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
Friday, 30 September 2011
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
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