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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Ride 30 of 31

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

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

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

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

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

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