Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise

Yesterday I went to do the Mad March Hare sportive in the middling counties of Warwickshire and Worcestershire.

Marvellously I did it with Skip and Bunny, all of us riding pretty much together the whole time. Nothing beats cycling with your mates, chuntering away about this, that and the truly pointless. Yesterday I didn't convince them at all that fox hunting and opera are tools of oppression of the elite to keep the masses in their place. But who cares? I enjoyed myself.

And we are all blogging, cut and paste the links down at the bottom. It was also a very early start, and five hours sleep the night before, for long, tedious reasons, and a leaving do the night before that are not ideal preparation. But it was OK, and I didn't need to do anything but give Skip a good listening to for a couple of hours on the motorway, which made it a lot easier for me. I also realised a stop in the M42 services is better than a portaloo for those essential regular preparations, but if you look at this picture of me at the top of the hill-climb, you'd have thought I hadn't bothered:
http://sportivephoto.thirdlight.com/viewpicture.tlx?albumid=295851&pictureid=14600787

Notice that I am numberless, mainly because I couldn't find the energy, will or patience to tie fiddly numbers in the early morning cold, and you can't get your number out of a jersey pocket when cycling up a 15% hill. Unlike the downhill, which seemed to be a bit novel. Skip enjoyed it anyway, but then she had matching nail polish. Matching to her jacket that is.

http://sportivephoto.thirdlight.com/viewpicture.tlx?gsearchid=1299535602&pictureid=14600994

The ride was beautiful. Take churches. Straight pointed spires, a lightning rod to heaven, on the top of idyllic crests, with streams in the valley below. Spring flowers, clustered on lawns in the churchyard, bursting though the drab winter coldness as if to poke the devil's weather and say, "greyness will not defeat us, we are yellow and we will proclaim the spring".

Or bridges, no other nation on earth does bridges like us, just ask Isambard. We must have crossed the Avon (of the Stratford upon variety) a few times, and one bridge with its passing places for carts, its arches, its stonework, what more could you want? Do you know Avon means river? I love that. Saxon to Celt: "what's that called?" Answer: "Avon", Saxon names it the River River.

So there I was about 69 miles in and I got a taste of what it must be like to be Andy Schleck. My chain came off, for about the fifth time that day. Except this time one of the links was half-sheared and the rest was jammed in the front mech. A bike without a fully functioning drivetrain is like, well, it's like, a bridge without a river, or a church without a spire, they just don't work.

Except Andy Schleck has someone on hand to hand him a bike, he doesn't have to take it to his LBS on Saturday morning, or walk the last 3 miles to the HQ. But then he doesn't have mates like Skip and Bunny who will rescue him so he doesn't have to either. I had to walk about 3 miles before Bunny came and got me, but if it is to happen at least do it when friends are there. Thanks guys.

Still a good ride, and a DNF is a DNF, no matter what gloss my friends or the official timekeepers put on it (5 hours dead in the latter case, which is close to Bunny's 4-50 and Skip's 4-57). I don't care though, not now. I will look back on the day with a huge fondness, for riding together is as good as it has got for me. My time is respectable, given the preparations and early-season, but yes The chain was broken, but some other links have been forged a bit stronger I think.

Charlie and blogs below:

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/71678941


http://www.thecyclingmayor.com/?m=201103

http://monmarduman.blogspot.com/