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.

Like horses over the hill

I've planned a legendary ride tomorrow, and as family plans changed I had a window to ride this morning. Added advantage of three days in a row, my first since last September, meaning at least some preparation for going to the Pyrenees at the end of August. In life, in work, in cycling, there are no new ideas, it's all about the quality of the implementation. And seizing your opportunities.

This is not a rehearsal.

Skip is off to Kernow this afternoon, and wanted to get a ride in before two weeks enforced rest. Actually that's rubbish, she's taking her bike with her and will probably do more in the next two weeks than I will, mais chacun a son gout. Or some such.

Religion is a club.

So off we went in the drizzle and the mud and the cow poo, all of which made for a dirty day, on a gentle, spin your legs loop over the levels and back, with a stopover at Sweet's cafe, Somerset cycling mecca, with it's board of the Somerset 100 still proudly displaying our names at numbers 42 and 77 respectively. How great it was to be able to choose our own numbers.

Celebrity is a job.

Pity the poor civilians, who arrived at the cafe when it was empty, only to find it filled within 10 minutes with approximately 20 sweaty, lycra-clad, slightly damp MAMILs and Skip, and a female triathlete with socks up to her knees. Very wrong. They, the civilians not the socks, must have thought they had been transported to an episode of the twilight zone, or maybe not. Skip basked in the adulation that her Rapha Etape cycling jersey produced, and it is very fetching I have to say, whilst I did my best to keep eating, for tomorrow we ride.

It's your world you can change it.

I have now topped 3000 miles on the various bikes so far this year, which is amazing considering the lack of opportunity I feel I have to ride. Just shows what can be done if you set your mind to it. It was a great ride, even if slightly autumnal, and it's still July. Can't wait for summer. But I'm always saying that. Time for a bath and food, but not at the same time.

http://ridewithgps.com/trips/334731

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuvQz1qOsQU&NR=1

Hang on

A very short post today, as time is short. Isn't it always? We have but a short time upon this earth and all that. Anyway, rode to work, rode home, added in an extra hill on both journeys. Belmont Hill near Flax Bourton on the way in, which I love for its crinkum crankum switchbacks and constant changes of pitch and surface.

On the way back, after the by-now obligatory Dundry Hill, and Winford hill, I felt compelled to launch downhill towards the Chew valley by another route and return to the top of the hill via a back lane which had more mud than tarmac.

I have also been studying the noble art of descending, as perfected by the third oldest tour winner in history. Two changes, one don't grip it so hard, (stop sniggering at the back) and relax. Two, focus 30-40 yards ahead, not immediately in front of the wheel. I tried both these out, and like all learned behaviour, it will take a while, but it certainly made me go faster, while paradoxically feeling safer. Let's face it, everybody hurts when you crash, but just maybe this will enable me to enjoy descending in the Pyrenees.

One more word about the current state of weather forecasting in this country: Hopeles. I really will shut up about it now.

http://ridewithgps.com/trips/334217

But there's a fire inside

Mark Cavendish won it easily in the end, and that Australian bloke did quite well too. Even in his moment of greatest triumph, Cav still came out with this:

"If you sit back on what you have done, you're not going to progress"

OK, not original, not surprising, but how many of us would be thinking about the next challenge, right after we have won the green jersey, the Champs Elysee stage (for the third year in a row, first time it's been done by anyone)?

And as for Cadel Evans, well he has just been the embodiment of tenacity and determination. Someone described him as like a diesel, consistent, reliable and powerful. His TT performance yesterday looked like someone had lit a fire in his engine, never mind put diesel in it. A worthy winner, and at 34 gives all of us grey-hairs hope.

This morning I was up early to meet Skip for a hilly ride. As I know how much she likes a plan, I made one, involving a fair few climbs and about 47 miles. Of course, she won't listen to entreaties to rest or take it easy, and I think after her riding in the last couple of weeks she was a bit bushed. Although I was a bit surprised to see her right behind me as we crested Shipham Hill, and my third climb of Burrington in 7 days was the most pleasant one yet, as we chatted away about this and that.

But at the top Skip decided to bail, wisely I think, meaning that I no longer had to stick to my plan, although I kept to it for the most part, just added one or two extras in. I had thought that the descent down into Blagdon, which is about 16% at its steepest, had been resurfaced. Well, only the bottom bit has, so it was a bumpy ride past the pub at the bottom, where I saw the NEG outriders having a chinwag. I think they must have been shepherding the Colin Carfield Memorial Road Race, run by Somer Valley CC.

From Blagdon, I headed down past the reservoir and then to Butcombe and up the hill to Row of Ashes. This was where I changed my plan and decided to add in a trip to Wrington, up over its eponymous hill, down Goblin Coombe, up Brockley Coombe and then back on track towards Winford.

From there it was into Chew Magna and then the long way round to Bishop Sutton, former centre of the coal-mining industry, and not to be confused, perish the thought, with Bishops Sutton.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bishop_Sutton

I always love a new hill, but they are hard to find. Next ACG route, I will get my own hill, because I can take them up the road that goes to Hinton Blewet. Be afraid, for it looks like a bump on google, but turned out to be a nasty short 12% climb, even steeper going down into the village. I'll have to spring it on you now.

Then it was Litton, Chewton Mendip and up the long drag to the hill above Wells on the main road, and I was starting to flag. Still, a super descent down into England's smallest city, followed by half of the climb up Old Bristol Road. I say "half" because I wanted to recce a back lane from Wookey Hole back to OBR, in preparation for the Tour of Britain stage in September. I have another plan, that's two this week, which involves seeing the stage in three places during its course. It will require a certain amount of flexibility, and grippy tyres and good brakes, but it's doable.

So down into Wookey Hole, village not caves, and then the sting in the tail, Ebbor Gorge. Not the steepest, it maxes out at 17%, but it is narrow, cars come down and up it with regularity, and it's one of those ones where you can't get going again if you stop. Which I didn't, but I certainly went slowly.

From there it was pretty much downhill to Cheddar, where I succeeded in scaring the wits out of grockle about to cross the road in front of me. No, that's not accurate, she didn't have any wits to start with.

As I came up the bypass, past Axbridge, I realised I'd have to do a circuit of my village to top 100 km for the day (the download doesn't show my first 2 miles into Axbridge, just in case you are really into the detail), and so I finished with the Alpe d'Huez of Winscombe, yes Winscombe Hill the hard way. (Expect more reference to the famous hill in the weeks to come! I'm half thinking of suggesting the Alpe d'Huez of the Pyrenees to Bunny).

So fairly slow all round today, just over 14 mph, but a shedload of climbing, if the Mendips had categorised climbs I'd say there were a smattering of all categories in this lot, including the HC of Burrington and Ebbor. And my neck and back are better too, just got to get some good brakes though, somehow I don't want to go to France without them.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/101366710

http://ridewithgps.com/trips/327455

There's always gonna be another mountain

"This is the bedrock of reality: however grim you feel physically, whatever defeatist temptation clouds your mind, giving up solves nothing. The kilometres ahead of you, the steepness of the road, the suffering, mental and physical, that it's going to take to surmount them: all that lies ahead of you and won't go away. The inclemency of the weather may change, granted, the geology will not and time ticks on. Thinking you won't make it is like worry-it changes nothing and merely adds the weight of anxiety to the problem. This you can do without, so shun it in favour of the reality: I can't go on, I must go on, I will go on. The formula may be simple: it most decidedly is not simplistic. It has to be earnt and learned from the inside out"

Graeme Fife, page 105, "The Beautiful Machine"

I have read many books and articles on cycling, and a lot about the Tour de France, its history and tradition. The passage above is not just a great piece of cycling literature, it sums up my whole life in so many ways.

I have been delighted and awed by Thomas Voeckler this week. In what has turned out to be the most exciting and closest Tour de France for a long time, he has personified the spirit that the race demands. Heart, soul, body and mind. Right down to today, when he was cooked on Alpe d'Huez, he gives Pierre Rolland, his loyal domestique, permission and encouragement to go and win the stage. His jersey gone to the shoulders of the younger Schleck, who may lose it to a rehabilitated and somewhat more human Cadel Evans tomorrow, he still gave his all, leaving open the possibility that he might claw his way onto the podium.

Perhaps we all dream that he might just win, but it seems unlikely. Even Contador managed some human frailty, lashing out at a spectator who taunted him with drug accusations on the slope of the final mountain of the Tour.

And then there is Cav. Struggling through the mountains, but as honest as ever, even about his climbing limitations. I managed to avoid the result of today's stage, and it made for a great experience, not knowing who had won. But right at the end, up popped Mark, who looked as knackered as I do after an easy sportive, to say how hard he found it.

Who will win yellow? Evans would seem the favourite, but Andy put up a good fight in the TT last year, so you never know. And don't rule out Voeckler. All it takes is for Evans to puncture, lose time, anything could happen.

And what mountains we have seen. Hats off to all who completed the Etape this year, especially anyone who plumped for the one in the Massif Central. Not content with dishing out a broken femur to Vino, numerous other injuries to the professionals, including a rogue French TV car-driver wiping out Flecha and putting Hoogerland through a barbed wire fence, the elements devastated the amateur field last Sunday with sub zero temperatures and massive rainstorms.

Skip did the Etape in the alps, as did one of my work colleagues. I bumped into the latter today, he did it in 4 hours 55, to sneak into the top 100 (at least) so well done to both of them. The climb of the Galibier looked tough, but the descent looked unbelievably scary and fast. Add in the heat, which their fellow riders might willingly have swapped for their weather, and all in all it looks like a tough 68 miles.

It's only just over a month until I get to sample the Pyrenees again, Bunny and I are off to base ourselves near Luchon over the Bank Holiday weekend. We are not sure what we are going to do yet. Well, cycling for sure, my friend already, but which mountains we are going to tackle, well that's still to be decided. One things for sure, my friend already, I need to get some practice.

Which brings me to my own ride today. In to work at stupid o'clock, I left home at 5.45AM and I could be forgiven if I forgot it is actually Summer. Rain, cold, wind (a headwind both ways today, oh joy). The ride in through Wrington over the hill and down, was pretty direct, owing to a need to be at a networking breakfast in Bristol by 8 o'clock. Still, it was worth it, and the bacon sandwich was nice.

I also got a good going-over by the osteopath today. The culprit? Well mini MR may have delivered the coup de grace, but it seems that the Red Madone is not set up properly and has put undue pressure on my back and neck. Oh dear. That is probably why K-1 feels so comfortable at the moment, it's not wrecking my body.

By the time I came to ride home it was predictably warm, so I did my best to stuff some layers in the back pockets. Particularly as I had a mind to do a few climbs of my own. The direct route up Dundry Hill is the Alpe d'Huez of Bristol. But with fewer  drunk Dutch people for sure already my good friend, and a lot more traffic. Which is why I took the scenic route up its slopes.

The descent gets steep, up to 17.2%, and combined with the high hedges, twisty corners, and lots of  gravillons, is enough to frighten Andy Schleck, so naturally I took it easy. Good job, I met a car halfway up, or down, and inched past on the single-track road.

Once up again to Winford manor, I decided to go straight down the A38, which was a blast as the traffic let me do my 40 mph+ descent thing down,  and do Burrington Coombe. I'd enjoyed the climb so much last Sunday I decided to do it in sunshine, and at least I had a tailwind helping me up that part of the route. From there it was over the lumps and bumps on the top, before heading down the gorge, which was fairly dry.

So I only did 48 miles or so, and not very quickly. Given I'd been awake over 12 hours, and had a hectic day, I was quite pleased. I may not have climbed like a mountain goat, but I did see lots of them on the slopes of Burrington. What we need now is for the Prince of Orange to start standing on the corner where the ice-cream van is parked, and start Somerset's very own Dutch corner.

http://ridewithgps.com/trips/325097

The Artane Boys Band

If anyone is going to Torquay before 23rd July, and wants a discounted Italian meal, let me know, I have a discount card which I didn't get to use when I was in Devon last week. While I'm on it, I also have a five pounds off voucher for ladies skincare products at Boots. Has to be used by 9 August. In case you hadn't guessed, I'm doing the reckoning for my holiday, emptying out the wallet to see what lurks inside its depths.

What wonderful, sunny weather we had, with just one light shower the whole week. And not a breath of wind. The isobars on Mr. Kettley's chart remained resolutely widely-spaced. Which was a shame, since the one thing mini MR and I love to do in Devon is to go body-boarding in the sea. So we contented ourselves with a bit of swimming, and a lot of eating and a fair amount of drinking.

I call this rest and recuperation.

So today, I had already decided to do the Great Weston Ride again, repeating our round trip into Bristol for the start, and then ride back from the finish at Weston, a trip of just shy of 85 miles. Skip and I did it with Rosa Luxemburg last year, this year it was just we two.

You can imagine how appreciative I was of the torrential rain and gale-force westerly winds, ideal body-boarding weather really, still not like me to grumble. I was quite pleased with my efforts given I haven't ridden a bike for 10 days, you never forget you know.

K-1 came out of the shed for the first time since March, courtesy of my sore neck, one of those injuries more commonly associated with the likes of Rio Ferdinand, but painful nonetheless. And the black bike is more comfortable, even if the indexing was a bit out at times. The 23 mm tyres certainly helped in the wet, especially the flooded sections, of which there were a few. Potholes lurk beneath to trap the unwary on their skinny tyres.

I was also up for a bit of descending practice, and did quite well on some of the shorter hills, but when faced with an 8-14% hill, awash with water and littered with gravel I decided I didn't want to be out of control and crash, and reined it backed in. Or rained it back in.

I got back and washed the bike, hoped for better weather and watched Cav win again. I do love his immediate post-race interviews. It's no good watching them on the highlights programmes, they've been sanitised by then, and you miss that authenticity and honesty of reaction. You see it in his eyes, his expression and hear it in his tone as much as his words. The perfect antidote to all the bland sports interviews we get nowadays. Then of course there is his jersey, let's hope that by this time next Sunday we can celebrate another stage win in Paris, and the maillot vert draped across his tiny shoulders.
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/99752044

Like smiling, crying and celebrity.....

I have eight minutes to type this entry and I'm not going to waste a single second. My bath is running, that takes 8 minutes, and I need the bath to loosen my back up. Mucking about in the sea plays havoc with your posture. Particularly when you have a 10 year bold hanging from your neck at the time. And I need to loosen the back up before tomorrow (just) because I'm doing the Great Weston Ride and there and back again.

They say that the original of the species is more deadly than the male. Them, you know the ones. I'm not so sure. I always tell people that enthusiasm is more important to focus on than confidence, because, well, because a wise woman, now travelling internationally in her work, once told me this.

In case you are wondering what this has got to do with cycling, well that is for me to know and for you to ponder upon. Let's just leave it at this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJaoD3YVopw

We'll be swimming in the sea

Did you ever watch "The Likely Lads?" I'm thinking particularly of the episode where Bob and Terry tried to go all day without finding out the result of the England match, so they could watch it on Sportsnight (there's a blast from the past) and enjoy the anticipation.
Well yesterday I was in a similar boat. I'd had my enjoyment of stage 3 of the Tour spoiled by inadvertently switching on the radio on the way home, thus hearing all about Tyler Farrar winning the sprint. Then on Tuesday it was squeaky voice himself, yep, Cadel Evans, winning the first one (Bunny was watching) in Mur de Bretagne. Or should that be on Mur de Bretagne? Unfortunately I checked Twitter and found out the result in advance.


I knew Cav was in with a chance to win yesterday, and I wanted to see it unfold without knowing the result.  But I had the school play to negotiate, and the other Dad I choose to sit next to is also a cyclist. It made for an interesting conversation but all the time I was nervous in case he brought up the result of the Tour stage.  In fact he's off to do the Etape this weekend up the Galibier and Alpe d'Huez, so avoiding the Tour in conversation was problematic. But I managed it, and I also managed to remember to leave the radio switched off in the car on the way home.

Once home I settled miniMR down in bed, plumped up the cushions in front of Eurosport, and got ready to watch the stage. My phone beeped, it was a text, it was Bunny, I saw the opening line.....just in time I remembered where he was.  And where he'd been. I averted my case and watch the race as if live. And so it came to pass that I saw Cavendish win a difficult stage on a windswept Breton coast. And then give an awesomely frank press conference.

If more people were like him the world would be a much more honest place. There would probably be a few sensitive souls getting upset, and maybe more fights,  but at least everyone would know where they stood. Or rode, or something.
Bunny had been just 200 metres from the finish line, wearing a union jack cycle top, jumping up and down and cheering him on. I bet the French loved him, let's face it, they do all they can to stop Cavendish winning, so anyone supporting him must be unpopular.

So, today, the last ride before a whole week off the bike as I get a chance to rest and recuperate down by the seaside.  I'm not even that fussed about the weather, as long as it's not cold, we can go on the beach, even if it's raining. This morning it wasn't raining, but it was wet, and a bit cold too. Puddles all over the roads, one of which I cycled through and discovered had a deep pot hole within it. It's my first puncture on my way to work for ages, and I thought that the super skinny tyres would be hard to change, but they were OK, and 15 minutes later I was back on the go.

With a lovely tailwind to spur me on I was into work in a pretty quick time. Even better the wind had dropped by the time I came to go home, so I wasn't too slow in the reverse direction. The torrential rain didn't help, especially as it slowed the city traffic to a crawl, and I really didn't want another puncture in that weather. So I was cautious and avoided a lot of puddles and cracks in the road, as well as going a bit more slowly on the downs.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/97676212

I'm quite pleased with how I felt riding home. Although not busting a gut, and it was Thursday rather than Friday, I felt reasonably strong. I have eased up a bit in the last few weeks, and one or two things have sorted themselves out in other parts of the Mendip world. But I think I've managed to recapture a bit of the joy I had lost a couple of months back. The rejuvenation started on the Somerset 100, continued on the Dartmoor classic and reached a peak last weekend up Gold Hill.

I'm also entered for the Great Weston Ride on the Sunday after next, if you are local, come and joins us, and let's get a train of happiness going all the way to the wonderful world of Weston super Mare!

And it's you when I look in the mirror

Last week Skip and I stayed down in Devon the night before the Dartmoor classic. As we had arrived at our guest house (two single rooms by the way, let's be 100% clear about THAT) quite early, we decided to go for a drive. It actually turned into a trip round all the places that I used to play football, go to school, or ride/crash my bike when I was a kid. That was about all I did between the ages of 7 and 14.

Well, in the same era, a certain bread manufacturer, Hovis, other breads are available, had a very evocative advert where a little boy on a bike pushed his steed, to the top of a cobbled hill, and then rode down it again while a warm northern voice, suitably backed by a comforting brass band, gave the corporate message about how good the bread was. The fact that the ad was filmed in Shaftesbury, deep in Dorset, a million cultural miles from the dark satanic mills as it's possible to get, is neither here nor there. You see, one of my lifelong ambitions has been to cycle up that hill, Gold Hill, thus proving that southerners are tougher than northerners once and for all.

The story now also has an added twist in that the new face of Hovis, is none other than our favourite cyclist born on my birthday (albeit 16 years later), step forward Victoria Pendleton. In the clip below, she burbles on about a load of guff, but it's great seeing her attempting to cycle down the hill on an old bike, with what appears to be highly dodgy brakes, and as I found out, it's a very steep hill.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hC3gAo_Z0T4

I was visiting my parents this weekend, and guess what, they live about 20 miles from Shaftesbury. So I designed (yes, me, planning, what next I hear you cry?) a route around Cranbourne Chase, about 50+ miles, plenty of tasty hills and some long descents as well as a bit of rolling terrain. I did not get off to the best of starts as after about a mile I realised I'd left my water bottles on my Mum's kitchen table, so had to retrace my route.

But once that was out of the way there were no more hitches and I was away into the early morning sunshine and the peaceful quiet lanes of Dorset and Wiltshire. The views were stunning as I climbed each chalk escarpment, and the villages that followed the spring lines (remember that in geography?) were full of thatched and red-brick cottages and small water courses by the roadside.

For a short time I was back on a section of the Lionheart sportive route, before diving down the A30 and tackling a 20% climb back up to the top of the ridge with the military badges on it. From there it was through leafy lanes, encountering a line of four Caterham sports cars, countless motorbikes and one horse with rider and plenty of hi vis. I understand the galloping over the fields malarkey, but not the plodding round the lanes bit. Each to his own I guess.

Next it was date with destiny, Shaftesbury and Gold Hill. It's actually a traffic-free zone and I'm not sure it includes bicycles, but I had figured that with it being Sunday, and only about 10.30AM, few people would be around to object. Wrong. Well, there were hordes of people, it was a medieval fayre in central Shaftesbury, including Gold Hill, and I was dressed in my best Lycra, blending in as well as tomato at a cucumber convention.

Even though it wasn't the steepest hill of the day, the very uneven and oddly-shaped cobbles made it the toughest. I confess to walking up the steps, but apart from that I  met the challenge. I'm running out of childhood ambitions to fulfill.

From there, all that was left was the climb of Zig Zag hill, which is lovely. After a short 10% section at the bottom it's a fairly easy 6%, before the final push up to the top of the downs above Tollard Royal. As I crested the hill I became aware that there were many more cyclist about than usual. Yes, you've guessed it, I had wandered into a sportive route,  (the Santini National Trust Kingston Lacey sportive to give its mouthful of a title)sharing mine. One of their marshalls even tried to give me directions when our paths diverged.  I guess sometime you can't make it on your own.

http://www.votwo.co.uk/CustomContentRetrieve.aspx?ID=1164331

Gratifyingly I was picking up speed as I sped through Tollard Royal and Sixpenny Handley (6d Handley on one sign) and powered on towards Cranbourne. Right through a swarm of horse flies, one of which was kind enough to sting my head. A sharp sting has been replaced by a low-level throb and a slight swelling. I have to be a bit careful about these things and was grateful I'd taken an anti histamine for my hay fever.

Just the last small hill was left and I was back into Alderholt in a shade over three and a half hours for 53.5 miles, a really lovely ride. The first couple of hours were particularly delightful as there was virtually no-one about and I had the roads pretty much to myself. 

http://ridewithgps.com/routes/513605

On a hillside desolate

First a bit of news: Mendip rouleur has joined the twitterverse! You can follow me (and let's face it, it's going to look pretty said if you don't) by following the link below. I really promise to tweet very random and odd but interesting thoughts and observations. Unlike my first tweet tonight which is exceptionally dull. Not selling it am I?

http://twitter.com/#!/mendiprouleur

I haven't ridden to work for three weeks, and the last time it was pouring with rain on the way home. It has also been distinctly murky in the mornings, so it was a real pleasure to be able to ride in with sunshine on my back. So nice in fact that I detoured by way of Ashton Park and then Jacob Wells Road, where I surprised minimendip rouleur waiting at the school gates.

And guess what? Yes it was sunny in the evening too, although there was my old friend Mr Headwind back again to make life a bit harder. So I thought I'll do the hard hill (Dundry) and then head through the Chew Valley and do Harptree and back via Cheddar, thus making a genuine loop for the day.

But after Dundry I couldn't be bothered, so the route is a frying pan with a wonky handle as I needed a dose of tailwind to keep me happy, so came home via Banwell in order to get it.

The tan lines are coming along well, although it's not helped by wearing different shorts on a regular basis. I still have this differential tan on my arms from last week. I really need to find a sunny day where I can ride westwards during the afternoon, or eastwards for a whole morning. Whilst on the subject arm warmers, which I needed this morning for the chilly start, are also problematic if you don't make sure they are pulled up to the same point on both arms.

I was not that fast on the way in, and a bit slow on the way back, but the main thing was it was just nice to be riding. I have no major events planned until the Pyrenees at the end of August, so will just concentrate on my hills, and on enjoying riding. That's the main thing right now. Too many other things to worry about as it is.

I am also very, very jealous of Bunny. He is off to Brittany to watch three stages of the Tour, and what's more he is going to cycle to each from his house in the country. Still, he is missing out on the pleasure I had this evening as I laboured up St Peter's Rise. Nearing the top I actually had a good rhythm going albeit a slow one. I was slightly dismayed to see a car doing an eight point turn in the road in front of me, completely blocking all progress.

I slowed, and I gasped, more for breath than anything, but no complaints came from my lips, but I guess my presence was enough to cause offence. Perhaps he was a body language expert or an NLP practitioner, able to do Jedi mind tricks or something. I was obvioulsy doing something wrong.

"You f******g  p***k" this charming man shouted at me out of his window as he sped away. Bet you don't get that level of warmth in Mur de Bretagne.

http://ridewithgps.com/routes/509453