Ouch!

On Saturday, I headed down to Innerleithen with Katie and Gen to remind ourselves how to ride scary stuff after months of cross country and cyclocross (we're all doing the Innerleithen Night and Day Enduro in November). I also wanted to get out on my new bike and give it a proper test run (as I was packing it into the van, Chris reminded me that "it's not the Remedy, remember, that bike could get you into trouble"...yeah, yeah).

We hadn't realised it was an uplift day, so whilst all the big boys loaded their big bikes onto the uplift lorry, we pedaled and pushed our less big bikes up to the top (funnily enough, nobody on the uplift was actually going right up to the top, so we had that bit to ourselves).

It was quite late in the day when we started, so we did 2 runs of trails which were used for the DH Enduro earlier in the year, then we decided to have a last whizz down one of the less techy DH trails (the wee notice at the top promised swoopy, bermy, doubles and tabletops and none of the big drops mentioned on the other notices and it would take us to the top of Cadonbank for a final scoot back to the carpark).

I set off first, with Katie and Gen close behind whooping and hollering. I knew I was going quite fast when I had to stop to wait for them to catch up at one of the intersections, but it was all hanging together quite nicely and I was having great fun.

I popped over one of the wee jumps, cheerily saying hello to the group of boys standing by the side of the trail. Then things got really fast.

Still in control.

Faster still.

Round that berm...phew, that was close.

Over that wee jump.... woohoo

A bit faster...

Down the drop...

SMACK!

On the ground, bike on top of me, lots of blood pouring out of my mouth.

Katie appeared a few seconds later and Gen a few seconds after her and they quickly moved my bike from on top of me and helped me sit up.

Uh oh...the worried faces didn't look good.

Lots of tissues pulled out of bags and handed to me to try to stop the blood.

It was starting to get dark, so we needed to get off the hill. Gen took my bike, Katie took my Camelback and I stood up, then sat back down again.

Uh oh...I'm not going to be able to drive home....I feel really beat up and dizzy.

A quick phone call to Chris to ask him to drive down to pick us up and then a very slow walk back down the hill.

By the time we got back to the carpark, it was properly dusk, I was feeling sick, dizzy and very sore, my mouth was still bleeding and my teeth really hurt.

Chris arrived, helped Katie and Gen pack their bikes into our car and quickly explained how the car worked and then we headed off to A&E.

I must have looked pretty awful as I tried to tell the triage nurse what had happened (covered in mud and blood, shaking, hobbling and crying in that "I think this might be bad" sort of way).

An hour and a bit later, nothing broken, lots of massive bruising, slightly concussed, pretty woosy and a very busted up lip (I not only split my lip open, but I cleverly managed to bite it too) I'm packed off home with instructions for Chris not to leave me alone...just in case.

So now, I feel like I've been in a massive crash. Everything aches, it hurts to move, it hurts to breath and it hurts to cough. My lip is so swollen I can't eat unless it's chopped into very small pieces and I can only drink through a straw and my teeth feel like something's not quite right.

I know it'll all get better soon, but at the moment I feel very sorry for myself.

I have learned from all of this though....if I'm going to be pushing myself on DH trails, I really should wear a full face helmet rather than my xc helmet. It wouldn't have stopped me crashing and I'd probably still have bitten my lip, but I wouldn't have split my lip and probably wouldn't have got concussion.

I also learned that I have some very good friends who know what to do in a bad situation...thanks guys!

On the plus side, it proves I was pushing my limits apparently! Maybe I'll just do it a wee bit more carefully next time.

Jac
x (except I can't pull a kissing face at the moment)

Relentless

Well, it was quite a weekend....quite a wet weekend that is!

Chris and I arrived in Fort Bill on Saturday morning to the sound of rain pattering on the roof of the van. We set up camp alongside some friends, diverted the river that was flowing through the car park and our pit area, signed on, had a bite of food and then before we knew it it was 11.45 and I was lining up on the start line.

We had a vague race strategy to allow us both to get some riding in and get some rest too, but as they say, the best laid plans....

It rained and rained and then rained a wee bit heavier. Luckily it wasn't cold, but the rain and the gritty mud started to take their toll very quickly. Brake pads were wearing out in 2 laps; because we were doing double laps, kit was only wearable for a couple of laps (the wet and mud and grit meant that you had to change whenever you weren't riding) and the gazebo leaked, badly. A friend who was soloing had to pull out because he couldn't afford to go through any more brake pads!

Then it got dark and the rain got heavier.

After my second night-time lap, I went back to the van to tell Chris that I was mutinying only to find him curled up asleep! I took that as a sign, so I promptly went off to get some hot food and a hot chocolate before curling up for a few hours, fully intending to head back out before midnight.

Unfortunately the rain got heavier and the wind picked up, so there wasn't very much to entice me back out on my bike, so I curled up in my sleeping bag and listened to the weather raging outside.

Just before dawn, it calmed down a little bit but our pit was completely destroyed by the wind, so we had to pack everything up. What made matters worse, I had left both my waterproof jackets and my waterproof shorts hanging over the back of a chair in the gazebo...the chair had blown over and my things were lying in the stream which was running through our pit again. Great!

But it was daylight and there were still several hours to go before it was finished, so I decided I might as well put some soggy kit back on and get out on my bike again rather than just hanging around a wet car park waiting for friends to finish. Luckily, that made Chris feel guilty, so he was there at the transition area to take over when I got back in.

Just as the event was drawing to a close, the rain stopped and the cloud started to lift, so we were finally able to get a glimpse of Aonach Mor.

It was probably my least energetic 24 hour race. We actually did a 9 hour race on Saturday, hung about for 12 hours overnight, then did a 3 hour race on Sunday morning - quite a civilised way to do a 24 hour race if you ask me! Despite the terrible weather and bike destroying grit I think we ended up having a bit of fun and we managed to win our category too, which was an added bonus.

The clean up exercise is still going on though, but hopefully we'll get it all sorted out before I head out for what promises to be a very muddy ride at Innerleithen on Saturday!

Jac
x

It could all end in tears

There aren't any Scottish cross races on this weekend, so Chris and I had a wee think about what else we could do to keep us out of trouble and somehow settled on riding at Relentless 24. Since neither of us could take Monday off work, we've decided to do it as a pair.

The only time Chris and I have raced together as a pair was in Portugal last year at the Geo-Raid. Although it didn't end in divorce, it wasn't our most successful race, so hopefully this weekend will be better.

We'll certainly not have the 30c heat we had in Portugal to contend with...it was a balmy 10c here in Edinburgh today, so I suspect it'll be a bit nippier in the middle of the night up at Fort Bill.

The brioche and pasta's been bought, the bags are packed (with a few extra layers and waterproofs for good measure) and the lights are charged, so it looks like we're definitely doing it! In fact, I can hear tyres being pumped up downstairs as I type, so I think it's pretty definite.

I'm not quite sure how we'll get on, but as long as Chris doesn't eat all my brioche, I'm sure we'll be fine!

Jac
x

It Must Be Time for Cross

I'm not sure what it's like further south, but up here in Scotland, the leaves have well and truly turned and they're starting to lie in nice crisp piles on the trails. The chessies are falling off the trees ready for collecting.

It's just a tad too cold to leave the house in the morning without armwarmers (and a spare base layer just in case). And chat has moved from big rides out in the hills to cross.

So I've had to dust off my cross skills over the last few weeks and remember how to forget that it's a tad scary hurtling down a hill on drops with brakes that just might not stop you in time before you hit that tree. But oh, it' fast and it's fun!

The first race in the SCX series is next Sunday and I'm hoping to see a few new girly faces on the start line this year. I can't guarantee the weather, but I can guarantee it'll be fast and furious, muddy and cold and it'll hurt. There might even be tears, but we'll love it!

See you there?

Jac
x

Cycling adventures of a small kind.

I'd heard (at length) before my arrival about my goddaughter's new bike. "It's purple, Livvy" (said with great excitement) and so a plan was struck for a bike trip during my next visit. Fortunately her mother had not simply bought the nearest purple bike but had invested in an islabike, which are designed to have gears and levers than small hands can use and, crucially, don't weigh the same as a large truck, unlike lots of kids bikes.

We set off for the playpark, 4 miles away, with mum slightly handicapped by the wriggling weight of 3 year old sister. It transpires that even on a good kid's bike, 4 miles is a long old way for a six year old and there was a certain amount of "I CAN'T" and "MY LEGS HURT" to contend with.

I resisted adopting my mother's stance of bracing reminders to "BUCK UP" and instead we invented mini-races to the next tree / signpost / cow, cheered her along with loud and tuneless renditions of every song we could remember and invested in a bit of good old-fashioned bribery (kids will do almost anything for a mini egg, it seems). I am proud too that I eventually managed to persuade her that going downhill at a good speed is the reward for the uphill and she released the brakes enough to get up to a slightly alarmingly wobbling 12mph.

Once at the playpark I rediscovered the joys of swings, got my bum stuck in unflattering fashion on the slide, and found all this yoga means I can finally do the monkey bars. Go me. (oh yes and the kids had fun too...).

We set off home through heavy showers (cue choruses of all the rain-related songs we know) and then saw the most spectacular rainbow (more songs) and finally we got back for well-earned tea and cake. I didn't let on that this is one of the biggest rides I've done in weeks. Oops. Must Ride More.

Need some inspiration?

I don't know about you, but I've got quite a few cycling heroes. They range from friends who've ridden in amazing places to friends who've overcome things and carried on riding to proper famous people who just really kick bottom on a bike.

Then about a month and a half ago, a new hero appeared on my radar.

I was making plans to head over to Ireland for the Singlespeed World Champs (more of which another day) and a friend of mine dropped me an e-mail to say that Dervla Murphy lived really near where the race was and wouldn't it be great if we could meet her?

Well, I have to fess up, I didn't know who Dervla Murphy was, so I started doing a wee bit of research before I replied to Jacquie. Oh my! Am I glad I started to investigate!

For those of you who don't know, Dervla is an 80-odd year old Irish lady who, in the 60's when she was in her early 30's, decided to cycle from Ireland to India...on her own...on a singlespeed (she took the gears off because of concerns about being able to get replacement parts).

Then she wrote a book about it and the adventures she had along the way called Full Tilt; Ireland to India with a Bicycle. I won't give the story away, but suffice to say, it is an epic tale and is more than just a little bit inspiring!

Dervla has since gone on lots more cycling adventures to all sorts of places like Cuba, South Africa and Russia (in her 70's!) and has written about her trips.

So, feeling duely awestruck, I replied to Jacquie saying, yes, it would be amazing if we were able to meet Dervla whilst we were in Ireland and I volunteered to contact her publishers to find out if it was possible.

I really didn't expect any response at all, but within 24 hours, I got an e-mail back saying that Dervla would be around on the 25th and 26th of August if either of those dates suited.

So on Friday the 26th Jacquie and I took a roadtrip through County Waterford to meet up with Dervla. We were like a pair of giggly little girls as we went to the address we'd been given to find that not only had Dervla agreed to meet us, but she'd invited us to her home!

I'm not quite sure if Dervla knew what had hit her when Jacquie and I turned up (we're about as opposite as two Jac's can be, but somehow it works), but she treated us like two old friends.

Try as I might to act cool and not like an awestruck fan, I was desperate to find out some things about her riding experiences. So I asked whether, at 82, she still manages to get out on her bike....Not really, after a hip replacement, it's a bit difficult to get on the bike, so she's on the lookout for a step-through frame to get going again. She does however swim in the local river every morning...more than I'm brave enough to do at less than half her age!

Hearing Dervla speak so passionately about experiencing and exploring different places by bicycle was truely inspirational and the fact that she does it with a fraction of the fuss I make about a 24 hour race (forget your high tech lycra shorts and jerseys (sorry Debbie!) try a pair of gabardine slacks, a Viyella shirt and woollen undies!) made me appreciate that riding a bike shouldn't be a complicated thing. Dervla was never a racer, she was never a sponsored rider, she didn't do tonnes of training, she was, and still is, a regular girl who just gets out there and rides her bike to see places and things and have fun.

I think Dervla is proof that we girls really can do anything we set our minds to on a bike, whether it's riding the trails in the woods that we've always shied away from or riding across that country we've always fancied, any of us can do it if we really want to. I know I've now got lots of plans to just do those rides I've thought might be too challenging - Thank you Granny Dervla!

Please read her books (Full Tilt is a great place to start) and let me know what challenges she inspires you to have a go at!

Jac
x

Cycletta Bound

Today the first of the Cycletta sportives takes place. I'm a bit gutted that I can't be there because no matter what theories I read about the usefulness of women-only events, my own experience is that women gain in confidence when they ride together and I'd love to see how it goes. Happily, two Minx girls, Jayne and Amy won places to ride and are going to report back. Catch up with Jayne over at her blog, and read Amy's winning entry and thoughts leading up to today. That's her left, introducing her daughter to the joy of mountain biking.

"I am itching to play on wheels!Mountain biking holidays, daily shop, getting to work – before Baby girl my bicycle was my only mode of transport; even when 6 months pregnant I commuted 20 miles a day in London rush hour, singing Mama Cass to my bump. Baby girl has her own seat on my bike and loves going on adventures, but I don't get the chance to go on adventures of my own in quite the same way. Space and time to myself would be amazing. Other people choose spas and makeovers, but to reconnect with 'me' and make me feel oh-so-very-free I need only one thought in my mind: keep the wheels turning."

"Well, so much for my summer of training! The promise of getting out on my bike sans baby every Monday was swiftly brushed aside by the humdrum of everyday existence. Even getting in the saddle with baby hasn't happened since a jolly to Dulwich Park at the start of summer with daddy and baby in tow."

"Now with less than a week to go, I am feeling under prepared for the 40k ride organised by Cycletta. I am, however, incredibly excited and looking forward to the scenery and the feeling of freedom as I pedal around the circuit. No baby, no work, no mobile phone (well, in my bag, just in case!)...it’s going to be bliss!"

"Is this it??? It this the end of summer? Trying to get set for a ride today made me feel like winter is upon us. We didn't go far, but just enjoyed being in the saddle. Indigo loves cycling - she throws her arms in the air when we go fast down hills and sometimes puts her hands back so that with each rotation her little puddies hit your knees. This results in no end of giggles."

one day...

I know it seems like it was only yesterday, but Minx has been around for over seven years now. And we have some customers (although that seems like the wrong word), who have been with us since the beginning. We get to chatting over swapsies emails, (really if there were a way to perfect virtual coffee no one would get any work done around here), and I get to know what they like to wear, I even have them in mind when I'm buying certain things for the range. And I always notice (hoping things are OK), when it's been a while - as it had with Lesley (that's her, left, on the Mary Townley Loop) when her email popped up in the inbox yesterday. She wanted to know if she might guest blog and attached a piece for me to read. Here it is:

Funny old thing life. You start the year positively enough (with a walk up Cross Fell with my husband in my case), full of plans, rides to be done, adventures to be had and this year there’s going to be absolutely no excuses – life’s too short and all that.

Then the unthinkable happens, what should have been a straightforward visit to the breast clinic a few days later turned out to be not so straightforward. You know it’s bad news by the atmosphere in the consulting room but that doesn’t stop the belief that it cannot possibly be you they’re talking about, it’s not real, it’s not happening now and it’s certainly not happening to me….it’s gone so quiet and every one’s looking at me….I’m not going to cry…really I’m not. …

A few weeks and one mastectomy later I’ve got the biggest grin on my face and you want to know why? I’ve just been told that the cancer has not spread - no further treatment required and from that moment on I have considered myself one of the luckiest people alive, because essentially I’ve just been given the rest of my life back . You know that thing you call, ‘your life’, well I didn’t realise it but I had been taking mine for granted. I’ve lived with the assumption that I would automatically live the life I want to, till I’m old and wrinkly and would shuttle off when I’m good and ready thank you.

I love the outdoors, always have done. Over the years I’ve walked, rock climbed, back packed, canoed , but it’s cycling that has grown to be my main love and it’s that, that has helped keep me going through this whole experience. During what I can only call ‘very dark moments’, when I didn’t know how long my future would be I would revisit my most memorable rides in my head: bowling along the ‘mad, little road’ between Ullapool and Lochinver with the smell of gorse in the air, making it to Cape Wrath (in the sunshine too), conquering Ventoux, riding the Mary Townley loop with old friends, my favourite local ride up the Chase …. the list goes on. But it isn’t just reliving memories that has kept me together, the support from my family and friends has been amazingly positive, quite over whelming in fact. I’ve had cards, letters, text messages, phone calls, flowers and friends have even given up rides to walk with me.

I have been so impatient to start riding again and whilst undergoing ‘reconstruction works’ the one question I have consistently asked my consultant is ‘When can I get back on my bike?’. Eventually, after promising I would be really careful she gave me the green light. That first ride was really special – only 11 miles which left me unbelievably tired but it gave me back the hope that my life was going to return to normal and gradually it is.

Although it won’t be the ‘normal’ it was before. Now, I’m just an average rider, not the fastest or the slowest, I don’t even enter races but I still set myself challenges, I like to feel tired at the end of a ride and I like to be fit. I now look forward to going out and making it hurt, to pushing myself harder than I’ve ever done, to getting wet ,muddy, cold, hot, sweaty, cut and grazed, blown all over the road, because if I’m feeling those things that means I am most definitely alive.

There’s going to be no more ‘I’ll do that one day….’ All my ‘one day’ dreams are now in the planning, they’re getting dates set against them, in the not too distant future I’ll actually be doing them. Because as I’ve recently learnt, shit can indeed happen and sometimes that means we might not be around when ‘one day’ arrives, I’m not going to risk that happening to me again.

Good luck with your ‘one day’ plans.

Footnote: You might be interested to know that I am only 46, I’ve never smoked, don’t drink , am reasonably fit and there’s no history of breast cancer in my family. What made me go to my GP was (1) a husband who kept on at me to go and (2) a very small area of eczema on my breast (I actually went along expecting to be referred to a dermatologist). I had no lumps at all but as it turned out I did have breast cancer. So if you notice any changes in your breasts not just lumps, don’t hesitate, go straight to your GP.

utopia

i went to basel last weekend for a spot of black forest riding. once the (hot and hard but ultimately worthwhile) riding was done i got to spend a day indulging in a spot of what i love doing most in unfamiliar cities: aimless wandering.

aside from the fact that it's a beautiful place full of old churches and new paint, basel is also, like many places on the continent, absolutely bike friendly. trams and bikes rule the city centre, cars happily give way to cyclists and pedestrians, and it is almost impossible to get lost on a bike thanks to the right signs, in the right places. people were riding bareheaded and gloveless on an amazing array of bikes and, because it was relentlessly hot, simply walking up the hills before hopping back on at the top and continuing on their way.

on sunday, the utility traffic was joined by 'serious' sports riders; mountain bikers with helmets jammed in backpacks as they headed out of the city for the hills in the morning, road riders unapologetically sweat-stained and tired-looking as they pedalled home in the evening sun after their races and rides, a few even with numbers still pinned to their jerseys underneath their musettes.

a good place to be a cyclist. when will uk cities be like this?









j.

Trans Wales Mk 6

It was my 6th Trans Wales and the last one. Cue sobs and violins. This time, I was going with my fiance to have a holiday. We were racing solo but planned to ride together. We are almost exactly the same pace.

The week was a delight. There were 180 riders and I can honestly say I had a proper conversation with all of them. There were people from Nepal, Belgium, Spain, America and 11 other countries. Matt Page was racing. There were speedy riders, slow riders, holidaying riders, racing riders. It was Wales. Mud, rain, sun, hills, sheep. It was perfect.

Andy and I took the days super steady and completely turned ourselves inside out on the 'special stage' time trials. We collapsed after each one (there were 7 in the 8 days of riding, including the prologue) in a heap of giggles, sweat and adrenaline-fuelled exhaustion. For the first three there was nothing between us. Andy had me by half a second, then I pulled back by 2 seconds... and so on. It became the most important race for us and received special mention by the commentary team after each stage! The fact that the solo women's race was equally as tight was not nearly as exciting.

Unfortunately, Andy fell off a cliff with two days to go. Not literally. His lack of riding caught up with him and he crawled round the last few days leaving me to scream ahead and take a convincing win! I have yet to decide what my prize should be. Bike washing duties for a month perhaps?

The Trans Wales (RIP) was a beautiful event and I always come away thinking that it is the one event which really captures what mountain biking is all about for me. It's fun riding your bike fast, but it's also fun JRA (just riding along) chatting to folk and enjoying the scenery. We took over 200 photos during the week and ate more cake than I dare to think about. My jeans are tight :-(

So, the Trans Wales will return in a different format. We hope. I'll keep badgering Mike Wilkens until it does. But now it's cyclocross time as we get ready for the Three Peaks (where I don't expect I'll be taking many photos at all!)

F

nihon go

I've been learning Japanese. Taking lessons from Emma, a fellow bicycle rider. Somehow we have now cooked up a crazy plan to ride to Japan and test out my new linguistic skills. We're at the VERY early planning stages at the moment. Still staring at the map and wondering if bandits or communists are easier to deal with. And we're certainly not going until I've learned to order more food than a plate of tuna sashimi with some sea urchin - I'll be hungrier than that when we get there.

But - all tips on super, long distance adventuring are welcome.

Vikki

Riding and Spectating

After my epic failed plan to spectate at the boyf's race down in Tenterden, I decided to do it properly for his race down in Brenchley this time : get lift out & back and ride round in the opposite direction during the race, thus ensuring regular spectacting at race progress and plenty of opportunities to hand over bottles and shout helpful remarks etc.
We set off at a suitably unholy hour for a Sunday morning and found the race HQ. I then stood around looking like a spare part whilst various blokes strip changed in the car park and pinned on their numbers (me trying to avert my eyes demurely all the while). They set off behind the race car and I set off on my bike which had decided to make all sorts of clanking horrible gear-clicky noises (umn... can you tell I'm not good at this mechanics stuff?).

I rode for a couple of miles to the circuit while my bike randomly changed gears and I rued the day that I never signed up for the (free) Evans Basic Mechanic evenings. At the first corner a nice Dulwich Paragon chap said he'd have a look so I looked on admiringly whilst he turned the barrel adjuster and managed to calm the clunking.

So we set off for the first lap together, chatting all the while about cycling adventures and the gorgeous sunshine. And WHOOSH the bunch came past. The boyf wasn't in the break but at the front of the bunch and still was smiling. We rode on and about 5 miles later, CRUNCH. My rear derailleur hanger snapped, the derailleur went crunch into the wheel and I stopped, somewhat abruptly. Fortunately we'd been chatting and I hadn't been riding hard so I managed to stop without damaging the wheel.

Mr Dulwich then gallantly said "I'll push you back to the HQ" and, thinking that it was a flat course, I accepted with a very very grateful flood of thank yous. It turned out, of course, that the part of the course that we had ridden was the flat bit. And the remainder bit was, umn, not. It transpires that pushing someone who's 65kg up hill when you're 67kg is pretty goddam hard work.

We stopped briefly over the brow of one of the hills so I could hand over a bottle to the boyf and then continued on to the first corner so I could watch the rest of the race. I chatted to the marshalls, shouted, cheered, jigged up and down and he came 11th. Hurrah. So at least one of us had a good day. I just had an expensive day. New rear hanger, new rear derailleur. And some ibroprufen for the sore elbow I landed on. I should probably also be sending some to Mr Dulwich who'll have some sore quads tonight I imagine.

The revenge of the cyclists

I don't know about your companies, but my company, and many of my clients, have annual golf days. Which, as far as I can work out, involves a bit of wandering around a golf course and then a lot of eating and drinking. As I can't play golf, I am excluded from such out of office jollies. Which is rubbish.

And THEN it transpired that one of my clients (indeed my most important client) is also a cyclist. As is his MD. And one of his other customers who was visiting from overseas. And so a plan was born. A ride to Brighton, lunch by the sea and return. Possibly by bike, possibly by train, depending on enthusiasm levels. Marvellous.

We set off bright and early, thanking our lucky stars for the glorious sunshine. It was a very mixed ability group and, for once, I was one of the fittest in the group, so was able to just pootle along, admiring the views and chatting.


It was certainly a novel experience not to be the slowest in the group - indeed I can't remember the last time that this was the case - and it was great to relax and not feel perpetually guilty for slowing people down.

We got to Brighton, ordered some delicious food (do absolutely go - Terre a Terre - most incredibly delicious Veggie food - I suspect we lowered the tone of their establishment in our sweaty lycra but they were gracious and lovely and provided jugs and jugs of water to quench our thirst) and beer (of course). And then meandered back onto the train and home. Sod cycling home...

we went to sits and it was great

or, how working an event can be lots of fun when you squeeze plenty of riding in, too.

start by making the most of the journey. some people do this by listening to audio books; learning a foreign language; etc. i did it by getting up at 05.00, catching the first train to manchester, and then riding 75 miles to catton park.


the joy of riding at stupid times of day is being able to use major arterial routes which are easy to navigate but usually hellish. this is the a6 out of central manchester and i am pretending to be a bus. it's alright, nobody saw.


it rained a bit. then it rained a lot..


second breakfast whist drying out in leek. bad coffee and two dime bars are sometimes all it takes. also mostly thinking about shaggy and his succesful ctr. go shaggy!


you have no idea how exciting this place is.

one note: if you are planning to ride to catton park, be prepared for the last hour and a half after rocester to be the most boring road riding you've ever done. end psa.

so, the sun came out and some people ran and then we raced bikes for a bit.


there were lots of people being very enthusiastic about the racing bit (and with good reason; it was fun)...


but the general vibe was so laid back that our team decided we'd be stopping at midnight for a kip. what?! i don't think so. particularly after it poured with rain on my first lap.


shoes of dread. cold, wet. don't make me put them on.


the effective pre-lap routine has been completely different at every race i've ever been to. this time: sweet tea/85% chocolate/smart gel/warm thoughts.


very few things better on the second day of a race weekend than waking up in a sun-warmed tent.


checking lap times. amy won solo in an extremely convincing fashion; elsewhere the gritty kitties team of new mums came happy second whilst stopping to breastfeed between laps (making them absolutely the toughest team on the field) and the formidable big rob/competitive grace combo won mixed pairs too, despite me nearly riding over competitive grace's head in the middle of one of the night laps. sorry grace. our team got in a respectable 25 laps in between the odd bit of 'work stuff', which was enough to give our two 24 hour racing virgins a good intro to the love/hate experience that is 24 hour racing and enough for the rest of us to enjoy the super-fast, super-singletracky and (mostly) super-dry course, whilst all the time hoping those big black clouds would stay safely out of the way over there, please.


although the joy of the work bit means that we've still got to clean and dry most of the stuff in this picture. and none of it's my socks.

j.

is it OK to cry now?

I have been a very bad blogger indeed this summer, in as much as I haven't... Not sadly because I've been living a high life that's far too important to interrupt, but because I fell off my bike the day after THE wedding and ripped the ligament off my thumb. The short version is that I needed surgery, (a quick aside and major thank you to Salisbury hospital who made sure it was done fast and seems to be populated with unfailingly cheery staff), and had to spend six weeks in plaster - which added to the three weeks before the op. and another week after the op. but before the proper cast made it around ten weeks of comedy typing and remarkable inactivity.

It's very uncool, but I don't do 'perky injured girl'. It's more whiny depressive - I couldn't ride, or even run. And yes I know I should have been dragging the turbo into position and firing up a Sufferfest, but I really (and I mean really), didn't want to. If anyone ever wants to carry out research into whether or not eating your way to wellness works, well let me save you the time and report that no, it does not. I'm prepared to concede that the odd bowl of Cherry Garcia might be a mood enhancer, but as recovery food it doesn't really cut it and you find yourself newly out of plaster, a stone (and a bit) above your fighting weight and wondering why you can't get up those hills or into your favourite shorts.

But I'm back on the bike- my Jones with its sweepy bars and provision for constant changes of hand position is most comfortable (I can't manage the dropped bars on my 'cross bike yet), so I've swapped to flat pedals (can't risk any fail-to-unclip moments) and taken to the trails. Having no expectation of speed or fitness it's been just lovely. There's joy to be taken too in the hugely improved balance and core stability that comes from weeks of yoga practice in a cast. And not a little fun to be had matching nail varnish to the bright pink velcro on the block I wear when carrying out my physio exercises.

The 'bugger' moment came yesterday when new x-rays revealed some collateral damage. Damage that can't just be fixed with more surgery. It's going to be a lot of (probably increasingly brutal) physio and a chunk more patience.

So lock up the Cherry Garcia folks, and does anyone have any suggestions for what bars I can put on my Surly?

Minx

no fuss endurance downhill

even less happening on the racing front for me this summer, mostly brought about by a collision of apathy regarding done-it-all-before events/faces, lingering illness/slowness/weakness and a utterly crushing work year, which has crippled any intention i might have had of doing anything about the lingering illness/slowness/weakness. i did do a running race, though, which was fun.

thankfully someone with more sense than i managed to talk me back into the annual pilgrimage to fort william last weekend for a brief interlude of downhilliness.



the format is simple: you have six hours to cram in as many runs of the world cup downhill course (thankfully sans massive gap jump) as you can. up in the gondola, down on the track; up on the gondola, down on the track; and so on. it starts with a le mans sprint (and if you thought they were bad at 24 hour races, then try doing it on a narrow track wearing a full face helmet and armour, shoulder to shoulder with 150 pushing, shoving, giggling blokes), then 1.5 miles uphill on fireroad to join the course (again, hard work on a downhill bike but more fun if you discover that actually you're not as unfit as you thought you were and pass a lot of people), a similarly nose to tail ride down the lower section and then it begins in earnest.

the course is... interesting. fast and swoopy, rough and rocky, tight and rooty, smooth and jumpy by turns. there are high penalties for failure, not least because speed is your friend and the course is hewn out of the side of britain's biggest mountain; hitting it when speed ceases to be your friend and instead is just propulsion, is painful. it's scary enough to cause uncontrollable nervous giggling on both sides of the car when first glimpsed on the drive in but it's just rideable enough that there were still folk there racing on hardtails. impressive. you have to love the british...



needless to say we had a huge amount of fun. the no fuss team excelled themselves once again with the most chilled out atmosphere and even secured the services of the sunshine; the top of the ben was visible almost all weekend, thus dispelling the myth that it's a figment of the tourist board's imagination, and even the midge had the decency to only swarm twice daily. there was spirited heckling, airhorn and trackside flashing by a group who'd travelled all the way from devon to support their riders, good natured jibing in the lifts, and a lovely hour spent red-flagged on top of the mountain (hope the chap they were retrieving is okay), chatting and chilling and soaking up the view. ten runs was enough to fetch second place two minutes behind super smooth angela coates; i was mostly pleased to notice a gradual embravening of the jumping reflex as the day wore on though.



we topped and tailed the racing with a decent amount of warm beer, charred meat products and needless burning of stuff ("to keep the midge away"), and we will of course be back next year for more because if you can actually ride, rather than just pedal your bike around in circles, it's one of, if not the best event in the country.

things to remember for next time:

try and do a little bit more practising of the gnar in the intervening 364 days. simply hopping on a big bike once a year and hoping you'll remember how it works is not good enough, no matter how good the bike is (and it was very good; big thanks to upgrade for the loan of the pivot phoenix skill enabler).

gnocchi is great pre-race brunch food; all races should start at tea time.

buy more armour.



j.

Cross Country Racing, eh?

Although I've been having a bash at racing for a few years now, I've never actually done a proper cross country race...until today that is.

Today was round 5 of the Scottish Cross Country Series in Perth, which is local (ish) so after some peer pressure from Katie, I decided to give it a bash.

I learned some important stuff....

1. Print out the map and don't try to wing it from memory and using the larger scale AA road map. Taking almost 2 hours to get to a race which is only an hour away isn't good race prep!

2. Don't ever ride to registration with a water bottle carrier slung over the right hand side of your bars. When you turn, the bottle carrier will shimmy along your bars, trap your brake lever, lock on the front brake and cause you to go over the bars in an instant, in front of all the other folks faffing and getting ready by their cars. It's not great to start a race with a bloody elbow and covered in dust from the fire road!

3. Singlespeeds don't always work on very hilly courses when you're racing with whippets. Yes, I can make time up on the descents, but there's only so much time you can get away with losing on the climbs because they're just that wee bit too steep to ride.

4. Trying to race after 2 weeks of gastroenteritis and not eating isn't a good idea...I don't need to tell you that your body needs a wee bit of food in there to be able to function properly.

5. Yes, recovery drinks are good, but ever better are Perthshire Burgers! Eat them after a race and they will help you feel better!

So, not my best ever race, but for my first XC race, it was a good learning experience. It was an Edinburgh podium in the slightly older than the whippets category and there's a new piece of silverware (well, slate-ware really) on the shelf.

I'm not sure if I'm an XC convert, but the SXC champs are at the start of September at Drumlanrig which is one of my favourite places to ride, so I might give it a bash again soon.

Jac
x

Back in the saddle

Vikki's post about taking the scenic route home reminded me of what I first liked about cycling : being able to travel under my own steam to new places, to explore the countryside and ooh and aah at cute villages. So when the boyf announced he had a race today in deepest darkest Kent, I decided I would ride down to spectate and cheer. New countryside, new villages in glorious sunshine - the perfect antidote to my recent motivational slump.


Kent was beautiful, filled with orchards bursting with apples, fields of strawberries which wafted their mouth-watering aroma across the road. Oast houses, villages of half-timbered and wooden houses. I loved it.

Whilst I loved the scenery and loved the sunshine, I did not love the headwind. And I most certainly did not love my Garmin which decided to only alert me to some of the turns that were required. And when I accidentally went on the wrong route, it then spent 10 mins re-calculating the route whilst I either pedalled in a random direction or whilst I tapped my heels impatiently by the side of the road. Most frustrating.

And to add insult to injury, the combination of start faffage + wind + garmin wait + detours meant that I finally arrived at the race only to see the race marshalls packing up. Fail! Fortunately I still had enough brownie points in the account to get a lift home...

Hometime

Taking the scenic route, a photo by jumbly on Flickr.

Commute.
Summer.
Scenic route.
Perfect.

Vikki

Motivational Slump

After six months of being utterly focused on training towards the Marmotte, I'm feeling demotivated and struggling to get properly back into training. I feel bored with cycling. I'm also bored of rain. Bored of squelchy shoes. Bored of grey skies. Bored of laps of Richmond Park. Bored bored bored.


Clearly I need a new challenge. However I have used up all my holiday chips so it'll have to be a London-based cycling challenge and all suggestions would be very welcome. There are a few Surrey / Kent Hills sportives in the forthcoming months but that all feels like simply a continuation of my Marmotte training, riding up the same old hills in the same old rain. I don't fancy racing as I have the reaction-times of a tired slug and fear that I would connect with tarmac rather too often. Maybe time trials? The boyf dismissed them, saying they're dull and start at O'Dark O'Clock, but I feel sure this cannot be a universal truth. I know I need a target and I suspect I need training buddies. There's only so much masochism a girl can do.

While I work out what I'm training towards, I still need do to some sport, so that I can eat cake and still fit into my jeans, of course. So some swimming, perhaps, and some spinning classes. And let's hope that inspiration strikes.