Washed out

Just as this morning's official Axbridge Cycling Group ride was nearing its sodden, cold end, I turned to Skip and asked her if it was possible to sue the Met office forecaster? For every time the road pitched up, some cold water would slosh down the length of my boot and envelop my heel in icy dampness. Every time the gradient went south, my toes got a nice cold wash.

It wasn't supposed to have been like this. I am not a meteorologist, but I know a light shower when I see one. And I didn't see one today, what I did see were prolonged downpours, heavy rain, puddles covering the whole of the road (in fact they were lakes and streams not puddles). Yet I was dressed for light showers.

I'm not sure which bit of moisture on my clothes came from me and which from the external environment. Suffice to say that it ceased to be important, the only thing that really mattered was to get home, get in the bath and look back on it with increasing levity and fondness as today's ride recedes into the distance. At least it couldn't possibly be as wet as this next week for the Exmoor Beast could it?

My cold is still with me, and had this not been the ACG I would have stayed in bed all morning. In fact I'm going there as soon as I've typed this up. I have a vague notion of being one of those Victorian ladies who "takes to her bed" for 50 years, but somehow I think I'd be bored after a week. But it's a measure of how rough
and rundown I feel that it crossed my mind.

There were five of us to begin with, Skip, me, the Doc and SMB, plus a lady on a hybrid, who was last seen following us up Winscombe Hill. If she had any sense she'd have turned back at the first sign of rain.

It is always a bit galling to cycle back up past my own house so soon after cycling down to Axbridge, but since the Council re-surfaced the road I don't mind so much. The surface is now, and for a short while at least will be, the best one in North Somerset. Just a shame about the traffic lights halfway down the other side.

We descended down to the village and then out along the Sandford road towards the moors and on to Puxton. The rain started there, never really decreased in intensity or volume, and by the time we had crossed the A370 and wiggled around the edge of Worle towards Kewstoke, the heavens had well and truly opened.

It is true that you never forget how to ride a bike. But with only three rides in my legs this month, and a severe restriction on my lung capacity I found it hard to find a rhythmn today. I also struggled a bit on the hills. Two weeks ago I was wupping everyone really on any kind of incline, today I felt like my lungs had been scraped with a penknife. Then stuffed with cotton wool. Then tied in a knot. You get the picture.

We piled into the Castle cafe in Kewstoke for coffee and (in the case of me and the Doc) toast. We were the only customers which was lucky because we brought half a rain cloud in with us. Eventually we had to venture out again into the rain, and it was then that we lost the Doc, I confess I was so cold that I just pedalled very fast for five minutes to warm up. SMB soon overtook me and Skip was not far behind. But as we struggled through the Weston stupidity, sorry, traffic, there was no sign of him. Later on Skip and I had a chat about how our ACG rides have an increasing tendency to splinter, and how this was missing the whole point of the word "Group". So we will have to do something about that.

We continued on across the lakes that passed for roads near Bleadon and Loxton, before sailing and kayaking past the Webbington, and white-water rafting into Cross. I'd had enough and took the main road up the hill to home, it was impossible to get any wetter and i wanted a bath, some warmth, a bed......

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/54133658

PS And of course, this being England, now when I'm washed, and fed, and tired, the sun has come out....typical!