Following on from my previous post about being so rubbish riding uphill and the strange paradox as to whether I'll be better without gears I'll be giving it a go offroad! I have a suitable frame that I've been using for short commute duties with slick 26" tyres. Yesterday was spent spannering, it's now fitted with nobbly tyres, a 32 tooth chainring at the front and a 16 tooth ring at the back, on a freewheel I hasten to add. (If you're looking for tales of fixed offroading then read Cellarrats blog). Took it for a test pedal yesterday through the puddles on the very flat disused railway line near my house just to check none of the bits dropped off. Need to psych myself up to trying it on a hill now!
Monday, 28 January 2008
Singlespeed psych.
Following on from my previous post about being so rubbish riding uphill and the strange paradox as to whether I'll be better without gears I'll be giving it a go offroad! I have a suitable frame that I've been using for short commute duties with slick 26" tyres. Yesterday was spent spannering, it's now fitted with nobbly tyres, a 32 tooth chainring at the front and a 16 tooth ring at the back, on a freewheel I hasten to add. (If you're looking for tales of fixed offroading then read Cellarrats blog). Took it for a test pedal yesterday through the puddles on the very flat disused railway line near my house just to check none of the bits dropped off. Need to psych myself up to trying it on a hill now!
Wednesday, 23 January 2008
Confessions of a lazy climber.
I'm rubbish at riding up hills, there I've said it, out in the open for all the world to know. I am your classic click, click, click, down granny ring, horrifically slow climber. I rode Llandegla at the weekend with girls from the shecycles forum and was requested to pedal faster going up a climb because quite frankly I was in the way. This inability to stomp up hills is why I bought a fixed gear bike, if anything will turn me into a pedalling demon thought I it's a bike where you can't not pedal. So, now for the second confession of this blog entry, I've not been out properly from my house on the fixie because everywhere is uphill, and I've been scared to try it. Until today.
Bullet bitten, off I set. Things I noticed on my ride, I'm better at riding uphill fixed than with gears, seriously, I just pedalled really steadily and sort of glided uphill, I even liked it! I am seriously considering that I might be better on a single speed for off road riding too (or is that just too insane). Fixed gear riding is hot, two layers of everything was not necessary. I do need to wear a belt with my Swrve capris, trying to pull your trousers up while riding is not a good strategy. People who drive Mercedes cars are not good at sharing the road. Very small dogs and old ladies are a hazard. And finally, track stands not only look quite cool, they will prove useful at traffic lights I must learn how to do them.
Vikki
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
puffered out
Damnit that was good. And very much a race of two halves. Not chronologically, but simultaneous opposing events, thoughts and feelings...
Arrive in Inverness (yay!) to discover bike not there (no!). Frantic phonecalls to three different ParcelFarce offices finally yield a bike not in Perth but on a lorry on its way to Inverness (yay!). Meanwhile Jac and the campervan are lost somewhere snowy (no!). Long wait in which we get to be excitedly annoying to everyone else at the airport before Jac turns up, we find the PF depot and the bike and drive to Strathpeffer (yay!).
Lots of long faces at Strathpeffer - event may be cancelled due to the wind blowing away the campsite, the timing system and marquees and the rain rendering the campsite a flooded and unusable mess during the day (no!). Find alternative parking arrangements for camper vans, meet up with TSPC and JRA, and sup on pot noodles and red wine and listen mostly to other people talking comfortable nonsense before a short but happy sleep (yay!).
Wake and discover race is on (yay!). Drive to race site and realise we will be towed onto the field by tractor (a very big and scary no! for Jac who is driving, an excited yay! for me and anyone else who likes watching tractors hooning around muddy fields). Set up, build bike, race time (yay!). Forget to eat breakfast, as usual (no!).
Girls have good first laps (yay!), despite returning to report a course covered liberally with "boiler plate ice" (new one on me too - imagine two inches of highly polished glass on every surface of the trail and you're there). By contrast my first lap is utter crap, I can't ride the tech stuff and am mincing around like, well, a girl, full of demons and loathing for slabby rocks that might bite me, and of course at the top of the first climb I slip on the ice (having cleaned the whole climb) and land kneecap-first on the only pointy rock visible above the ice, resulting in being unable to push on the pedals for a bit. When I peel back the shorts afterwards to inspect the damage I have to remove a bit of torn lycra from the neat puncture wound... substantial and resounding no.
Eat a bit, more laps, head down with Jac to wait for Emily, by this point it's dark but we wait and wait and then wait some more... Every voice in head is making quiet but insistent negative noises, overruled by hope which says it's a puncture, it's light failure, it's just a bit muddy, it's a puncture... Then Emily's bike comes down the hill accompanied by someone who is clearly not Emily. **** no! A few garbled attempts at communication with a marshall later and we find our team-mate in the first aid van (yay!) with the first aiders trying gamely to remove her stuck Specialized shoe ratchets. We can't free them either and the scissors come out, the shoes come off and eventually after some prodding and head-scratching we lose our girl to A&E (no!)
The race must go on, Jac hands over to me and I head out for a double. And finally it is FANTASTIC. Absobloodylutely amazing. The rocks click, the bike clicks, I manage a clear run through nearly all the technical sections on both laps and I have a real, rare, bike-and-girl-as-one moment that goes on and on and on and on. YAY.
Then I have to try and stifle the giggling because I remember about Emily and feel bad for having so much fun (no!). Turns out she's back from A&E, where it's been established that her knee is congenitally freakish but not seriously damaged, and is quite happy for me to gibber excitedly at her about how good the laps were (yay!).
It is dark and cold, the trails remain icy and treachorous and a double lap takes its toll on Jac, who returns and vanishes vanwards declaring that she's tired and going to bed and will only come out again for her last lap (no!). Due to the tow-in, our camp is scattered and the temporary loss of another team member requires time juggling which hurts my tired head immensely - so to make it simpler I decide that I'll just do Jac's missing laps for her, which means I'm out for a triple, which strangely enough doesn't bother me in the slightest (yay!). Everyone is tired and emotional and there is a hint of friction in the air, I just want to get out and ride because this is the bit that I hate about racing as a team, when the interactions between people get skewed because of external factors, when everybody's tired and scratchy...
Waiting for my turn to ride I pop to the timing tent and find Phil standing dead still just staring at his bike. After a quick poke about with a torch it transpires that he's somehow snapped the pin off the centre of his disc brake piston, the pads keep falling out and he's done four laps without knowing why he only had a front brake (no!). I send him out for another lap (if he's done four then he'll manage another without incident) and dash off to get my gear together for a lap and find a donor brake for Phil.
The race mechanic has no spares so it's back to the van to beg/borrow/steal - except the van is now full of sleeping bags and snoring as the TSPC gave up to the lure of beer and sleep some time ago (no!). I am about to start removing my own brake when I spy someone lurking round the back of the van - it's Dave, having a moment's peace in the moonlight and in his quiet, matter-of-fact way says yes, of course you can have the brake from my Rig, it's already had bits pilfered from it and I'll bring it round in a sec. Big, happy, friends-are-ace hugs and warm feelings (yay!).
So, back to see Bec go through on the first of her two laps, then wait for Phil. And wait... and wait... Eventually he arrives, looking grey and wobbly (no!), I sit him down in front of the heater and set about speed-fitting the donor brake whilst he shovels jelly babies down his neck and continues his conversation with Paddington Bear. Concentrating hard I do the job quickly and well and I realise that I'm proud of being able to do this, fix my mate's bike competently when he's in need (yay!). And I only get a couple of blood blisters from struggling to use the pilfered pair of tuff-cuts to get the zip ties off with cold fingers (no! and ouch!). Send him out with a working bike and a tired grin on his face, and then I'm out for my triple, which turns out not the be the panacea I'd hoped for because in all the rush to fix Phil's bike I forgot to feed myself so bonk horribly halfway round the second lap (no!).
Shovelling gels down my neck has no effect whatsoever, and I'm struggling to hold onto the bars, so between laps two and three I head back to the tent (where Phil is now asleep in front of the heater, tights gently smoking) and mainline custard, crisps, G&B and more gels, a sugar injection that gets me to the top of the first climb before the joy of the moonlight and the first hint of dawn takes over (yay!). I'm still riding well, the few marshalls on course are still cheery and vocal despite the fact that they must be absolutely frozen and the mountains are still looking gorgeous. On reflection, it's all okay really. Back to the campsite, hand over to Bec and then go back to the van to find a rested and much happier Jac (yay!) preparing for her last lap.
I have one more to do, it is the last but there are few of those 'last lap' feelings (no!), perhaps as result of the more-difficult-than-usual logistics, or not doing all the riding, just not much of the glow. Instead I concentrate on chasing the riders in front and riding well, I get clear runs at nearly all the tech sections, including one of the bridges that's scared me off the bike each lap to the amusement of the marshalls (confession: I am allergic to planks), clear the worst climbs too and catch, pass and definitively drop a rider from the team in front for good measure (yay!).
Back and done, I hand over to Jac who heads up the hill like a girl possessed, and wander off to get clean and warm. The weather is stunning, all blue skies and speeding clouds over the hill, and we're pleased to have survived what could have been a disastrous mess, relatively unscathed. Showers, pig rolls, prize giving (we get lovely second-place china cups that are just the right size for a good coffee, and Phil's mum is sweetly far more excited by the wee bit of paper proclaiming him first singlespeeder than by the gorgeous Boone ti cog that is his prize), and hanging around in the sun all follow (yay!). Goodbyes are said (no!) and the van is swiftly and unceremoniously towed off the quagmire by the same grinning tractor driver leaving us to retire to the town for supper and a well-earned sleep...(yay!).
Hanging around the bike shop next morning we concur that though northern Scotland is a long way to go for a race, Strathpuffer is one we'll return to. The vibe, the location and the brilliant course all combined to make it really something special, despite the frankly barmy conditions. The biggest yay! should of course go to the organisers who worked through the night to make the event work after the disasters of the week; sometimes all you can do is accomodate Mother Nature, work around her and hope that she offers up just a little cooperation. There is talk of no race next year; I for one hope it goes ahead because I would (ahem) quite like to solo, with a little less of the emotional rollercoaster to weather. And yes, I'll be buying some ice tyres...
j.
Arrive in Inverness (yay!) to discover bike not there (no!). Frantic phonecalls to three different ParcelFarce offices finally yield a bike not in Perth but on a lorry on its way to Inverness (yay!). Meanwhile Jac and the campervan are lost somewhere snowy (no!). Long wait in which we get to be excitedly annoying to everyone else at the airport before Jac turns up, we find the PF depot and the bike and drive to Strathpeffer (yay!).
Lots of long faces at Strathpeffer - event may be cancelled due to the wind blowing away the campsite, the timing system and marquees and the rain rendering the campsite a flooded and unusable mess during the day (no!). Find alternative parking arrangements for camper vans, meet up with TSPC and JRA, and sup on pot noodles and red wine and listen mostly to other people talking comfortable nonsense before a short but happy sleep (yay!).
Wake and discover race is on (yay!). Drive to race site and realise we will be towed onto the field by tractor (a very big and scary no! for Jac who is driving, an excited yay! for me and anyone else who likes watching tractors hooning around muddy fields). Set up, build bike, race time (yay!). Forget to eat breakfast, as usual (no!).
Girls have good first laps (yay!), despite returning to report a course covered liberally with "boiler plate ice" (new one on me too - imagine two inches of highly polished glass on every surface of the trail and you're there). By contrast my first lap is utter crap, I can't ride the tech stuff and am mincing around like, well, a girl, full of demons and loathing for slabby rocks that might bite me, and of course at the top of the first climb I slip on the ice (having cleaned the whole climb) and land kneecap-first on the only pointy rock visible above the ice, resulting in being unable to push on the pedals for a bit. When I peel back the shorts afterwards to inspect the damage I have to remove a bit of torn lycra from the neat puncture wound... substantial and resounding no.
Eat a bit, more laps, head down with Jac to wait for Emily, by this point it's dark but we wait and wait and then wait some more... Every voice in head is making quiet but insistent negative noises, overruled by hope which says it's a puncture, it's light failure, it's just a bit muddy, it's a puncture... Then Emily's bike comes down the hill accompanied by someone who is clearly not Emily. **** no! A few garbled attempts at communication with a marshall later and we find our team-mate in the first aid van (yay!) with the first aiders trying gamely to remove her stuck Specialized shoe ratchets. We can't free them either and the scissors come out, the shoes come off and eventually after some prodding and head-scratching we lose our girl to A&E (no!)
The race must go on, Jac hands over to me and I head out for a double. And finally it is FANTASTIC. Absobloodylutely amazing. The rocks click, the bike clicks, I manage a clear run through nearly all the technical sections on both laps and I have a real, rare, bike-and-girl-as-one moment that goes on and on and on and on. YAY.
Then I have to try and stifle the giggling because I remember about Emily and feel bad for having so much fun (no!). Turns out she's back from A&E, where it's been established that her knee is congenitally freakish but not seriously damaged, and is quite happy for me to gibber excitedly at her about how good the laps were (yay!).
It is dark and cold, the trails remain icy and treachorous and a double lap takes its toll on Jac, who returns and vanishes vanwards declaring that she's tired and going to bed and will only come out again for her last lap (no!). Due to the tow-in, our camp is scattered and the temporary loss of another team member requires time juggling which hurts my tired head immensely - so to make it simpler I decide that I'll just do Jac's missing laps for her, which means I'm out for a triple, which strangely enough doesn't bother me in the slightest (yay!). Everyone is tired and emotional and there is a hint of friction in the air, I just want to get out and ride because this is the bit that I hate about racing as a team, when the interactions between people get skewed because of external factors, when everybody's tired and scratchy...
Waiting for my turn to ride I pop to the timing tent and find Phil standing dead still just staring at his bike. After a quick poke about with a torch it transpires that he's somehow snapped the pin off the centre of his disc brake piston, the pads keep falling out and he's done four laps without knowing why he only had a front brake (no!). I send him out for another lap (if he's done four then he'll manage another without incident) and dash off to get my gear together for a lap and find a donor brake for Phil.
The race mechanic has no spares so it's back to the van to beg/borrow/steal - except the van is now full of sleeping bags and snoring as the TSPC gave up to the lure of beer and sleep some time ago (no!). I am about to start removing my own brake when I spy someone lurking round the back of the van - it's Dave, having a moment's peace in the moonlight and in his quiet, matter-of-fact way says yes, of course you can have the brake from my Rig, it's already had bits pilfered from it and I'll bring it round in a sec. Big, happy, friends-are-ace hugs and warm feelings (yay!).
So, back to see Bec go through on the first of her two laps, then wait for Phil. And wait... and wait... Eventually he arrives, looking grey and wobbly (no!), I sit him down in front of the heater and set about speed-fitting the donor brake whilst he shovels jelly babies down his neck and continues his conversation with Paddington Bear. Concentrating hard I do the job quickly and well and I realise that I'm proud of being able to do this, fix my mate's bike competently when he's in need (yay!). And I only get a couple of blood blisters from struggling to use the pilfered pair of tuff-cuts to get the zip ties off with cold fingers (no! and ouch!). Send him out with a working bike and a tired grin on his face, and then I'm out for my triple, which turns out not the be the panacea I'd hoped for because in all the rush to fix Phil's bike I forgot to feed myself so bonk horribly halfway round the second lap (no!).
Shovelling gels down my neck has no effect whatsoever, and I'm struggling to hold onto the bars, so between laps two and three I head back to the tent (where Phil is now asleep in front of the heater, tights gently smoking) and mainline custard, crisps, G&B and more gels, a sugar injection that gets me to the top of the first climb before the joy of the moonlight and the first hint of dawn takes over (yay!). I'm still riding well, the few marshalls on course are still cheery and vocal despite the fact that they must be absolutely frozen and the mountains are still looking gorgeous. On reflection, it's all okay really. Back to the campsite, hand over to Bec and then go back to the van to find a rested and much happier Jac (yay!) preparing for her last lap.
I have one more to do, it is the last but there are few of those 'last lap' feelings (no!), perhaps as result of the more-difficult-than-usual logistics, or not doing all the riding, just not much of the glow. Instead I concentrate on chasing the riders in front and riding well, I get clear runs at nearly all the tech sections, including one of the bridges that's scared me off the bike each lap to the amusement of the marshalls (confession: I am allergic to planks), clear the worst climbs too and catch, pass and definitively drop a rider from the team in front for good measure (yay!).
Back and done, I hand over to Jac who heads up the hill like a girl possessed, and wander off to get clean and warm. The weather is stunning, all blue skies and speeding clouds over the hill, and we're pleased to have survived what could have been a disastrous mess, relatively unscathed. Showers, pig rolls, prize giving (we get lovely second-place china cups that are just the right size for a good coffee, and Phil's mum is sweetly far more excited by the wee bit of paper proclaiming him first singlespeeder than by the gorgeous Boone ti cog that is his prize), and hanging around in the sun all follow (yay!). Goodbyes are said (no!) and the van is swiftly and unceremoniously towed off the quagmire by the same grinning tractor driver leaving us to retire to the town for supper and a well-earned sleep...(yay!).
Hanging around the bike shop next morning we concur that though northern Scotland is a long way to go for a race, Strathpuffer is one we'll return to. The vibe, the location and the brilliant course all combined to make it really something special, despite the frankly barmy conditions. The biggest yay! should of course go to the organisers who worked through the night to make the event work after the disasters of the week; sometimes all you can do is accomodate Mother Nature, work around her and hope that she offers up just a little cooperation. There is talk of no race next year; I for one hope it goes ahead because I would (ahem) quite like to solo, with a little less of the emotional rollercoaster to weather. And yes, I'll be buying some ice tyres...
j.
Friday, 18 January 2008
40 days and 40 nights.
We've had a lot of rain here. Conditions more suited to an ark than a bike didn't stop me and Amy from getting out there and riding this morning. A lot of washed out, rutted bits of track, a lot of mud, a lot of very big puddles. And, I'll admit I didn't know it was possible for my shoes to become so saturated (I could feel the water slooshing up towards my toes on the final down hill of the morning). But, it was fun!Vikki
puffer prep
finishing off the last of the packing for strathpuffer. bike and large bulky items (down jacket, sleeping bag, pot noodles) should already be there. socks paired, buffs collected. lights and batteries begged borrowed and stole.
not quite sure what gatwick security will make of this lot but with talk of sheet ice on the course up there and planes falling out of the sky down here frankly it will be a small miracle if i just get to the airport without any emotional hiccups. sigh.
j.
not quite sure what gatwick security will make of this lot but with talk of sheet ice on the course up there and planes falling out of the sky down here frankly it will be a small miracle if i just get to the airport without any emotional hiccups. sigh.
j.
Tuesday, 15 January 2008
another day, another dollar...
Funny how perspective alters perception. What was a long ride to work, now often seems like a quick, painless hop on a Monday morning after an epic weekend. (And at yet others is still the longest ride in the world.) Like popping to the corner shop for milk, 25 miles pass in the blink of an eye.
One person's much-vaunted 'New Year Ride' makes my seventh consecutive January day on the bike and would bring the mileage up to 300 for the week. Part timers.
Riding, riding, riding.
And in the meantime the rest of my life is crumbling at the seams. It's a juggling act in which I completely fail to keep any of the balls in the air and instead just hold tightly onto the easy one whilst the rest roll aimlessly around my feet.
Clean socks are a thing of the past and I have resorted to pairing up the odd ones. Anything that takes longer than overnight to dry stays in the washing basket whilst the same quick-dry, easy-access kit is on heavy rotation. Heaven forbid I should have to go out...
All the bikes are dirty. All the time. Not mud-dirty, not the stuff that falls on the kitchen floor and so must be removed mostly in good time and before they come into the house, but drive-dirty. That black, sticky, tenacious muck that takes a concerted effort to remove from the chain and sprockets and is easier to just, well, clean around...
Pleasure in food is a once-weekly festival where I cook a supper big enough that the leftovers do for the rest of the week, and bake bread and flapjacks to keep me going in between times, when I get home too late for supper and need something 'real' to satiate the curious hollow/full feeling of Rego. The punching and kneading of the dough being good and different thinking time, making up for the focus that riding's become.
And pleasure in riding is reserved for a moment sitting on top of the hill just looking, thinking, soaking up memories both present and past for the future; and for the glow of the last hill of a 130 mile day. Few are greater. Except maybe good, strong, hot sweet tea.
Meanwhile...
The work doesn't get done.
The planning remains loose.
And I have worn out a saddle through sheer mileage, not old age, for the first time in my life.
At some point in the very near future I am going to have to back off on the miles a bit (okay, a lot), both to focus on some speed and power (more singlespeed, yay), and to claw back some semblance of reality (more real world, boo). But before that, Cyclogs tells me that I'm up to 505 miles already this month, in my conservatively straight-lined, haphazard, Google-mapped mileage count.
That means that 1,000 for January is achievable.
Cover me, I'm going in...
j.
One person's much-vaunted 'New Year Ride' makes my seventh consecutive January day on the bike and would bring the mileage up to 300 for the week. Part timers.
Riding, riding, riding.
And in the meantime the rest of my life is crumbling at the seams. It's a juggling act in which I completely fail to keep any of the balls in the air and instead just hold tightly onto the easy one whilst the rest roll aimlessly around my feet.
Clean socks are a thing of the past and I have resorted to pairing up the odd ones. Anything that takes longer than overnight to dry stays in the washing basket whilst the same quick-dry, easy-access kit is on heavy rotation. Heaven forbid I should have to go out...
All the bikes are dirty. All the time. Not mud-dirty, not the stuff that falls on the kitchen floor and so must be removed mostly in good time and before they come into the house, but drive-dirty. That black, sticky, tenacious muck that takes a concerted effort to remove from the chain and sprockets and is easier to just, well, clean around...
Pleasure in food is a once-weekly festival where I cook a supper big enough that the leftovers do for the rest of the week, and bake bread and flapjacks to keep me going in between times, when I get home too late for supper and need something 'real' to satiate the curious hollow/full feeling of Rego. The punching and kneading of the dough being good and different thinking time, making up for the focus that riding's become.
And pleasure in riding is reserved for a moment sitting on top of the hill just looking, thinking, soaking up memories both present and past for the future; and for the glow of the last hill of a 130 mile day. Few are greater. Except maybe good, strong, hot sweet tea.
Meanwhile...
The work doesn't get done.
The planning remains loose.
And I have worn out a saddle through sheer mileage, not old age, for the first time in my life.
At some point in the very near future I am going to have to back off on the miles a bit (okay, a lot), both to focus on some speed and power (more singlespeed, yay), and to claw back some semblance of reality (more real world, boo). But before that, Cyclogs tells me that I'm up to 505 miles already this month, in my conservatively straight-lined, haphazard, Google-mapped mileage count.
That means that 1,000 for January is achievable.
Cover me, I'm going in...
j.
Monday, 14 January 2008
Weird girl on a bike in the rain.
Allegedly I'm working at home today! But, I needed to collect something I'd ordered from a local branch of Comet (electrical retailer for those that don't live in the UK and read this blog). 9 miles roundtrip, no car today so had to pedal. I managed to pick the only wet 45 minutes of the day so far to make the journey, but it didn't matter I'd dressed for the occasion, waterproof jacket, wool cap under my helmet, buff to keep my face warm, Lefty-Lucy knickers over wool socks, messenger bag to be sure to keep electrical goods dry for the return cycle. I felt I looked pretty good, maybe a bit bike messenger wannabe, but I didn't feel like a freak. Until, that is, I walked into Comet and the assistant curled his lip back into one of those "What the hell do you look like?" faces. I took a photo of myself outside the shop, got back on my bike and started pedaling my freaky, rain soaked, self home again as I did so I started thinking that it was the middle of the day and I wasn't stuck in a job I hate, I was getting exercise, fresh air and doing one of the things I love, who's the freak? Vikki
Saturday, 12 January 2008
Shop-tastic
Today I went to buy a bike with Kate. It's always good to help someone else spend money on a bike, but this was special because by rights, after a truly horrible accident Kate shouldn't even have been walking into the shop unaided, let alone contemplating riding again. Still, as she admits, being pig headed can be an advantage- so here we were... We went to John's Bikes in Bath because I knew the guys wouldn't suck their teeth and shake their heads when we asked the inevitable girly questions (knowing your way around clothing performance is no indicator of expertise with a slack angle- or something), and well, it's a nice place to hang out while someone else tries bikes. So thank you Will for your patience and advice, Sean for the eye swivellingly strong coffee- and everyone else for being so damn lovely. The moment when Kate decided which one felt right (her first proper bike ride in almost two years), was both humbling and fantastic. Regular readers will know that Minx is prone to the odd tear at such moments- but you've gotta give me this one. I KNOW I should have taken a camera to capture the moment - but on reflection I don't think I have a lens wide enough to fit Kate's grin in...
Minx
Minx
Friday, 11 January 2008
Robins and resolutions.
Probably like a lot of people reading this one of my New Years resolutions was to ride more. Clearly, I've been a bit slow implementing this as today was only my 2nd ride of the year. 16 miles off road on local trails, probably not enough to justify the bacon and egg sandwich and cake I had on the cafe stop, so that'll be the healthy eating resolution also getting off to a shaky start. Another thing I want to do this year is take more photos, this spherical chap helped out on this one by posing for a snap. Vikki
Saturday, 5 January 2008
Good intentions
The first step towards fulfilling one (of a constantly shifting three) new year's resolution came with the adapting of the singlespeed into a country shopper - so that trips to the farm shop for veg and way expensive beetroot crisps can always be made by bike. Of course a rear mounted basket sounded more sensible than the front-loading wicker version I'd pictured (think kittens), but I hadn't reckoned with the 'fixes in seconds' rack that was needed to support it. "When was the last time you put a rack on a bike?" Mr Minx enquired as I headed out clutching much hardware. I waved airily and muttered something about 1986 under my breath. I might even have said, "How hard can it be?" At one point it was looking like another twenty-odd years might be needed to attach this one at all the necessary anchor points (without resorting to my usual practice of just leaving off anything that doesn't quite fit) but it all came right in the end, and the inaugural journey was made. During which I became acutely aware of exactly why anyone might choose to ride a bike with a step-through frame. Forgive me please - I've always been a bit sniffy about them, but try swinging your leg over a fully laden rear basket in a manner that doesn't inflict grave injury and suddenly it all becomes clear. Still, it's an incentive to keep up the yoga. Picture to follow if it all stays together long enough to be photographed. That would be the bike, not me.
Minx
Minx
Monday, 31 December 2007
Saturday, 29 December 2007
Country Roads
Visiting family in the sticks no internet so blogging via mobile phone, ain't technology great? Bike plus empty country roads equals big fun!
Saturday, 22 December 2007
Fixie fun.
Want to get a bit of confidence up on the fixie without the added pressure of traffic so took it along the canal tow path for a short pedal. I heart my new bike...... a lot!Vikki
Thursday, 20 December 2007
First time on the fixie!
The uber skinny tyres and ice meant I only was only brave enough for a constant pedal round the block!Vikki
Wednesday, 19 December 2007
Click to buy!
T'internet it's a dangerous place. A bit of looking can easily lead to a bit of naughty clicking to buy! And then before you know where you are you're explaining away the presence of a giant cardboard box in your house. Even more explaining to be done when husbands see what's in the box!Vikki
Tuesday, 18 December 2007
Towers and toffee.
40 miles of trail for me (50 miles for Amy) taking in several follies. A delightful phenomenon round here is a plethora of hilltop turrets, mostly built by slightly bonkers industrialists of the past. Today we took in Rivington Pike, Peel Tower, Turton Tower and as featured in todays photo the itty-bitty tower in the grounds of Turton Gardens. We also managed a pub stop for yummy sandwich. 40 miles is my longest ever off road ride and the last bit was somewhat hard going, I've had double portions of sticky toffee pudding for dinner to apologise to my abused body.Vikki
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
Big Tuesday!
32.24 miles of trail riding with Amy. In summary, not necessarily in order and some features repeated; ice, sunshine, climb, descend, crash, reattach back wheel, give praise for Giro helmets, pedal up rutted trails, push bike, carry bike, jacket off, jacket on, pub stop, delicious sandwich, cold hands, remember extra gloves in bag, back brake trouble, transmission difficulty, mad dog, discover day rides become night rides quite quickly and curse lack of lights. Vikki
Monday, 10 December 2007
Rude not to.
My plans for the day all involved sitting in front of the computer. But, the sun came out and the wind dropped down from a howl to a whisper, so it just seemed rude not to ride. So I did a quick 10 miles on the road, you know, just to be polite. Vikki
Saturday, 8 December 2007
Shopping.
Went shopping with Carolyn today, not ordinary Christmas shopping round the Trafford Centre mind you. No, we bundled bikes and kit into a car and headed to Coed Llandegla rode the red route and then hit the bike shop. I treated myself to a Dakine Nomad hydration backpack, I justify this purchase by explaining that now it's winter I don't have enough room in my current backpack for extra clothes and sandwiches. I didn't take any photos on the ride because frankly it was too wet and windy to stop and get the camera out, so you'll all (I assume we have a massive readership) have to make do with feasting your eyes on a pic of my new bag. God bless it and every sandwich that rides in it!Vikki
Friday, 7 December 2007
Sooooo, tell me what you want, what you really, really want.
It's all been about off-road riding lately so thought a few road miles were in order today. Shopping, faff factor and the short days meant I only managed to squeeze in an hour of pedaling before darkness. Took me the entire hour to cover 10 miles, bizarrely I seemed always to be riding into gale force winds! This may not have been so torturous were in not for the fact that I seem also to have got a Spice Girls song stuck in my head at the moment. Damn their pesky reunion.Vikki
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
Morning, 'noon and night.
I love Tuesdays. I get to ride morning, 'noon and night if I want to and today I did. Well, sort of. I rode with Amy this morning, 19 miles of trail, rode up a section I normally only ever ride down, was utter madness, some bits of trail are clearly unidirectional! And did two descents I've never done before, came off my bike on the trail that comes down off the front of Rivington Pike, but as Amy pointed out I had managed to time my crash perfectly and was on the only squishy bit of the hill so no damage done. I actually spent the afternoon eating choccie biscuits and snoozing and then rode again tonight. Only my third off-road night ride, only 10 miles, rain and no functioning back brake (Lancashire mud eats brake pads) made me feel the need to head for home earlier than I might have done. Was good fun though and husband of mine and Flipper the dog came out to take pictures of me riding the last bit towards home and a much needed bath. Vikki
Saturday, 1 December 2007
Is this winter?
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Let's keep our fingers crossed that the sunshine and warmth here today bodes well for the rest of the winter. As a result of the glorious weather there were absolutely tonnes of people out on the trails, careful route choice kept us away from the worst of the crowds, this did however, mean the last climb of the day had to be the one tired legs wouldn't normally choose. But, a harder climb at the end somehow made me feel perfectly justified in my chocolate cake choice at the post-ride cafe.Vikki
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
The misty moutains (well......... hills)!
My Tuesday luck continues with me having the day off and also finding a friend available to ride with. No sunshine this week just a lot of mist to make for some reduced visibility riding. Lack of visibility not aided by the amount of mud spraying up into my face, and smiling in such situations also leads to gritty teeth, still my teeth didn't seem to be attracting as much grit as my brakes and drivetrain if the grinding noises were anything to go by. Great way to spend the morning!Vikki
Thursday, 22 November 2007
Shame
I wimped out of commuting by bike today because the intermittent drizzle and heavy rain looked too nasty. Then the sun came out to scorn me for my lack of fortitude. The shame stayed with me all day.
Vikki
Vikki
Monday, 19 November 2007
Fi's Top 10 things At The Moment.
1. Molly Brown. My friend Kate's 9 year old daughter who I hung out with all weekend. 'Hope or Rhyddian for X-factor victory: Discuss'.
2. The Boy (will I get in trouble for putting him second?)
3. Icebreaker 200 bodyfit thermal top. I could not survive my cold university office, nor night rides, nor existing in general this time of year without it.
4. Slightly green bananas
5. Smartwool socks (especially the ones with snowflaks round the ankle)
6. GAP denim mini skirt
7. Tea. What kind? Builders of course.
8. Hashing in the rain
9. Porridge with apple bits in.
10. My new bike - arriving next week...
Fi
2. The Boy (will I get in trouble for putting him second?)
3. Icebreaker 200 bodyfit thermal top. I could not survive my cold university office, nor night rides, nor existing in general this time of year without it.
4. Slightly green bananas
5. Smartwool socks (especially the ones with snowflaks round the ankle)
6. GAP denim mini skirt
7. Tea. What kind? Builders of course.
8. Hashing in the rain
9. Porridge with apple bits in.
10. My new bike - arriving next week...
Fi
Sunday, 18 November 2007
Delamere Forest
Delamere forest (Cheshire) yesterday with some of the Groovy Chicks and Rob our guide for the day. 18 miles of mud, wet leaves, slippy tree roots, eye level branches, sandy climbs, one mad dog, a short 4X course, two cafe stops, and a descent called "No Brainer." Great fun but hard work and I'm a little bit tired today.Vikki
Thursday, 15 November 2007
23:51 Thursday November 15th
Home, bed. Feet still chilled through. Shoulders still tense from the cold.
I rode from university to my friend Phil's for dinner tonight. It took me over an hour with a huge bag full of laptop and papers named things like "social class and the meanings of physical activity: a social constructionist's viewpoint" which are now dog eared and slightly damp. I got a twitch in my shoulder from the weight digging in to a nerve.
I also lost the feeling in both feet, one calf and all my fingers. My knees ached from the cold and my nose turned red. Even after a hot shower and 3 mugs of tea I sat with my ankles tucked underneath me to warm my feet. I failed. They are still cold.
Nicky offered me a lift home and for the first time in a long long time I accepted. I am tired and slow and cold and wanted my bed. I discarded by bike at the back door and reached for the fluffy bedsocks quicker than you could say 'assoss overshoes'.
Mmmmm.....
I rode from university to my friend Phil's for dinner tonight. It took me over an hour with a huge bag full of laptop and papers named things like "social class and the meanings of physical activity: a social constructionist's viewpoint" which are now dog eared and slightly damp. I got a twitch in my shoulder from the weight digging in to a nerve.
I also lost the feeling in both feet, one calf and all my fingers. My knees ached from the cold and my nose turned red. Even after a hot shower and 3 mugs of tea I sat with my ankles tucked underneath me to warm my feet. I failed. They are still cold.
Nicky offered me a lift home and for the first time in a long long time I accepted. I am tired and slow and cold and wanted my bed. I discarded by bike at the back door and reached for the fluffy bedsocks quicker than you could say 'assoss overshoes'.
Mmmmm.....
Bad Thing, Good Thing
Bad Thing: Despite speedy pedalling I missed the early train by a minute.
Good Thing: I didn't miss the next train.
Bad Thing: My bike fell over on the train.
Good Thing: I wore my new Swrve Knickers today and they were lush.
Bad Thing: I forgot my sunglasses.
Good Thing: At least the sun was out.
Good Thing: Made it to Uni on time.
Good Thing: Wasn't cold for the ride home.
Good Thing: My untried commuting lights turned out to be little gems.
Good Thing: I got a really cheery "hello" as a series roadie overtook me going uphill.
Good Thing: I've just about ridden enough miles to justify a slice of apple crumble.
Bike riding equals more good things than bad, that's why we do it!
Vikki
Good Thing: I didn't miss the next train.
Bad Thing: My bike fell over on the train.
Good Thing: I wore my new Swrve Knickers today and they were lush.
Bad Thing: I forgot my sunglasses.
Good Thing: At least the sun was out.
Good Thing: Made it to Uni on time.
Good Thing: Wasn't cold for the ride home.
Good Thing: My untried commuting lights turned out to be little gems.
Good Thing: I got a really cheery "hello" as a series roadie overtook me going uphill.
Good Thing: I've just about ridden enough miles to justify a slice of apple crumble.
Bike riding equals more good things than bad, that's why we do it!
Vikki
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
Mayhem
This is me at the end of Mountain Mayhem this year. I look a mess? I was...
Fi
x
For some totally unknown reason all I can think about today is Mountain Mayhem. I can't wait. Well, I can't wait to be fast enough to kick ass. I am doing long slow miles at the moment. Not even that long actually. Building my engine slowly with the awesome support of Rob Lee. I am eating good food and have a speedily developing six-pack. All very lovely. Haven't been on the mtb for ages though which is a bugger but will do in time, no doubt.
But Mayhem still eats away at the back of my mind. It was the most exhilarating feeling in the world finishing that race and my whole being is aching to do it again. The pain was indescribable but I will be better prepared next year. Each night as I layer on the thermals and strap lights to my head and handlebars I think of all those people sat behind Hollyoaks and feel pride that I am not just thinking it, I'm doing it.
Nothing worth doing was ever easy.
Fi
x
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
TFI Tuesday!
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Tuesdays are rapidly becoming my favourite day of the week. For the second Tuesday running I've been lucky enough to have free time, a friend also not at work to ride with, nice weather and almost empty trails right on my doorstep. This Tuesdays ride was better than last Tuesdays, no punctures and a ride route that took in the cafe for the best slab of carrot cake ever! Absolute Autumnal perfection.Vikki
Monday, 12 November 2007
uh oh.
just checked the weather forecast in preparation for the begining of the commuting week.
erkkk.
it has been a long time since i've had to cope with weather like this and i can't remember what i need to wear to stay warm under these conditions (did you notice it's also going to be raining? oh yeah). factor in the windchill of a cyclist travelling between 15 and 20mph and it gets a whole load colder. the pile of clothes by the bed currently consists of:
endura mt500 short
very old pace cycles roubaix tights
icebreaker ls wool base layer
howies ls wool base layer with the long zip-up neck
mint sauce race and flowers jersey (tis a well known fact that bright pink makes you feel warm)
gore softshell
two buffs (one for head, one for neck, eyes and nose in the gap between the two)
assos overshoes
gore softshell gloves
and, er, the hip flask with the sloe gin in it.
well, i figure if it works for 24's... ;o)
j.
erkkk.
it has been a long time since i've had to cope with weather like this and i can't remember what i need to wear to stay warm under these conditions (did you notice it's also going to be raining? oh yeah). factor in the windchill of a cyclist travelling between 15 and 20mph and it gets a whole load colder. the pile of clothes by the bed currently consists of:
endura mt500 short
very old pace cycles roubaix tights
icebreaker ls wool base layer
howies ls wool base layer with the long zip-up neck
mint sauce race and flowers jersey (tis a well known fact that bright pink makes you feel warm)
gore softshell
two buffs (one for head, one for neck, eyes and nose in the gap between the two)
assos overshoes
gore softshell gloves
and, er, the hip flask with the sloe gin in it.
well, i figure if it works for 24's... ;o)
j.
Old friend, new rider.
One of my oldest and very best friends Meriel came up from London to visit for the weekend. I've had a few adventures with her in the past, we've hiked mountains, dived the seas and drunk more than one town dry, but until this weekend never ridden bike together. She's been a road rider for as long as I've known her but is a very new mountain biker. I'm hardly an old hand but it was down to me to lead the way and show off my local trails, a dirt paradise compared to what she has easy access to from the big city. The weather did its best to confirm that it is indeed grim up North but we're not the sort of girls who scare easily so we pedalled our way through the wind and ignored the rain that thought about falling. We climbed a few bumpy miles and whizzed back down an even bumpier few, some bits brought smiles and laughter and some frowns with handlebars gripped too tight with fear. Home to tea and snacks and the knowledge that the mountain biking bug had well and truly bitten my friend, new bikes and future rides discussed.
Vikki
Vikki
Sunday, 11 November 2007
Minx boyz
I've just been browsing, nostalgically, at my photos of the 2007 Trans Rockies. I found a few classic pics and thought I'd share. Hope you don't mind...
Our first podium - hadn't quit mastered the whole 'hand in the air' thing at this point (but we got used to it!)
Gav Atkins, Meg Bichard and myself going for a bit of post-Rockies road action. Gav squeezed into that jersey and had us in hysterics!
Our first podium - hadn't quit mastered the whole 'hand in the air' thing at this point (but we got used to it!)
Gav Atkins, Meg Bichard and myself going for a bit of post-Rockies road action. Gav squeezed into that jersey and had us in hysterics!
Meg at the end of the final stage. We were chasing the girls in 2nd place and would have had a good chance at overtaking if Meg hadn't decided that 6 inches was enough room to squeeze between 2 guys. It wasn't and she took all of them down, covering herself in blood and coal dust in the process! 3rd by 15 seconds on the final day. What an end to the race!
Sigh...
clarification
At 3am this morning my mind resembled an abandoned birds nest. Not one of those lovely neat round ones with a warm fluff lining. No, more like a rook's nest that didn't quite pass the scrutiny of the Chief Rook and her scrutiny committee and was cast from the tree with disgust, to lie unnoticed in piles of autumn twigs and leaves, mistaken for more autumnal detritus.
But 60 miles of pure clean sunlight, gentle climbing, rolling descents and lots of breathing has knitted together my destructive thoughts and (although still under inspection from Chief Rook), my brain is certainly developing a warm fluff lining and a functional, circular shape.
OK maybe I overdid the birdsnest analogy, but you get the point. Dwelling and crying into cups of hot chocolate: BAD. Riding and thinking and smiling at sheep: GOOD.
Here endeth the lesson.
Fi
But 60 miles of pure clean sunlight, gentle climbing, rolling descents and lots of breathing has knitted together my destructive thoughts and (although still under inspection from Chief Rook), my brain is certainly developing a warm fluff lining and a functional, circular shape.
OK maybe I overdid the birdsnest analogy, but you get the point. Dwelling and crying into cups of hot chocolate: BAD. Riding and thinking and smiling at sheep: GOOD.
Here endeth the lesson.
Fi
Saturday, 10 November 2007
Thursday, 8 November 2007
all in the timing
Rides have been limited for the past few days. Frustrating as it is to be confined to the house when the indian summer (albiet a somewhat chilly one) we'd hoped for finally arrives, the excursions into the outside world have been brief, mildly energetic and beautiful. The leaf colour is stunning, we seem to have had more localised frost than most visitors and so the paths and lanes are lined with every shade of golden, from transparent lemon to waxy ginger, and in places deep red and luminous crimson too, immigrant species but welcome punctuation to the spectrum.
The peace and quiet of a drifting autumn has passed now, though. I nipped out for a quick half hour on the cross bike this evening - having spent a lovely but lazy day not doing a lot apart from talk and eat - and the challenge being to get back before the half-drunk mug of tea on the desk got cold. It was past dusk and raining when I opened the door, fine, jacket on, go anyway, don't be lazy. By the time I got to the Anchor and turned south to cross the flood plain, the wind was howling down from the hill and blowing the rain across the beam of light in shards. A mile of steering into the squall, right ear filling up with water, tights resembling shining black seal fleece, squinting hard to keep the lenses in my eyes and the spray out, more like sailing than riding, and then as suddenly as it came the rain ceased and left with the wind alone, whipping through the trees and sending sheets of leaf fall spinning to the ground. Black tarmac swathed in orange and umber, occasional tyre tracks, floods and puddles papered flat with colour.
It's dark now, and late, and in the morning the view out of the window will be less rainbow and more monotone, the wood a wet and shining black against a silver sky, the red brick houses diminished and small. With the wind and Rachmaninoff alternately gusting against the window from either side, I have a hat on and yet more tea beside me and the balance has tipped suddenly and without doubt towards winter. I can't say I am looking forward to it...
j.
The peace and quiet of a drifting autumn has passed now, though. I nipped out for a quick half hour on the cross bike this evening - having spent a lovely but lazy day not doing a lot apart from talk and eat - and the challenge being to get back before the half-drunk mug of tea on the desk got cold. It was past dusk and raining when I opened the door, fine, jacket on, go anyway, don't be lazy. By the time I got to the Anchor and turned south to cross the flood plain, the wind was howling down from the hill and blowing the rain across the beam of light in shards. A mile of steering into the squall, right ear filling up with water, tights resembling shining black seal fleece, squinting hard to keep the lenses in my eyes and the spray out, more like sailing than riding, and then as suddenly as it came the rain ceased and left with the wind alone, whipping through the trees and sending sheets of leaf fall spinning to the ground. Black tarmac swathed in orange and umber, occasional tyre tracks, floods and puddles papered flat with colour.
It's dark now, and late, and in the morning the view out of the window will be less rainbow and more monotone, the wood a wet and shining black against a silver sky, the red brick houses diminished and small. With the wind and Rachmaninoff alternately gusting against the window from either side, I have a hat on and yet more tea beside me and the balance has tipped suddenly and without doubt towards winter. I can't say I am looking forward to it...
j.
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
Puncture-tastic
A free morning when the weather is good leaves a girl only one option, a bike ride! Plan was to meet a mate at 9a.m so left the house at 8.30, all wrapped up against the slight chill of the morning but feeling great, heading for the trails. But, less than 10 minutes of tarmac from home and I thought the front of the bike was feeling a bit swampy, stopped, poked tyre, flat! No worries my bag has tyre levers, pump, and a spare tube. Wheel off, quick mobile phone call to let friend know I might be a minute or two late, I set to sorting out my puncture. Tyre loosened, tube out, air pissing hole easily spotted, spare tube dug out of bag. I carefully inspected inside of tyre wall for offending pointy bits, nothing obvious. New tube stuffed into place, tyre refitted I start to pump. I can hear air, and not in a good tyre filling way, inflation not happening. Tyre off again, tube out. Two air pissing holes spotted this time! Puncture repair kit dragged out of bottom of bag, patch time. Tyre checked even more carefully, no spikey bits obvious, no spokes anywhere they shouldn't be. Patched tube now in place, tyre on, more pumping, this time success, a functioning wheel is refitted.
3 hours of lovely, incident free riding followed. Such a great day for being out in the Lancashire hills. Sunshine and smiles all round.
Vikki
3 hours of lovely, incident free riding followed. Such a great day for being out in the Lancashire hills. Sunshine and smiles all round.
Vikki
Monday, 5 November 2007
Mellow fruitfulness
I had a miserable weekend getting my legs ripped off by a melange of over-keen weekend racers who have nothing better to do that prove they have more testosterone than me. They do. They win.
I chose to sweep up the remant thoughts of this anger and scrape them into the emotional rubbish bin along with the slightly furry skin off last night's smoked mackarel.
But I keep back one memory from the weekend which makes the girl in me smile coyly, tilt my head to one side and go 'ah'.
Picture this. 3 hours of mentally technical and hard riding, too ridiculous to be anything other than unnecessarily exhausting. Crawling back to the car on the final bridleway, sweat beginning to cool down and the sun beginning to run out of power. The boy and I slow down and stop, tip toes on the ground to steady ourselves, tired bikes and tired faces pointing towards the view.
In the valley below there were layers of smokey green hills, fog clinging to the bottoms of each dip, hiding the light polution and turning all sharp lines into soft sketches: The perfect soft ambient painting of a Somerset scene. Exmoor in the distance was blanketed in mist and the sun was that beautiful autumnal pinky-orange.
And he held my hand and what was left of my steely resolve melted completely.
I chose to sweep up the remant thoughts of this anger and scrape them into the emotional rubbish bin along with the slightly furry skin off last night's smoked mackarel.
But I keep back one memory from the weekend which makes the girl in me smile coyly, tilt my head to one side and go 'ah'.
Picture this. 3 hours of mentally technical and hard riding, too ridiculous to be anything other than unnecessarily exhausting. Crawling back to the car on the final bridleway, sweat beginning to cool down and the sun beginning to run out of power. The boy and I slow down and stop, tip toes on the ground to steady ourselves, tired bikes and tired faces pointing towards the view.
In the valley below there were layers of smokey green hills, fog clinging to the bottoms of each dip, hiding the light polution and turning all sharp lines into soft sketches: The perfect soft ambient painting of a Somerset scene. Exmoor in the distance was blanketed in mist and the sun was that beautiful autumnal pinky-orange.
And he held my hand and what was left of my steely resolve melted completely.
Sunday, 4 November 2007
Killer loop
Yesterday I rode with the Groovy Chicks. I was a bit nervous before setting off as the plan for the day was one of the MBR killer loops. I think the source of my anxiety was the term "killer" this not necessarily being a word one wants to consider when heading out onto the Yorkshire moors. As we set off riding from East Marton (bit west of Skipton) the unseasonably sunny and warm day lulled me into thinking maybe it wouldn't be so bad. It was a ride with a lot of thick mud and long grassy climbs, the first 9 miles seemed more like 15 and I was glad of a sandwich stop. By 15 miles I was experiencing a deadness in the legs and feeling like I was going to puke, I wanted to know if there was a short cut down off the tops to the car, the killer loop was indeed killing me. Another sandwich stop, a big drink and a huge handful of jelly beans saw some energy restored to my broken spirit. A corking section of rocky downhill had me grinning again and even feeling like the first 15 miles had been worth it. The final 10 or so miles were quite fast, just nicely undulating, and there is something about knowing you're in the final push towards to the post ride cafe that keeps you going. By the time the bacon buttie, chocolate rice-crispie cake and 2 mugs of tea were gone all the bad bits of the 32 miles of very muddy Yorkshire were long forgotten and all I knew was that I'd had a great day out riding with friends.
Vikki
Vikki
Friday, 2 November 2007
wow.
Having a bad day? Go to Cycling News and read the coverage of the 2007 Crocodile Trophy, then feel better.
It's a mountain bike stage race that covers some of the wildest, most inhospitable parts of northern Australia. To finish is an achievement that only the toughest riders attain - but this year, Marc Herremans, a paraplegic Ironman triathlete, has finished all 1400km on a handcycle alongside all the other able bodied riders, who formed a guard of honour at the finish to recognise his incredible determination.
Have a read.
jenn.
It's a mountain bike stage race that covers some of the wildest, most inhospitable parts of northern Australia. To finish is an achievement that only the toughest riders attain - but this year, Marc Herremans, a paraplegic Ironman triathlete, has finished all 1400km on a handcycle alongside all the other able bodied riders, who formed a guard of honour at the finish to recognise his incredible determination.
Have a read.
jenn.
Thursday, 1 November 2007
Fire, hallucination and dancing
When you're in something you're in it and you can't see it for what it is. Last night - with the clarity of retrospect and a good night's sleep - was essentially a group of primitive tribe-members following their tribal leaders into a wood to follow rule-bound ritual; including fires, hallucination (though excessive alcohol ingestion and adrenaline production) and hyperactivity.
To translate - Last night was annual the Bristol halloween ride. A group of 50 witches and devils (with the odd crow and ghost) rode around Ashton Court and Leigh Woods and came to a halt by a camp fire ("I don't don't know they got persmission for that" - sweet!) where we split into teams and between swigs of wine chased around a tricky singletrack loop in relay. When you look at it like that its seems almost normal but think about what it looks like for people not 'in it' - it is actually quite bizarre.
So I have absolute sympathy for people who raise one eyebrow when they see the scarred legs and muscled thighs which set me apart from 'normal' girls and who, when they discover my weekend shenanigans think I'm a bit, well, tribal. I am, I follow the mountainbiking tribe. I worship the leaders. I adhere to traditions and hold certain days, rules, events or artefacts as ritually sacred. I'm comfortable with that because my identity is entwined with and reliant on that way of life. Bikes are my social prop and riding my form of cultural capital which I cash in for friendship and respect within my group where this kind of capital has some currency.
We take it for granted, this sense of bike-oriented belonging, but it is special and we should be proud.
Fi
To translate - Last night was annual the Bristol halloween ride. A group of 50 witches and devils (with the odd crow and ghost) rode around Ashton Court and Leigh Woods and came to a halt by a camp fire ("I don't don't know they got persmission for that" - sweet!) where we split into teams and between swigs of wine chased around a tricky singletrack loop in relay. When you look at it like that its seems almost normal but think about what it looks like for people not 'in it' - it is actually quite bizarre.
So I have absolute sympathy for people who raise one eyebrow when they see the scarred legs and muscled thighs which set me apart from 'normal' girls and who, when they discover my weekend shenanigans think I'm a bit, well, tribal. I am, I follow the mountainbiking tribe. I worship the leaders. I adhere to traditions and hold certain days, rules, events or artefacts as ritually sacred. I'm comfortable with that because my identity is entwined with and reliant on that way of life. Bikes are my social prop and riding my form of cultural capital which I cash in for friendship and respect within my group where this kind of capital has some currency.
We take it for granted, this sense of bike-oriented belonging, but it is special and we should be proud.
Fi
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Blackpool shrubbery.
Since starting back at Uni I've been making a concerted effort to use the bike for part of my morning commute. Depending on how early I can scrape my head off the pillow I have 3 choices of train from my village and 3 ride distances at the other end. When I'm feeling extra awake it's the earliest train and 15 miles, when lazy it's the latest train and about 3 miles. Somehow my lovely Surly seems wasted on this lazy option so I've equipped my self with what I see as an urban stealth machine (all minimal and black). This had it's maiden commute this morning, and like all my biking it was a mixture of thrills and spills.
I wanted to ride the 3 miles hard and nippy, I zipped through traffic, I cheekily cut corners at the lights, I decided to whip over a pedestrian crossing and this is where my vision of being cool and sleek unravelled. I skidded to a bit of a halt by some railings and just couldn't unclip from my pedals, brand new and tightly sprung, they just weren't for releasing my cleats. I was wedged too close to the railings to change my mind about stopping, there was no where to pedal out off the situation, I knew I was going to go over. Faced with a wobble into the road or a flower bed I shifted my weight and let the foliage break my fall. I went as gracefully as possible but it was far from cool. I ripped one foot free which promptly allowed the pedals to spin round and smash me in the shin. I scraped myself out of the flower bed and got back on the bike. I arrived at Uni dirty and bleeding. I set to the pedals with my multi-tool, and rest assured the shrubbery of Blackpool went undamaged on my return journey.
Vikki
I wanted to ride the 3 miles hard and nippy, I zipped through traffic, I cheekily cut corners at the lights, I decided to whip over a pedestrian crossing and this is where my vision of being cool and sleek unravelled. I skidded to a bit of a halt by some railings and just couldn't unclip from my pedals, brand new and tightly sprung, they just weren't for releasing my cleats. I was wedged too close to the railings to change my mind about stopping, there was no where to pedal out off the situation, I knew I was going to go over. Faced with a wobble into the road or a flower bed I shifted my weight and let the foliage break my fall. I went as gracefully as possible but it was far from cool. I ripped one foot free which promptly allowed the pedals to spin round and smash me in the shin. I scraped myself out of the flower bed and got back on the bike. I arrived at Uni dirty and bleeding. I set to the pedals with my multi-tool, and rest assured the shrubbery of Blackpool went undamaged on my return journey.
Vikki
insult to injury
See that? That's a cobweb, spun between the hoods of my Ergos by some half-pint arachnid. Inevitable, that injuries are followed by insults that only serve to annoy you more when you are already not feeling at your best. Rest, ice, ibuprofen... grrrr.
jenn.
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
fuggered.
at this time of year i find it increasingly hard to get up in the mornings, to find the motivation to work, wash and eat, let alone to ride. wake up and the sun is shining (again) in a clear blue sky (again). seize the moment. work can wait. a couple of phone calls and the rendevous is made, we ride, talk, laugh, ride some more. there are mishaps, giggling, new trails, chocolate brownies, all the good things, and above all, so much hill-to-hill sunshine that we ride and ride and ride some more, an unintentional epic, just one more hill/trail/singletrack/tree over and over again. grovel home, steadily freezing as the post-4pm winter sun snatches away the warmth from the biting north wind. golden light and leaves, freshly ploughed fields, autumn is lovely but blimey is it cold...
later, stuffed to the gills with pie and potatoes, legs warm with effort and eyelids drooping, sit at the desk and file memories away. plot the route on gmap, it looks like a pile of spaghetti and the mileage tots up to a cool 45 miles.
blimey.
jenn.
later, stuffed to the gills with pie and potatoes, legs warm with effort and eyelids drooping, sit at the desk and file memories away. plot the route on gmap, it looks like a pile of spaghetti and the mileage tots up to a cool 45 miles.
blimey.
jenn.
Monday, 22 October 2007
Dead Leg
First day back training. Beautiful yellow-bright morning in Cwm Carn, South Wales. 2 hours of fun riding with boyfriend and housemate. Slippery roots conquered, tricky climbs beaten and teeth-rattling hard-tail descents enjoyed and embraced and loved.
One more? Go on...
Short cut up a climb and cut along the forest drive to the concrete climb and the descent. Chat, laugh, Dave spinning like a roadie monkey. Lovely, welcome feelings of fatigue not felt in weeks.
Rattle, spin, jump, outside pedal down, flowing, few close calls.
Nearly back at the car. I can see the town, taste the sandwiches, smell the hot tea. Better do that work this afternoon, or maybe get a DVD. Got lots of washing to sort out and better run the hoover over after our rugby party.
What is that rock doing coming towards my front wheel so fast? Ahhhhhhhhhhh, (I was thinking about sandwiches).
...
...
...
Why am I upside down in a blackberry bush? Pain searing through my thigh like the worst ever big-brother-dead-leg. Front wheel buckled, can't pedal. Tears and hugs.
Love mountainbiking.
One more? Go on...
Short cut up a climb and cut along the forest drive to the concrete climb and the descent. Chat, laugh, Dave spinning like a roadie monkey. Lovely, welcome feelings of fatigue not felt in weeks.
Rattle, spin, jump, outside pedal down, flowing, few close calls.
Nearly back at the car. I can see the town, taste the sandwiches, smell the hot tea. Better do that work this afternoon, or maybe get a DVD. Got lots of washing to sort out and better run the hoover over after our rugby party.
What is that rock doing coming towards my front wheel so fast? Ahhhhhhhhhhh, (I was thinking about sandwiches).
...
...
...
Why am I upside down in a blackberry bush? Pain searing through my thigh like the worst ever big-brother-dead-leg. Front wheel buckled, can't pedal. Tears and hugs.
Love mountainbiking.
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
Swimmin'
So I just got back from my first swim in 10 months. I went a lane slower than I used to and just chilled with the Freds. It was fab.
Swimming - if it weren't for the running eyes, stinking skin and itchy hair afterwards - is great. You get a sort of all over body fatigue afterwards, like your muscles have been gently kneaded by a half-hearted osteopath. I might go again. I might, although I might go for a bike ride instead.
Swimming - if it weren't for the running eyes, stinking skin and itchy hair afterwards - is great. You get a sort of all over body fatigue afterwards, like your muscles have been gently kneaded by a half-hearted osteopath. I might go again. I might, although I might go for a bike ride instead.
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
Winter
Oh Dusk til Dawn. I love it. Misty forests, bleary-eyed cyclists, hysterical, over-tired friends and supporters. It is lovely and cosy and warm in a cold, shivery, sweaty, painful sort of a way. For me it was my first 12 hour pair. Well I say 12 hour, we managed 6 before an early crash by Rob left him with no feeling in his right leg. We were forced to retire and shiver the rest of the night out in our tent. But until then I was riding ok - the best bit was riding with the 2 solo male leaders for half a lap, chatting a bit to them and asking them if they thought I was riding fast enough (I'm new to all this top-speed nonsense). They suggested I was but I passed anyway. Between you and me I regretted that in lap 3 when my legs were far from feeling fresh!
As Jenn says, D2D marks the end of the enduro season. Unlike many, I do not welcome this news. I am learning to train and rest with the waves of the seasons but find the thought of months of road riding ahead terrifying. Sunset at the top of the Quantocks on a Thursday night will never compare with neoprene-clad road miles for me. But I'm doing my first season of cross country this winter and can start running again, so I have things to look forward to.
But as for right now, I am having 2 weeks off completely - an act never before known to man (well, to Fi). The weird thing is I don't mind. I have such a clear, focused idea of what I want out of next year and I know that resting now will mean I can come back stronger. So pass the shortbread and pour the tea...
And weren't those jumping mice cute.
As Jenn says, D2D marks the end of the enduro season. Unlike many, I do not welcome this news. I am learning to train and rest with the waves of the seasons but find the thought of months of road riding ahead terrifying. Sunset at the top of the Quantocks on a Thursday night will never compare with neoprene-clad road miles for me. But I'm doing my first season of cross country this winter and can start running again, so I have things to look forward to.
But as for right now, I am having 2 weeks off completely - an act never before known to man (well, to Fi). The weird thing is I don't mind. I have such a clear, focused idea of what I want out of next year and I know that resting now will mean I can come back stronger. So pass the shortbread and pour the tea...
And weren't those jumping mice cute.
Monday, 8 October 2007
and - relax...
Well, Dusk til Dawn has been and gone. Achey backs and knees are being stretched, chafed unmentionables delicately dabbed with Savlon, and 'second elevenses' are being consumed in a guilt-free manner all across the country. Here included. The race rocked, as Thetford races are apt to - masses of singletrack, a very tough course despite there being virtually no climbing, friendly riders, great atmosphere, fun and giggles all round. Add in bombholes, bouncing mice, thick mist and stars and - finally! - a night event in which I had absolutely no problems whatsoever with lighting. A big thank you to USE for pulling out the stops and equipping many racers with the new Exposure lights - I could have run on the Joystick Maxx and its piggyback cell alone for the entire race, and it was only when I started passing riders whose lights had failed mid-lap that the sense of security in having twelve hours of bright light started to sink in. Add in a bagful of Torq products for second place and I'm set up for winter, with some great memories to tide me over til 2009.
D2D is the traditional season closer, marking the end of the UK's enduro season. Yes, there are odds and ends between now and next spring (including the Thetford Winter Enduros and Gorrick Spring series, way too good to ever be called odds and ends, sorry chaps!) but nothing which requires the same intensity of resting, planning, packing and travelling that the summer season does. I am thoroughly worn out; it's been a stupidly busy year, and speaking to racing friends before the race revealed that we were all steeling ourselves for 'one more race'. There are so many events here now that you could race nearly every weekend if you wanted to; as it is we have to pick and choose, because nobody can be in a condition to race that frequently, no matter how good they are. If I got anything wrong this year, it was doing too much, but then doing too much is what I enjoy and to a certain extent what I am good at, too...
The Blasted Ribs (as they've come to be known) have meant that my season has ended with a bit of a fizzle, rather than a bang. The cancellation of the 3 Peaks put a dampener on things and I'd have loved to win at Thetford for a second time but limited lungs put paid to that. As it was I placed amongst the top ten men, caught, passed and dropped my boss (sorry JP), and rode 2:1 for 12 laps (145 miles incl prologue), all of which were goals for the night and all of which make me very happy.
Now, I have time to heal, slowly and properly. I can stay up too late when I want to, I can ride every day without having to think about resting. I can ride my lovely, lovely road bike exclusively for days on end without having to worry about the singlespeed feeling the 'wrong shape' when I get back onto it, I don't have to spend endless amounts of time planning event logisitcs and tidying up afterwards. And I can eat a whole packet of M&S caramel shortcakes in a 24 hour period without feeling guilty about it, because winter is coming and I need some seal fleece back. Ahem... More tea?
jenn.
D2D is the traditional season closer, marking the end of the UK's enduro season. Yes, there are odds and ends between now and next spring (including the Thetford Winter Enduros and Gorrick Spring series, way too good to ever be called odds and ends, sorry chaps!) but nothing which requires the same intensity of resting, planning, packing and travelling that the summer season does. I am thoroughly worn out; it's been a stupidly busy year, and speaking to racing friends before the race revealed that we were all steeling ourselves for 'one more race'. There are so many events here now that you could race nearly every weekend if you wanted to; as it is we have to pick and choose, because nobody can be in a condition to race that frequently, no matter how good they are. If I got anything wrong this year, it was doing too much, but then doing too much is what I enjoy and to a certain extent what I am good at, too...
The Blasted Ribs (as they've come to be known) have meant that my season has ended with a bit of a fizzle, rather than a bang. The cancellation of the 3 Peaks put a dampener on things and I'd have loved to win at Thetford for a second time but limited lungs put paid to that. As it was I placed amongst the top ten men, caught, passed and dropped my boss (sorry JP), and rode 2:1 for 12 laps (145 miles incl prologue), all of which were goals for the night and all of which make me very happy.
Now, I have time to heal, slowly and properly. I can stay up too late when I want to, I can ride every day without having to think about resting. I can ride my lovely, lovely road bike exclusively for days on end without having to worry about the singlespeed feeling the 'wrong shape' when I get back onto it, I don't have to spend endless amounts of time planning event logisitcs and tidying up afterwards. And I can eat a whole packet of M&S caramel shortcakes in a 24 hour period without feeling guilty about it, because winter is coming and I need some seal fleece back. Ahem... More tea?
jenn.
Sunday, 30 September 2007
Cheddar Bikefest
Mixed Pair, Saturday 29th September, Cheddar Bikefest.
The Saturday morning drive to the Cheddar 8hr bike fest had the usual Mendip fog and drizzle associated with early starts, bike racing and autumn. We arrived with the intention of riding a practice lap but too much faffing and chatting to Anthony White (2007 Mayhem solo winner) left us with just enough time to carry a box of food up to the start before the race briefing.
Rob Lee (race partner from Extreme-Endurance) opted for the first shift, namely to get a bit of a lead over our competitors. We had worked out a schedule based on 35minute-ish laps, written roughly on the back of a nutrigrain box. Little did I know that this was to change dramatically.
The Le Mans start was hilarious, as the runners proceeded over a series of BMX rollers before a harsh switch back and up a steep ramp to their bikes. Rob was 3rd off the run and just as I was geting ready to settle in to a nice 35ish minute lap routine, the first rider flew back down into the arena... after just 17 minutes. Eek! Rob followed shortly after and I knew our Nutrigrain ponderings were to be completely ignored.
After a few laps, Rob shouted 'I'm doing 6' which at this rate was going to take less than 2 hours. So a quarter of the way through, I was still at the start, twiddling my thumbs and watching the sweaty faces of riders returning time and time again. It was a weird feeling being congratulated for being in the lead when I hadn't even got my tyres dirty!
Eventually I went out for my first 4 lap stint. The ramp out of the transition zone got my heart rate up into the 160s straight away and then the climb started so it never dropped. Towards the end of the gnarly, rocky climb there was a steep section which in the dry could have been fine but tyres were slipping so madly that it was too much effort to stay upright and quicker to walk it.
Then the insane descent began through 'Witches Wood'. To my delight this is where I made up most of my time. The diagonal roots took a combination of skill and bravery to cross and on every lap I was caught out my something, but with a bit of confidence and a lot of brain-disengagement I managed to descend pretty fast. Apart from crashing into the bridge (and destroying it) on my penultimate lap, I kept the downhill smooth and lapped consistently.
The race proceeded and by 4hours we had pulled 10 minutes on the team behind us - only half a lap. Eventually Rob lapped their girl after 5hours and it was my job to just keep the lap times consistent and do the glory lap in less than 28 minutes. I cruised in to victory - my first ever outright win at a mtb race. Cheered on my Debbie, Russel, Zu Zu (and the cow bell) we collected our prize and drank tea while I waited for the night time trial to start.
The night TT was simply an exercise in being up for it. I was the only girl who entered so it seemed a sensible 20 minute investment for the sake of winning some rather snazzy new lights. (For the record, I was first girl home). Come on girls. get with it!
Massive thanks to Rob Lee for teaching me how to ride singletrack over the past month, for generally organising me and for getting our lapping perfect and despite feeling unfit kicking ass as only Rob can do.
The Saturday morning drive to the Cheddar 8hr bike fest had the usual Mendip fog and drizzle associated with early starts, bike racing and autumn. We arrived with the intention of riding a practice lap but too much faffing and chatting to Anthony White (2007 Mayhem solo winner) left us with just enough time to carry a box of food up to the start before the race briefing.
Rob Lee (race partner from Extreme-Endurance) opted for the first shift, namely to get a bit of a lead over our competitors. We had worked out a schedule based on 35minute-ish laps, written roughly on the back of a nutrigrain box. Little did I know that this was to change dramatically.
The Le Mans start was hilarious, as the runners proceeded over a series of BMX rollers before a harsh switch back and up a steep ramp to their bikes. Rob was 3rd off the run and just as I was geting ready to settle in to a nice 35ish minute lap routine, the first rider flew back down into the arena... after just 17 minutes. Eek! Rob followed shortly after and I knew our Nutrigrain ponderings were to be completely ignored.
After a few laps, Rob shouted 'I'm doing 6' which at this rate was going to take less than 2 hours. So a quarter of the way through, I was still at the start, twiddling my thumbs and watching the sweaty faces of riders returning time and time again. It was a weird feeling being congratulated for being in the lead when I hadn't even got my tyres dirty!
Eventually I went out for my first 4 lap stint. The ramp out of the transition zone got my heart rate up into the 160s straight away and then the climb started so it never dropped. Towards the end of the gnarly, rocky climb there was a steep section which in the dry could have been fine but tyres were slipping so madly that it was too much effort to stay upright and quicker to walk it.
Then the insane descent began through 'Witches Wood'. To my delight this is where I made up most of my time. The diagonal roots took a combination of skill and bravery to cross and on every lap I was caught out my something, but with a bit of confidence and a lot of brain-disengagement I managed to descend pretty fast. Apart from crashing into the bridge (and destroying it) on my penultimate lap, I kept the downhill smooth and lapped consistently.
The race proceeded and by 4hours we had pulled 10 minutes on the team behind us - only half a lap. Eventually Rob lapped their girl after 5hours and it was my job to just keep the lap times consistent and do the glory lap in less than 28 minutes. I cruised in to victory - my first ever outright win at a mtb race. Cheered on my Debbie, Russel, Zu Zu (and the cow bell) we collected our prize and drank tea while I waited for the night time trial to start.
The night TT was simply an exercise in being up for it. I was the only girl who entered so it seemed a sensible 20 minute investment for the sake of winning some rather snazzy new lights. (For the record, I was first girl home). Come on girls. get with it!
Massive thanks to Rob Lee for teaching me how to ride singletrack over the past month, for generally organising me and for getting our lapping perfect and despite feeling unfit kicking ass as only Rob can do.
Wednesday, 26 September 2007
silly season
is here again. Going to work...
...and going home.
The dark winter stretching out like, well, a very stretched out long dark thing. Lights on, thermals out, treble carbohydrate intake.
Doesn't help that in the space of thirty minutes yesterday, I survived one incredibly close shave at the hands of a teenage Citroen driver (squealing tyres, shocked face, and one of those ever-decreasing defensive circles where you try to turn hard enough to avoid going over the bonnet, whilst not turning so tightly that you end up going under the wheels, and just watch the wing mirror/passenger door coming closer, and closer, and closer...), one attempted heel piercing by a rabid Jack Russell (who then got taken for a nice long walk), and one enthusiastically intentioned but thankfully mis-located punch thrown by a drunken cycle lane promenader. All on the way to a nightride where Oli bounced off a badger and I realised that 80psi in cross tyres does nothing for freshly knitted ribs.
And then I got hit by a cyclist on the way home this evening.
ffs.
jenn.
...and going home.
The dark winter stretching out like, well, a very stretched out long dark thing. Lights on, thermals out, treble carbohydrate intake.
Doesn't help that in the space of thirty minutes yesterday, I survived one incredibly close shave at the hands of a teenage Citroen driver (squealing tyres, shocked face, and one of those ever-decreasing defensive circles where you try to turn hard enough to avoid going over the bonnet, whilst not turning so tightly that you end up going under the wheels, and just watch the wing mirror/passenger door coming closer, and closer, and closer...), one attempted heel piercing by a rabid Jack Russell (who then got taken for a nice long walk), and one enthusiastically intentioned but thankfully mis-located punch thrown by a drunken cycle lane promenader. All on the way to a nightride where Oli bounced off a badger and I realised that 80psi in cross tyres does nothing for freshly knitted ribs.
And then I got hit by a cyclist on the way home this evening.
ffs.
jenn.
Monday, 24 September 2007
lemons
Yesterday was the Maxx Exposure ride. As it looked like being a nice night, I'd planned a substantial (>80) nightride to Washington and back, for no other reason than friends were doing it and I could do with some practise...
Spend the day quietly bimbling about carb-loading (aka eating cake), bike fiddling and cocoa making, before finally departing after 7 as the sun goes down and the sky turns all sorts of purple. Spin over meridian, along the road, dodging rabbits, get to bottom of Blackcap, turn left through gate and square up to horrible climb -
*plink*
'Fixed' expensive light fails for fourth time in three months.
Some swearing.
Re-assesment. Okay, I have a blinky light and the puncture Petzl. There is just enough daylight left to get me to the top of the hill, I have been looking forward to this all day, I am not going home now and I can always walk back down the hill if I need to. Proceed at snail's pace up rapidly darkening horrible climb. Discover it gets no easier when you can't see it. And did I ever mention how much I hate climbing on gears? Time passes so much slower when you're thrashing about in 22/30...
Reach summit and remove layers. Hair wet with sweat, breeze cooling. Break out the thermos, replace layers, plus more and watch the first specks of light appear over Kingston Ridge. Clearly riders - there is no road up there, and the white pinpricks are moving at a sedentary speed which reminds me just how large that lump of chalk is. High on the facing ridge, I have a great vantage point and watch them descending, like parachute flares, before climbing up out of the valley towards me, blinking and twisting in the trees.
Some time later, after the lead riders have passed by, the clouds smudging moonlight all over the sky, Nigel arrives. On his cross bike - hmm. Brief chat whilst I surreptitiously peer at his beam pattern - yes, it'll do. I fall in alongside and we bimble gently - well, okay, we fly at a ridiculous pace to the Beacon, where he leaves me to no doubt continue along the route at the ridiculous pace and I turn to retrace my steps in a quieter fashion more suited to stiff, cold legs.
The moon is out and it's two-thirds full. As my eyes adjust to night vision again, the city lights behind me look like fires and the water on the dewpond is rippling white. Black cows kindly shuffle off the trail and by looking up and to the left a bit I can keep tyres to singletrack across the tops. The climbs are hardest, in shadow and full of holes; the descents, braille riding, bike moving freely beneath me, obstacles felt and reacted to, senses quickened. The pace is mostly pedestrian but as I warm to the darkened world I am reminded of a saying recently thrown in my direction - if life throws you lemons, make lemonade. Night rides are all too often an arm's race, trying to stay clear of the person with the brighter light, tolerating helmet lights being shone in your eyes. Solo excursions are apt to be scary, with monsters lurking on the peripherals of the pool of light and noises in bushes that seem darker than they are because inefficient eyes are tuned to something brighter. Riding by moonlight renders the hilltop a friendlier place, and civilisation more distant, somehow, even though I'm frequently passed by Maxx riders going the other way, some who banter, most saying hello and a few who just try to run me over...
I make the trip west once more with Matt and Dave, both honorary Northerners who I'd forgotten would be here and whom I'm glad to see as they have two lights apiece, more than enough for me to hitch onto. Both are quieter than usual, and for once I feel like the one out of place trying to make the small talk. I give up and we pedal gently along in silence. It seems more appropriate somehow. Waving them off I feel a pang of sadness; I should have been going with them, but the descent home remains.
Back along the tops once more and then left, down behind the hill and it's steep enough to be buried deeply in shadow. Properly dark, in fact. Right off the back of the saddle, feel and react, don't think too much, be brave. And do not, whatever you do, tell your mother that you did this. The fact that I'm on a test bike with 5" front and rear is no doubt a great help but soon I've let go of the brakes and am proceeding through the darkness at something approaching a proper pace, deliberately not looking or trying to see, just feeling, remembering what little I can, letting the bike guide itself into and out of the ruts, over the waterbars, between the banks. When the moon emerges from behind the hill and the trail is thrown into contrast it's like someone flicked a switch; it feels like daylight and the shadow of the ridge is cast pinprick sharp on the fields below. It all ends too soon and from the road I look back along the ridge for signs of riders; none. There are no cars on the road and even the kamikaze rabbits have declared ceasefire for the night. A couple of lone jets bank for Gatwick, engines loud, lights shining; I close the door behind me satiated by something which turned out to be far more than the sum of its parts. Lemonade, indeed.
jenn.
Spend the day quietly bimbling about carb-loading (aka eating cake), bike fiddling and cocoa making, before finally departing after 7 as the sun goes down and the sky turns all sorts of purple. Spin over meridian, along the road, dodging rabbits, get to bottom of Blackcap, turn left through gate and square up to horrible climb -
*plink*
'Fixed' expensive light fails for fourth time in three months.
Some swearing.
Re-assesment. Okay, I have a blinky light and the puncture Petzl. There is just enough daylight left to get me to the top of the hill, I have been looking forward to this all day, I am not going home now and I can always walk back down the hill if I need to. Proceed at snail's pace up rapidly darkening horrible climb. Discover it gets no easier when you can't see it. And did I ever mention how much I hate climbing on gears? Time passes so much slower when you're thrashing about in 22/30...
Reach summit and remove layers. Hair wet with sweat, breeze cooling. Break out the thermos, replace layers, plus more and watch the first specks of light appear over Kingston Ridge. Clearly riders - there is no road up there, and the white pinpricks are moving at a sedentary speed which reminds me just how large that lump of chalk is. High on the facing ridge, I have a great vantage point and watch them descending, like parachute flares, before climbing up out of the valley towards me, blinking and twisting in the trees.
Some time later, after the lead riders have passed by, the clouds smudging moonlight all over the sky, Nigel arrives. On his cross bike - hmm. Brief chat whilst I surreptitiously peer at his beam pattern - yes, it'll do. I fall in alongside and we bimble gently - well, okay, we fly at a ridiculous pace to the Beacon, where he leaves me to no doubt continue along the route at the ridiculous pace and I turn to retrace my steps in a quieter fashion more suited to stiff, cold legs.
The moon is out and it's two-thirds full. As my eyes adjust to night vision again, the city lights behind me look like fires and the water on the dewpond is rippling white. Black cows kindly shuffle off the trail and by looking up and to the left a bit I can keep tyres to singletrack across the tops. The climbs are hardest, in shadow and full of holes; the descents, braille riding, bike moving freely beneath me, obstacles felt and reacted to, senses quickened. The pace is mostly pedestrian but as I warm to the darkened world I am reminded of a saying recently thrown in my direction - if life throws you lemons, make lemonade. Night rides are all too often an arm's race, trying to stay clear of the person with the brighter light, tolerating helmet lights being shone in your eyes. Solo excursions are apt to be scary, with monsters lurking on the peripherals of the pool of light and noises in bushes that seem darker than they are because inefficient eyes are tuned to something brighter. Riding by moonlight renders the hilltop a friendlier place, and civilisation more distant, somehow, even though I'm frequently passed by Maxx riders going the other way, some who banter, most saying hello and a few who just try to run me over...
I make the trip west once more with Matt and Dave, both honorary Northerners who I'd forgotten would be here and whom I'm glad to see as they have two lights apiece, more than enough for me to hitch onto. Both are quieter than usual, and for once I feel like the one out of place trying to make the small talk. I give up and we pedal gently along in silence. It seems more appropriate somehow. Waving them off I feel a pang of sadness; I should have been going with them, but the descent home remains.
Back along the tops once more and then left, down behind the hill and it's steep enough to be buried deeply in shadow. Properly dark, in fact. Right off the back of the saddle, feel and react, don't think too much, be brave. And do not, whatever you do, tell your mother that you did this. The fact that I'm on a test bike with 5" front and rear is no doubt a great help but soon I've let go of the brakes and am proceeding through the darkness at something approaching a proper pace, deliberately not looking or trying to see, just feeling, remembering what little I can, letting the bike guide itself into and out of the ruts, over the waterbars, between the banks. When the moon emerges from behind the hill and the trail is thrown into contrast it's like someone flicked a switch; it feels like daylight and the shadow of the ridge is cast pinprick sharp on the fields below. It all ends too soon and from the road I look back along the ridge for signs of riders; none. There are no cars on the road and even the kamikaze rabbits have declared ceasefire for the night. A couple of lone jets bank for Gatwick, engines loud, lights shining; I close the door behind me satiated by something which turned out to be far more than the sum of its parts. Lemonade, indeed.
jenn.
Thursday, 20 September 2007
collateral damage
Home again and making a concerted effort to unpack and tidy up whilst listening to the dismal sound of all the hopes and dreams born of a few days of freedom quietly crunching themselves back down into the screwed-up paper bundles from whence they came...
SSWC - was awesome, as we knew it would be. Badaguish rocks hugely and hard work by TSPC (paddling like ducks underwater, sailing serenely by with nary a frown) meant a weekend of cat herding ran more smoothly than it had any right to. Rode well and came second. Others seem to be more pleased about that than me. Perhaps because the race was secondary to the riding, the trails, the chatting and supping, the quietly sitting, the coffee, the pancakes, the bikes and the friends.
Onwards - to an epic multi-day ride out and over the mountains. Poring over maps, worrying about cloud levels and weather, just get on with it. A handful of mostly positive surprises weathered about worn cleats and pain barriers, tenacity, sleeping out, big skies and wilderness. Much time thinking about next year. Excitement builds.
Fort William - the proper ('their?') World Cup. Noise, just so much noise, and a small town's worth of bike people all in one place making it. Just huge.
In the middle - breathtaking night skies, some tramping, some chilling, half a day basking in the sun, half a mountain's worth of secret local's trails sniffed out on a dribbling, disintegrating fairytale treasure map. A lot of green and a little welcome decadence to help the week go by.
And finally, Raasay.. Incredible island, all grey-hilled beauty and sweeping vistas. Incredible people, who worked so hard to bring a unique event to fruition. And incredible conditions - gale force winds gusting to force 9, rain so heavy that I didn't need to drink all race, instead sipping the water that was running down my face, and trails so absorbing and demanding that yet another however-many-hours-of-gerbil-racing did not once become wearing. Trophies of island yew for the mantlepiece meaning perhaps more than any other earnt this year.
The collateral damage?
One pair of shoes, two ribs, a bike.
A good holiday.
jenn.
Monday, 17 September 2007
All change
So this weekend I am moving from a large flat to 1 room in a small shared flat and I am using the opportunity to strip my life down to its bare bones and take the 'stuff' that's really important to me. What this has made me realise is that, in a rather cliche'd, Hugh-Grant-film-esque fashion, stuff isn't important at all.
I have had no trouble taking box loads of rather smart clothes, gorgeous books and armfuls of CDs to the local charity shops. They may wonder why I am throwing out most of last season's Jigsaw collection but I don't care. I never wear it. If you can't ride a bike in it (and let's face it mohair isn't always the best attire for mountain biking) then I don't want it.
With an armful of jumpers and jeans, one smart suit and a suitcase of bike kit I'm off. All the books i have read are in storage, the ones I haven't are in my office (which I now have to use rather than working from bed like I have been for months) and I don't even have a toaster to my name.
Do I mind? Well we are programmed to get to our twenties and 'buy house, fill house with husband and babies, stop having fun' and although I am itching to have somewhere I can actually call 'home', living simply and clutter-free does have it's benefits. I lead a totally selfish existence where my every intellectual or physical whim can be fulfilled without so much as a inquisitive glance at someone else. I want to be a perpetual student - I am. I want to ride and race my bikes as much as is humanly possible - I do.
And believe me, that's the only time I'll be saying 'I do' in the near future. The future is full of simplicity and I like it.
I have had no trouble taking box loads of rather smart clothes, gorgeous books and armfuls of CDs to the local charity shops. They may wonder why I am throwing out most of last season's Jigsaw collection but I don't care. I never wear it. If you can't ride a bike in it (and let's face it mohair isn't always the best attire for mountain biking) then I don't want it.
With an armful of jumpers and jeans, one smart suit and a suitcase of bike kit I'm off. All the books i have read are in storage, the ones I haven't are in my office (which I now have to use rather than working from bed like I have been for months) and I don't even have a toaster to my name.
Do I mind? Well we are programmed to get to our twenties and 'buy house, fill house with husband and babies, stop having fun' and although I am itching to have somewhere I can actually call 'home', living simply and clutter-free does have it's benefits. I lead a totally selfish existence where my every intellectual or physical whim can be fulfilled without so much as a inquisitive glance at someone else. I want to be a perpetual student - I am. I want to ride and race my bikes as much as is humanly possible - I do.
And believe me, that's the only time I'll be saying 'I do' in the near future. The future is full of simplicity and I like it.
Monday, 10 September 2007
Learning to love the trailcentres
So I've always been rather anti trail centres. I have always loved the big skies and unpredictability of map-and-compass riding and have ridden my bike across most of the large open places in Southern and Middle England. Until last weekend I'd been to Afan once and Cwm Carn twice.
But then Dusk til Dawn is approaching and I'm doing it in a pair. That means I'm out of my comfort zone and need to learn how to ride singletrack. Solo-ing means I can plod along at my pace with noone else to worry about, noone to let down and noone to disappoint. Just pedal and smile and sing and chat and ride as hard as I can and hopefully get to the end with no major problems.
But pairing. Jeepers, that means going fast, not making mistakes, watching my watch, timing my laps, getting it right. Yikes.
And last weekend, and yesterday, I went to Afan and rode hard all day, learning how to ride singletrack quickly and smoothly. I practiced cornering and sprinting, climbing and descending. I loved it and loved the trails. That swooping feeling as you lean the bike at the perfect angle round a tight switchback, or balance perfectly to take a rocky drop off without losing pace. You just don't get that out on the moors.
So I'm a quiet convert and I'm liking being out of my comfort zone. (You know when you've cracked when you consider riding 12 hours solo comfortable!)
See you at Thetford.
But then Dusk til Dawn is approaching and I'm doing it in a pair. That means I'm out of my comfort zone and need to learn how to ride singletrack. Solo-ing means I can plod along at my pace with noone else to worry about, noone to let down and noone to disappoint. Just pedal and smile and sing and chat and ride as hard as I can and hopefully get to the end with no major problems.
But pairing. Jeepers, that means going fast, not making mistakes, watching my watch, timing my laps, getting it right. Yikes.
And last weekend, and yesterday, I went to Afan and rode hard all day, learning how to ride singletrack quickly and smoothly. I practiced cornering and sprinting, climbing and descending. I loved it and loved the trails. That swooping feeling as you lean the bike at the perfect angle round a tight switchback, or balance perfectly to take a rocky drop off without losing pace. You just don't get that out on the moors.
So I'm a quiet convert and I'm liking being out of my comfort zone. (You know when you've cracked when you consider riding 12 hours solo comfortable!)
See you at Thetford.
Friday, 31 August 2007
Ride 31 of 31
The last ride of the 31 has been done. Like so much of the summer, it was wet, but
still it's always nice to get out onto the moors for a couple of hours. I met
Carolyn and we did a few tried and trusted tracks, I'm convinced I've got quicker up
some of my local hills over this month of riding. Is a month enough to have an
impact on fitness? I don't know, maybe I should have kept track of some statistics!
I do know that over the month I've done approximately 330 miles, which is something
like 242,000 revolutions of each wheel, my maths doesn't stretch to working out how
many turns of the cranks that is but it must be a lot. It's certainly been a good
excuse to eat more cake.
Vikki
still it's always nice to get out onto the moors for a couple of hours. I met
Carolyn and we did a few tried and trusted tracks, I'm convinced I've got quicker up
some of my local hills over this month of riding. Is a month enough to have an
impact on fitness? I don't know, maybe I should have kept track of some statistics!
I do know that over the month I've done approximately 330 miles, which is something
like 242,000 revolutions of each wheel, my maths doesn't stretch to working out how
many turns of the cranks that is but it must be a lot. It's certainly been a good
excuse to eat more cake.
Vikki
Thursday, 30 August 2007
Ride 30 of 31
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We put bikes and Flipper the dog in the car and drove to the posh bit of the north, Cheshire, Tatton Park to be precise, just outside Knutsford, picture it, the sort of place that has a Rolls Royce dealership and an Aga shop. Due to our usual disorganisation it was lunchtime before we got to the park so we decided to have food and then ride, let's just say that Flipper is no respecter of National Trust tea room etiquette and after a kerfuffle involving tipped tables and flying cakes we thought we'd better get on the bikes. Dog and bikes having already caused an incident we decided not to risk mixing with valuable antiques so we stuck to looking at the stately home bit from the outside and then rode the mostly flat, grassy trails. Lots of deer, rabbits and an entire flock of stereotype defying, well behaved, black sheep. Husband managed to do an over the handle bar flip worthy of a Russian gymnast, fortunately bouncy grass minimised the damage. A fun couple of hours, with grateful thanks to the last Lord Egerton for having the decency to bequeath his estate to the National Trust in 1958.Vikki
Wednesday, 29 August 2007
Ride 29 of 31
Tea, the drink of champions! Best drunk, in my opinion, brewed quite strong with a good glug of milk, no sugar. We get our milk delivered to the doorstep from a local farm but due to excess hot chocolate consumption when we got back last night we ran out of the white stuff this afternoon. So I pedalled to the corner shop for a pint. Somehow, I also came home with some egg custard tarts. Mmmmm tea and a cake. Perfect afternoon treat.Vikki
Tuesday, 28 August 2007
Ride 28 of 31
8 miles of truly spectacular biking tonight as Blackpool held its annual "Ride the Lights" event. The full switch on of this years illuminations is on Friday but tonight was a special sneak preview for bikes only. From 8 'til 10 some 4 miles of prom' closed off to traffic, the out and back route was well marshalled with first aid stations and a roving bike doctor van for sick bikes. For me two layers of merino wool and a beanie kept the sea breeze at bay, a few emergency bits were stuffed in my courier bag, I wished I'd made a flask of tea, but as husband told me the day I'm organised enough to do something like that will also be the day we live in a sparkling clean house that won't have a bike living in the kitchen! Several thousand riders were there and we saw everything imaginable; tandems, recumbents, tiny pink bikes with stabilisers, BMX's, supermarket specials, high-end road bikes, trikes, shoppers with baskets, babies in seats, MTBs, bikes with trailers containing small children or dogs, all bicycle life was there. It was an amazing thing to be part off, some were riding to raise money for the British Heart Foundation and fluorescent sashes were for sale at a pound a go to raise money for an MRI scanner (much needed at Blackpool Vic hospital). A fab evening and on the drive home with bikes in the back I was discussing plans to ride it again next year.Vikki
Monday, 27 August 2007
right click
There's the merest hint of a chill in the morning air but summer's finally shown her face. Briefly, I suspect. so we ride all day, up and down too many hills, sampling views, singletrack and skies. Find a new tea room in Findon that sells quiche and apple pie by weight (very dangerous), find the heavily hogweeded trails of last week all neatly strimmed to giggly pinball runs, drink quietly under acid green canopies, spin hot and windblown over the tops.
Last descent, I look back to make sure they're still behind me and get the mental snapshot to beat all others. Three riders, singletrack, blue sky, cloud of dust. File>Save As>Perfection...
Jenn
Last descent, I look back to make sure they're still behind me and get the mental snapshot to beat all others. Three riders, singletrack, blue sky, cloud of dust. File>Save As>Perfection...
Jenn
Ride 27 of 31
Bank Holiday Monday! Rode today with the "Groovy Chicks" or at least a few of them. Luckily for me the ride was around the Rivington area so I was able to pedal to the meeting place and avoid the holiday traffic. Nearly every bit of the 20 or so mile ride was busy with people out getting their annual suck in of fresh air on the hills, or so it seemed to me. I was flagging badly today, the last one to the top of everything, this month of riding is taking it toll on my legs. A cookie and hot chocolate at the cafe near the end of the ride only just restored me. But, it was great to meet some really cool new people. And come on what could the alternatives have been on a Bank Holiday, some dodgy repeats on telly or worse still a trip to a DIY superstore? Thank goodness for bikes!Vikki
Sunday, 26 August 2007
Ride 26 of 31
We had a wedge of letters to send, I gripped 'em in my teeth and I pedalled in my sandals to the post-box. Frankly, my legs are too ruined today for anything else!Vikki
Saturday, 25 August 2007
intrepidly storming the shed...
Packing. A stressfull business. I am off to Scotland shortly; it has just dawned on me that what with one thing and another I am going to have everything ready to go by Monday. I can hear the gods of the time concertina laughing mightily from here - I still have a great deal of work to do before I can go and so - of course - I am doing my best to ignore the gritty quick release grouptest scattered around the desk and the half-written emails littering the desktop and instead I am playing with kit...
How to carry enough stuff for two weeks of racing and riding in one capable-of-swallowing-a-keg-and-a-cake-but-suddenly-oh-so-small Timbuk2? Start with basics. Two crops, two race jerseys, two pairs of MT500s - what's not being worn can be washed. Then, a warm layer: arm, knee and leg warmers, a long-sleeved jersey (break out the old, old Cannondale waffle top - deeply uncool in these days of dye-sub prints and stockbroker merino but oh so nice to pull on when the wind nips). Finally, the outer layer - and here is where it gets tricky, because I need to take a proper waterproof but I'll wear the softshell more if the weather is anything less than vile, and I'll need a gilet as well, and a light pocketable windproof for the option of a packless excursion or two... So the pile of jackets ends up being as big as everything else altogether. Back to the drawing board.
Elsewhere, it's easy; everything must be able to do double duty if required (so tech and wool tees replace cotton, and Fireflys are the order of the day), and bike kit acts as outer layers. One pair of Sidis, one pair of Salomons. Two... three... six pairs of socks. Hardware is simply a matter of emptying the camping box and the saddle pack straight into the Timbuk2, remembering to add CO2 pump for racing, buying a new bottle of travelwash and remembering to pack one of those lethal matchbox-sized tin openers that would have a finger off as soon as actually allow access to supper, except in a classic example of sod's law in action I can't find the compass, and I'm not quite sure where the super-cute camping toothbrush went after last time, either...
Sod it, maybe I'll just do some work instead.
jenn.
How to carry enough stuff for two weeks of racing and riding in one capable-of-swallowing-a-keg-and-a-cake-but-suddenly-oh-so-small Timbuk2? Start with basics. Two crops, two race jerseys, two pairs of MT500s - what's not being worn can be washed. Then, a warm layer: arm, knee and leg warmers, a long-sleeved jersey (break out the old, old Cannondale waffle top - deeply uncool in these days of dye-sub prints and stockbroker merino but oh so nice to pull on when the wind nips). Finally, the outer layer - and here is where it gets tricky, because I need to take a proper waterproof but I'll wear the softshell more if the weather is anything less than vile, and I'll need a gilet as well, and a light pocketable windproof for the option of a packless excursion or two... So the pile of jackets ends up being as big as everything else altogether. Back to the drawing board.
Elsewhere, it's easy; everything must be able to do double duty if required (so tech and wool tees replace cotton, and Fireflys are the order of the day), and bike kit acts as outer layers. One pair of Sidis, one pair of Salomons. Two... three... six pairs of socks. Hardware is simply a matter of emptying the camping box and the saddle pack straight into the Timbuk2, remembering to add CO2 pump for racing, buying a new bottle of travelwash and remembering to pack one of those lethal matchbox-sized tin openers that would have a finger off as soon as actually allow access to supper, except in a classic example of sod's law in action I can't find the compass, and I'm not quite sure where the super-cute camping toothbrush went after last time, either...
Sod it, maybe I'll just do some work instead.
jenn.
Ride 25 of 31
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Got picked up this morning by Carolyn and we crossed that great divide that is the Pennines and headed into Yorkshire. We parked up in Grassington and did a cracking 25 mile loop. Some hard slogs up over open windy moorland rewarded with rolling descents, lots of limestone to pick a line through, a few dull bits of tarmac, a section of manmade track, and a bit that Carolyn thought was like riding over green carpet. My legs struggled a bit the last 7 miles and are feeling sore now but it was worth it.Vikki
Friday, 24 August 2007
Ride 24 0f 31
Flipper the dog had to be wormed today, I find she actually quite likes tablets coated in a blob of peanut butter to turn them into a little treat but husband did the administering so she just had her mouth opened and the medicine poked in and her head held until she swallowed. He gave her a biscuit after the event but this wasn't sufficient to stop her sulking and hiding her in her house. She looked so sad that today's ride couldn't be anything but a pedal along the old railway line so she could have a scamper and forget the nasty tablets. I mean who could resist that face.Vikki
Thursday, 23 August 2007
Ride 23 of 31
Phew, what a scorcher! Two consecutive days of sunshine here in the north counts as a heat wave so it seemed appropriate today to go for ice cream. We are blessed to be within an easy 2 mile pedal of an Italian owned gelateria. Husband was easily encouraged onto his bike with the promise of an iced treat, we opted for choc and nut waffle cones with a single scoop, he chose amaretto flavour and I went for toffee crunch. Yum! I'm well aware more calories were consumed than burnt on the 4 mile round trip but sometimes these things just have to be done.Vikki
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