Real Country

Just as last year, Bristol's Biggest Bike Ride 2010 fell on Father's Day. An invention of the card industry I'm sure (Father's Day not BBBR) it is nonetheless nice to feel that there is one day out of 365 where I get some attention instead of the other way around. Maybe Dads everywhere should celebrate this role-reversal by not flushing the toilet, playing football with no shoes on, and dropping crisps all over the kitchen floor. I decided to head up the A38 and take part in the biggest mass-participation bike ride in the West Country.

It is a great atmosphere. I picked Skip up in the car and we drove up early and parked in the car park at work. It was eerily empty and dark in the car park, instead of being full of the usual BMWs, Mercs and Range Rovers. For office car parking is a status thing my friends and in my experience, third to dress codes and holiday entitlements as the cause of office arguments and in-fighting.

None of that today as we wheeled over the footbridge to Millennium Square and hooked up with Skip's Dad (The Captain [I'll tell you when I see you]) and RPM. Our ride, the over elaborately-named "Clevedon Challenge" was the longest of the five on offer, and it was all very informal, as several hundred cyclists rolled out of the square and along the beautifully-closed Anchor Road towards the also shut Portway. To be honest, there absolutely nothing challenging about the route, and I know this sounds patronising but I guess for those city folk, used to cycling to the pub or shops, maybe things are different.

Maybe it is a challenge to remember there is life outside a city. My grandmother, born and bred in Bedminster (although the daughter of generations of Yeovil folk) had a lovely expression when referring to those from outside the city limits-"real country", and I did get the feeling today that for some of the participants it was a journey into the unknown. It actually makes for a fun ride, although can also test your riding skills when they don't signal or stop for no apparent reason. The Captain found this out last year to his cost, crashing into a MTB as he suddenly got his quaint gearing wrong.

Anyway back to the traffic-free Portway. That is one of the other attractions of BBBR-no cars for about 8 miles of riding, and I took the compulsory opportunity to cycle on the other side of the road. I was the only one who did this, as everyone else was sticking to the left, despite the complete absence of cars on the right. What is wrong with you? How could you NOT want to do this?

Anyway the four of us steamed along, forming a nice line, overtaking all the MTBs, hybrids and quite a lot of roadies too. We were considerably quicker than last year, and it is a sign of how much you can teach an old dog new tricks. Like drafting, pedalling properly, nutrition, blah, blah blah.

Next it was over the River Avon on the footbridge adjacent to the M5. Should be wrong, but strangely pleasurable to be cycling next to a motorway. A bit of an illicit pleasure I think. By now RPM and I had become separated from Skip and The Captain. Just as we darted down the short stretch of the main road from Pill to Portbury, the bloke in front (from Dursley Road club) of me contrived to get his front wheel in a pothole, and cartwheeled down the road.

I was immediately behind him and RPM and I stopped along with another woman, to check if he was OK. She had the presence of mind to check if he was compos mentis, by asking him his name and the date. We knew he was OK when he asked about his bike.He was pretty badly shaken, and had a few nasty cuts and bruises, along with a dent in his helmet. I'm not going to rant about helmets, it's a personal choice etc. Potholes do not discriminate, and I have no doubt he would have been badly hurt if he hadn't been wearing one.

We telephoned for first aid to come and get him, and left him to lick his wounds. There was a fair amount of the red stuff and I was glad none of it got onto me or my bike, and by now Skip had joined us. We caught up with The Captain and continued to Clevedon, where we re-grouped again, before heading over the levels and up Brockley Coombe.

After the final re-grouping there I bombed down into Bristol as fast as I could, getting home in an average speed of 16.4mph. Unfortunately Skip arrived soon after with her crash tale-an idiot on a mobile had caused a bit of a pile up and her finger looked as if it may have been broken. Then the Captain arrived with his tale of children running in front of him and a gashed shin from his crash. The moral here is if you want to stay safe on a bike, take that family with you as they seem to draw trouble to them on this ride!

Fortunately a trip to Casualty confirmed no broken bones, so it will just be a bit of soreness but no ban on riding.

A great way to spend Father's Day, which I hope will get repeated for many years to come. Just hope we can avoid the crashes next year!

Charlie below:

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/37541185