It dawned on me last weekend that the cross season was fast approaching and that I've badly neglected my cross bike over the summer whilst I've been out having fun on my singlespeed. So it was with some trepidation and a vague sense of guilt that I pulled my once much loved cross bike out of the shed to see what sort of state it was in.
A bit of a wash and some chain lube seemed to indicate that all was well with the exception of some pretty tired looking brake pads.
Having ridden mountain bikes since early spring, I wasn't quite sure I remembered what to do with a cross bike, so I commuted on it all week, taking the long, off road routes home from work (mostly in the dark) just to see if it all hung together.
The first memory that came flooding back was just how fast my cross bike was. Arriving at work with a big grin on my face after finally breaking that commuting time challenge I set myself at the start of the summer.
The next memory was that the brakes aren't quite as responsive as the disc brakes on my mountain bikes. Unfortunately I only remembered that as I was pelting down a rocky rooty descent, ever so slightly out of control. Luckily my arm warmers protected me from the worst of the bramble thorns of the bush I ended up in.
So after a week of commuter cross, I felt vaguely ready for today's mini cross race....a small, unofficial, friends only Skull and Cross Bikes race in some local woods. A short, pretty techy course with slippery roots, some rocky drops and some descents which I had to force myself to ride down against my better judgement (descents seem so much steeper on drop bars) and a beer short cut just in case the section through the nettles and brambles got too much.
It all flooded back after the first lap. Heart in throat as I'm hurtling down descents pulling on the brake levers with very little happening, running / stumbling up hills with my bike slung over my shoulder desperately trying to breathe as I'm slipping and sliding on the mud, cranking up the gears to hammer along the flat bits only to have to shift down in an instant to hit that hill, going through the start / finish hoping that this time the bell goes, but it doesn't, then finally crossing the finish line to be greeted by lots of other grinning, wheezing faces who're talking about how much that hill hurt or how sketchy that descent was or how that root just spat you off every lap.
So do I feel guilty for neglecting my cross bike since the spring? Not at all...I'm going to spend the next 4 months loving it and riding it and myself into the ground, suffering and grinning in equal measure.
Jac
x
Saturday, 25 September 2010
Friday, 24 September 2010
things of beauty
2010 NW Gentlemen's Race from RAPHA on Vimeo.
"a defect in the gentleman's mind confuses pain with joy, and they ride on."
j.
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
Midweek microadventure
Charge lights. Ride bike. Meet friends. Eat chips. Drink beer. Ride bike. Seek shelter. Night cap. Forest noises. Warm bivvy. Sleep outdoors. First light. Drink tea. Ride home. Breakfast earned. Smug grin. Midweek microadventure. Do it!
Vikki
Vikki
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
tour of britain.
got up early on saturday and rode to the top of the hill to watch the tour of britain go by.
never mind that it rained.
never mind that i felt like shit.
never mind that from a choice of three brutal climbs, they cheated and took the riders the easy way up.
for an hour or so the bicycle folk outnumbered, outcoloured and outsmiled everyone else on top of the hill and that alone was worth the ride.
lovely.
j.
never mind that it rained.
never mind that i felt like shit.
never mind that from a choice of three brutal climbs, they cheated and took the riders the easy way up.
for an hour or so the bicycle folk outnumbered, outcoloured and outsmiled everyone else on top of the hill and that alone was worth the ride.
lovely.
j.
Friday, 10 September 2010
The Terrex (3)
Windermere is big. It rained and the end of the lake never seemed to get any closer. I resisted asking 'how far' (something I never do... so demoralising) but it was the closest I ever was during the race. Rain trickled down the back of my neck and I could feel my base layer soaking up warm rain water. The smell... my smell, of unwashed bodies and days old sweat puffed up warm and sickly every time I twisted my torso. The air was full of water. We were damp. Spirits, bodies, kit.
Eventually we landed at Winderemere Canoe and Kayak and rushed our boats through the carpark, sorted out our kit and got ready for the next bike leg. If we hurried, we'd make the next ferry. Steve lead the race... running around the buildings to the queueing cars. We didn't quite make it, but fortuitously ended up waiting outside a bacon butty van! So for 20 minutes we refuelled in the rain, drinking tea and eating delicious bacon rolls.
The ferry was surreal. People stared. We stared back. The rain lashed down.
Steve winced as we got back on our bikes. We were over 30 hours in now and his saddle sores were raw. He never once complained, but in his post-match analysis he wrote 'Things I would do differently: Buy bike shorts more than once every three years." I saw his sores. They were unbelievable. He resorted later in the race to wearing his shorts inside out and once put them on back to front because we got changed in the dark, on a hill in a sleeping bag. Not a good move!
The bike leg saw us fix our only puncture of the race and continue to storm past other teams. People were dropping checkpoints left right and centre so we had no idea what position we were in. We were fairly confident we had dropped back to fifth behind the other FGS team but that was fine.
The sun came out eventually and we drifted calmly into transition at Langdale for the dreaded Langdale to Langdale trek. This was going to be an overnight trek, which would take us high up into the mountains; up over Scafell in the early hours of the morning. It was the Make or Break stage of the race. A lot of luck would be required to hit the checkpoints in thick clag and zero visibility.
Unfortunately luck was not on our side.
To be continued...
Eventually we landed at Winderemere Canoe and Kayak and rushed our boats through the carpark, sorted out our kit and got ready for the next bike leg. If we hurried, we'd make the next ferry. Steve lead the race... running around the buildings to the queueing cars. We didn't quite make it, but fortuitously ended up waiting outside a bacon butty van! So for 20 minutes we refuelled in the rain, drinking tea and eating delicious bacon rolls.
The ferry was surreal. People stared. We stared back. The rain lashed down.
Steve winced as we got back on our bikes. We were over 30 hours in now and his saddle sores were raw. He never once complained, but in his post-match analysis he wrote 'Things I would do differently: Buy bike shorts more than once every three years." I saw his sores. They were unbelievable. He resorted later in the race to wearing his shorts inside out and once put them on back to front because we got changed in the dark, on a hill in a sleeping bag. Not a good move!
The bike leg saw us fix our only puncture of the race and continue to storm past other teams. People were dropping checkpoints left right and centre so we had no idea what position we were in. We were fairly confident we had dropped back to fifth behind the other FGS team but that was fine.
The sun came out eventually and we drifted calmly into transition at Langdale for the dreaded Langdale to Langdale trek. This was going to be an overnight trek, which would take us high up into the mountains; up over Scafell in the early hours of the morning. It was the Make or Break stage of the race. A lot of luck would be required to hit the checkpoints in thick clag and zero visibility.
Unfortunately luck was not on our side.
To be continued...
Thursday, 9 September 2010
The Terrex (2)
The start:
As I came to on the coach, I looked out the window at a massive flat expanse of sand: Morecombe Sands. Two lonely flags stood a few hundred metres out from the 'shore' and a wind-battered camera man was waiting patiently half a kilometre away. The Start.
Racers hugged their team mates and lined up under the clock, waiting for the count down. Adrenaline and fear was pulsing through everyone. 3... 2... 1... we were off. Teams ran 4 abreast, splashing through the enless puddles and dipping in and out of the streams and rivulets that cross the sands. Not a cockle in sight, nor a Chinese cockle picker.
Chapel Island never seemed to get any closer. Hours went past and then suddenly we were dibbing our first checkpoint and heading back across to the land. 25km of flat running on a hard surface. My ham strings were tight and my quads tired. I had 3 days to go...
In the first transition we grabbed our kit and sat out the penalty we had been given from the prologue the night before. We had 33 minutes to sit out (which was triple the time we finished behind the lead team). Barney looked unhappy. He had pulled a muscle in the prologue (explaining our slow time) and was suffering today. But we had a 14 hour bike leg to look forward to.
It felt wonderful swinging my leg over my bike and pedalling off across the grass. The miles flew past. We were riding strong but comfortably and picking off team after team. We were soon up in 4th place, despite Barney's crippling cramps. An orienteering stage saw Andy take over the navigation reigns from Steve and we stormed round the course, enjoying the tussocky running and the fading sunlight.
The first night snuck up on us at the top of a brutal uphill hike-a-bike which spurred off from the bottom of Hard Knot Pass. Reaching the top, the hiking just got harder, as we lurched and draggd our bikes down hill over bogs and boulders! Another push and we were up over the top and were greeted with the finest descent I have ever done. Rocks, boulders, loose shale... every inch of my tired body taught with concentration. Every little scrap of skill I had was employed on that descent. Four smiling and relieved team mates met at the bottom to discuss the next section (the Ghyll Scramble), fill camelbaks from the stream and give our brakes a chance to cool off.
It's lucky there is no rule about nakedness in AR. The Gyhll Scramble involved complete submersion and as it was 11pm we knew we would never dry off afterwards, so to avoid getting too cold, we decided to put waterproofs on and nothing else! The scramble was exhilarating and really bonded our team, who had been struggling under the weight of Barney's suffering until the descent. Now the mood was really up and we were forging ahead!
A final push and we arrived at transition for a quick kayak in simply beautiful conditions. It was still, the moon was full and clear and the clouds were illuminated. Coniston was peaceful and quiet and we were in heaven.
Finishing the kayak, however, the drizzle had started and we experienced a rather demoralizingly slow bush whacking trek over to the big tea-and-toast transition. 10km in 3hrs. Exhausting! Overdue a sleep, we changed, ate and grabbed an hour in the frame tents at Windermere YHA.
Refreshed and ready for day 2, we grabbed our kayaks and set off on the lake for some rainy paddling...
As I came to on the coach, I looked out the window at a massive flat expanse of sand: Morecombe Sands. Two lonely flags stood a few hundred metres out from the 'shore' and a wind-battered camera man was waiting patiently half a kilometre away. The Start.
Racers hugged their team mates and lined up under the clock, waiting for the count down. Adrenaline and fear was pulsing through everyone. 3... 2... 1... we were off. Teams ran 4 abreast, splashing through the enless puddles and dipping in and out of the streams and rivulets that cross the sands. Not a cockle in sight, nor a Chinese cockle picker.
Chapel Island never seemed to get any closer. Hours went past and then suddenly we were dibbing our first checkpoint and heading back across to the land. 25km of flat running on a hard surface. My ham strings were tight and my quads tired. I had 3 days to go...
In the first transition we grabbed our kit and sat out the penalty we had been given from the prologue the night before. We had 33 minutes to sit out (which was triple the time we finished behind the lead team). Barney looked unhappy. He had pulled a muscle in the prologue (explaining our slow time) and was suffering today. But we had a 14 hour bike leg to look forward to.
It felt wonderful swinging my leg over my bike and pedalling off across the grass. The miles flew past. We were riding strong but comfortably and picking off team after team. We were soon up in 4th place, despite Barney's crippling cramps. An orienteering stage saw Andy take over the navigation reigns from Steve and we stormed round the course, enjoying the tussocky running and the fading sunlight.
The first night snuck up on us at the top of a brutal uphill hike-a-bike which spurred off from the bottom of Hard Knot Pass. Reaching the top, the hiking just got harder, as we lurched and draggd our bikes down hill over bogs and boulders! Another push and we were up over the top and were greeted with the finest descent I have ever done. Rocks, boulders, loose shale... every inch of my tired body taught with concentration. Every little scrap of skill I had was employed on that descent. Four smiling and relieved team mates met at the bottom to discuss the next section (the Ghyll Scramble), fill camelbaks from the stream and give our brakes a chance to cool off.
It's lucky there is no rule about nakedness in AR. The Gyhll Scramble involved complete submersion and as it was 11pm we knew we would never dry off afterwards, so to avoid getting too cold, we decided to put waterproofs on and nothing else! The scramble was exhilarating and really bonded our team, who had been struggling under the weight of Barney's suffering until the descent. Now the mood was really up and we were forging ahead!
A final push and we arrived at transition for a quick kayak in simply beautiful conditions. It was still, the moon was full and clear and the clouds were illuminated. Coniston was peaceful and quiet and we were in heaven.
Finishing the kayak, however, the drizzle had started and we experienced a rather demoralizingly slow bush whacking trek over to the big tea-and-toast transition. 10km in 3hrs. Exhausting! Overdue a sleep, we changed, ate and grabbed an hour in the frame tents at Windermere YHA.
Refreshed and ready for day 2, we grabbed our kayaks and set off on the lake for some rainy paddling...
Research suggests a new era of cycling may be here to stay
What with the rise of the Middle Aged Men in Lycra (MAMILS), Boris Johnson’s newly opened Cycle Superhighways in London, Clare Balding’s new BBC4 series on cycling tourism, and the outstanding sporting success of the likes of Cavendish and Pooley, could we be forgiven for thinking the UK is on the cusp of a new era of cycling?
This was the question asked by a team of academics at the Bristol Social Marketing Centre at the University of the West of England (UWE).
Professor Alan Tapp with colleagues Fi Spotswood and Sarah Leonard commissioned YouGov to undertake a UK wide survey that asked: what do British people really think about cycling? Their research investigated the opinions about cycling amongst a representative UK sample of adults. 3,885 people aged 16-64 were interviewed in early summer 2010.
Professor Tapp comments, “We wanted to find out if cycling is still the ‘poor mans transport’ populated by badly dressed social misfits muttering about gear ratios, or a fashionable activity of good looking people who rock up to the office with the latest carbon frame. We asked questions about how congestion, global warming and ever rising fuel prices might persuade us out of our cars and back onto two wheels.
42% of people think cycling has become cool.
“Our findings suggest that most people see Jeremy Clarkson-esque critics of cycling as missing the point. An impressive 42% of the British public think that ‘cycling has become cool nowadays’, and, good news for those forty-something men with mid-life crises, 38% agree that bike technology is much sexier nowadays. Perhaps surprisingly there was also encouragement for government initiatives, with 43% agreeing that ‘there’s a new push by the government towards getting people to cycle’.
“These pro cycling feelings might be a symptom of traffic jam stress as much as anything. A whopping 43% of us agreed that ‘When I’m stuck in a traffic jam I sometimes wish I were cycling’. The success of the likes of Chris Hoy and Mark Cavendish might be rubbing off on us as well: a surprising 18% of us admit that ‘The success of British cyclists has encouraged me to think about cycling more myself’.
“But cycling lobbies can’t quite break out the champagne just yet. It was quite clear from the study that Britain is still a divided nation over cycling, with a die-hard 28% of people agreeing that ‘roads are for cars not bikes’ - In fact, only 12% of us cycle quite or very often (once a week or more). What’s for sure is that getting over our love of cars isn’t going to be easy: 54% say ‘I would not support any measure that penalises car use’. Perhaps the divided nation theory is best highlighted by the finding that 39% agree that ‘global warming has been exaggerated’with a similar number, 38%, disagreeing.
Can things get better for cyclists? Well, we could certainly use our Olympic and Tour de France heroes to help us market cycling as a way of getting about. After all, at the moment, more people recognised David Cameron (picked out by 59%) as a cyclist than Chris Hoy (53%), and Boris Johnson (48%) was a more famous cyclist than Victoria Pendleton (27%).
Commuter cyclists not serious career people
Accepting that the UK is still dominated by a ‘car culture’, the researchers investigated whether UK cyclists see themselves as a breed apart. How do cyclists see themselves, and what do the motoring majority think of them?
Findings suggest that the way cyclists see themselves isn’t always matched by how outsiders see them.
Cyclists see themselves as independent minded and free spirited, environmentally aware, adventurous, and even a bit rebellious. They are also less likely to see themselves as conventional or boring.But a different picture emerges when non-cycling people were asked what they thought of cyclists.
Some descriptions such as fitness conscious and independent minded were not surprising but interestingly the general public thought that cyclists were less happy than they were- perhaps because they see cyclists getting wet and cold. Professor Tapp concludes, “We were also surprised to find that cyclists were seen as lazy and non-cyclists percieve cyclists as less hard working than they are. Maybe the perception is that if you are a serious career professional in the UK, you don’t cycle – you drive a 5 series instead.”
This was the question asked by a team of academics at the Bristol Social Marketing Centre at the University of the West of England (UWE).
Professor Alan Tapp with colleagues Fi Spotswood and Sarah Leonard commissioned YouGov to undertake a UK wide survey that asked: what do British people really think about cycling? Their research investigated the opinions about cycling amongst a representative UK sample of adults. 3,885 people aged 16-64 were interviewed in early summer 2010.
Professor Tapp comments, “We wanted to find out if cycling is still the ‘poor mans transport’ populated by badly dressed social misfits muttering about gear ratios, or a fashionable activity of good looking people who rock up to the office with the latest carbon frame. We asked questions about how congestion, global warming and ever rising fuel prices might persuade us out of our cars and back onto two wheels.
42% of people think cycling has become cool.
“Our findings suggest that most people see Jeremy Clarkson-esque critics of cycling as missing the point. An impressive 42% of the British public think that ‘cycling has become cool nowadays’, and, good news for those forty-something men with mid-life crises, 38% agree that bike technology is much sexier nowadays. Perhaps surprisingly there was also encouragement for government initiatives, with 43% agreeing that ‘there’s a new push by the government towards getting people to cycle’.
“These pro cycling feelings might be a symptom of traffic jam stress as much as anything. A whopping 43% of us agreed that ‘When I’m stuck in a traffic jam I sometimes wish I were cycling’. The success of the likes of Chris Hoy and Mark Cavendish might be rubbing off on us as well: a surprising 18% of us admit that ‘The success of British cyclists has encouraged me to think about cycling more myself’.
“But cycling lobbies can’t quite break out the champagne just yet. It was quite clear from the study that Britain is still a divided nation over cycling, with a die-hard 28% of people agreeing that ‘roads are for cars not bikes’ - In fact, only 12% of us cycle quite or very often (once a week or more). What’s for sure is that getting over our love of cars isn’t going to be easy: 54% say ‘I would not support any measure that penalises car use’. Perhaps the divided nation theory is best highlighted by the finding that 39% agree that ‘global warming has been exaggerated’with a similar number, 38%, disagreeing.
Can things get better for cyclists? Well, we could certainly use our Olympic and Tour de France heroes to help us market cycling as a way of getting about. After all, at the moment, more people recognised David Cameron (picked out by 59%) as a cyclist than Chris Hoy (53%), and Boris Johnson (48%) was a more famous cyclist than Victoria Pendleton (27%).
Commuter cyclists not serious career people
Accepting that the UK is still dominated by a ‘car culture’, the researchers investigated whether UK cyclists see themselves as a breed apart. How do cyclists see themselves, and what do the motoring majority think of them?
Findings suggest that the way cyclists see themselves isn’t always matched by how outsiders see them.
Cyclists see themselves as independent minded and free spirited, environmentally aware, adventurous, and even a bit rebellious. They are also less likely to see themselves as conventional or boring.But a different picture emerges when non-cycling people were asked what they thought of cyclists.
Some descriptions such as fitness conscious and independent minded were not surprising but interestingly the general public thought that cyclists were less happy than they were- perhaps because they see cyclists getting wet and cold. Professor Tapp concludes, “We were also surprised to find that cyclists were seen as lazy and non-cyclists percieve cyclists as less hard working than they are. Maybe the perception is that if you are a serious career professional in the UK, you don’t cycle – you drive a 5 series instead.”
*insert prefered term here* on bikes
women/damsels/divas/lasses/ladies/bitches/chicks/girls on bikes.
You might have seen and responded to Sacred Rides' call for input from female mountain bikers a few weeks back. The report from their survey is now up and it makes for interesting reading.
(If only for IMBA Canada's fantastic 'been there, done that' slot on the back page.)
Thoughts? There's a lot in there that to me is blindingly obvious - the majority of respondents are in the affluent 30-50 age group, are type A characters who are deeply immersed in an active lifestyle and who love the outdoors, who got into mountain biking as a result of an introduction from a friend or partner. And then stayed into it because they like it.
But also plenty that was surprising. Is mountain biking viewed as *that* 'hardcore'? Do we lack female role models? Is finding other women to ride with - or men that you can tolerate/will tolerate you - so difficult that it puts women off riding entirely?
Really?
Comments please...
j.
The Terrex (1)
Over a week has past since Barney, Andy, Steve and I (Team FGS! Choc Malt) sprinted across the finish line of the Adidas Terrex Expedition Adventure Race. Yes, we sprinted. After 3 and a half days of racing with only 2 and a half hours of sleep, we took it upon ourselves to sprint from the end of the Canadian Canoe final stage to the finish line in Keswick Town Centre. It was an emotional moment. Barney could barely walk and yet the drive to finish with a bang got his adrenaline pumping and had him gritting his teeth and dodging through the shoppers and the tourists up the high street. As the race planner Bruce gave me a hug, I wouldn't let go. He whispered 'Fi, you're shaking'. I was fighting the tears. It had been a tough weekend.
... to be continued...
... to be continued...
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Big Wheels
Today was the Knutsford Great Race. A once every ten year Penny Farthing race. We went to spectate. I now so want to try riding one. I wonder if by the time 2020 rolls around I will have managed to not only acquire one, but have mastered riding very big wheels at speed?
Vikki
Vikki
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
Ride the Lights
Met up with Amy last night for Blackpool's annual Ride the Lights. The prom is closed off to all traffic, open to bikes. Thousands of people pedalling along under The Illuminations. It's not hard riding, or fast riding, just pure, cheesy grin, fun riding. We factored in a chips and beer stop too, just for good measure. A top evening!
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
12:12 and a break for 6
Sorry its been a while since my last blog... the last 6 months have seemed like they have been happening to someone else.
For one thing I actually heard myself utter the words..
"its more important than riding"
and that made me feel slightly sick as so far in my life nothing as made me feel quite like I do when I ride my bike (I know... not even that :-)
Being made redundant in September last year I was looking forward to being able to ride more... but it didnt quite work out that way!.. funny how life does that eh.
Moments to myself as the tarmac slips away under me, thinking about which way my life is pulling and where is it I am meant to be.
Messages sent to me at just in the nick of time. Hearing a very dear friend of over 20 years has been paralysed in an accident the day before I was supposed to be throwing myself willfully off the top of Pic Blanc maybe just saved me for something yet to come.
Last weekend I had THE most relaxed fun ride at the "12:12 TORQ in your sleep" sadly my last race for 6 months, 2nd place with great company on my local trails and a huge grin on my face.
I will miss you all but there is somewhere else I need to be for a while.
See you all in March. I am going to Haiti to work for a medical relief agency for 6 months. If anyone is around over Christmas and fancies coming riding to laugh at how stupidly unfit I have become I will be looking forward to it........
enjoy the winter
Elaine
For one thing I actually heard myself utter the words..
"its more important than riding"
and that made me feel slightly sick as so far in my life nothing as made me feel quite like I do when I ride my bike (I know... not even that :-)
Being made redundant in September last year I was looking forward to being able to ride more... but it didnt quite work out that way!.. funny how life does that eh.
Moments to myself as the tarmac slips away under me, thinking about which way my life is pulling and where is it I am meant to be.
Messages sent to me at just in the nick of time. Hearing a very dear friend of over 20 years has been paralysed in an accident the day before I was supposed to be throwing myself willfully off the top of Pic Blanc maybe just saved me for something yet to come.
Last weekend I had THE most relaxed fun ride at the "12:12 TORQ in your sleep" sadly my last race for 6 months, 2nd place with great company on my local trails and a huge grin on my face.
I will miss you all but there is somewhere else I need to be for a while.
See you all in March. I am going to Haiti to work for a medical relief agency for 6 months. If anyone is around over Christmas and fancies coming riding to laugh at how stupidly unfit I have become I will be looking forward to it........
enjoy the winter
Elaine
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
48
I've tried my hand at soloing some 24's, some 12's and some 10's, so when someone suggested I have a go at a 48 this week, I had to give it a go. 48 minutes that is.
Last night, a group of locals (Scottish Cycling, Edinburgh Road Club and the Tri Centre) put on a 48 minute dirt crit on a local(ish) country park. It was a 7.15 start, so we had a bit of a mad rush to get there after work, but we made it in time to see the end of the under 14's race and have a quick practice lap before we set off.
The format was pretty much like a cross race.... as many laps of a short course as you can do in 48 minutes. In hind sight, my cross bike might have been a better bike choice, but the Spot's at the top of the heap at the moment, so it was the first one to hand in the mad dash to get out the door.
It was a fast, swoopy, grassy, muddy, steppy, uppy, downy course, some short sharp ups, some fast, lumpy downs (with some hucks if you got it right) and no respite at all! It was fab! I managed to make 3rd place in the ladies race which was great, but the two girls in front of me were, well...I was old enough to be their mother, which was less great!
Chris managed to win a tub of cookies for riding the steps on the course and we got some beer from our friend Andy, so all round, not a bad Tuesday evening!
Roll on the cross season (I might have to do some fettling with the bike this weekend though).
Jac
x
Last night, a group of locals (Scottish Cycling, Edinburgh Road Club and the Tri Centre) put on a 48 minute dirt crit on a local(ish) country park. It was a 7.15 start, so we had a bit of a mad rush to get there after work, but we made it in time to see the end of the under 14's race and have a quick practice lap before we set off.
The format was pretty much like a cross race.... as many laps of a short course as you can do in 48 minutes. In hind sight, my cross bike might have been a better bike choice, but the Spot's at the top of the heap at the moment, so it was the first one to hand in the mad dash to get out the door.
It was a fast, swoopy, grassy, muddy, steppy, uppy, downy course, some short sharp ups, some fast, lumpy downs (with some hucks if you got it right) and no respite at all! It was fab! I managed to make 3rd place in the ladies race which was great, but the two girls in front of me were, well...I was old enough to be their mother, which was less great!
Chris managed to win a tub of cookies for riding the steps on the course and we got some beer from our friend Andy, so all round, not a bad Tuesday evening!
Roll on the cross season (I might have to do some fettling with the bike this weekend though).
Jac
x
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Happy Campers
Fi writes:
I am camping in my own flat. Or that's how it feels. I have just got back from the Trans Wales (rain, sun, mud, climbing, sheep, old friends) and am packing for the Terrex, a 4 day non-stop expedition adventure race in the Lake District. There are piles of kit all over the flat and friends in the AR world are posting pictures of their houses on Facebook, covered in equal amounts of kit. Eventually each bit will be pared down and split into stuff sacks, labelled and stored in a massive duffel.
I am excited. I've been ill so still have the slightly shakey remnants of an undiagnosed virus but nevertheless am excited. I've never raced for 4 days non stop before. 250k biking, 100k running/trekking and 65k paddling. And Other Stuff. Climbing, abseilling, Other Stuff. Can't wait.
And the best thing about this race is that I get to do it in a team of 4. 3 boys, one of whom is my fella. The feeling of shared excitement, shared pain, shared exhaustion and shared experience is so valuable. Sunsets are always more beautiful when you have someone to gasp with, and tiredness always more bearable when you have someone who understands just what it feels like to not sleep for 3 days.
I'll let you know how it goes. Better get on with decanting the 12 tins of rice pudding and 8 tins of spagetti hoops into plastic jars.
I am camping in my own flat. Or that's how it feels. I have just got back from the Trans Wales (rain, sun, mud, climbing, sheep, old friends) and am packing for the Terrex, a 4 day non-stop expedition adventure race in the Lake District. There are piles of kit all over the flat and friends in the AR world are posting pictures of their houses on Facebook, covered in equal amounts of kit. Eventually each bit will be pared down and split into stuff sacks, labelled and stored in a massive duffel.
I am excited. I've been ill so still have the slightly shakey remnants of an undiagnosed virus but nevertheless am excited. I've never raced for 4 days non stop before. 250k biking, 100k running/trekking and 65k paddling. And Other Stuff. Climbing, abseilling, Other Stuff. Can't wait.
And the best thing about this race is that I get to do it in a team of 4. 3 boys, one of whom is my fella. The feeling of shared excitement, shared pain, shared exhaustion and shared experience is so valuable. Sunsets are always more beautiful when you have someone to gasp with, and tiredness always more bearable when you have someone who understands just what it feels like to not sleep for 3 days.
I'll let you know how it goes. Better get on with decanting the 12 tins of rice pudding and 8 tins of spagetti hoops into plastic jars.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
stoke.
i.
am.
knackered.
busy busy busy of late. no bad thing, but the last thing on my mind as i drag myself out of bed in the morning and through a day's work is getting on a bike at the end of it.
still, though, i find myself thrown into the company of a particular band of folks, and loving it. all good riders, all enthusiastic and encouraging, and all thoroughly possessed of the stoke.
stoke /stoʊk/
–verb
1. to poke, stir up, and feed (a fire).
2. to tend the fire of (a furnace, esp. one used with a boiler to generate steam for an engine); supply with fuel.
spend enough time in the presence of the right sort of stoke and it has a habit of rubbing off on you.
so yes, the weather has been shit. yes, it has greyed, rained. poured. and yes, apart from a brief cold-stops-play hiatus, i've been riding trails every single day and loved every minute of it. even the bits where my legs are filled with acid and concrete and my vision has blurred with sweat or tears and i simply cannot get in enough food to stop the spots dancing because i really, really should be at home having a rest.
i love the trails that i have come home to. i love that in the brief time i was away i learnt new methods of approach and have a new belief in what i can do. what i want to do.
i love that the thought of riding my bike tomorrow makes me smile.
j.
am.
knackered.
busy busy busy of late. no bad thing, but the last thing on my mind as i drag myself out of bed in the morning and through a day's work is getting on a bike at the end of it.
still, though, i find myself thrown into the company of a particular band of folks, and loving it. all good riders, all enthusiastic and encouraging, and all thoroughly possessed of the stoke.
stoke /stoʊk/
–verb
1. to poke, stir up, and feed (a fire).
2. to tend the fire of (a furnace, esp. one used with a boiler to generate steam for an engine); supply with fuel.
spend enough time in the presence of the right sort of stoke and it has a habit of rubbing off on you.
so yes, the weather has been shit. yes, it has greyed, rained. poured. and yes, apart from a brief cold-stops-play hiatus, i've been riding trails every single day and loved every minute of it. even the bits where my legs are filled with acid and concrete and my vision has blurred with sweat or tears and i simply cannot get in enough food to stop the spots dancing because i really, really should be at home having a rest.
i love the trails that i have come home to. i love that in the brief time i was away i learnt new methods of approach and have a new belief in what i can do. what i want to do.
i love that the thought of riding my bike tomorrow makes me smile.
j.
TransWales Approaches (first 4 days only)
Saturday morning. Grab and stuff stuff into a bag. Make sure arm warmers, socks and jerseys coordinate. Remember recovery drink plus denim mini skirt to wear over compression tights. Never sacrifice style for being sensible (or speed, safety or anything much else).
Saturday afternoon. Curse at bridge toll. Arrive Wales, dump bags in Builth. Drive to Cwmsomethingorother and pedal back to Builth.
Saturday evening. Drink one to many.
Sunday to Wednesday. Pedal lots. Up, down, up, down, rain, sun, rain, sun, sleep, eat, sleep, eat. Laugh lots. Nice photos. More fun memories. Forget. All. About. Work. Locate car in Cwm-s-or-o. Drive home.
Thursday. Remember all about work again. Feel like we've been away for weeks.
Saturday afternoon. Curse at bridge toll. Arrive Wales, dump bags in Builth. Drive to Cwmsomethingorother and pedal back to Builth.
Saturday evening. Drink one to many.
Sunday to Wednesday. Pedal lots. Up, down, up, down, rain, sun, rain, sun, sleep, eat, sleep, eat. Laugh lots. Nice photos. More fun memories. Forget. All. About. Work. Locate car in Cwm-s-or-o. Drive home.
Thursday. Remember all about work again. Feel like we've been away for weeks.
Friday, 6 August 2010
The Open 24 Adventure Race. North Wales. July, 2010.
The Open 24 took over our house. My boyfriend Andy was the ‘planner’ and I was racing it. He had to keep the details secret so I was often banished from the room as he schemed with Open Adventure boss James about what the 62 pairs of racers would get up to. 24 hours is a long time and a lot of adventure could be had.
As it happened, 24 hours wasn’t enough and there was a prologue to the 2010 edition of the Open 24; a swim across Rhoscolyn bay followed by an hour of exhilarating coasteering. “Look at the horizon. Cross your arms. Then jump into the swell”. Horizon. Rock. Spray. Sea. Plunge.
At the end of the coasteering course we were ferried by speedboat (RIB) across the waves to Rhosneigr. Gripping hard to the handles on the boat. “Don’t let go”. Heart thumping in your ears, fixed grin, involuntary squeals, teeth chattering against the chill and the excitement.
And the race hadn’t even started.
We stripped off our wetsuits in the drizzly slipway, stirring quite a few bemused looks from the kitesurfers and dogwalkers. Andy battled against the wind and his distracted audience to deliver the pre-race briefing. “It’s Plan B. Plan A has been cancelled due to the weather, so it’s plan B. Does everyone understand?” Yes. No sea kayaking. More cycling. We packed our race bags and then lined up for an underwhelming chasing start on the beach.
The exhilaration of the prologue faded fast as we hit the lanes of Angelsea for the hastily organised ‘lane quest’ of Plan B. Pedalling into Newborough Forest we were pleased to get off the bikes and enjoy a trail run through the trees and out across the sand to the lighthouse. But then it was more bikes, more lanes, more drizzle.
The kayak spiced things up. Rarely is there kayaking in UK adventure races, and even rarer is there kayaking when the weather puts paid to Plan A. The Menai Straights may not be the most exciting stretch of water, but it was lovely being in the boat, feeling the waves underneath the hull and resting our leg muscles.
Far too soon it was biking again and a full 9 hours after the start we crawled up the final hill to Ogwen Cottage and the evening transition. Plenty of racers were milling around, gearing themselves up for the night, going through kit check and contemplating their route. Andy and James were nervous about the night trek, and with good reason. They had returned from putting out checkpoints earlier that week drenched through, exhausted, sore and tired. They were scared that racers would feel they were just nipping up the Glydrs and that it ‘must be safe, it’s a race’. Them Glydrs is big, and at night and in the clag, can be treacherous.
The night trek was by far my favourite stage. After a steep and sweaty climb up Ygarn and into the dusk, we wrapped up against the penetrating cloud and settled into a steady pace, concentrating on our torch light and picking clear and sensible lines through the rockfall and then boggy grass. 5 hours of trekking, 4 hours of total darkness. We stumbled upon other racers, held brief conversations and then were left alone with our own breathing. Slipping and jumping down Devil’s Kitchen took all concentration and focus, then another steep climb up towards Tryfan, slurping water from the streams as we went. Night made the mountains bigger and the race didn’t matter. It was fresh and empty and beautiful.
I realised we were faring well at the next transition. We jogged in and quickly changed back into bike kit, snatching a shake and a sandwich. In the light of my Maxx D I could see racers sitting on the gravel floor, tending bruised and blistered feet, looks of broken exhaustion on their faces. It had been 14 hours now since the start. Still 10 to go. Let’s keep moving.
The bike stage was short and fast through forestry tracks and down into Dolwyddelan. Easy points clocking up. The regular beep of the dibber. Satisfying. Then the final trek stage was upon us. We knew this would hurt the most. Tired feet trudged up through endless logging tracks and fireroad, cool grey morning draining the colour from the landscape. We pushed just hard enough to move quickly but never fast enough to feel like we were really racing. Another final push up a steep rooty track, overtaking other teams, half asleep and pushing down on their knees with gloved hands. We were out on the moors and enjoyed a tussocky descent through deserted slate mines into the deep mine special stage at Rhiw Bach.
How did our forefathers work down mines? We slipped down into the belly of the earth, freezing water rushing over our numb feet, hands feeling for grip along the slippery tunnel walls. The pick marks and the metal rails were still there, echos of an industry not long died out. For half an hour we rushed around underground searching for checkpoints, before being spat out the bottom of the mine into the tropical heat of a Welsh Sunday morning.
One stage left.
4 large hills loomed on the final bike leg before we could roll over the finish line at Betws-y-Coed. Hill one hurt. Snickers. A gel. Some water. Either the sugar intake of the descent on Penmachno’s rocky singletrack trails did the trick. Climb 2 was easier. A final orienteering special stage had us ripping through deep undergrowth for an hour, giggling at the bramble scratches round our ankles. We shared a grin with friends racing against us and then pushed off. One hour left.
Tiredness had come and gone that morning. When we left the mine, my eyes were gritty
and red-ringed. But as the heat of the day picked up, so did my energy levels and with an hour to go I felt like I could carry on all day. With fifteen minutes to go, we rolled under the finish banner, greeted by a sheepish looking Andy and an exhausted looking James. Racers were lying on the grass all around us, sipping tea, munching on sandwiches, swapping stories. Eagerly awaiting the results.
I lay my bike down on its side and knelt on the warm grass. I stripped off my sweat-soaked top and wiped some mud from around my eyes and the sweat from my cheeks. The journey was complete. We had run, paddled, biked, explored. And I felt the warm comforting feeling of my eyes closing as I lay on the grass.
Series Results (The Open 24 was the last race in the 3-race series):
Female Pairs ::
1st Barbara Lonsdale/Jackie Scarf
2nd Jenny Allen/Judith Hughes
3rd Liz Barlow/Sally Ozanne
Male Pairs ::
1st Tom Gibbs/John Houlihan (Adidas Terrex)
2nd Andy Mitchell/Phil Scarf
3rd Kim Collison/Neil Hamblin
Mixed Pairs ::
1st Steve Fisher/Fi Spotswood (Team For Goodness Shakes! AR)
2nd Chris Morgan/Anna Sloan
3rd Emily Brooks/Jake Morgan (Planet Fear)
Thanks to: For Goodness Shakes! USE Exposure Lights, Squirt Lubes, Spoke Shirts, James Kirby Photography. www.openadventure.com.
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
long days.
holiday tales, a little overdue.
so: to the alps. an open week, bookended by a flight to geneva at one end and an appointment with alp d'huez at the other. what to do, what to do...
find panniers, fettle steed. buy maps, twice. dispatch work and family crisis. overly complicate journey to airport. board plane. heave big sigh of relief.
except, as ever, it took two grey, humid, windy, miserable days of difficult navigation and lakeside traffic and struggling to make my thoughts heard above the din to realise that i really wasn't in a holiday sort of mood. plans were only developed as far as a line on a map. cols cou, perret and colombiere fell rapidly and it was only afterwards i realised i'd been there before and it wasn't much fun then, either.
so, a day off - sleeping, eating, drinking, reading - then resume.
calmer, quieter. hot days demand early starts and so the rhythm comes. up with the blue skies, pack up, climb a mountain, take a picture, ride down the other side to breakfast, and repeat. the beauty of point to point riding, covering any amount of purposeful distance under your own power, is not in the achievement at the end of it, but the peace attained whilst in the midst of it. ride, eat, sleep: it's that simple.
i think i've mentioned this before.
experiences aren't remembered as a convenient narrative. at least not in my head, anyway. instead, they become a collection of snapshots, as much to do with touch and feel as sight and sound. words and pictures.
beaufort.
marmot.
storms.
sweetness.
aravis.
roselend.
iseran.
galibier.
snow.
sun.
tradition.
travellers.
peace.
quiet.
more travels. more adventures. time rides on.
j.
so: to the alps. an open week, bookended by a flight to geneva at one end and an appointment with alp d'huez at the other. what to do, what to do...
find panniers, fettle steed. buy maps, twice. dispatch work and family crisis. overly complicate journey to airport. board plane. heave big sigh of relief.
except, as ever, it took two grey, humid, windy, miserable days of difficult navigation and lakeside traffic and struggling to make my thoughts heard above the din to realise that i really wasn't in a holiday sort of mood. plans were only developed as far as a line on a map. cols cou, perret and colombiere fell rapidly and it was only afterwards i realised i'd been there before and it wasn't much fun then, either.
so, a day off - sleeping, eating, drinking, reading - then resume.
calmer, quieter. hot days demand early starts and so the rhythm comes. up with the blue skies, pack up, climb a mountain, take a picture, ride down the other side to breakfast, and repeat. the beauty of point to point riding, covering any amount of purposeful distance under your own power, is not in the achievement at the end of it, but the peace attained whilst in the midst of it. ride, eat, sleep: it's that simple.
i think i've mentioned this before.
experiences aren't remembered as a convenient narrative. at least not in my head, anyway. instead, they become a collection of snapshots, as much to do with touch and feel as sight and sound. words and pictures.
beaufort.
marmot.
storms.
sweetness.
aravis.
roselend.
iseran.
galibier.
snow.
sun.
tradition.
travellers.
peace.
quiet.
more travels. more adventures. time rides on.
j.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
thirty degrees.
home from travels and trying to readjust. much-needed peace and quiet in the midst of total chaos and some new experiences which themselves will lead to more.
of which, more later - but for now it's enough just to be reminded what seventeen consecutive days of sunshine feels like.
hint: warm.
j.
of which, more later - but for now it's enough just to be reminded what seventeen consecutive days of sunshine feels like.
hint: warm.
j.
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