down the road past lots of earlier arrivals to park up on the grass in the paddock, rather further away than I usually am here. It was grey, but dry, and neither warm nor cold, and the forecast was for both better and worse, depending which one you’d read. And what’s in a forecast anyway?

Thanks to prior experience I knew the best way to deal with this sportive is to do it the pre-ride stuff in one go, with no to-ing and fro-ing. Ie: faff, get ready, sort bikes, and ride/walk to the start. Quicker and easier and less hard on the cleats. So faff we did. Easier for me than Matt though. Experience and lack of options in my case – so I ended up in the same as the recent usual. Summer kit, s/s base layer, arm warmers & gilet. However this sportive lark is still all kinda new to Matt. And not only is it new, he was also doing it on a bike new to him, with actual honest to god gears, having been persuaded of the error of his single speed ways. Well, not really, he’d just decided that that many miles might be easier done with gears first time around. So he faffed some, deciding on layers and food and stuff, and so did I. Well, to be fair, I wasn’t faffing, I was more sort of loitering because there wasn’t any rush. It was kinda weird to realise how blasé I’ve gotten about some things. Like riding 60 miles. I wasn’t even really thinking about it. Matt however was a bit nervous. Aw bless 😉

Finally we were both ready, and it couldn’t be put off any longer. A few paces across the rather long damp grass to the drier path. This soon turned into the road in which took us conveniently past a toilet block and, once a brief detour had thus been made, we were on the little wiggly path around the circuit which opened out as we reached the main venue. It felt a bit empty as there weren’t heaps of riders around, and I don’t think that was because they’d all left before us, as we weren’t running particularly late. However with the change of route, the less than fabulous weather, and the Sodbury Sportive taking place the weekend before on very similar turf, I’m guessing there weren’t as many people around as in previous years. There were certainly no queues for registration…which was good if you were Matt, and less good if you were me because they’d lost my registration, and I had to play the sign up on the day game instead. Given that that gave me number 214…I’m thinking that must be roughly how many riders ended up taking part…but I could be wrong!

Did I mention I wasn’t feeling great? Well I wasn’t. So I put myself down for the 60 mile route, which still left me the option to do the long route, but seemed more honest, and likely, and that way I probably wouldn’t have to tell the timing team, post ride, that I’d bailed. I was given my helmet timing chip, bike number and cable ties, and helped myself to a route map on the way back outside. Not being able to trim my cable ties did leave long plastic ends sort of waving around which annoyed my sense of order somewhat…but hey, not exactly a big deal. After a quick trip, on the bike, across to the toilet block a little way away, I was back, and we were ready to join the queue for the start. A short queue, which is always good when you’re nervous, and fidgety, and just keen to get going. There was no sign of Rob, who I knew was also doing it with friends of his, but he could have been ahead or behind us, or have bailed completely, so there didn’t seem any point waiting around in case he turned up. Instead we waited for our turn to be briefed by organiser Andy Cook. Well it’s run by Andy Cook Cycling so… 😉 Shortly we were on our way, and after last year it was a relief to be let go on to a dry race track to enjoy a section of the track before hitting the route proper.

However this just served to show that my indexing, all sorted and checked yesterday pre-ride, was well off when actually under way and under load. B*gger. I hoped it would settle down but…shortly after we’d left the track and joined the lanes leading away from HQ, I had to stop. Matt tried to fix it, since I’m technically inept, and he’s not, but it didn’t really help. Ah well, nowt to be done about it really, and we couldn’t hang around all day, so we set off again, ready to make the best of a bad deal. Time to ride the bikes, and head for that Bridge which, on this leg of the route, was about 24 miles away.

Quite a few bits of today’s route turned out to be from last week’s route but done in reverse. And it was a fairly direct route that took us to the Bridge. Quiet country lanes, over the M4, bypassing Yate, over the M5, through Tockington, to put it in sight. Uneventful, a bit grey, country piles, railway bridges, cute cottages. Although it was sort of essentially downhill overall, that didn’t stop there being ups, and those ups, though doable, were proving that my life was still proper painful. Marvellous. I don’t remember a lot of the route out, partly because it’s been a while since I did it, partly because it was pretty uneventful, partly because I was a bit distracted by the ouch, and partly because Matt and I were talking most of the time. I was just looking forward to getting to that bridge really, and it definitely perked me up when I spied it in the distance. Even the weather perked up, with patches of blue sky appearing. Nice 🙂

Getting on to the bridge was fairly easy. A bit of more major road, a bit of slightly circuitous cycle path, and then with no further ado we were on to the cycle path on the North side of the bridge. It’s a path you always have to be a bit careful on. There are quite a few ramps, bits of road furniture, lumps, and so forth. It quickly became clear that the same path was being used for our return route so not only were we occasionally overtaking riders going our way, we were also dodging those on their return. Still, it meant some of my “cyclists on bridge” photos had faces in them instead of behinds for a change! To our left, the South side cycle path was full of runners – since we were sharing the day and the bridge with a half marathon. The main carriageway between us was eerily quiet, with only a few highways vehicles doing whatever maintenance they’d decided they’d like to do today, with it closed, rather than letting us on it. However crossing the bridge was still lovely. I still enjoyed it. The views are great, and I waved in the general direction of my folks’ place in Portishead, and generally took my time to look around and make the most of it.

Getting off the bridge in Wales was rather more tricky than getting on it had been though…as we joined the runners, who had crossed under the road, so that we were all using the same path. The riders were on the left, the runners on the right, both nominally, with spectators on both sides. All a bit chaotic and occasionally a bit scary. When we reached the main roundabout at the end they bore right while we were marshalled through a gap in the spectators to go left onto the road, to go around and then take the exit opposite. This took us down to the first food stop, which was tagged on to the end of the runners’ event village. It was definitely time for a break. Matt had been doing really well, especially considering it was only his second sportive, on that unfamiliar bike, but refuelling was called for. So we parked the bikes on the grass, grabbed food from the range on offer, and then parked ourselves up next to them to sit on the grass in the sunshine and take 5. Or 10. Or quite probably longer.

There just didn’t seem any rush to get anywhere. I was still tempted by the Welsh hills. It would have been a lovely day to have done them – what with the sun and lack of wind. But being realistic, there was no way that was going to happen. Not today. Especially not on my own, which is how I’d have been for that loop. Given company I might have risked it…but it’s probably just as well that that wasn’t the case, as I’d more than likely have regretted it. Sometimes I beat the pain, sometimes it beats me, and today I was beaten. So we sat in the sun until it seemed like a good time to leave. First things first though – a trip to the toilets, which were a little way up the path, so rather than further trash my cleats (I must remember to get new ones) we rode there instead. And once that was done we had another go at fixing my indexing, just for fun, before setting off again. Just as we were leaving, we came across Rob who had presumably not long arrived, with his mates. After a brief chat we left them, off to do the Welsh Hills for me, and headed for the bridge again.

As expected, we retraced our steps, through the runners, and back on to the bridge. The weather was starting to look less nice, but the views were none the less impressive. There were still cyclists coming the other way, so even with all our hanging around, at least it looked like we wouldn’t be the last back to base. And the route back, though longer than the route out, was also nicer. Prettier, more pastoral, more pleasant somehow. There was also a bit more up on it, most of which came near the end when we had to go up Hawkesbury Hill. Oh, and my indexing seemed to be working now, which was a bonus.

Before that though, with Matt getting a little slower and dropping back from time to time, and with me starting to feel a little woozy and worse for wear, it was time for a fizzy orange stop. Matt spotted a little convenience store lurking in a housing estate on the edge of somewhere, and we took a break for me to drink such, as well as adding some to my bottle for continuing restorative purposes. And we stopped a little further on, to stash layers, next to a lamppost that was painted sparkly silver, which was bizarre! Somewhere after that the sparkle wore off in more ways than one as the rain came in, and came down proper and somewhere on a moor like bit we had to take a break under a tree to let it get the proper flinging it down bit over, which also conveniently let me get it together again. Yes…there was a lot of stopping going on today… There weren’t a lot of riders around to notice though, and although the signage was good, we did on at least one point wonder if we were still not the right route. However just at that point a motorcycle medic rode past, and checked we were ok with a quizzical thumps up, so that sorted that. Still, a few repeater signs wouldn’t have gone amiss… Oh, and that rain? Made me feel better about not doing those Welsh hills 😉

Right, shall we do Hawkesbury Hill then? 48 miles in, the biggest, and the last challenge of the day. I’ve done it before, knew I could do it, and actually quite like it in an odd way. It was of course new to Matt… So we split up for a bit, rather than trying to stick together as we had been. Hills are best done your own way, which in my case went fairly well. It’s longer than you think because it’s deceptive, goes up in steps, and goes around corners. It’s pretty, even when damp. And unfairly the worst section is the last. But I plodded along in my own way, and made it to the top in one piece. And although I’d left Matt behind, I didn’t have to wait that long for him to join me, though I did have enough time to take photos of the Somerset monument at the top 😉

This left us with just another 10 miles to do to get back. Which, after a bit of down hill, turned out to be pretty flat. Easy peasy. Well, ish. Probably a bit harder for Matt than me…he was definitely looking a bit tired around the edges now. The last 10 miles of a sportive are often where I speed up and head for home, but since this was about to be his longest ride, I might have left him behind, which would have been rude. Especially considering that today would have been a whole heap harder without his company and support. I did get to have a bit of a blast when we got back to the race circuit to complete the lap we’d started hours before and get to the Finish line though 🙂

Cycling time: 3:55
Official time: 4:55
Distance: 58.1 miles
Avs: 14.8 mph

So there you go. Severn Bridge Sportive done. Matt did awesome – again! As did I, all things considered 😉 There weren’t that many people around as we rolled under the Finish arch, and the wretched weather had probably put somewhat of a dampener on the Family Cycling Day element of the event. However there were still some hardy families out enjoying the circuit together, and also checking out the various bits and pieces on display. We were given our free pasta tokens, and goody bags (which contained a High5 bottle, various leaflets, High5 Protein Recovery, EnergyGel, and Energy Bar), and we walked through to park up and settle down. Even I had pasta – and it really was quite tasty, even if I didn’t eat it all. It was getting a bit chilly hanging around though so, after a chat in passing with Andy Cook himself, we headed back to the car to head home and celebrate our respective achievement and survival properly 🙂 Hopefully next year the event will be able to cross the bridge on the main road as planned…and in that case, I’ll be back to do it again 🙂

New Forest Rattler 2016

Just for once, pre-sportive, I got an early night, and slept right until the alarm woke me up. Which is virtually unheard of! So even though I had a 5:00am start…I didn’t feel as bad about it as sometimes. So where was I going today? The New Forest. For the Cyclofanatic New Forest Rattler. Which meant a very lovely drive up the Gorge, over the top of the Mendips and on beyond, into the rising sun, with the fields around shrouded in low lying mist. All very beautiful, all very positive, all good so far.

HQ for the event was at Moyles Court School, in Ringwood, which my satnav easily delivered me too. The final left turned out to be the long drive towards the school, and so there I was, being marshalled onto what initially looked like a field, but was actually a grass running track. For some reason I wasn’t allowed to join the row of cars growing towards me, but was instead beckoned beyond towards the end of the field and a new row there instead. Ours is not to reason why…

Duly parked up, the walk to where I presumed reception was didn’t look too far, so I decided that would come before faffing. My feet got a little damp walking across the amazingly soft wet grass and weaving through kissing gates and around the out buildings, following the signs, was a bit of a magical mystery tour. I emerged at the front of the buildings, facing the lawns where quite a few riders had clearly camped over night. I wasn’t quite sure where to go next as the signs seemed to have finished. Not that it was going to be too tricky – it wasn’t a big place. On the left was a sports hall building, with free breakfast being served outside, and changing room/toilet facilities inside. I decided to head there first…on the basis that if registration wasn’t there, it was on the right, and I needed the toilet anyway!

So facilities used; registration was clearly somewhere else. When I emerged once more into the sunlight, I spotted a white marquee marked ‘registration’ on the front lawn by the main house, beyond the mechanic’s van. I walked over, and by the marquee was a board with a list of all the riders named alphabetically which you had to check first to get your rider number. Then you could queue in front of the relevant desk to register. Bizarrely my table was very busy…and none of the others were…I guess life is random like that!

Still, there are worse things to do than queue in the sunshine. And yes, it was still sunny, though a bit chilly. I’ve been lucky with the weather lately! Which is cool, because sunshine makes everything better 🙂 The queue wasn’t that long either really, and soon it was my turn. I was presented with a little clear plastic bag containing instructions, my bike number, cable ties, high5 gel, a little packet of haribo, and a token for a free post-ride burger. Separately came my timing chip and a velcro strap to attach it to my ankle with. Novel…not seen anything like that in quite a while, and I hoped it wouldn’t rub at all. The vain part of me did also wondered what it would do to my already bizarre tan lines… 😉

Back to the car to faff then. I had time to kill, so I took my time pondering what layers to wear, if any, what food/gels to carry, where to put them, and putting air in the tyres. Just in case you are at all interested, I decided to go with summer kit, s/s base layer, with gilet in the saddle bag. Faffing done, start time reached, it was time to head for the start. Which was easier said than done. The original path to registration wasn’t fit for bikes, unless you lifted them over the gate…so it was a short ride out and around and back in beyond the Start, so as not to set the timing mat off by riding in over it. The road thus taken back in to the school was horrible though. Chunky sandy gravel. Not fun at all… At least the gravel at the school itself was of a smaller more even variety. It was still stuff you walked the bike over rather than rode, and it was rather uncomfortable to walk on in cleats. I think I preferred the damp grass…

There weren’t that many riders around by then as it happens. I was at the Start line, just beyond Registration, with just a handful of other riders, where a blackboard explained the basics, which were re-iterated informally by a nice gent at the start line, who then sent us on our way. Over the timing mats, and out on to the roads, where a couple of marshals were making sure we didn’t hit cars, and off we went. And the first couple of miles were oddly challenging whilst looking easy. Rolling but in a less than gentle way – short ups you weren’t warmed up for, and short downs that weren’t long enough to get you up the next up. Still, under the trees, with patchy sunlight breaking through, it was all very pretty. Soon we were officially in the New Forest, and then the trees soon turned into more open plain, moorland, type terrain. With the sun shining down, and the odd drag up, I was starting to get quite warm. But when that turned back into what is probably, and unsurprisingly, forest, I was glad of my base layer. And that’s very much how the ride went all day. From one to the other and back again.

I’m not going to give you a step by step break down of the ride, because it was all very similar mostly. In a good way I hasten to add. Rolling stretches of road either in Forest or on plain. Cute villages with lovely names like (my personal favourite) Tiptoe, and Sway. Progress was frequently interrupted by horses, cattle, or donkeys, which doesn’t usually happen to me, and was kinda cool. There were a fair few horse riders to be polite and give a wide berth to, which seemed to be appreciated. Inevitably, there were also quite a lot of cars around from time to time, and occasional main roads to be crossed. The road surfaces weren’t great under the trees, but they were actually better than I expected, and the rest of the roads were pretty good. The signage was ok, though a few more repeaters would have come in useful – I did think I was lost a couple of times. And the sun shone. On my route, there were two food stops, both of which were fairly low key haphazard affairs, by the side of the road, with just flapjacks, banana and water and energy powder, but no toilets which – as you know – always bugs the hell out of me. Still, having to fend off hungry and, unsurprisingly, stubborn donkeys at the second one did sort of make up for that a bit. And in between those stops I flew along in fairly happy fashion. Hey, there are far worse ways to spend a Sunday than cycling around the New Forest in the sun, right?

But I never really got quite into it. There weren’t enough riders around to join up much with, or even chat to in passing. I gather only around 300 riders took part, which would probably explain it. I think, although I was having a nice time, it was because I just couldn’t seem to get into a rhythm. The hills were sort of sneaky. They were frequently under trees, with no views to give you perspective, and a bit featureless. In that after a while, riding along what felt like a normal flattish road, you’d feel like you were finding your ride oddly hard work, and couldn’t figure out why? Brake stuck on again? Lack of form? But then it would occur to me to check the Garmin for gradient, realise it was actually reading 8% or whatever, realise that it was not me feeling crap, it was actually me riding up a hill. So somehow crawler gear never quite got properly engaged? There wasn’t a lot of climbing compared to a lot of sportives, if you look at the stats, but it felt like there was quite a lot of drag going on. And on the long straight bits, which reminded me a lot of Pembrokeshire and Dartmoor, you’d hope there wasn’t wind and that it was behind you, but there was and it wasn’t.

However there was plenty to look at as you rode along. Wildlife, classic cars. Every flash sports car and convertible in the local area, out to enjoy a Sunday drive in the sunshine. Part of the ride took us along the coast, past Lymington, Bucklers Hard, Beaulieu et al…with views over the Solent all the way over lots of little white sails to the Isle of Wight. Lots of other people were out enjoying the roads, which made for a tricky traffic jam stretch on the road towards Lyndhurst, playing with slow moving and occasionally stationary cars to get to the relief of the right turn that took us away from them…boy I bet we were popular!

Other than admiring all of this, listening to my music, and trying to go as fast as I could in the ever growing heat, (my base layer was stashed away at the first food stop), my mind was mostly preoccupied with which route I was actually going to end up doing. The short 47 mile route would have been a bit daft after all that travelling. And, given the lack of real climbing, far too easy. So it was a choice between the Standard 82 mile route and the 102 mile Epic route. A decision which didn’t have to be made until around 70 miles in. And what with the relative flatness of the area, even with those 20 miles containing more climbing than the rest of the ride, I was tempted, as 100 miles as yet eludes me this year. But when it came to it, I was still not quite feeling it, and I was over hot, if not that bothered, and all of the routes get to take in Blissford Hill anyway, I just couldn’t be bothered. Well, with two more weekends and two more sportives in a row to come… I was, oddly, somewhat mindful of what my clinical pain psychologist had told me about pacing myself. I figured it was better not to overdo it this time so as to be able to continue doing it for the events to come. See, I do pay attention sometimes…honest!

So I didn’t turn right. I took 5, chatting to some equally indecisive riders. I took some pictures. And then I went straight on. Happily. I don’t think even I’d known what I was going to decide really…but this felt like the right choice. And put me all of 12 miles or so from HQ, with just that Blissford Hill to negotiate, amongst a lot more pretty. And it’s a doozy of a hill. Sure, it isn’t long. But it is steep. 25% steep. It’s like a wall that goes straight up. Even I got out of the saddle for some of it. Luckily there were only a couple of riders straining up it with me, and the traffic, such as there was, kindly waited at the top for us to finish gurning, try grinning for the inevitable photographer, and head off again, victorious. Much appreciated. And I made it up. No walking for me 🙂 It may only have taken minutes, but man my legs were burning by the top!

That didn’t last long though, and neither did the last few miles back to HQ, even if I did have to stop briefly to evict whatever it was that got stuck under my jersey and stung me three times trying to find its own way out! Arriving back at HQ was totally uneventful, and a tad unceremonious. I rolled over the timing mats, toute seule, and that was it. New Forest Rattler done.

Cycling time: 4:53
Official time: 5:25
Distance: 82.4 miles
Avs: 16.9 mph

Other than a marshal near the end who said well done, that was it for welcoming committee and reception. I put my timing chip, which incidentally I never noticed on my ankle once, into the bucket provided, and that was that. I did have a brief chat with a lady at the timing van, but only because I needed to tell her I’d changed routes. There were a few riders lounging around on the grass either in the sun, or under the now vacated marquee. There seemed to be more life back over by the sports hall building, so I headed over there. Massage tables were set up outside, in the shade of large trees, and were occupied.

I parked the bike, revisited the facilities, and decided I would, for a change, have my free burger. Literally. Just the burger. Well gluten free rolls weren’t an option, and it’s not like I’m ever hungry anyway, so it’s pretty much all I wanted anyway. Besides, it tasted good. I could have bought cake, or coke, but there was no fizzy orange on offer…and I knew there was some in the car, so once I’d consumed my burger, eavesdropping on the masseur and massee behind me, which is why I know that only 300 or so riders did it, I headed back to the car. Whence I discovered that my odd parking location turned out to have been a great one – my car was in the shade! So instead of the oven I was half expecting, the car was pleasantly cool, and so was my fizzy orange. Result! Time to load up, and go home then 🙂

PS: 75 of the what turned out to be 258 or so riders did the 82 mile route. I was 35th. 16 of them were women, and I was 8th. So pretty much midfield all round. Which is better than I used to be. And having never hit the Zone, I’m not surprised it wasn’t better. It wasn’t slow though 🙂