I have moved, please now follow me at:
http://mendiprouleur.blogspot.com/
Saturday, 12 November 2011
Sunday, 6 November 2011
Leave it behind
I'm approaching the same mileage figure that I did for the whole of 2010, so I'm hopeful of hitting my last target of the cycling year. I was told yesterday that I needed a goal, to get me focused int he right cycling direction. I had one today actually, to ride up Bridge Valley Road in Bristol, it's only just re-opened after being closed for the best part of two years while the Council made sure the wall didn't fall down on anyone.
It's not the Hourquette d'Ancizan but it is steep, if about 14km shorter. I did a loop via Clevedon and parts of the Avon Cycleway, into Bristol, suspension bridge and back home. 50 or so miles in the sunshine and the cold northerly wind. Autumn is here and it is time to draw some lines under 2011.
If you haven't seen it yet I hope you will look at the Achievements in 2011 Facebook page that I set up. I think there is too much sadness and bad stuff floating around the news pages at the moment, and a few more blessings need to be counted. Maybe a bit of optimism and the realisation that we can achieve things when we set out to do so, might just spark a global recovery. No point in thinking small.
As for next year, well I continue to walk on into that journey with no preconceptions, but much, much more optimism than I had a month or so back. Let's just say that mountains will need to be involved in it somewhere. And probably a bike. But no fish.
It's not the Hourquette d'Ancizan but it is steep, if about 14km shorter. I did a loop via Clevedon and parts of the Avon Cycleway, into Bristol, suspension bridge and back home. 50 or so miles in the sunshine and the cold northerly wind. Autumn is here and it is time to draw some lines under 2011.
If you haven't seen it yet I hope you will look at the Achievements in 2011 Facebook page that I set up. I think there is too much sadness and bad stuff floating around the news pages at the moment, and a few more blessings need to be counted. Maybe a bit of optimism and the realisation that we can achieve things when we set out to do so, might just spark a global recovery. No point in thinking small.
As for next year, well I continue to walk on into that journey with no preconceptions, but much, much more optimism than I had a month or so back. Let's just say that mountains will need to be involved in it somewhere. And probably a bike. But no fish.
Monday, 24 October 2011
How you shine when everything seems hopeless
Sometime I think things have gone for good, only to be pleasantly surprised, no, make that delighted, to discover that I still possess them.
Like the ability to sprint on a six-a-side football pitch. After an 18 month hiatus I returned to playing football last month. My first few weeks were torrid. I couldn't run, I couldn't pass and I couldn't control the ball. I pulled my quad, trapped a nerve in my back, and generally played about as well as Samassi Abou on a bad day. I didn't have to look that up by the way.
Four weeks of playing had me nearly convinced that, for once, age had caught up with my body. Despite my cycling fitness, my very limited footballing ability had gone to the middle-aged rest home in the sky, never to return.
I had a break two weeks ago because of the Etape Cymru (which I realise is a strange but somehow delightful juxtaposition of welsh and French, ["that's french", never ever forget that moment, because it defines your knowledge, your strength and your complete unwillingness to be pushed around. Even my boss still laughs at it, and I'm still laughing in admiration]), two weeks ago, last week I had to ride in to work because the car was broken AGAIN (thankfully no more wasps' nests though). Tonight, like a 40 year-old William Bonds (minus the sideburns, the fitness and the ability) I returned for one last go.
I will never be brilliant, I will never be as good as most of the players on that pitch. But I was good tonight. Generally did the simple things effectively, got in some fantastic blocks and tackles and scored a great goal. But best of all, I ran. And ran, and was still sprinting the length of the pitch at the end.
So, for starters, in my thinking here is just this. Whatever you do, the answers are in you, just as my answers, indeed my pace, is in there somewhere. You are the light, as they say. Not in that sanctimonious, "I'm right, you're going to hell" way. Or the stern, cruel, "I take one for the team" way.
No, a quiet, steady, "this is me, and I'm strong" way. Back off. It was Bunny who first told me, it's nice to be important, but more important to be nice", and just because it's a cliche, it's still true. Think about that.
Remember the second chorus Princess.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSZv9KKf0g0
Like the ability to sprint on a six-a-side football pitch. After an 18 month hiatus I returned to playing football last month. My first few weeks were torrid. I couldn't run, I couldn't pass and I couldn't control the ball. I pulled my quad, trapped a nerve in my back, and generally played about as well as Samassi Abou on a bad day. I didn't have to look that up by the way.
Four weeks of playing had me nearly convinced that, for once, age had caught up with my body. Despite my cycling fitness, my very limited footballing ability had gone to the middle-aged rest home in the sky, never to return.
I had a break two weeks ago because of the Etape Cymru (which I realise is a strange but somehow delightful juxtaposition of welsh and French, ["that's french", never ever forget that moment, because it defines your knowledge, your strength and your complete unwillingness to be pushed around. Even my boss still laughs at it, and I'm still laughing in admiration]), two weeks ago, last week I had to ride in to work because the car was broken AGAIN (thankfully no more wasps' nests though). Tonight, like a 40 year-old William Bonds (minus the sideburns, the fitness and the ability) I returned for one last go.
I will never be brilliant, I will never be as good as most of the players on that pitch. But I was good tonight. Generally did the simple things effectively, got in some fantastic blocks and tackles and scored a great goal. But best of all, I ran. And ran, and was still sprinting the length of the pitch at the end.
So, for starters, in my thinking here is just this. Whatever you do, the answers are in you, just as my answers, indeed my pace, is in there somewhere. You are the light, as they say. Not in that sanctimonious, "I'm right, you're going to hell" way. Or the stern, cruel, "I take one for the team" way.
No, a quiet, steady, "this is me, and I'm strong" way. Back off. It was Bunny who first told me, it's nice to be important, but more important to be nice", and just because it's a cliche, it's still true. Think about that.
Remember the second chorus Princess.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSZv9KKf0g0
Sunday, 16 October 2011
You miss too much these days if you stop to think
It may be next week, it may be next month, it may be until the end of the world, but I'm having a break from blogging, while I dream it all up again. Can't guarantee what it will look like, but it will be better than before.
In the meantime I'm going to be using Twitter, so get yourself a profile and become a follower, I'll follow you too, and that way we can still be friends. And if you want some inspiration, really look and listen carefully to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoUSx2hWdWc&feature=related
In the meantime I'm going to be using Twitter, so get yourself a profile and become a follower, I'll follow you too, and that way we can still be friends. And if you want some inspiration, really look and listen carefully to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoUSx2hWdWc&feature=related
Monday, 10 October 2011
I'm hatching some plot, scheming some scheme
"There is no such thing as a new idea, it's all about the quality of the implementation".
Thank you Mark Cheshire. The rest of you better get this quick, because those courses in creativity? They don't really exist.
Yesterday was a case in point, a closed road sportive should be easy to organise, but alas and alack, it wasn't. Skip and Bunny, who is married, actually they both are, so am I, all to different people, have blogged highly effectively with all the detail:
http://monmarduman.blogspot.com/
http://www.thecyclingmayor.com/?m=201110
If you have read their accounts you will know that it was a fairly mediocre experience, and to top it all for me i got a puncture in that wheel I was worried about. But never mind, it didn't rain, and i enjoyed the Horseshoe pass, and even finished 381st out of 977, despite pretty much bimbling and coughing my way round. The weather held up, a bit of drizzle at times so that it looked like there was no line on the horizon on the tops of the mountains. But then I love a good mountain, me.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/415352
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/120284373
Don't take the times and stuff too literally, my Cateye computer ran out of battery halfway round, and Charlie gave up the ghost on numerous occasions, I think I did a route of around about 90 miles, in just over 6 hours cycling time, with an offical time of 6-56-39.
But for me, despite all the shambolic events of the event itself, I must paraphrase Frederick Browning on this one. FB was a fascinating character who lived the kind of remarkable life that just doesn't seem possible nowadays. Married to a famous author, having courted her quite unconventionally, and then had an "unusual" marriage, a general in WW2, as well as the trenches in the Great War, and later looked after the royal household. Anyway, yesterday was a sportive too far, quite simply I'm worn out, so for me the season is over, and I'm off to large POC camp.
I watched "From the Sky down" last night (thanks Princess, didn't know it was on) a documentary at least partly inspired by the 20th anniversary of Achtung Baby, perhaps the greatest work of art ever produced. 20 years? Strike a light it feels like only yesterday I was buying it in WH Smith in Catford on the day it came out. A transformative experience, a re-invention.
To do it, they had to not only let go of the past, but to eradicate it, before they could construct the future. And in that space in between those two events, there is nothing, and you have to hold onto the faith and believe something will come.
So whilst I will be riding over the next few weeks, these pages are going to be silent. I am going to de-construct my cycling and everything connected with it (and who knows, maybe other stuff too) and then build something better. I don't know what that looks like yet so please don't ask, unless you want "I don't know" as an answer. I feel jaded and in need of a period of reflection, so yes we are all one, but on this occasion, we are very definitely not the same.
Mark was right all those years ago, it's just that I need to re-apply that piece of truth to myself for once.
See you in a few weeks.
Thank you Mark Cheshire. The rest of you better get this quick, because those courses in creativity? They don't really exist.
Yesterday was a case in point, a closed road sportive should be easy to organise, but alas and alack, it wasn't. Skip and Bunny, who is married, actually they both are, so am I, all to different people, have blogged highly effectively with all the detail:
http://monmarduman.blogspot.com/
http://www.thecyclingmayor.com/?m=201110
If you have read their accounts you will know that it was a fairly mediocre experience, and to top it all for me i got a puncture in that wheel I was worried about. But never mind, it didn't rain, and i enjoyed the Horseshoe pass, and even finished 381st out of 977, despite pretty much bimbling and coughing my way round. The weather held up, a bit of drizzle at times so that it looked like there was no line on the horizon on the tops of the mountains. But then I love a good mountain, me.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/415352
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/120284373
Don't take the times and stuff too literally, my Cateye computer ran out of battery halfway round, and Charlie gave up the ghost on numerous occasions, I think I did a route of around about 90 miles, in just over 6 hours cycling time, with an offical time of 6-56-39.
But for me, despite all the shambolic events of the event itself, I must paraphrase Frederick Browning on this one. FB was a fascinating character who lived the kind of remarkable life that just doesn't seem possible nowadays. Married to a famous author, having courted her quite unconventionally, and then had an "unusual" marriage, a general in WW2, as well as the trenches in the Great War, and later looked after the royal household. Anyway, yesterday was a sportive too far, quite simply I'm worn out, so for me the season is over, and I'm off to large POC camp.
I watched "From the Sky down" last night (thanks Princess, didn't know it was on) a documentary at least partly inspired by the 20th anniversary of Achtung Baby, perhaps the greatest work of art ever produced. 20 years? Strike a light it feels like only yesterday I was buying it in WH Smith in Catford on the day it came out. A transformative experience, a re-invention.
To do it, they had to not only let go of the past, but to eradicate it, before they could construct the future. And in that space in between those two events, there is nothing, and you have to hold onto the faith and believe something will come.
So whilst I will be riding over the next few weeks, these pages are going to be silent. I am going to de-construct my cycling and everything connected with it (and who knows, maybe other stuff too) and then build something better. I don't know what that looks like yet so please don't ask, unless you want "I don't know" as an answer. I feel jaded and in need of a period of reflection, so yes we are all one, but on this occasion, we are very definitely not the same.
Mark was right all those years ago, it's just that I need to re-apply that piece of truth to myself for once.
See you in a few weeks.
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Tear down the walls
"Do you really want me to answer that question?" I said to my new colleague yesterday morning. "I'm happy to, but you should be clear what you are letting yourself in for".
The Organiser, the heartbeat of the team, the one who makes things happen after all the high fallutin ideas have come tumbling out, and is exceptionally helpful had sat next to me on the train the night before on the way back from Reading. "Who is Mark Cavendish?" she said, in response to me waxing on lyrical about his stunning example of a winning mentality. The following morning, yesterday, after I had arrived by bike at the office for the first time, and the typically English conversation about the change in the weather and how cold it was, she asked me, "what did you wear on your bike?"
I can see I have a job on. Not the L & D stuff, building capability in a modern organisation, linking it to performance and making it a central part of what people do. No that's easy by comparison. No, I have a huge job of cycling education, but I've done it before and I'll do it again. By the time I've finished I'll have them wearing SL cleats on carbon-fibre road bikes.
And in case you are wondering, I overcooked it on the clothes, going for a Gore windproof jacket when it didn't need it. Although by the time I headed home into the strong breeze it was nice to have it on. It was also totally dark when I left at 6.30AM, but it was worth it to experience the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen when commuting into Bristol. I won't bore you, but it's sights like those that make getting up at 5.30AM so worthwhile. Lifts the spirits.
This morning I'm preparing to go and ride the Etape Cymru, wondering about which wheels to take and whether to wash my bike. I probably should, only I know it's going to get a soaking. I think we are also in for a bumpy ride on gravel where the streets have no name.
Last Sunday, when I was a mile from home I heard a pop and a sizzle from the rear tyre and got an instant flat. I was the same time away from home by walking that it would take to change the tyre, but I did it anyway. Well it was going to have to be done sometime. But it's left me with that nagging feeling about why it happened, especially as I couldn't find the source of it. I rode yesterday and it was fine, but you never know do you?
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/119730495
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/413343
The Organiser, the heartbeat of the team, the one who makes things happen after all the high fallutin ideas have come tumbling out, and is exceptionally helpful had sat next to me on the train the night before on the way back from Reading. "Who is Mark Cavendish?" she said, in response to me waxing on lyrical about his stunning example of a winning mentality. The following morning, yesterday, after I had arrived by bike at the office for the first time, and the typically English conversation about the change in the weather and how cold it was, she asked me, "what did you wear on your bike?"
I can see I have a job on. Not the L & D stuff, building capability in a modern organisation, linking it to performance and making it a central part of what people do. No that's easy by comparison. No, I have a huge job of cycling education, but I've done it before and I'll do it again. By the time I've finished I'll have them wearing SL cleats on carbon-fibre road bikes.
And in case you are wondering, I overcooked it on the clothes, going for a Gore windproof jacket when it didn't need it. Although by the time I headed home into the strong breeze it was nice to have it on. It was also totally dark when I left at 6.30AM, but it was worth it to experience the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen when commuting into Bristol. I won't bore you, but it's sights like those that make getting up at 5.30AM so worthwhile. Lifts the spirits.
This morning I'm preparing to go and ride the Etape Cymru, wondering about which wheels to take and whether to wash my bike. I probably should, only I know it's going to get a soaking. I think we are also in for a bumpy ride on gravel where the streets have no name.
Last Sunday, when I was a mile from home I heard a pop and a sizzle from the rear tyre and got an instant flat. I was the same time away from home by walking that it would take to change the tyre, but I did it anyway. Well it was going to have to be done sometime. But it's left me with that nagging feeling about why it happened, especially as I couldn't find the source of it. I rode yesterday and it was fine, but you never know do you?
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/119730495
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/413343
Sunday, 2 October 2011
There is no failure here sweetheart
I hope you are enjoying the Summer, I certainly am. I think I must be a bit run down because I've been struggling to shake off a lurgy for the past few days. Love that word. Along with jip, as in "my back's giving me...".
So ill have I been that even my usual miracle drug of choice, Paracetamol plus, failed to perk me up yesterday. I think the flu jab, that I took the presented opportunity to avail myself of at the Asthma Nurse check-up on Friday, (that was a long sub-clause) probably didn't help. I don't know. But there was nothing for it but to take myself and the whole Mendip Rouleur family (yes all three of us) to a Spa for a "mini-break" (a horrible phrase designed by the holiday industry to replace "a night away", far more practical but doesn't sell hotel accommodation) . And I'm not talking Belgium either.
Actually the timing was coincidental, I'd arranged it ages ago on the premise that the weather would be rubbish in early October and it would be a nice break before the Etape Cymru. So the high temperatures caught me out, but what can you do? Even the judging types amongst you must see that this weather is ideal for flexible and spontaneous folk like me. Unless you have fixed plans.
So I sat by a pool, did a bit of swimming, sat in a hot tub, and directed the water jets onto said area of jippy back, read some of my book, ate loads of nice food, and had fun. I didn't take advantage of the more advanced options, like hot stone massage or hairdressing, there seemed little point, and in any case I didn't want to take out a second mortgage. But it was fun.
And we got back home today in plenty of time for me to go and enjoy an ice-cream at Wookey Hole, and pack in a few climbs in the sunshine. I even managed to find two hills that I had never ridden up before, one is the short hill out of Easton towards Wookey, and the other is a nasty little ramp that links East Harptree Hill with West Harptree Hill, I think it's called Western Lane. I'd missed the ACG ride this morning, but perhaps next time I can design a ride that goes up this one and it can become "Guy's Hill". Bet they chicken out.
Cheddar gorge was fun. Emboldened by my experience on the descent of the Aspin in August, I took to overtaking some cars that were clogging up the descent. Not decent of them at all. Good fun though, particularly as it was bone dry, and not too windy today.
Not sure if I'll ride much this week as i start my new job and need to deal with all the priorities that this will entail. Like where are the showers and where do I store my clothes. I am in the market for a winter bike though, so if anyone knows of a 54 cm frame, preferably steel, that has gears and brakes and can be flogged to death over the next six months, please let me know. All part of the plan believe it or not.
As you can see I got a few miles in as well as some useful climbing practice, can't wait for next week.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/409327
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/118657277
So ill have I been that even my usual miracle drug of choice, Paracetamol plus, failed to perk me up yesterday. I think the flu jab, that I took the presented opportunity to avail myself of at the Asthma Nurse check-up on Friday, (that was a long sub-clause) probably didn't help. I don't know. But there was nothing for it but to take myself and the whole Mendip Rouleur family (yes all three of us) to a Spa for a "mini-break" (a horrible phrase designed by the holiday industry to replace "a night away", far more practical but doesn't sell hotel accommodation) . And I'm not talking Belgium either.
Actually the timing was coincidental, I'd arranged it ages ago on the premise that the weather would be rubbish in early October and it would be a nice break before the Etape Cymru. So the high temperatures caught me out, but what can you do? Even the judging types amongst you must see that this weather is ideal for flexible and spontaneous folk like me. Unless you have fixed plans.
So I sat by a pool, did a bit of swimming, sat in a hot tub, and directed the water jets onto said area of jippy back, read some of my book, ate loads of nice food, and had fun. I didn't take advantage of the more advanced options, like hot stone massage or hairdressing, there seemed little point, and in any case I didn't want to take out a second mortgage. But it was fun.
And we got back home today in plenty of time for me to go and enjoy an ice-cream at Wookey Hole, and pack in a few climbs in the sunshine. I even managed to find two hills that I had never ridden up before, one is the short hill out of Easton towards Wookey, and the other is a nasty little ramp that links East Harptree Hill with West Harptree Hill, I think it's called Western Lane. I'd missed the ACG ride this morning, but perhaps next time I can design a ride that goes up this one and it can become "Guy's Hill". Bet they chicken out.
Cheddar gorge was fun. Emboldened by my experience on the descent of the Aspin in August, I took to overtaking some cars that were clogging up the descent. Not decent of them at all. Good fun though, particularly as it was bone dry, and not too windy today.
Not sure if I'll ride much this week as i start my new job and need to deal with all the priorities that this will entail. Like where are the showers and where do I store my clothes. I am in the market for a winter bike though, so if anyone knows of a 54 cm frame, preferably steel, that has gears and brakes and can be flogged to death over the next six months, please let me know. All part of the plan believe it or not.
As you can see I got a few miles in as well as some useful climbing practice, can't wait for next week.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/409327
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/118657277
Friday, 30 September 2011
All previous dispatches are obsolete
Much debate today. The topic being the difference between a nemesis and bete noire. I even sent the Princess a text, as well as royalty, she is my on-call language expert. Any language, just ask her, she'll know. For sure. Actually, how is your Dutch already, I am thinking you have a little way to go my friend on being a happy expert in this language.
What caused this kerfuffle? (That's Scottish). This brouhaha (Now that's French). Well, it was talk of next year, last year, plans and structure. Seeing as it is nearly Christmas, I thought it about time to make plans for 2012, get myself organised, have a Project Implementation Review meeting with myself on what went well and what could have gone better in 2011. Just get a bit ahead of the game for a change.
But then we had a mini heatwave in September, the chance to wear my HTC kit was too much of an opportunity (it was 27C today FFS), and those plans got shelve. Despite having desperately serious and critical man-flu last night, the spirit of the Blaireau (French) overcame me, tomorrow we ride! Allons-y. (French).
http://www.thecyclingmayor.com/?m=201109
So Skip and I hopped it over to Glastonbury for a flat ride across the levels. Very pleasant and actually quite good for my condition, since I now only feel half-dead. As of 70 minutes ago I am no longer employed, and I don't become re-employed until Monday at 9AM. So I am without a portion of life insurance over the weekend. Those of a superstitious (Latin) nature had best look away now. I hope I don't die over the weekend.
And we were talking about the fact that I have already entered the Tour of Wessex 2012. Which this year had been my bete noire. Or nemesis. And having resorted to the online oracle (Latin) that is Wikipedia, I'd say that I was right, for a nemesis is the divine retribution that is dished out to anyone guilty of hubris (Greek). And I think there was quite a bit of pride in the face of the gods going on in my life at the time, so Nemesis did her bit to bring me back to earth.
But we move on and 2012 will be different. Better. Such talk may be the work of des duivel (Dutch), for one such as I that has always done things fairly, um, spontaneously and flexibly. C'est fin. (French). If my plans are to be achieved I need to plan a bit more structure into my training and riding. The new life starts here.
I have also decided to seek out routes that double back on themselves, cover old ground, in fact, that resemble a plate of spaghetti (Italian) as another way of moving on from the past. A quick look at our route below will give a good idea of what I have in mind.
I thoroughly recommend this change business, it could do us all the world of good.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/118108688
What caused this kerfuffle? (That's Scottish). This brouhaha (Now that's French). Well, it was talk of next year, last year, plans and structure. Seeing as it is nearly Christmas, I thought it about time to make plans for 2012, get myself organised, have a Project Implementation Review meeting with myself on what went well and what could have gone better in 2011. Just get a bit ahead of the game for a change.
But then we had a mini heatwave in September, the chance to wear my HTC kit was too much of an opportunity (it was 27C today FFS), and those plans got shelve. Despite having desperately serious and critical man-flu last night, the spirit of the Blaireau (French) overcame me, tomorrow we ride! Allons-y. (French).
http://www.thecyclingmayor.com/?m=201109
So Skip and I hopped it over to Glastonbury for a flat ride across the levels. Very pleasant and actually quite good for my condition, since I now only feel half-dead. As of 70 minutes ago I am no longer employed, and I don't become re-employed until Monday at 9AM. So I am without a portion of life insurance over the weekend. Those of a superstitious (Latin) nature had best look away now. I hope I don't die over the weekend.
And we were talking about the fact that I have already entered the Tour of Wessex 2012. Which this year had been my bete noire. Or nemesis. And having resorted to the online oracle (Latin) that is Wikipedia, I'd say that I was right, for a nemesis is the divine retribution that is dished out to anyone guilty of hubris (Greek). And I think there was quite a bit of pride in the face of the gods going on in my life at the time, so Nemesis did her bit to bring me back to earth.
But we move on and 2012 will be different. Better. Such talk may be the work of des duivel (Dutch), for one such as I that has always done things fairly, um, spontaneously and flexibly. C'est fin. (French). If my plans are to be achieved I need to plan a bit more structure into my training and riding. The new life starts here.
I have also decided to seek out routes that double back on themselves, cover old ground, in fact, that resemble a plate of spaghetti (Italian) as another way of moving on from the past. A quick look at our route below will give a good idea of what I have in mind.
I thoroughly recommend this change business, it could do us all the world of good.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/118108688
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
In the shadow boy meets man
I am between jobs. Not in the way that an actor is always between jobs, and I suppose technically (as mini Mendip Rouleur says) I am not really between jobs as I am still employed by my outgoing employer. I am technically on holiday, although I am looking forward to going back, if you can go back to somewhere you have never been before, to work. I shall of course be very busy, but I imagine that I will have a narrower focus of activity than I have had this week.
Unlike the actors (again) I have not been resting. Somehow, what was supposed to be a break, has turned into an action-packed, event-filled, travelling one-man circus. Of the round and round variety, maximus tempus. Or something like that. Although I played football again on Monday night, for the third week in a row, and I'm actually remembering how to play the game, I still came out of it with the trapped nerve in lower back thing. So I've got a choice to make.
And I found out, amongst other similar statistics, that my VO2 max is in the top decile of men my age, and about half that of he who must not be named, at least when the latter was in his "prime". I am not taking EPO, but my cardiac and lung efficiency are considered pretty good.
I'm not going to bore you any more. But with the fabulous weather, and me not at work, I needed to squeeze in a proper ride somewhere along the line. So when I got home today at about 4.45PM, I figured I had around two hours of daylight left. Being the KoF, I wasn't off the ramp and onto the course until 5.15, so much of the ride took place in twilight, and some of it in darkness.
Fortunately I had lights to see with as well as be seen, but it made the descent of Burrington Coombe interesting, not least for the traffic in front of me that wouldn't get out of my way after the second cattle grid. A first: I went all the way down Old Bristol Hill without braking or pedalling, until again being held up by traffic which was going slower than me.
I'd like to think that's why I was so slow, that and the fact that my back was hurting every time I got out of the saddle. But that isn't the truth, and we all know how important the truth is don't we children. I was dawdling, and tired, and probably a bit overtrained. So I'm going to do one easy ride on Friday, then have a bit of a rest. And start a new job and all the other stuff I have to do. Or maybe not.
I also went and watched my son play rugby today. They are only 11 but already some of the tackling is bordering on the ferocious, and (don't tell Mrs MR) they had a few walking wounded today as well. So are rugby players harder than cyclists? A different kind of toughness, but I think there may be something in this. I was watching "Chasing Legends" again this week, and the great Jens is in it, as well as some other blokes blathering on about suffering being the essence of greatness. Is that the truth, and if so should we encourage that?
It's a grey area, much like some of the shadows that I was in during the last few miles. Truth? You never know at the time, that's all I'll say, you need perspective and hindsight I think. If you are so certain of any kind of truth, I think that puts you into psychotic territory, either that or very, very selfish. Or perhaps both.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/117773332
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/405519
Unlike the actors (again) I have not been resting. Somehow, what was supposed to be a break, has turned into an action-packed, event-filled, travelling one-man circus. Of the round and round variety, maximus tempus. Or something like that. Although I played football again on Monday night, for the third week in a row, and I'm actually remembering how to play the game, I still came out of it with the trapped nerve in lower back thing. So I've got a choice to make.
And I found out, amongst other similar statistics, that my VO2 max is in the top decile of men my age, and about half that of he who must not be named, at least when the latter was in his "prime". I am not taking EPO, but my cardiac and lung efficiency are considered pretty good.
I'm not going to bore you any more. But with the fabulous weather, and me not at work, I needed to squeeze in a proper ride somewhere along the line. So when I got home today at about 4.45PM, I figured I had around two hours of daylight left. Being the KoF, I wasn't off the ramp and onto the course until 5.15, so much of the ride took place in twilight, and some of it in darkness.
Fortunately I had lights to see with as well as be seen, but it made the descent of Burrington Coombe interesting, not least for the traffic in front of me that wouldn't get out of my way after the second cattle grid. A first: I went all the way down Old Bristol Hill without braking or pedalling, until again being held up by traffic which was going slower than me.
I'd like to think that's why I was so slow, that and the fact that my back was hurting every time I got out of the saddle. But that isn't the truth, and we all know how important the truth is don't we children. I was dawdling, and tired, and probably a bit overtrained. So I'm going to do one easy ride on Friday, then have a bit of a rest. And start a new job and all the other stuff I have to do. Or maybe not.
I also went and watched my son play rugby today. They are only 11 but already some of the tackling is bordering on the ferocious, and (don't tell Mrs MR) they had a few walking wounded today as well. So are rugby players harder than cyclists? A different kind of toughness, but I think there may be something in this. I was watching "Chasing Legends" again this week, and the great Jens is in it, as well as some other blokes blathering on about suffering being the essence of greatness. Is that the truth, and if so should we encourage that?
It's a grey area, much like some of the shadows that I was in during the last few miles. Truth? You never know at the time, that's all I'll say, you need perspective and hindsight I think. If you are so certain of any kind of truth, I think that puts you into psychotic territory, either that or very, very selfish. Or perhaps both.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/117773332
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/405519
Sunday, 25 September 2011
What care I for my goose feather bed?
First things first. I don't think Mark Cavendish reads my blog, but just in case he does, all I can say is "wow", that has to be the best ride he has ever done, ably assisted by the rest of the GB team. He still had to do a lot though, and it was an awesome ride.
Speaking of awesome achievements, you may remember that I did a ride from Bristol to Land's End last year, in fact, this very weekend last year, to raise money for Above and Beyond, the charity that supports the Bristol hospitals. Well, this lady, Shelley Cunningham, is doing something every bit as heroic as Cav, well, no, actually more heroic.
http://www.aboveandbeyond.org.uk/ctubh_news_details.aspx?ID=301
I'd read about Shelley in the newsletter from A & B that popped through my letterbox a few weeks ago. So it was a bit of a surprise to almost bump into her on the seafront at Lyme Regis today, as I was wandering off from our group to buy some food. So if you are looking for inspiration when faced with a challenge, think of Shelley, and count your blessings. Oh, and you could sponsor her too.
So you may be wondering what I was doing in Lyme Regis. Well eating chips by the seaside of course. And drying my very wet kit in the strong sea breeze. The same breeze that had been blowing rain into my face for the last 50 miles, when it wasn't blowing spray that is. It was actually very good fun. The Somerset Cycling crew had issued an invitation via the miracle of Facebook to "The Last of the Summer Runs", all welcome for an easy spin down to the coast.
Halfway through I was thinking it should have been first of the winter runs, we were all soaked though, covered in mud, and a bit deflated. Starting out from Burnham (although I rode down there), we didn't have long to wait before our first two punctures. This was a feature of the morning, as another couple had followed by the time we were just outside of Taunton, although thankfully this was the end of it. Although we were up to 18 riders at one point, quite a raggle taggle gypsy bunch of characters. Some peeled off to do other rides, or go back home having started a long way away, by the time we hit the hills above Chard we were down to a hardcore of 10, and that's how it stayed till Lyme.
Much like the ACG, we stayed as a group, with the stronger riders waiting at junctions and so on. Once in LR we all fell foul of the "anti cycling police" who threatened a fixed penalty notice for riding on the wrong bit of the sea front. After much grumbling and discussion I think we got away with it.
I think I made a mistake with the chips, my only real food of the day, as they were still digesting on the climb out of LR as we started our return journey. By now the weather had turned, breezy sunshine, of the tail variety, meant a lovely afternoon's riding. We split into a fast group and a slow group, and I fell somewhere in between. A great bunch they were, but it was also nice to head off on my own, and doubly nice to be going home by another route.
A few undulations took me through Crewkerne, Martock, Langport, High Ham, Pedwell Hill, Mudgely Hill and back home. At just shy of 110 miles, with about 6700 feet of climbing (depending on whether you believe Cateye, Charlie Garmin or ride with GPS) and three minutes off seven hours of riding time, today served as a useful preparatory ride for the Etape Cymru, which is similar climbing but less distance.
I also felt a bit icky before I went out, but copious quantities of Paracetamol plus kept the sore throat at bay, and the trapped nerve in the back seems to be under control thanks to the osteopath.
So if some of you contemplated going out this morning but were put off by the weather, well you missed a good ride. Some great company, a real good laugh, and some fantastic sunshine and scenery, even if you couldn't always see it.
Speaking of awesome achievements, you may remember that I did a ride from Bristol to Land's End last year, in fact, this very weekend last year, to raise money for Above and Beyond, the charity that supports the Bristol hospitals. Well, this lady, Shelley Cunningham, is doing something every bit as heroic as Cav, well, no, actually more heroic.
http://www.aboveandbeyond.org.uk/ctubh_news_details.aspx?ID=301
I'd read about Shelley in the newsletter from A & B that popped through my letterbox a few weeks ago. So it was a bit of a surprise to almost bump into her on the seafront at Lyme Regis today, as I was wandering off from our group to buy some food. So if you are looking for inspiration when faced with a challenge, think of Shelley, and count your blessings. Oh, and you could sponsor her too.
So you may be wondering what I was doing in Lyme Regis. Well eating chips by the seaside of course. And drying my very wet kit in the strong sea breeze. The same breeze that had been blowing rain into my face for the last 50 miles, when it wasn't blowing spray that is. It was actually very good fun. The Somerset Cycling crew had issued an invitation via the miracle of Facebook to "The Last of the Summer Runs", all welcome for an easy spin down to the coast.
Halfway through I was thinking it should have been first of the winter runs, we were all soaked though, covered in mud, and a bit deflated. Starting out from Burnham (although I rode down there), we didn't have long to wait before our first two punctures. This was a feature of the morning, as another couple had followed by the time we were just outside of Taunton, although thankfully this was the end of it. Although we were up to 18 riders at one point, quite a raggle taggle gypsy bunch of characters. Some peeled off to do other rides, or go back home having started a long way away, by the time we hit the hills above Chard we were down to a hardcore of 10, and that's how it stayed till Lyme.
Much like the ACG, we stayed as a group, with the stronger riders waiting at junctions and so on. Once in LR we all fell foul of the "anti cycling police" who threatened a fixed penalty notice for riding on the wrong bit of the sea front. After much grumbling and discussion I think we got away with it.
I think I made a mistake with the chips, my only real food of the day, as they were still digesting on the climb out of LR as we started our return journey. By now the weather had turned, breezy sunshine, of the tail variety, meant a lovely afternoon's riding. We split into a fast group and a slow group, and I fell somewhere in between. A great bunch they were, but it was also nice to head off on my own, and doubly nice to be going home by another route.
A few undulations took me through Crewkerne, Martock, Langport, High Ham, Pedwell Hill, Mudgely Hill and back home. At just shy of 110 miles, with about 6700 feet of climbing (depending on whether you believe Cateye, Charlie Garmin or ride with GPS) and three minutes off seven hours of riding time, today served as a useful preparatory ride for the Etape Cymru, which is similar climbing but less distance.
I also felt a bit icky before I went out, but copious quantities of Paracetamol plus kept the sore throat at bay, and the trapped nerve in the back seems to be under control thanks to the osteopath.
So if some of you contemplated going out this morning but were put off by the weather, well you missed a good ride. Some great company, a real good laugh, and some fantastic sunshine and scenery, even if you couldn't always see it.
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Put it in a letter
It's been on the cards for quite a while and all the warning signs were there. They, the signs, have been there for almost all of this year, and no matter how doubtful I was that it would happen, I suppose I should have realised that sooner or later, disaster was going to strike, and the warnings would all have been in vain.
This morning, as I was leaving to go to work, I saw a complete, adult, dead, squashed frog on the road outside my house.
I had treated it as something of a joke, not very seriously making comments like "I toad you there was no danger", "stop amPHIBBian about it", "whoever put the signs up should hop it", I could go on but they just get worse. Of course, I'm sure you knew that there is a cocktail called the squashed frog. It's tasteful, as in bad taste, rather than tasty. Mix together 25ml of advocaat and 25ml midori and put into a shot glass then add a spot of grenadine. The grenadine should sink to the bottom to look like blood. Nice.
What I don't really understand is why when all the warning signs were there, they were so flagrantly ignored. Signs a bit like this one, only cheaper and probably not authorised by the powers that would be.
Our road does see some crazy driving. I've told you about the young lad who fell off his scooter a couple of weeks ago, and there was also the multiple car pile up in the snow two winters ago. One car comes over the brow of the hill, too fast, spins and hits the grass verge and stops in the middle of the road. Within five minutes another five cars have added to the mess because they all came over the hill too quickly.
A bit like the muppet from Environmental Water Systems in Cheddar, driving a white van no less, that totalled my wing mirror last Friday before driving away without stopping. Thank heavens for the chaos that is Banwell at rush hour as I was able to get his details and registration number as he sat in the traffic. Although he claims I was on his side of the road. I just hope the police, the insurance companies and anyone else involved understands cycling, as most people with an untethered £3K carbon fibre bike in their car, driving on their own road, tend to drive conservatively and safely. Oh, and when you are at fault in an accident, you don't tend to follow the other party to get their details, you tend to bolt and hope to get away with it.
I must let it go, it's not healthy.
You want to know about my ride to work? Really? All right then.
In via the usual suspects, Long Lane, Barrow Gurney and Ashton Park, where there was a balloon ascending, which brightened up the morning, although it was quite nice today in an early Autumn leaves off the trees, misty type of way. Apart from the trapped nerve in my lower back, that I got at football on Monday night, and pinches when I get out of the saddle. Also has the added detriment of making my left quad feel like it's pulled. So I was slow on the way in. And said goodbye a few more times today at work. Only two days left now.
I had to get my car this afternoon, which meant a trip to Weston Super Mare, a delightful 25 miles straight into a block headwind. So I tried to mix it up a bit, and found a new hill, Providence Lane out of Long Ashton, up to Failand. That sounds like one of those race horse pedigrees. Maybe.
Fortunately I didn't encounter any vans from Environmental Water Systems being driven too fast down my hill, on my side of the road, so I got my car home with its wing mirrors intact. You can see this "letting go" business is really working. The thing is, next time he might kill a cyclist or even worse, a frog. So I was probably right to report it to the police and insurers, even if it does cost me in financial terms in the medium term.
Lets face it, cyclists are a fragile breed, so we need to take action against idiot drivers, in a measured, adult way. And those frogs need all the help they can get too, don't they?
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/116066415
This morning, as I was leaving to go to work, I saw a complete, adult, dead, squashed frog on the road outside my house.
I had treated it as something of a joke, not very seriously making comments like "I toad you there was no danger", "stop amPHIBBian about it", "whoever put the signs up should hop it", I could go on but they just get worse. Of course, I'm sure you knew that there is a cocktail called the squashed frog. It's tasteful, as in bad taste, rather than tasty. Mix together 25ml of advocaat and 25ml midori and put into a shot glass then add a spot of grenadine. The grenadine should sink to the bottom to look like blood. Nice.
What I don't really understand is why when all the warning signs were there, they were so flagrantly ignored. Signs a bit like this one, only cheaper and probably not authorised by the powers that would be.
Our road does see some crazy driving. I've told you about the young lad who fell off his scooter a couple of weeks ago, and there was also the multiple car pile up in the snow two winters ago. One car comes over the brow of the hill, too fast, spins and hits the grass verge and stops in the middle of the road. Within five minutes another five cars have added to the mess because they all came over the hill too quickly.
A bit like the muppet from Environmental Water Systems in Cheddar, driving a white van no less, that totalled my wing mirror last Friday before driving away without stopping. Thank heavens for the chaos that is Banwell at rush hour as I was able to get his details and registration number as he sat in the traffic. Although he claims I was on his side of the road. I just hope the police, the insurance companies and anyone else involved understands cycling, as most people with an untethered £3K carbon fibre bike in their car, driving on their own road, tend to drive conservatively and safely. Oh, and when you are at fault in an accident, you don't tend to follow the other party to get their details, you tend to bolt and hope to get away with it.
I must let it go, it's not healthy.
You want to know about my ride to work? Really? All right then.
In via the usual suspects, Long Lane, Barrow Gurney and Ashton Park, where there was a balloon ascending, which brightened up the morning, although it was quite nice today in an early Autumn leaves off the trees, misty type of way. Apart from the trapped nerve in my lower back, that I got at football on Monday night, and pinches when I get out of the saddle. Also has the added detriment of making my left quad feel like it's pulled. So I was slow on the way in. And said goodbye a few more times today at work. Only two days left now.
I had to get my car this afternoon, which meant a trip to Weston Super Mare, a delightful 25 miles straight into a block headwind. So I tried to mix it up a bit, and found a new hill, Providence Lane out of Long Ashton, up to Failand. That sounds like one of those race horse pedigrees. Maybe.
Fortunately I didn't encounter any vans from Environmental Water Systems being driven too fast down my hill, on my side of the road, so I got my car home with its wing mirrors intact. You can see this "letting go" business is really working. The thing is, next time he might kill a cyclist or even worse, a frog. So I was probably right to report it to the police and insurers, even if it does cost me in financial terms in the medium term.
Lets face it, cyclists are a fragile breed, so we need to take action against idiot drivers, in a measured, adult way. And those frogs need all the help they can get too, don't they?
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/116066415
Sunday, 18 September 2011
May you build a ladder to the stars
This week is going to be a week of goodbyes.
I rode the Cheddar cyclosportive today for the third time today, making it my most ridden sportive (not that there is much competition, not that it is a competition, although I'm sure I could make it one). In 2009 I did the full 100 miles distance, this year, as last, I contented myself with the 100km ride. Although I'm not particularly content about it. Don't get me wrong, it's a great event, exceptionally well-organised, great route, a few short and sharp climbs, and some great company.
But the weather was atrocious, a strong north-westerly breeze which fractured the field and made groups hard to form, and lots of rain falling out of the sky, as well as up from the road. Copious puddles, lots of gravel, mud, stones etc. etc. Makes you stronger and all that.
I rode fairly conservatively, as I was planning on doing the full distance. I hooked up with a nice chap from Exeter as we worked together over the levels into the wind, and we were joined from time to time by others, either faster or slower. I even stopped at the feedstop in East Brent, in preparation for a longer ride, but five miles before the split point, the heavens open again, just as I was drying out from the last soaking, and so I decided to head back home.
I was about 30 minutes slower than last year, partly because I was on the front so much, and partly because until the last few miles I was riding as if I was going to do 100 miles. I had asked this chap if he wanted to work together, only to find myself waiting for him. It was also a bit grotty out there, and of course the feedstop must have added a few minutes. Still my official time was just inside four hours and my cycling speed was respectable so I'm not downhearted.
I have done a fair amount of miles this week, and of course the game of football last Monday that meant I couldn't walk properly until Thursday! Mrs Mendip Rouleur suggested my skin was looking a bit dry, and that to combat the ageing process I should give some fancy Vitamin E soap a go. Honestly, I'll be wearing a sarong next. But cycling keeps me forever young I retorted, as long as I don't overcook it.
There are a few bits and pieces to finish this year, the Etape Cymru and a couple of other targets. But I'm actually planning (gasp, yes it's true) to take things to another level, if resources and time allows. On a number of fronts, including work, where pastures new beckon at the beginning of October. So it will be goodbye, a bientot, au revoir, etc. this week, before a week of planning and scheming the week after.
I'm leaving some great people behind, I'll miss them, but I'll not be far away. And just as I will carry the last three years of cycling into the future (more on this in the next few months) I've learned so much from all the people I've worked with. In many ways.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/115264706
I rode the Cheddar cyclosportive today for the third time today, making it my most ridden sportive (not that there is much competition, not that it is a competition, although I'm sure I could make it one). In 2009 I did the full 100 miles distance, this year, as last, I contented myself with the 100km ride. Although I'm not particularly content about it. Don't get me wrong, it's a great event, exceptionally well-organised, great route, a few short and sharp climbs, and some great company.
But the weather was atrocious, a strong north-westerly breeze which fractured the field and made groups hard to form, and lots of rain falling out of the sky, as well as up from the road. Copious puddles, lots of gravel, mud, stones etc. etc. Makes you stronger and all that.
I rode fairly conservatively, as I was planning on doing the full distance. I hooked up with a nice chap from Exeter as we worked together over the levels into the wind, and we were joined from time to time by others, either faster or slower. I even stopped at the feedstop in East Brent, in preparation for a longer ride, but five miles before the split point, the heavens open again, just as I was drying out from the last soaking, and so I decided to head back home.
I was about 30 minutes slower than last year, partly because I was on the front so much, and partly because until the last few miles I was riding as if I was going to do 100 miles. I had asked this chap if he wanted to work together, only to find myself waiting for him. It was also a bit grotty out there, and of course the feedstop must have added a few minutes. Still my official time was just inside four hours and my cycling speed was respectable so I'm not downhearted.
I have done a fair amount of miles this week, and of course the game of football last Monday that meant I couldn't walk properly until Thursday! Mrs Mendip Rouleur suggested my skin was looking a bit dry, and that to combat the ageing process I should give some fancy Vitamin E soap a go. Honestly, I'll be wearing a sarong next. But cycling keeps me forever young I retorted, as long as I don't overcook it.
There are a few bits and pieces to finish this year, the Etape Cymru and a couple of other targets. But I'm actually planning (gasp, yes it's true) to take things to another level, if resources and time allows. On a number of fronts, including work, where pastures new beckon at the beginning of October. So it will be goodbye, a bientot, au revoir, etc. this week, before a week of planning and scheming the week after.
I'm leaving some great people behind, I'll miss them, but I'll not be far away. And just as I will carry the last three years of cycling into the future (more on this in the next few months) I've learned so much from all the people I've worked with. In many ways.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/115264706
Friday, 16 September 2011
I'm on the run, no time to sleep
I have speculated and commented in this blog, many times, on the lives that professional bike riders must lead. Today I got a chance to see the riders at very close quarters, when Boots, The Captain, King of the Hill (and sidekick), Wonder Boy and I went to watch Stage 6 of the Tour of Britain. Unlike in past years, where we have watched them from a fixed position, which involves a lot of standing about, seeing them whizz by and then going home, today we got to see them in three separate places. I won't bore you with the details of their route, look it up on the ToB website if you need to know. Suffice to say they went from Taunton to Wells via the levels and the Mendips.
Of course they did break one of my rules and go over the same ground twice, as they circumnavigated Shepton Mallet a couple of times. When I was a child we used to have a family joke about Shepton Mallet, I can't remember what it was all about, but the name still makes me smile instinctively, even though it's a very nice place.
I digress. First up was Cheddar gorge. We cycled up to a place at the top of the steepest bit of the gorge, along with lots and lots of other lycra-clad cyclists and a few others. Seriously it was packed, and there was a really good atmosphere as we waited for the peloton to arrive. One chap chalked out the words "THOR" on the road, only to spoil the effect, as egged on by the really mature crowd, he added a picture that any schoolboy would be proud of. Think back to schooldays and you'll get the idea. Thor later cycled right over it too.
After a bit longer than anticipated a small breakaway group arrived, followed by Ben Swift, followed by the main bunch, lots of team cars, and a broom waggon. Most of the spectators had arrived at the site on two wheels, and it now became a race against time to get to the top of Old Bristol Hill, outside Wells, in order to see the race again. The professionals had about 25km more to do than we did, but they are quick, and they had a head start.
It was mayhem. The rolling roadblock meant that a lot of cars were backed up at either end of the gorge, and lots more had been forced to the side of the road by the motorcycles of the National Escort Group. Throw in a few hundred cyclists, many not used to riding in groups by the look of it, and you have a recipe for all kinds of silliness. We lost the Captain, only to find him again in Wells, and the rest of us sat on wheels, behind cars, and just drifted along to the top of the next climb. There had been a plan to ride like the wind, but with so many riders going up the gorge, it was fairly easy to take a fast tow.
This time we were right at the roadside, you could almost feel the heat from the riders as they went past, including Cavendish, who passed just close enough for me to give him my own personal good luck message, and this time the riders were all pretty strung out. Although they were going a lot faster than me when I climb that hill, some of them looked equally as tired, proving how right rule 10 is.
This was also the time I got to see the man with the mankini, and I think I wished I hadn't, some things are better in real life. This isn't one of them. And because I know you want to see it really, here's one I snapped when I shouldn't have.
As soon as the riders were passed, there was just enough time to cycle down into Wells to see the (sprint) finish. Although it was pretty packed already, and quite hard to actually find a vantage point. Still, the Captain and I watched from 100 meters before the line, enough to see Lars Boom (for sure my friendsch already) grab another stage win. And probably the race. Much as I love cycling, and the Tour of Britain, it's too easy a parcours for the top riders, meaning that once someone gets in front, they generally tend to stay in front. The climbs are not long enough, and the points bonuses too small. They should have had a stage finish at the top of Draycott Steep, that would sort them out.
Separated from the others, the Captain and I wandered about for a bit, before going to check out the team buses in the car park. Everyone was leaving pretty promptly, they have a stage starting in Bury St Edmunds tomorrow, so a long drive ahead of them. But there was just time to see a few riders still hanging about, Mark Cavendish's lovely bike and and the two washing machines in the Sky bus. I kid you not.
Of course they did break one of my rules and go over the same ground twice, as they circumnavigated Shepton Mallet a couple of times. When I was a child we used to have a family joke about Shepton Mallet, I can't remember what it was all about, but the name still makes me smile instinctively, even though it's a very nice place.
I digress. First up was Cheddar gorge. We cycled up to a place at the top of the steepest bit of the gorge, along with lots and lots of other lycra-clad cyclists and a few others. Seriously it was packed, and there was a really good atmosphere as we waited for the peloton to arrive. One chap chalked out the words "THOR" on the road, only to spoil the effect, as egged on by the really mature crowd, he added a picture that any schoolboy would be proud of. Think back to schooldays and you'll get the idea. Thor later cycled right over it too.
If you look carefully you can see three of the four stage winners so far in the race in the picture above.
After a bit longer than anticipated a small breakaway group arrived, followed by Ben Swift, followed by the main bunch, lots of team cars, and a broom waggon. Most of the spectators had arrived at the site on two wheels, and it now became a race against time to get to the top of Old Bristol Hill, outside Wells, in order to see the race again. The professionals had about 25km more to do than we did, but they are quick, and they had a head start.
It was mayhem. The rolling roadblock meant that a lot of cars were backed up at either end of the gorge, and lots more had been forced to the side of the road by the motorcycles of the National Escort Group. Throw in a few hundred cyclists, many not used to riding in groups by the look of it, and you have a recipe for all kinds of silliness. We lost the Captain, only to find him again in Wells, and the rest of us sat on wheels, behind cars, and just drifted along to the top of the next climb. There had been a plan to ride like the wind, but with so many riders going up the gorge, it was fairly easy to take a fast tow.
This time we were right at the roadside, you could almost feel the heat from the riders as they went past, including Cavendish, who passed just close enough for me to give him my own personal good luck message, and this time the riders were all pretty strung out. Although they were going a lot faster than me when I climb that hill, some of them looked equally as tired, proving how right rule 10 is.
This was also the time I got to see the man with the mankini, and I think I wished I hadn't, some things are better in real life. This isn't one of them. And because I know you want to see it really, here's one I snapped when I shouldn't have.
After that there wasn't much left to do except cycle back to Axbridge with the Captain, who was really looking forward to his weekend with the grandchildren, and then I popped into Weston to pick up my car from the garage. As we left Wells we cycled past a few of the smaller teams' cars, riders were in them as opposed to the luxurious buses of the top talent. I don't know who it was, but one of the Endura boys looked a bit like me, i.e. cooked, after I complete 90 miles. Except he goes about twice as fast as me so probably deserved to be tired, and he'll do it all again tomorrow.
So back to the question, what must it be like to be a pro cyclist? Judged on the evidence of today, I'd say pretty good. Of course they are tough, fit, phlegmatic and strong. But once the riding is out of the way, everything gets done for you, even your washing on the bus. They get great bikes, great kit, and they have all their meals prepared for them. And they are outside in the fresh air with adrenaline and endorphins coursing through them, I just hope that's all there is.
But somehow I don't quite envy them. Cycling is special for me, fun, restricted to the times I can squeeze it in to a hectic life. So I enjoy it all the more because of that. Of course the lack of talent and fast approaching the half century probably means that Sky won't come looking for my signature. Which suits us all really, don't you think?
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/114813572
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
I see someone that I thought I used to know
"Just look at all of us", said the Measurer, about halfway through the match, "we're all so old!"
He was laughing as he said it, but he was right. It was the first time I had played football in over a year, and I thought the personnel for Monday night six a side might half changed. Not a bit of it, and it was great to hook up with some old faces, and as I struggled to adjust to the pace, and the fact that all the muscles I have from cycling are absolutely blooming useless in football, I reflected that I'd been a part of this fixture for just over ten years.
In that time people have come and gone, but there are some who were there before me, and there is a core of regulars who still turn out. The average age must be over 35 by now, and let's just say the pace, although still reasonable, isn't quite what it was. Especially in my case after about 35 minutes. More crocked than the end of the rainbow, it was painful and embarrassing. I was rubbish.
Another anniversary is looming. Next week it's the 40th anniversary of my first match at West Ham, watching not playing, obviously. We beat Stoke 2-1 in that game by the way, my Dad took me as a birthday treat. Don't feel you have to buy me anything, I'm nobody's child anymore, I can take it. Peace and quiet, that would be a great present at the moment, although as me and miniMR are off to a match, that's unlikely.
Friday this week will see our annual ACG outing to watch the Tour of Britain, although it threatens to be the last as Somerset County Council is strapped for cash and unless they find that rainbow, it looks like their sponsorship of a stage is going to finish. I think the riders must be experiencing culture shock, what with the state of the roads and the awful weather. Even Jens Voight fell off and abandoned, although he did have a very painful finger fracture.
When the Tour de France comes to town, the municipality considers it a great honour. Fresh tarmac is laid, the road widened, and just about everyone turns out to watch. In England the locals will complain about the road closure and sprinkle tacks all over the road, (well for the Etape Caledonia anyway) and I don't think Cheddar gorge has been resurfaced. Still, let's hope we can turn it into the Alpe d'Huez of Somerset on Friday, look out for me in my mankini!
It was very windy again today, on the way back from work anyway, and a beautiful morning on the way in. I'm riding on the cusp of darkness at both ends of the day now, lights on and the start and finish. At least there was sunshine, and mist, and sunset, even if I'm still looking for the rainbow, to go with my crocked calves from Monday night football.
http://connect.garmin.com/player/114373677
He was laughing as he said it, but he was right. It was the first time I had played football in over a year, and I thought the personnel for Monday night six a side might half changed. Not a bit of it, and it was great to hook up with some old faces, and as I struggled to adjust to the pace, and the fact that all the muscles I have from cycling are absolutely blooming useless in football, I reflected that I'd been a part of this fixture for just over ten years.
In that time people have come and gone, but there are some who were there before me, and there is a core of regulars who still turn out. The average age must be over 35 by now, and let's just say the pace, although still reasonable, isn't quite what it was. Especially in my case after about 35 minutes. More crocked than the end of the rainbow, it was painful and embarrassing. I was rubbish.
Another anniversary is looming. Next week it's the 40th anniversary of my first match at West Ham, watching not playing, obviously. We beat Stoke 2-1 in that game by the way, my Dad took me as a birthday treat. Don't feel you have to buy me anything, I'm nobody's child anymore, I can take it. Peace and quiet, that would be a great present at the moment, although as me and miniMR are off to a match, that's unlikely.
Friday this week will see our annual ACG outing to watch the Tour of Britain, although it threatens to be the last as Somerset County Council is strapped for cash and unless they find that rainbow, it looks like their sponsorship of a stage is going to finish. I think the riders must be experiencing culture shock, what with the state of the roads and the awful weather. Even Jens Voight fell off and abandoned, although he did have a very painful finger fracture.
When the Tour de France comes to town, the municipality considers it a great honour. Fresh tarmac is laid, the road widened, and just about everyone turns out to watch. In England the locals will complain about the road closure and sprinkle tacks all over the road, (well for the Etape Caledonia anyway) and I don't think Cheddar gorge has been resurfaced. Still, let's hope we can turn it into the Alpe d'Huez of Somerset on Friday, look out for me in my mankini!
It was very windy again today, on the way back from work anyway, and a beautiful morning on the way in. I'm riding on the cusp of darkness at both ends of the day now, lights on and the start and finish. At least there was sunshine, and mist, and sunset, even if I'm still looking for the rainbow, to go with my crocked calves from Monday night football.
http://connect.garmin.com/player/114373677
Sunday, 11 September 2011
Rollin' along sun-kissed and crazy
Sometimes it all just works out. Five minutes after I put the bike into the shed, walked into the house and finished my drink in my bidon. I looked outside to see a beautiful sight. Rain pouring out of the sky, and not one drop was falling on me or my bike.
And that was not all. The ride, an ACG one, the ACG one, was a conglomeration of groups, fast, slow, leisure, a veritable Barretts box of Axbridge cyclist. I warmed up with a trip over the top of Shipham hill, before dropping down to the Square and meeting lots of people, all headed for Sweet's cafe. All of us headed out to the open spaces of the levels.
The roadies started together, before a group of five of us took the long way around, into the breeze, over Brent Knoll and through Burtle before arriving. Once there, the leisure riders, and Wonderboy, and the other half of the road group all arrived, a grand total of about 17 of us. Takeover.
Much convivial conversation about the Tour of Britain, bikes, potholes, crashes, all sorts. After that it was back into the sunshine, all of us together at first, the roadies anyway, some sprinting practice and then some hill climbing practice, before coming together for the final sprint back to Cheddar and home.
Not once did it rain. It's the small things in life that make me happy. Great company, great riding, great weather.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/113576447
And that was not all. The ride, an ACG one, the ACG one, was a conglomeration of groups, fast, slow, leisure, a veritable Barretts box of Axbridge cyclist. I warmed up with a trip over the top of Shipham hill, before dropping down to the Square and meeting lots of people, all headed for Sweet's cafe. All of us headed out to the open spaces of the levels.
The roadies started together, before a group of five of us took the long way around, into the breeze, over Brent Knoll and through Burtle before arriving. Once there, the leisure riders, and Wonderboy, and the other half of the road group all arrived, a grand total of about 17 of us. Takeover.
Much convivial conversation about the Tour of Britain, bikes, potholes, crashes, all sorts. After that it was back into the sunshine, all of us together at first, the roadies anyway, some sprinting practice and then some hill climbing practice, before coming together for the final sprint back to Cheddar and home.
Not once did it rain. It's the small things in life that make me happy. Great company, great riding, great weather.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/113576447
Friday, 9 September 2011
Yesterday I got so old I felt that I could die
Habits. Not the nun variety. Nor perhaps a slightly twisted Elmer Fudd. I am thinking of those habitual behaviours that started off as a really good, or practical, or fun idea, and then turned into something you just do. The Princess told me it was all about the secondary gain.
And this blog post is one of them. I rode to work, therefore I must blog. I'm out all day tomorrow, or today actually, even though I haven't slept, well I have, but on the sofa so that doesn't count. It's 1.22AM. Old habits do indeed, die hard.
It was a good film though I can't remember what it was called. Based on a true story that I do remember people talking about at the time, in the pub at football. Rettendon, 1995, December I think. Not really a fan of the gangster genre, a bit too much swearing for my taste, and I'm not offended by the profane. Just the sacred.
Nowadays there is so much choice on television at this hour, it's neither morning or evening, it's more in between days. When my son was born, that's only 10 years ago, I remember being bored witless as I fed him in front of a surreal Japanese film, or documentary about gravel extraction. Those were the choices on the two channels most nights. Well, it felt like that to me.
Yesterday morning seems like an age ago, but it was warm, muggy and very wet at 6.30AM when I left for work. The usual way, pretty much, another habit, I don't like main roads and I'm increasing bored by trundling along on the flat, especially on my own. I was in my own inner world of peace and solitude going up the Port du Bales, and even Long Lane is a pale imitation. Despite the conditions I was wearing arm and leg warmers, I can't bear the thought of hypothermia, but as usual I was overreacting.
Maybe the added protection was the reason for my relative rapidity, maybe it was the thought of being late for an 8.30AM meeting. Another piece of habitual behaviour, despite my preference for a flexible and adaptable approach to life, I am pathologically averse to being late. Then there are all the rituals about coffee which we have nowadays. The paper cup, the cardboard cup-holder, the froth. Is there a message in that somewhere?
By the time I left to come home, I fancied something new, so I did the hill in Ashton Park, the one that goes right through the middle, doubles back as it rises, and comes out above the suspension bridge road. Well, you have to break the habits of a lifetime sometime.
Here's the route, nearly 50 miles today. I seem to have broken that habit successfully, the one where I have to get it to a round number of miles. What else can I change?
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/385865
And this blog post is one of them. I rode to work, therefore I must blog. I'm out all day tomorrow, or today actually, even though I haven't slept, well I have, but on the sofa so that doesn't count. It's 1.22AM. Old habits do indeed, die hard.
It was a good film though I can't remember what it was called. Based on a true story that I do remember people talking about at the time, in the pub at football. Rettendon, 1995, December I think. Not really a fan of the gangster genre, a bit too much swearing for my taste, and I'm not offended by the profane. Just the sacred.
Nowadays there is so much choice on television at this hour, it's neither morning or evening, it's more in between days. When my son was born, that's only 10 years ago, I remember being bored witless as I fed him in front of a surreal Japanese film, or documentary about gravel extraction. Those were the choices on the two channels most nights. Well, it felt like that to me.
Yesterday morning seems like an age ago, but it was warm, muggy and very wet at 6.30AM when I left for work. The usual way, pretty much, another habit, I don't like main roads and I'm increasing bored by trundling along on the flat, especially on my own. I was in my own inner world of peace and solitude going up the Port du Bales, and even Long Lane is a pale imitation. Despite the conditions I was wearing arm and leg warmers, I can't bear the thought of hypothermia, but as usual I was overreacting.
Maybe the added protection was the reason for my relative rapidity, maybe it was the thought of being late for an 8.30AM meeting. Another piece of habitual behaviour, despite my preference for a flexible and adaptable approach to life, I am pathologically averse to being late. Then there are all the rituals about coffee which we have nowadays. The paper cup, the cardboard cup-holder, the froth. Is there a message in that somewhere?
By the time I left to come home, I fancied something new, so I did the hill in Ashton Park, the one that goes right through the middle, doubles back as it rises, and comes out above the suspension bridge road. Well, you have to break the habits of a lifetime sometime.
Here's the route, nearly 50 miles today. I seem to have broken that habit successfully, the one where I have to get it to a round number of miles. What else can I change?
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/385865
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Whatever happened to Leon Trotsky?
I can't really complain about today's weather. After buzzing around from "white cloud" to "sunny intervals" to "sunshine and showers", the weather forecast for this afternoon and evening settled on "heavy rain" at about 2.30PM. And very strong headwinds.
So I knew what I was in for, and I have been remarkably fortunate with weather in the last few weeks, Col de Mente being the exception. I was even vaguely sartorially prepared, with my ACG jacket, which has a windproof front, and a modicum of water repellency. I did my best to go up as many hills in a direct a route as possible, to use Bunny's example and get my core temperature up. And I aimed for lanes with a high tree line for a bit of shelter, but this just meant I was cycling in cow poo as well as rain and a roaring gale.
Partly because of the fundamental principle of Rule 5, or V, as it is now being called by the Velominati, and partly because I was wondering how the cyclists of yesterday would cope with all the modern gadgetry we have nowadays. Very well, I'd say, because they seemed a tougher breed in those days. I'm reading a book about Hinault (who seemed a tough nut) and Greg LeMond (perhaps less so, bit more fancy dan).
So I knew what I was in for, and I have been remarkably fortunate with weather in the last few weeks, Col de Mente being the exception. I was even vaguely sartorially prepared, with my ACG jacket, which has a windproof front, and a modicum of water repellency. I did my best to go up as many hills in a direct a route as possible, to use Bunny's example and get my core temperature up. And I aimed for lanes with a high tree line for a bit of shelter, but this just meant I was cycling in cow poo as well as rain and a roaring gale.
Partly because of the fundamental principle of Rule 5, or V, as it is now being called by the Velominati, and partly because I was wondering how the cyclists of yesterday would cope with all the modern gadgetry we have nowadays. Very well, I'd say, because they seemed a tougher breed in those days. I'm reading a book about Hinault (who seemed a tough nut) and Greg LeMond (perhaps less so, bit more fancy dan).
Then there is this man, Fiorenzo Magni. Fell on the Giro in 1956 and broke his clavicle, but carried on. In the picture he is using his teeth to get leverage through the inner tube whilst cycling a mountainous stage. He could only use one hand to brake on the descent, fell again and broke his shoulder, but still carried on to finish second overall.
There are definitely no more heroes like him anymore, with the possible exception of Jens Voight.
So no complaining from me, I'm looking forward to a more sedate weekend, where I'll get my first trip to watch the prima donnas of the footballing world this season, and then the annual ACG extravaganza at Sweets. Bring your spare inner tubes, just in case.
Sunday, 4 September 2011
Yesterday's through. Now do anything you please
Sometimes the weather forecast is spot on. Even more rarely I follow the forecast and plan my ride around the pleasant weather window, and then sit back in the comfort of my own house and watch the rain. Wonderfully, today is one of those days, and as i type this, in the early Autumn gloom of an evening, I can bask in the sunny knowledge of a great three hours in the late Summer sunshine.
Mind you, I'll need to fit the light brackets to the handlebars soon, and the arm warmers will give way to long sleeves and winter jackets in the morning commuting runs, for the nights are expanding and soon the dark will outnumber the light. Not today though, I went out this afternoon, after last night's rain, and this morning's murk, into a sunny, white cloud, albeit a bit breezy afternoon.
I had an errand to pick up some rail tickets down in Weston, so I headed off on a fairly direct route, and decided to ride up Canada Coombe on the way. There was a lot of grit and mud on the road, which made me glad I wasn't riding down it from the Weston direction. On Friday night we had some fun and games outside our house, which is on a hilly road, when a young lad skidded on some gravel and fell off his motor scooter. He was quite shocked, and his knees and ankles were very swollen, so we took him into our kitchen and applied ice-packs until his Dad arrived to take him home. Or to casualty hopefully.
So kids, never underestimate the dangers lurking beneath the surface of a patch of innocuous gravel!
Once the tickets were safely stowed I meandered over to the sea front to sit on the new stone benches and eat my banana in the fresh westerly breeze. And no, that is not a euphemism, I eschewed cake in favour of a piece of fruit.
Mindful of the Cheddar sportive in a fortnight's time, I looped around to the climb up and out of Draycott, via Brent Knoll and Mark. It was a bit of a mindless drag on the levels to be frank, very dull after the Pyrenees and made harder by the absence of company, and the presence of Sunday drivers. The climb from Draycott to the top of the Mendips is 2.5 miles long and is the weirdest one on that stretch of hill. Although the average is only 6%, it has lots of little flatter bits, and even a couple of downhill stretches, meaning the rest is quite steep, with lots above 10% and a couple of stretches over 15%. I couldn't get into a rhythm today, and still felt a bit physically tired.
But I really enjoyed the trip, I seemed to have turned a corner after Friday when I felt quite jaded. Mind you I may have to curb my enthusiasm coming down hills, which is somewhat ironic given my natural hesitancy. A Belgian (in a car) was driving very slowly down the upper reaches of Cheddar gorge, requiring the car behind him to constantly brake, and me to do likewise. Not great at 30 mph, so i overtook them both, much to the English car's chagrin, and i thought for one second I may have a road rage incident on my hands.
All was well, however as they both stopped to admire the goats, leaving me free to take a good line at a reasonable speed into the tourist honeypot at the bottom, where I was held up by more grockles, on foot and in cars. It was good practice for the sportive though, and for my Tour of Britain outing on 16th September. It will be a veritable Cheddar Festival of cycling!
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/380608
Mind you, I'll need to fit the light brackets to the handlebars soon, and the arm warmers will give way to long sleeves and winter jackets in the morning commuting runs, for the nights are expanding and soon the dark will outnumber the light. Not today though, I went out this afternoon, after last night's rain, and this morning's murk, into a sunny, white cloud, albeit a bit breezy afternoon.
I had an errand to pick up some rail tickets down in Weston, so I headed off on a fairly direct route, and decided to ride up Canada Coombe on the way. There was a lot of grit and mud on the road, which made me glad I wasn't riding down it from the Weston direction. On Friday night we had some fun and games outside our house, which is on a hilly road, when a young lad skidded on some gravel and fell off his motor scooter. He was quite shocked, and his knees and ankles were very swollen, so we took him into our kitchen and applied ice-packs until his Dad arrived to take him home. Or to casualty hopefully.
So kids, never underestimate the dangers lurking beneath the surface of a patch of innocuous gravel!
Once the tickets were safely stowed I meandered over to the sea front to sit on the new stone benches and eat my banana in the fresh westerly breeze. And no, that is not a euphemism, I eschewed cake in favour of a piece of fruit.
Mindful of the Cheddar sportive in a fortnight's time, I looped around to the climb up and out of Draycott, via Brent Knoll and Mark. It was a bit of a mindless drag on the levels to be frank, very dull after the Pyrenees and made harder by the absence of company, and the presence of Sunday drivers. The climb from Draycott to the top of the Mendips is 2.5 miles long and is the weirdest one on that stretch of hill. Although the average is only 6%, it has lots of little flatter bits, and even a couple of downhill stretches, meaning the rest is quite steep, with lots above 10% and a couple of stretches over 15%. I couldn't get into a rhythm today, and still felt a bit physically tired.
But I really enjoyed the trip, I seemed to have turned a corner after Friday when I felt quite jaded. Mind you I may have to curb my enthusiasm coming down hills, which is somewhat ironic given my natural hesitancy. A Belgian (in a car) was driving very slowly down the upper reaches of Cheddar gorge, requiring the car behind him to constantly brake, and me to do likewise. Not great at 30 mph, so i overtook them both, much to the English car's chagrin, and i thought for one second I may have a road rage incident on my hands.
All was well, however as they both stopped to admire the goats, leaving me free to take a good line at a reasonable speed into the tourist honeypot at the bottom, where I was held up by more grockles, on foot and in cars. It was good practice for the sportive though, and for my Tour of Britain outing on 16th September. It will be a veritable Cheddar Festival of cycling!
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/380608
Friday, 2 September 2011
A liar won't believe in anyone else
I was cycling home tonight, on back roads midway between Backwell and Claverham, swigging from my bidon on the fly, when I noticed it again. I'd seen it a couple of weeks ago when I'd passed in the other direction with Skip, we'd chuckled then, had a wry joke and moved on up Brockley Coombe.
This time I paused. Drank some more and thought about the sign, pointing back the way I had come this time. Do you know what that sign says? Not Cleeve, or Yatton, or any tangible destination. No. This sign says, "Motivation" and points in a very specific direction.
It probably does mean something very prosaic, but why let the truth stop my flight of fancy. And what is truth anyway? Over-rated and all relative, that's what. But motivation is not a destination, and at the risk of descending into Brentisms, I think I am fairly certain, it's a state of mind, not something that you can get from anyone else. Perhaps it's a sign to the motivation shop, or just one person's idea of a joke.
Maybe I should put up a direction arrow outside my house, with the word "happiness" with the sign pointing at the shed. Or go down to Draycott, and put up a sign that says "Challenge" and point it up towards the gliding club.
Needless to say I'm in post Pyrenees reflection, thinking about what is next and how I'm going to do it. I have some ideas, some wheels, and google street-view, but not much else. A couple of sportive to do in the next six weeks, one on closed roads, then there is the OCD job to do more miles than last year. Surely it can't snow like it did in December 2010, can it? I'm 254 miles up at the moment, but I did 861 miles in September 2010, two big trips away accounting for most of that, so it is a tall order.
I rode in to work yesterday and today, and was surprisingly speedy and able to cope with a few chunky hills, except that compared to France they are mere pinpricks of gradient and length. I wonder how Bunny is coping on his London to Paris trip. He's guiding a group of three others, and I suspect he may have to call on his vast reservoir of tolerance and patience.
I did notice, on returning to the roads of my native country, three things. First the surfaces are a veritable disgrace. Potholes, cracks, grit, and gravel, not to mention cow s*%t, muck, all sorts. Top-dressing, what is that all about? Two surfaces, Burrington Coombe, and the road into Backwell, which had perfect smooth surfaces on them, have now been transformed into slippery and dangerous gravel storage areas, thanks to this appalling method of re-surfacing. Meanwhile there are dozens of other roads where you could go caving because the potholes are so big.
Second, the cars. More of them, going faster, closer to you, trying to squeeze past rather than wait 30 seconds till a better spot emerges.
The third thing is a tad more upbeat. It is, despite the foregoing two points, much nicer to go to work on my bike than in my car. For once I can find the quiet, honest, car-free(ish) roads, I can start to think, to breathe and be human. And I think that is what the French intuitively know, and most people in this country have forgotten. In all our hurry, our rush, our busyness, our search for things which don't really matter, we have forgotten that we are all humans, just trying to find truth, happiness, challenge, and yes, in my case, motivation.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/111311297
This time I paused. Drank some more and thought about the sign, pointing back the way I had come this time. Do you know what that sign says? Not Cleeve, or Yatton, or any tangible destination. No. This sign says, "Motivation" and points in a very specific direction.
It probably does mean something very prosaic, but why let the truth stop my flight of fancy. And what is truth anyway? Over-rated and all relative, that's what. But motivation is not a destination, and at the risk of descending into Brentisms, I think I am fairly certain, it's a state of mind, not something that you can get from anyone else. Perhaps it's a sign to the motivation shop, or just one person's idea of a joke.
Maybe I should put up a direction arrow outside my house, with the word "happiness" with the sign pointing at the shed. Or go down to Draycott, and put up a sign that says "Challenge" and point it up towards the gliding club.
Needless to say I'm in post Pyrenees reflection, thinking about what is next and how I'm going to do it. I have some ideas, some wheels, and google street-view, but not much else. A couple of sportive to do in the next six weeks, one on closed roads, then there is the OCD job to do more miles than last year. Surely it can't snow like it did in December 2010, can it? I'm 254 miles up at the moment, but I did 861 miles in September 2010, two big trips away accounting for most of that, so it is a tall order.
I rode in to work yesterday and today, and was surprisingly speedy and able to cope with a few chunky hills, except that compared to France they are mere pinpricks of gradient and length. I wonder how Bunny is coping on his London to Paris trip. He's guiding a group of three others, and I suspect he may have to call on his vast reservoir of tolerance and patience.
I did notice, on returning to the roads of my native country, three things. First the surfaces are a veritable disgrace. Potholes, cracks, grit, and gravel, not to mention cow s*%t, muck, all sorts. Top-dressing, what is that all about? Two surfaces, Burrington Coombe, and the road into Backwell, which had perfect smooth surfaces on them, have now been transformed into slippery and dangerous gravel storage areas, thanks to this appalling method of re-surfacing. Meanwhile there are dozens of other roads where you could go caving because the potholes are so big.
Second, the cars. More of them, going faster, closer to you, trying to squeeze past rather than wait 30 seconds till a better spot emerges.
The third thing is a tad more upbeat. It is, despite the foregoing two points, much nicer to go to work on my bike than in my car. For once I can find the quiet, honest, car-free(ish) roads, I can start to think, to breathe and be human. And I think that is what the French intuitively know, and most people in this country have forgotten. In all our hurry, our rush, our busyness, our search for things which don't really matter, we have forgotten that we are all humans, just trying to find truth, happiness, challenge, and yes, in my case, motivation.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/111311297
Tuesday, 30 August 2011
It tears at your soul and leaves a stain upon your heart
Bikes can get surprisingly dirty. It's only when you take some of their components apart, like pedals, wheels, saddle, bars, bags, that type of thing, you realise how much grime gets into the nooks and crannies of your frame.
That's what I discovered tonight anyway. I had to dismantle the bike, to get it into the box to get it on the plane back from Toulouse, the airport, 120km from Bertren in Haute-Garonne, the foothills of the Pyrenees. Where Bunny and I went cycling last weekend.
Halfway through Day One, as we cowered in the shelter of a dodgy bus shelter on a fairly main road, already soaked to the skin, and hoping that the rain would just stop for five minutes till we turned onto a back road, that's where we accumulated most of the grime. It would be easy to get disillusioned at that point. We'd been going for some hours and covered a fair amount of ground, two mountain passes, Col de Mente and Portet d'Aspet. And we'd met some local tramps with their hungry dogs, and passed the site of Luis Ocana's "Tragedie dans le Tour de France" in 1971.
Nice and paved now with the grit and gravel not much in evidence. In fact, despite all the rain, the roads were a joy to be on, not potholes, barely any stones, and even a cheery "courage" from the road makers on the Mente. You wouldn't get that on Winscombe Hill, never mind a 6km climb at 8%.
Just after we stopped riding for the day, with all our clothes stinking and drying in the yard of our lodgings, the sun came out. We are truly badass, for riding close to 8 hours in the wet, over some gorgeous scenery, and pretty villages. Charlie was not reliable so I have had to put the routes together retrospectively, but they are accurate:
http://ridewithgps.com/routes/674931
So five cols (even the minor ones are harder than most things in the UK, so I'm counting them), the two big ones mentioned above and Larrieu, Buret and des Ares, together with about 86 miles, made for a solid first day.
Saturday was brutal and beautiful all at the same time. One of the most delightful mountains it has been my pleasure to ride up, Port de Bales, followed by pizza in Luchon, and then Superbagneres, no "i". Did you ever watch Goldfinger? Then you will remember the scene where he's driving his DB5 over the switchbacks on the mountain road. That is like Superb, a brute of a climb, with virtually no hiding place. Col de Bales on the other hand was idyllic, peaceful, wonderful views and also long and tough, and only the best is good enough.
As you can see I was wearing my fab new HTC outfit, and Bunny was pretending to be some french bloke. In relative terms I was Cavendish to his Voeckler I think, only Cav is considerably faster than us both up mountains.
It's a different type of cycling, this mountain business. I think it helps if the scenery is gorgeous, and the road is tranquil, but I have to find a rhythm I can sustain for 90-120 minutes, keep breathing and just enjoy it for what it is. I even started to let go a bit on the descents, although Bunny was considerably less cautious than me.
Once back down from Super B, we abandoned any further thought of more mountains, and high-tailed the 18 miles back down the valley road to Bertren. Only something had happened to Bunny, he kept falling off the back and was feeling very cold and fragile. Not enough food! So just for once I did him a favour and he sat behind me for most of the way back down the road. Another 70 miles in the bag, and some respectable climbing given we had two HC climbs that day.
http://ridewithgps.com/routes/674945
Next morning Bunny was as bright as a button, whilst I was feeling a bit crevee, so he towed me for much of the day. We started with a flattish 40km to Arreau, then climbed another beautiful col, the Hourquette d'Ancizan, before descending to the base of the Aspin. From Payolle, it's only 5km (at around 7%) to the top. Down the Aspin to Arreau, late lunch and back the way we came.
It was also very hot and sunny, and we were rewarded with some stunning views from the top of both passes, all the way to the Tourmalet in one direction, and all the way to the Peyresourde in the other. Neither of which were we tempted to climb.
Charlie was working and recorded it in two stages:
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/373951
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/373950
I think we ended up doing 80 miles on Day 3, so around about 238 for the weekend. The maps say 29k of climbing all told, but I'm suspicious, it was probably less. But even though we had planned to do more climbing, I think we acquitted ourselves well enough, and stayed on the right side of the enjoyment/brutal side of things.
Read Bunny's account here:
http://monmarduman.blogspot.com/
The Hourquette was a real treat too, very quiet, twisty, with some shade and also great views of the valleys below, and cliff-side roads that made for a wonderful climb. But the Bales was my favourite climb of the trip. It had that quiet air of serenity, whilst still being long enough and tough enough to make it a challenge. SuperB was not my cup of tea, just a bit too manufactured, and being an "up and back" to a ski station, it's impossible to make a loop out of it. I'm never going to like that.
The Aspin descent back to Luchon was a highlight too. Last time we did it, it was pouring with rain, and in 12 kms we were bone-chillingly cold, despite full winter gear. This time the warm and dry made for a thrilling ride down, and I did my best to restrict my braking. It was fun.
Our hosts for the trip were PyrActif, and were totally superb. Great food, lovely accommodation, and above all, knowledgeable and friendly, without being all over us. Check out their site if you are considering a cycling holiday in the Pyrenees, they were pretty close to perfect for what we wanted.
http://www.pyractif.com/
So now I'm back, and life is, well life. The mountains are a different world really. I know I'll never be a great climber or descender, but I love cycling up them mainly for the challenge, the beauty, the tranquility, and the solitude that comes from a single point of focus; just keep turning the pedals. And like Miley says, "it's not about how fast I get there....."
Because I always do. In the end.
That's what I discovered tonight anyway. I had to dismantle the bike, to get it into the box to get it on the plane back from Toulouse, the airport, 120km from Bertren in Haute-Garonne, the foothills of the Pyrenees. Where Bunny and I went cycling last weekend.
Halfway through Day One, as we cowered in the shelter of a dodgy bus shelter on a fairly main road, already soaked to the skin, and hoping that the rain would just stop for five minutes till we turned onto a back road, that's where we accumulated most of the grime. It would be easy to get disillusioned at that point. We'd been going for some hours and covered a fair amount of ground, two mountain passes, Col de Mente and Portet d'Aspet. And we'd met some local tramps with their hungry dogs, and passed the site of Luis Ocana's "Tragedie dans le Tour de France" in 1971.
Just after we stopped riding for the day, with all our clothes stinking and drying in the yard of our lodgings, the sun came out. We are truly badass, for riding close to 8 hours in the wet, over some gorgeous scenery, and pretty villages. Charlie was not reliable so I have had to put the routes together retrospectively, but they are accurate:
http://ridewithgps.com/routes/674931
So five cols (even the minor ones are harder than most things in the UK, so I'm counting them), the two big ones mentioned above and Larrieu, Buret and des Ares, together with about 86 miles, made for a solid first day.
Saturday was brutal and beautiful all at the same time. One of the most delightful mountains it has been my pleasure to ride up, Port de Bales, followed by pizza in Luchon, and then Superbagneres, no "i". Did you ever watch Goldfinger? Then you will remember the scene where he's driving his DB5 over the switchbacks on the mountain road. That is like Superb, a brute of a climb, with virtually no hiding place. Col de Bales on the other hand was idyllic, peaceful, wonderful views and also long and tough, and only the best is good enough.
It's a different type of cycling, this mountain business. I think it helps if the scenery is gorgeous, and the road is tranquil, but I have to find a rhythm I can sustain for 90-120 minutes, keep breathing and just enjoy it for what it is. I even started to let go a bit on the descents, although Bunny was considerably less cautious than me.
Once back down from Super B, we abandoned any further thought of more mountains, and high-tailed the 18 miles back down the valley road to Bertren. Only something had happened to Bunny, he kept falling off the back and was feeling very cold and fragile. Not enough food! So just for once I did him a favour and he sat behind me for most of the way back down the road. Another 70 miles in the bag, and some respectable climbing given we had two HC climbs that day.
http://ridewithgps.com/routes/674945
Next morning Bunny was as bright as a button, whilst I was feeling a bit crevee, so he towed me for much of the day. We started with a flattish 40km to Arreau, then climbed another beautiful col, the Hourquette d'Ancizan, before descending to the base of the Aspin. From Payolle, it's only 5km (at around 7%) to the top. Down the Aspin to Arreau, late lunch and back the way we came.
It was also very hot and sunny, and we were rewarded with some stunning views from the top of both passes, all the way to the Tourmalet in one direction, and all the way to the Peyresourde in the other. Neither of which were we tempted to climb.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/373951
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/373950
I think we ended up doing 80 miles on Day 3, so around about 238 for the weekend. The maps say 29k of climbing all told, but I'm suspicious, it was probably less. But even though we had planned to do more climbing, I think we acquitted ourselves well enough, and stayed on the right side of the enjoyment/brutal side of things.
Read Bunny's account here:
http://monmarduman.blogspot.com/
The Hourquette was a real treat too, very quiet, twisty, with some shade and also great views of the valleys below, and cliff-side roads that made for a wonderful climb. But the Bales was my favourite climb of the trip. It had that quiet air of serenity, whilst still being long enough and tough enough to make it a challenge. SuperB was not my cup of tea, just a bit too manufactured, and being an "up and back" to a ski station, it's impossible to make a loop out of it. I'm never going to like that.
The Aspin descent back to Luchon was a highlight too. Last time we did it, it was pouring with rain, and in 12 kms we were bone-chillingly cold, despite full winter gear. This time the warm and dry made for a thrilling ride down, and I did my best to restrict my braking. It was fun.
Our hosts for the trip were PyrActif, and were totally superb. Great food, lovely accommodation, and above all, knowledgeable and friendly, without being all over us. Check out their site if you are considering a cycling holiday in the Pyrenees, they were pretty close to perfect for what we wanted.
http://www.pyractif.com/
So now I'm back, and life is, well life. The mountains are a different world really. I know I'll never be a great climber or descender, but I love cycling up them mainly for the challenge, the beauty, the tranquility, and the solitude that comes from a single point of focus; just keep turning the pedals. And like Miley says, "it's not about how fast I get there....."
Because I always do. In the end.
Sunday, 21 August 2011
I'm here but I'm really gone
Compared to the mighty Tourmalet, every ride in Britain is minuscule. So you have to dig deep, and focus on the ascent. I'm barely ready for Thursday, no edit that, I've not even started to be ready. Although I did test out my new saddle and bar bags today. Not quite Audax proportions but heading in that direction. However, sometimes you have to compromise on beauty and authenticity, just to have a small modicum of practicality.
http://www.thecyclingmayor.com/?m=201108
Skip has done a great blog as usual, but I wanted to compare cycling to the best philosophy on the planet. Bar none.
The truth of suffering
Riding, true riding, like life is suffering. If it isn't you are just not trying hard enough. Do you want to play small and cycle on old railway lines all your life, and say it's the right thing for you? Dress it up how you like.
The truth of the cause of suffering
Obviously not training hard enough, or worse, not having a road bike and lycra. We passed lots of people on bikes today, and some of them were actually smiling!!!!! But they were not cyclists, they were "leisure riders". Cycle fascism? Maybe. But you know I'm right. At least MTB are really pushing themselves, but the rest of you? Electric motors on a bike? Who are you trying to kid?
The cause of all proper suffering is attachment to the idea that cycling is easy. It isn't, nor should it be. Faster remember?
The truth of the cessation of suffering
When you let go of the idea that you are invulnerable, and that you must continue to be vulnerable to be human, despite those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers, (sorry wrong genre), when you know that hill will hurt, when you know you will crash one day, when you know and look forward to the idea that you will be cold, hot, wet, dirty, and long for more of it, then suffering is at an end.
Freedom from suffering
Is only possible by following the eightfold noble path:
Ultegra
SL cleats
Bib shorts
Jawbones
Compacts
Carbon
23
Friends
Yes friends are everything in this as in all things. Know who they are, give all that you can to them (including your special pound coin so that they can have a cup of coffee because the cafe doesn't take cards. Share the hurt, the detachment and the truth of it all, and go back for more. Never, ever trust someone who doesn't know the contemporary music from their generation, it shows they have no soul. Likewise if someone keeps their food for themselves, when the others are struggling to get up a hill, what does it say about them? When I put my hand in my pocket, take out a gel or a bar, I hope I'll offer it to someone else first, before troughing it myself.
I woke early this morning, my mind full of my life's crap. But safe in the knowledge of my family, and the truth of today's ride, next weekend's rides, the sportives where people have offered me their wheel, wanting nothing in return, knowing I would do the same for them. See vulnerability, and you have a choice, be the Cannibal (who let's face it, didn't really end up all that well did he?) or be a friend.
So know who your friends are, who will drop you when the gradient goes above 8%, and who will give you a tow. And yes in case you are wondering, I think Skip did most of the work today. She says she was tired, but it didn't show, she was like a coiled spring right from the off.
Charlie malfunctioned unfortunately (don't worry Endurotorq, he'll be fine by Friday), so here is today's route:
http://ridewithgps.com/users/30887
And apropos of nothing, don't trust anyone who says that the riots are anything other than a very complex phenomenon, with deep and multiple cultural and societal causes. Anyone that says different is either a politician, stupid or a Daily Mail reader. Although I accept that these groups are highly similar.
http://www.thecyclingmayor.com/?m=201108
Skip has done a great blog as usual, but I wanted to compare cycling to the best philosophy on the planet. Bar none.
The truth of suffering
Riding, true riding, like life is suffering. If it isn't you are just not trying hard enough. Do you want to play small and cycle on old railway lines all your life, and say it's the right thing for you? Dress it up how you like.
The truth of the cause of suffering
Obviously not training hard enough, or worse, not having a road bike and lycra. We passed lots of people on bikes today, and some of them were actually smiling!!!!! But they were not cyclists, they were "leisure riders". Cycle fascism? Maybe. But you know I'm right. At least MTB are really pushing themselves, but the rest of you? Electric motors on a bike? Who are you trying to kid?
The cause of all proper suffering is attachment to the idea that cycling is easy. It isn't, nor should it be. Faster remember?
The truth of the cessation of suffering
When you let go of the idea that you are invulnerable, and that you must continue to be vulnerable to be human, despite those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers, (sorry wrong genre), when you know that hill will hurt, when you know you will crash one day, when you know and look forward to the idea that you will be cold, hot, wet, dirty, and long for more of it, then suffering is at an end.
Freedom from suffering
Is only possible by following the eightfold noble path:
Ultegra
SL cleats
Bib shorts
Jawbones
Compacts
Carbon
23
Friends
Yes friends are everything in this as in all things. Know who they are, give all that you can to them (including your special pound coin so that they can have a cup of coffee because the cafe doesn't take cards. Share the hurt, the detachment and the truth of it all, and go back for more. Never, ever trust someone who doesn't know the contemporary music from their generation, it shows they have no soul. Likewise if someone keeps their food for themselves, when the others are struggling to get up a hill, what does it say about them? When I put my hand in my pocket, take out a gel or a bar, I hope I'll offer it to someone else first, before troughing it myself.
I woke early this morning, my mind full of my life's crap. But safe in the knowledge of my family, and the truth of today's ride, next weekend's rides, the sportives where people have offered me their wheel, wanting nothing in return, knowing I would do the same for them. See vulnerability, and you have a choice, be the Cannibal (who let's face it, didn't really end up all that well did he?) or be a friend.
So know who your friends are, who will drop you when the gradient goes above 8%, and who will give you a tow. And yes in case you are wondering, I think Skip did most of the work today. She says she was tired, but it didn't show, she was like a coiled spring right from the off.
Charlie malfunctioned unfortunately (don't worry Endurotorq, he'll be fine by Friday), so here is today's route:
http://ridewithgps.com/users/30887
And apropos of nothing, don't trust anyone who says that the riots are anything other than a very complex phenomenon, with deep and multiple cultural and societal causes. Anyone that says different is either a politician, stupid or a Daily Mail reader. Although I accept that these groups are highly similar.
Friday, 19 August 2011
Light my way
This is just a short post, for my commute to work and back today. In the two years I've been riding into Bristol I have never had a more beautiful bike ride into town as I had this morning. With the nights finishing later I leave on the cusp of morning. Today dawn was slow and gradual and a gorgeous ultraviolet colour pervaded the sky, slowly driven out by reds, oranges and eventually blue.
As I rode up each ridge I looked down into the valley below, to see wisps of mist, like cotton wool, drifting on the slight breeze. Few cars were about, and I just had to do Belmont Hill too, it was that sort of a morning.
I reversed the route on the way home, added Brockley Coombe and tried to avoid the madmen on the A38. The traffic was rammed for some reason, a complete contrast to the morning. A few more hills on Sunday, gentle ride on Tuesday and then it's allons-y, mes braves, France here we come!
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/107778715
As I rode up each ridge I looked down into the valley below, to see wisps of mist, like cotton wool, drifting on the slight breeze. Few cars were about, and I just had to do Belmont Hill too, it was that sort of a morning.
I reversed the route on the way home, added Brockley Coombe and tried to avoid the madmen on the A38. The traffic was rammed for some reason, a complete contrast to the morning. A few more hills on Sunday, gentle ride on Tuesday and then it's allons-y, mes braves, France here we come!
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/107778715
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
My heart is where it's always been
Mid-week exercise usually consists of just over an hour of tediously sitting on an exercise bike, staring at my garden. Which is just starting to look like a garden again after a prolonged period of resembling part of the rain forest. Not my doing, well not directly anyway. In terms of jungle, it's even better than the real thing because there are no venomous snakes or poisonous spiders. As far as i know.
I digress. Today, for long and complicated reasons I got to cycle in the fresh air. Mini Mendip Rouleur and I were home by 6.45, and after quickly making his tea, complaining to the bank, and changing into a rather fetching old K-1 kit, nicely clashing with my new gilet, I was off into the late evening sunshine. By 7PM. And don't worry, there was an adult to look after mini MR.
I had intended to do the Tour of Winscombe six times (my 3.5 mile loop of the village), for a bit of hill repeats, figuring I could just about squeeze that in before the 8.30 sunset. In the end I thought, "sod that, let's do a proper route". So I cycled up to Shipham, down to Cheddar and up to the base of the gorge. Where i encountered "Police- Road closed" signs. Which I ignored, as had loads of other people by the look of it as plenty of cars, walkers, climbers and cyclists were also about. I passed a police car and occupants, and they seemed unperturbed by my presence, so onwards and upwards i went.
At the base of the really steep section there was a Rapha Condor Sharp team car, replete with cycle rack for 6 (?) bikes on the roof, but no bikes. It was predictably black with a white stripe and a pink one. Chic. My guess that someone was doing a reconnaissance mission for the Tour of Britain, which is going up the gorge on 16th September. I am planning an outing to the event, Gorge-Old Bristol Hill-Wells, see them 3 times, but don't hang about, they are fast these boys.
As was the rider wearing Saxo Bank kit who chatted to me for a bit before zooming off in the distance. He's from Axbridge, but it seems that the ACG would be a bit slow for him, I'm still trying to sell that top.
Coming down the gorge at speed was a cyclist in Motorpoint pro-cycling kit. He looked fast enough to be a pro, maybe he was connected to Rapha, I don't know the ins and outs of the British cycling team well enough.
Once up in the land of the Mendips it was a quick belt across the top and down Burrington, Langford, Sandford, Banwell and home up the Alpe d'Huez of Winscombe. Just over 25 miles, a couple of decent climbs, and some nice fresh air on a pleasant night, arriving home in the gathering gloom.
And West Ham won, AGAIN!!! Shock horror two away wins on the bounce. That doesn't happen every day. And the much-maligned (by me) Scott Parker is still there. What will happen next?
I digress. Today, for long and complicated reasons I got to cycle in the fresh air. Mini Mendip Rouleur and I were home by 6.45, and after quickly making his tea, complaining to the bank, and changing into a rather fetching old K-1 kit, nicely clashing with my new gilet, I was off into the late evening sunshine. By 7PM. And don't worry, there was an adult to look after mini MR.
I had intended to do the Tour of Winscombe six times (my 3.5 mile loop of the village), for a bit of hill repeats, figuring I could just about squeeze that in before the 8.30 sunset. In the end I thought, "sod that, let's do a proper route". So I cycled up to Shipham, down to Cheddar and up to the base of the gorge. Where i encountered "Police- Road closed" signs. Which I ignored, as had loads of other people by the look of it as plenty of cars, walkers, climbers and cyclists were also about. I passed a police car and occupants, and they seemed unperturbed by my presence, so onwards and upwards i went.
At the base of the really steep section there was a Rapha Condor Sharp team car, replete with cycle rack for 6 (?) bikes on the roof, but no bikes. It was predictably black with a white stripe and a pink one. Chic. My guess that someone was doing a reconnaissance mission for the Tour of Britain, which is going up the gorge on 16th September. I am planning an outing to the event, Gorge-Old Bristol Hill-Wells, see them 3 times, but don't hang about, they are fast these boys.
As was the rider wearing Saxo Bank kit who chatted to me for a bit before zooming off in the distance. He's from Axbridge, but it seems that the ACG would be a bit slow for him, I'm still trying to sell that top.
Coming down the gorge at speed was a cyclist in Motorpoint pro-cycling kit. He looked fast enough to be a pro, maybe he was connected to Rapha, I don't know the ins and outs of the British cycling team well enough.
Once up in the land of the Mendips it was a quick belt across the top and down Burrington, Langford, Sandford, Banwell and home up the Alpe d'Huez of Winscombe. Just over 25 miles, a couple of decent climbs, and some nice fresh air on a pleasant night, arriving home in the gathering gloom.
And West Ham won, AGAIN!!! Shock horror two away wins on the bounce. That doesn't happen every day. And the much-maligned (by me) Scott Parker is still there. What will happen next?
Sunday, 14 August 2011
Take you where you want
I didn't really want to go to Glastonbury today. So it should come as no surprise that's where we ended up. To paraphrase a colleague, it's when the laws of attraction go bad.
Axbridge Cycling Group, four of us in the square, passable weather, which did go according to forecast to be fair, and being sociable, and wanting to avoid all the tourist hotspots, and some of us wanting to avoid the hills, we did at least contrive a route that was different to the usual out and back.
And it was fun, at times like Noah's Ark- two by two, at times like a train (we were certainly moving like one, quite quick by jove we were and no mistake, I'm sure), but above all, a Group. (until Knight of the Realm fell off the back in the home straight).
And lots of other organised events too, a sportive (Wiggle Mendip), a leisure ride based on the Strawberry Line, but with numbers on their bikes that were the side of a house, and also what could have been a triathlon. Why? Because of the huge number of them with those terrible long socks on. It can't make a difference and is just so wrong.
It was great to be out with the ACG again, with a new face (for me at least), I'm tempted to call him Shearer, as he's from Sunderland, but I don't want to upset him, so I'll find out who is idol is. And the prodigal son, the lost sheep, Knight, busy in his shop, so busy that he's having to go to Malaysia again and get more stock, great to see him again.
The world would be a better place if everyone understood the visceral meaning of those Bible stories, lost sheep, prodigal sons, Noah's Ark. One of my favourite quotes:
"After the flood, all the colours came out"
Sometimes you have to just feel things, and today was one of those. You can't know what it is like to have four of you fly along in the sun, outdoors, on the road, with no noise but the swoosh of your tyres. With the wind at your back, the levels spread out in front of you and Glastonbury rising up in the distance. You can't know cycling by thinking about it, like life, it has to be lived.
Here's a live performance that captures it, watch for the second chorus ;-)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSZv9KKf0g0
And it was a Beautiful Day, thanks ACG.
Here's Charlie:
Axbridge Cycling Group, four of us in the square, passable weather, which did go according to forecast to be fair, and being sociable, and wanting to avoid all the tourist hotspots, and some of us wanting to avoid the hills, we did at least contrive a route that was different to the usual out and back.
And it was fun, at times like Noah's Ark- two by two, at times like a train (we were certainly moving like one, quite quick by jove we were and no mistake, I'm sure), but above all, a Group. (until Knight of the Realm fell off the back in the home straight).
And lots of other organised events too, a sportive (Wiggle Mendip), a leisure ride based on the Strawberry Line, but with numbers on their bikes that were the side of a house, and also what could have been a triathlon. Why? Because of the huge number of them with those terrible long socks on. It can't make a difference and is just so wrong.
It was great to be out with the ACG again, with a new face (for me at least), I'm tempted to call him Shearer, as he's from Sunderland, but I don't want to upset him, so I'll find out who is idol is. And the prodigal son, the lost sheep, Knight, busy in his shop, so busy that he's having to go to Malaysia again and get more stock, great to see him again.
The world would be a better place if everyone understood the visceral meaning of those Bible stories, lost sheep, prodigal sons, Noah's Ark. One of my favourite quotes:
"After the flood, all the colours came out"
Sometimes you have to just feel things, and today was one of those. You can't know what it is like to have four of you fly along in the sun, outdoors, on the road, with no noise but the swoosh of your tyres. With the wind at your back, the levels spread out in front of you and Glastonbury rising up in the distance. You can't know cycling by thinking about it, like life, it has to be lived.
Here's a live performance that captures it, watch for the second chorus ;-)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSZv9KKf0g0
And it was a Beautiful Day, thanks ACG.
Here's Charlie:
Friday, 12 August 2011
Packing a suitcase for a place, none of us has been
Compare and contrast. That's what the exam papers always said in my day, usually several times, but unfailingly in history tests. Compare and contrast the siege of Leningrad with Napoleon's march on Moscow. Compare and contrast Hitler's approach in 1940 with Alexander's march on Babylon. Compare and contrast the response of Lloyd George, Clemenceau and Wilson with that of the Attlee, Truman and Stalin after the respective world wars.
We don't learn primarily from answers, knowledge or theories. Insight and wisdom is forged in the white heat of questions and experience, in the journey and on the road, not the office or the classroom.
"No matter how one may think himself accomplished, when he sets out to learn a new language, science, or the bicycle, he has entered a new realm as truly as if he were a child newly born into the world." ~Frances Willard, How I Learned to Ride the Bicycle.
I have a momentous decision to make, which will shape much. I must choose between the new, sexy, fast and sleek, and the honest, quirky, steady and practical. The tortoise and the hare, and we all know how that turned out. Yes, I must choose which bike to take to the Pyrenees with me. And you thought this was going to be an allegory?
You can't just walk on to a plane these days especially with a bike. It all has to be deconstructed and re-assembled at the other end, out of its hard black box. K-1 is in for a service so today I was on the Red Madone, doing a few hills into and back from work. And it was lovely, fast and fizzy, light on the ups, sticky round the corners. But I know my back is going to ache for it tomorrow in the car, I have a fair bit of driving to do in the day.
In any case, just as the wand chooses the wizard, the bike chooses the rider. Maybe.
K-1, equipped with new brakes, maybe a headset, bottom bracket, retains its basic character plus added improvements, well it seems the more attractive option at the moment. If he will have me that is, for he must be ready by Thursday next week, so I can do a test drive into work on Friday. So the choice is not entirely in my hands, but in those of a more skilled operator than that.
Just as I have never seen any problem made better by alcohol, I have never seen any situation not made better by the arrival of balloons. So as I descended from my second hill of the morning, from up above Ashton Court to the Cumberland basin area, it was a wonderful sight to see everyone looking up at the morning's flight from the fiesta.
"You could have flown away, a singing bird in an open cage"
The wind was pushing them right over the city, and everyone was looking up and smiling, kids pointing, old blokes chuckling and even hard-bitten business types were at their office windows and taking pictures with their mobile phones. Not the greatest picture in the world, but you get the idea. So ask yourself this question: compare and contrast the impact of balloons and alcoholic beverages in their contribution to the happiness of mankind.
The weather was warm and drizzly to start, but it dried off as I got into Bristol, and on the way home the sun came out just as I was coming down Dundry Hill into Winford. That doesn't happen every day.
Once in work I was faced with another choice. I got a load of free zipvit samples at the Eddy Merckx sportive so I took a couple with me. Compare and contrast the effectiveness as recovery food of a chewy zipvit bar with a bacon sandwich, in the modern workplace. No contest, the pig may be a filthy animal, it does not have character, but it sure tastes good.
The banana gel on the other hand is lovely, and came at the point where I was contemplating concluding my ride home via Sandford rather than Rowberrow, Shipham and Cheddar. Compare and contrast the training value of an extra 500 feet of climbing and a flat fight into the wind. Got to be the hill really, which created a nice dumbbell shape on the route profile:
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/352235
http://connect.garmin.com/player/105982574
Which just leaves me with the most profound question of all. Compare and contrast the features and benefits of Garmin Connect and Ride with GPS for illustrating your rides. That one, I'll leave you with.
We don't learn primarily from answers, knowledge or theories. Insight and wisdom is forged in the white heat of questions and experience, in the journey and on the road, not the office or the classroom.
"No matter how one may think himself accomplished, when he sets out to learn a new language, science, or the bicycle, he has entered a new realm as truly as if he were a child newly born into the world." ~Frances Willard, How I Learned to Ride the Bicycle.
I have a momentous decision to make, which will shape much. I must choose between the new, sexy, fast and sleek, and the honest, quirky, steady and practical. The tortoise and the hare, and we all know how that turned out. Yes, I must choose which bike to take to the Pyrenees with me. And you thought this was going to be an allegory?
You can't just walk on to a plane these days especially with a bike. It all has to be deconstructed and re-assembled at the other end, out of its hard black box. K-1 is in for a service so today I was on the Red Madone, doing a few hills into and back from work. And it was lovely, fast and fizzy, light on the ups, sticky round the corners. But I know my back is going to ache for it tomorrow in the car, I have a fair bit of driving to do in the day.
In any case, just as the wand chooses the wizard, the bike chooses the rider. Maybe.
K-1, equipped with new brakes, maybe a headset, bottom bracket, retains its basic character plus added improvements, well it seems the more attractive option at the moment. If he will have me that is, for he must be ready by Thursday next week, so I can do a test drive into work on Friday. So the choice is not entirely in my hands, but in those of a more skilled operator than that.
Just as I have never seen any problem made better by alcohol, I have never seen any situation not made better by the arrival of balloons. So as I descended from my second hill of the morning, from up above Ashton Court to the Cumberland basin area, it was a wonderful sight to see everyone looking up at the morning's flight from the fiesta.
"You could have flown away, a singing bird in an open cage"
The wind was pushing them right over the city, and everyone was looking up and smiling, kids pointing, old blokes chuckling and even hard-bitten business types were at their office windows and taking pictures with their mobile phones. Not the greatest picture in the world, but you get the idea. So ask yourself this question: compare and contrast the impact of balloons and alcoholic beverages in their contribution to the happiness of mankind.
The weather was warm and drizzly to start, but it dried off as I got into Bristol, and on the way home the sun came out just as I was coming down Dundry Hill into Winford. That doesn't happen every day.
Once in work I was faced with another choice. I got a load of free zipvit samples at the Eddy Merckx sportive so I took a couple with me. Compare and contrast the effectiveness as recovery food of a chewy zipvit bar with a bacon sandwich, in the modern workplace. No contest, the pig may be a filthy animal, it does not have character, but it sure tastes good.
The banana gel on the other hand is lovely, and came at the point where I was contemplating concluding my ride home via Sandford rather than Rowberrow, Shipham and Cheddar. Compare and contrast the training value of an extra 500 feet of climbing and a flat fight into the wind. Got to be the hill really, which created a nice dumbbell shape on the route profile:
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/352235
http://connect.garmin.com/player/105982574
Which just leaves me with the most profound question of all. Compare and contrast the features and benefits of Garmin Connect and Ride with GPS for illustrating your rides. That one, I'll leave you with.
Sunday, 7 August 2011
I can go there
You have to dig deep into the heart of yourself to survive 70 minutes of mental torture. Yesterday Bunny did a ridiculous run up some muddy hills near his home in Macclesfield:
http://monmarduman.blogspot.com/
Sounds horrific to me, but as I'm frequently saying, chacun a son gout, vraiment mes amies. But whilst my challenge was much less physically demanding, I would contend that my challenge today was the more horrific psychologically.
I had vague plans, Cardiff City at home, now as it turns out that would have been worse, but fortunately number one son changed his mind and we depressed ourselves in front of the TV. More vague plans to ride for the third consecutive day, were thwarted by a mixture of my own torpor, and some very heavy and frequent showers.
I have a short circuit of the village that I do on days like today, it's about 3.5 miles long, and involves a nice mix of flat, descent and climbing. I'll normally spend an hour or so doing 4-5 circuits, but I really didn't want to wash my bike for the sake of an hours riding.
Nothing for it but to get the ipod out and sit on this for 70 minutes:
http://monmarduman.blogspot.com/
Sounds horrific to me, but as I'm frequently saying, chacun a son gout, vraiment mes amies. But whilst my challenge was much less physically demanding, I would contend that my challenge today was the more horrific psychologically.
I had vague plans, Cardiff City at home, now as it turns out that would have been worse, but fortunately number one son changed his mind and we depressed ourselves in front of the TV. More vague plans to ride for the third consecutive day, were thwarted by a mixture of my own torpor, and some very heavy and frequent showers.
I have a short circuit of the village that I do on days like today, it's about 3.5 miles long, and involves a nice mix of flat, descent and climbing. I'll normally spend an hour or so doing 4-5 circuits, but I really didn't want to wash my bike for the sake of an hours riding.
Nothing for it but to get the ipod out and sit on this for 70 minutes:
Since this photo was taken the bike has been upgraded. The handlebars have been turned upside down, to attempt a position more similar to a road bike, and of course I have fitted reversible flat/SPD pedals from an old mtb. But it's still tedious, but with three weeks to go, options for fitness improvement and retaining a clean bike are few and far between.
I'd love to describe the 70 minutes in detail, with nuances and interesting anecdotes. But I can't. It's dull, you get on, you pedal, sometimes like today according to a pre-determined programme, sometimes not. You stop. Music makes it just tolerable.
I used to have a turbo trainer but as my training is fairly disorganised, or flexible and spontaneous depending on your point of view, I found that even more tedious. So the exercise bike will have to do for those lazy, rainy, Sunday afternoons. Perhaps those are the days you find out more about yourself than belting up the Tourmalet. Perhaps not.
Saturday, 6 August 2011
Just give me what I want and no-one gets hurt
I'm not built for cycling, which given that it's become my main hobby is a bit of a problem. For a start my build is neither fish nor fowl, neither sprinter nor climber. And until hypnotherapy sorted it out, I used to suffer from vertigo, which made going down mountainous roads a bit of a problem.
So today, despite the weatherpeople's failure to get it right again, or maybe because of the rain, I decided to go and look for some ups to pedal and some downs to descend. And the Red Madone got an outing today, albeit with some old wheels that have 23mm tyres, important given the unexpected rain.
Before doing that I dropped K-1 at my local bike store in Cheddar:
http://www.cheddarcyclestore.co.uk/
The owner and former racing cyclist, I call him leadman, (think plumbum, and yes plumbers are called that for a similar reason, it's to do with pipes) has the strongest thumbs I have ever seen in my life, can get tyres off tight rims with one flick of the digit, where I'm trying to use ten tyre levers. Anyway, I'm getting some Ultegra calipers put on, as well as the full once over on various bits and bobs. Have I mentioned where I'm going at August bank holiday?
The ride? Well, as Cheddar gorge is dangerous descending country at this time of year, with all the tourists milling about waiting to get run over, I decided it was time to go up it. Followed by a little loop on the top of the Mendips, coming out near that strange castle-like house on the road that leads to Burrington.
Just as I was getting near the said house I became aware of a horrible wailing noise being projected into the quiet countryside by an PA system. I wasn't sure what it was, but guessed it was some kind of a music festival, although it seemed a strange place to have it. I later found this:
http://www.cloudcuckooland.org/cloud-cuckoo-land/a-festival-in-transition/
The best bit is the cycle ride that two blokes are doing in aid of a campaign to build sustainability in all things etc. They are riding from Camden to Cape Town, not London mind, Camden. I have to say I like all this stuff. I know it's very worthy and all that. What I like about it most is that it reminds me there are other people more earnest and preachy than me in the world, and that has to be good for me. I have spent quite a bit of time on a very high horse this week, so to find equine towers of immense stature, in very unusual places, is magnificent.
From there I headed down Burrington Coombe again, then up to Blagdon, across the dam and up to Butcombe, Row of Ashes and down to Wrington. There was just time to hit Rowberrow and Shipham again before coming home via Sidcot and the Alpe d'Huez of Winscombe. Not a long ride, but a good dose of climbing.
And I wore the Devon jersey in the end, and given I had two SMIDSY incidents I'd say I was right on the blending in front. Mind you the traffic was very heavy for a Saturday, the M5 was chock a block, so lots of people darting down roads they don't know, impatiently trying to get to the seaside. The positive thing is the pockets on the jersey are huge, so it may have to go to France after all, hopefully the more tolerant and careful driving over there will keep me alive.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/344153
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/104493361
So today, despite the weatherpeople's failure to get it right again, or maybe because of the rain, I decided to go and look for some ups to pedal and some downs to descend. And the Red Madone got an outing today, albeit with some old wheels that have 23mm tyres, important given the unexpected rain.
Before doing that I dropped K-1 at my local bike store in Cheddar:
http://www.cheddarcyclestore.co.uk/
The owner and former racing cyclist, I call him leadman, (think plumbum, and yes plumbers are called that for a similar reason, it's to do with pipes) has the strongest thumbs I have ever seen in my life, can get tyres off tight rims with one flick of the digit, where I'm trying to use ten tyre levers. Anyway, I'm getting some Ultegra calipers put on, as well as the full once over on various bits and bobs. Have I mentioned where I'm going at August bank holiday?
The ride? Well, as Cheddar gorge is dangerous descending country at this time of year, with all the tourists milling about waiting to get run over, I decided it was time to go up it. Followed by a little loop on the top of the Mendips, coming out near that strange castle-like house on the road that leads to Burrington.
Just as I was getting near the said house I became aware of a horrible wailing noise being projected into the quiet countryside by an PA system. I wasn't sure what it was, but guessed it was some kind of a music festival, although it seemed a strange place to have it. I later found this:
http://www.cloudcuckooland.org/cloud-cuckoo-land/a-festival-in-transition/
The best bit is the cycle ride that two blokes are doing in aid of a campaign to build sustainability in all things etc. They are riding from Camden to Cape Town, not London mind, Camden. I have to say I like all this stuff. I know it's very worthy and all that. What I like about it most is that it reminds me there are other people more earnest and preachy than me in the world, and that has to be good for me. I have spent quite a bit of time on a very high horse this week, so to find equine towers of immense stature, in very unusual places, is magnificent.
From there I headed down Burrington Coombe again, then up to Blagdon, across the dam and up to Butcombe, Row of Ashes and down to Wrington. There was just time to hit Rowberrow and Shipham again before coming home via Sidcot and the Alpe d'Huez of Winscombe. Not a long ride, but a good dose of climbing.
And I wore the Devon jersey in the end, and given I had two SMIDSY incidents I'd say I was right on the blending in front. Mind you the traffic was very heavy for a Saturday, the M5 was chock a block, so lots of people darting down roads they don't know, impatiently trying to get to the seaside. The positive thing is the pockets on the jersey are huge, so it may have to go to France after all, hopefully the more tolerant and careful driving over there will keep me alive.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/344153
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/104493361
Friday, 5 August 2011
One week he's in polka dots, the next week he's in stripes
I'm trying out cycling tops. My own I should add. What for? Well, it's a long and tedious story, but the nub of it is to find those shirts that have the biggest pockets (because I'll be carrying all my own layers) and yet still retain some element of bling. Now I know this is all relative, lycra doesn't lend itself to high, or even street, fashion. But when I'm cycling in the Pyrenees in three weeks time, I don't want the locals pelting me with rotten onions because I am making their beautiful roads and cols look disgusting by wearing poorly colour-co-ordinated kit, or worse, something out of the 80s.
Now I know he is Britain's best Tour finisher, but look at that top. It looks like something out of an American cartoon, not fit to grace the body of a legend. To be fair, he did wear a natty polka-dot jersey, so all is not lost.
Of course, not being a dedicated follower of fashion, or as we saw last week, cycling etiquette, I too broke one of the cycling rules today and opted for my very own polka dot jersey. This one from the slightly less glamorous Tour of Britain 2009. I know I haven't actually won a polka dot jersey or King of the Mountains competition in the Tour of Britain 2009, or any other race. But the jersey was my incentive to train for the Raid Pyrenean last year, and it also has very big pockets indeed, so it's on the plane.
Thomas de Gendt is the man wearing my shirt, next to Edvald B-H, now the official King of Norway, having taken over from Thor Hushovd last week.
To derive a sense of irony from today, and also because I was still feeling a bit tired, I decided to cycle in the flat way for a change. When I first started commuting it was my regular route, but I've hardly done it of late. To live up to the jersey, I did do a few hills on the way home, Dundry the hard way, the Chew Valley road, as well as the tough hill out of Blagdon, and finally Rowberrow. So at least I didn't disgrace myself, and with a total of just over 50 miles for the day, it was a fair workout too.
I wonder what I can try out tomorrow, the Devon jersey maybe, but being largely green it has a tendency to blend in with hedgerows. Maybe I'll have gentle ride to the coast in my Foska England top, or maybe it's time to get the Northwave skeleton out again. So hard to make decisions, I just don't know what to wear.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/342656
Of course, not being a dedicated follower of fashion, or as we saw last week, cycling etiquette, I too broke one of the cycling rules today and opted for my very own polka dot jersey. This one from the slightly less glamorous Tour of Britain 2009. I know I haven't actually won a polka dot jersey or King of the Mountains competition in the Tour of Britain 2009, or any other race. But the jersey was my incentive to train for the Raid Pyrenean last year, and it also has very big pockets indeed, so it's on the plane.
Thomas de Gendt is the man wearing my shirt, next to Edvald B-H, now the official King of Norway, having taken over from Thor Hushovd last week.
To derive a sense of irony from today, and also because I was still feeling a bit tired, I decided to cycle in the flat way for a change. When I first started commuting it was my regular route, but I've hardly done it of late. To live up to the jersey, I did do a few hills on the way home, Dundry the hard way, the Chew Valley road, as well as the tough hill out of Blagdon, and finally Rowberrow. So at least I didn't disgrace myself, and with a total of just over 50 miles for the day, it was a fair workout too.
I wonder what I can try out tomorrow, the Devon jersey maybe, but being largely green it has a tendency to blend in with hedgerows. Maybe I'll have gentle ride to the coast in my Foska England top, or maybe it's time to get the Northwave skeleton out again. So hard to make decisions, I just don't know what to wear.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/342656
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Dressing up in costumes, playing silly games
The 1970s. Ahhh. Why two men sat in a small studio watching loads of grown up kids playing silly games was funny I'll never know, but it was. The English version, "It's a knockout" was slightly Butlinesque, a bit, cold and windy on a Tuesday. Just like the inflatable arch at today's start line, deflating because the generator ran out of diesel.
But the European version, "Jeux sans Frontieres" with its crackly phone-line commentary, its nighttime timetable, and all the international rivalry that thirty years of European peace could muster. Whether Stuart Hall ever actually said "here come the Belgians" is a moot point, but that's just what happened today at the front of the start line of the Eddy Merckx Gran Fondo, as the great man himself, and he is now a lot greater than he was in his prime, rolled to the start line flanked by his two faithful compatriots, laughing and joking in their native tongue. Not French. Flemish.
Ask anyone who knows nothing about cycling to name a famous cyclist and chances are, if they are under 40 they will mention him, the Voldemort of the peloton. But, if they are over 40, under 73, (my Dad, who is 75, will mention Beryl Burton and Reg Harris) they'll mention Eddy Merckx, undoubtedly the best cyclist of all time. Just look at his palmares if you don't take my word for it, it speaks for itself.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_career_achievements_by_Eddy_Merckx
Apparently the legend had been on top form at the depart village on the Saturday, signing autographs and full of the Flemish equivalent of Bonhomie, which according to an agent for the event that I overheard, is not always the case. But like a true professional he didn't let people down today, and by all accounts rode to Bridport and back, about 40 miles. Which isn't bad given the nature of the terrain, very lumpy.
The event started in the grounds of Cricket St Thomas Hotel, near Chard in south Somerset. We swept down the drive with Eddy in the lead, and the rest of us just behind, all of this being filmed for a DVD which of course I'm going to buy. I had taken the precaution of being at the start line first, so yes, I rode on his wheel for the first 100 yards, when I was being eased gently out of the way by the young Belgians who were naturally very protective.
As we turned onto the proper roads, the gradient pitched sharply upwards to the tune of about 7%, having previously been rolling downwards. Mr Merckx waived his arm and told us we could all go through, as it was going to take him a while to get to the top of the hill.
What is the etiquette in these situations? As I was the first in line, I thanked him for his company, wished him a good day, and started climbing at a normal pace, as instructed. I expected others to follow suit, I mean, he is 66, so I'm sure he doesn't mind. But no, after about 30 seconds I turned around to see that everyone else, I mean everyone, was pedalling up the hill at 3 mph keeping a distance behind him.
Well, I couldn't go back so I kept going, and no-one passed me for 4 miles! Maybe I have less patience, I certainly meant no disrespect, I was honoured to ride with the man. After all, 106 miles is a long way, and having had little sleep last night I knew my energy levels were a bit suspect.
After that the sportive settled down into a regular ride, and very enjoyable it was too. A nice warm day, part of the country I'd barely ridden in, and a nice relaxed vibe to the whole thing. Run by the same people that brought us the Cotswold Classic earlier in the year, it threw in more sharp climbs, long grindy hills, steep descents, amazing views, and the most boring road to cycle in Somerset.
There were a few bits of road I'd traversed before. On Day 1 and 2 of the Tour of Wessex, the Endura ride, and as the northerly bit crossed the route to my parents' house, some of my rides to them too. But for the most part it was all new, especially the lovely cliff-top road from Bridport to Dorchester with an outstanding vista of Chesil beach and Portland Bill, fantastic in the sunshine.
We also went through Poundbury
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poundbury
which was very strange, a bit like being in an over sized set of Trumpton or Camberwick Green. From Dorchester we headed up to Sturminster and Gillingham, and I passed a pub cooking the same food as the last time I passed it on the ToW over a year ago, at the same time of day. Smell is the sense most closely linked to memory so don't argue.
There was a vicious south-easterly wind blowing, which had been a problem on the coast road, but now acted as a tailwind, as I got into a group charging up the valley to Gillingham. I stopped there to take a paracetamol as my neck was a bit sore, and I was solo from there on. But once the 2nd feedstop was out of the way south of Bruton, a strange thing happened. I started to pass people. I think I kept a pretty even tempo for the whole ride, and even out-climbed one or two people on some of the wickedly steep gradients.
From Bruton and Castle Cary we went across that road, dull, dull, dull to Somerton. The wind was now largely a cross wind all the way home, and I thought the route would be fairly flat. But the sting in the tail was a 20% gradient at mile 103. Almost everyone was walking, nothing left in the legs and there was no shame in doing so. Did I? What do you think?
When I arrived back at the village I felt absolutely wasted, dehydrated and a bit stiff and sore. Free hot pasta would have helped but there was only cold tubs of the stuff and a drink so I had my recovery drink. Edy Merckx was long gone, back to Belgium no doubt, although I would just say that his bike and kit are absolutely awesome. And there was plenty of that to admire as I slurped away.
My cycling time had been 6 hours 38 minutes at a creditable 16.0 mph for the 106 mile course. Add in 15 minutes of stops for an official time of 6-53, and about 7000 feet of climbing. Precise figures on the Charlie link below. What was particularly pleasing was that I'd ridden on Saturday and Friday too, and though I'm a bit tired and sore I feel OK, all good preparation for August.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/336708
As for meeting heroes, well I'm in two minds. I always avoided meeting footballers, Trevor Brooking was so much better on the pitch than he could ever have been in person. And Eddy Merckx has commented that he is not the same person now as he was in the late sixties and early seventies. And yet, and yet, he had enough swagger, enough panache, and enough authority about him to see how he bossed the peloton. And a sportive.
Next time I'll know.
But the European version, "Jeux sans Frontieres" with its crackly phone-line commentary, its nighttime timetable, and all the international rivalry that thirty years of European peace could muster. Whether Stuart Hall ever actually said "here come the Belgians" is a moot point, but that's just what happened today at the front of the start line of the Eddy Merckx Gran Fondo, as the great man himself, and he is now a lot greater than he was in his prime, rolled to the start line flanked by his two faithful compatriots, laughing and joking in their native tongue. Not French. Flemish.
Ask anyone who knows nothing about cycling to name a famous cyclist and chances are, if they are under 40 they will mention him, the Voldemort of the peloton. But, if they are over 40, under 73, (my Dad, who is 75, will mention Beryl Burton and Reg Harris) they'll mention Eddy Merckx, undoubtedly the best cyclist of all time. Just look at his palmares if you don't take my word for it, it speaks for itself.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_career_achievements_by_Eddy_Merckx
Apparently the legend had been on top form at the depart village on the Saturday, signing autographs and full of the Flemish equivalent of Bonhomie, which according to an agent for the event that I overheard, is not always the case. But like a true professional he didn't let people down today, and by all accounts rode to Bridport and back, about 40 miles. Which isn't bad given the nature of the terrain, very lumpy.
The event started in the grounds of Cricket St Thomas Hotel, near Chard in south Somerset. We swept down the drive with Eddy in the lead, and the rest of us just behind, all of this being filmed for a DVD which of course I'm going to buy. I had taken the precaution of being at the start line first, so yes, I rode on his wheel for the first 100 yards, when I was being eased gently out of the way by the young Belgians who were naturally very protective.
As we turned onto the proper roads, the gradient pitched sharply upwards to the tune of about 7%, having previously been rolling downwards. Mr Merckx waived his arm and told us we could all go through, as it was going to take him a while to get to the top of the hill.
What is the etiquette in these situations? As I was the first in line, I thanked him for his company, wished him a good day, and started climbing at a normal pace, as instructed. I expected others to follow suit, I mean, he is 66, so I'm sure he doesn't mind. But no, after about 30 seconds I turned around to see that everyone else, I mean everyone, was pedalling up the hill at 3 mph keeping a distance behind him.
Well, I couldn't go back so I kept going, and no-one passed me for 4 miles! Maybe I have less patience, I certainly meant no disrespect, I was honoured to ride with the man. After all, 106 miles is a long way, and having had little sleep last night I knew my energy levels were a bit suspect.
After that the sportive settled down into a regular ride, and very enjoyable it was too. A nice warm day, part of the country I'd barely ridden in, and a nice relaxed vibe to the whole thing. Run by the same people that brought us the Cotswold Classic earlier in the year, it threw in more sharp climbs, long grindy hills, steep descents, amazing views, and the most boring road to cycle in Somerset.
There were a few bits of road I'd traversed before. On Day 1 and 2 of the Tour of Wessex, the Endura ride, and as the northerly bit crossed the route to my parents' house, some of my rides to them too. But for the most part it was all new, especially the lovely cliff-top road from Bridport to Dorchester with an outstanding vista of Chesil beach and Portland Bill, fantastic in the sunshine.
We also went through Poundbury
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poundbury
which was very strange, a bit like being in an over sized set of Trumpton or Camberwick Green. From Dorchester we headed up to Sturminster and Gillingham, and I passed a pub cooking the same food as the last time I passed it on the ToW over a year ago, at the same time of day. Smell is the sense most closely linked to memory so don't argue.
There was a vicious south-easterly wind blowing, which had been a problem on the coast road, but now acted as a tailwind, as I got into a group charging up the valley to Gillingham. I stopped there to take a paracetamol as my neck was a bit sore, and I was solo from there on. But once the 2nd feedstop was out of the way south of Bruton, a strange thing happened. I started to pass people. I think I kept a pretty even tempo for the whole ride, and even out-climbed one or two people on some of the wickedly steep gradients.
From Bruton and Castle Cary we went across that road, dull, dull, dull to Somerton. The wind was now largely a cross wind all the way home, and I thought the route would be fairly flat. But the sting in the tail was a 20% gradient at mile 103. Almost everyone was walking, nothing left in the legs and there was no shame in doing so. Did I? What do you think?
When I arrived back at the village I felt absolutely wasted, dehydrated and a bit stiff and sore. Free hot pasta would have helped but there was only cold tubs of the stuff and a drink so I had my recovery drink. Edy Merckx was long gone, back to Belgium no doubt, although I would just say that his bike and kit are absolutely awesome. And there was plenty of that to admire as I slurped away.
My cycling time had been 6 hours 38 minutes at a creditable 16.0 mph for the 106 mile course. Add in 15 minutes of stops for an official time of 6-53, and about 7000 feet of climbing. Precise figures on the Charlie link below. What was particularly pleasing was that I'd ridden on Saturday and Friday too, and though I'm a bit tired and sore I feel OK, all good preparation for August.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/336708
As for meeting heroes, well I'm in two minds. I always avoided meeting footballers, Trevor Brooking was so much better on the pitch than he could ever have been in person. And Eddy Merckx has commented that he is not the same person now as he was in the late sixties and early seventies. And yet, and yet, he had enough swagger, enough panache, and enough authority about him to see how he bossed the peloton. And a sportive.
Next time I'll know.
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